My Brother, the Incubus

Hal was fucking me like the monster he was, rough and primal, and it was the best thing I ever felt in my life.

I was coming, and he must have been coming with me because he began wailing, the most frightening, wonderful sound I ever heard, my silent scream of pleasure accompanying his wail inside my brain.

And then he was gone.

I lay alone in my bed, naked, fully awake and my mind as terrified as my body was sated with the most profound sexual experience imaginable.

Of course, it was all in my mind. All of this could easily be explained. It was a dream. In my sleep, I slid down the bed. I took off my panties. I probably diddled myself in my sleep, or maybe it was merely a wet dream. A sick, perverted, demented wet dream, but a wet dream nonetheless.

I was still laying there, now wide awake and covered in sweat, panting, heart beating so fast it felt like a drum roll inside my chest, when my phone buzzed.

Before even looking for my own phone, my eyes went to the dresser, where I'd left my brother's. It was on, light from the screen glowing on the wall.

"What the actual fuck?" I said it aloud as I reached for my phone.

Thank you.

I stared at the message, and somehow my heart beat even faster. I'm sure the rate would have terrified a doctor, because a normal heart is not supposed to beat this fast.

Fuck you! You're a goddamn monster!

It's about time you met who I have become.

You raped me.

It's not rape when you wanted it as much as I did.

Fuck you!!!!!!!!

Just before I smashed his phone against the wall, something inside checked me, and I held onto it. This phone was my only way to communicate with my brother.

Somehow, I knew this was far from over.

My days were like a dream, my poor brain constantly replaying the night over and over no matter what I tried to do at work. I saw it when my eyes were open and when I clenched my eyelids shut to try to close it out. My mind was full of contradictory thoughts: hatred of my brother, guilt for enjoying the feel of him inside me, fear that I had lost my mind.

The one thing I was sure of, I never wanted to see my brother again. He was dead. Maybe this was my brain's way of absolving him of the guilt of growing apart, because seeing him as a monster sure accomplished that.

But I had plenty to say to him. On my way home from work, I stopped to buy the specialized charging cable his phone required.

Hal, are you there?

My text to a ghost went unanswered.

Of course it did, because ghosts don't text, you silly moron!

I often wondered what it will feel like to go insane. Mental illness plagued my family. Both our parents suffered from it, probably was the reason their car crashed that night, so ever since I was in high school, it felt like an inevitability. I really didn't expect it to show up in such a perverted form as it did, though.

I was so afraid of what another night like the last would do to my fragile psyche that I slept out on my couch that night. With the goddamn lights on. And I pulled on an old camisole not because it looked good on me--it did--but because it wasn't my brother's shirt, and there was no way I was making that mistake again.

And I left both phones locked inside the bedroom, nowhere near me.

It probably was a terrible idea to sleep on my side.

Without a clock, I had no way of checking whether it was 1:13, yet I knew the exact time the instant I woke up. Curled up in the fetal position with my face an inch or two from the back cushion of the couch, the only part of the world I could see was about 6 square inches of leather cushion. There was not a sound other than the usual light, late-night traffic outside, yet I knew I was not alone.

A hand touched my hip, but I could not turn to see whose hand. Even frozen as I was, I recognized the touch of my brother's hand. My panties began to slip off my hips, down my thighs, off my feet.

Oh, please Hal, don't ravage me again, I thought, trying to beg telepathically to him. His hand caressed my skin along the curve of my hip, lightly, tenderly around my derriere. Squeezing so softly it ignited every nerve in my body. His ghostly touch terrified me because how easily he filled me with forbidden desire, the kind a nice girl like me never should feel from her brother.

And the one thing I did not want him to do is fuck me from behind like one of the sluts in his videos. Because, I had watched a few. And they were disturbing.

His lips followed the path of his hands. First he kissed my hip, moving down to my butt cheek. My brother was kissing my ass! Are you kidding me?

He was just getting warmed up. His tongue flicked out into my butt crack, and he started licking my ass! Nobody--and I mean nobody--had ever licked my asshole before, and if anyone had asked, I'd have thought they were one sick puppy and gotten far away as soon as I could. But I could not leave, could not beg him to stop. And it felt a million times better than anyone could have convinced me it possibly could.

Although the power of speech was taken away from me with this night paralysis, from somewhere deep down, a sound like a moan came out of me. My brother's ghost had his tongue up my ass, and I was loving it. Only seconds later, my muscles tightened and I felt an orgasm welling up inside.

Once that orgasm subsided, I waited for his big, hard ghostly cock to butt-rape me, because now I knew how much of a degenerate my brother was. Instead, I felt something tickle my labia so lightly, it felt like a feather. But it was no feather, this was my brother's gossamer tongue running up my vaginal lips from one end back to the other. Laying there on my side with my knees drawn up exposed my snatch from behind, and he took full advantage. Each time he licked me with incrementally more pressure.

Oh, Hal, please don't make me come again! This is insanity!

My softest lips fell open, and I felt warm liquid flowing out of me like the Bellagio fountain. My brain wanted him to stop to save my last bit of sanity while my body wanted his tongue up inside me. I imagined it a forked tongue, like a snake. Oh, it felt so wonderful!

Of course, Hal did what my body yearned for. His tongue was absolute magic! It went around the outside, plunged inside, went everywhere! When he came upon my pink button, an electric bolt of pure pleasure shot through me to my core. And his tongue circled and licked up and down, back and forth.

I came so fast, primed as I was from him licking my asshole, and although I could not move, my whole body began to shake involuntarily from the most ridiculously powerful orgasm. Even more powerful than the night before when he raped me. I shook and shook, and he kept licking. Wave after wave carried me away, until I no longer wanted him to stop.

Hal rolled me over onto my back from where, for the first time, I could see my brother's handsome face between my legs. And he dove back in and started eating me again.

The pleasure was so intense it almost became torture. He just kept going, licking deep inside me, finding new spots from this different angle to torment my soul with his unholy ecstasy. My body quivered with a second orgasm--technically my third--and still he kept on licking me. When he sucked on my secret pearl, I came again. Each time seemed to spur him on.

Before that night, probably the longest anyone had gone down on me was five minutes; ten tops. Although he had licked away all sense of time, it had to be a half hour or so. I guess being dead leaves plenty of time to eat vagina. It was crazy, but it was all inside the head of an insane woman, right? Had to be, because none of this could possibly be happening. There are no such things as ghosts, and my brother had not returned from the grave only to have insanely intense sex with his sister. Right?

After tonguing my ass, then my vajajay, I figured he was licking a yeast infection into me, which I richly deserved and could never explain to any doctor or anyone else on the planet. Served me right. My entire body began shaking again with yet another orgasm, powerful and soul-crushing.

The most intense sexual experience of my life cannot possibly be with my brother, much less his spirit haunting my vagina.

My head cranked up against the arm of the couch like it was forced my chin down to watch the whole thing, though, and his eyes burned up at me the whole time. When the wave of that last orgasm faded away, he started kissing my bush, my stomach, my navel, slow as a glacier, back and forth, kissing my skinny little body everywhere until he reached my breasts.

First he kissed one, then the other. I felt literally on fire inside. Then he stopped and his eyes bore into mine. "You have the most beautiful breasts!"

As he returned to my tiny titties, I knew this was all in my warped, demented head, because that is what I always yearned for someone to say to me. And the only guy on the planet who appreciated my boobs was my brother. And only after he was dead. So, it had to be my sick imagination.

But the pleasure of his kisses, his tongue burned me alive, building and flowing through me. He treated each nipple the same as he did my clitoris, licking, circling, nibbling, sucking. Squeezing one breast with his cold hand while his mouth worked its unholy magic on the other. It happened again, for what, the fifth time? Sixth? I didn't care, I just wanted my brother to keep giving me orgasms until I died of pleasure and could join him in whatever hormone-filled afterlife he had stumbled into.

After that wave crashed ashore, he looked me in the eyes. I began to see things through him--the edge of the ceiling, furniture, a picture on the wall. I wanted to say something to him, but he faded from view.

He was gone, and left me feeling more satisfied than my mind could conceive, more spent than if I had run a marathon.

When I realized I could move, and was no longer too exhausted or paralyzed to stand up, I ran into the bedroom. His phone was on, and mine had a message waiting for me.

I love you, Sis.

What is this, Hal?

I came to you, just as you wanted.

I never wanted you this way!!!!!!!

Yes, you did.

As a kid, I hated when he was right. I almost hated it now, too.

Veronica opened her door and smiled when she saw me. "What are you doing here, girl? Why didn't you call?"

"Can I ask you a big favor?"

"Whatever it is, the answer is yes," she said, which I knew ahead of time, because Veronica is my closest friend. If I asked her to let me sleep with her boyfriend, she'd say no, but she'd think about it. Not that her boyfriend would, because Veronica has an almost perfect balance of adorable and sexy. Her mother is Vietnamese, so she has that hot little Asian thing going on, which she does so well.

"I need you to hang to something for me for a few days," I said once inside.

Her eyes lit up. "Oh, shit--is it drugs?"

"I won't touch the stuff, you know that."

"Whew! For a second there, I wondered if you got your hands on some of your brother's stash and needed a place to hide it."

"Nothing like that." I reached into my bag and pulled it out. "I just need you to hold onto this phone for a while."

"Okay, spill it! Whose phone is this?"

Sigh. "Well, it's a long story, and I'll tell you in a day or two when I pick it up."

"This I cannot wait to hear. Maybe I'll just open it up the second you walk out the door and find out for myself."

After the cops used my brother's dead thumb to unlock his phone, they set the passcode to a number. When they gave it back to me, I changed it to Hal's birthday, 1031, which I had never told her. "It's locked, and don't ask for the code, because that's the whole point. I just want to see if anything strange is going on."

This was my genius plan to prove I was suffering from multiple personality disorder. Because, that's exactly what I was doing. I was texting my "brother," then psycho me was dissociating and replying. Then, I'd forget all that and answer. And I needed to shut up before Veronica started getting too curious.

"How strange?"

"Look, just leave it off and I'll explain everything later."

It was with a sense of guilt that I left the phone with her, because it might just prove something else. From the videos I had been obsessively consuming on his phone all day, I discovered he had a thing for Asians, who appeared in disproportionate numbers in his videos and bedroom. While it might be possible to find a hotter Asian girl than Veronica, finding one would take considerable effort. So if his horny spirit had attached himself to his phone, Veronica was in for one wild and fulfilling night.

I noticed something else, too. Several of the girls he filmed himself having sex with looked like me. A lot.

Although he banged a few with impressively large boobs, more had tiny titties like mine. Many had black hair, a few even shoulder-length, like mine. Some even resembled my face. That blondie he shot a load into her face did, which I realized is why I thought she looked familiar when I watched it again.

I dressed for him this time. On the way home from Veronica's, I stopped at Victoria's Secret to buy a sexy, silk nightgown that looked fantastic on me. Before going to bed, I made sure I did not look like an idiot in it. The fabric hugged my nipples, poking through, and my hips. I felt like a supermodel, even if I was only a little twig.

As long as my dead brother liked the way I looked, I would make the best out of what little I have. And, I have to admit, this midnight blue silk did wonders for my body.

In my silky, sexy new outfit, I drank a whole bottle of red wine. Two glasses make me tipsy, a third stumbling drunk. I had never finished a whole bottle off in one sitting in my life. I bounced off the walls on my way back to my bedroom. Somewhere I had heard that ghosts do not appear to drunk people. And if my brother was going to haunt me, I needed to be drunk. Good as the sex was--fantastic, mind-blowing as it was--it was still my brother. AND a ghost!

This was some fucked-up shit, so I intended to be shit-faced when it happened because, to tell the truth, this scared the hell out of me.

Of course, I was still drunk as hell at 1:13. Awake, paralyzed and terrified drunk. My eyes panned around the room. There was his shadow again, but he stayed away. I waited, wondering if the wine somehow kept him from coming into contact with me. From touching me.

It is scary as hell for a ghost to have sex with you, but it is absolutely terrifying for a ghost to be staring at you in the dark.

In the blink of the eye, he was above me, ten feet closer than he'd been a half-second before, and I could see him. Half his head was gone, and there was a bullet in his face an inch below his eye. Part of his skull hung down over an ear, flapping slightly as he moved, held on by a piece of his scalp.

It must have showed in my eyes. Inside, I was screaming. Literally screaming, yet no sound came out of my lips. I could see my brother's brain inside shattered skull bone where there should be nothing but hair!

Hal did not waste any time. He grabbed me and rolled me over, face down, away from that sickening image of his beautiful face shot off. He pulled me to the side, so my feet tumbled off the bed onto the floor, and pulled up my beautiful nightgown over my hips.

Oh, my god! He was still going to molest me! If I had any idea he would appear to me with a quarter of his head gone, some of the rest hanging on by a flap of skin, I would have worn panties. His tongue licked me again, but all I could see in my head was the horror of his mortal wounds. I wanted him to stop, because he looked so... dead!

But my brother did not stop. He came for only one thing, and that was my body. A shot of something powerful swept through me as his throbbing, rock-hard cock entered my vagina which--as you might expect--was hardly lubed up after seeing his head blown off. Even after he licked me. Still, he forced his way inside me, and at first it hurt.

Then, it felt incredible.

I hated this dead monster fucking me from behind, and I loved him because he was still my brother. And I loved him because he made me feel amazing sensations that probably no woman has ever experienced. If they have, they were smart enough to keep it to themselves so they didn't get locked up in an insane asylum.

As he thrust into me, deeper and deeper, filling me with his phantasmal cock and more pleasure than any woman can stand, I imagined blood dripping from his gory wound, splattering on my ass and back. No matter how hard I tried, I could not run, could not scream in either terror or ecstasy. I could only let my dead brother use me any way he wanted.

Oh, did I come! With tears falling onto the sheet my face was pressed against, I came. My brother's ghostly hand held my hips and kept ramming into me with the ferocity of that first night, inflicting the most savage pleasure into me. The room filled again with his ghastly wailing. He continued thrusting into me until my body stopped quivering with a thunderous climax.

When he was gone, I cried myself into a boozy, dreamless sleep.

Sometime later, I woke up again, this time feeling the wine coming back up. After a round of projectile vomiting in the bathroom, I grabbed my phone and drunk-dialed my dead brother.

What do you want from me?

The same thing you want from me, he answered.

I'm so sorry, I typed out.

For what?

The image filling my brain was his shattered, destroyed head.

For everything.

I returned to pick up Hal's phone and prove my insanity once and for all.

"It was weird as hell," Veronica said soon as she practically dragged me inside. "Woke up in the middle of the night, and this damn phone was on and beeping with message after message. I turned it off to shut the damn thing up, but it kept coming back on. No wonder you want that thing out of your apartment. It must have some kind of glitch that makes it power up whenever it receives a text. One night of that shit was enough for me--I need some sleep."

Somehow, I had come to grips with seeing his ruined head, from having sex with a corpse. Even better, I had remembered enough to not write anything incriminating in my messages. I turned on the phone.

"Check his texts," I told Veronica. I needed a witness, either to prove myself insane or ...

"Are you sure? It's probably one of his drug-dealing buddies who hasn't heard what happened to him."

"Probably so," I answered. "And if it is, we should notify the cops, right?"

She shrugged her shoulders, turned on his phone and handed it to me to type in the PIN. "Holy shit, these are from you--and he answered! Wait a minute, that does not make any sense! How did anyone answer from this phone? It was here all night. I heard it when these messages were coming in. Saw it. Hon, I didn't touch this phone other to try to turn it off--swear to god!"

So, I was not insane. Someone was communicating with me from this phone, and the only person on earth with access to it was my brother. I was not typing to my split-personality. I was sending and receiving messages with a ghost. Hal had chosen to haunt me, and was not a spirit somehow trapped inside his phone.

The same ghost who was screwing me each night.

There was only one thing I could do. Well, two things. I was definitely not going to drink again, because the first time I did, he showed up with part of his head gone.              

I set up the phone on a shelf and hit record.

Hal came to me again, of course. His wounds were gone, and he was beautiful. When I woke up, he was already there, and he started eating me right away. This time, though, he only licked one orgasm out of me before resting my ankles on his shoulders and sticking his hard cock inside me.