Ghosts of Fulton House

His body ignored him and he ventured a hand up under his chin and felt for the cock's matching set of balls. What he found was a swollen, dangling sack the size of an orange. As he squeezed it in his hand, he could feel the churning fluid within, bubbling from his oral servicing, "Oh my god, daddy, that's a lot!"

Roland breathed, taking his mouth from the cock long enough to speak and take a good breath before diving back down on it.

The burly voice of his lover grunted in agreement, and then placed a weathered hand on either side of Roland's head. Roland relaxed his throat, allowing his lover to thrust himself into Roland's mouth while his tongue worked the underside of the meaty piston and his hands coaxed the cum from the massive set of balls.

All too soon, the Seamus gasped and gripped Roland's head harder. Globs of viscous syrup erupted from the mushroom tip, seeping down Roland's gullet. He choked and coughed but swallowed all that he could, wanton and happily filled by the thick liquid. It kept coming, pumping gallons of fluid, filling Roland's hunger and then some, he felt the fleshy gonads shrink as they emptied and after an eternity the cum stopped flowing, but when it had, Roland realized that he was alone on his knees, his mouth and hand empty. The man was gone, only his overabundance of semen on Roland's chin and in his mouth and throat remained to remind him that Seamus had been there a moment before. Roland swallowed the rest and then panting shuddered in the darkness, his lust becoming almost appalling to him

Trent watched in the mirror as his cock twitched and jumped, seemingly on its own, yet when he looked down there was the face of a beautiful woman staring up at him as she pumped his rigid member. Wordlessly she stood and turned, hiking her skirt up for him. He looked in the mirror at his solitary reflection and then down at the downy pussy in front of him. He shrugged and pressed his cock into the ghostly gash.

A wave of ice then radiating heat engulfed his cock and the unmistakable wet, velvety texture of a hungry pussy kneaded him as he pumped. Trent thrust into the air or into the slit of a woman, depending on where he looked. To him it was mind altering, confusing his senses with every jab. She moaned and reached back, to spread her cheeks for him, her legs pale as ivory were dripping with her juices and soon Trent could see the visible wetness on the front of his shorts and all along his stick.

Even in the mirror, Trent could see the glistening of his cock and knew that this was more than a hallucination. His balls tightened and he unloaded into his phantom lover, fully sheathed within her. He looked down at her, she was staring back over her shoulder at him with a glint in her eyes that made Trent shudder violently as he spurted. Then she was gone.

When daylight finally crept over the roof of the Fulton house, three disheveled, filthy forms stumbled into the foyer. Each were uneager to explain what had happened and so none did. The silently gathered their equipment.

They loaded the van and sat there in silent reflection of what they had done, all haunted more by their own lust than by the ghosts that had illustrated to them, that these three were every bit as depraved as the Fulton clan. Steph, her body still sticky with syrup, Rolland, the taste of his lover still on his lips, and Trent, whose spent cock still ached in his pants. They rode back home in silence... until they decided to explore other haunted areas, secretly hoping... secretly wishing that they could repeat what had happened that night.