The Ghost of Ouderburg Castle

Dale grunted, and his expression turned fierce as his pace quickened. He changed his grip on my breasts, seizing my nipples with his thick, strong fingers and pulling them toward one another, forcing them to opposite sides so my breasts encased his cock completely. Intense pain spiked through my immobile body, and the scream that lay bottled up inside me made the orgasm pressure in my belly grow all the faster.

Sally had pressed the dildo deep enough inside me that she could reach my clit with her tongue, and she began to lick it roughly in time with Gene's fucking, pants and moans and whimpers dribbling from her lips.

Long minutes passed as they fucked me mercilessly, and the pain and pleasure grew and grew. Finally, Gene groaned and squeezed my tits around his cock with all the incredible force of his powerful arms. Sally cried out in ecstasy and jammed the dildo deep inside me, forcing it against my cervix, even as she lashed at my turgid clit with her frantic tongue. The orgasm exploded inside me just as Dale's beet-red cockhead began to spew thick white cream onto my face, and my vision blurred as it filled my staring eyes. "Ungh, yeah, I'm cumming, baby," Gene groaned, and Sally whimpered as he filled her pussy.

It seemed like hours of agony and delight as we all shuddered together through our orgasms.

Dale stared down at my cum-drenched face like an mad artist viewing his greatest masterpiece. Releasing my tits, he caught my chin with his thumb, forcing my mouth open and squeezing the remainder of the sperm out of his softening cock onto my tongue. I swallowed reflexively as it oozed into my throat, and he used his fingers to scrape more of it off my face and into my open mouth. Gene and Sally climbed off the couch, but she left the dildo crammed deep inside my pussy. Soon, Dale joined them, and they all stood looking down at me as I lay there, inanimate as a log and as well-fucked as a two-dollar whore. I wanted to weep with shame as Dale—the boy I'd admired and desired for so many years—witnessed me so intimately degraded, but I was so pathetically powerless that even tears were beyond my ability.

My three friends/rapists cleaned themselves up and got dressed, their eyes lingering on my shamelessly displayed body: naked, cum-splashed and spread open wide, with a huge dildo still lodged deep inside me. Finally, Sally drew it out, leaving behind a deep, throbbing ache. Gene helped her put my panties on me, and Dale sat me up, holding my arms above my head so they could put my nightgown back on. He carried me back out to the pool, and they left me in the lounge chair.

A few minutes later, Deattán stood me up and walked me back to my house. I lay silently in my bed for a long time, heartsick with humiliation, before the mære abandoned me to sleep.

At breakfast the next morning, I asked my dad, "Do we know anyone who speaks Finnish?"

He looked up from skimming through the news on his laptop and raised an eyebrow. "Sure," he said, "your Grandma Sigrun learned from her parents after they emigrated here in the seventies. Why?"

"Oh, it's just this illustration I saw in the castle. It had an inscription in Finnish, and the translation I got from the internet doesn't make sense. I just thought I'd ask her about it."

"Hmm," he said, quickly losing interest, "she might be able to help. I'll send you her number, if you don't have it."

As it turned out, I did have Grandma Sigrun's number. She lived an hour or so away in the Upper Peninsula, and we visited her several times a year, as much to enjoy the natural beauty of the sparsely populated area as to spend time with family. I'd never known she spoke Finnish. I called her before leaving for school, explained what I wanted—without explaining the reason for it—and texted her the photo.

Shortly after lunch, she texted back a translation that was both understandable and charmingly poetic:

As I lay me down to sleep,

No Nightmare shall upon me creep,

Until he swims the oceans deep,

And counts each star of Heaven's sweep!

That night, I knelt and recited the poem before bed. When I woke, the sun was streaming through my window, and my aching body obeyed my commands readily. I sighed with relief.

My long nightmare was finally over.

#####

I don't know what made me decide to do it.

Three weeks had passed since I'd last been ridden by Deattán and raped by my friends. Each night before bed, I recited my silly little prayer, and each morning I woke to another day of shame and tedium.

I'd called off my date with Dale, and he'd accepted my excuses without comment. He hadn't pressed me to reschedule, and I was unable to meet his eyes when we passed in the hallways at school. All I could think of was how he'd seen me...how he'd used me.

My relationship with Sally had cooled considerably, and without her—or my former track teammates—I had no friends. I felt as if I were drowning in an ocean of sadness and mediocrity.

I still couldn't find a bra that fit right, and I'd started wearing loose, ugly sweaters so people wouldn't stare at my huge, aching tits. Truthfully, they'd hurt far worse during the days following all the tit-fucking, but now there was no element of pleasure in it for me at all, only pain and embarrassment.

So, one night I recklessly skipped my bedtime prayer. As I lay down to sleep, I found myself anxious: not that Deattán would come and ride me to some new and horrific humiliation, but that he had moved on—now that I'd freed him from his prison—and my existence of solitary banality would go on forever. When I woke three hours later with his weight on my chest, I felt more relief than dread.

"Hello again, my lovely," he whispered in a voice of wind and water, "did you miss me?"

"Yes," I thought, unable to lie when he could hear my mind working, "I'm lonely. Can we just...talk?"

Deattán chuckled darkly. "I'm your Nightmare, my dear, not your therapist."

He sat me up, then pulled my nightgown over my head and tossed it aside. As I stared blankly at the wall, he made me massage my breasts, but not too hard. It felt nice. "Why are these always so sore?" he asked curiously. "I've ridden many women with large breasts, and few have had such problems."

"I don't know," I answered, "I guess they're an odd size. I can't seem to find a bra that fits."

"Hmph," he said, giving my nipples a firm pinch that sent a twinge right through to my core, "You Americans and your off-the-rack clothing. You should contact a European dressmaker. They will be able to fit you properly. If you have parchment and quill...er, a pen and paper...I can give you the name of a reputable couturière in Paris. I suppose his grandson...great-grandson...might still be in business." I thought of where he might locate a pen and a scrap of paper, and he used my hand to write a name and address.

"So, did you...find someone else to ride?" I asked, feeling unaccountably jealous.

He was silent for a long moment, then said, "No. It appears that leaving the castle with you did not entirely lift my curse. I don't know what changed; before, I could not leave the castle, but I could visit any woman who slept there unprotected, though I could only ride a few...the most willing, or...needful."

"So...you can't ride anyone else now?" Why did that possibility send such a thrill of excitement rushing through me?

He chuckled again, no doubt sensing my emotion. "Only those who share your bloodline," he said, "and who are ignorant of the spell. Your father is of the wrong gender for me, and your grandmother is a bit old for riding. Besides, she knows the spell, and the purpose it serves. Apparently, you have become, in a sense, my prison."

"That's how I feel, too," I thought sadly, "like I'm in prison."

"Pssh, foolish child," he scoffed. "You are more free now than you will ever be again...free and beautiful for a brief handful of years, but too afraid of living to enjoy it. Truly, youth is wasted on the young."

I sat silently on the edge of my bed for a time, staring fixedly at the wall, before he suddenly stood me up and said, "But tonight, you will be free, whether you like it or not, whether or not you ever allow me to ride you again. Let's see what your friend Sally is up to this evening. Perhaps dear Larry is in need of some feminine company. Whereabouts does young Dale live, do you know?"

With that, he walked me down the stairs, out of my house, and across the street to see if my friend's father would be interested in raping my sleeping body.

#####

"Bonjour, Madamoiselle Stephens," Marc said with a broad smile, "won't you introduce your friends?"

He had been excited beyond words to learn that Merrie would be spending Halloween again this year at Castle Ouderburg, and intrigued to find she would be joined by several of her American friends, and that they had all booked premium rooms in the castle proper.

"Bonjour, Marc," Merrie said, startling him with a hug and a proper European kiss on each cheek. "These are Dale, Gene and Sally," she said.

"Welcome," Marc said, "we are so glad to have you all here." He shook hands with Dale and Gene, then was startled when the bouncy redhead, Sally, stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheeks.

"We just had to come," she confided, looking up at him with eyes full of mischief. "After Merrie told us how much fun your castle was, I just had to meet your ghost, and..." she leaned close and whispered, "...maybe I can take him for a spin?"

"Ah," said Marc, with a quick glance at the two men, who both wore knowing grins. "Well, Madamoiselle Johnson, in that case, I have just the room for you."