A Sexual Haunting

Brianna's throat worked, caught between pity and terror. "Wait, what?"

Mark was looking at her worriedly. "Bree, are you all right?"

She held her hands up, trying to fend off his questions and a world which was suddenly moving too quickly. Her Aunt Hazel, on the other hand, had no such qualms. As easily as she would step from one room to another, she moved towards her and let her ghostly body merge with Bree's.

She felt the blood drain from her face, and she swayed in the chair, suddenly nauseated. A pale, clammy hand seemed to reach around her heart, then slowly warmed, heated by her pounding heartbeat.

~Oh, God,~ a voice sighed in her ear. ~To have a body again. And such a fair one. Thank you, Grandniece.~

To her horror, she heard her voice, sounding thick and slurred when it emerged from her lips. "Mark, I'm tired of waiting. Let's go upstairs and fuck."

Mark leaned back in his chair. His eyes, reflecting the flames of the candles on the table, were wide and panicked. "What? No. No way. Bree, what's wrong with you? You sound terrible."

No! Her head rang with the echoes of her silent shout. I won't let you do this to me! She fought her aunt with weapons she didn't even know she had. Caught between opposing forces, her body lurched back and forth in her chair. One moment it tried to rise to its feet. The next it settled back with a thump as one woman or the other gained a momentary advantage.

Mark pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and tried to dial, his fingers shaking. He looked at the screen with disbelief as it refused to follow his commands. Swearing, he jumped up and picked up the land line, finding that completely inoperative as well.

~No electronics.~ Hazel's voice was grimly amused. ~None of the tools or toys you use in this decadent age. Only two people, and their love. And me.~

No! How can you do this? How can you violate me by forcing me against my will? Have you no humanity left?

~But I need to!~ Hazel's voice wailed. ~Please! I don't know how much longer I can stay sane! You have no idea how terrible my existence is. How much I hate it. Please, I just need to make love one time, then I can move on. Would you have me become a spirit of anger and hatred, haunting this house until no one is willing to live here? Until it becomes a tottering wreck, filled with rats and vermin, fit only for a bulldozer?~

Then work with me, not against me, Brianna countered. Do you think I don't care about you? God, Aunt Hazel, you're my own blood! And if you have been watching us, you know how much Mark and I care for each other. We are in love. It was only a matter of time before I decided to give myself to him. I chose tonight. If you hadn't blighted the mood, we'd probably be in his bed right now.

She took a deep breath, ignoring Mark's frantic dithering. If this is what you need to move on, I will help. But you are going to be a passenger in this body. Not its operator.

Hazel wept. It was more than a little scary to hear her sobs of joy in her own mind, knowing they came from a woman who had died in a previous century.

She shook her head, coming back to herself. "Mark," she said softly, then again, louder. "Mark!"

"Brianna? Are you all right?"

She nodded slowly.

"Thank God. You had me so scared. You started talking weird, like you were...possessed or something."

"Or something." She laughed hollowly. "Yeah, that's one way to put it." She swallowed harshly. "Mark, I am possessed. Right now. When I told you the story, I saw Aunt Hazel. Her spirit. Tonight must be her night. And she has chosen me. I know what she needs." She quickly explained the internal battle she had waged, watching Mark's eyes widen with disbelief.

"Honey," he said carefully, as if he were afraid to upset her. "I don't think...I don't think this is a good idea. How about we put you to bed, and in the morning we can take you to see a doctor?"

She stared at him. "You think I'm crazy, don't you?"

"No! All right, maybe," he said, wilting under her glare. "Listen to yourself, Bree," he urged. "Your great-great-aunt is haunting your family because she never got a chance to sleep with her fiance before he got killed in France? It's whacko."

Her lips tightened, but she was forced to admit to herself the truth of his words. It did sound nuts. "Okay," she said. "I'll prove it to you."

His eyebrows rose sceptically. "How?"

She floundered for a moment, then blinked as Hazel whispered to her. "After I left last night, one of the outside cats showed up at the back door. He wanted in. So you opened the door and gave him a bowl of water and some kibble. He seemed to like you, and hung around inside the house. This morning, you got him a litter box and set it up in the mud room by the back door. He's a gray tabby, about two years old, and last night you were calling him Whiskers McCatface." She giggled. "Whiskers McCatface? Seriously, Mark?"

"Yeah, seriously," he said, and hugged her. His arms came tight around her, cutting off her breath. "You scared the crap out of me just now," he whispered in her ear. He backed away, though he still held her wrists in his hands. He looked down to where they touched.

"Are you sure about this? You know how much I love you, Brianna. But if you're right, and Hazel can only...manifest...once every twenty years, all we have to do is wait until morning."

She shook her head, ignoring the scream of anguish in her head. "No. No way. I could never do that to her. I would feel guilty for the rest of my life." She let her hands play with the sash of his bathrobe, slowly undoing the knot. "Are you wearing anything under here?" she teased.

"Yes," he said. He laid a hand over hers, stilling it. "Brianna, I love you. I love you so much my heart hurts. But I don't know if I can make love to you with an audience watching."

She raised up on her toes and kissed him, her mouth working over his lips. "Yes," she breathed, cradling his lovely erection in her hands. "You can.

"Come upstairs. And love me." Catching his hands in hers, she drew him towards the staircase, leading him to the second floor.

"Wait," he said. He gathered a pair of candles and used them to light the way up the stairs. Once they were up to the second floor, he led her to his bedroom.

"Very nice," she remarked, taking in the large bed, the scattered rugs, and the solid dark furniture. "Not a typical bachelor pad."

"No. Not really. So what's it like?" he asked curiously. "Having someone else in your body?"

She shivered. "If I spend too much time thinking about it, I think I'll completely lose my shit. She's not doing much. Just kind of riding along. But she's impatient, Mark. And scared. She wants us to make love to you. She doesn't know how long this opportunity will last."

"Well, then." His lips quirked. "We'll have to make sure we do it right the first time, won't we?"

She smiled, then untied the sash which held his robe closed. Her breath caught as his body came into view. His boxers strained to hold back his erection. She could almost see the fabric pulsing in time to his heartbeat. Above, a thin black stripe of hair led from his groin to his navel, where it faded, only to reappear above his breastbone and around his nipples. His belly was flat, his chest muscles strong and well-defined. At his sides, his fingers twitched, and she knew he was holding himself back from disrobing her only with difficulty.

~Oh,~ Hazel whispered. ~He's beautiful. So much like Jimmy. The black hair, the blue eyes. The strong body. And you look like I did, despite the shameless way you dress.~

Perhaps it's fate, she suggested. Her fingers found the sash of her own robe. Without any fuss, she undid the knot and shrugged the garment off her shoulders, letting it pool at her heels. Her desire caught fire, and he saw an answer in Mark's eyes as he gazed at her.

But that was nothing compared to the bone-deep shock she felt in her own mind. ~Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! You're bald down there!~

No, I'm not, she replied shortly, beginning to grow tired of this unwelcome guest. Women in our times often choose to shave. It's hygienic. And easier to feel pleasure as well, if a man chooses to try.

A sense of blinking confusion filled her. ~Try what?~

Wait and see. "Mark? Are you ready?"

In answer, he clasped her tightly to him, devouring her mouth with all the pent-up passion of weeks of self-denial. His hands strayed down to the curves of her rear, cupping them and drawing her even closer. Her breasts flattened against his chest, her hard, throbbing nipples digging into his hot skin. In turn, his cock was a spear of steely heat against her stomach, making her want to leap into his arms and slowly impale herself on it. She raised and lowered herself on her toes, creating a wonderful sense of friction as the heat of desire bloomed in her groin. Even lower, she could feel the lips of her pussy turning hot and wet and slick, preparing themselves for her lover's touch.

She leaned and shifted her weight, falling onto the bed and dragging Mark with her. She raised her hands over her head, making her breasts pull up high and firm on her chest, and drawing his eyes to them. Knowing what she desired without asking, he bent his head to them, his lips grazing their upper slopes, then kissing the taut flesh of her nipple.

~Oh!~ Hazel gasped as sensation flooded through her body. ~That's wonderful. More, please. More!~

"More," Brianna groaned, writhing under Mark's skillful mouth. How had she ever doubted his touch? "For the love of God, more." His lips fastened on her nipple, his tongue laving it in long, slow strokes. His other hand cupped her breast, his thumb and fingers drawing her nipple higher and higher until she thought she would explode.

Too soon he left her heaving breasts, ignoring her stuttering demands to come back here damn it, I'm enjoying this too much, and slid down her body, dotting her chest and shaking belly with kisses. His eyes, warm and kind and loving, looked up at her as he parted her thighs with his hands. Lolling back on the deep-piled pillows and thick comforter, she smiled in answer to his unspoken question.

"Yes. Do it. It might give poor Aunt Hazel a heart attack, though."

~What is he doing? He can't be thinking about kissing you down there! That's-~

"Wonderful," she finished for her long-dead ancestress as his mouth brushed hesitantly over her damp folds. "Oh, Mark, you're good. So good. Keep it up. No, just a little higher. Yes. Right. There," she said with a moan that was half a shout, as his tongue tasted the throbbing nodule of her clitoris for the first time. "Dance with her, boy. She's not made of glass. She won't break. Oh, fuck yes." Overcome by sensation, she started to slowly hump her groin into his face, which was rapidly becoming coated with her intimate fluids.

Inside her mind, Hazel seemed to be in a state of shock. ~This isn't happening. Decent girls don't do this.~

Then call me indecent, Brianna snapped. This is my body. Come along for the ride, or get out, because I sure as hell don't remember inviting you in. Women do a lot of things they didn't do in 1916. Vote. Have jobs. Get their pussies eaten. Personally, I'm in favor of all of those.

Unaware of the conversation raging a few feet away, Mark was industriously working on her cleft. She cupped her breasts in her hands, squeezing them in time with his licks, until she felt she was going to burst with love and desire. His hands ran up and down her thighs, then held the twin globes of her rear as she pushed up into his face. Her feet thrust against the mattress, until the only parts of her touching the bed were her feet and her shoulders.

Fire burned through her breasts and her loins, and her breath caught as the muscles of her belly and her womb began to tighten. Soon, Aunt Hazel. "Almost there, Mark. You're going to make me come. You're so good, baby. So good. I love you. Love you so much." She squeezed her eyes shut, concentrating on her orgasm, and screamed with pleasure as the crest of passion broke at last, drowning her in a shuddering release.

*****

In the moments following Brianna's climax, Mark allowed himself a moment for smug self-congratulation. Instead, he found his head being pulled up her body by his ears. He grinned down at her, but found his expression freezing as Brianna's face seemed to ripple under his gaze. For an instant, he thought he saw someone else looking out of her eyes.

"Bree?" he asked nervously.

"Yes," she said. Her legs spread under him. "I'm ready, now, Mark. Please. Join with me."

His brow knotted, and he shook his head. "You're not Brianna," he said. "Your voice is different. Let her talk."

"Damn it," she spat. But in seconds Brianna was meeting his eyes.

"It's okay, honey," she said, her voice losing the rustic accent of a woman who had never been exposed to the civilizing influence of the CBC. "She needs this. To be in control when we make love. Don't worry," she said, laying a hand on his cheek. "We have the rest of our lives. She has only this one chance."

"Wait," he said as she began to fade, Hazel's features swimming up like a drowned woman emerging from murky water. "What about birth control?"

"On it since I was sixteen," she said, her voice thick, caught between two opposing forces. "Mom was no fool. Hurry!"

"But what about..." he made a helpless gesture at her groin.

"Damn it, Mark! I broke my hymen playing softball when I was fourteen. And Hazel doesn't have to worry about it anymore." Her hands were frantic as they yanked his boxers down, exposing his shaft. She lay back on the bed. "Quit fucking around and fuck us!"

Unstrung by her desperate pleas, he had to take a second to center himself. He closed his eyes, forcing himself to ignore the madness which had descended on them since the storm broke that evening. Opening them, he saw Brianna. And Hazel. One, a woman he loved with all his heart. The other a woman he pitied with all his soul.

Now.

He kicked off his boxers, then leaned forward, catching himself on his elbows as he nestled into the angle of his lover's spread thighs. He took a moment to kiss her, another to position himself at her opening, then entered Brianna's body in one swift thrust.

If he was worried about hurting his lover, his concerns were in vain. She was tight, yes, but his efforts between her legs had made her more than ready for his entry. Hot and slick as well-oiled skin, she took his length until their groins met, his scrotum slapping against her nether-lips lewdly.

"Oh, Jimmy," she sighed. "I waited so long for this. So long." Her fingers tangled in his hair, drawing him down for a kiss. Her mouth was shy and inexperienced under his, but sweetly loving. He blinked, tears welling in his eyes, as he glimpsed the unending torment Hazel had been forced to endure over the past century.

Whoever you are, you owe her an apology, he thought. "So did I, Hazel," he replied, willing to play along with her fantasy if it gave her soul peace. He slowly pulled out, then pumped into her again, trying to prolong their pleasure.

"Do you think I'm beautiful?" she asked. 鼎ompared to those French girls you saw?"

"There is only you, Hazel," he said. "Only, ever, you." He kissed her, then bent his head to her breasts, trying to give her as much joy as possible in the short space of time they had together.

Too quickly, he felt his balls swell in their sac. His thrusts quickened as instinct took over, his body wanting to deposit its load into its partner. He looked down, intending to apologize, but saw Hazel's eyes widen in surprise.

"Oh, my God! Twice? It can happen twice?" She looked up at him, and now her expression was easy to interpret. It was the look of a woman who had discovered the power of her body at last, and intended to use it to get what she wanted. "Harder," she growled, raising her rear into the air and guiding his hands down until his fingers were curled around her buttocks. She pushed him up until he was kneeling up on the bed, her calves hooked around his waist. Her fingers pinched her nipples, her jaw going slack, her eyes hazy and soft as she went into that place deep inside herself where her own pleasure lay.

"Oh," she said. One hand left her breasts to push down on the mound of her pubis, her palm slowly grinding on the rise of flesh. In the flickering light of the candles, Mark could see Hazel's face flush, her nipples standing hard and turgid. "Oh!" Suddenly his cock was gripped in a muscular vise, the walls of her vagina pulling at his phallus until he spent himself inside her in a burst of mind-blowing pleasure, his cock emptying itself into Hazel until he thought he would collapse on top of her in a helpless, shuddering heap.

He felt soft fingers at his cheek, and looked up to see Hazel smiling up at him. Her expression was one of mingled love and sorrow. "Thank you, Mark," she said. "Take good care of my grandniece."

And with that, she was gone, her presence leaving Brianna's face like the snuffing of a candle. Brianna blinked, her mouth curving in a satisfied smile.

"Well," she said, stretching luxuriously. "That was...nice." She canted a quick, wicked glance at Mark.

"You could feel it?" he asked. "I was worried, with Hazel being on top..."

She laughed, drawing him down for a quick kiss, then settled him at her side. Outside, rain still thrashed against the side of the house, and Mark thought he could hear the faint rattle of hail. The door leading to the walk groaned as a gust of wind hit it.

"No," she said. Her tone reminded him of a cat's contented purr. "I felt it all. It was awesome."

"Well, good," he said, unsure of what else to say. On the far side of the room, the door groaned again, then burst open in a blast of wind and rain, striking the far wall hard enough to rebound with a bang.

"Shit," he said, getting out of bed. He walked over to the door, mindful of the wet, slick floor. Brianna followed him. He stopped as he reached the opening, unable to believe what he was seeing.

A huge, pale ball, fully six feet in diameter, hung in the air, a foot or so above the widow's walk. Bluish-white in color, he could feel the pulsing electrical charge, and his hair stood on end.

"Ball lightning," he whispered, then, "Bree! Stay back!"

Brianna Martin stood at the door, one hand outstretched, heedless of the howling wind, the blasting rain, or the death that hovered only a step or two away. Squinting his eyes against the glare, Mark could dimly see a ghostly form separate from her body. For one moment it paused. Then it hurriedly embraced her grandniece and stepped into the light. Blinking his eyes, Mark thought he could see another, taller form silhouetted in the fractured instant before the ball vanished in a whiff of ozone.

"God damn," he whispered, closing and latching the door. "Bree? Is that what I thought it was?"

Her face, when she turned it up to him, was streaked with rain and tears. "She thought it was. Oh, God, Mark. She was so happy. I thought she was going to burst, she was so full of joy." She came into his arms. "Her prayers were answered. Because of us."

*****

"Well," Cynthia Martin said late the next morning, as Bree and Mark entered her house. She smiled at the two of them, though she gave Bree's rumpled clothes a raised eyebrow. "There goes the mystery about where my daughter spent the night. Though I would have appreciated a phone call."

"We would have called," Brianna replied. "But the power went out. Again. And our cells didn't work either."

"No worries, though," Mark continued. He pulled a pitcher of orange juice out of the fridge and poured himself a glass. "We think we know what was causing the problem.