My Sexy Poltergeist

All characters in this story are age 18 or older. There is an element of non-consent, so if this isn't your kink, don't go there.

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I've never believed in ghosts or the supernatural; things that went bump in the night were usually humans, or perhaps random animals. I always felt supernatural concepts were simply a way of explaining what people didn't understand before science had more plausible explanations.

But there's no other explanation for what happened to me.

It all started last October. I live Glenwood Springs in the Colorado Rocky Mountains, where it can snow any time of year. Snow in July or August? It's not every summer, but no one is shocked if and when it happens. The shift from summer to autumn can be abrupt, and the change from autumn to winter can be shocking. Sometimes autumn is only a suggestion, a brief two or three week interlude with vivid colors as the aspen stands barely turn yellow and red before they're covered in frost and snow.

Last year the weather got cold and shifted to a winter pattern almost overnight. Peak color ended, and within days the first hard freeze hit. My building managers closed the roof balcony for the year and prepared for the first snow. The balcony tended to get icy, and they didn't want lawsuits if some idiot Airbnb guest fell three stories to their deaths. About half of the condos in the building are rented out to tourists, not surprising when you're less than an hour from Vale and Aspen, land of winter skiing and summer sightseeing, hiking, and rock climbing.

Glenwood Springs was located at the fork where tourists flocked to Aspen and Vail. It was popular with celebrities because they were close enough to head up to the exclusive ski resorts and clubs, but far enough to avoid the crush of paparazzi and autograph or selfie seekers. The more affordable city was also popular with resort workers, who took the regular commuter buses to their jobs.

I loved spending time on that patio. Fresh air, no annoying tourists because they were usually clueless about the rooftop sanctuary, and I could watch the incredible mountain sunsets from the patio just above my own condo.

Okay, so it's my parents' condo.

I was on a gap year between my sophomore and junior year in college. My university required me to declare a major before registering for junior year classes, but I still had no idea what I wanted to do with my life. I decided to take a year off. My parents indulged me this much. My grades are good; I made the Dean's List. I don't cause trouble. This is the first time I've asked for a break from family expectations, so they gave me use of the condo for exactly one school year.

Anyway, it all started at the start of the second week of October, when we had that first severe cold snap. It was right after a rain, so everything turned to sheet ice. Everywhere. A "closed" sign was put on the door, but the lock was broken, easily opened with a hard jiggle. I was sad to see it closed, but I also had no interest in slipping on the ice and ending up in the emergency room.

I never associated anything with that event until much, much later.

However, the night they closed the rooftop patio was the first night I felt it. Something touched my cheek, the gentle caress of a large, warm hand, and I could have sworn I felt hands at my bare breasts, a gentle tugging at my nipples. Mostly asleep, I arched into it, and a mouth latched onto my right nipple.

I woke with a start - and an orgasm - and peered around my bedroom. The light of the full moon shining in the window showed there was no one in my room. I was absolutely alone.

I was panting as if I just had the best sex of my life - not that I was all that experienced. I had one or two fumbling experiences as a freshman in college, but nothing good of that made me seek out more. I decided it wasn't worth the effort.

"Holy shit, what a dream!" I gasped. If only real men could make me feel like that. I guess my subconscious made up something better for me. Dream men didn't have STDs or freak out if you didn't put out after an expensive dinner date. Hell, if I wanted to make sex an exchange deal, I'd charge actual money, not a fancy dinner. Too many men thought paying for a nice meal meant sex came with the deal.

I settled back to sleep and fell into a deep dream state where I met the man of my dreams. It was all very vague, or maybe I just didn't remember much. He was tall, dark and handsome. Not just dark. He was Black. It was all just an impression, though. No matter how much I tried to see him better, he remained vague, an imposing figure that made me yearn for his touch.

The next morning I chuckled to myself, remembering the dream and the orgasm. The vague impression I got was that Dream Man was my "type" -- tall, not skinny but not fat, not overly muscular like a body builder, but a guy who worked out and had decent definition.

I never considered myself as having a Black cock kink though I knew a couple of girls in school who did, which is why I even knew it was a thing. To me, hot was hot, and skin color was immaterial. I knew what I liked, even if I was good with watching hot from a distance.

There was absolutely nothing wrong with eye candy. Since my last bland sex experience I implemented a personal policy of "look but don't touch." Touching inevitably resulted in disappointment when the visually hot product didn't live up to its packaging.

Yes, I'm a trust fund baby, but not Paris Hilton level. Thanks to both sets of grandparents and their success in business, I was set up well enough so if I wanted to go full hermit and write poetry all my life in some cute, cozy cabin in the woods, I would never have to worry about paying my basic bills. It wouldn't be a mansion-type cabin, but I wouldn't be miserable.

I took a job to alleviate the boredom that set in about a month into my gap year. I spent late mornings working as a barista at a trendy little cafe that attracted a lot of celebrities. Mostly I went for, you guessed it, the eye candy. I was good at not fan-girling over the celebrities who stepped into the shop, which was why my best friend's cousin hired me.

However, I got the best gossip, first-hand, just by watching which celebs shared tables, or arrived together, and the tone of their body language. Like when Zac Efron walked in holding hands with a woman I didn't recognize. I mean, wasn't Zac Efron supposed to be single? Hmmm.

The celebrities used the cafe to get away from prying eyes and paparazzi cameras. It was set up with lots of little nooks where one or two people could be out of the direct view of most of the cafe, all very charming with old teapots and teacups displayed on the walls. That, and my boss had a "no harassment of customers" policy she enforced with an air horn in offenders' ears.

In any given 3-hour shift I saw four or five recognizable celebrities. It was the height of fall colors season and the celebrities were thick on the ground. I was pretty sure there were even one or two staying in my building.

But that part wasn't really important to my story. Celebrity-watching was just a hobby.

What was important was that when I got back to the condo, I discovered my entire six-month box of birth control pills had fallen from the mirrored medicine cabinet over the toilet and into the toilet bowl, where the box opened, spilling the packets into the toilet water.

"Eww," I said with a shudder, and fished them out with the toilet bowl brush and dumped them into the trash can.

I scowled. I was sure I'd left the cabinet closed, and it didn't open easily. The magnetic closure was strong enough I had to give it a decent yank to get to my stuff inside. I was also sure I left the toilet seat down.

I could get more with a quick trip to a pharmacy, but I decided not to bother. I started at sixteen on the continuous use pill, which meant I hadn't had to deal with periods in four years. I'd been celibate since the semester ended in May, so I would just have to deal with periods again until I found a reason to need protection. My body could probably use a natural reset.

That night I dreamed of Tall, Dark, and Handsome again. My eyes were closed, but in my dream they were wide open, staring into... blue eyes? Deep, dark blue eyes, like falling into the depths of the Pacific Ocean.

I felt soft lips whispering at that spot behind my jaw, just below my ear. I stretched out my neck to give my Dream Lover better access, and I wasn't disappointed.

That's when I realized I wasn't asleep anymore. At some point I could have sworn I wasn't dreaming, that it was real, that a man was making love to my breasts, to my neck, kissing me. It was the best kind of foreplay, and I loved foreplay.

Then I was very alone and wide awake, my covers were bunched around my hips, and the faint light of first dawn shone through the windows. With a gasp, I yanked the covers back up almost violently. Not only were the blankets around my waist, but my sleep tank was dangling from my nightstand.

I'm a cold sleeper; I draw the blankets over my head when I sleep, with just my face showing for fresh air. It's the only way I can sleep without shivering and kept awake by every air current brushing my skin. Even when it's hot out I sleep with a sheet pulled up to my neck.

That day my period started, for the first time in years. Ugh.

The incidents grew. I repeatedly woke up after increasingly erotic dreams, always after midnight. Then it was earlier. It began after sunset each night. One evening I was sitting on the couch watching a marathon of the latest Survivor show, and I felt large hands kneading my shoulders and neck, as if a man was standing behind me.

I jumped and screamed, and turned around to confront the intruder.

"Get out of..." I began to yell.

No one was there.

After four or five repeats of this, I stopped freaking out. I sat stiffly under the ministrations until I couldn't stay tense under the warm, gentle, strong hands anymore. Before long I was more relaxed than I had been in a long time. I had to be losing my mind, but it felt awfully good. Those imaginary hands knew their way around a body.

The fifth night it happened I didn't even bother to startle. It just... was. I leaned back into the massage and groaned. "That feels so damn good."

I figured if I closed my eyes, I could imagine I had a hot boyfriend, and he was massaging my back. Insanity was good for a body, right?

When the massage stopped I whimpered a little. "Thank you," I whispered into the empty room.

The next night those massaging hands... wandered a little. Or a lot. The angle changed, too, as if the man massaging my shoulders had kneeled behind the couch. A very tall man.

"Okay," I acknowledged the change. "What," I cut myself off as the hands smoothed over my shoulders, then worked the muscles below my throat, and slid inside my pajama top and across my nipples, which hardened like pencil erasers, almost painfully so.

I gasped and sat forward, then jumped to my feet, breaking the spell my insanity had over me.

I turned in circles, as if there would be something to see this time. But as usual, I was alone in my condo. The fire crackled in the fireplace, the TV screen froze where I paused it, on The Masked Singer this time, and eventually returned to my seat, more certain than ever that I was losing my mind.

After a few minutes, the hands returned to my shoulders, and my upper chest. It felt so damn good, and I decided not to make it stop. I mean, it wasn't real. It couldn't be real. Mental self-stimulation? Was that a thing? So when the hands dipped inside my shirt again, I arched my back to make my breasts more accessible, and the warm, strong hands slid under my breasts, thumbs at my nipples.

I looked down at my shirt, and damn if I didn't see the outline of hands under my shirt, but... there was still no one there. But I didn't want to question it.

A current of electricity traveled down my nipples, through my navel, and straight to my clit, and I gasped, "Holy shit."

With it came a new sensation of lips nibbling at my neck. Warm, pillowy lips. Teeth just grazing the skin.

My soft keen of desire was almost embarrassing. Sure, I played with toys, but my insanity was giving me more pleasure than any of my toys, much less than my former boyfriends or hookups, ever let me imagine.

I could feel, rather than hear, a low, rumbling laugh, and the hands were back, and in tandem with the lips that tortured my neck, the big fingers pinched my nipples -- just hard enough so it didn't hurt but it was intense as fuck.

"Damn," I groaned. I could almost orgasm from the breast play alone. In fact I was so close...

And the hands disappeared. They didn't pull out from under my shirt. They were just... gone.

"What the hell?" I yelled into the empty room "Edging isn't nice."

Frustrated, I turned off the TV and stalked into my room. If my imagination wasn't going to finish me off, my toys would. I selected my favorite vibrator-dildo from the box I kept in my dresser and squeezed some KY on it and shimmied out of my shorts and climbed into bed, onto a pile of pillows I had set up to recline for morning reading time, and spread my legs. My period had ended, so I was good to go.

The dildo was the type that had the bunny ears for clitoral stimulation, but the clear blue silicon cock was bigger than typical. I was a bit of a size queen, but there wasn't a lot of choice out there if you wanted the bunny ears. It was the largest on the market, though. It advertised eight inches, but in reality, it was more like six usable inches. It was thick, though. I spread my legs and switched on the vibrating feature, then circled my clit with the tip if the dildo.

And groaned in semi-relief as blood gorged the little button, making it not so little. I had a big clit, which was nice because men actually found it. Okay, so a few men were repulsed, called it a "little dick," but most seemed to like the fingertip-size, pulsing organ. I made sure to run the vibrator through the valley between my legs, pressing on the larger part of my clitoris inside. The clitoral wings on either side of the entrance to my pussy were key to making me cum hard without the depth I liked.

I didn't need the KY. Not really. I was wet as fuck.

I plunged the dildo deep inside, knowing I could take it all at once. I let out a keening cry as it reached it's depth inside of me, just perfect to make the vibrating bunny ears surround my clit with pleasure.

As I worked the toy inside, just how I liked it, I felt like I wasn't alone. Eyes were watching. I closed my eyes and imagined Tall, Dark, and Handsome watching me with those deep blue eyes.

"Yes, watch me make myself cum. Watch me cum," I muttered as the toy found my g-spot and my words failed me. All I could do was grunt and moan as the dual assault on my clit and g-spot brought my already primed pussy to climax.

I bucked my hips hard as my muscles clamped down on the blue toy, waves of pleasure exploding through my hardened clit. Sometimes I almost felt like I was ejaculating like a man, and imagined my cum pulsing from the non-existent hole in the tip.

When I came back to myself, I found I had let the toy slip out of me, and it was vibrating away happily on the covers between my legs.

Ungh, I muttered, and flipped the switch to turn it off, and fell asleep without bothering to put it away.

The next night I had a repeat of the previous night as the mysterious, imaginary lips feasted on my neck, but this time I was reclined on pillows, my head on the arm of the couch. Instead of being behind me, I had the impression my imaginary man was kneeling beside me. Without realizing what I was doing, I lifted my sleep tank above my breasts, and a mouth latched onto my breast.

"Ooh," I crooned as fingers pinched at my other nipple, and I could swear a hand was slipping between my sleep shorts and my abdomen. When I looked down, there was, indeed, a gap rising between my shorts and my skin.

My mouth opened in a small o, stunned by the sight. Rather than scream or leap up, away from the imaginary touch, this invisible... what?

The hand smoothly found my clit, and all conscious thought stopped as big fingers slid through my folds, a thumb at my clit. It put pressure in just the right places, on my clit, and my clitoral wings, as one long middle finger -- it had to be with the pressure on either side -- slid into my pussy.

"Umgh!" My mouth was incapable of making real words, but I blathered on as if I was talking. These imaginary hands had me coming completely unglued.

When that finger hit my g-spot, I was done, and burst into a whole-bodied orgasm that defied any expectation I ever had for sex. By the time I came down from that high, again, my imaginary visitor was gone.

I turned off the TV, who knows what was actually on, and pulled down my tank, and turned off the lights. Just at that moment when the light is fading, that split-second where the lightbulb is turned off but the light hasn't yet gone completely, I could have sworn I saw my blue-eyed Tall, Dark and Handsome, staring at me from only a few feet away.

I turned the light back on, but nothing. I turned the light off again, and this time, I could have sworn he was smiling.

Each night this repeated, and I very carefully refused to think about what exactly my "imaginary" visitor was.

I didn't believe in ghosts, but it took active denial to keep from acknowledging that my lover was a ghost. Or a spirit. Or whatever he was. The hands and lips returned the next night, and the next. I began to look forward to my "alone" time. And they followed me to bed.

About two weeks after the first incident I came home to find my largest dildo standing on my nightstand and my sexiest lingerie on my bedside.

I know I left that dildo in my drawer. I hadn't used it in a while; my blue rabbit-ears was my current favorite. And the lingerie? It was brand new. A friend gave it to me after my last break-up, telling me "the best way to get over a man is to get under another."

"Really?" I asked the empty room.

I was home a bit late that night. It was a busy night at the cafe, no celebrities, but lots of locals talking about the upcoming arrival of winter. Real winter. The snows were supposed to start soon, including a nice up-slope storm that was supposed to lay down a good base for the ski resorts.

With a knowing smile on my face, I changed into the lingerie. It was sexy white silk, a corset teddy with cups that dipped to the edge of my nipples, and matching panties with a split crotch. The set included a short silk robe that was designed not to close in front, to tantalize and tease with just an inch or two of my better-than-naked body.

I slid on a pair of fluffy white flip-flop style slippers, and leaned back on my bed.

"So, what now?" I asked the room.

I felt a low groan beside me. It vibrated the bed, and through the air, but my bed was empty of anyone but me.

My lips twitched, a sly smile turned the edges of my lips up as I reached for the big black ten-inch black silicon cock, and grabbed it by the base. It glistened as if I had just used it, the wet-looking coating made the carved veins pop. I put the dildo to my mouth... and licked the tip.

And recognized my favorite cherry-flavored edible lube.

Yum.

Somehow I didn't feel bad putting on a show of going down on the hyper-realistic dildo to an empty room. I licked, sucked, and tried to deep-throat the thing, slobbering on it.

When I felt a hand at my pussy, a mouth at my nipple, I didn't jump anymore. I simply let it happen. I sucked and licked the sweet lube from the cock while a hand expertly took my body on an adventure. I'd been blindfolded before, never knowing where my lover would touch me next. I loved it. This was a lot like that, but magnified by a thousand because the lights were on and my eyes were open.