The Empty Lover Ch. 02

Note:

This is the second part of a longer story crossing multiple Literotica genres.

While you could probably read this on its own and suss out most of what's gone on before, it's probably best to start with Chapter One.

Edited, with my sincere thanks, by Azhura.

All characters are over the age of 18.

***

The screaming had gone on for five nights.

Nick and Eileen sat on their couch and - not for the first time, though with a much hornier undercurrent than before - thought about checking in on their upstairs neighbour.

The nice young woman who had lived above them for over a year - Jane (they now knew her name because Eileen had contrived a reason to bump into her in the hallway a couple of days earlier and had introduced herself) - had never been noisy. No parties, no loud music, and no boys (or girls) from what they could tell. So the couple downstairs, who were themselves naturally quiet - maybe a little too quiet, Eileen had reflected on night one of the seeming sexual awakening of the banshee upstairs - had been a little shocked when the sounds of what they assumed was intensely filthy porn had come blaring down through their ceiling.

They had quickly come to realize that it had not been porn.

When Eileen had first met Jane outside their building's mailbox kiosk, she couldn't square the noises she and Nick had been hearing - several times a night, for three nights by that point - with the demure and well-put-together girl in front of her.

Standing about five-foot-two and waif-thin with a bit of visible lean muscle displayed under tight workout clothes, Jane Forster had looked like any other college-aged woman heading out to work, a workout, or for a casual date. Her hair was cute - tight dirty blond waves cut short, framing a face with elfin features and a slightly too large nose - and she wore minimal makeup that made her facial features look just a little more adult than they probably were (Eileen placed her at about twenty, twenty-one at the oldest). The look was capped off by a pair of glasses with light-coloured frames that appeared to have been chosen for cost, not fashion.

Two things had stood out to Eileen and solved the mystery of exactly where the ecstatic - and often outright filthy - moans of pleasure had been coming from.

First, because Jane was inexpert at applying makeup to cover up signs of fatigue, the slight bags under her eyes told a story of a girl who'd not gotten a whole lot of sleep lately.

And second - as Jane walked out the apartment building doors and into the light of day - she had the characteristic strut, Eileen had thought, of a woman who was being well and truly fucked. She had looked sore, but floaty, as though any cares in her life had been left on her mattress.

Eileen had been a little jealous.

Nick and Eileen had once had an amazing sex life. Both of them had been open to a whole host of kinks and had rarely gone a whole day without finding an excuse to peel off their clothes and drown in each other. Their favourite kink had been adding the occasional guest star to their master/slave play, both men holding Eileen down and using her in every way a person can be used sexually.

But over time the business of middle age had set in. Both were in their forties now with successful careers, friends, and hobbies and, worse than that, they'd unlearned the art of objectifying each other. When they did have sex now, it was sweet and fast and devoid of the heat they used to have for one another.

There was heat coming from above their heads that night, however. Lots of it. The kind that consumes.

Nick was laying back on the couch, phone in one hand, and wearing only a t-shirt and boxers, while Eileen curled up in the corner opposite him, trying to tune out the sounds of passionate moaning and focus on the tv. Both were beyond distracted by the noises coming from upstairs; rhythmic slapping of skin - hard and frantic - the scratching of a bed moving across a wood floor and, most of all, the sounds of Jane howling as someone used her to make themself cum.

Eileen glanced over at her husband and found herself getting turned on as she saw him absently stroking his hard dick through his shorts. A drop of moisture from the head of his cock stained the cotton and Eileen felt the crotch of her pyjamas get damp in response.

Fuck, she thought, he's still so sexy. Why do I never notice how sexy he is?

Nick had always been what most straight women would consider aggressively attractive. Now forty-two, he still had all his hair - jet-black and wavy, only slight touches of grey at the temples - and constant cycling, running, and quick bouts of pushups on every trip to the bathroom or kitchen had given him a lean body, densely packed with muscle. Nick wasn't a vain man, or all that concerned about his health, but he had an enormous appetite - for food now, as it once had been for sex - and he maintained his activity levels because he didn't want the consequences of that appetite to show on his body.

Why am I not fucking this man three times a day, every day? Eileen wondered.

Eileen, by contrast, was more cute than effortlessly hot, but she hadn't invested the same degree of self-care time that Nick had. Eileen was soft and curvy - round bum, c-cup breasts with only a bit of sag and just a bit of adorable extra flesh all over - no one would ever call her fat, but she thought the word "voluptuous" had been coined to describe her body specifically and she wore it as a badge of honour.

Nick caught her glancing at his crotch and stopped his idle stroking - a sheepish grin spreading on his face. He glanced at the ceiling apologetically, and they both absorbed for a moment the sound of muffled screaming - it sounded like Jane's mouth was being fucked hard.

Eileen said nothing but adjusted her body so she was facing Nick, and then she slid a hand under the waistband of her pyjamas and leaned her head back against the couch cushions.

Eyes firmly on his wife, but ears drawn to the eroticism happening a few feet above him, Nick quickly stood and pulled his boxers down and moved toward Eileen.

As she slowly teased her pussy, Eileen felt Nick approach and lifted her head to meet his gaze. She held up the hand that wasn't rubbing light circles over her slippery clit; a plea for Nick to stop.

"No," she said. "I want to watch."

Nick sat back down on his end of the couch and stretched his legs out, staring at his wife as he began stroking his cock slowly. He'd always loved watching Eileen play with herself and it had been years since he'd experienced this in a way more inNickate than hearing her quietly getting herself off beside him in bed on nights when he was too tired to help.

It had once been a rule in their submission play that she had to do this on command whenever it suited him because the sight of her frantically chasing an orgasm with fingers or a toy drove him insane. This turnabout - Eileen being as invested in watching him as she was in getting herself off - was a fun new twist on an old game.

Eileen stared as Nick's hand slid up and down his hard dick and she fingered her slit urgently, barely aware of an involuntary keening noise escaping her lips as her need grew. The sight of pre-cum leaking from the tip of Nick's cock, combined with the sounds of Jane being fucked, had Eileen in a state of arousal that was way past the "Wouldn't it be nice to have some sex?" place. She needed to be filled and used and to join her howls of pleasure to those of the girl upstairs.

A particularly loud sound from upstairs - as though something was both pounding on and being dragged across the floor - drew Eileen's attention away from Nick's cock, and she glanced at the ceiling above.

Is he trying to see if he can fuck her straight through the floor?

God, how can he just keep fucking her that hard?

Nick glanced at the ceiling at the same time and then back at his wife. He was trying to pace himself, sticking to a slow light stroking rather than focusing on getting off but seeing Eileen grow more urgent as she plunged her fingers into her pussy beneath her pj pants, he knew he'd lose that fight.

I need...

"I need your mouth," he said.

Eileen stopped her self-molestation and grinned at him.

"Do you?" she asked cheekily.

Eileen stood up slowly and untied her pyjama bottoms, letting them fall to the floor. Nick kept stroking as he stared - hungry - between her legs. A perfectly swollen pussy topped with a triangle of black hair stared back at Nick.

Nick noticed that a strand of clear girl juice was strung from his wife's shaved labia to her inner thigh and he groaned and squeezed his cock.

"Now," he growled.

Eileen strolled over slowly, pausing to run her index finger through her dripping cunt and popping it into her mouth, sucking it clean.

Nick groaned again and Eileen laughed.

When their sex life had been especially active, she'd always preferred taking the submissive role; it suited her to just shut her mind off and be used. Nick had, out of an over-abundance of empathy, not quite been able to get to the dom place she needed when they'd first got together. Too worried about hurting her, and not quite believing that she liked sex as rough as she'd claimed, Nick had been strong but gentle.

And so Eileen had developed the Brat. She'd found that, when toying with a man who was too horny to think properly but too nice to just let go completely, delaying his gratification just a little via a bratty, mischievous persona added a touch of annoyance to his demeanour and unlocked certain... rougher instincts. Nick had been transformed by it.

She was channelling the Brat on this night, teasing Nick (and herself, if she was being honest) so that he'd get riled up enough to give her the kind of aggressive fucking it sounded like their neighbour was getting in the unit above them.

As soon as she got within arms' reach, Nick let go of his cock and grabbed Eileen, one large hand on each ass cheek, pulling them apart while letting his thumbs slide towards her pussy. He pulled her towards him roughly, his mouth meeting the soft skin just above her mons, and he bit her, just hard enough for her to feel the pain, along with the pleasure of his lips and tongue lingering on her sensitive skin.

"Now," he said, calmly, "but slow. No throat until you've earned it. And no hands.

Fuck.

Eileen looooved giving head. To her, there was nothing more simultaneously submissive and empowering. Serving someone in a way that didn't - shouldn't - provide any physical pleasure to her, but having that person utterly at her mercy and subject to her whim made her gooey in truly wonderful ways.

But...

Eileen also had a gift. There were certain situations so overpowering in their eroticism that she could spontaneously orgasm from them, no physical touch required.

There had been an occasion, nearly a decade earlier, when she and Nick had attended a swinger's party thrown by a few friends from an online chat group. Nick had strapped Eileen to a hobby horse - one that had been modified with padding and shackles - and proceeded to use body paint to label her (slut and whore on her ass cheeks, bitch and tease on her tits, and good girl across her cheeks) and then had wandered off for about an hour.

No one had touched her. She'd just been teased. A parade of hard cocks had come within millimetres of her mouth and pussy. One cruel soul had knelt behind her and just breathed lightly near her asshole and clit. And one absolute stunner of a woman had stood right in front of Eileen's panting tongue and proceeded to get herself off with a rabbit toy stuffed into her perfectly shaved and oiled pussy. That cruel partygoer had left Eileen's cheeks and lips covered in a light mist of girl cum.

But no one had touched her.

When Nick had sauntered back - a shit-eating grin on his face and his fly still unzipped from the blowjob he'd just received from someone in a stairwell around the corner - Eileen was howling as an orgasm ripped through her and her cum dripped down her twitching thighs. The situation itself had provoked one of the most intense cums she'd ever experienced.

Those occasions were few and far between, save for one reliable exception. For as long as she could remember, anytime she'd ever given someone head and had gotten to a place where she was legiNickately being face-fucked - hands on the back of her head, and a needy, thrusting cock burying itself in her throat as though it were a second pussy, she'd cum. Almost always hard. On a couple of occasions, hard enough to squirt.

So Nick, setting the conditions he just had, was telling her explicitly she'd get no relief through the act of pleasuring him. He was domming her by depriving them both.

Fine. I'll just make him beg.

This was their game. Eileen wanted Nick to take charge. She wanted, at the end of any good fuck, to feel like she was owned. But she wanted him to earn it.

Eileen shook herself free of Nick's hands and knelt in front of him on the couch. Nick reached for her head as though to guide it and she playfully slapped him away.

"You said, 'no throat, no hands.'" she said. "How are you going to prevent me from using my hands without holding them down?"

Nick grinned at her and grabbed her wrists, pulling her body closer to him.

Eileen leaned her head in closer to Nick's eagerly bobbing cock and breathed him in, loving the musk pouring off him and the feel of his large hands gripping her thin wrists in anticipation. As was her habit, she raised her ass in the air, as though waiting for another pair of hands to grab her forcefully by the waist, and another hard cock to push into her sopping hole.

She closed her eyes and gently kissed the skin on Nick's cock, about midway up the seven-inch shaft that curved towards his belly and let her tongue slip out and lap at him gently. His hands tightened around her wrists and he groaned.

Good boy. Most men were quiet when you did things to them. Nick let her know he appreciated her efforts. Her pussy twitched in response.

Eileen trailed her tongue from the base of the thick cock in front of her to its tip, stopping to scoop up the slippery pre-cum welling at the head.

She opened her mouth to begin her teasing and then:

SMASH!

Neither Nick nor Eileen had been present enough to notice when the screaming from upstairs had stopped, but the bang that had just shaken their whole ceiling certainly grabbed their attention.

Nick groaned again, of a very different type this time, and sat up.

"We should," he started...

..."check on her." Eileen finished his sentence.

Eileen sat back on her heels and sighed, dimly aware of the juices dripping from her pussy and onto her criss-crossed ankles.

They both looked up at the ceiling.

"I'll go," Eileen said. "She and I have at least spoken and she'll recognize me. If it's nothing I'll come right back down and we'll pick up where we left off."

Nick started to protest but Eileen was already standing up. She picked her pants up off the floor and pulled them back on.

"Fine," said Nick, casually reaching down and stroking his cock again. "But hurry back. I've got a need to hear you beg for my cum."

Eileen blushed a bit, her brain no longer quite in the slutty primal place it had been a few moments before.

With one last lingering glance at her husband, laying back and edging himself to the (presumably) thought of pumping cum down her eager throat, Eileen quickly slipped on a pair of shoes and ducked out their front door.

***

Jane sat on her living room floor, naked, legs sprawled out in front of her, and surveyed the damage.

There is no way, she thought, picking herself up gently, that I'm getting a dime of my damage deposit back.

Even in the dark, she could see the dozens of scratch marks on the hardwood floor, caused by the bottom of her table legs as the table had moved back and forth to the rhythm of Jane being fucked.

The exhausted and frustrated girl closed her eyes and whimpered as the memories, as they had each night, flooded her brain with flashes of actions she couldn't reconcile with herself.

She'd been bent over the table, hands gripping the other side, while her invisible lover had stroked inside her - Ass? Had he been in her ass?? Yessssss - hands gripping her hips while his thighs slapped against the backs of hers.

Her pussy throbbed. He'd been in there first, but the sore, stretched feeling in her bum was new and spoke to the truth of her memory. She had vague recollections of thick hard flesh pushing slowly into her - pain at first, but dwarfed by pleasure - and blushed as a flash of her pushing back against that cock to bury it to the root in her tightest hole flooded her mind. Then the memory was just... mist.

She never got all of it. The first night there had been nothing, just the feeling of her pussy having been well used, and a few nips and scratches around her thighs, back, and neck to prove she wasn't crazy.

The second night there had been a bit more - she had vague recollections of sucking Bruno (that's the name she'd given her ghost, as she fully intended to never talk about him) clean after he'd flooded her abused pussy with cum. She could remember the taste of the mix of them together as he'd grown hard for her again, and then astonishment as he'd proceeded to hold her head down while he used her mouth to get himself off. She had not gagged but had revelled in trying to make him feel her throat closing around his cock.

The subsequent nights there had been even more. An earlier version of Jane, one less fuck drunk and humming with endorphins, would have been alarmed by the turn her nights had taken. That version of Jane would have questioned the sudden appearance of a horny and forceful ghost in her life. She'd been pretty inquisitive up until recently and likely would have popped into a local library and dug through musty tomes until she'd found an obscure volume about amorous apparitions (it had been a very long time since Jane had set foot in a library and most of her ideas of them came from movies and TV) and then recruited some friendly ghost hunter or exorcist to come and burn sage in her apartment.

That Jane had, frankly, been fucked into a coma. This new Jane had decided not to look a gift cock in the mouth (head?) and was just enjoying the ride.

Was it weird to be fucked by an invisible person every night, who left almost no evidence of his existence behind?

Yep.

Did she have vague, modern sexual ethic issues with the lack of implicit consent she'd given her ghost?

Well, I'm pretty sure I made a choice somewhere along the w...

She certainly did.

Was she fully aware that, if she chose to tell anyone about her nightly adventures - often ass up, face in a pillow, screaming obscenities while Bruno filled her in every way a person could be filled - she'd likely be committed to an institution?

...Uh huh.

But, in her opinion, there didn't seem to be any actual danger in what was happening to her.

She'd never had so many orgasms, and - while she woke up most mornings less rested than usual and faintly disoriented - she was nowhere near exhaustion and was able to work, exercise, and still keep commitments with friends. As long as those commitments were for things that took place before dark.

The night belonged to her phantom lover.

There was, however, apparently a danger to her housing arrangement, if this night's carnage was any indication.