Ghost lover - nsfw (Patreon)

Well, surprise! Here's the full story; I previewed it earlier for the Pixies and Goblins, and folks seemed fairly keen. It's 4k words of fluff and smut, with no pronouns mentioned, though the ghost is able to penetrate our reader... Whether that's shapeshifting ectoplasm or something else, I'll leave up to you. And yes, we do make use of that big mirror. 

I hope you like my take on a friendly, slightly horny, spirit! 

___

“I still don’t see why the place is so cheap,” you muttered to the estate agent as she showed you around. 

Hardwood flooring, slightly weathered and a beautiful dark brown; immaculately painted walls that were a nice unobtrusive creamy colour; a huge bay window in the open-plan living and kitchen area, with more windows on either side to let the clear light of this part of town flood in; a bathroom that was almost wastefully spacious; two bedrooms - two! - and a tiny little nook of a room that was probably supposed to be either a cupboard or a study: the whole apartment was breathtaking, and should have been stratospherically beyond your budget, especially in the historic part of town. 

“Seriously,” you pressed, coming to a halt in the middle of the master bedroom a moment later, “What’s the catch?”

The estate agent looked a little uncomfortable for a moment and said, “Well… It’s nothing anyone can really put their finger on, but… the person who lived here before said they felt… like the place was…”

You bit your lips. “It’s haunted, isn't it?” you said, trying not to laugh. That was ridiculous. Places didn’t go for under half the expected rent just because someone said it was haunted. Did they?

She looked up at the ceiling and then over at the huge mirror that was sitting on the floor in the master bedroom, resting against the wall and facing the only spot where you could put a bed. Interesting… The thing was so big that it apparently came with the apartment, but you didn’t mind. It made the room feel even bigger, for one thing. 

The woman shrugged. “It’s true that that much has been said, but honestly, I’m not sure. There’s no record of anything grizzly happening in the building - no murders or anything -” she said with a slightly spooked laugh. “So I’m not really sure. People just don’t seem to stay, so the owner dropped the price.”

“This close to the university, and in this part of town, I’ll take it,” you said. “Extra roommate or not.”

“Wonderful,” she smiled, shoulders dropping fractionally. Apparently she’d been genuinely worried about you refusing it. As if you’d turn down that acreage of hardwood flooring!

The day you moved in was probably the hottest day of the entire year. It was disgusting. By the third trip back to your battered old car for another groaning cardboard box, perilously held together with peeling selotape, you were dripping with sweat and more than a bit dizzy. 

“Fuck, I’m so thirsty already,” you wheezed as the box slithered from your palms onto the floor and you slouched against the wall for a moment, panting. 

A minute or so later and marginally less winded, you turned, puffing your cheeks out and sighing, and staggered back down the higgledy-piggledy old path to grab another load of boxes and bags. Dumping them behind the others, you straightened and blinked in surprise as your eyes fell on something across the kitchen. The kitchen tap was dripping ever so slowly, but beside the sink on the counter sat a glass full of water. Warily, you looked around. Had someone entered the house while you’d been ferrying belongings back and forth?

“Hello?”

Nothing happened. Of course. Maybe you’d poured it yourself before you got started and had somehow just forgotten? Unlikely. Shrugging, you navigated your self-made labyrinth of bulging bags and disintegrating cardboard boxes, and downed the glass in one, refilling it and sipping the second one more slowly. 

“Thanks,” you smiled. “If there really is a ghost here, at least you’re thoughtful. No peeking on me in the shower though, ok? That’s rude.”

The house groaned softly, like the wooden framework was expanding in the heat, but the timing of it was too much to be coincidental. You fell still and listened, but nothing else happened.

“Is that you?” you asked, and the sash window thunked softly in its casement, as if the wind had rattled it, but the day outside was as airless as the Devil’s armpit. “Alright,” you said, folding your arms. “If you’re there, shut the front door for me…” But it wasn’t as if you actually expected anything to happen. 

A sudden tension filled the room, as if the air had crystallised, and, even as you stared at it, the front door very slowly closed itself and the latch clicked shut. Even if a breeze had nudged it, the latch wouldn’t have gone. You swallowed. 

“Wow,” you hissed under your breath. “Are you the reason that no one stuck around then?”

A single knock, as of a rapped knuckle on a tabletop, rang out through the apartment. 

You swallowed again, throat feeling thick and dry, heart thundering. Distracting yourself, you ran another glass of cold water and sipped it. Then, leaning your bodyweight against the counter, you turned and said slowly, “Ok, I’ve got questions for you. Knock once for yes, and twice for no. Alright?”

After a tiny pause and a slight tingle in the atmosphere, a single knock answered you. Yes.

“Perfect. Are you going to hurt me or try and freak me out while I’m here?”

Two knocks. No. 

“Of course, you could always just be saying that, but let’s say I believe you for now. I won’t go get someone to smoke you out of here with some fancy herbs and words I don’t understand…”

One knock. 

“Was that a thank you?”

Yes.

You laughed. “Ok, stupid question, but are you dead?”

Yes.

“Have you been dead a long time?”

One knock, followed a moment later by two knocks. 

“That a yes or a no? Or both? Yes and no? You haven’t been dead for all that long, but shorter than a long time?”

The house creaked softly, with a gentle, background rumble, as if a heavy truck had gone past. 

“Are you… laughing at me?”

One knock, then two. 

“Maybe?”

Yes. 

“Fuck you,” you laughed good-naturedly. “Well, at least you’ve got a sense of humour. Fuck, I can’t believe I’m talking to a ghost. If this is Charlie pranking me because I said I was moving into a haunted apartment, it’s a good one.”

Silence. 

If it was your best friend pulling a joke on you, it didn’t account for the strange way the air seemed to electrify and make your breath catch in your lungs, and nor did it account for the door and the water. And the way the house creaked so perfectly on cue. 

“Ok… so we should establish some rules. I realise you live here too, but can you agree to stay out of the bathroom?”

Yes.

“And you’re not gonna do something creepy like watch me change or sleep, right?”

No. 

Each of those last knocks had a definitive quality to them that somehow spoke of certainty and an earnest nature. There didn’t seem to be any hesitation or coyness to them; the answers were frank and sincere, instantaneous and given without deliberation. 

After taking another sip of water, you inhaled deeply and asked, “Are you here…? I mean, ‘are you here and I just can’t see you’, or are you more…” you waved your hand vaguely, “More conceptual than that?” The house creaked, but this time it had a wrung-out quality to it. “Sorry, that was too long. Are you here?”

Yes.

“Like… ‘standing right in front of me’ here…?” 

One of the flaps on the cardboard box across the room from you raised itself a little and your heartbeat - which had been gradually slowing again - suddenly rocketed. 

“Holy shit. You’re over there?” you asked, staring at the box. 

Knock. 

“Are you the only one here?” you asked with sudden trepidation. The idea of a house full of ghosts was a great deal freakier than just one roommate. 

Knock. 

“Thank fuck.” Another thought occurred to you after that and you dared to ask, “Are you lonely?”

Silence. 

Knock. 

Something twisted inside you and you set the glass down and stared at the tiled kitchen floor. Real tiles, mind you, and not shitty lino. This place was nice. “Was… Was this your home originally?”

Yes.

“I’m sorry…” you whispered. “Having people constantly tramping in and out of your home…” 

The house sighed. There was no other way to describe it. The tension that you hadn’t noticed was there began to leak out, the old timbers groaning. 

“It’s not ok,” you countered. “I can’t imagine what that must have been like for you.”

A shiver passed down your whole right hand side and you turned to stare at the empty space there. 

“Are you standing right there?” you croaked. 

Your glass moved an inch on the counter. 

“Holy shit…” 

Life with a ghostly roommate was surprisingly normal, given the circumstances. To start with, the entity seemed to keep to themselves, and there was no repeat of the glass of water incident from your first day. In fact, you almost forgot that they were even there after a couple of weeks. The house would always creak when you stepped inside though, and you would smile. “Hello,” you called quietly as you shut the front door of your apartment. 

The first new incident happened one morning when you stumbled out of your bedroom to make a cup of tea, only to find that one had already been made for you and was sitting on the counter top, quietly steaming away. 

“Thanks,” you smiled, looking around, but nothing moved or indicated that the presence was there. 

The building itself was an old Victorian mansion that had been converted in the early twentieth century into a number of flats, and the former gardens of the house had been given to the city and turned into a small park. In the early summer, it was stuffed with students from the university, some lobbing Frisbees around and others lounging in each other’s arms and laps, books and work spread out around them. 

As well as studying at the university, you also worked at a local coffee shop that was a conveniently short walk from your new apartment. Some days it was alright, and other days it was awful. It somehow never failed to surprise you that customers could be so unspeakably rude to another human being over something so trivial as the foam on a cappuccino. And yet, apparently, humanity’s capacity for impatient ire knew no bounds. 

One evening you stumped up to the house with a coffee stain right down your shirt from chin to belly button from someone’s iced latte that hadn’t been coffee-y enough or some bullshit, and as you slid the key into the door, the whole apartment shuddered softly. It felt like a train had gone past, and as you shut the door, the timbre of the shifting beams as they creaked carried a distinctive note of concern. 

“Hey,” you mumbled, dumping your bag in the door and starting to unbutton the previously-white shirt. It would need a decent soak if it had even half a chance of being saved, and it wasn’t as if you had a walk-in closet full of spares. 

You balled up the offending article and tossed it into the plugged sink, sprinkling washing powder in and turning the taps on. While it filled up, you braced your hands on the counter beside it and leaned over, bowing your back slightly and exhaling. “I hate people sometimes,” you grumbled. 

And then you leapt as a hand brushed the bare skin of your lower back. 

Spinning and staring wildly at the empty room behind you, your heart hammered and your chest rose and fell like a spooked wild horse’s. “Was that you?” Your ghost had never tried to touch you before, at least not to your knowledge. 

A single knock, followed by an apologetic rattle of the sash windows gave you your answer. 

“It’s fine,” you said, realising that it was. “Nice, even. I just… wasn't expecting it. You… You can do it again if you’d like to.”

After a soft pause, you felt the air go tight again. It was as if the whole room was holding its breath. 

“Is that because of you?” you asked as you stood now with your back to the sink while it filled, soap bubbles frothing and crackling softly in the churning water. “The room, I mean…”

Yes.

“Does it take effort for you to touch things?”

Pause. Yes.

And then hands were at your hips. You stared down at your own body, your brain struggling to process the fact that you couldn't see anything, but there was the distinct sensation of cool, smooth hands - big ones too - pressing firmly against your hips, two thumbs stroking symmetrical arcs upwards, strong fingers tightening slightly. You exhaled softly, revelling in the feeling of being touched, of being openly desired like this, and let your head tip back. 

One hand moved up your stomach and over your chest, lingering on your collarbones before the other followed and the firm hands took your shoulders and massaged gentle circles down your arms, as if mapping out the shape and strength of your body for themselves. The touch brought goosebumps to your skin in a prickling wave and you watched the hairs rise on your forearms beneath unseen hands. 

The water stopped flowing into the sink and you turned to see that the basin was full, your shirt floating amid the bubbles. “Thanks,” you murmured. “You distracted me.”

The window rattled again, more rapidly this time, and the rumble of the house was distinctively happy. 

A moment later and the touch was back. Everywhere. Your jaw was cupped in large, gentle hands, and suddenly something chilly brushed against your lips. You gasped, and allowed yourself to be kissed. There was no taste, only pressure and sensation, and all of a sudden you felt a body pressing close to your own. 

Gasping, you broke the kiss, dizzy with lust. The presence stepped away and you swayed at the loss of contact. 

“Don’t go…” you begged, but the house fell completely silent. “You still there?” 

No windows rattled, no beams or floorboards creaked. It was as if your ghost had vanished altogether, and the silence of it pressed against your eardrums until you felt your blood buzzing in your ears. You stayed there a long time, but there didn’t seem to be any stirring in the house, no matter how much you hoped. 

You’d never felt so aroused in your life, and went unashamedly to your bedroom, leaving the door open. 

You didn’t even finish undressing properly, simply undoing the waistband of your jeans and sliding your hand down inside. Your arousal was evident, and it didn’t take long for you to start gasping as you lay back on the bed, legs dangling off the bottom, right in front of the mirror. 

You looked up and saw yourself, saw the state of yourself, and bit your lip. A second later, the air turned thick and heavy, pressing in on you. 

“You’re back?” you asked. “Couldn’t stay away once I put on a show, eh?”

The door knocked softly against the wall. 

“You can come in you know…?” you said coyly, one hand still down your jeans. 

A second later, you gasped and your back arched up off the bed as hands splayed across your chest and up your torso to clamp strong fingers around your nipples and twist. 

With a long, low groan, you writhed beneath the attention. The sudden wet sensation of lips and a tongue around your nipple stole your breath and you let out a choked, broken noise. Heat coiled in your belly and your jeans felt too hot and tight all of a sudden. As if responding to your thoughts, the hands slid back down your body and tenderly began to draw your jeans down. You stared, awestruck, at the sight of your clothes apparently taking themselves off, the fabric drawing down your body in a deliberately slow motion. 

You could have said no if you’d wanted.

The presence was giving you time, giving you space to stop it all, but you needed this. 

You stared at your reflection and sank your teeth into your lower lip. You looked debauched already; legs parted, arousal more than obvious, your hand now resting lightly at your hip; waiting. 

“Come back,” you whispered. The curtains blew softly upwards and a weight settled itself between your splayed legs, hands resting on your thighs. “Oh god,” you gasped as a mouth, cool and slick and wet, connected with your body. “Oh god… oh…!” 

You stared, fixated on the sight of yourself in the mirror, reacting to the attentions of the spirit to your body. The sensations became relentless, sending you hurtling towards a blinding orgasm in almost no time. 

“Wait!” you gasped, teetering near the brink as that tongue lapped delicately at you for a moment to give you a break. “I want you…” 

With one last, wet lap, the apparition shifted focus to your entrance and laved around the sensitive skin, making you lurch and moan with the wetness those kisses left there too. 

“Tease…” you chided, and for that your torment was prolonged. “Oh god, please…” you begged brokenly some time later, still oscillating between bliss and over-sensitivity and back again. 

Slick fingers then nudged inside you while the cool wetness of that ghostly mouth continued to pleasure you, and it was almost enough to make you come just from that first, delicious slide. Then those fingers crooked and began to fuck you, matching the rhythm of hand and mouth until you thought you were going to tear apart with lust. 

Your body shook and trembled in waves, and you raised your head weakly to stare into the mirror. It was just you, but you could see yourself, see how you were being fucked open, and all of a sudden, the heat that had been building inside you crashed through you and you came. Your vision whited out and you heaved and cried out, coming around the pressure of those fingers inside you until you could no longer draw breath. 

The air went still again, and you felt the thick pressure inside you fade and dissipate, leaving you alone and achingly empty. Falling back against the bed, you continued to shudder and twitch. “I want you to come inside me next time,” you hissed, heartbeat thudding in your ears. 

It was over a week before the house even moved again. For seven days, you’d opened the front door and called out, but there had been no answering creaks or rattles, no groaning floorboards or rumbling walls. You’d begun to think you’d been hallucinating or that the spirit had left after having its way with you. The thought sparked an aching in your chest that you didn’t care to examine. 

That night however, unable to sleep and fed up with staring at the ceiling, you slid your hand down your body and began to tease yourself half-heartedly. You weren’t sure if you really felt like coming, but maybe it would help you sleep. You hadn’t felt like touching yourself since your ghostly encounter in front of the mirror, and you ached for that cool, ethereal touch. Catching a sensitive spot, you gasped and rocked your head back, repeating the gesture and moaning. 

You nearly missed the way the feeling of the room changed, becoming charged and tense, but when the door knocked back against the wall with a polite little tap, you opened your eyes. Light from the street outside filtered in through the windows in the living room beyond, and on the floor you could see the very faintest outline of what might have been a shadow. “Is that you?” you asked without breaking your rhythm. “You only come out now when I do this?”

Two knocks. No. 

“I missed you.”

One knock. 

“You missed me?”

Yes. 

“You just going to watch or will you help out this time?” you grinned, closing your eyes as you let the coiling tension in your body grow. With a gaze on your body now too, heat began to build beneath your skin. 

A second later, the covers slid back and hands touched your ankles. The ghost kissed and nipped up your leg and sucked a bruise at your hip that made you shout and gasp. The gentle motion of a tongue soothed it almost instantly, and then you felt a hand nudge your legs apart. Fingers teased your entrance and you nodded. A tongue lapped along your sensitive skin and you shuddered, bucking weakly against the sudden wetness. 

It seemed almost too wet, and you slid your fingers down between your legs and felt a slick, viscous fluid, but when you raised your fingers to inspect them in the low light, you found there was nothing there. “Is… Is that… you?”

One knock told you ‘yes’. 

And then something nudged against you that was definitely not fingers. 

“I… ah… I did wonder…” you asked. “Oh god you’re big…” 

The pressure as you were gently, carefully filled was enough to make your head spin. It was almost too much, and you had to gasp out and beg the ghost to wait before pushing further and further inside you. The slick sensation was completely foreign to you, but it eased their way inside you and tingled in a way that only added to the incredible sensations. Apparently having bottomed out inside you, the ghost began to move. Hands teased your chest and toyed with your nipples, kisses and bruises were sucked against your collarbones and up your neck, the scrape of teeth against your skin sent shivers down your spine, and all the while the regular rhythm and pressure inside you took you closer and closer to the edge. 

The tempo quickened, hammering into you, and as you opened your eyes, you thought you saw the faintest outline above you of a figure, but you blinked and it vanished. “You feel so good,” you grunted and as they caught you at a particular angle that made you see stars, you let out another yell, fists gripping the sheets as your spine curled, drawing your head upwards and curling your hips up to let the thrusts get even deeper. 

A second later, the rhythm faltered, and you felt those fingers leave your upper body to focus on your pleasure again, teasing you right to the edge and just nudging you over to tumble down into a rippling, shuddering orgasm. You cried out, desperate to have something to hold, and found one hand gripping yours so tightly you could see the way your skin buckled a little from the strength of it. A moment later, as you clenched hard around the pressure inside you, the thrusting rhythm stalled and a cool liquid gushed inside you. The presence stopped moving altogether.

 Their release, cool and wet, dribbled out of you and down your thighs as the pressure inside you faded, but again when you moved your fingers between your legs, there was nothing there. The sensation of it remained, however, and you let your head hit the pillows again, body drained and empty, yet feeling full and satisfied in a way you hadn’t been in years. 

“You still there?” you whispered. “You don’t have to go.”

A pressure on the mattress beside you made you think of a lover lying there, also naked and spent. With one fumbling hand, you reached across to the space but found nothing. The absence was jarring after the barrage of sensations, but a moment later, fingers threaded through yours and squeezed. 

“Hold me?” you asked. 

A chilly fingertip trailed down from the hollow of your throat, down the centre of your chest to your hips, palm resting there, and a second later, a cool, steady pressure nudged against your entire side. The sensation of a head being settled at your shoulder made something ache inside you. 

“I wish I could hold you back,” you choked. 

The arm that was draped over your waist squeezed and the heavy weight of a thigh came to rest over your own. 

That would more than do for now. “Thank you,” you whispered. 

A single, echoing knock filled the room.

“We’ll have to have some more fun with that mirror some time,” you said, voice slurred as sleep rose up to claim you. 

Knock. 

“You’d like that?”

Yes.

“’Night… Til tomorrow…”

Yes. 

___

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