Ghost of a Flea

Then the creature gripped me by the back of my head, and, with a mighty thrust of its hips, its enormous cock began to slip into my mouth. It was slippery and strangely malleable.

With my mouth suddenly full to capacity, I could only breath through my nose in great sucking breaths. My eyes wetted themselves. I struggled to keep my guts under control as the thing began to fuck.

It slipped further and further past the back of my mouth and into the entrance of my throat with each stroke, and though it was hardly halfway in, I had to marvel at how much of it I was able to take.

It made no sense by any science known to man, but I could have sworn that the thing had shoved its cock so far down my throat that the tip of it could have been dipping into the contents of my uneasy stomach.

"Good?" it asked.

I could only nod. As it took my answer as license to probe further into my soft, frail body, it occurred to me that this was the first concern it had shown for anything other than its own gratification.

It had shifted from gripping my head to cradling the back of it in its massive palm. With the other hand, it held me at the small of my back, its hand splayed downward, one fingertip clutching me at my anus.

I took the initiative that it was clearly waiting for, moving my head of my own accord and feeling the long, thick, snakelike appendage slipping back and forth by small amounts in my upper digestive tract.

Such movements demanded much of my strength. I was tiring quickly. Mucus, only some of it mine, oozed from around my lips and down my chin, falling to the floor in great spattered leopard patterns.

"Yes," it grunted, with a glimmer of satisfaction. "I cum now."

And so it did.

Its hips lurched. I felt a muscular surge through its appendage, running all the way from my lips down my throat. I kept my head where it was, simply allowing this to happen to me, trying not to be sick.

My stomach became heavy and full. The amount that the creature had just ejaculated into me must have been commensurate to its size. I could feel my belly straining against my shirt, so distended it was.

With my vantage point, so very close to its bald pubic bone, I could see the muscles flexing in its lower abdomen, no doubt wringing the last of its seed into my warm, wet innards.

Then it withdrew, slowly, and again, I was nearly sick. I drew wet, gasping breaths as the last of its penis left my body. It was soaked and dribbling with more spit than I had known I could produce.

Now that I could see the full size of it again, I knew it was impossible for so much of it to have gone into my body, and yet I knew that it had. I could not fathom how it had happened, yet it had.

I expected the creature to vanish, as though a dream fading upon waking, as was its custom, but it did not. It stood before me, contemplating me. I felt like an insect under a magnifying glass.

Without thinking, I blurted, "Why?"

It contemplated me a moment longer, then it performed its usual vanishing routine. It wasn't as though I'd watched it disappear. It was simply gone, as though I'd looked away and then looked again.

I realized belatedly that, in that last moment, it was somehow shorter than it had been before. It no longer hunched, though my senses had detected no other perceptible indication that its size had changed.

Its appendage, of which I had partaken to a degree that defied the laws of nature, had certainly looked no less intimidating.

By some miracle, I had not soiled my clothes with spit or semen. I started to dress, reckoning that I should compose myself and hurry back before I was missed, but I stopped.

I was still erect, and I was surprised to find that I was feeling quite amorous.

I sat down on the dirt floor, my back against a well-stocked rack of dusty wines that, I had been assured many times, were the best there had ever been, despite them having never been opened.

As my hand swished lazily up and down my shaft, as my stomach sloshed uncomfortably, I set my mind arift.

Usually, I thought of Catherine--her delectable body, her sweetly musical cries--or I would remember furtive experiences with my chums from our days at school, when I was in the beginnings of my boldness.

All I could think of was the feeling of the creature's fingertip against my anus, near as large as a roque ball, pulsating against me as its owner partook of my body.

I slouched. With my free hand, I reached around my round, sagging belly, between my legs and under my balls. I touched myself there, attempting to recreate the sensation.

Allowing my imagination to substitute my hand for the creature's was inflammatory to my pleasure. I took to fingering myself aggressively while I stroked my penis with perfect synchronicity.

My orgasm arrived quickly. Long, thick ropes of semen made wet arrows in the dirt that all pointed more or less away from me.

I sat there among the dust and the wine for a few minutes, trying once more to collect myself. Alas, my erection recovered and stood at attention once more, faster than it had in my entire adult life.

I did it all over again. This time, I imagined my swirling fingertips were the creature's tongue, tasting my anus and balls as it had that day in the alley, which I could suddenly remember with great clarity.

I could not say how many times in total I made myself come before my arousal was satisfied. As I rose to my feet and dressed myself, my penis ached. My balls felt as though they had been turned inside out.

I kicked dirt over the streaks on the floor, gripped a jeroboam with unsteady hands, and tottered back to the house, where criticism of my lateness surely awaited me. The jeroboam felt strangely light.

I was no longer sick. In fact, I felt a sense of incredible nourishment. Somehow, I would have to explain to them, as the feast was being laid out on the table, that I wasn't hungry.

VI

A few nights later, while Catherine and I played atop the covers of our bed, our window flung open as usual to the nighttime air and pale light of the moon, I advanced a hesitant question.

We were sitting upright. She was jerking my cock ferociously with one hand, playfully massaging my balls with the other. In between sloppy kisses, we panted and whispered sweet, filthy nothings.

At one point, I asked her, "Darling, would you finger my pisshole?"

She stopped what she was doing and looked at me quizzically. For a moment, I thought I'd offended her. I should have thought better of her tastes, because she touched the end of me with her little finger.

"Here?" she asked.

I nodded. "Some spit, if you please."

Graciously, she made an unwholesome sound in the back of her throat, hunched over, and deposited a thick glob of spit onto the opening of my urethra. Then she drew upright once more.

Locking eyes with me, she touched me there again, with her little finger. She began making tight circles there, pressing firmly into me. Aided by the film of her spit, she made her way inside just a little.

But then, no matter how much harder she pressed, her finger would go in no further. I kept nodding, impelling her to use more force, and she obeyed until it began to hurt. But her finger would not go in.

"Perhaps with some sort of implement?" she said, her enthusiasm undimished.

My enthusiasm, however, had diminished. I'd become frustrated in a way that I'd never been before, not since we'd first agreed to open our minds and our bodies to each other's requests without judgement.

Why, I asked myself, could I be penetrated there with such ease with the creature, but not with Kate, with whom it felt so much more safe to undertake such an experiment? Why on Earth was it not working?

I became cross with her, and she became cross in return, and though we still slept naked atop the covers as we invariably did, she rolled away so that her back was turned to me.

I stared at the back of her head, angry with her, angry with myself, filled with sorrow, but too stubborn to express it. I couldn't explain it, but my mood was so unbelievably foul. I felt like an angry child.

Then I, too, rolled so that my back was turned to her. And there, standing by the bed, looming over me, was the creature.

Still angry, I hissed voicelessly, "Not here! We mustn't wake Catherine!"

The creature stared at me, its expression stony, and did not move to vacate.

"I mean it!" I said.

I struggled in vain to say "You will not have me in this bedchamber." In my anger, I was inarticulate.

Even so, the creature said, "I will have you where I please."

I glanced over my shoulder. Catherine had not moved, had not registered the intrusion. Her only activity was the steady rise and fall of her torso, the normal business of a deep slumber.

Such a heavy sleeper. Thank God.

The creature reached out and lifted my body as one lifts an infant from the cradle, positioning me how it saw fit. I did my best to let my body hang limp, so as to avoid injury during its manipulations.

It deposited me roughly on the bed, on my elbows and knees, facing away from it. My face was near the back of Catherine's head. I watched her obsessively for signs of stirring, finding none.

I felt the creature grip me around the waist. Despite the thickness of my torso, it was able to encircle me completely with the fingers of its two hands. Its claws dug into my soft belly, but did not cut me.

Then there was a familiar sensation, the thing's long, snakelike tongue stroking my exposed asshole, depositing its copious spit upon me there, pushing its way past its taught musculature only a little.

And there, its tongue stayed, not probing, not invading me or tasting me further, but remaining at this shallow depth, swirling and pulsing like an excited heartbeat. I felt myself becoming very warm and wet.

What was the game? I wondered. In its own fashion, it felt good, but it was lending me a feeling of being loose and slimy, an unlovely sensation to feel in one's hindquarters during sexual congress.

Then I felt what could only be the end of the creature's cock, pressing against the pliant musculature of my asshole, and then I understood. Hands squeezed my waist. The creature slid in easily.

The entry wasn't painful. It wasn't all that uncomfortable. It was strange, like the feeling of fullness of needing to relieve oneself, but without the urgency.

I daresay, that fullness was even pleasurable, not unlike the times Catherine had pleasured me there with the convenience of her small, childlike hands. But this was altogether different, altogether... more.

As ever, the initial feeling was belied by the fact that there was so much of the creature to take. It kept going, and I indeed felt discomfort as the end of its cock reached the limits of my insides.

True to my experience of it, of course I felt the thing inside my body change shape to accommodate as much of itself to its container as possible. The sense of it slithering inside me made me queasy.

Involuntarily, I began to pull away, forgetting to care if I woke Catherine or not. I found that the creature had so bulked itself up, just inside my anus, that I could not get it to remove itself.

I heard a choking sound that might have been laughter. If it had been laughter, it was an uncaring sort of laugh. It commenced to fucking me in short, hard strokes that kept my soft body deeply impaled.

My belly and my hardened prick swayed beneath me, buffeted by the strength of the creature's movements. Combined with the queasiness, I was feeling a strange sort of pleasure that emanated through my guts.

Its enormous, bulged knob of a cock was rubbing me inside with such a specificity that I found myself craving more. Though my cock and balls were receiving no contact, they nevertheless throbbed and tightened.

I realized I was sweating and heaving in great, halting grunts, and that my slumbering wife would surely awaken at any moment, whether by my guttural sounds or through the swaying of my body upon the bed.

By some great fortune, she was not stirring. I decided to abandon the worry and give myself over to this feeling in my body, and to allow the creature to have its full way, if only to be rid of it sooner.

I could tell by the creature's own woody huffing, and by its intensified pace, that it must have been close to ejaculation.

To my surprise, I got there first. A pleasantly hot sensation, which I was powerless to stop, overtook my middle. From my swirling penis, an unbroken strand of semen shook loose in great rings on the bedding.

I was accustomed to peaking quickly and descending soon thereafter, but this orgasm was different, a pulse that spread outward from my ass to my cock, my fingertips, my eardrums. It did not stop, or even slow.

My nerves seemed to be overtaken with endless, lovely fire, maddening my mind, and it was in this fugue of arrested bliss that I vaguely registered the pumping of semen of impossible quantities into my body.

I collapsed, utterly exhausted, the orgasm fading to an insistent glimmer, atop soaked blankets and my own softening penis, as the creature withdrew with agonizing slowness, leaving my anus alight.

VII

I neither saw nor heard the creature leave the bed chamber. I only knew that time had passed, and it was gone.

At some point in the night, I'd rolled onto my back. When Catherine shook me awake, a look of delight in her face, the day had fully broken.

Dully, I registered that she had said something about the "spunk" upon the bed, and that's when I sat upright in a panic, worried that I had leaked the creature's seed in my sleep.

Incredibly, though there had been so much of it, I had not spilled a drop. My middle was thick and rigid with the pressure of its contents.

The semen on the bed was mine; strands of it clung to my penis, which, upon my waking, was at full erection.

Through her feline smile, she said, "Is this from dreaming of me?"

She pushed me back down onto the bed and sat astride me, her own genitals resting upon mine. Her cunt was warm and sodden; she began to drag herself to and fro along the length of me, dampening my cock.

Apparently, all was forgiven for the crossness of my mood the night before.

At first, I was exhausted as though my very life force had taken leave of me. After a few moments of Kate's insistent frotting, the weight of my tiredness evaporated. I was suddenly flooded with incredible vigor.

I sat up, held her close, and kissed her, my hard-on mashed between our soft bellies. It was a hard, possessive kiss, with just a touch of cruelty, which she gratefully reciprocated.

With little effort, I lifted her with two hands under her generous buttocks. Surprised, she threw her arms over my neck to steady herself as I slid off the bed, stood up, and carried her to the wall.

I pressed her back against the stonework and shifted my hands under her knees. Finding my way inside her yawning flower took no trouble; I was soon pounding her while she quivered helpless against my chest.

I was hungry for her, starving for the pleasure of the kind of orgasm that I could only find deep within her buttery depths. I soon came, and she could feel it in my trembling, and she relaxed against me.

She must have expected it to be over, but my erection did not wane and my sensitivities were steady again almost immediately. She looked taken aback, though not unpleasantly so, when I started again.

I could not explain the source of my strength this early morn, save that my regular dalliances with the creature had awakened some new excitement in me, a new knowledge and appreciation of my capabilities.

I came inside her again. Then again, and once more, and finally she laughed and said she wouldn't be able to walk if I did not release her hence.

I stood back and set her down, and she reached down and gathered a fingertip of the cum that oozed heavily from her thick pubic hair onto her pale thighs. She locked me with her playful gaze as she tasted it.

She requested that I finish her. At my suggestion, she laid upon the bed on her back, legs open and knees up, and I licked her from asshole to nub and back again until her hips bucked in the air.

She collapsed, panting and limp. As I stood over her, I felt immensely capable and strong, standing perhaps straighter than usual. Chest thrust out, shoulders back, in total command of my own presence.

Likewise, though her beautiful body was exactly as it ever had been in every visible dimension, Kate seemed unusually small and delicate before my power, so fucked-out and spent was she by my ministrations.

I checked the time on the aged grandfather clock in the corner. We had whiled away the morning hours, taking us into midday.

I was still hard. I asked her if she fancied a quick fuck up her ass, to which she declined with a tired giggle, and said she wouldn't mind lying there instead while I spilled my seed on her torso.

When I came, the initial burst contained such strength that it skipped off her lower belly where I'd aimed, struck her chin, splashed across her lips, nose, and brow. She laughed with delight as more came.

She was covered in thick, sticky ropes of the stuff that stretched from her hairy pubis to her hairline. She beckoned me, and I laid upon her, mingling my semen and our sweat between our bodies as we kissed.

VIII

Our next dinner with Catherine's parents elicited a rare compliment from her father.

"My boy, hard work is making your back broad," he said, clapping my shoulder.

"Of course," I said, unsure of what he meant, my work having been no harder than it had ever been.

We had a civil dinner, and, by the time Kate and I had retired back to our homestead, I had seen not a glimpse of the creature, no demonic apparitions of any kind to cause interruption.

At least, not during the day.

That eve, Kate was still sore, but she said she might do with a simple fucking, gentle upon her back. I obliged, holding myself above her with hands to either side of her, lowering my hips between her legs.

Though she was her usual plump, pearlescent self, not a hint of change to her beguiling appearance, she felt small and slight below me, as though dimmed by the light of my vigor. I fucked her carefully.

Tender on the inside though she was, she handled my thrusting cock without complaint, and even suggested I plunge deeper, opening her legs wide to me so that my hips clapped against her pale inner thighs.

I then staked her deeply and fucked her with grinding, elliptical strokes, my pubic bone agitating her vulva, and it was at the behest of this style that she was soon shuddering with orgasm beneath me.

So distracted was I, so high did my heart sing at the sight of my beloved Kate at the height of her pleasure, that I did not notice for some time the looming presence behind me.

It was quiet, it made no moves, yet the hair on my neck stood on end, the familiar feeling of the ungodly thing at my back. I looked into Kate's face, her blissed-out expression betraying no sign of trouble.

I felt I could not speak without alerting her. With all my might, I silently urged the thing to go away. My cock was still inside her, though I had ceased moving. Kate, so far, had not noticed.

There was a parting of my asscheeks with mighty clawed fingers, the familiar dropping of spit down the cleft and onto my anus, the bulbed end of a monstrous cock touching me there, parting me, pushing in.

"Please," I forced out with a whisper, glancing at the shadowed being over my shoulder. "Not her. Me. Not her."

"Oh, William," I heard Catherine say, drawing my gaze back to her.

She was looking up at me, her face no longer a mask of bliss, but in full command of her faculties, her eyes clear, her voice rational.

She said to me, "I told him he could come."