byNakod Apa©

'Laney! Laney!'

Ghislaine pretended not to hear the call and continued down the lane leading to the cliffs and sea shore. She felt entitled to ignore her mother's shouts - for had she not completed her share of the domestic chores? Was she not now at eighteen full grown, finished with high school and, lucky girl, been promised a job in the nearby town at the end of the summer holidays?

Coming to the cliff path her long, lithe legs carried her rapidly away from their old fisherman's cottage and on toward the wooded headland that thrust into the sea a mile to the east of the village.

The sun striking hot on her body made her glad he'd said not to wear underclothes. She might have coped with panties, though she much preferred the cool feel of air drifting up the legs of her shorts and onto the mound he'd insisted on shaving, but a bra would be unbearable - not that she needed one, her recently ripened breasts were high and youthfully firm.

Reaching a fork in the path she hesitated; one branch continued on to the headland, while the other wound steeply down to the seclusion of Shell Cove. Which should she take? Where would it please him most to discover her; in the woods - sun-bathing in its small central glade, her curves bare and exposed for his delight; or lying naked on the sands of the cove - sea soaked and eager to be used?

Undecided she scanned the deserted cliffs, then out to sea where a small yacht lay becalmed.

Suddenly - from nowhere - he was behind her, his hands resting lightly on the curve of her hips. Kisses moistened the back of her neck while hands stole under her tee-shirt, gently caressing her satin skin as they slid up to fondle her new, young boobs, the nipples hard in his palms.

'Oh! Yes!' She moaned, abruptly aware of the way she ached with the need to know his touch.

'What do you wish?' She had to strain to hear his low, melodious voice start the incantation.

'To make you happy.' She fervently responded.

'And what will make me happy?'

'Taking me. Using me. Enjoying my body.' She was becoming breathless under his attentive handling.

'You will do all I ask?' His strong fingers continued to fondle her sensitive orbs, squeezing them hard enough to make her gasp, before gently stroking their erect buds.

'Yes, yes, I'm yours. Just tell me how I may please you.'

Her fingers fumbled with the buttons of her shorts until, at last, they opened allowing the material to slip down her slim, boyish, thighs and pool around her ankles. As she stepped from them he grasped the hem of her shirt and pulled it up over her head and down her arms. The hot sun fell scorchingly on her bare tits and mound.

'On your hands and knees,' he commanded, pulling her back from the path and onto the short, sheep cropped turf.

Eagerly she knelt, thrusting out her arms to support her upper body. She didn't attempt to look at him, she knew he couldn't be seen. She could only ever hear him, smell him, and above all feel the exquisite pleasure of his shaft driving into her, but never was he to be seen - not by her, not by anyone.

Ghislaine felt him kneel behind her, his already stiff shaft nudging her entrance, testing her wetness. She pushed back, desperate to impale herself on his length, willing him to fill her.

'Patience, my dear. I think slowly and deliberately is much more enjoyable.'

She groaned, 'No, now. Now!'

'Behave yourself, you're here to please me. Or so you said.' The perspiration on his chest dripped cool on her back as his hands reached round to grasp and milk her pendant boobs. Abruptly, with one violent thrust, he drove straight into her. She screamed.

Oh, it was good feeling him deep inside, but she wished she were the one riding, then she would feel his lips and teeth tasting her tits as she rose and fell on his big shaft.

He started with small, slow thrusts, that quickly rose to a crescendo until he was rapidly and forcefully sheathing and unsheathing his full length. Now Ghislaine was lost; now she knew nothing but the bliss of being roughly ravaged as she came again and again.

At last, with a short cry, he erupted, his welcome seed flowing into her, filling her. He gave a final, perfunctory squeeze to her tits, then pulled his sated, empty cock from her and allowed her to collapse, exhausted but content, onto the grass.

'Did I please you?' She panted. 'Did you have all you wanted from me?' There was no reply. Was he still there?

Brushing a few small grass stems from her bruised breasts she looked round, although she knew that even if he remained close he would not be visible. All she could see was an expanse of pasture, empty except for the distant figure of an old crone slowly plodding along the path from the village. It seemed she was once more alone on the wide sweep of the cliff top.

Spent, she stood and let the blazing sun dry her naked, sweat soaked skin before picking up her shorts and tee-shirt.

Dressed again she turned toward home only to find the old crone almost upon her. 'Good day Mrs. Pratt.' Ghislaine had been taught that politeness cost nothing.

'Yes it is. . . . So it's you he's chosen to have next.'

'I'm sorry?'

'Tim. That Invisible Monster. Tim, I call him. You're the latest he's picked to serve his sick needs.'

'How do you know?'

'I may be getting on in years but my senses are still sharp. Even from down the path I could hear the noise you were making as you were fucked - except I could see no one taking you. I knew then that it had to be Tim doing you, so I waited till he'd finished with you before I came on.'

'How very considerate.' Ghislaine was somewhat resentful at the thought of being watched.

'Not really. I just didn't want to have to acknowledge him.'

'How do you know of him?'

'Because I was one of his first.'

She looked hard at the woman. Slightly stooped from a poverty stricken grind she was probably three times Ghislaine's age. Her bone structure hinted that she could once have been as great a beauty. Perhaps she wasn't as ancient as she had imagined.

'You're too old.'

'Am I? Don't imagine that if you could see him he would be some handsome young stud. He never was, not even when he was regularly taking me, though - to be fair - he was presentable enough in those days. But now - when he's older than I am . . .'

'I don't believe you. You're just a jealous old woman.'

'So you may think, but then all you feel is the joy of a first love; of having a man who has made you his own; a man who delights in filling your cunni. You want to talk about him, let the world know how great he is. Well, I've been there. Join me in my cottage for a cup of tea and I'll tell you all about your so wonderful lover.'

Ghislaine stared, confused - what right did this old witch have to tell lies about his appearance, invisible though he was. But she was right, she wanted, needed, to talk to someone about him. She gazed out to sea - absent mindedly noticing that the yacht had hardly moved.

At last, grudgingly, she agreed. 'All right, since I've nothing else to do right now.'

Impatiently she turned in the direction of the headland, the woman shuffling after her. As they passed the fork in the path Ghislaine motioned toward the cove, 'That's where I first met him,' she defiantly declared.

'Does it matter where? Once he'd decided to take you he would have found a convenient spot.' The old woman said.


Was it true? Ghislaine reflected on that first meeting. It was Sunday, several weeks ago - the first really fine, warm day of the year. No more revision, her exams over, her schooling about to end, stuck in this one horse - no, one boat - village, she had been at a loose end. Her few friends were far away in the town so, finally, for lack of anything else to occupy her, she had decided on a swim. Shell Cove was her favourite spot. It was usually deserted which made it a convenient place to change, and saved having to trudge home in a wet bikini. Except that when she arrived she realized she had forgotten the bikini. Well, she wasn't going back for it. Anyway with no one about why shouldn't she skinny dip.

It wasn't a long swim, for though the sun might be warm, the sea was still cold so early in the year, yet it was good to once more feel the salt water caressing her tits and her pussy. She dried herself and, the cove being protected from the wind, settled back, still naked, to doze in the sun.

At first she'd thought she was dreaming the fingers delicately caressing her breast. She'd looked down at her boobs, so much bigger than this time last year, but had seen nothing. Then, so mild it was hardly there, a faint touch had ruffled her pubic hair. She'd felt a tremor run through her body and instinctively spread her legs. The slight pressure stroked the inside of one thigh then the other before moving to her clit.

'You like that, don't you?' The voice had been so low she had barely heard it over the surf. But where was its owner. Why could she hear him, feel him, but not see him?

A pause, then the - hand? - on her breast gave way to - lips? - gently sucking her nipple. The firmness - a finger? - at her slit pushed inside her. What was happening? Was she dreaming? If so she didn't want it to stop. The tension mounted, her need grew; she'd arched her back; one finger became two; with a deep moan she came.

'Now wasn't that fun?' The voice had been close to her ear. 'If you're a good girl we can do that again some time.'

Once more aware of her surroundings she had sensed an absence. He'd gone - if he'd ever been there - if it had been a man - but what had happened? Whatever it was it didn't happen again although hope took her back to the cove on each of the next three afternoons.

The following Wednesday evening she had gone to her room and lain naked on the bed, hands lazily exploring and enjoying her boobs. She was thankful they had finally developed so generously that boys, and men, who had previously paid her no heed now vied for her acquaintance. She dropped a hand between her legs and found her clit.

'Let me do that for you.' The voice was the same, so it seemed was the hand that slid under the quilt, gently moved her's aside, and assumed the stroking of her swollen labia.

She started, then relaxed and sighed with pleasure. He was back.

'Are you a good girl?' The voice had asked.

'What's a good girl?'

'One who knows it's better to give than to receive. That, if she wants the pleasure only a man can provide, must first agree to satisfy him, fill his needs, obey his demands.'

'I think so.'

'So what are you going to give me?'

Ghislaine had moaned softly as a finger traced across the curves of her breasts, a nail flicking their nipples. A hand had cupped and held one full globe, gently caressing and kneading it. 'Anything, anything. Just hold me, stroke me, suck my buds.'

'Then first you must learn to give.' The covers had dropped to the floor, allowing a breath of cool air to waft across her bare pussy. She'd closed her eyes as the hands ran over her soft skin exploring every curve and bump.

'Come to me. Tomorrow. In the afternoon. At the wood on the headland. I will await you in the glade at its centre. There you will give me your maidenhead and I will repay you with joy and pleasure beyond your wildest imaginings.'

'Yes! Oh, yes.'

Lips touched her's, a tongue explored and tasted her small wet mouth. She rose to him, her back arched, her breasts yearning.

Nothing. He was gone.


'I normally have a short rest here. I'm not as young as I was.' The crone's words recalled Ghislaine from her trance. They were passing the wood.

'Where, sitting on that log?' She might as well humour the old shrew.

'Where else? You can go and check the clearing in the centre if you wish. You never know, Tim might be there ready to give you another pounding. It was always one of his favourite summer spots.'

'Was it now.' That sounded right. It was where he'd carried out his promise and deflowered her.


There had been a soft, warm breeze as she'd expectantly, excitedly made her way to the headland early - too early - that following afternoon; but in the glade it was still and hot with the high sun beating down, the trees blocking any air movement.

Should she get rid of her clothes? Would he want to find her naked? Would he come? She sat anxiously in the middle of the soft grass staring down the narrow but distinct path through the trees. After a while she felt so hot she stripped off her shorts and T-shirt and waited with only briefs and bra covering her slender form and full boobs.

As time passed she grew more and more anxious. 'Please come. Please come soon,' she murmured to herself.

'Thy wish is my command,' the voice whispered by her right ear.

She smiled, almost laughed with joy, and trembled excitedly as he pulled her hair to one side and lightly kissed her slim neck. She quivered with excitement at the feel of his hands gliding down her smooth arms to hold her firm while his lips explored her shoulders then moved down her back. Briefly he released her; undid the catch of her bra; slowly slid the straps down her arms and freed her innocent mounds to the captivity of his fingers.

Her eyes closed, she leaned back against his chest as, for several minutes, he did nothing but cup, squeeze and toy with her yearning, sensitive breasts. She was aware of nothing, wanted nothing but the joy of his hands and lips on her pliant young flesh. Her throbbing nipples swelled and hardened at the teasing thrill of his thumbs.

At last he lowered her to lie flat upon the soft grass. She trembled as his lips found her hard buds and his hands drew her panties down and off her legs. Then he caressed the soft skin inside her thighs before gently pushing her unresisting knees apart.

'You want to become a woman.' It was a statement not a question. 'You want me inside you.'

Ghislaine didn't answer. Sliding his fingers higher his thumbs found and rubbed her tender clit while his teeth continued their assault on her erect nipples.

'Please. Oh, please,' she moaned.

'Please what?' He whispered.

'Make me a woman. Pop my cherry.'

'You'll remember; 'tis better to give than to receive. Are you giving it to please me?'

'Yes, yes. It's yours. Take me.'

She felt him raise. Knew his eyes were inspecting her slender body with the beautiful breasts he had so lovingly squeezed and fondled. Sensed his admiration of the liberal bush at the apex of her firm thighs, his delight at the slight tremble in her legs as she offered herself to him. Felt him settle between her thighs, his cock rubbing hard against her clit. She moaned and he leaned forward to press his lips on her throat while his cock slid back and forth along her labia testing her dampness.

'Now, now,' she urged him. And immediately felt him press between her lower lips and slowly force his way past her hymen. She gasped as he pushed deeper and deeper until every inch of him was inside, filling her completely.

His breath was hot on her neck. 'This is what you need," he whispered as he began to drive in and out, each thrust as firm and deep as the first. A strong arm encircled her waist pulling her close as his hips started to move in a slow, deliberate circle and his rhythm quickened. A hand grasped her hair, steadying her against his savage invasion.

She opened her eyes and looked where she knew his face must be - nothing. As she opened her mouth to ask her muscles tightened, an overwhelming frisson engulfed her. She cried out as she climaxed. In response he lowered his mouth to her breast, took a nipple between his teeth and bit it as he flooded her with his sperm. Still he did not stop but slowly ground his hips against her's as he sought to squeeze every drop from his balls.

At last he was stationary. Ghislaine became aware of more than just his weight on her, flattening her abused boobs. She could hear the birds, the sough of the wind in the trees, feel the sun hot on her legs, the dwindling of his cock.

'Did I give enough? Was I sufficient?' She asked.

'Yes, my dear. You were splendid. You gave me much pleasure. I can see that I shall often want what you have to give.'

'Good. Come to me again very soon. Please! . . . But what is your name, what do I call you?'

'"Master" will do.'

'Master, master, master,' she tried the sound of it. 'Yes, I like that - master.'

He did not reply. She felt him roll off her and the sun beat hot on her fair flesh. Again he had left her.


'We best be getting along,' the crone said.

Ghislaine came to with a start - she'd been dreaming again. 'I suppose so. . . You know he didn't just take me in the clearing. He came to me in my room.'

'Of course. Being invisible he goes where he wishes. I expect he watched you in the shower a time or two before he decided to claim you.'

'Know it all, don't you?' Ghislaine sulked at the marring of her treasured memories.

The crone said nothing, just steadily plodded down the path.


The weather had remained warm for the next two days and each afternoon she had returned to the clearing in the woods only to leave bereft when he did not appear.

Late that second evening she lay on her bed dressed only in a long, thin tee-shirt. She ran her hands down the material, enjoying the swell of her new breasts with their hard nipples poking through the fabric. She found the hem and lifted it to allow her fingers to stroke a cunni damp from memories of her divine shafting. Where was he? When would he take her again? She wanted him.

The bed tilted slightly as a weight pressed beside her. Soft lips grazed her cheek. A wet tongue caressed her mouth. Yes! Yes! He was here. She had a throbbing between her thighs. She whimpered softly.

Other fingers grasped the hem of her tee-shirt drawing it along her body. She lifted her shoulders from the mattress and it was pulled up and over her head. Lips found and sucked a nipple. The yearning between her legs increased.

'You came. Thank you, master. You came,' she is almost incoherent with joy.

'Did you think I would neglect my little inamorata?'

As she felt him lift his weight onto her she opened her legs and the tip of his tool poked at her moist entrance. She gasped as he guided himself into her, filling every inch of her depths.

Thereafter he came many nights. He had her in her bed, he had her in the shower, he had her often during several lengthy, and enjoyable, occasions when her mother was absent. Yet he much preferred having her in the glade on the headland. Every afternoon, when the weather suited, she would willingly submit to his rapacious cock.


'This is it,' the crone said, pushing open the door to a small dilapidated cottage. 'Come in.'

Cautiously Ghislaine stepped directly from the road into a small parlour. The first thing she noticed were the large mirrors hanging on the lime washed walls. Opposite, through an open door she could see a narrow bed and yet more mirrors.

Talking as she stoked a small cooking fire and put on a kettle, the crone said 'You know he's not always invisible, only when he wills himself to be. And then just his body, not his clothes.'

Still resentful Ghislaine said, 'How do you know?'

'Later, I'll come to that. First though, that is why he prefers to take you in the woods. He can enter as a normal man then hide among the trees, undress, will himself invisible, and come to you unsee-able.'

'You say he mostly walks around as a normal person?'

'Yes. You probable know him, or have at least seen him without knowing what he is.'

'But why . . .?'

'Why should he try to hide who he is, or why does he want you?'

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byNakod Apa© 3 comments/ 38603 views/ 8 favorites

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