The Ghost of Ouderburg Castle

Another minute or so passed, then I heard a faint scraping noise from the corner the mære had glanced at. It was at the very edge of my peripheral vision, but I could make out a dark vertical shadow on the wall in that corner, only about a foot wide. It was a narrow gap, a secret panel. A figure sidled through the opening, moving sideways to fit through, then approached silently. As it crossed into the moonlight from the window, I saw that it was Marc.

He approached cautiously, staring at my open eyes, as if unsure whether I was awake or asleep. "Hello," he whispered, "ah, sorry to intrude, but, are you okay?" When I didn't respond, he leaned closer and passed his hand back and forth before my eyes several times. They remained fixed to the same spot, as unmoving as the rest of my body.

Cautiously, poised as if to flee, Marc reached down and touched my arm. When I didn't respond, he shook it slightly. "Hey, are you awake?" When he still got no response, his eyes moved to my chest, and he licked his lips.

With one more nervous glance at my eyes, he knelt beside the bed, careful not to jostle the mattress. I could feel his fingers trembling as he gingerly took hold of my nightgown's slender strap and slipped it off my shoulder. He did the same with the other strap, and I could hear his breath come faster as he carefully peeled the nightgown off my breasts. His eyes were wide as he revealed their creamy white flesh little by little, and, when he uncovered my fat, pink nipples, he gasped and stared as if witnessing a miracle.

As if drawn by a magnet, his hand moved to feel my nearest tit, but he stopped, eyes wide, lips parted, a fraction of an inch from it. As if in anticipation of his touch, my nipple grew hard, almost as if it reached toward his fingers, and he made a strange whining noise, deep in his throat, then grasped it.

I felt as if a jolt of electricity shot from my nipple to my sex, but my body remained motionless. He touched my other nipple, too, watching my face intently, and it stiffened, aureole crinkling, illicit pleasure trickling through my body. When I failed to react, he began to stroke and knead my breasts gently, and my body reacted with subtle internal sensations that should have had me panting and squirming, but instead showed only in the slight deepening of my breath, the flush that rose up my chest, and the rigid stiffness of my nips.

Soon, I felt his mouth, licking and sucking my tit, devout in its warm, wet worship of my nipple as his fingers toyed with its twin, pinching and rolling it until I felt shudders of warmth flooding my body. Pinpricks of heat flowed along my arms and up my neck. Still, I remained immobile, my body betraying none of the roiling storm of sensation I felt inside. Momentarily, he stood, then sat on the edge of the bed—apparently more confident now that he wouldn't wake me—and leaned across me to apply his lips and tongue to my other nipple, petting and fondling the wet-tipped breast nearest him with both hands. I felt a surging warmth begin to build in my core, and wanted more than anything to moan and writhe, but my body remained stubbornly inert.

#####

Jan sat before the bank of monitors in the castle's Security Room, a chamber to which only he had access, though on special occasions like this one he invited his buddy Karl, the castle's gardener, to join in watching the show. The two older men sat together now, each with a beer in hand, watching as Jan's son, Marc, molested the 'sleeping' American girl.

"Seems like the ghost has got her for sure," Karl said. "Look at those eyes: wide open and staring like a dead woman. Creepy."

Karl, of course, had never before seen anyone under the influence of the 'ghost.' Everything he knew of it he'd heard from Jan, who had only seen it himself once, back in the 80's, when his own father had been the castle's caretaker.

"Yeah," Jan said, "and she won't wake until morning, no matter what you do to her, just like that French woman when I was a kid, except that one was middle-aged, with two kids and stretch marks."

Karl laughed. "That didn't stop your dad from having his fun with her, though, did it?"

"No," Jan chuckled, "not once she started the walking. She and her husband stayed for a week, and Dad found her somewhere different every night, wandering around in her nightclothes, eyes wide open and staring, but impossible to wake up."

"Your dad made a lot of friends that week," Karl chuckled, sipping his beer. "There's still a dozen old guys in the village who'll tell stories about how he invited them up here night after night to make use of her. Think we'll get a chance to use this one? She's a real beauty...and young, too."

"If she walks, we sure will," Jan said. "Not all of them do, though, or so Dad told me. We'll see."

The two men fell silent, watching as Marc gave Merrie's magnificent tits another firm squeeze, then shifted toward the foot of the bed and began to lift the hem of her nightgown, exposing her milk-white thighs even as he continued admiring her ample bosom.

"You think he'll fuck her?" asked Karl as Marc pulled the garment higher, exposing the girl's white panties and revealing her sex in the form of a subtle cameltoe.

"Don't know," grunted Jan, "I kind of hope not. I don't think the ghost has a real good grip on them until the second or third night. The other woman didn't walk the first night, or the second, but once she started walking, you couldn't have woke her up with an air raid siren."

Marc tugged at the girl's nightie until the hem was up around her waist, moving slowly and watching her face for any hint of reaction. She remained torpid, breaths rising and falling evenly, but her chest and neck were flushed, her breasts glowing a pleasant pink where he'd played with them, their nipples still glistening with his saliva.

"Look at that," whispered Karl. "That's got to be the prettiest girl I've ever seen naked in my whole life." Jan grunted agreement, eyes locked on the young woman's shapely legs, creamy white thighs rising to modest hips on the way to a gracefully narrow waist.

"She sure is something special," Jan replied as Marc carefully lifted Merrie's knees, slowly spreading her legs apart so the gusset of her white panties stretched over her crotch. The men could see the outline of her puffy young pussy lips beneath the fabric.

Marc crouched between the girl's splayed knees, his head obscuring their view, but the two older men could see his hands move as he pulled aside her panties to expose her little cunt. "Shit," muttered Karl, "I sure wish I could see what your boy is seeing right now."

Jan grunted. "Maybe tomorrow night you'll get your chance. Don't worry, you'll be the first to know if she starts to walk."

Marc's head lowered, and he began to lick Merrie's sweet young slit, the older men watching enviously. After a few minutes, her lips parted, and her chest swelled. "Ah-ahhhhhh," she sighed, and her hips rose of themselves three or four times, the muscles of her taut young belly squeezing out a gentle climax.

"Damn," Karl said, "he just made her cum, didn't he? Came right in her sleep! Good on him! Most boys his age can't get a girl to come with their dick, much less their mouth."

"Might be something to do with the ghost," Jan said. "Dad told me that French woman liked it a lot, the things they did to her. A whole lot."

Marc left Merrie's legs spread as he climbed off the bed. The older men feasted their eyes on her pussy, mons lightly fuzzed with downy blonde hair, pink lips gaping in the wake of her orgasm, shiny with her arousal and his saliva. Taking a couple of tissues from the box beside her bed, Marc opened his pants and began stroking himself as his eyes wandered from her wet, pink little snatch to her incredible tits. After a couple of minutes, he hunched and jerked, filling the tissues with jism.

He admired her for several more minutes as he squeezed out the rest of his issue and allowed his member to soften. He put himself away and carefully closed her legs, tugging her nightgown down at the hem and up at the neckline, until she was covered, more-or-less, as she had been before. Then he slipped back through the secret passage into his own room.

#####

I might have wondered, when I woke Saturday morning, if it had all been a dream. However, Marc had forgotten to pull the gusset of my panties back over my crotch before he'd closed my legs. The fabric had remained bunched in the crevice of one thigh, and it had annoyed me somewhat for the hour or so I lay there, paralyzed, after he left. It was still like that when I woke in the morning, and I noticed immediately, remembering every detail of last night's experience.

Deattán had not spoken to me again, although I'd felt his weight on my chest as long as I had been awake. I wondered if it was only when he released me that I'd fallen back to sleep, but I couldn't be sure, as I'd not noticed when the weight disappeared.

I sat up slowly, feeling an odd sense of distrust toward my body, uncertain whether it would obey my commands again. It did, though; everything worked fine. I felt fine, in fact; Marc hadn't hurt me, and he'd even given me.... I wasn't certain he knew that he'd made me orgasm, although I suspected he did, since he'd stopped right after. It must have appeared mild to him, but to me—trapped as I had been, unable to move except by the dictates of my body's autonomic systems—that orgasm had been the most intense experience of my young life. Climaxes I'd given myself we're only faint shadows of it, and the two sexual encounters I'd had before hadn't resulted in any at all.

When Marc had masturbated himself afterward, I had lain there—half-rapturous still from my own lovely orgasm—watching him stroking his cock, watching the adoration on his face as his eyes roved over my lewdly displayed body, and feeling strangely...generous...toward this man who'd so grossly violated me: affectionate, even.

Now, sitting there in the clear light of day, I wondered if Deattán had been manipulating my emotions somehow. What Marc had done was horrible, vile and illegal. I should be outraged. I should be running to tell my parents, reporting him to the police. But, mostly what I felt was a little amusement that he'd been so careful to rearrange me after he'd perpetrated his sexual assault, and to capture every drop of his semen and take it away with him. I supposed many men wouldn't have been so considerate. He might have remembered to fix my panties, though.

I decided to shower again this morning, even though I'd taken one only a few hours before. I did have Marc's dried saliva all over my tits and pussy, after all. As I stood beneath the flowing water, it occurred to me that Marc could be watching me right now. The bathroom was situated on the same side of the room as his secret panel, and this was a castle, after all. It made sense that he would have a peephole...maybe more than one. I thought about him watching me right now. He probably wasn't; he did have a job to do here in the castle. But, maybe he was. Maybe he could see me right now, naked in the shower. Maybe he'd watched me shower yesterday.

As I considered this, my hand stole down to cup my sex in a way that had nothing to do with personal hygiene, and I leaned one hand against the tiled wall, spreading my legs a little. I rubbed myself, rocking my hips back and forth, reveling in the ability to move my body, to command it and have it obey. I arched my back and spread my lips apart, finding my clit with my middle finger and stroking circles around it.

I thought about Marc, watching me, maybe, right now, and about last night, and how he might have taken me—put his cock inside me, cum inside me—and I plunged my finger into my channel, rubbing my palm hard on my clit, and I cried out loudly, "Ah, Ah, AH! Ahhhhhh...," relishing my ability to cry out loudly, and not caring who heard. Maybe even hoping someone did.

As I toweled off and dressed, I began to feel less sanguine about the possibility of Marc watching me in the shower, not to mention the things he'd done to me last night. I decided to go talk to my parents about it, though I wasn't at all sure what I would say. 'Mom, Dad, the concierge came into my room last night and gave me an orgasm while I was paralyzed by a Nightmare. And then, he might have watched me masturbate in the shower this morning.' No, that wouldn't do. Still, I felt too vulnerable to remain here by myself, so I took my camera and crossed the bridge to the other building.

I knocked on my parents' door and waited, but there was no answer. They were both usually early risers, but they'd had a late night, so maybe they were sleeping in. While I waited for them to get up, I wandered around a bit, taking a few pictures, though the decor in this building was less elaborate than in the castle. After a half hour or so, I went back and knocked again, waited, but still got no response.

Puzzled and concerned, I walked around a little more, then saw an older man watching me. When he saw I'd noticed him, he approached me, smiling. "Hello," he said, holding out his hand, "I'm Jan, the caretaker. Can I help you with something?"

I took his hand briefly and said, "No, I'm...looking for my parents. This is their room, but I'm not getting any answer."

"Hmm," he said. "Well, there's no 'do not disturb' sign on the door. Let's take a peek." He opened the door with a master key after knocking and calling out, "Management! Is anyone present?" then said, "You go in and look; I wouldn't want to disturb them if they are here."

I went in the room as he stood in the hall, but Mom and Dad were not there. The bed was made, and it looked as if they'd never slept in it. I came back out and told Jan, who said, "Well, come downstairs with me. We can check the entry log to see if they came back last night, and look in the dining room to see if they're already having breakfast."

I already knew what we'd find; there's no way even Mom would have made her own bed while staying in a hotel, which meant they'd never come back last night. Jan verified this with the entry log at the front desk, then escorted me to the dining room, where several other guests were already having breakfast. "I'm sure they'll be back soon," he said soothingly, "people here really get into their Halloween parties, and sometimes they go all night. Why don't you have a seat and order a nice breakfast?" I did as he suggested, trying to squelch my growing worry.

After a really nice breakfast, I went back to my parents' room, but still got no response to my knock. Where could they be? I'd never known them to stay out all night. I tried to call them, but we'd left so suddenly for this trip that we'd made no provision for international cell service, and my discount phone plan apparently didn't have even the most basic functionality here.

I spent the rest of the day wandering around the castle grounds, taking pictures of virtually everything, avoiding Marc whenever I spotted him, and checking my parents room every hour or so. Each time I knocked and got no answer, my anxiety worsened.

Finally, around mid-afternoon, Jan approached me as I was photographing different angles of a set of medieval armor in an alcove on the second floor of the northwest tower.

"Miss Stephens," he said, "we received a call from your parents."

"Oh," I said, relief flooding through me, "are they okay?"

"Yes," he said, "they're fine. Like I thought, they stayed late at the party and decided to accept their host's invitation to sleep over. Your mother said she tried to call, but there seems to be some problem with their cellphone service. It's a common problem for international travelers."

"When will they be back?"

"Er...they have another event scheduled for this evening, and they've decided to go there directly, rather than returning here."

"You mean they're not coming back at all?"

"Not today," he said, "at least, not until late, or...possibly tomorrow morning."

"Oh," I said. I would be here alone for another night, it appeared, with Marc and his secret doors, and the Nightmare.

Jan hesitated, a look of sympathy on his face. "Your mother asked after you," he assured me. "I told her you are fine, perfectly safe, and having fun with your camera. She...seemed in a very good mood. I promised her we would look out for you and make sure you are well cared for."

Look out for me? Marc had certainly been 'looking out for me,' I thought, a little cynically, but I said, "Okay, then. Thank you."

#####

I went back to my room after that. What else could I do? I was tired of taking pictures, and I'd have to go back there sometime tonight, unless I wanted to sleep in one of the hallways or try to explain to Jan that his son had molested me while I was awake but paralyzed.

I ordered room service again—choosing from a menu that Marc had apparently dropped off in my room while I was out—and enjoyed the delicious moules frites, which turned out to be French fries and mussels. It looked horrible, but tasted divine. While I ate, I flipped through the channels on the television. It was odd, I thought, how the shows were in a mixture of French, Dutch and German, with a generous smattering of English, but there were none in Belgian.

After my meal, I could have watched more television, but the sound seemed to echo oddly in the stone room—an inane noise in a place meant for thoughtful reflection—so I turned it off and sat looking out the window at the countryside south of the castle as the sun set and tinged the sky with shades of fading color.

The moon was just rising when I woke, still sitting slumped in the chair wearing the jeans and loose blue sweater I'd worn all day. My eyes opened, and I was staring down at my lap, head fallen forward on my chest. I could feel Deattán's weight on my thighs, and he gradually became visible as my eyes gazed in his direction.

"Hello again, my beauty," he whispered with a toothy grin, "ready for tonight's adventure?"

I didn't reply, of course, only watched helplessly as he shifted forward and crawled up my torso like an ugly cat. I could feel his rough little hands on my skin right through my clothes, as if my body were the only thing that was solid for him. I still couldn't figure out how such a small creature could feel so heavy.

Deattán put his face right up to mine, noses touching, and we stared into one another's eyes. His were a very dark green, like the deepest shadows at the heart of a dark and dangerous forest. "Tonight, my lovely, we'll take you for your first ride," he said. "How delightful." He extended his tongue and licked the tip of my nose: a dry, rough sensation eerily like being licked by a cat.

Then, like a remarkably heavy cat, he crawled over my shoulder and onto my back. The chair I was leaning against seemed to be as insubstantial to him as my clothing, and I felt him press himself tightly to the naked skin between my shoulder blades. He rested his chin on my shoulder, and then he seemed to stretch. His arms grew longer, extending down along my arms; his legs stretched down along my own legs. I felt his fingers, lengthening to match each of mine, and his feet, matching mine in length. Soon, he was plastered against the back side of my body like a plastic cling film on a car windshield.

"Come now, my beauty," he murmured breathily into my ear, "giddyup!"

My body jerked once, spastically, then my arm raised from the chair's armrest and hovered in front of me, hand flexing. I wasn't moving it; Deattán was. My head lifted, eyes staring, and I stood, still entirely paralyzed, being moved around like a puppet.

The mære chuckled, a sound like pebbles rolling along a stream bed. My hands came up and gripped my tits, squeezing, and he gave a delighted snigger. "Voi ihana," he whispered in my ear, "how wonderful...so large, but so firm...and your nipples, so sensitive. Why, I suppose you could get an orgasm just from playing with these beauties, if you'd a mind to, eh?"