"Ghostly Pleasures"

"Ghostly Pleasures"

(closed)​

Martin Howard looked down at the naked woman at his side, writhing as she approached orgasm. Her moans became cries, and he knew she was there. He leaned in close to her as she exploded and whispered, "Awake my love."

Her eyes opened suddenly as she exited her erotic dream, screaming out in ecstasy. The expression on her face was one of pure amazement ... and deep confusion. She was walking that narrow, precarious bridge linking her REM sleep and conscious states, and as euphoria swept through her body, she fell from the bridge, wide eyed and shocked at the slowly dawning knowledge that the sexual events in her dream had manifested them in a wakening state orgasm.

As she came down from her sexual high, she looked about the room, seemingly disoriented. It was obvious that she was awake now, no longer deep in her erotic dream. But it was also obvious that the euphoria she was now feeling was real, actual sexual satisfaction. Had she been masturbating? She must have, because there wasn't anyone else in the room with her.

She began laughing, shocked that she'd been able to do that to herself while asleep. Of course, the truth was that she hadn't. Martin had. Martin, the man who was still sitting on the bed next to her. The man -- or more accurately -- former man, who had lulled the woman into a deep sleep, then taken physical form in order to speak to her, kiss her, fondle her, and -- ultimately -- pleasure her to orgasm without her ever knowing he was here.

Now returned to his ghostly state, Martin stood from the bed, watched the woman for a long moment -- her beautiful chest still rising and falling as a result of the powerful explosion -- then turned and left...

"I'm telling you, Nikki. I think I'm losing my mind."

Jasmine Aisling, confided with her best friend at the bar. Nearly flustered and embarrassed as she recounted the few recent nights where she had come harder than she ever had in her life -- through her dreams, no less!

"Oh, it makes perfect sense. Your ass. Needs to get laid. Pronto." Nikki Collins made a "two" signal to the bartender, followed by a nod of approval. "You do know, that I'm always more than willing to help you in that department," she drew herself closer, and wagged her eyebrows mischievously.

"Stop it," Jasmine pressed her hand against Nikki's face and playfully pushed her away. "You'll have sex with anything that moves and has a heartbeat."

The fiery redhead scoffed, "I am absolutely offended!" Seconds before she cracked her devil be damned smile, "Who am kidding? You know me so well."

Rolling her eyes at her friend's response, Jasmine sighed, wishing that she could be as carefree and open as Nikki was with life. She just wasn't wired like the artist beside her. Things in the young brunette's world had to be analyzed, and make some modicum of sense - a left brainer, through and through. Waking up, to a voice beckoning to do so (a detail she carefully omitted from Nikki), while in the throes of a body wracking orgasm, was definitely on the list of things that didn't make sense. She knew, deep down, these weren't her run of the mill wet dreams.

“Look girl,” Nikki continued, “your body has needs. Think of this as your subconscious mind's way of trying to tell you that - rather adamantly.” She couldn’t hold back her lecherous grin, before she began to reason. "Besides, how long has it been since you've been with someone?"

Jasmine bit her lower lip, then furrowed her brows while unwanted memories came back to the surface, "Almost a year, since David-"

"Two-timing, needle-dick, David?! Shit, fuck that guy," the fury behind her words, died as the more important detail of her friend's response struck a chord. "Hold up -- a year? God damn. Huh, I don't think I'd last past a few weeks." Nikki whistled low.

Before Jasmine could stroll down memory lane, the bartender placed drinks in front of them. "Two tequila shots, straight up! Enjoy ladies," he said, before departing with a smile.

Jasmine looked incredulously at her friend, "Jesus, Nik, tequila? Are you serious?"

Nikki shrugged, "Jas, it's Friday night, and you ain't got shit to do tonight, or tomorrow. C'mon." She picked up her shot, and smiled when her friend followed suit, "To sexual gratification. In any way, shape, and form that we can seize it!"

Jasmine shook her head at her friend's dedication, as the two proceeded to lick the salted rim, down their shot, and suck the accompanying limes. Nikki moved in her chair with an invigorated shake and victory "Woo!" while motioning to the bartender for another round. Jasmine simply groaned, still recovering from the proverbial kick to her chest, "God, I hate you."
--------
"Never drinking again," she muttered for the tenth time that night.

After managing to make it through the elevator ride, and carefully walking down the hallway to her apartment, Jasmine leaned her head against the door. Her fingers desperately trying to maneuver the correct key into the lock. A simple task, made that much harder by her inebriated state.

The minute she was able to step inside, she kicked her heels off and opened the windows. The warm, evening breeze and muted sounds of the city below, sweeping through her living room. She was quick to reach the conclusion that her bedroom was simply, "too far away," settling to collapse on her couch instead. The brunette sighed, as the old cushions gave way, absorbing her weight and stresses of the day.

Resting her forearm over her eyes, Nikki's suggestion flittered about her mind: "Jam one out before you sleep. If that seemingly dormant libido of yours is sated, maybe your subconscious will ease up on the wet dreams."

"Why not?" Jasmine reasoned, albeit drunkenly. She licked her middle and ring fingers, and guided them under the hem of her skirt. Sliding her panties aside, she gasped as she plunged her fingers in. Her thumb rubbing against her clit, just right.

Within minutes, she was moaning. Her hips rolling voluptuously against her fingers, while her other hand squeezed one of her nipples through her button down shirt. She took a sharp intake of breath as she felt that familiar fall over that glittering edge. Her breath coming out in short pants, as her inner muscles grasped at her fingers, with their rhythmic pull.

It was no where near the intensity of the other nights, but it didn't matter. She was dead asleep in seconds.

Martin was standing before the open fridge, ogling its contents. He didn't have to eat, of course. He was dead. But occasionally, if the available food was worth the effort, he would manifest physical form and indulge. And the contents of Jasmine's fridge were definitely worth the effort. Never in his 12 years as a single man -- between leaving his parents' home and dying -- had he ever enjoyed such a delicious variety of foods and drinks as his current Hostess kept handy.

He was munching on some sort of chocolate treat when he heard Jasmine's head thump against the outside of the door. Instantly, he disappeared, the treat falling to the tiles with a plop.

As the brunette entered, Martin couldn't help but laugh aloud. She was teetering as she made her way through the living room and to the windows, conspicuously intoxicated. He leaned against the kitchen door frame and just studied her. His plan was to let her retire to her bedroom, then manifest again and finish his chocolate treat. Real or not, the taste was still on his tongue.

But soon, he was thinking of a different taste upon his tongue. He made his way to the coffee table, sitting directly before Jasmine to watch her masturbate herself to orgasm. This sight was magical to him. For years he'd watched women pleasure themselves, sometimes successfully, sometimes not. Women who touched themselves were far easier for him to manipulate, though he didn't quite know the reason behind it.

Jasmine's climax was obvious, and in less than a minute, she'd gone from deep, excited, erratic breathing to the soft steady breathing of sleep ... or more accurately, unconsciousness. She was out!

Martin dropped to his knees before her and once again manifested solid form. He waited a moment, then reached out to place his hands upon her knees. Jasmine didn't even twitch, even after he gently pushed her thighs wide open. He lifted her skirt and found her wet fingers laying over her still exposed pussy. He moved them aside for a view of her shaved flesh, murmuring, "Beautiful."

He studied Jasmine's face for a moment, even jostling her knees a bit. She was thoroughly passed out. He knew he could do anything with her that he wanted now and she probably wouldn't even wake up. Ironically, that didn't excite him. He liked to see his lovers writhe at his touch, rushing toward orgasm and then jolting to consciousness as he simultaneously commanded them awake and faded into nothingness. He wouldn't be doing that to Jasmine tonight, obviously.

Still, Martin leaned his head down between Jasmine's thighs and pressed his mouth to her pussy. He kissed her, then licked her. She typically used a flavored douche before she went out on the town, Martin knew from watching her shower and prepare for her nights out on the tow. She likely wanted to be fresh and inviting to some guy she met at a bar and brought home. So far in their time together, Jasmine had always come home alone, though, not that he was complaining.

Their loss, he thought of the men who weren't getting to taste her berry flavored pussy this night. You snooze, you lose. He licked at her a few times, wondering at the deliciousness. When Jasmine finally reacted, first twitching, then shifting her lower body, then moaning, Martin realized that perhaps he'd been wrong.

He stood to full height and, with just a thought, went from fully dressed to stark ass naked. One of the benefits of being a ghost was you didn't have to dress or undress, let alone wash, dry, and hang. He dropped to his knees between Jasmine's thighs again but this time stayed up high. He leaned in close to her face, studying her for a moment. Her eye were moving about under their lids in REM sleep.

"Where are we my love?" he whispered to her. She mumbled. He continued, "We're on a beach ... a deserted island ... white beaches ... gulls in the air above ... waves crashing before us..."

She mumbled again, then murmured incoherently. In her mind, the scene he was painting was manifesting in very much the way Martin had. He continued to whispers descriptions to her, deepening her REM sleep as he had a dozen times before over their three weeks as lovers. Her mumbling became more coherent, with the words and phrases taking form.

As he'd been whispering to her, Martin had also been reaching up under her skirt to pull her panties from her body. For the fun of it, he tossed them into the air, once, then twice, and finally a third time, causing them to catch on the blade of the ceiling fan that was turning slowly above them. He smiled, wondering how she would explain that to herself in the morning.

As he continued to whisper to her -- and she, subconsciously, to him -- he gently pulled her from the couch down into his lap. He could tell from her unconscious movements that she was acting out what was taking place in her dream. He maneuvered her closer to him, positioning his rock hard cock at her already prepared hole...

It was happening again.

One time she was underneath a waterfall, another time in the woods. Right now, she was on a beach, laying naked on the soft, white sand. The waves crashing against the shore, with sea foam reaching out to tickle her legs. And her lover, whom she never saw, was spooned behind her, positioning himself right at her core.

Jasmine shivered in anticipation, as he began to press in, ever so slowly. Inch by agonizingly slow inch. She tried, in vain, to move her hips against him. All in the hopes of getting him to move faster. Just a little more. Instead, he held her hips in a vice grip, preventing her from taking the reins, and continued his tortuous pace.

The brunette reached her arms above and behind her head; threading her fingers through his hair. Her digits slowly curling around, to grip the short locks at his scalp. "Give me..." Jasmine began to implore, before she felt him slam against her, to the hilt.

A high keening moan escaped her throat, as the sensations of sudden fullness overwhelmed her. Her chest continued to rise and fall, while his hands roamed her body. His voice whispering sweet nothings in her ear, while he changed the cadence of his thrusts, never letting her get accustomed to his tempo.

Jasmine bit her lower lip, as she felt that spiraling pressure flare, low in her belly. She moved against him in counter thrust, moaning as she drew ever closer to climax. Every fibre of her being pulled taut, on the verge of snapping. Then, just as she hovered over that precarious edge, her lover thrusted deep, and simply held. Holding her at that edge, instead of allowing that free fall.

She pleaded between gasps, "What are you...doing to me? Please...I need..."

"Give me..." Jasmine begged aloud, despite being deep in REM.

"As you wish, my Sand Fairy," Martin whispered.

He grasped her thighs tightly and pressed slowly into her until his entire length was deep inside her wetness and warmth. Once inside her, with his eyes closed, he could see her dream in his mind's eye. She lay on her side on the sand, the ocean waves rushing up to them and yet magically never interrupting their love making any more than washing their toes with feather light foam.

In the dream, her lover -- unidentifiable to even Martin -- was slamming her powerfully, then toying with her pussy, then speeding up, slowing down. Her on the living room floor, with Jasmine's back against the couch seat and her legs wrapped about his waist, Martin was simply stroking long and steady, to drive himself to pleasure in the shortest amount of time needed.

He'd learned earlier on in his rape of dreaming women that maintaining physical form for long could be tiring but fucking could be downright exhausting. Exerting himself too much now meant not being able to take form again for days, sometimes weeks. And that meant not being with Jasmine for far too long. Martin would rather have a calm, satisfying orgasm now and maybe again tomorrow or the next night than have a fierce, mind blowing fuck and nothing more for half a moon.

In both her dream and her reality, Jasmine was responding with obvious pleasure to the sex. Her chest rose and fell, pressing her delicious breasts out at Martin, who eagerly and hungrily met them with his lips and tongue. In her dream, he could see that the contact was interpreted by Jasmine as wandering, eager hands.

He continued whispering sweet nothings in her ear, keeping her deep in her dream, unaware of what was happening to her body in reality. As the pleasure Jasmine felt -- both real and fantasy -- built toward orgasm, Martin realized that he was nearing his own orgasm as well. The pleasure of her warmth and wetness was simply incredible, and as his counterpart in his lover's dream continued to stroke onward with no obvious hurry for climax, Jasmine's real lover groaned out in delight as his cock erupted and began filling her with his thick, warm discharge.

Martin's head swam in euphoria as he continued to plunge in and out of Jasmine. His heart pounded, his chest swelled and contracted, and--

"What are you...doing to me?"

In his mind's eye, Martin suddenly and very clearly saw himself as Jasmine's beach lover where before he hadn't been able to see his own self. And ... Jasmine was now facing him ... sitting in his lap ... rocking eagerly ... rocking desperately. She wore an expression ... of dismay ... she was ... upset ... why? ... why was she ... upset?

"Please...I need..."

She was upset because her Sand Prince was done ... he'd cum ... he was finished ... and she hadn't ... hadn't finished. But, there was something more, too.

"What are you doing to me?" Jasmine repeated, a bit more shocked this time.

And that was when Martin realized that it wasn't his Sand Fairy who was speaking to him, looking him in the eye, pleading for an answer to what he was -- or wasn't -- doing to her. It was Jasmine, here on the floor of the apartment ... conscious! ... staring Martin in the eyes as she slowly returned to consciousness!

In an instant, the still panting, still euphoric Martin vanished from view and form. Jasmine fell the several inches to the floor that his manifested thighs had previously filled. They occupied the same space for a moment, causing Martin's already diminishing orgasm to suddenly re-intensify and Jasmine's orgasm -- which hadn't yet arrived -- to manifest with a fury!

Martin stood, unsteadily, and backed away quickly. He considered running, then remembered he was a ghost. She couldn't see him or hear him or anything, so why flee? Despite having returned to his now natural state, Martin continued to feel the power of his double orgasm. He leaned over, placing his hands on his knees as his head swam. Eventually he had to sit, dropping his bare ass onto the glass topped coffee table without any effect from the cold surface.

He looked to Jasmine, and as he watched with interest the last moments of her climax and the long moment of after glow that followed, he wondered whether she'd been conscious long enough to truly understand that there had been a man with her. Will she think it was a dream? ... nightmare? Will she think she's crazy?

He'd never had this happen before, having the woman he was fucking come to while he was still manifested. He didn't understand why it had happened, but it was a concern, of course. He was a ghost. But, of course, there was no such thing as ghosts. What happened if Jasmine realized there was a ghost living in her house? What would happen to him? He had no idea, of course: there was no Ghost Handbook. But something told him that this was a secret he was supposed to keep.

As he continued to watch her, Martin couldn't help but eventually smile. You're concerned with her discovering there's a ghost living in her house? How about a ghost ramming his cock in her pussy?

Jasmine danced along that delicate line between sleep and consciousness, all while edging on an orgasm that was threatening to swallow her whole. The tropical backdrop of the pristine, sandy beach slowly bled away to reveal the dark quarters of her living room -- and the visage of a man between her legs. She shook her head, as her sleep-addled (and inebriated) brain tried to process what was going on; unable (or unwilling) to decipher between dreams and reality. What are you doing to me? Her hips still canting in a desperate rhythm.

Then, it happened -- the floor seemingly fell out from under her, and her climax hit with the speed and force of a Mack truck. She couldn't hold back the scream that tore from her throat, as her body trembled in her orgasm's wake. Her eyes wide, in unfocused abandonment, while her hands held the couch skirt in a white-knuckle grip.

Jesus Christ.

It seemed like forever before she could remember how to breathe. Her chest rising and falling like she had sprinted up the 18 floors to her apartment. She swallowed hard and closed her eyes, while the racing thrum of her pulse echoed in her mind. Soft electric currents, buzzing along her bloodstream.

"Who are you...?" Jasmine faintly whispered, before her head dipped, and her body slumped to the side.

Sleep and euphoria taking her for the second time that night.

*******
The following morning…

Something wasn't right.

Jasmine's eyes cracked open to see her living room rug and coffee table legs -- Wait, what? She sat up in puzzled bewilderment, only to realize too late that her body was having none of it. The room slowly tilting on its axis, while every muscle in her body seemed to scream at her.

She closed her eyes and groaned; pressing her thumbs against closed lids. Jasmine focused on her breathing as she thought back on the previous night: meeting Nikki at the bar, (so many) shots of tequila, a few random moments on the dance floor, sharing a cab ride home...then? She passed out on the floor? She sighed, as her brain seemed to blank on what happened upon returning home.

The brunette slowly opened her eyes, grateful to see the room was somewhat back to its stationary self. However, something caught her eye; movement above...

Oh, what the hell...? Really? Really.

She stared, in exasperated confusion, as her pink lace panties slowly circled about - suspended on one of the blades of her ceiling fan.

Tequila. It was her only explanation.

Jasmine braced herself, as she slowly stood up, testing her sense of equilibrium before braving the first few steps towards her kitchen. This woman needed coffee. STAT.

As she padded her way towards the tiled floor, she was met with yet another sight that made her question last night’s activities — German Chocolate Cake splattered on the floor, right in front of her fridge. Did she raid her fridge before passing out on the floor? She must have. Right? Jasmine proceeded to fill the coffee maker with water, before the very sobering possibility crossed her mind: Did she bring someone home?

She quickly turned around to scan her apartment. “Hello? Anyone else in here?” the brunette asked, the seemingly empty apartment. Jasmine palmed one of her kitchen knives in a concealed, reverse grip, before walking over to her purse to fish out her phone. A series of finger swipes, and she was connected to a ringing line.

“Hello…?” Nikki’s drowsy, hungover voice croaked.

“Morning, Sunshine,” Jasmine greeted. “Sorry, it’s before noon - I’ll make this quick. Did I bring someone home last night?” She continued to look through her bedroom and bathrooms; seeking any evidence of someone, other than herself, being in her apartment. So far, nothing looked out of place.

“No…no, you were alone.” Jasmine could hear rustling on the other line, and pictured her friend sitting up. “Why? Did something happen? Are you alright?”

“No, no. I’m fine,” she answered, while straddling her couch’s arm and coffee table, in a demented balancing act to pull her panties from the ceiling fan’s blade. “Just couldn’t remember what happened last night. Bit of a blur, is all.” Her brows furrowed as she gazed at the panties in her hand, then the cake on the floor. No one would believe her if she told them…she could barely believe it herself. “Wanna grab brunch?”

“Time is it…?” Nikki groaned. “Yeah. Same place?”

“Yeah. In an hour or so?”

“Sounds good. See ya in a bit.”

“Yep, see ya.” She thumbed ‘End’, and bent over to wipe up the cake from the floor.

Jasmine sighed as she focused on her current to-do list: Coffee. Shower. Breakfast.

*******
Later that afternoon…

“You really think this is gonna work?” Jasmine looked at her friend skeptically, as she watched the curvy redhead mill about her apartment with burning sage. A smudge stick the store’s assistant had informed them.

“Sure. I mean, burning sage is something that’s been done since the olden days, to help clear bad juju.” Nikki smiled, at the dubious brunette, “Can’t hurt, right?”

Jasmine shrugged, and continued fanning the smoke out towards the open windows.

During brunch, she confided more details about her nightly experiences. This time, adding how sometimes she could hear a man’s voice speaking to her. Nikki was patient with listening, still fully believing that her friend simply needed to get laid, until Jasmine tentatively admitted, “I think, I saw him last night.” She purposefully withheld the details about her underwear and the half-eaten cake on the floor, though. That would have to be for another conversation, another time.

Nikki’s eyes had gone wide, as she excitedly latched onto that detail. Immediately dropping into “20 questions” mode before exclaiming, “Maybe you have a ghost!” Dropping her voice to a whisper, she continued, “Might even be an incubus, if it’s visiting you for nightly pleasures.”

Jasmine rolled her eyes. “C’mon, Nik. Ghosts aren’t real,” were the last words she spoke before Nikki dragged into her favorite metaphysical store. They spent over an hour browsing an assortment of gemstones and crystals and books covering reincarnation, otherworldly experiences, reading auras, and being one with nature.

And now, here they were, performing a cleansing ceremony, of sorts, to purify her living space and ward off any negative energies. Whether or not it was actually doing anything, was beyond Jasmine.

“I think that about does it,” Nikki brightly said. “And now, for the next part,” she explained, as she pulled out a Ouija Board from her bag.

“Ohhh, no-no-no, hold on now, whoa,” Jasmine eyed the box and her friend warily. “It’s bad enough I let you smoke up my apartment with what smells like really funk weed. We are not playing, crazy spirit talking games.”

Despite Jasmine’s objections, the redhead continued placing the board & planchette on her friend’s small dining table. A daring smile split her face, “Oh, but you said yourself, ‘Ghosts aren’t real.’”

“Nik…”

“C’mon, we did the cleansing ceremony, so anything with ill intentions should be cleared,” Nikki reasoned. “Your building is old as shit. Aren’t you the least bit curious?” Sensing her friend’s apprehension, she continued to explain, “If things get weird, we just need to point the planchette over ‘Goodbye’ to officially close the session.”

“I dunno, about this-” Jasmine started to answer, before Nikki cut her off with her mimicked cry of a chicken.

Bwwaaackk, bock-bock-bock-bock!

“Oh, real mature,” the brunette groused, as she took the seat across from her friend. “Don’t you have to work tonight?” she asked, in an attempt to find an excuse out of this.

“That’s my girl,” Nikki grinned. “Not till later - we’ve got plenty of time.” She kicked her friend’s shin, “Now center yourself. Don’t bring your angry juju to the table.”

Jasmine winced, and glared at the redhead before her, “Nik, for serious, if freaky stuff starts happening, you’re buying me out of my lease. You understand?”

“Yeah, yeah…just place your fingers on the planchette, already,” Nikki ordered. Clearing her throat, she voiced her entreaty to the room, “This is a safe place. Is there a spirit amongst us now?”

Both women’s fingertips rested lightly on the planchette, as they waited for a sign from the other side.