Lovers From Beyond Ep. 02

A few minutes later, another book fell. The mischievous act wasn't frightening him at all. It was annoying him instead, just like the incident in the bathroom.

"Ghost," Peter said out loud. "I would like nothing more than a diversion from all this tedious studying I've been doing. Aunt Victoria thinks you are some sort of playful phantom. I wouldn't mind playing with you at all, as I've been pretty much confined here ever since my father exiled me from my home. Unfortunately, I don't know what games you would fancy and I don't know of a way to communicate with you."

Peter felt a slight tap on his shoulder, and he shivered.

"I say, do that again." Peter grinned nervously. "It gave me a thrill."

This time, it was a more distinct motion. It felt like a slight pull.

"You wish to lead me somewhere, is that it?" Peter asked. He pushed his chair back and stood up. "Lead away, then."

Peter stood there, waiting for something else to happen. He held his arms out in exasperation, because he had no idea of what might be coming next. "Well, ghost, what should we do now?"

A moment after, he felt a cold sensation creeping over his crotch, as if something cool and vague had been placed there. There was something mostly transparent standing before him as well, the realization of which had given him a sudden start.

"You're here!" Peter felt his breathing quicken. "You're a real ghost!"

The cool sensation began to spread, to swirl, over his crotch. Something like ethereal fingers were caressing over the wrinkles of his slacks.

Peter gasped as he felt himself becoming erect. "You're a friendly one, aren't you? I do so hope you were once of the female persuasion, or else I'll be too embarrassed to tell anyone about this."

Through the fabric of his pants, a ghostly hand curled around the ridge of Peter's cock.

Shuddering, Peter said, "Here, let me give you hand with that."

The young man quickly unbuckled his belt and undid his pants, which quickly fell to his ankles. The ghostly hand did the rest, as it reached into the slit of his boxers and carefully drew his penis out. Once his erection poked out unencumbered, the ghost hand encircled his girth and began stroking him.

"Ooh!" Peter yelped. "You're so cold, but not in a bad way. You're giving me chills all over, but you're making me incredibly aroused in the same moment."

The motion increased. Having nothing physical to hold onto, Peter clasped his hands together behind his neck and held them tight. A couple of minutes later, the young man was convulsing, moaning, and spurting out onto the floor.

Peter went through his climactic spasms. He groaned out so loud that Minton would have undoubtedly come to his rescue, were the butler still in the house. Once this was all done with, he crouched down to pick up his pants, and got a sharp smack on the buttocks for his action.

"Oh!" He swiveled around in surprise. "You are playful, just as my aunt suggested! I do wish I could see you, or at least know if you're either male of female."

Strangely enough, he felt two slight tugs on his wilted penis.

"What was that?" Peter asked.

Again, two slight tugs.

"Not the first, but the second." Peter deduced. He wasn't a total dunce, you know. "The second part, where I asked if you were female? Is this correct?"

One tug came next.

"You are!" Peter discovered. "You were once a woman!" The gravity of this slowly dawned on him. "We can communicate! Let me think; let me think. I'd like to know your name." He considered this. "We can do it in this fashion. I will speak out a letter of the alphabet, one at a time, and you will give me a sign when I get the correct one, yes?"

One tug.

"A."

Nothing.

"B."

Nothing.

"C."

One tug.

"Your name begins with a C? Is this correct?"

One tug.

Following this procedure, Peter eventually learned that the ghost's name was Claire. She lived in La Jolla during the time of the Great Depression. The poor woman, or more accurately stated, the very wealthy woman, had been killed by a pair or burglars way back in 1928. The house where she'd been murdered had since been razed, with a new house; the one Peter was standing in, later built on the site. The ghost merely slipped from one structure to the other, while staying on the same spot of land.

"And you were forty-five when you passed on?" Peter kept on gathering information through the night. He wrote his findings into a notebook when he wasn't being, uh, informed in that peculiar manner.

One tug followed.

Peter gave the empty space before him a sly grin. "You're old enough to be my mother, old girl, but I'm quite content to allow you to keep doing what you're doing." He glanced down at his crotch, where his interest was peaking. "You've done it now. All that tugging and pulling you've been doing has gotten me hard again."

The ghost was happy to oblige the young man a second time.

Afterward, Peter could actually feel the ghost waltzing around him in joy. A few minutes later, however, the ghost seemed to have left the room.

"I suppose she went off to do her ghostly rounds." Peter considered.

After this bit of fun, the young man composed himself and resumed his seat at the desk. When he couldn't get back to his studies, he tried to look up Claire on the Internet, to no avail. He did get the address to the local Historical Society, however, and made plans to visit there the following day.

The next morning, Peter got up, got dressed, and started looking around the house for his butler. Strangely enough, his faithful servant was nowhere to be found. In growing bewilderment, Peter set off for the kitchen. He found Martha busy preparing an omelet for him.

"I say; have you seen my Minton?"

Martha gave him a disapproving look. "You could try the third bedroom."

"You mean upstairs, instead of in the servant's quarters where he belongs?" Peter asked.

When Martha refused to give him any more information, he simply turned and made his way toward the stairs. It wasn't like Minton to partake in such a gross dereliction of his duties, Peter thought, as he couldn't remember the butler ever having done so before. Ever. He paused before the bedroom door and knocked.

"Come in."

Peter was shocked to hear this reply coming from his aunt's voice.

"We're semi-decent in here." His aunt murmured.

Guardedly, Peter cracked open the door.

Victoria lay smugly on the wide, California King size canopy bed. She was dressed in a lacy pink camisole. To her side, Peter could see his sleeping butler's bare back.

Peter chuckled. "I trust that you and Minton had a pleasant evening last night?"

"Oh, it was splendid." Victoria admitted with a sigh. "This man kept me and my friends quite entertained."

"Your friends?"

"There were two other ladies present." Victoria informed him. "And what you might call A Visitor From Elsewhere, or a Lover From Beyond. If you weren't my nephew, I might have taken you as well. It would have been quite the little orgy."

Peter was trying to figure what Victoria meant by A Visitor, not to mention orgy.

"Was there anything the matter, nephew?" His aunt asked.

"Oh, yes." Peter remembered. "I was hoping that Minton could drive me to the Historical Society today. I'd like to do some research into this property's past. Not this house, mind you, but the actual address it sits on."

Victoria glanced over at the butler, who was still sound asleep. "I doubt Minton will be getting up anytime soon, as I believe my lady friends and I have thoroughly exhausted him. But don't fret, you can use my car if you'd like."

"Can I really?"

"As long as you give me nice, big kiss first." Victoria gave him a come hither gesture.

Since a quick kiss in exchange for the use of his aunt's Mercedes seemed like a good trade, Peter jauntily approached the bed. He puckered up and aimed for Victoria's cheek, when his aunt grabbed him from the collar and planted a fierce set of lips on his. The end result left Peter feeling more violated than kissed, as his aunt's mouth clashed with his. Her juicy tongue took full advantage of his surprise. After about a full minute, she finally let him go.

"I suggest that the next time a woman wearing lingerie asks you for a kiss, you not be so shy about giving her one." Victoria lightly admonished him. "I am glad I didn't take you with me last night, however. I wouldn't have been able to keep my hands away from such a handsome devil as yourself."

Victoria reached over to the side table. It was a beastly thing with an aluminum frame and a glass top, as ugly as the rest of the house. From the table, she picked up her keys. "I expect you back before sunset."

"Oh, I won't be that long." Peter chuckled.

He took the keys and hurried away from the room, just in case his aunt reached out and tried to pull him onto the bed with her.

A few hours later, Peter returned to the house. He'd done as much checking into local records as he could. He'd even found an old, black and white photograph of a group of sponsors for the landmark Women's Club of La Jolla. Among the names scribbled on the picture, he found that of Claire Hutchenson. The woman's face, to Peter's surprise, looked very much like his maid's. Claire was a spitting image of Martha, or maybe it was the other way around.

For the rest of the day, Peter kept as far away from his aunt as possible and concentrated on his studies. That evening, the young man was still engrossed in his books, sitting inside the library, when he felt the spirit hovering around him. The ghost drew its hand across his back and gave him a delicious shudder.

"Well, hello, Claire." Peter straightened up in his chair. "I found out a little bit about you today." He began, when he heard a knock on the door. "Yes? Do come in."

Minton stepped inside, wearing his fancy black turtleneck and stylish slacks. "I wish to inform you that dinner shall be served in another fifteen minutes."

"Minton, I have something to show you." Peter called out. "In private, please."

The butler closed the door behind him and stepped further into the room.

"I must know, is my aunt still here?" The young man asked.

"She has gone out for the evening." Minton revealed. "To a new exhibition at the Museum of Contemporary Art, with her two friends."

"You must have had a wild night, last night, you lucky bastard. I am so very jealous of you, going at it with three women at once."

"I must admit, I had no idea of what I was getting into." Minton replied. "Your aunt suggested for me to ask if you'd be interested in meeting one of her friends. Her name is Eleanor, and to use the common parlance, she is built in the form of a brick shithouse."

"Is that a good thing?"

"Extremely so, sir."

"How old is this woman?"

"Fifty-four."

"Good heavens, Minton. She's up by more than thirty years past my age!"

"They say a good woman is like a fine wine, young sir. They become better with age." The butler sighed. "And all three of these women are in the bracket of a Domaine de la Conti wine."

Peter shook his head. "I may not yet be ready for such vintage, Minton. I do prefer something a little less seasoned. But the reason I called you in is because I've discovered something new. I can communicate with our ghost now."

"Oh?"

Peter nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, yes. The ghost approached me last night, while you were out. It... It... Well, it would be easier if I simply showed you."

"Very well, sir." Minton waited patiently.

Peter stood up nervously. As he faced the servant, he took a deep breath. After this he unbuckled his belt, opened up his pants, and allowed them to fall to the floor. For good measure, he also pulled his boxers down to his ankles.

Half naked, the young man straightened up and held out his arms. "Ghost, come and show Minton the manner in which we communicate." Peter looked around, but he didn't seem to feel the spirit nearby any more. "Ghost, come forward!"

Nothing happened.

"Ghost? Are you here?"

Still nothing.

"Ghost? Where are you, ghost?"

Minton cleared his throat. "I do hope, young sir, that you won't be making a habit of this. Especially after the scene in the bathroom of a few days ago."

Embarrassed, Peter quickly crouched and pulled up his attire. "I don't understand it, Minton. You should have seen what happened last night!"

"Perhaps you are suffering from a variant of what is commonly referred to as cabin fever." Minton replied. "It is a sort of claustrophobic reaction to being confined."

"I do not have cabin fever!" Peter snapped, suddenly irritated. "I know very well what happened last night!"

"I stand corrected, sir. Shall we be expecting you for dinner downstairs?"

"Yes, yes." Peter waved him off.

The butler quietly, and quickly, walked away from the room.

Once he was alone, Peter grimaced and glanced around the room. "I hope you found that amusing, Claire, because certainly I did not!"

The young man felt a sudden swish of air glide up behind him. As he turned to face it, he distinctively heard the sounds of a woman giggling.

"You're laughing at me." Peter grumbled. "I can hear it."

The ghost stepped up close to him, giving him a quick peck on the cheek.

"Oh, I won't forgive you that easily." Peter crossed his arms. "You made me look like a fool in front of Minton. How dare you!"

The ghost floated up right in front of him. Peter could feel its hands thrusting at the insides of his arms. Wondering what it was up to, the young man uncrossed his arms. As soon as he'd done so, the ghost reached out around him and embraced him. Its proximity gave him chills all over. When a gentle shower of kisses began to rain on his cheeks and lips, Peter's tantrum quickly faded away.

"Oh, fine. I forgive you, Claire. I can be a bit snappy at times."

The ghost began rubbing at his crotch.

"I'm afraid I don't have time to 'communicate' with you just now, Claire." Peter said. "I'm expected downstairs for dinner in a few minutes."

The rubbing continued. Despite his adamant stance, Peter could feel himself becoming excited.

"Well, I suppose I can spare a few moments, after all."

Peter unzipped his pants. Before he had a chance to reach for his tool, the ghost had already grabbed a hold of it. He felt his cock being stroked, as before, when a new sensation came over him. It took him a few moments to figure out what it was.

"You've learned a new trick." He shuddered.

Instead of ghostly fingers wrapped around his member, he felt a pair of ghostly lips.

"A very nice trick, I see."

Peter compared the sensation to placing his cock into a bag of ice cubes, which weren't quite so cold, along with a tingling, akin to that of a low voltage current. This enticing voltage kept him from shriveling up. When ghostly fingers began tickling his scrotum, however, he could no longer keep up his determination. His excited cock began blasting out like a miniature geyser. Knowing that Minton was in the house, Peter kept his cries muffled. When the young man was done, he scrambled about until he located a small handkerchief with which to clean up his spunk.

"Claire, I wish there was a way to return the favor." Peter lamented, as he tossed the handkerchief into a trash basket. "Even if you are old enough to be my mother."

The ghost slapped his butt for the smart-aleck remark.

Peter trotted down the stairs to the first floor and went into the lavish dining room. The table was imported from Italy, made of molded glass with a smoked finish and with transparent borosilicate legs. The white Kalio chairs that surrounded the table looked like sculptures from a modern art museum. The single serving tray sitting on the table was also exemplary; made of stainless steel and oval shaped, with highly polished handles on either end.

Finding no one else in the living room, Peter went and poked his head into the kitchen. Martha was sitting at a small side table, apparently enjoying her own dinner, but she bolted upright when she saw him.

"Can I help you, sir?" She asked.

"Have you seen my Minton?"

Martha pointed at the opposite end of the kitchen, where sure enough, his butler was pacing back and forth. Minton's attention was focused in a conversation he was having with his cell phone. The phone, Peter noted, was hued in a bright pink, and looked nothing at all like the phone his butler usually sported.

Minton soon finished up his call. As he pocketed the device, he noticed that Peter was standing there watching him.

"Sir." He nodded.

"The color suits you well, Minton." Peter teased.

"The color?" Minton asked. "Oh, you mean the phone. Heaven forbid, it's not mine. It belongs to your aunt. Victoria lent it to me in case the art exhibition proved to be less than stellar, and I suppose that it has been. I would request your leave, sir, if you would permit it, so that I may join your aunt for another evening of carousing, frolicking, and a general state of pleasant mayhem."

"You can't go." Peter said, although he didn't really mean it.

Well, he did mean it a little bit, as the young man was jealous that his own butler was getting laid, and by three women all at once, while he was in a situation tantamount to house arrest.

"In the event you might say that, your aunt is on her way here to persuade you otherwise." Minton finished off.

That was the last thing Peter wanted. He cringed at the thought of his aunt coming after him while wearing her pink camisole. "Minton, I order you to go and stand outside until she gets here. I do not want that woman chasing me all around the house!"

"As you wish, sir." Minton nodded. "I take it that you do not want to meet Eleanor, either?"

"Not right now." Peter shook his head. "Another time, perhaps. Please don't make it sound rude."

"I shall be tactful." The butler replied. "I shall simply say you are too busy with studying for your test, if that's all right. I will see you later then. Goodbye, Martha."

"Bye." Martha waved back.

Minton vanished through the opposite kitchen door and was gone. Peter turned back toward the dining room. At this point, he remembered that he'd be eating alone.

"I simply won't have it." He muttered, although he knew that the only other person in the house was his skittish maid. He turned toward the solitary figure sitting across the kitchen from him. "Martha?"

The older woman quickly stood up at attention. "Yes, sir?"

"I wouldn't like to dine alone." Peter admitted. "I would very much appreciate if you would join me in the dining room."

"Oh, I couldn't." Martha shook him off. "It wouldn't be proper."

"Very well." Peter had half expected such an answer, as he was well accustomed to the woman's conservative manners. He strode through the kitchen door, took the short jaunt to retrieve his serving tray, and brought it back with him. Peter set his dinner on the table directly in front of Martha. "In that case, I shall eat here instead."

Martha appeared mortified, and ready to move her food elsewhere.

"I order you to sit there, until you are finished eating." Peter demanded.

"But sir..."

"But nothing." Peter said. "You are to sit there and you will eat with me. Is that well understood?"

Martha bowed her head and nodded. Cautiously, she captured a morsel of food with her fork, and pecked at it as if she were being closely scrutinized.

"Oh, come now, you can relax at least a little." Peter tried to joke with the woman, to no avail. At least, he thought, he could get a good look at her, to see if she truly bore the resemblance to the ghost as he'd first imagined.

Martha's fairly unremarkable hair was pulled back into a bun, exposing a bit of a motherly face. She had rounded cheeks spotted pink, a tiny point of a nose, and eyes that verily hid themselves from the world. Martha had a pleasant look about her, Peter felt. With the right touches: a more sophisticated hairstyle, make-up and a better wardrobe, for example, she could have elevated herself from a Plain Jane into something much more desirable. And yes, she did look a lot like the picture of Claire he'd previously looked at.