tagErotic HorrorPhantom of Literotica

Phantom of Literotica

byBOSTONFICTIONWRITER©

"Trish, were you on the computer last night?" asked David calling to her from the den.

"No, David, I stayed up watching TV after you went to bed but did not go on the computer. Why?"

"Well, when I went to turn it on this morning, the monitor was already on, yet, again."

"So, you forgot to turn it off last night. So, what? No big deal."

"No, I did not forget to turn the monitor off. Yes, it is a big deal because I made damn sure that it was off after I found it on every night last week."

"Geez, David, I don't know, maybe, I hit the button accidentally when cleaning."

"Since when do you clean after I go to bed?"

"Dave, it's just a stupid monitor, nothing more. Just because you found the monitor on does not mean that the house is haunted. Maybe, it has a faulty switch."

"C'mon, Trish, don't you think this one more thing for the scary weird category?"

"Yeah, kind of, I guess, but I'm not going to get my panties all up in a bunch worrying about it." She felt between her legs. Where are my panties? She looked on the floor by her recliner where they were in a bunch. Hmm, that's strange, she thought, I don't remember removing them last night.

"Do you think," David pocketed his hands and took a step away from the computer, "this house is haunted?"

"Who knows? It could be, if you believe in ghosts but I do not. This is an old house." Trish wiped the sleep from her eyes. "I did some research at the library yesterday about the old man who lived here before us. He lived here for 60 years. His name was Freddie. He lived alone and never left the house. The house stayed empty until a nephew stepped forward, finally, and sold the house last year when we bought it at auction."

She did not tell him that Freddie died in this house of smoke inhalation when a fire consumed his bedroom and the smoke from the fire drifted over to where he was in the den. Firefighters found him dead at his computer with his hands still on the keyboard and the monitor still on.

"Lived alone? Never left the house? What did he do for money?"

"He was a famous writer, a novelist. Many of his books were made into movies."

"So, what did he do with all of his money? He surely did not spend it in home repairs. This old mansion needs a lot of work." David surveyed the great room with a sweep of his eyes looking up at the huge crystal chandelier that needed a good cleaning, at the velvet drapes that drooped down from all the dust, at the marble fireplace that needed sandblasting, and at the huge pipe organ that ran thirty feet from floor to ceiling and that took up the entire back wall of the room. "Maybe, it's hidden in the house, somewhere."

"Dunno, maybe, it is. I'm still sleepy," yawned Trish.

"Didn't you come to bed last night?"

"I fell asleep, again, in the chair watching television but I feel like I was up all night fucking and sucking. My pussy is swollen, my jaw is sore, and my mouth is dry."

"What's that, Honey? I didn't hear what you said."

"I said; I fell asleep in the chair, again."

Trish felt her pussy. She smelled of sex. She must have had a sexy dream and masturbated in her sleep, again, explaining why her panties are on the floor beside her recliner. She wondered which dream it was, maybe the one about the naked, Jamaican cabana boy serving up his big, black cock to her willing mouth as she lay naked on the massage table or the gang of bikers who have their way with her after her car breaks down by the side of the road. She got horny thinking about either dream. It turned her on when a man pushed her back on the bed, tore away her clothes, and took her. She wished David was such a man. She reached down and fingered herself thinking about a gang of five bikers surrounding her in a circle and forcing her to blow all of them one at a time, only David's voice interrupted her thoughts and her pleasure.

"So, finally, it's the weekend, what do you want to do, today?" David walked in the living room sipping a cup of coffee.

"I have to take a shower first, before I do anything," said Trish brushing by him on her way up to the bathroom. "I'm stinky."

She turned the shower water on hot, stepped inside the tub and, before closing the curtain, quickly shaved off the new growth of pubic stubble that invaded her pussy. She liked the feel of it smooth. Her vagina felt so soft and naked to her touch without hair and stubble. Once done, she closed the curtain and soaped her body. She was still tinkling from whatever sexy dream she had last night and her fingers quickly found her G spot. She brought herself to a quick orgasm with the light but fast touch of her clit.

The steam felt good on her cool body. After her shower, she turned the exhaust fan on to defog the bathroom mirror and there, for an instant, was the image of an old (but very handsome) man staring back at her in the mirror.

Instinctively, she grabbed a towel covering her nakedness. The image quickly faded and disappeared as the fan dissipated the fog.

"Geez, that was scary." Trish wrapped the towel tighter around her slim body and wiped the mirror clean of any fog with her hand inspecting it closer. She knew, since the mirror covered a medicine cabinet that it was not a two way mirror. "David is scaring me about this house being haunted. I wish he would stop with the paranormal nonsense. Now, I am imagining ghosts in the mirror."

She thought to tell David but thought better of it. He was already paranoid enough about the house being haunted and would probably want to sell the house if she told him she saw a ghost or imagined she saw a ghost. She loved the house. It had so much charm and character with the hardwood floors, original woodwork, beamed ceilings, and pocket doors. They don't build houses like this anymore. Built in 1915, they were only the 3rd owners. The slate roof will last another hundred years before needing replacing and the carriage house is bigger than the average house. She loved the old stone that covered that surrounded the lower level of the English Tudor style front and the rose garden, once David revived it, with the paved paths was breathtaking. No, David has enough to feed his imagination without her stoking his paranoia.

She finished drying herself, dropped her towel, and plugged the hair dryer in to blow dry her hair. Something, a quick form or shadow caught her peripheral vision and she turned to look behind her. She had an unsettling feeling that there was someone or something in the bathroom with her. The hairs on her arms stood and her nipples became erect.

"Geez, now David has me looking over my shoulder for ghosts."

Still, over the next several days, the oddities that suddenly happened ever since she moved in the house last year invaded her thoughts. She had the habit of folding her panties and bras and could tell that her underwear drawer was disturbed like someone had gone through it but took care trying to put everything back the way it was. She laughed at the thought of David trying on her underwear. Maybe, he is a secret cross-dresser. It would not surprise her if he was; which may explain why he has not been romantically inclined, as of late.

She always had the eerie feeling like she was being watched, especially when she was dressing or undressing, and felt the presence of someone in the room with her even when she was alone in the house. If the house was haunted, it was haunted by a pervert ghost. She laughed to herself. Then, she thought of her dog sometimes looking up at the wall and turning his head from side to side while wagging his tail and barking.

She quickly dressed and did not think any more about the ghost or about the house being haunted, but the paranormal occurrences that never subsided were still at the forefront of her thoughts.

Now, instead of coming up to bed, she routinely fell asleep downstairs in her recliner watching television. She never did that before. Before she moved here, she was always in bed early, by 10 or 10:30pm, the latest, and up early, no later than 5:30am. Now, she fell asleep late and woke up late. A new wrinkle to her nightly routine, she attributed that to sleeping in a new house but, it has been more than a year since they moved in and she should be accustomed to her new surroundings.

Further, she never felt horny like she always did in the past before she moved here, especially the next morning. She chalked it up to the onset of menopause figuring that she had a hormonal imbalance. Time to see the doctor, she thought. Yet, just turning 40-years-old, she thought that she was a little young to be experiencing menopause. She could not remember the last time she had sex with David. Yet, she always felt sexually satisfied somehow when she awoke from her deep slumber the next morning.

She wondered about the monitor being left on and decided to check the Internet history for a clue. Sure enough, there she found an unfamiliar address.

"David?"

"Yeah?"

"Have you been reading erotic stories on Literotica?"

"Literotica? No. Why?"

"Nothing. I just wondered. I, uhm, heard about the site from someone at work and they said that there were some good stories on there."

"Check it out, then. Maybe, if you read some hot stories, you'll be ready to give me some hot sex, tonight."

"Okay," she said, not waiting for or hearing the second half of his response."

She clicked on the address and it brought her to the Bostonfictionwriter page on Literotica. She scrolled through the endless page of stories. There was a new story posted nearly every day going back 30 years to 2007. She clicked open the story dated today, July 3, 2037.

That's weird, she thought. Maybe the ghost is trying to tell me something. She ran downstairs and poured herself a cup of coffee. She saw David out in the garden doing his gardening and knew he'd be out there for a couple of hours. She returned upstairs to the computer and started reading the latest story.

Phantom of Literotica, chapter 33

by Bostonfictionwriter

She fell asleep again in her recliner. I waited until I heard her snore before I quietly approached her. She is so beautiful. She reminds me of my Ellen when she was her age, thirty years ago. Has it been thirty years since Ellen passed? Where does the time go?

I love her blonde hair, hazel eyes, and freckles. I cannot believe she has freckles, too. I am such a sucker for a freckled face woman. She looks Irish. I wonder if she is Irish. I just love Irish women and, her body, how can I not mention the magnificence of her body, first and foremost. She is so very curvaceous. She must have been a dancer because her long, shapely legs hint at what lies beneath her nightgown and her breasts spilling out of her low nightie drives me wild with passion.

Trish put her hand to her mouth blushing as she read the story. Immediately, it hit home and she knew she was reading a story that was written about her, but how? Is this house really haunted and is this the ghost who is haunting this house and who is writing about her? She returned her thoughts back to the story.

Like a faint breeze, I love gently touching her hair and her face, if only I could. Immediately, she responds to the lightest of my imagined touches. Unfortunately, I no longer have the sensation of feeling her body and I miss that. Until, I inject myself inside of her and invade her soul that is the only time that I can feel her being. I so wish I could feel her breasts in my hands and suck her nipples. She has big nipples. Her breasts and nipples are spectacular.

Under the cover of the fog that blankets the bathroom mirror, every morning I get to see her nakedness when she steps from the shower. It seems like I have been dead, forever. I save the thoughts of her naked stepping from the shower when I visit her that night, after her pain-in-the-ass husband has gone to bed. Why she married him, I'll never know. He is such a nerd.

Chills ran the length of her spine and her nipples stuck out like automobile power door locks in the unlocked position. He, for sure, no doubt, was writing about her. She laughed at what he wrote about David. She sipped her coffee before returning her attention to the story, again.

I wish I had not died at my computer. Now, I am doomed to write and submit stories to Literotica for the rest of eternity. Why could I not have died riding the Superman rollercoaster or eating a filet mignon steak or drinking an ice cold ale while sitting at the bar watching the Red Sox win?

Suddenly, she felt sorry for him, for Freddie. Doomed to write erotic stories, forever, she felt his pain. He had been dead now for several years and much of his most recent erotic material, judging by the story titles, were about having ghostly sex with her. She continued reading the story aching to find out what he does to her when she is asleep.

I am naked when I approach her. I take my erect penis and wipe it all over her face. I know she cannot feel it just as I cannot feel it, but the outrageousness of rubbing my penis all over her face makes me feel like I am violating her in the most intimate way without her consent and without her knowledge. It makes me feel like I control her by teasing her sub-conscious passion with my cock.

Once, she is asleep, I lift up her nightgown. She has wonderful thighs. Yes, dancer's legs. Most definitely, she must have been dancer. I imagine her as a ballet dancer dancing for me naked in front of my antique music box as the music plays in the background. Dance for me, my naked ballerina, dance for me.

I imagine her dancing on her toes, her calf muscles bulbous with her steps and her round buttocks are such a firm delight to behold. With her arms raised over her head, she is in the image of a flower, a blooming rose, and her tits are raised up high.

I give her the thought of removing her panties and she reaches up and removes them for me. Her pussy is shaved. I watch her shave her pussy every morning. It is a ritual with her, shaving her pussy before showering. I move my face closer to her pussy wanting to smell her, to lick her, and to taste her. Unfortunately, it is such a mean trick of death that I cannot do anything of those things. She has a beautiful pussy that appears so soft and smooth; I yearn to touch it, to feel it, to finger it, and to savor it.

I cannot resist her charms and I no longer hold back. In an instant, I am one with her. I am inside of her, her soul is my soul and we are together bound in the most intimate of sexual entanglements as I seduce every inch of her human being with my ghostly spirit. I invade her mind with my presence and I know, now, she can feel me and feel my cock, if only as a sensation, a sensational sensation, at that. I fuck her so deeply, deeper than any mortal man can. She arches her back wanting more and more of me, and I give it to her.

She cums again and again.

"Trish, were you on the computer, last night?"

Fucking David, he is such a bore. I'm going to have to do something about him. Perhaps, the thought of a gentle nudge down the cellar stairs will put him off balance, do him in, and allow me to be alone with my beloved, Trish.

She gasped at the thought of David dead and of her alone with the ghost day and night, especially the nights.

That night, as usual, she makes herself comfortable in the recliner after David has gone to bed. She pretends to drift off and, promptly, as the grandfather clock announces the time of 2am, she feels a cold chill raise the hairs on her arms and erect her nipples. She is frozen in her chair feigning sleep. She pretends to snore a little while opening her eyes just a crack, just enough to see his image. She watches as a vapor like mist approaches her. The ghost takes on more of the form of a man the closer he gets.

He is naked and his hand is wrapped around his ghostly erection stroking it as he draws closer. He floats nearer and nearer until he is rubbing his cock all over her face. She opens her eyes and it surprises him. She reaches up and takes his vapor like cock in her hand. He gasps, as she opens her mouth and takes him in, all of him; cock first, as he invades her being.

It has been a year since the accidental and untimely death of David when he tripped and stumbled down the steep cellar stairs landing on, of all things, the tines of an upraised rake. The points punctured his body in several locations. He bled to death within the hour, as Trish sat upstairs in the den reading about the death of David upstairs on the computer.

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