Paranormal Research Club Ch. 01byGPLockwood©
This is the first chapter of a longer multi-part series. Among other things, this chapter features group sex, incest, women forcing themselves upon a reluctant male protagonist, and a dream featuring incestuous impregnation. Future chapters will include supernatural influence that borders on mind-control. There is a sexual focus to this story, but there are plenty of other things going on as well. If you've only got a few minutes for a quick masturbation session before getting ready for work, I would encourage you to come back to this story later when you've got more time. :-)
On page 4, I am sharing the recipe for a very tasty alcoholic drink called Apple Pie. It always goes over well at Halloween and Christmas parties, and as a nice bonus it makes the whole house smell great. Everything else that you might read here should be regarded as strictly a work of erotic fiction. Tools, techniques, and opinions among paranormal investigators vary widely, and those emphasized in this story are not all-inclusive. All sexually-active characters are 18 years of age or older. All rights reserved.
*** CHAPTER I ***
My name is John, and I attend a small, respectable private college in the American Midwest. Most people have no clue that our college has a ghost-hunting club, and the powers-that-be in our obscure little slice of American academia wish to keep it that way. For the sake of maintaining the respectability of our Alma Mater, the "paranormal research club" (as we describe ourselves) isn't listed as an official on-campus organization. Our unofficial faculty adviser, Professor Morrison, is a well-respected authority on 18th century English Romantic poetry, and the author of several widely circulated books on the subject. She possesses enough tenure and seniority at the university that her famous idiosyncrasies and peccadilloes are largely ignored or tolerated by the other faculty members, and she also just happens to be the niece of a former dean as well as the aunt of one of the school's biggest financial contributors. It was unequivocally understood that her eventual retirement would mark the end of any association, official or otherwise, between our university and anything as potentially embarrassing to the academic community as paranormal research. In the meanwhile, however, while other students spend their Friday nights out binge drinking or buried beneath research projects, the seven to ten of us that routinely attend the paranormal club meetings would spend our nights exploring decrepit old buildings with a variety of recording equipment, trying to catch evidence of supernatural activity on tape. We usually have a bunch of fun doing it, and it's really a neat feeling when you catch a recording of something that you can't rationally explain and you get to share it triumphantly with your friends over beer and pizza.
We've never gotten any sort of evidence that couldn't have been faked by an unscrupulous attention-seeker, but most of the people in our club aren't out to convince the rest of the world that ghosts, hauntings, or anything else supernatural really exists. Ghost hunting can be an expensive hobby, even when you make do with relatively inexpensive equipment, but it's a hobby that we enjoy for its own sake. People are pretty much just going to believe what they choose to believe regarding the paranormal, and that's fine with us. We're all pretty good friends, and in reality, our paranormal research gives us an excuse to go around playing in creepy old abandoned buildings and hang out together.
It was Spring Break of last year, and one of the members of the club had spent most of the previous three years trying to persuade us to make the 13 hour trip to do an investigation at the church in southern Vermont where her father had been the pastor for the past 19 years. Erin was a petite, willowy young woman with sparkling green eyes, adorable freckles, and long brown hair. She was a senior this year majoring in Speech Pathology. As a senior, she viewed this year as her last chance to make an investigation of her father's church happen. She told us that her interest in joining our paranormal club had been sparked by an entire childhood surrounded by the mysterious goings-on at that ancient house of prayer.
Erin was a bit of an anomaly in our club. She was deeply religious, and she seldom failed to be at the local church she attended multiple times a week unless she was deathly ill. She wasn't pushy with her religion, but she was a virgin and planned to stay that way until she was married. It was hard to imagine her staying single for long. She was physically attractive, easy going, and she had a cheerful and good-natured personality that frequently lit her face up with a brilliant smile. She was just the sort of woman that any young man that was considering marriage might do well to pursue if the idea of having a large family didn't scare him off. Both my sister and I liked Erin a great deal as a friend.
While organized religion generally tends to be skeptical at best when it comes to paranormal investigators such as ourselves, Erin's father had enthusiastically welcomed the idea of us doing an investigation at his church. Over the phone, he and his wife had told stories of ghostly sounds, smells, objects moving on their own, and sights including full-body apparitions that rivaled the activity reported to occur in some of the most haunted castles in Europe. Lots of people exaggerate what goes on in a haunted house, sometimes because they're frightened and other times because they want attention. Erin assured us that, if anything, her father was downplaying what went on in the old church in an effort to keep his stories from sounding too outrageous and difficult to believe. We had known her long enough and had been on enough investigations with her that none of us doubted her truthfulness.
The fact that Erin could vouch for everyone in our club's character had encouraged her father in his decision to enlist our aid, just as our faith in Erin's word had made us willing to make such a long trip. Her father, David, wished to avoid local notoriety and not earn his church any more of a supernatural reputation than it already had. The fact that we were all from out-of-state and might be able to verify what he and his family routinely saw, without compromising the local reputation of his venerable house of worship, was an absolute godsend from his perspective. He offered to pay for the fuel that our large gas-guzzling van full of people and equipment would need to get there and back. In addition, he and his wife were willing to put us up in his home and feed us home-cooked meals while we were there, so there would be no need to pay for hotel rooms or meals. If Erin's mother, Naomi, was even half the cook that Erin described her as being then it was worth the trip for the food alone. David had generously offered to pay us each for our time, but through Erin we politely declined payment because we never take money from any interested party when we are researching a site. For a bunch of broke college kids with an interest in the paranormal, the whole trip appeared to be a remarkably good deal. It sounded like fun to me, and everyone liked Erin enough that it was no problem getting the club to commit to the investigation, much to her and her parents' joy.
It was the night before we were scheduled to leave for our adventure in Vermont. Steve and Frank, two Industrial Design majors that you could just about always count on being a part of any adventure that the club participated in, were renting an old farmhouse about thirty minutes away from campus. On our investigations, we usually all drove to their house, loaded the equipment that we kept in their garage into a battered old van that we kept parked there, and then everyone rode in the van to wherever we were going to investigate. Their house was a natural staging area, and everyone had agreed to meet at Steve and Frank's abode at 6:30 the next morning, load the van just like we always did, and hit the road at 7:00 sharp. Hopefully we would reach Erin's parents' house between eleven o' clock at night and midnight. Six seasoned investigators had volunteered to go, which would be just enough people to effectively pull off a good investigation of the scope that the old church deserved.
Before going to sleep on the night before we were to leave, I carefully ensured that I had set my alarm clock for 5:30, and as always, I set my cell phone's built in alarm to go off ten minutes later should the primary alarm clock fail. Back when I was enlisted in the Army, I had gotten into the habit of always setting a backup alarm in case my primary alarm stopped working for any reason, and the system had never failed me. I had the large internal-frame hiking rucksack that I used for my personal luggage at the foot of my bed, already packed and ready to go. I had my cargo pants laid out for the next day on my nightstand, the pockets already loaded so that all I had to do was pull the clothing on the next morning. Again, that was a habit I picked up when I was in the Army during those times when I had the luxury of sleeping undressed. I laid out a comfortable t-shirt, a pair of socks, and my favorite insulated vest to make sure I didn't forget it. Even when it's warm outside, it can get chilly when you're ghost hunting at night, and vests are also great for the extra pockets they provide. I've always been a firm believer that you can never have too many pockets. Pulling my soft flannel sheets over myself, I quickly drifted off to sleep.
My dreams that night were both deeply disturbing and extremely erotic at once. In my dream, I was lying naked in the center of a large, circular clearing in a forest of immense and ancient trees. High above me, the stars twinkled and the full moon shone down brightly. The grassy clearing was brightly lit by moonlight and blazing torches, but the light seemed to end abruptly at the tree line, as though it could no longer sustain itself among the twisted and moss-covered branches of the dense woods. I had the distinct feeling that I was here as some sort of sacrificial offering. Strangely, the thought didn't bother me. I didn't think that I was bound, but my arms and legs hardly responded at all to any efforts I made to move them. I couldn't turn my head at all. It was a rather helpless feeling, but not nearly as frightening as it could have been. Lying beneath me, I could feel a naked woman cradling me comfortably against her abdomen and chest, and even though I had no clue who she was, it was still a comforting feeling.
I was surrounded on all sides by a large ring of women that were dancing naked and barefoot on the soft green grass to the sound of discordant pipe music and sensually rhythmic drumbeats. Some of the women I recognized: friends, family members, even professors and classmates from college were among those present. Many other women looked entirely unfamiliar, but most of them looked like ordinary, everyday women that I would not expect to be taking part in the pagan dance that I saw occurring around me. Women of all ages, descriptions, and body types, and all of them completely nude and covered in sweat that glistened and reflected the flickering torchlight were pressing towards me in a tightening ring of dancing flesh, their bodies moving in a manner that seemed to mimic the flickering flames of the burning torches. Something seemed to be driving them and energizing them in a manner that imbued even the least athletic-looking among them with stamina that was sufficient for them to effortlessly exert themselves with tremendous vigor. Slowly, the ring of women began to tighten around me as they danced. Around and around they whirled and cavorted, closer and closer they came until I could hear their breathing and see every detail, every soft body hair, every orifice, and every drop of sultry sweat on the glistening female bodies. My penis stood at full attention, and my heart pounded in my chest.
Lying immobile on the ground, I soon felt hot, sweaty female flesh pressing and writhing against me from all directions, rubbing softly along every part of my body. The woman beneath me was now feverishly grinding her sopping wet vulva against the small of my back, her small, firm breasts rubbing against my shoulder blades from behind. I felt her chest rise and fall as her breathing became heavier, and I could even feel her heartbeat pounding against my back. I wanted to turn to see who she was, but my body refused to obey me. Everywhere I was surrounded by a seething mass of anonymous female flesh, warm, soft, moist, and writhing against me. The air was thick with the smell of incense, clean sweat, and the intense sexual musk of women that were sexually excited far beyond the level of arousal with which normal mortals could ever be familiar.
I have had erotic dreams before, but none have ever been even half as real to me as what I was experiencing at that time. The details of my surroundings were far too vivid, and everything seemed far too concrete for this to be part of any normal dream state. The old test of pinching myself to see if I was awake was impossible, since I could hardly move, but it wasn't necessary. I could feel every detail of everything around me, and I have never had a dream where the sounds, smells, and tactile senses were this acutely influenced by my surroundings. Aside from the bizarre and impossible situation, this seemed to be real in every possible sense of the word.
The crowd of women around me parted slightly to permit a strikingly beautiful woman with shoulder-length blonde hair and a lusciously curvy body enough room to stand above me, and I was mesmerized as she swayed her hips above me, sweat and sexual moisture dripping from her body onto mine as she undulated seductively in time to the music. Her hypnotic movements were beautiful and unhurried, and her motions reminded me of a strange and exotic cross between belly-dancing and some sort of erotic ballet. As she danced, her large breasts jiggled temptingly and beautifully, hinting at their full softness, and the beauty that rested between her soft white thighs promised pleasures that I craved with unspeakable intensity.
I looked up with longing at her beautiful cleft and her perfect buttocks as they swayed above me, but I couldn't move to touch her. Slowly, sensually, hypnotically, she moved her hips lower and lower as she danced to the pulsing drums, until the softness of her neat blonde pubic hair barely brushed and tickled my chest. Her muscular control was almost superhuman. My body demanded sexual release, and I cried out in need and desperation. Still, she was not nearly ready to be done with me yet.
The beautiful stranger lowered herself even more. The beautiful pink petals of her womanhood kissed my chest, and she slid herself slowly along my abdomen and up to my sternum. I felt her vaginal moisture, so plentiful that a trail of it seeped from her and marked everywhere on my chest she touched. Her perfect ass felt warm and firm as she ground her pussy against my chest. With maddening patience, she slowly and rhythmically slid herself incrementally in unhurried undulations towards my face. Soon I could smell her delicious pussy, and inhale the delightful aroma of her arousal. If only she would bring her body closer so that I could lick and taste her! I have always loved orally pleasing a woman, but I had never desired it before so fervently as I did then! Or, alternately, if only she would slide back, mount my painfully hard cock, and grant us both sexual release through intercourse! But, instead, she ground herself against my chest in a gracefully controlled motion, and my arousal was reaching levels where I feared for my crumbling sanity if this were to continue. The girl beneath me was not half as graceful or controlled, and was rubbing herself wildly against my back as though her own need for sexual release were driving her every bit as insane with desire as my own need for sexual release was driving me. I certainly understood her frustration. If only I could roll over and share blissful sexual release with her, whoever she was!
Sliding herself further back to sit on my abdomen, the beautiful stranger leaned forward to kiss me deeply on the mouth. I tasted her sweet kisses, and felt her soft breasts press firmly against my chest. Her perfect ass cheeks softly caressed the top of my penis between them, and her sweet womanhood rubbed against the muscles of my abdomen. I needed release desperately. She smiled at me with benign mockery, as though she were greatly amused by something that she knew and I didn't.
It was with tremendous relief that I eventually felt the soft thighs of another woman straddle me behind the blonde stranger, and the head of my erect cock briefly brushed soft pubic hair and then touched moist, warm vaginal lips. Past the temptress that had cruelly tormented me with such unspeakable need, I saw wavy brown hair and had a brief feeling that there was something familiar about it.
The gorgeous blonde stranger cupped my head in her soft, warm hands and kissed me with a frightening, unnatural passion that spoke of madness and unspeakable need, and I felt her sweet, warm breath and soft blonde hair caress my face as the unseen woman behind her began vigorously fucking me. As I continued to kiss the anonymous blonde woman, her hot wet tongue plundered my mouth and my own tongue responded in kind as our needy lips drank passion from one another. My hand, at last free to move, traveled down to her nether region, and I saw her smile I as she moved her hips to grant me easier access to the most intimate part of her lovely body. Thank heavens! At last I can move, and at last my cock is getting the attention it needs!
As my fingers worked inside of the beautiful stranger's tight wetness, the woman behind her rode me with wild abandon. The beautiful blonde moved her head to kiss my face and my neck, and then slid gracefully off of my body and lay beside me, smiling at me with something like mirthful amusement and chuckling as though she had just played a joke on me that she found intensely amusing. With her no longer blocking my view, I looked up to see the brunette woman that had mercifully mounted me and granted me the promise of sexual release. To my horror, I immediately recognized that the woman who had for several minutes now been relishing the feeling of my throbbing penis buried deep within her silky depths was my own mother!
I was shocked, but far too aroused to stop. She bucked wildly, the soft triangle of her dark brown pubic hair grinding my pelvis and her familiar, beloved face transformed and blazing with uncontrollable lust. Countless female hands from all directions roamed our bodies as the unholy, incestuous union took place. Fluids never intended to meet, the sexual nectar of a mother and her own son, were freely swapped as the head of my manhood ground hard against her cervix. I felt her fingernails gently caress the top of my throbbing shaft as she massaged her clitoris, her tunnel becoming impossibly wetter while our sexual organs furiously slapped together. She pounded herself down upon me, the wet sound of our coupling audible even above the crowd and the din of the insane pipes and drums. I couldn't help myself. My penis had never before been as hard as it now was as my mother forced me back deep into the core of her womanhood, and I rejoiced in every sensual detail of my immoral return to the warm, humid depths of the very womb where I had been created. Every sight, every, sound, every scent, every taste of what I was experiencing was forever burned into my memory. My mother leaned down, her pendulous breasts crushing against my chest as she kissed me in a manner that no mother should ever kiss a son. My heart pounded in my chest like an industrial power-hammer, and my breathing was becoming increasingly rapid as I returned the kiss with equally scandalous passion.