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The harsh winds of the storm rattled the ancient windows; the foreboding-looking house creaked and groaned as if in torment. Eerie sounds, reminiscent of footfalls in the cold, darkened corridors, randomly approached, then retreated. The power was out yet again, and Angie lay in the majestic, four-poster bed watching the candlelight joust with the shadows on the blood-red and midnight-velvet wallpaper. Scratching sounds, monstrous, supernatural claws, or perhaps busy mice within the walls, skittered and scraped from some unseen, unknown locale. The disconcerting feeling of being appraised by an invisible, non-human gaze sent icicles through her veins.A normal person might be scared, laugh at themselves for being childish or foolish, or seek solace under the heavy, down bed covers, chanting “I don’t believe in ghosts.” Regular persons wouldn’t have rented a house rumored to be haunted, but Angie signed the lease before even looking the historic dwelling over. There were two reasons for that. The first one was quite practical; she was buried in medical bills and the rent was incredibly cheap. A part-time burger-flipper could afford it. The second reason was that she had an unusual kink. Ghosts, phantoms, poltergeists, specters—the entire lot of supernatural creatures that go bump in the night—made her cunt tingle.If you had passed her on the street, you might have appreciated her appearance, but you’d never suspect that ghosts made her wet. In fact, Angela looked very typical, attractive and sexy, but typical; she had a bit of an edgy vibe to her with the blond streaks in her medium-brown hair and her shapely, very feminine, sexy body, but nothing that would make you think that she was into using her ücreti elden alan escort Ouija board for dirty talk. If you perused her movie collection or checked her streaming history, you’d think she was a horror fan. You’d never suspect that Angela, who always preferred Angie, collected ghost-themed movies to masturbate over. The five-year lease for an actual haunted house was a dream come true—a wet dream.Lightning lit up the sky, strobing demonic figures onto the wall—the twisted branches of the ancient hickory trees outside warped into malevolent shadows. In her perfect, horror movie setting, Angie smiled, taking a mental inventory of the known spirits said to haunt her home. Nude beneath her luxurious blankets, she caressed supple flesh, igniting her body and lust, and waited. Soon, the violent tempest would reach its climax, shaking the house with torrents of rain and echoing claps of thunder. She’d time her orgasms to match the fury of nature.Maryanne, a promising cello player, beautiful, blond, and pale, died by suicide in the very bedroom Angie lay in. Imagining that she could hear a bow on the strings, she caressed her round, plump breasts, flicking her nipples to the echoes of thunder. Squeezing her breasts harshly, imagined, ghostly hands raised her breasts to her mouth as Angela’s tongue darted out, flicking her swollen nipples. Spectral cello music was rumored to be heard in the house, and it made her breasts swell with horny desire.Angie’s red, talon-like fingernails slowly meandered down her torso, goose pimples erupting on her overheated body in their wake.“Please come fuck me,” she moaned, in desperate ücreti elden alan gaziantep escort need, to the phantoms of the house.Her fingers quickly passed over her cleanly shaven, soaked pussy, and reached her clit as she thought of Maryanne’s lover, Jonathon, and his tragic death in the foyer, mere hours after Maryanne’s passing. Jonathon was a strapping farm boy with pronounced cheekbones, a muscled body, and a huge cock that was evident in the vintage photographs that still hung on the walls.“Fuck my cunt, Jon. Lick my clit, Mary,” she chanted. Their star-crossed lovers’ tale of tragedy didn’t move her; the thought that perhaps actual ghosts may be here, horny after several long decades without physical pleasure, and wanting to fuck her, to feel her warmth and invade her dripping snatch with supernatural thrusts made her wetter than any bumbling human cock or lesbian tryst.Her custom-made dildo, shaped like a Halloween ghost, slammed into her cunt as forcefully as she could muster, eliciting screams that mingled with the peals of thunder, pleas for the ghosts to take her, ravaging her mortal coil. Faster, harder, and deeper she thrust, her sweat-slicked tits heaving, her pussy-drenched thighs flying akimbo as her hips thrust in pleasure. She circled her clit with her manicured nails, finally using the flats of two fingers to rub it into oblivion.“Fuck me, spirits, fuck me, take me, own my body. I need your wraith-like cock; I must feel your incorporeal tongue on my fucking clit.”The entire house heaved under the gale-force winds, shaking and creaking. The storm had reached its pinnacle, and Angie ücreti elden alan gaziantep escort bayan made herself cum, over and over. She screamed in release, profanities echoing off the dark, musty walls. She kicked off her covers, revealing the body she had used as a model to finance her education.“I grant you access,” she begged in invitation. “Please fuck me, please, please, please…” her moaning screams subsided with the storm.Somewhat sated, she calmed down, her primal lust quelled for the moment. Hearing disembodied footsteps and soft whimpering sounds in the ether, she drifted off to sleep without investigating. She’d investigated every odd sound for the first week, finding naught. Her masturbation ritual had been repeated in every room of the house, more than once, to no avail. There were no ghosts, despite the home’s history.She could dream, though; she did just that. In her dreams, the translucent figure of Maryanne played a minuet for her before her cold, phantom fingers fondled her body and her spectral tongue licked her clit into multiple orgasms. In her slumbering mind, the handsome, stout Jonathon was there, perversely smiling while he stroked his huge cock, spewing loads of his ectoplasm over her breasts and face. His ghostly cum was cold, the contrast to her steaming flesh amplifying his supernatural spunk’s chill.For months, it went on like that. Life continued, but the veil of death remained impenetrable. Almost imperceptibly, at first, odd happenings began. The occasional door slammed when nobody else was around. Angie attributed it to hope and an overactive imagination. Things, small at first but growing in size and mass, would be displaced, missing from where she could have sworn she’d put them. Long searches could not discover the missing keys, endless hospital paperwork, or the current novel she was immersed within. However, they’d reappear, either right where they should have been, or in the most unusual places. Angie would have never dropped her car keys into a random coffee mug on the kitchen counter. She never took the hospital bills into the bathroom, so why would they suddenly appear in the claw-foot tub?

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