“I believe so.”
Daphne frowned. This house was only big enough for one ghost. “I think we’ll have to move the nursery down the hall.”
Arthur nodded. “A wise decision, Ma’am.”
She waited until the alarm chirped that night, and addressed the ghost directly, knowing he had to hear.
“My husband’s coming home tomorrow. You can’t do – that – again,” she told thin air. Was he in the room, hovering in quiet disapproval? Or was she only projecting her own disappointment out? “I’m sorry. I – “ she licked her lips, scared to say the words aloud, especially when the ghost could never say them back.
A warm finger touched the cool space of her arm. Forgiveness? She turned towards him. “I really do –“ She’d had all day to think on it when she’d been alone, in between unpacking things. It was so scary to say things out loud, to say what she needed – her whole life she’d been conditioned to never ask for what she wanted, always praying that somehow she’d be good enough for it to just fall in her lap.
But because he was silent, she felt the need to fill the space up between them with words – and because he couldn’t talk back, talking felt safe. He would never tell a soul the way she’d writhed against him, trying to get away from him while secretly wanting more, to see how much she could take. She’d been scared, and it’d hurt, but – she ran another hand down her ass, feeling the soreness he’d left behind, feeling claimed by him in a way that Richard hadn’t wanted her in years. “I – I think you should know that – I liked it.”
A warm hand took hers, palm to palm, and pulled her towards the entry hall and her breath hitched to think he might take her there again, like that, but instead of pushing her down, or pulling her towards the stairs that led to her bedroom, he tugged her gently towards the other stairs instead.
Curious, excited, scared – excited – she followed.
Chapter Eight
Arthur and she hadn’t gotten very far on this side of the house. All her bedroom furniture had been concentrated on the other side, what she thought of as the ‘living’ wing – which perhaps made it more appropriate that she was here on the other side with the ghost of someone who’d died here.
As he pulled her further down the hallway, she thought she knew where they’d end up, and something low in her belly quivered. The bed, the manly bed, carved with fighting animals, abandoned by the locusts – he drew her to the room inexorably and with every step, knowing only enough about what was to come to be turned on and scared at once, she felt the ache of desire rekindle within her. There were spaces in her that only he could fill, that needed filling, desperately. She knew if she reached down now she’d find herself wet and knew she ought to be ashamed of how eager he made her and yet knowing he was going to take her soon felt so good –
They reached the door of the room and turned into it. She reached for the lightswitch, but he held her hand back, and a soft glow suffused the room instead. Candlelight, but from no one point, just a gentle orange glow, centered on the four poster bed.
The color of the light returned the bare mattress to its former glory, making it look warm and inviting, shadows hiding the anger of the animals carved to hold it up beneath.
Of course the hand drew her there.
She walked slowly, her belly on fire. It’s about to happen again, to me, to me, to me, her thoughts kept pace with her steps. When she reached the bed’s edge, the hand held her back and began to undress her.
She stood there, feeling him move gently over her, heat pressing against her skin, pulling her shirt up and off, unzipping and tugging her skirt down for her to step out of. There was a pause, as though the ghost admired his own handiwork – or her – before hot hands undid the clasp of her bra and set her breasts free, pulling her back into a warm chest again as hands fondled her, lifting the weight of each breast up, rolling nipples between thumb and forefinger indulgently. She purred at his touch and his slow attention, then felt a hand play down her side, her ribs, to tuck a finger into the band of her underwear and pull along the elastic edge as if testing its strength. Both hands sank, pushing her underwear off of her, feeling her as they did so, following the underwear down against her legs all the way to the ground. She stepped out of them and her skirt and then felt hands again, at her waist, and stroking her welted bottom, just like they had at the end of last night. Her breath caught with each movement of his hand – she didn’t think he’d spank her again, but he might and – there was another rumbling behind her, as though the ghost were chuckling at her fear.
Then the heat abandoned her. She knew he was still in the room, the ‘light’ was still on – and she saw divots appear in the mattress, as though someone were crossing it toward her on their knees. Hands grabbed hers again, and pulled her up.
She followed the ghost on all fours, hungry and unsure. Hands pressed down on her back and she let them, falling forward like he’d taken her on the tile the other night, but then he pressed down on her ass, pushing all of her to lay prone. She did as his hands told her without complaint. Whatever he wanted her to do, she’d do.
His hands smoothed through her hair, pushing it back from her face, so that she had a view of the bottom of the bed and its posters. Which was how she saw it, and why she screamed –
“Snakes!” She writhed on the bed, trying to escape but a heavy weight held her down, stronger than she was like this, unable to get a purchase on the mattress.
But when her panic calmed down, she realized they were ropes.
“What?” She still fought, but not as hard as she had been. “But –“
But hadn’t she come here of her own accord? Hadn’t she let him undress her, knowing, hoping, something like this might occur?
She stilled beneath his hands and he stroked her again, as though to calm her down.
Ropes she could see tied down both her arms, and ropes she couldn’t bound her ankles. They pulled tight and she was lashed to the bed, spread-eagled out, entirely reliant on a man she couldn’t even see.
“Please –“ she didn’t want to mention her husband again, it would feel disrespectful to the moment. “Please – don’t hurt me.”
Not in ways that Richard could see.
But in other ways…she swallowed, and closed her eyes.
His hands smoothed all over her body again, even unexpected places, the bottoms of her feet, her armpits, the angles of her neck, like he was currying a favored horse. She relaxed under this onslaught of attention, fear of him and fear of getting caught receding. She was still hungry, yes, but she didn’t dare raise her hips up as he stroked down her back, no matter how much, cat-like, she wanted to – she didn’t dare invite another spanking.
And then, like she was hoping, like she’d been ready for ever since his hands had led her down this hall – his fingers began trailing up the insides of her thighs again.
There was no way to hide herself from him, tied out like she was. He could see all of her, her clit, her folds, her pussy, and, she realized, as he pulled warm cheeks apart, her tight tight asshole. She quivered in fear at this, at being so exposed. No one had ever looked at her like this before, had inspected her so thoroughly with eyes and hands, no one had ever wanted to know her so intimately, especially not like this.
His hands kneaded her ass gently and she whined – there were bruises back there now, she knew, and not all of the heat was his, she’d felt like she’d been sitting on a sunburn the entire day. Then fingers dropped lower, to test the wetness of her pussy.
“Please,” she breathed, wanting him in her – any part of him, and now she arched, begging him to fill her up. Hot fingers played in and out, broad strokes, making her groan – and then moan, when they pulled out. “Please?” she said, hoping to feel the mattress shift, to know he was kneeling above her, about to use his cock –
And then a finger pressed there, hot and wet, at the tight pucker of her asshole.
“No no no –“ she squirmed on the bed like she had on his lap the n
ight before. The finger followed her squirming, neither pressing harder, nor going away.
“No – not even Richard –“ she gasped out, all of her clenching tight in fear.
But not even Richard had ever spanked her, either. And not-even-Richard wasn’t here – he was off with some other woman.
But most important of all -- the Master was not him.
She paused, gulping in huge breaths, trying to conquer her fear. The ghost had hurt her yes – but he’d also pleased her, moreso than any other man ever had – had ever even bothered to try.
Daphne licked her lips and dropped her hips to the bed, took in a deep breath, and let it go.
“Be slow. Please be slow.”
Instead of instantly pushing in, he rubbed her there. Now that she wasn’t frightened of him, or this, she could realize that it felt good. A warm finger circled her, massaging this part of her as he had the rest of her, getting her to fall back into that blissful relaxed state – except now she was sure there was more coming. Instead of being scared of it, she began to be excited by the idea.
Time passed. Him waiting, rubbing, and her being rubbed. Daphne supposed ghosts had no concept of time, and his cock was always hard, so there was no need to hurry. And so, when she was ready, when she wanted it – at least to try it – she perked up her ass ever so slowly.
Taking the cue, he pushed his finger in.
It was strange and frightening and she locked down again. But he waited there patiently until she relaxed. She realized the sensation inside of her was strange…but pleasurable. She moved a little testing things, and he moved with her – and then against her, sliding his finger in and out.
Daphne gasped at this, but not in pain. More heat rose in her pussy and her clit begged for her to wrestle a hand free to touch it and she rocked her hips against his hand. The bed shook for a second, him chuckling to see her come alive beneath him, as his fingers moved again.
When he put a second one in, she noticed, but didn’t mind. The sensation of being stretched wider was as pleasurable in her ass as it was in her pussy, and she was fucking the bed now, her hips begging him for more friction, her clit aching for relief.
And then when the whole bed shook and the fingers removed she knew what was coming next.
“Yes –“ she begged in the moment he left her empty. “Please –“ her breath panting into the mattress, making her face hot.
His heat lowered on top of her, his weight pressing her down, and she felt the heat of his cock align with the cleft of her ass cheeks and she knew he was ready to take her, as ready as she was to be taken – his hips moved and with an arc and a thrust he slid his cock where his fingers had been, into her.
Daphne cried out in triumph, surprise, and a tiny bit of pain. His cock was longer than his fingers had been, wider, and hotter too, and yet having him in her ass felt right. She cried out again as he thrust into her a second time, experimentally, trying to get a feel for her as she tried to stretch for him – and then they moved as one and she groaned.
He was fucking her and she was helping him, their hips mated in a dance, moving back and forth with one another, only the smallest amount of friction between them as each claimed their rightful space.
She had absolutely never felt like this, so owned by another. It was dirty, letting him take her like this, fucking her asshole, but it felt so good – good wives didn’t want this, but she wasn’t a good wife anymore, was she? Maybe good wives are only as good as their husbands.
She threw her head back and felt his arms wrap around her chest and neck, holding her tightly to him so that he could fuck her more deeply, pounding her hips into the mattress’s springs. A hand reached down and grabbed her breast, pinching her nipple roughly, which only made the need of her clit roar.
“One hand, please – please – please –“ she begged in time with their rhythm, her voice rising as he sped up. He could take her like this forever, she realized – how long could she stand it, before the heat made her catch fire?
It was his hand he moved – not hers. One dove beneath her, reaching down to cup near her clit – forcing her to choose.
Would she raise her ass and let him pound it? Or would she lower it and rub against him? It was a devil’s bargain when both things felt so good. She screamed because she could, as the friction of her clit against his hand made her momentarily go insane -- and then his other arm kept yanking her down, and himself up, opening her ass to ram in his cock –
There was no thinking anymore, no past, no future, only the present, right here on this bed with him, in this beastial fuck, getting taken like she’d never been taken before, him in complete control, riding her like a mustang running toward a cliff –
Her voice increased in volume and went hoarse – “Fuck me!” she commanded him, once the horse, now the rider. “Fuck me hard!” she demanded, and he did, his cock plumbing the dark depths of her and his hand shuddering against her clit and then –
She came. It was like she’d stepped off of cliff, and instead of falling, flown. The ecstasy didn’t ripple through her, it spun out like a galaxy, emanating from her hips out through every part of her, holding her up as she slowly spun. She took in huge gulps of air hovering, floating, all of her light, his hand still rubbing and his cock still deep inside and her still coming, coming, coming, until she was done.
“Oh my God,” she whispered, as the bed felt real again. He stopped touching her clit, released her shoulders, and slowly pulled out. She swallowed, still trying to hold onto the last moments of bliss, trying to convince herself that that – that this – had happened to her. That the whole thing had been real.
“I just –“ she started, trying to, what exactly? Explain it to herself? Or the ghost?
The ropes binding her released and disappeared. She lay still without them, unable to catch her breath.
A gentle hand found her back, as if to ask if she were alive.
“That was amazing.” She got to all fours and sat back. She’d be sore tomorrow in places she’d never been sore before – and it’d all been so very, very, worthwhile. “I can’t believe –“ words drifted, thoughts incomplete.
A hand pulled her chin up and hot lips kissed hers with no tongue, the chastity a strange counterpart to what had just gone on. And then the sensation of heat, his presence, and the candlelight, disappeared.
Chapter Nine
The next morning, most of the marks on her ass were gone, and those that remained could be blamed on a fall down the stairs – the same fall that she’d say claimed her knees. She dressed conservatively and didn’t feel the ghost’s presence at all, which was probably easier on them both.
Richard came home around mid-day – accidentally setting the alarm off. The entire house shrieked as if in protest at his arrival, and she and Arthur ran to the entry way hall.
“Oh pet, my love, let me look at you –“ Richard said, flinging his bags to the ground. He always made a production of his returns, sometimes she felt like that was half the reason he left, so that he could return home the conquering hero. Arthur picked up the bags while Richard pulled her close. She could smell his aftershave and feel the tickle of a sixteen-hour-long-flight beard against her brow. “I missed you so much.”
“I missed you too,” she said, realizing as she did so that it was a lie.
She had been taken on the very tile they now stood together on. She’d been forced onto her knees, head down, ass up, and she’d been fucked until her pussy had come around another man’s cock. Daphne forced a smile up at him. “How was Tokyo?”
“Miserable. Everywhere is miserable without you.”
She shook her head. Her lies, she could stomach, his, not so much. “That’s laying it on a little thick, Richard.”
“What, I’m not allowed to miss my wife?” He pinched her ass and she jumped as the ghost’s bruises stung. “Show me what you’ve unpacked – starting with the bedroom,” he said, beginning to grope at her.
Daphne reme
mbered when she’d looked forward to these days, him mauling her when he came home, how their lovemaking then made all the absences worthwhile. She hadn’t known then that he was merely searching for absolution after his indiscretions. But now that she had indiscretions of her own – and she needed this house and she wanted a child --
She grabbed his hand and pulled him up the stairs.
They were both putting on a performance for the other, like a school talent show. Him the loving husband, her the loving wife, both knowing they were pretending, desperately hoping the other one wouldn’t catch on. He threw his suit jacket and tie to the floor, while she wriggled out of jeans and pulled up her shirt.
He stopped unbuttoning his shirt at the sight of her knees. “What’re those from?”
“I tripped and fell. You should see my ass –“ she explained.
“I should see your ass all right,” he growled, and crossed the bedroom to her.
Richard was bigger than she was. She’d always liked that about him, how it always seemed like he was stronger than her. She knew differently now – could he have taken the ghost’s paddling? Sat there and accepted it, worked through the pain and come out whole on the far side? – bur when he picked her up and threw her onto their bed she didn’t fight. He yanked her underwear down, leaving her bra and his undershirt and pants on and mounted up, like he wanted inside her so bad he couldn’t wait.
For her part, the clothing between them became part of her armor. He wasn’t touching all of her, there were parts of her he couldn’t see. And so when his erection nudged between her legs, thrusting at her dry pussy she still felt like her own being. She would give this small part of her over, the part that lived between her legs, but the rest of her remained her own – and the Master’s.
Richard groaned as his tip pushed inside her. He was having to push hard and getting off on that. He kissed her roughly, for his sake not hers, hoping that she would loosen, that her walls would let down and juices would flow. He pulled out and tried again, shoved in only a fraction of an inch further.
The Haunted (Sleeping with Monsters Book 1) Page 6
