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Supernatural Seductions

An Erotic Story

By Kiki Wellington

Copyright © 2012 by Kiki Wellington. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without prior written permission from the author.

Supernatural Seductions is a 13,000 word work of fiction by Kiki Wellington. All names, characters, and events are products of her horndog imagination. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

From the Author:

ADULTS ONLY PLEASE. Supernatural Seductions contains sexually explicit material and adult language. This story is not appropriate for children and may be offensive to some readers.

We were drawn to the house because it was old. We wanted a place with a lot of character and a lot of history. I guess that's what happens when two history geeks get married—they want to make everything in their lives about history in some way. Even their homes.

He's a history professor with a specialty in American politics. I find it boring, but this stuff really turns him on. The history that I enjoy is probably a little less cerebral, but, to me, it’s a lot more fun. I'm an art history professor, so I can give you an interpretation of just about anything ever committed to canvas, but I’d be hard pressed to tell you much about the country’s history. Hell, I can't even name all of the U.S. presidents to be honest.

I suppose that's what makes us a great team. He brings intellectualism to the relationship and I bring my highbrow imagination. But I have to admit, sometimes my imagination does run away with me.

This, I promise you, was not one of those times.


James was a professor at our school that we had known for many years. When he was offered a position at a college in another state, he needed to sell his house right away. Michael and I thought this was a great opportunity to do what we'd always talked about—starting a little bed and breakfast on the outskirts of town. This was all so serendipitous, and the best part was that we'd already seen the house before. James hosted dinner parties for faculty members from time to time, and we always left thinking about what a marvelous house he had and how awesome it would be to buy it from him one day.

But, as our realtor suggested, we did get a closer look—a look that doesn't come from a friend, but from a potential buyer. Although we loved the house, we acknowledged that it needed some work to transform it into our vision of the perfect little B&B, and we still had to make sure that the house wouldn't fall apart under our feet.

We also liked some of the furniture in the house. We told James that we would make an offer for it if he and his wife decided that they needed to travel light. We didn't intend to keep all of it, but some of the pieces were absolutely perfect for our vision of the guest rooms. There was one room in particular that really spoke to me—I guess this is where my artistic nature comes into play. The furniture looked a little old, but it was beautiful.

The furniture I liked the most was in their son’s old room, which they hadn't changed in years, despite the fact that he had died in the first Gulf War. Everyone told them that it wasn't healthy to keep a shrine to their son, especially after all these years, but they just didn't have the heart to throw his things away. They didn't have any other children. They didn't want him to go to war, but there was a passion inside him, a love of country that his academic parents couldn't quite understand. My husband knew it: Michael had served in the National Guard in order to get help with his college tuition. Although he never saw any action, Michael felt a great sense of pride that he was part of something so noble, something so much bigger than himself.

So when my husband saw the framed black-and-white photograph of Jesse hanging in his old room, it was his idea to keep it there and to salvage as much of Jesse's furniture as we could. People like being a part of history, and if they can sleep in the former bedroom of a war hero, Michael felt that it would add an extra layer of charm to our business.

As I looked at Jesse's picture, and I admired him in his uniform and studied his perfectly-chiseled face, completely symmetrical, I had to agree with my husband. Jesse was an attractive young man. If he were still alive, I probably would've asked him to model in one of my nude sculpture classes. I felt bad that James and his wife had lost their son at such a young age. No one should have to go through the heartbreak of burying their own child, barely 24 years of age—especially when he seemed to have such a great future ahead of him.

Yes, having old photographs of a war hero would definitely add a certain level of charm to the house. Little details like these, I imagined, would bring people back to our B&B over and over again.

I had no idea at the time, but that was just the half of it.


The deal was done. The house was ours. I was elated. I couldn't wait for us to move in—even though we were only planning to spend weekends at the house. There was quite a bit of work that needed to be done before we could open, so unfortunately, we were not going to be able to start having guests until the fall. That was okay, though, as Michael reminded me of how many people come to the area after the summer has turned to fall.

And I can't blame them: It's probably the most beautiful time of year when the leaves start turning colors and slowly taking up residence on the ground. Although it could get a little bit nippy out here, people who want to go hiking in the nearby woods could still enjoy themselves without feeling too uncomfortable or cold.

We did a lot of painting those next few weeks. We had plumbers come in and replace the rusting, old pipes. The back porch and the roof needed a bit of work, but luckily Michael's brother is a contractor, so we only had to pay for his materials—we got his time in exchange for a few free weekends with his girlfriend at the bed and breakfast. It certainly wasn't a big deal since we had two other rooms that guests could occupy when Bill and Traci were here. Anyway, it was a bargain that we couldn't afford to refuse.


We finally got to move in. There wasn't a big hurry since we would primarily live at the other house, as it's closer to our school. We had always planned to stay there on nights we were teaching, and then open up the bed and breakfast on weekends and during breaks from school.

I really wanted to add a personal touch to each of the guest rooms. But, before I could do them justice, I had to figure out what was special about them. My husband thought I was crazy, but I insisted that I needed to sleep in each room for a while so I could get a feel for them—then I could add the personal touch that the room was asking for. That's where my artist comes in. Michael thinks in more practical terms, and I wanted everything to be in its perfectly ordered beauty.

So that first night when I was on my artistic mission, my husband slept in the master bedroom alone, and I ventured into one of the guest rooms. It was actually Jesse's old room. I thought it was nearly perfect the way it was, but there was always room for improvement—there always is. We had kept much of Jesse's old furniture and we really wanted to play up the idea that this was the room of a war hero, left in the state it was when he left this world.

I admired his photo whenever I came into the room. My heart ached for him at times, thinking about how much James and his wife loved their son, and how Jesse had everything in the world to look forward to when he was tragically killed in the war.

I fell asleep thinking about Jesse and how our customers would respond to his story. I'm not usually a patriotic person like Michael is, but I did feel a sense of pride being near Jesse's photo, sleeping in the room where he slept in the years leading up to his deployment, and sitting at his desk writing notes—thinking about the notes that our future guests would write and the postcards they would send when they stayed here.

The bed was warm and inviting. I had just bought new bedding for all of the rooms and the sheets and blankets felt clean and soft against my body. The colors were soft and somewhat girlie—something I thought our female guests would appreciate.

It didn't take long for me to drift off. It usually doesn't. You would think that I was narcoleptic; I can fall asleep at the drop of a hat almost anywhere. This is something that tends to annoy Michael, since he drifts into his sleep slowly, and as we lie in bed together, he gets incredibly excited. He doesn’t understand how I can sleep when his cock is standing at attention and pressed up against my body. That's not to say that I won't have sleepy sex with Michael, but he prefers it when I'm more alert and involved.

As I started to fall asleep that night, I could feel the warmth of the bed all around me. I was comforted by the cool breeze that came in through the window above my head. The sounds of nighttime served as my lullaby, as I drifted further and further into sleep.

Then I felt it. It was like a warm wave that caressed the back of my neck. It didn't quite wake me up, but I acknowledged that it was there—like I always do when I feel my husband's breath against my neck as we cuddle. The feeling became heavier and heavier and I began to wonder if my husband actually climbed into bed with me. I reached behind me and, of course, he wasn't there. There was nothing there but sheets, a heavy blanket, and some pillows.

I could still feel it though, and it felt really nice. I didn't mind it so much; I just figured my imagination was running away with me a little bit because I was so tired. That happens to me a lot and when the thoughts start flooding in, there's no telling where they'll go.

I thought it was a dream at first. The slow, deep breathing against my neck continued, and it felt like there were arms around me. I shrugged it off; I figured I was lucid dreaming since I had read about it in a magazine article a couple of weeks ago.

It was soothing. I enjoyed it.

Later I felt a slight tug on the back of my nightgown. I knew I had to be dreaming. There was no way anyone was pulling my nightgown when clearly I was still alone.


"How did you sleep last night?" Michael asked me as he came up behind me and put his arms around my waist while I flipped the omelet.

I really didn't feel like explaining my lucid dreaming episode to him. He thinks I'm crazy enough as it is.

"Oh, it was fine," I said hurriedly, sliding his omelet onto a plate and handing it to him.

"Jeannie, this looks delicious."

"You're my guinea pig; I need to test our menu before we open."

"It seems like you have to test out everything before we open," laughed Michael. I watched his mouth as the fork full of eggs and cheese entered it.

"I want everything to be perfect, you know that. If we're opening up our home to guests, I want them to feel at home too."

"I get that. But is it really necessary for you to sleep in all of the rooms?" He gulped his orange juice and looked at me the way he looks at me when he thinks I'm acting weird.

"Well, it's the little details that are going to make our business special. I want the rooms to tell me what they want. I don't want to just go out and buy a lot of things that aren't right for the house."

"I think we've been married too long," he laughed. "I actually understand what you mean. I suppose that Rembrandt had to go to mass before painting the Sistine Chapel."

I slapped his hand gently, reprimanding him. "How many times do I have to tell you that the Sistine Chapel was painted by Michelangelo?"

"How many times do I have to tell you that Monroe was our fifth president?"

"Touché," I said smiling. I know when I've been outsmarted.

"So, how was it? Sleeping in that room? Did you get any ideas?"

"Some. I have to sleep in all the rooms to know for sure what we need for them."

"I suppose you do," he laughed. "I still missed you last night."

I chomped on my toast, thinking that I needed to buy a new toaster because the bread wasn't evenly cooked. As I went to reach for the butter, Michael intercepted my hand and kissed it gently. We stared into each other's eyes for what seemed like forever. Every day it just felt like I loved him more and more and more and more.

I wondered if maybe Michael had come into the room last night just to make fun of me. I needed to know, but I didn't really want to ask him. At least not directly.

"So, how did you sleep last night? This is a big thing—the first night in our new home."

"It was the weirdest thing, Jeannie; I was out like a light. I slept the way you usually do. It didn't take me long at all to fall asleep, and once I did, I was pretty much a log the rest of the night. At least, until I smelled the culinary masterpiece that you were making for this hungry guinea pig."

That said it all. He didn't climb into bed with me last night. Or, at least, he wasn't admitting to it.

I figured since it wasn't the first time my imagination ran away with me, I shouldn't worry about it.


I slept in the second guest room the next night. From what James told me, that one was hardly ever used. Usually people spent the night there when they were visiting from out of town—like in-laws at Christmas, or old friends from college coming by on Super Bowl weekend to relive old times. This room didn't have a strong personality like Jesse's room did. It wasn't haunted by the ghost of a former occupant. It was just...well...a room.

It was colder that night, so I only slightly cracked the window at first. I usually sleep better when there is a bit of a breeze. I didn't get under the covers right away, I just laid still on the bed, feeling the cold air press against my nightgown. I enjoyed how it felt against my body, especially when the wind circled around my nipples until they got hard and poked up through my clothes. I liked the feeling of air racing up and down my stomach. I often sleep naked for that reason—which drives Michael wild, even though he knows how much it takes to wake me.

I slipped off my nightgown to enjoy the cool air running over my body. Even though it was getting chillier by the minute, I wanted to feel more of it. I got up out of bed and opened the window on the other side of the room, so the wind would blow through and caress me. I laid naked on the bed, enjoying how the cool blanket felt so soft against my back and I rubbed my ass against it to enjoy the coolness of the nighttime air.

I thought about inviting Michael into the room, but I just wanted to experience it alone. I arched my back as the wind tickled my nipples some more and I felt a little excited trickle of wetness develop between my slightly-opened legs.

And then it started: I felt a caress on the side of my neck as if fingers were stroking my skin. I closed my eyes and sighed, thinking about the comfort I felt from the touch I was clearly imagining.

Or was I?

Just as I started to fall asleep, I heard a whisper right in my ear.

"I want you. I want you so bad," said the soft voice of a man in my ear.

There was no way I imagined that. And there was no way it was Michael. The door was closed; I would've seen him if he came into the room. What on earth is going on here? I wondered.

Part of me felt like I should have been afraid. But, I felt so much comfort from the sound of that voice in my ear. It had to be my imagination. I was half asleep after all, so I must have been dreaming.

I rolled over on my stomach and felt the softness of the blanket against my legs, my stomach, and my breasts. Suddenly, I felt a sensation on my leg, running up and down, as if large fingers were caressing me. The fingers massaged me, and moved up my legs until they stopped in the middle of my butt.

Then I heard it again.

"I want you so bad," the voice said more forcefully in my ear.

Hearing that voice again scared me, so I quickly got underneath the covers and pulled them over my head. My heart pounded and I eventually fell asleep.


I slept in the master bedroom the next night, taking a reprieve from my decorating experiment. Although the strange and pleasurable experiences were nothing less than arousing, and kind of hot in a weird way, I missed feeling my husband's chest against my back when I slept nestled beside him. I missed being able to reach out behind me and feel him next to me. I missed feeling his stiff cock pressed against my thighs in the morning. Until Michael and I got together, I wasn't a fan of morning sex. But something about him—the feel of his manhood in the morning and the smell of him—made me want to fuck him senseless most mornings.

Plus, he would soon be going away on a business trip for a while. There was a history conference that professors from all over the country attended, including James, so Michael would be gone for a week with him at the event. Then, the two of them planned to do what they described as "man stuff" for about half a week after the conference. I wasn't worried about that; Michael would be working so hard when the semester started that it was a good idea for him to unwind before then. Plus, there was plenty for me to do here.

We laid in bed that night, and I listened to his breathing getting heavy as he started to fall asleep. He had to wake up early the next day because, as the chair of the department, there was always a lot of work for him to do—whether school was in session or not. I couldn't sleep that night. I couldn’t stop thinking about what happened in the other bedrooms. It was odd, but it felt so good. I didn't know what to make of it. It would be a while before it became clear to me what was going on. All I knew was that I enjoyed the feeling of warmth that surrounded me when those things happened. I felt relaxed and I just let the wave of whatever it was wash over me. I wasn't about to analyze it—at least not yet.

Michael had his arms around my waist and was beginning to snore. I love the sound of his snore. I know that sounds weird, but it's just a beautiful thing when you have someone lying next to you who completely trusts you enough to go into a deep sleep like that. I really enjoyed that. And I like the feel of his hands resting on my stomach. I started to doze off myself, enjoying this feeling of love and peace from being in this beautiful home, lying next to the man that I love, and getting ready to start this new adventure with our bed and breakfast. I couldn't wait until the house was finished, and we could start having guests here. I wanted them to feel as content when they spent the night here as I was feeling at that moment.

Then I started to feel it. It was like a hand resting on my cheek. I could feel fingers running up and down my face like a blind man using the tips of his fingers to figure out what I look like. I knew this wasn't a coincidence, and I knew it wasn't Michael since his hands were resting on my stomach. And it wasn't as though something like this hadn't happened before. It was happening just about every night since we started sleeping at the new house.

Part of me was somewhat nervous. It seemed as though this thing, whatever this was, could come at any time, whenever it wanted to. It felt like an invasion of privacy at times, but I still couldn't help but enjoy it. A lot. I liked being watched. I liked being touched. I just kept my eyes closed as this imaginary hand gently stroked up and down my cheek.

It wasn't long before I got incredibly excited from this touching. It had been a couple of days since I was with my husband, with both of us being so busy and all, so it was about time I did something to fix that.

I started slowly moving my hips against Michael; as I was grinding my hips into his crotch, I could feel his cock start to wake up against one of the cheeks of my ass. He had not completely woken up yet, so I pushed my ass against him more and more. As he woke up, he started to reciprocate, grinding his cock into my ass and moaning softly. I continued rotating my ass against his stiff rod and he massaged my stomach, in circular motions, with both hands. I reached my arm behind my back and started to caress Michael's face, much like the caress that I had been feeling moments ago.

My insides began to ache for Michael, and I could feel myself getting wetter and wetter. I just couldn't wait any longer to have Michael deep inside me. I gently pushed him over so that he was lying on his back. I took off my black nighty, and threw it on the post at the foot of our bed. I climbed on top of him, still in my black lace underwear, and gently moved my hips up and down against his crotch. As I teased his dick slowly, it seemed to get harder and harder as the minutes ticked on.

Although I liked the feel of the lace against my clit as I rubbed my sexy underwear against Michael's throbbing, rock-hard cock, I needed more. I needed a lot more. I quickly removed my panties, and threw them somewhere—God only knows where they ended up—and I stroked my clit against the head of his cock as I leaned over his chest. I kissed up and down the side of Michael's neck and he moaned in my ear. He used his hands to explore my back until he reached my ass and squeezed both my cheeks. My clit and his cock continued to do a slow dance together as they exchanged sensations and juices. I was so wet I couldn't even stand it anymore.

I pushed myself upward and shifted my body until I was mounting him. The breeze felt so good against my body, and his hardness felt so good inside of me. I ground my hips up and down, taking his complete length in and out of me. I thrust my pussy against him, and as I moved his length in and out of me, I could feel the head of his cock brushing against my clit in rhythmic motions.

He closed his eyes and enjoyed my ride. And then it happened. I felt fingers rubbing against my soft nipples. It felt like the caress against my face and my nipples stood up at attention as this strange sensation circled them, around and around and around again. I couldn't control myself. I didn't know what was going on with me, if I was losing my mind or not, but I knew this felt so good. I continued to ride my husband's cock, with wild abandon, as we both moaned and grunted in the hot pleasure of the moment.

The sensation on my tits became even more intense. It cupped my breasts and squeezed them harder and more deliberately, periodically circling and pinching my achingly hard nipples. I knew this couldn't be Michael, his hands were above his head and he was hanging onto the bed post. I didn't know what it was, and I didn't care. I continued to take Michael's cock in and out of me, as he quickly lifted his hips to meet my thrusts.

I leaned backwards slightly, and it felt as if there was a body behind me. I could still feel the warm sensation against my tits and my nipples were being methodically massaged and squeezed. I felt as though I was in a weird ménage à trois, with my husband beneath me and my horny imagination behind me.

I rode Michael's cock quickly and with each thrust, I pushed him deeper and deeper inside of me. My pussy tightened around his rod and he moaned in ecstasy. I felt the wave of orgasm come through me at that same time and I let out a huge gasp.

When we were done, I fell on top of Michael—sweating, panting, and a little bit confused. I ran my hands up his arms to meet his hands. I didn't feel anyone touching me anymore, so again I chalked it up to my overactive artistic brain.

It wasn't long before Michael and I were back where we began, lying on our sides, with Michael's hands around my waist and resting on my stomach. He softly snored in my ear again. I kind of missed the phantom touch against my cheek.

Eventually we were both fast asleep.


I woke up the next day to the smell of bacon. I felt like I was dreaming again, or hallucinating again, because Michael rarely ever cooks. I wandered downstairs to the kitchen, to find my husband in his blue terry cloth bathrobe, standing in front of a frying pan.

"What brought this on?" I asked.

"I wanted to surprise you."

"Awwwww. You're so sweet," I said as I gave him a hug. "Color me surprised."

"I made us a cheese omelet and some bacon. It's almost ready."

"This is a pleasant surprise." I sat at the dining room table to find another pleasant surprise—a glass of orange juice waiting for me. He handed me a plate and sat down across from me.

"That was something last night," he said as he munched on a piece of bacon.

I smiled. "It sure was."

"Usually it's the other way around, with me trying to wake you up to seduce you."

"Well, there's always room for something new," I said as I lifted up my fork and watched a string of cheese expand from the plate. "But not when it comes to cheese. God, cheese is one of my most favorite things in the whole world."

"I know," he said, looking across the table at me and smiling sweetly. I put my hand on top of his and we just looked into each other's eyes for a few seconds, as if we were taking a love break from eating our breakfast.

Then he got a slightly more serious look on his face. "What do you think about the house so far?"

"You know I love it. I can't wait for the B&B to open. I hope the guests enjoy the house as much as I do. Why? Is something wrong?"

"No, nothing's wrong. It's just that there's so much to do to get the house ready to open in the fall. And I have to worry about school. You do too, by the way."

"I can teach intro to art history in my sleep—you know that. I'll be ready for the semester. And the house will be ready too."

"Don't forget, there's a faculty meeting tonight. I was thinking about staying at the other house, so I don't have to make the long drive back here. Do you want to come with me?"

"I'd rather stay here. I just want to keep working on the house, and we need to start thinking about how we're going to market our business."

"Well, you're the artist."

"And you're the muse," I said as I savored the last bite of my breakfast.

Then I remembered there was something else I needed to do to get the house ready. "Hey, when is the next time you're planning to speak to James before the conference?"

"Probably in the next couple of days. Why?"

"Well, I wanted to find out more information about Jesse. To help me finish his room. They've never really talked too much about him to me. Do you know anything?"

"Not really. I think it's been too painful for them to talk about him. I don't think they even spent any time in his room after he died. It seems like they just closed it off and tried to forget about it."

"That's too bad. Do you think they'll talk to me about him?"

"Well, I know that James said he really likes the idea of us honoring their son. I don't think they'll be too tight lipped about it."

"I hope not. I really want the room to feel authentic."

Michael stood up and came toward me with his sweet lips puckered. He firmly placed his mouth on my forehead and made a funny noise that reverberated around my whole face. "I have to jump in the shower now," he said. "I have work to do to get ready for the meeting."


I slept in the last guest room that night. Michael was at the other house, and although I felt a little lonely without him here, I was glad that I was able to spend some time alone. Maybe I could get to the bottom of all those weird feelings I'd been having in this house. I just absorbed the room, thinking about ways I could make it feel like home for our future guests.

I also thought about marketing. After the house was finished, I wanted to take photographs so that we could put them on our website. It was a lot of work, but I was having so much fun. It felt good to realize a dream that Michael and I had talked about for so long. Everything couldn't be about teaching and academia. This was something we could do together that would give us both the opportunity to get out of our heads for a while and just enjoy what was going on around us. There is so much beauty out here in the country. It was so calm, so still; it felt like a Monet painting come to life.

I thought about what kind of art work I would buy for the house, and where I was going to get it. Obviously, this place had to be filled with art. The whole house had become my canvas and, little by little, I was filling up every inch with a piece of my heart.

Even though it was chilly, I opened up all of the windows on the top floor of the house. Coolness and stillness had become a natural part of being here. I loved that. I loved how I could just unwind and enjoy myself here.

I laid on the bed and watched as the thin, light blue curtains swirled around with the breeze that came inside. It felt so good; I just wanted to be naked right then. I took my clothes off and rested my warm body on top of the cool covers, like I had done the other night.

If I'm going to be completely honest with myself, I knew what was coming and I wanted it to happen again. That's part of the reason why I was a little happy that Michael didn't plan on coming back that night. I spoke to him after his meeting, and he sounded so tired—it was probably for the best anyway. But I was more focused on myself, wanting to feel this strange pleasure around me all night long. I didn't know where it came from, but I knew I wanted to feel it covering me again. Every night seemed to bring a new sensation, a new seductive joy, and I wanted to experience it as often as I could.

It wasn't long before I did. I was half asleep, and I felt a little tickle on my toes. I was lying on my back, and I opened one of my eyes to see if I could get a glimpse of whether or not this thing was real. But there wasn't anything there, and yet I felt fingers playing in between each of my toes.

I closed my eyes and smiled. I just wanted to enjoy the moment, and not worry so much about what was there. I felt my legs being caressed gently. Fingers danced up and down both of my legs at the same time. I was at peace and my whole body tingled. I wanted more of this—a whole lot more.

And boy oh boy, did I get it that night.

I felt my legs gently being pried apart and sensations dancing up and down my inner thighs. I moaned. That's when I heard it again. It was that voice—as plain as day and as surely as I'm talking to you right now—and it said "I want you. I really want you." It was a low male voice. I shook my head a little bit in disbelief. I could explain away the feelings, just brush them off as my imagination. But hearing this voice again? I couldn't explain that.

The voice slowly repeated its demands: "I. Want. You."

I guess I should've been scared out of my mind at that point, but in that moment, nothing else mattered but the warm feelings I had. I arched my back and looked at my nipples as they perked up, longing to have someone pinch them, suck them, knead them between horny fingertips. That was my way of saying yes. Whoever you are or whatever you are, I don't care right now. I just want you to take me. I just want you to do to me what you want to do to me.

I sighed and enjoyed the imaginary fingers that slowly caressed my inner thighs. I tilted my head back against my pillow and moaned softly. Then I felt the fingers opening up my pussy lips, exposing me to the still and nippy air in the room. I felt like a Georgia O'Keeffe flower blooming, opening, blossoming in the ecstasy of that exquisite touch. I was wide open for a finger circling the tip of my clit, slowly rubbing me clockwise, and then counterclockwise. I gulped. I couldn't believe what was happening. This was like masturbation on steroids. My vibrators and dildos could do a lot, but they couldn't arouse me quite like this.

The finger started circling around my clit faster and faster and faster. My heart raced. The next thing I knew, there was a thrust inside of me. It felt bigger than a finger. It was like a huge, imaginary dildo that had shocked and awed my pussy walls from the sheer force of its blitz attack. I cried out and writhed beneath its power. I couldn't believe how good it felt. I raised my head slightly just to make sure that there wasn't anything or anyone there with me. There wasn't. It was strange, but I didn't care.

I laid my body back down and enjoyed being fucked like that. I could feel the throbbing, hard imaginary thing being pushed in and out of me, getting deeper and deeper every time it invaded my aching pussy. I started rocking my hips back and forth, into the bed and then into the unknown. My juices poured out of me. My imaginary lover started to tease me, pulling out of me and making me wait restlessly in my wet anticipation. Then it felt like the powerful head of a cock came slightly into me. Just as I pushed myself up to meet the sensation, it would pull out again. A small portion of the hardness would enter me again and then cruelly pull itself out of me. And just when I thought I would explode because I couldn't take it anymore, it slammed all the way into me and I pushed my hips forward to meet the strength of its energy. I watched as the curtains rocked back and forth in the wind, much like my hips. The hard, invisible sensation ground into me deeper and deeper, and with every hard thrust, I felt like I would completely lose my mind in orgasmic pleasure.

As it continued pounding my pussy, I reached down to play with my aching, hot clit. My wetness drizzled through my fingertips as my imaginary lover deeply penetrated me, like a sexual jackhammer trying to tear me open piece by piece. I rubbed my fingers quickly against my clit and I continued to thrust my hips into the chilly night air.

My body shivered as the waves of orgasm shot up from my crotch and pulsated its way to my face. I was flushed, I was wet, and I just had the most intense orgasm I'd ever felt in my life.

I tried not to think about the fact that I was alone, exploring this without the help of any power tools. It was just me and...I didn't know what.

It wouldn't be long before I finally figured it out.


"I appreciate you coming over tonight," I said to James and Janet as I handed them each a glass of wine. I took my place next to Michael at the table, and nibbled on some cheese from the platter of hors d'oeuvres.

"It's funny coming here as a guest," James said.

I laughed. I could imagine how that would be the case.

"How are you settling in to your new home?" Janet asked me.

"We love it, don't we, Michael?" I asked as I smiled at my husband.

"It's going to be great when we open up our bed and breakfast. This has been something we've talked about for years—and I guess a part of me never thought it would actually happen."

"Oh, Michael," I laughed, "It would've happened. We have to retire sometime. But I'm thrilled to be able to start the business in such a beautiful home."

"We're glad to hear that you're enjoying it. We had many happy years here. I hope you do too," said James.

That was the perfect chance to find out what I needed to know. "Funny you should mention that," I said. "It's part of what I wanted to talk to you about—your years here. I'm particularly interested in what Jesse was like. I know Michael told you we want to honor him in his old bedroom, and I wanted to know more about him so that I could do him justice."

Janet stared down at the floor, looking as if she was about to cry. "Until the day I die, I'll never get over it. It's a horrible thing to lose a child."

When I saw how she reacted, I felt bad for asking. I certainly didn't want to rip open any old wounds just for the sake of marketing my B&B. "I'm sorry. I must sound awfully insensitive to you right now."

"No, that's okay," James jumped in, as he grabbed his wife's hand and held it in his lap. "I think it's about time we started celebrating Jesse's life, instead of focusing so much on his death. He was a hero. I want people to know that."

"What was he like? Before the war?"

Janet jumped back into the conversation, as a lone tear trickled passed her cheek, landing on the collar of her blouse. "He was funny. I would talk to Jesse for hours sometimes and would just laugh and laugh and laugh. If I was in a bad mood, he always knew what to say to cheer me up. I always thought he should have been a comedian."

"Remember that time he tried? The open mic night when he was in college?"

"Oh, right, I forgot all about that. It was awful," Janet laughed. "It was like all the funny had been drained out of him that night. I felt so bad for him; he was just horrible."

"What else did he like to do?" I asked, as I poured another glass of wine for everyone. I hoped we could all loosen up and speak freely.

"He was really bright. He loved to read."

"Right. I noticed all of the books in his closet," I told them. "It seemed like he was really interested in philosophy."

"He always wanted to learn new things. He just wanted to know everything he could know about everything. And he wanted to make the world a better place. That's why he joined the military. He really wanted to make a difference in the world."

"His plan, when he was finished with his obligations to the government, was to start his own nonprofit organization. I forgot what he said it was for. Do you remember, Janet?"

"I think it had something to do with children. He loved kids. Jesse and Maggie would've had beautiful children together."

"Maggie?" I asked.

"Yeah, she was his college sweetheart. They weren't engaged yet, but he was planning on asking her to marry him when he got home. Well, you know how that turned out...."

"Whatever happened to Maggie?" I asked, really becoming curious about this woman.

"She moved to another town after Jesse died. But she still writes. We always hear from her on Christmas. She was such a lovely girl. Now she's married and has two children of her own."

What started out as an awkward conversation about a subject that our friends didn't want to talk about turned into an evening of memorial for a war hero who had great plans in life. I had so many ideas for the room. I couldn't wait to go shopping and get everything I needed. It was going to be a piece of history, captured in time, for a wonderful young man with big dreams.


I'm sure, at this point, you have a pretty good idea about what's coming next. I'm afraid that I didn't. Maybe I'm a little dense, or maybe I just don't watch enough of the right movies. But still, it took me a while to put all the pieces together. But not too long.

Michael and James had gone away for their conference and "man stuff". Janet offered to stay in the house with me to keep me company. Maybe she still wanted to reminisce about her son, since that door had finally been opened for her. But I needed time alone. There was a lot of work to do, and although we still had time to do it, there was no room to mess around.

I felt for Jesse. And I wanted to be near him. So I slept in his room again. I wondered what his laugh sounded like, and what kind of jokes he told when he flopped so badly at that open mic night so many years ago. I wondered who his favorite authors were. I wondered what kind of life he would've built for himself with Maggie had he survived the war. This room had to be a testament to all those things. I laid naked in bed that night and jotted down some notes until I dozed off. I figured a small American flag was a must, and maybe some old-time war photographs would help bring the room to life.

At that point I heard a sound that was becoming all too familiar—and welcome.

"I want you," said the voice in my ear. "I really want you."

It felt as though a body was pressed up against me. I was still half asleep and not feeling at all threatened. It was comfortable; it was nice. I enjoyed it. But I still wanted to figure out exactly what was going on. So I asked.

"What is this? What are you?"

I heard the whisper again—those three little words that were beginning to make me wet anytime I heard them coming from that disembodied voice in my ear. "I want you," it said louder, more forcefully.

I felt fingers dancing up and down my stomach. Then they cupped both of my breasts and squeezed. It felt like a thumb was running over my hardening nipples. Even though I wanted to enjoy the seduction, I asked what was going on again. I had to know.

"What are you? What’s going on here?"

At that moment, the bed started shaking. I didn't feel safe and warm there anymore. I felt threatened. I felt scared. I jumped off the bed and reached for my nightgown so that I could get the hell out of that room. Right then, Jesse's photograph fell to the floor, and shards of glass surrounded my feet. I ran from the room, slamming the door behind me. I had finally put the pieces together, and I felt terrified. I didn't know what I was going to do. And I couldn't quite wrap my mind around the fact that I had been having these sensual and erotic encounters with a...



If there was any doubt before that incident that I was dealing with the supernatural, it became clear to me that night. I bolted into the master bedroom, locked the door, and jumped into bed to bury my body under the covers for safety. All night long I heard a pounding on the door. I was shocked, scared out of my mind, and unsure about what to do next. Sure, haunted houses attract a lot of visitors—even those who are willing to spend the night to find out what bumps around after the sun goes down. But what ghost hunters want to be fondled by the paranormal? It wasn't exactly something I could warn them about. They would think I was insane.

I also had a more personal concern: I had to live here, even if it was just on weekends. My husband and I wanted this to be our home. It wasn't just a business proposition for us. It was about our lives.

And now I knew for sure we weren't alone here.

My heart pounded, and the cold air that had comforted me every other night here felt oppressive. I was strangled by fear and the situation felt more and more hopeless as I listened to the thump, thump, thumping at my bedroom door.

I don't think I slept more than an hour that night. As the morning sun made its appearance on the side of the house, the banging on my bedroom door stopped. Maybe Jesse got the point and decided to leave. I mean, other than a few of his belongings that lingered, he had no real ties to this house anymore. His parents were gone. There was no reason for him to want to stay here.

As for those nights, I felt conflicted. I couldn't deny that I enjoyed those feelings; I enjoyed how he pleasured me in the middle of the night. But how could I wrap my mind around the fact that I basically had sex with Jesse? It was beyond weird, and the more I thought about it, the more I thought that maybe I should do something to stop it once and for all.

I have never known much about ghosts or hauntings. I've never had an experience with it and all I really know is what I've seen in movies and on television. But what I did know from those horror movies was that when strange occurrences take place in someone's home, they can get help from a paranormal investigator. So that's what I intended to do.

After I'd gotten dressed and had breakfast, I grabbed my laptop and made myself comfortable on the living room couch. I searched for paranormal investigators and zeroed in on a couple of ghost hunters in my area. I wasn't entirely sure how this worked: Would I have to pay them a big fee? If I did, how on earth was I going to explain that expense to my husband? There was no way I was going to tell him what was going on. He already thinks I'm a kook, and if I told him this, he'd think I was a perverted kook who completely lost touch with reality.

I e-mailed a couple of paranormal investigators after looking at the cases they've taken on. I didn't get into a lot of detail. I just told them that I'd purchased a home and I thought that maybe it was haunted because I was hearing and seeing strange things since I moved in. I didn't know if they'd ever investigated a paranormal case that involved sexual encounters, but I didn't intend to bring that up.

I was surprised when a paranormal investigator called me within a couple of hours. I wanted to get him to the house right away, so that I could get this thing cleared up before Michael came home. He wouldn't be at all happy with any of this.

"Hello, is this Jeannie?"


"Hi, this is Charles. I got your e-mail and I wanted to talk to you about the paranormal activity you've been experiencing."

"Thank you, Charles. I didn't expect to hear from you so soon."

"Luckily you caught me in between cases."

I sighed with relief. He could do whatever it is he does to get this thing straightened out right away; then I could move on and not think about what I did with Jesse.

"You sounded worried in your message. I wanted to make sure that I got in touch with you as soon as I could. Can you tell me more about what's been happening at the house?" he asked me.

"Well, my husband and I bought this house—it's a little bit old—and we're planning on opening a B&B here once I finish decorating and the renovation work gets finished."

"Are you renovating the home completely? You know, oftentimes when you do extensive work on a house, it dredges up spirit activity that may have been dormant in the home for a long time."

"No, it's nothing like that. We had to get some of the plumbing redone, which was taken care of before we moved in. The only thing we really have to finish is some work on the roof and the back porch. My brother-in-law is in construction and he's going to do it soon."

"What kind of activity has been occurring in your house?"

"Well, sometimes I feel like I'm being touched by something when no one's there. I thought it was my imagination running away with me—"

"You're into art, right?"

"Yes. I'm in art history professor and a painter."

"It's been my experience that highly-creative people can think that their homes are haunted because they already have such active imaginations. Most of the time, there are perfectly reasonable explanations for what is going on."

At this point, I began to wonder if getting in touch with a paranormal investigator was such a good idea. He hadn't even met me yet and he already thought I was crazy. "You must think I sound crazy," I said, trying to convince us both that I wasn't.

"No, Jeannie, not at all. I didn't mean it that way. Please, continue," he said reassuringly.

"There have been several times that I felt like someone was touching me. When I'm asleep, I get woken up by the feeling of someone kind of caressing my cheek."

"I see. Anything else?"

Oh boy, was there.

"What was going on didn't really scare me, but I wanted to know more about it. Also, I think I pissed it off last night."

"You didn't use a Ouija board did you? Did you try to challenge it in any way?"

"Well, I asked what it was, you know, like who is this or what is this."

I didn't want to mention Jesse. I didn't want to bring him into it. For all I knew, this had nothing to do with Jesse. He died a war hero, and I didn't want to debase his memory by making it out like he was a horny, pissed off ghost who is spending his afterlife feeling up women.

"All of a sudden, the bed started shaking and I ran out of the room," I continued. "This was in one of the guest rooms. Then when I got to my master bedroom, I locked the door and there was banging on the door pretty much all night. I have to be honest with you, Charles, this scared the hell out of me."

"I'm sure it did, Jeannie. Don't worry. Everything's going to be fine. Would you like for me to come over? I'm busy tomorrow, but the day after I would be happy to drop by and see what's going on."

"Are you going to perform an exorcism?"

Charles laughed. He got that question a lot. "Probably not. That's mostly in the movies. We'll conduct some tests and see if our equipment picks up anything."

"I see. I read about that on your website."

"Yeah, we talk about all of our investigations."

"Does that mean you're going to post information about my house online?"

"Yeah. I believe in transparency in our work. And it also discourages people who are trying to play games with us."

"I don't know what you mean."

"Believe me, I'm not accusing you of anything. I take people at their word. But, I don't like having my time wasted, or my team's time wasted. We have a lot of expensive equipment, we drive all over the state, and we don't charge anyone for our time because we want to help people. But in return, we expect people to be completely honest with us. And frankly, we can't help anyone who isn't."

"I understand. I'm telling you the truth."

"I'm just saying that I've had situations in the past where people have pretended that their businesses were haunted to get some publicity. I won't be fucked with like that, and I have no problem exposing anyone who tries to pull a fast one on me."

"I understand, Charles. I'm telling you the truth. But, I mean, I don't want any negative publicity either. You won't use my address will you?"

"No, not if you don't want me to. I don't know how many of the case studies that you read through, but we only print our clients' name and addresses if they give us permission to. I respect your privacy, and I understand that people can get a bad reputation from being involved in a paranormal investigation. I don't want to hurt you, your family, or your business. But, like I said, if you're lying to me, I'm going to expose that."

"Okay. That's fair. So, what do I need to do?"

"I need to coordinate with my team. I'll call you tomorrow and let you know what time we can get there. I believe you're about a four-hour drive from me, so I'm thinking we can get there in the late afternoon or early evening."

"Okay," I said softly. I was more confused than ever.

"Jeannie, everything's going to be fine. If there's something in your house, we'll help you. Just try to hang in there, okay?"

"I will. Thank you, Charles."

I hung up the phone and just stared at it for the longest time. I wished Michael was home. I would've called him, but I knew he was working at the conference—speeches, symposiums, chicken dinners, the whole lot. I knew he would call me when he was done for the day and while he told me about his work, I would work to make sure that I sounded okay because I couldn't let any of this slip.


That afternoon, I took a much-needed nap. When I woke up, I felt refreshed and I couldn't wait to take a hot shower. Even though there's a bathroom attached to my master bedroom, after I slipped out of my clothes, I felt like wandering around the house a little bit, so I walked down the long hallway to the bathroom that the guests would use. I've always enjoyed being naked—and, of course, seeing other people naked. It felt good to have the frigid air up against me again. And it would feel great to have the warmth of steam in the shower against my exposed skin.

I slid open the glass door of the shower and thought about the last couple of days. As I stepped into the shower, I wondered if maybe I'd been overreacting. Or maybe I was going mad. I didn't want to worry about it anymore—I just wanted to focus on the hot water spraying over my body and how wonderful it felt. I closed my eyes and put my head directly underneath the water, so that I could enjoy it pouring down my face as my wet hair clung to my neck and back.

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