The Blackmere Society Ch. 03

Licking my lips, I peek around the corner to make sure there are none to spot my ascent; I can deal with the issue of my disappearance from the infirmary after the Wraith's undying impulses are satisfied. When it looks to be clear, I start to move forward on the tips of my toes, heading for the stairs - when I'm jarred to a stop by a gruff voice coming from behind me. A voice that could only belong to one person inside the manor.

"Brialla?"

Swallowing hard, I chew my bottom lip and turn. I can feel the Wraith growing more anxious inside of me, as if she's pulling me every which way - then only forward when I finish my pivot and see Erasmus, clad as usual in only trousers and black vest, his shoulders imposingly broad, chest and stomach alarmingly muscled. Things I'd noticed in the past, of course, but now I feel like the Wraith is noticing them along with me, admiring the physique of the pale-haired lycanthrope while I frantically search for something to say. "Mr. Grey!" I exclaim, my breath catching in my throat. "You're... here!"

"As are you. Shouldn't you still be in bed?" the man asks bluntly, one dark brow arched.

"Ah- no! I'm feeling quite better now, found some... strength, and... thought I'd head back to my own room! Much more restful when you have good books to pass the time with, and I've brought so many along with me in my luggage, so I thought I'd-" I start backing upward, struggling against the Wraith's urge to lunge into Erasmus. Such a wicked woman! If I'd known how crazed she was, I would never have given consent for her to... invade me! Not that I really did, anyway.

"Wait! Brialla- erm, Ms. Wren," Erasmus growls, holding out one meaty hand towards me. "I wanted to apologize for this morning. My behavior regarding your... friend."

"Ah, yes, right, well, no need worrying about that any longer, everything's fine now, I really should go, don't-"

"Are you, err... you have an itch or something?"

No more stalling, no more doubt or pondering of any form of decency. I've been attracted to Erasmus since arriving at Blackmere Manor, and that shred of genuine weakness is all it takes for the Wraith to break through. I lunge towards him, almost a pounce like that of a great cat or hunting serpent, my bitten-down nails clawing hungrily down his chest as I press my lips to his, locking the sullen lycanthrope in a wild embrace - though I am driven, both body and spirit, by the outside entity that navigates my form. I taste his hot breath against mine, the roughness of his dark stubble against my chin, as my fingers play down along the man's muscular chest, drawing lower and lower along the avenue provided by his open vest.

Curiously, it's a long moment before I feel a response from Erasmus. He tilts his looming frame down just a bit, returning my kiss - softly, then fiercely, as if the slightest surrender to desire leaves him devoid of reason entirely, impulse taking over. Strong hands move to my hips, squeezing them softly, feeling me, quickly starting to draw up the sides of the shift I'm clad in. Within my mind, I can feel the Wraith indulge in riotous celebration, her entire psyche seeming to coil in the throes of desire, as the arching back of a lover brought to ecstasy.

"What... what are..." Erasmus growls into my mouth, biting down onto my lower lip with small, sharp canines while my hands descend, delving into his trousers to take hold of his remarkable manhood - finding it to have already engorged itself in anticipation at quite an impressive rate. Kissing again, not answering, I begin to squeeze it, begin to stroke his massive shaft back and forth beneath his underthings. To my great surprise, however - and to that of the Wraith as well, I feel - he takes his position more firmly, placing both hands at my slight shoulders and pushing me away. "What are you doing?!"

"I need you," I whisper, looking back up at him. I can feel my vision blur as I look through two pairs of eyes, as if my gaze was glassed over by drink or weariness while my body remained a dynamo of lustful activity, pushing myself back against him. "I need you, I need you - I'll do whatever you ask of me! Claim whichever passage of mine pleases you, just as long as I feel you... f-feel something...!" I cannot tell if the words that leave my mouth belong to me, or the undead huntress within me, the one reducing me to such a slattern with so little concern for my reputation. But whichever of us it is, I know I cannot hold back the tide of words and actions, pawing at Mr. Grey's chest again, my opposite hand reaching back for the warm, throbbing thing in his trousers-

But his grip on my shoulders remains strong, and he continues to hold me at bay, icy eyes boring into my own, doubtful and inquisitive. "You aren't her," he growls.

"I-"

"Wraith. Are you doing this? Do you bend Brialla to your will?" The certainty in his voice makes me wonder if such a thing has happened before - or if, perhaps, it happens with some frequency.

"Glac dúinn araon, beithigh!" I yelp out, my eyes wide. This, however, I am quite certain is not my words.

"No," Erasmus snarls, seeming to have understood what I said better than I did. "Ms. Wren, if you're still in there, listen close - when I finally take you to my room, lay you down, and show you the most intense, bestial intercourse you've ever seen, it will be with your permission. Tell the Wraith she'll need to slake her thirst in a different way." With that, he drops one hand from my shoulder and reaches into his pocket, withdrawing a handful of white powder and pushing his hand out, scattering it across my chest. I feel every fiber of my being attempt to retreat, try to pull away, but the werewolf is far too quick - I topple to the ground as the Wraith is blasted from my body.

"...Good sir," I stammer, struggling back to my feet before I realize that I'm doing so. The corner of my eye shows the Wraith letting out a silent banshee's wail of frustration before fading through a wall, leaving visibility altogether. "I, err... thank you. A lesser man would have found such an advantage too favorable to dismiss."

"I prefer prey that runs," he says, a dark grin spreading across his face. Nodding down to my legs, he continues. "I see you've found your strength."

I blink, glancing down as well and finding myself unexpectedly standing. Curious. "Oh, ah... yes! It would seem so. That's rather strange."

"Perhaps you simply needed some exercise," the shapechanger smirks, offering a short bow to me. "I'll let you get to where you were going."

"Ah, indeed! And pretend this never happened, hopefully."

"Oh, I wouldn't go that far. I recall something about 'claiming whichever passage of yours pleased me,' I don't plan on forgetting that right away." Another grin, though this one carries a bit more of a boyish arrogance than Mr. Grey's predatory leerings past. My tongue catches as I try to come up with an answer, but he slips past me without another word - out of the common area and out of the mansion entirely, out into the gloom and rain that perpetually pitter-patters upon Blackmere Manor.

I force myself to inhale deeply, catching my breath after such a... rather anxious encounter. I confess a restlessness remaining in my body, though, a tingle of desire that leaves me wondering what choice I would have made had the Wraith not been stealing my decisions from me. A question for another night, perhaps.

With the newfound use of my legs, my body unstable but seemingly back to an ambulatory state, I make my way up the winding, crimson-carpeted staircase to my own room, slipping the shift back off of my naked figure and grabbing a book from my luggage, still left open from when I'd gathered my robes to close the asylum rift. I tumble onto the bed, then, my body immediately grateful for rest after even such a short spell of activity. Men's Guide to the Practicality of Geometry in Ritual Magicks, by Dr. Richard Grant. Even outside the appeals of study and the church, I must endure the self-aggrandizement of the rougher sex - still, I'm halfway through the massive tome, bound in thin slats of wood wrapped in light blue canvas, and learned a decent bit from it. Would be wasteful to turn back now.

I flip to the pigeon's feather marking the place I stopped and reach for my reading spectacles, rolling onto my stomach to peruse the complex elaboration upon the extensive thesis. I only make it a single page in, however, before I find myself interrupted - by perhaps the last presence I may have expected to see. Drifting through the wall as if it were composed of clear water, the Wraith drifts into my bedchamber, her expression somber and her eyes downcast. I slip the bookmark back into place and recoil, eyes narrowing. "You! Apparition! Why do you continue to bedevil me?!"

The Wraith, characteristically, says nothing, but her translucent figure continues to glide towards me before dropping to a kneel at the edge of the bed. Her eyes remain low, her face sober, hands at her sides. She seems almost... ashamed?

"Wraith? Are you... why are you here?"

Her eyes shift sideways, then low, indicating the lower floor of the manor. She then looks back to me - our eyes meet, and in that instant I don't need her to speak to understand her.

"You're apologizing," I whisper.

The ghost nods, lowering her gaze again, and I find myself considering her predicament. She is clearly always active, taken by neither sleep nor inebriation, unable to communicate. Alone with her thoughts and feelings, yet she dedicates herself to slaying the evils beneath the world. Perhaps, in her predicament, I would make the same mistakes she had. Perhaps I might be worse.

Slowly, I set the book on my nightstand and extend my hand to her. "Would you... like to come back in?"

Her eyes flicker back up to me, excited now, though questioning. She raises her own hand slightly, reaching toward me but not touching me. I close the distance, taking her fingers with my own, and the Wraith vanishes - drifting into me, filling me, possessing me. I can feel her lust again, conjoining with my own restlessness, swelling until I cannot tell what is her and what is me. I no longer feel the discomfort of having her within me, but lay back against the bed, back arching as my desire overwhelms me... overwhelms us. I'm done resisting.

My hands drift to my body, caressing up my stomach and to my breasts, groping one while my other hand fondles my stiffening nipples. Jolts of pleasure tremble along my body in duet, the ghost's soul singing along with mine, relishing in the slightest touch, enhancing my own pleasure as I experience its more resonant echo. For each touch of my own physical hands, however, I feel another touch - like invisible fingers caressing along my body, touching my thighs, raking tenderly along my hips and the sides of my posterior, making me tremble in the sweetness. "Aaahhh..."

"AaaAah...!"

I can feel her, taste her. She cries out when I do, arches as I arch, her shivers an after-image of my own. A discordant ripple. I pinch my fingers along my nipple more firmly, crying out, but the Wraith grows bolder - she needs more. The fingers drifting along my lower body become more formless, extensions of her will, ghostly appendages that press and rub along my womanhood, grinding against the slick pink slit that I hadn't realized had grown so warm or so wet. The appendage slides forwards and back along me, sawing itself against my nethers, making me shriek out in delight again, my thighs clenching together around it, feeling as it begins to shift its form once again. Taking on a shape, however crude; smooth, cylindrical, bluntly tapered at its end. It seems a devilish, incorporeal approximation of a male member, though it feels so entirely real as it presses against my womanly opening and then slips inside, sliding deep into me, drawing an unhinged shriek from my lips. "AAaaaighHh...!"

I continue to massage and caress myself, hands wandering up and down my squirming body, joined by a legions-worth more of prodding, touching fingers, trailing along my sides and hips, rubbing my nipples in slow circles. Two even drift into my mouth, forcing me to greedily suck at them while my hips buck, rocking forward against the eldritch appendage sliding in and out of me. Another such coil of invisible ectoplasm slithers between my breasts, wrapping around one and squeezing gently, while a third seems to see my bucking as an opening to snake beneath me, prodding against my lower entrance. It's cool and slick, like the first, causing me to tremble again as it forces its way into my posterior.

I throw my head back and scream, caring not who hears me. The way the Wraith manifests her will is almost torturously decadent, reacting to every slight shift of my body. She shifts when I relax, advances when I recoil, a sexual fencing match in which she lands every strike and deftly parries every counter. My toes curl and clench against the balls of my feet, hands finally falling to my sides to form fists in the sheets of my bed. The strange, ghastly tendrils assault me from all sides now, growing faster, though still focusing on my two sinful entrances, slithering effortlessly in and out of them, growing rougher when I need them rougher, then damning me with their slow, tormenting rhythm. "Hhahh... nnhhhaAHH... eeah, Mother of GOD!"

I cling to the bed and thrash against it, writhing like a woman possessed - which, I suppose, is exactly what I am. My screams echo through the bedchamber as climax seizes me, followed by another, then another as I feel the Wraith's pleasure reach its zenith as well, exploding through me, ghostly lights flickering around me even as the lights themselves switch off. The strange tendrils do not relent, continuing their curious dance against my sensations, driving into my womanhood and anus like the pistons of some great steam engine, driving me to another climax, and another, and another. It feels like hours - though I know it likely was not, as such - before the pleasure calms, the appendages slowing to a halt before dissolving within me, as if they'd never existed.

I lay sprawled across the bed, panting, hands and feet reaching for all four corners as I try to steal back my breath. The Wraith's cold presence has become warming now, soothing, like the folded arms of a lover after a most intense... coupling. The lights in the manor begin to slowly flicker back on.

"That... w-was..."

I close my eyes, resting. I can still feel her in me, the warm buzzing of her consciousness swimming through my thoughts. I make a mental note to... call on the apparition again, in the future.

"...Remarkable."