Monthly story - January - female ghost x gn reader (nsfw) (Patreon)

Apologies for this being up later in the month than I usually like. Long Covid has not been kind to me. Thanks yet again for your feedback on the posts about the future. I'll definitely keep that all in mind with my plans!

Content: world-weary reader takes a long weekend away from the city and goes to a lonely lighthouse, and discovers that it's not quite as lonely as they'd first thought... and after the slight shock, they find they don't object...

NSFW content: reader receives oral sex in the bath from a ghost. No gendered terms are used for genitalia. Consent is established first from both parties. Other sex is implied but not discussed.

Wordcount: 4236

 A wild, invigorating wash of sound rushed into the cramped space of your small hatchback as you opened the door and inhaled the rich, salt-laden air that raced in off the ocean below.

Breakers hurled themselves at the dark rocks, leaving foaming veils of water in each trailing wake as they retreated and, like a veteran fighter drawing in another breath, the sea prepared herself to launch another barrage of spring-strong fury at her coastline.

It was glorious.

After the smog and furore of the city, the ringing rattle of underground trains and the hiss and rumble of busses, the clamour of tourists and the constant tumult of traffic, you now found yourself alone at the edge of the world, with nothing but storm-grey seas and lowering skies. And for company, aside from the skirling seagulls and raging wind in your ears, you had the lighthouse.

Elegant as a sculpture on a pedestal, it stood on the plinth of rock that formed the remote headland, crowned by iron railings painted white around its upper gallery, and with its glass lantern staring blindly out to sea now that its lights had been dimmed with the death of its duty a century before.

Its traditional bands of red and white had been retouched, and the place had been turned into unique accommodation, with its squat little lighthouse keeper’s cottage nestled shyly up to the very foot of the structure, as if for protection and reassurance. That was where you were staying, as sadly, the lighthouse itself was locked. Your long weekend, however, did include a guided trip up the lighthouse the following morning, so you didn’t feel as though you were missing out too much.  

It wasn’t as if you actually wanted to sleep in what was supposedly one of the most haunted lighthouses on the west coast, after all.

There had even been a TV crew who’d stayed the night in the lighthouse itself, and while you’d freaked yourself out a bit by watching clips of their visit on YouTube, you still weren’t sure the whole thing hadn’t just been fabricated for the cameras and their gullible audience.

Your first night in the lighthouse keeper’s cottage passed entirely without incident, unless you counted nearly braining yourself on the low lintel of the doorway into the bedroom. The little kitchen with its gas stove was cosy and warm, and while the elements battered themselves against the glass in the tiny windows of the single-storey building, you curled up in the bedroom with the embers glowing in the log burner on the other side of the room and a luxuriously thick, down duvet to keep you snuggled up all night.

At eleven o’clock the next morning, you stepped outside and latched the front door just as tyres crunched on the gravel driveway, and a large, green pickup truck came to a sedate halt at a polite distance.

The guy who climbed out of it could have been the leading man in a rom-com flick about meeting someone on holiday, and you tried not to stutter as you introduced yourself to him.

“I’m Luke,” he said, shaking your hand with a strong but gentle grip. His palm was rough and you wondered if he was a sailor or something. “Time to show you the view from the top,” he smiled. “You’re good with stairs, right? There’s no lift.”

Luckily, you'd been able to tick the box on the part of the form for the optional tour that said you could handle stairs, and you nodded. “Don’t think I’ll be winning any prizes for my fitness,” you grimaced, “But as long as you don’t laugh at me, I should be ok.”

He did chuckle in response, and as he turned away to open up the lighthouse for you, he began to tell you a bit about this one’s role in the string of lighthouses that adorned the wild, western coast like a string of glowing pearls.

“Talk about a literal beacon of hope,” you muttered around a snatched breath somewhere near the top of the spiralling, metal staircase as he told you about one daring rescue a hundred years ago, where the lighthouse keeper had risked his life to save the crew of a foundering fishing ship in the wildest storm of the century.

Luke made a hum of agreement, and then, not sounding in the least bit puffed after the thirty metre climb, he announced, “Here we are…” and put his hand on the door at the top into the lantern room.

Perhaps it was merely the flicker of a shadow running at the heels of a reflection as the door swung open, but, as its small, glass panel caught the light, an odd, out of place movement almost made you miss your footing as you crested the last curve in the staircase .

You gasped and clutched the iron handrail to your right, and Luke turned to look back over his shoulder.

“You good?” he asked, taking half a step towards you until you waved him off and regained your balance.

“Yeah,” you frowned. “Yeah, just… thought I saw something for a second. It’s nothing.”

Luke’s expression shuttered noticeably, his eyes going carefully neutral, and he just nodded. “Ok. Just watch your step here at the top…”

“Yeah… long way down,” you mumbled, trying not to look down and to your right through the slats in the iron balustrade into the gut-lurching, hundred or so foot drop down the chute-like body of the lighthouse’s interior.

You did look though, and as clear as the sight of your own hand clutched around the rail, you watched a person’s shadow walk across the floor all those feet below you. They moved clearly from one side of the tower towards the front door, which Luke had pulled shut behind you as you’d entered. The shadow must have passed through the door to leave the lighthouse, because no sliver of sunlight danced across the flagstones, and there was no resounding clang as the metal door closed.

A wave of nauseous dizziness sloshed through you and you turned away and practically staggered towards the upper door and into the bright, clear, winter sunlight that flooded in through the glass canopy of the lantern room atop the lighthouse.

“You sure you’re alright?” Luke asked again, crossing to you and even sliding a hand under your elbow in case you swayed or your knees gave out. “You look a bit… shaky.”

“Suppose you’ll laugh at me if I say I thought I saw a ghost…” you said with a half-hearted smile and a little shrug.

There was a pause too long and too pregnant to ignore, and you met Luke’s eye.

“Right?”

He shrugged. “You wouldn’t be the first. Don't worry, she’s harmless.”

“‘She?’” you blurted as you stepped through the door and entered the lantern room proper.

Luke shifted to one side to allow you room, and smiled his little smile. “Yeah, ‘she’. We’re not sure who she was, as there are hardly any records of the families of the lighthouse keepers, who were all men, but all her activity in the grounds has proved she’s kind of friendly.”

“Right…” you said faintly. “What kind of activity?”

“Lights flickering, cold drafts, shadows, glowing orbs, doors opening, a chair in the cottage rocking…” Luke trailed off, realising he must have scared you. “I promise nothing sinister has ever happened. Shit,” he added, scrubbing the stubble along his jaw with his hand. “I didn’t mean… I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s ok,” you laughed, though there was a little harmonic to your voice that rang oddly in the small, glass room. “If you say she’s harmless… I’m only here for a couple of days anyway…”

That night though, when Luke had gone and you found yourself completely alone on the promontory, with no one for company but your own pounding heartbeat and the constant sighing of the sea outside the cottage, you found it hard to settle.

The rest of the lighthouse tour had been amazing, with the views and the history, but when you’d come back to the cottage, you’d looked around and puffed out a tense sigh.

“So…” you’d said to the empty little living room, with its cold wood-burner and the stark, late-winter light pouring in through the tiny windows set into the thick, stone walls. “So, uh… if you’re here, can you… you know… not freak me out?”

The house remained perfectly still and silent, even as the wind whisked the sea to a foaming frenzy outside as the wind picked up and the afternoon ticked round.

Scolding yourself for being silly, you went for a walk along the cliff path, and returned hours later as the winter sun was sinking towards the horizon. With the log-burner now stoked and blazing, you curled up in a chair and all but forgot about the supposed haunting, and the shadow figure, until the sitting room door opened on silent hinges and seemingly of its own accord.

You nearly jumped out of your skin and bit back a screech, but nothing else changed in the room. No sudden plunges in temperature, no flickering lights.

“Fucking hell,” you muttered, levering yourself out of your pretzel-position in the armchair and setting down your book. It was an indulgently smutty book; the kind you reserved for holidays and guaranteed ‘me-time’. You didn’t put it down properly on the table though, and as you stood and turned your back on it, it slid off and plonked onto the colourful rug that went some way to warding off the chill from the flagstone floor. Apparently the building had been Listed for its historical significance, and that meant no changes to upgrade to underfloor heating.

As you returned to your chair, however, you found the book back on the table.

“The fuck?”

The cover opened on its own, and the pages flickered until it remained open at the page you’d left it on. There was enough bounce in the binding that there was no way it would stay open like that of its own accord. Something — or someone — was holding it for you.

“Thank… you?” you whispered, heart pounding. “You, uh… You like spicy books, huh?”

A very faint sound, like the rattling of dry leaves or the shushing wind, washed through the room.

“Are you… laughing?”

The book nudged itself about an inch towards the rim of the table.

“Oi, you’re not the lighthouse keeper’s cat, are you? Don’t you knock that off again just for the fun of it.”

Again, that faint laugh.

“Fuck me,” you hissed, shaking your head. “Am I really having a conversation with a… spirit?”

In the silence that swung through the space in the wake of your question, you heard a single, soft word. “…yes.”

“Ho-ly shit…”

“…no… harm.”

“Well… That’s reassuring… Would you leave if I asked you to?”

For a long moment you thought you weren’t going to get a reply, until one of the light bulbs in a lamp over in the far corner of the room flickered and dimmed a little.

“Of… course.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you puffed the air from your cheeks. “Was it you I saw earlier? Leaving the lighthouse?”

“…Y-Yes…”

A thought occurred to you as the light blinked again. “Is it hard for you to talk to me?”

‘…Y…Yes.’

“I’m sorry. Is there an easier way?” you asked. “I mean… I don’t see a Ouija board or anything, but… we could improvise with a pen and a piece of paper?”

The bulb gave one more weak sputter, but you heard no reply.

Trying out your discount Ouija board idea, you went to the kitchen and dug out a notebook that you'd spotted in a drawer, and wrote in large letters YES and NO, and then took it back into the living room and placed it atop the book, now closed once more.

Using the pen like a dial, you pointed it in between the two scrawled words, and took a deep breath. “Ok, prove I’m not nuts,” you said to the empty room. Was it colder there now? Perhaps there was a draft over to your left? “If you’re really there, move the pen to ‘YES’.”

Something prickled across the back of your neck, like a breath from someone standing too close, but before you could turn to check for some kind of looming shadow, the pen swung around from the neutral centre of the words to point directly at YES.

“Well, that clears that up then,” you said, wondering vaguely whether you should dig out your phone and start recording it. You could make a mint off this on YouTube you supposed. Somehow, it didn't feel right though, so you left your phone where it was and tried a different tack. “Did you used to live here?”

YES

“Are you… male?” you tried.

NO

“…Female?” you asked next, working your way through the possibilities.

YES

“Huh. I’m sorry for assuming,” you said. “Luke did say they thought the haunting was female. Were you… the wife of a previous keeper then?”

NO

The pen moved smoothly, and it was evident that this was a lot easier than trying to make a sound for her.

“Were you a relative?”

YES

“Sister?”

NO

“Daughter?”

YES

“Ok… Can I ask you something dreadfully predictable?”

YES

“Did you die here?”

YES

Given that the answer was a repeat of the previous one, the pen just gave the tiniest twitch.

“How old were you?” you asked, then realised that wasn’t a yes or no question. “I mean… were you a child?” Aside from the obvious tragedy of that, the idea of a child, even a ghost one, reading your smutty book made your skin crawl.

NO

Well, that was a relief, but still… “Teenager?”

NO

“Over twenty?”

YES

“Over thirty?”

NO

The wind left your lungs in a long exhale, and your knees felt a little shaky. “Wow. That’s still really young. Do you mind that they closed the lighthouse and opened it up for guests?”

NO

Now that the shock of speaking with a ghost had worn off a little, you began to relax. It felt strangely like someone had just dropped by for a chat that evening, and you sank back into the armchair. “Is it ok if I sit?”

YES

“Do you show yourself to many of the guests?”

NO

“Why me then?” you asked aloud, not expecting a reply, but the lights flickered and that rasping voice whispered very close to your ear. So close, in fact, that a cold breath brushed across your earlobe.

‘I think you’re cute.’

“You… You think I'm cute?” you sputtered. “Seriously? That’s why you’re talking to me?”

“Y…Yes…”

“Well… fuck me,” you laughed, leaning back in the chair with a chuckle.

‘…If you want.’

You froze. “What?”

She seemed to have run out of energy though because the light bulb in the corner suddenly buzzed, then the glass fractured and exploded, making you cry out and clutch your chest in surprise.

“You still there?” you asked, heartbeat still thudding, but the pen didn’t move, and you didn't feel anything else out of place. When you’d taken a few minutes to compose yourself after everything that had happened, you swept up the glass and found a replacement bulb in the kitchen under the sink. When you’d tested it, you asked her if she was there, but again, you got no answer.

You went to bed that night half-wondering if you’d feel ghostly hands on your body under the covers, and were only a little bit disappointed when you lay back and felt absolutely nothing.

The following day dawned bright and clear, and you took your camera, rucksack, water bottle, and a packed lunch, and headed along the coastal path to see what you could capture of the wildlife. A small gaggle of seals had hauled themselves out onto the rocks to lounge in the winter sunshine, and a comical band of wading birds was scuttling up and down the sand as the tide retreated, doing a complicated tap dance on the glassy patterns of the shoreline.

It was late into the afternoon before you trudged along the sandy, grass-lined footpath back to the lighthouse, and when you came around the headland, your eye went instinctively to the lantern atop the structure. Something misty, like the shadow of a scudding cloud, passed across the glass, and you wondered if it was your lighthouse keeper’s daughter, and what had happened to her. It seemed rude to ask her how she’d died, especially after your artless probing the day before. It occurred to you then that you didn't even know her name.  

It was certainly novel to know that a ghost found you cute though. “If only the living thought the same,” you muttered disconsolately as you ditched your rucksack onto the flagstones and levered off your walking boots in the sheltered stoop of the cottage, before heading towards the little bathroom. The bath was more to warm you up than it was to get you clean, and as you shed your clothes in the bedroom and padded across the chilly, stone floor, you hoped you hadn’t needed to have done something with the boiler before you left in order to get hot water.

Luckily though, despite the cottage being seemingly off-grid, there was more hot water than you could have dreamed of — far more than in your city apartment, that was for sure — and as you filled the antique, copper tub, you watched the steam billow through the room, and wrapped yourself in the laundered, fluffy dressing gown that was hanging on the back of the door.

As the steam collected in a veil over the mirror, your gaze was caught by a flash of light reflecting in the glass where the steam no longer clung, and you realised there was something written there.

Your chest constricted for a moment in genuine fear, but you swallowed it down and went a little closer. The ghost had meant you no harm the previous day, and now it seemed that she was back.

In neat, cursive writing, there was a message for you in the steam.

‘I have no other way to communicate with you, so forgive me. I will not watch you bathe if you say ‘no’. You are quite the most beautiful person I’ve seen in years, and I enjoyed reading your book today too. The bath scene in particular caught my imagination…’

You bit your lip and looked around you, finding nothing but swirling steam in the air. “The bath scene, huh?” you said, cheeks heating, and not from the rapidly-rising temperature in the room. “You’re looking to recreate it?”

The mirror fogged over again, the first message disappearing like some kind of magic ink, before another message began to etch itself across the misty surface.

‘Only if you wish it. I will leave and return to the lighthouse if you wish for solitude.’

You sighed out a little laugh and shook your head. “I came here for that, you know?” you said to the echoing room.

Your voice sounded odd behind the noise of the water plunging into the nearly-full bath, but it couldn’t disguise the longing in your tone.

“I thought… I thought that being in the city… surrounded by people was making me… crazy somehow, but… since coming here and being truly alone, I realised I’m actually more alone in the city.” You smiled as you watched her write something else.

‘Not entirely alone…’

“True. Didn’t expect to find a ghost here, if I’m honest. And not one willing to go down on me in the bath either,” you added with a wild laugh. “If that’s the scene you were referring to.”

‘It was.’

The bubbles were just skimming the overflow outlet in the copper tub, so you turned the taps off and took a deep breath.

“What’s your name?” you asked, glancing back towards the mirror.

‘Giselle’

“Beautiful,” you smiled. “Don’t drown me, Giselle,” you said, and you let the robe fall to the floor as you stood beside the bath.

For a moment, nothing in the room changed, until the faint sensation of hands skimming across your shoulders made your breath catch in your throat. In your ear, that soft, alluring voice whispered, ‘T-Tell me… to stop… if you… change… your mind…’

“I will,” you exhaled as a shudder skittered down the length of your spine and you tilted your head back.

You could feel your body waking up, your arousal stoking as her hands caressed your back and down to your waist, and then as she cupped the curve of your arse in both hands, you felt cool lips press gently against your shoulder blade.

“Oh god,” you murmured, still standing. “That’s… This is the strangest thing that’s ever happened to me…”

‘… good… or should I… —?’ Her hands faltered and trembled against your skin.

“Don’t stop,” you all but begged, and you climbed shakily into the bath before you got too cold. “Giselle, please don’t stop.”

After that, her hands continued to work in silence, first massaging your scalp until you felt so blissed-out you thought you might cry from how good it felt, then gradually down your neck to your collarbones, and to the tense muscles around your neck and shoulders. Then, when she felt you begin to relax fully into the hot water, she pressed her palms against your upper chest, before circling and thumbing her cool touch across your hardening nipples.

You sucked in a breath of surprise, which quickly morphed into a broken groan, and you tried not to slop hot water over the edge of the bath as your body jerked and twitched under your growing arousal.  

Opening eyes you hadn’t noticed rolling shut, you thought you could just about make out a shape in the swirling steam in front of you, and you tried to focus on it. “Is that… you?” you asked, blinking and trying to focus.

‘Yes…’ she replied, and the smile was evident in her warm voice.

For just a heartbeat, her figure crystallised in the steam, but like spun sugar, she dissolved away and her touch returned to your body; lower this time, and with definite intent.

You groaned as she concentrated between your legs and around your hips. “You’re beautiful, Giselle” you sighed, and you were rewarded for your honest compliment with the sensation of lips and a cool tongue pressing against your aching body.

“Oh god…” you said again, arching up a little into her hypnotic touch.

Giselle worked you steadily, determinedly, tenderly, until you were shaking softly in the hot water, your chest heaving. Her hands wandered everywhere, keeping you aroused in all your most sensitive, intimate places, but her mouth never left you, and soon you felt your peak building.

“I’m close,” you warned as your orgasm seemed to bloom and spark from deep inside you. When it hit, it would be like colliding with one of those breakers outside; crashing through you and leaving you weak and drained. “I’m going to —”

‘Come,’ she demanded, and, a few seconds later, your whole body arched and you came with a yell that echoed around the bathroom.

Water sloshed around you, and it was a miracle you hadn’t flooded the bathroom, but when you opened your eyes and tried to catch your breath, you saw her form as if she were straddling you in the bath, her lower half lost in the foam and water, her upper torso bare, her breasts clearly defined by the flowing white nightdress she was wearing. Her hair fell in translucent, white curls around her face, and she was smiling.

“Giselle,” you whispered, raising a hand to touch her face. Instead of feeling her cold skin the way you could feel her hands still on your torso, your fingers brushed through empty mist instead. “Thank you.”

Her perfect lips parted and she sighed around a smile. ‘It has been a long time since I’ve heard my own name. Thank you.’

Her hand extended towards your face and she traced her knuckles around your jawline — clearly the touch only went one way. You felt your own body clench and twitch under the sensation, and her smile broadened.

‘May I come to you again tonight?’

“Yes,” you breathed. “Giselle.”

With a final smile, the ghost dissolved into the fog of the room.

When you came to leave the cottage at the end of your long weekend, you were quite sure you’d never felt so good.

And if Luke noticed anything when he came to meet you on the last day to take the keys back from you, he just smiled, eyes twinkling, and asked if you thought you might come back in the future.

Glancing over your shoulder at the dark windows on the north side of the cottage, you narrowed your eyes and squinted, wondering if that was a reflection from a passing cloud, or a face in the glass.

“You know, I think I just might,” you said with a soft smile.

Perhaps it was just a passing cobweb that just brushed across your cheek on the breeze, but it felt awfully similar to the way she’d caressed your skin with the back of her fingers in bed that morning. 

_

Hope you enjoyed it! I look forward to your comments and reactions, as always.

February's exclusive will be an incubus for Valentine's, but not quite in the way you might expect.

Catch up on my masterlist of Patreon stories here.