The Haunting of DP Hall

"PHFFFUHHH!" I bellowed through the soundproofing as my cunny seized and released. My bones felt like they'd liquified; spinelessly, I fell forward into Roger as the two pricks continued pummeling my eager holes.

My asshole shut with a nip as Bruce's cock slithered free. Roger lifted me off of him, half-carrying me the few feet backwards to the trunk, then laying me on the edge. He pulled my legs apart, hooking my ankles over his shoulders, and dragged my butt to the edge of the lid. One of my shoes flipped off my foot and clattered sharply on the floor behind him. Guiding himself to my backdoor, his dick skidded into my loosened pucker.

Bruce stood next to me, tilted my face toward him and plucked the thong from my mouth. An achy groan escaped my mouth as Roger rammed into my asshole, but Bruce replaced the silk stuffing by packing my mouth with his cock. His dick carried a grungy flavor; tasting my own anus while another cock shoved into my ass overwhelmed my rational mind like a supernaturally naughty dream.

I cooed sensually with my lips wrapped around this stranger's shaft while another unfamiliar dick plowed my asshole. My feet -- one in Mallori's high heel, the other bare -- hung above me in the air behind Roger's ears. My shimmering gloved hand cupped Bruce's balls while I pleased his rod with my mouth. My other hand traveled delicately down my body, tracing along my round, bouncing breast and sensitive nipple, over my flat tummy, and finally across my pubis until I reached my excited clit. The silky black fabric was sensually cool as my fingertips brushed across the aroused nub. The combination of my fingers on my clit, the hard cock in my backdoor, and the ongoing overstimulation of how wicked I was being cast me over the carnal ledge again. As Roger fucked me in my ass, I stroked myself off, humming blissfully around Bruce's rod as my climax surged.

The boys were nearing their turn, and Roger's prick slid out of my ass with a squelch. He hauled my legs off his shoulders and arranged my body lengthwise on the trunk with my head hanging off the end where the boys stood. Bruce bent to pick something up, then returned the horn rim glasses from my costume to my face.

I reached up, folding the silken fingers of each hand around a shaft, and pumped my arms. Raising my head, I lowered each dick to meet my mouth, looping each tip with my tongue. As my gloved hands stroked the two cocks above my face, I recalled the nearly identical picture I'd imagined earlier in the evening. My stomach jumped excitedly, and my pussy twisted in sizzling arousal. Furiously milking the paired shafts, I increased my pace and opened my mouth eagerly as they came.

Roger's dick erupted, spewing jizz down my neck and over my tits. He gasped as his next volley rocketed to the round slopes of my breasts and sluffed along the curve of my collarbone then trickled along my throat, saturating my neckerchief. A third load splashed messily onto my glasses, frosting the fake lenses, then dripped and oozed across my forehead where it clotted in my hairline. I continued jerking both cocks, cheering them on as Bruce fired a messy broadside of cum across my tits that dribbled down their curves like drips of thick white paint.

I lifted my head to take Roger's final spurts in my mouth, and Bruce ripped another gummy rope that fused in the auburn hair atop my head. I felt the bow from my costume droop and pull as it soaked up milky jism. One shot that Roger aimed at my mouth flopped across my lower lip and dripped from my chin, but the last of his gooey seed flew down my throat. Another round from Bruce plastered across my cheek and nose as I gulped the last of Roger's cum, then I tilted my head back and opened my mouth to swallow two more of Bruce's thick, trickling bursts. With both cocks drained, I licked Bruce's head and shaft clean, then boosted myself further onto the trunk so my head rested on the wood.

Depleted and sated, I lolled on my bare back on the trunk. In my exhausted daze, I clawed the sperm-glazed glasses from my face and dumped them absently on the floor, then kicked away my remaining heel. My cum-painted breasts swelled and fell atop my rapidly heaving ribs. I dreamily traced a gloved finger through the clumped jizz on my chin, then held up my hand to admire the glistening, pale jism contrasting against the shimmering black fabric. I dipped my gluey finger between my lips and sucked it clean; in a distant corner of my mind, I noted an odd lack of taste, like a gummy bear leached of flavor. Murky, inescapable sleepiness overcame me. The shapes of the boys moved distantly about the room, growing fuzzy and increasingly difficult to track as my stupor intensified.

Drifting thoughts flickered and failed behind my heavy, drooping lids. 'I should move to the bed,' I contemplated, but my head and limbs lay deadened on the wooden lid. As the last traces of life ebbed from my body, through my eye-slits I spied a familiar wall of dense, shimmering fog billowing through the room. I pulled Bruce's sweater over me, then blackness. My sleep was deep, utter, and complete.

I awoke without opening my eyes but perceived the orange glow of daylight through my closed lids. I couldn't remember what had awakened me and scrunched my eyes tighter to help me listen. A dull throb spread in my head and neck, and the first thing I remembered was last night's wine. In the background of the world outside my closed eyes, I heard muffled voices and other, harsher sounds rising into reality.

Light wool lay across my chest and torso, and I noticed the chilly, hard wood surface beneath my naked ass and shoulders. With groggy labor, I exhumed details of the night: the party... Mallori... oh god, Willi- Professor Grantham! I dug the heels of my palms into my eye sockets as I recalled how I'd freaked out and spilled my drink all over myself; I'd made such an ass of myself in front of him! After that... I'd run away and left the party. ... and then... what?

My eyes snapped open as I recalled everything, all at once. The boys and the sweater that now draped over my sex-stained body, leaving the party with them, and then... oh my god! 'Wanna listen to records?' I jeered in my head. Christ how was I such an easy score, and by a pair of fucking undergrads! I'd even let them... I cradled my dizzy head in disbelief, remarking that I still wore the faux-satin gloves from my costume. This was all Mallori's fault, I decided.

Staring up at the plain, white ceiling, I couldn't believe that the "gentlemen" had let me sleep naked and exposed on the lid of the trunk all night instead of moving me to a bed or at least giving me a pillow. I roused and sat up, the sweater fell off my chest as I began composing the fiery tirade that I would level at them after I got dressed, and they returned from... wherever they had gone. I noticed that I was not on the flat lid of a trunk, but on a bare floor of lacquered wood...

The door to the room loudly whooshed open, and I twisted on my butt towards the noise. My arms zoomed defensively over my tits, each small, gloved hand cupping as much outsized breast as it could cover. In the doorway an awestruck foursome of middle-aged men in suits and hardhats idled; whatever conversation they'd been having had died. Beyond the open door, the sound of saws, hammers, and drills swelled to my ears. My eyes flew around the empty room, across blank sheetrock walls that had been adorned with posters and pennants the last time I had seen them, then back to the cluster of gaping administrators who were trying to decide whether to avert their eyes or gawk.

"We... uh, we'll let you get dressed!" The man in front stammered, crushing the middle of a roll of blueprints in his clutching fist. I clamped my legs tightly together and nodded urgently as the door closed. Frantically scanning the room, where last night there had been beds, desks, chairs, and the infamous trunk, now the floor was bare except for drywall-dusted plastic covers, an industrial wastebin in the corner, and last night's costume, scattered around my prone, nude body. Bewilderment screamed in my mind, but I forced it aside while I escaped my predicament.

I skittered about the room on my hands and knees, gathering my clothes and frantically scrambling into my bra and panties. Pulling my heels onto my feet with one hand as I grasped at clothes with the other, I rediscovered the destroyed zippers on both halves of my costume. I pulled on the varsity sweater and buttoned the front, feeling the bottom cuff land at the middle of my thigh. The buttons stopped at my sternum, forming a giant 'V' that exposed the bridge and partial cups of my bra and the pale veins of dried jizz crisscrossing my chest.

'It'll have to be good enough.' I mused, tossing the ruined outfit in the trash bin. I hurriedly clopped towards the door and felt a crunch beneath the toe of my heel. I looked down and found the crushed plastic frame of my costume horn rims, the lenses still spackled with dry cum. In the background, below the construction din, I caught the ghostly echo of piano notes; I continued out the door.

I dashed down the hall; my hurried, clacking steps drowned out by the noise of hammers and saws. The hallway bore none of the signs of student occupancy from the night before. I ducked under a string of yellow tape then navigated three flights of stairs and two groups of baffled workmen. Rushing through the empty modern entryway, relief welled up as I burst out the doors into the mid-morning sunlight.

Hunching my shoulders against the judgmental light of day, I walked with my arms crossed over my chest as quickly as my high heels, woozy head, and aching holes would allow me. When I reached the benches outside my building, I paused. I tugged the bow off my head, finding it stiff and matted in a nest of cum in my hair. The tacky knots of jism parted and oozed under my gloved fingertips. My neckerchief was likewise crusted in hardened spunk. I tossed both ribbons in the trash and forced the gears of my mind to spin, hoping they'd find traction.

I plumbed my thoughts for an explanation, rational or not. The phantastic fog, the extra-bodily sense of enchantment, the appearance-shifting building, the disappearing old-fashioned boys. It all sounded remarkably like the story I'd used last night to hush Mal. But that was impossible; it had to be! That was just a spooky campus folktale! My mind -- MY reality -- fought against the evidence.

But here I stood, draped in a decades-old letterman's sweater. Along with my two tender holes and the webwork of dried jizz I could feel sticking in my hair and crackling on my tits, this sweater was proof of my, um... encounter. I thought deeper and more facts congealed: their bodies were so strangely cool, their kisses and touch seemed to control my mind and my body. Hell, their cum had been so oddly flavorless! I stared at my gloved hands, shimmering entrancingly in the morning sun, the fingers stained with faded jizz. Suddenly I felt woozy. I braced on the arm of the bench, breathing deep until the faint passed. I noticed that my behavior and (lack of) clothes were drawing stares and hurried inside.

At my apartment, Mallori was in front of my door, intently scribbling on a Post-It. She turned and erupted into agitated jabbering when she saw me.

"Sarah! Oh my god, I was so worried! You left the party and I couldn't find you cuz you weren't answering your phone and you weren't home or in class and..." Mallori's frenzy waned and she noticed my appearance. "Oh my god! This is a walk of shame! Isn't it?!" The familiar impish smile spread across her face. "You slut! Who is he? Tell me details! Hey, nice sweater..."

"Mal," I laid my gloved hand on her shoulder, "do you want to hear a ghost story?"