Mr. Grey and the Spirit from the Sky

by A. J. Matthews

  "AAaaahhhhaaaAAHH"

  Orgasmic fire exploded through her, seeming to tear her nerves out by the roots with pure energy. Her back arched, and she gripped the bed as she lost all conscious thought for a few precious moments.

  When light and reason crept back from the corners of her mind Martin was kneeling astride her, his cock in his hand, pumping it hard as he gazed down at her. "Yes, baby, that's it!" she cooed, her hand reaching for the vibrator. "But don’t cum yet, Marty! I only want you to do that inside me.”

  “Will that be okay?” he gasped. “We’ve no rubbers and you’re not protected.”

  “I checked my calendar, Martin. I’m safe. Oh, Godddd!”

  Hot juice soaked her fingers and her labia sizzled as she slid the vibrator between her legs. The sensitive nerves fired up once more. Her breasts felt hot and swollen as they jiggled in time to her fingers' frantic movements, and her ears began to buzz and hum as her blood surged.

  Martin grunted, on the verge of coming but he held back somehow. She slid the vibrator like a violin bow across her clit and screamed as orgasm bore her up and away once more.

  When the mists cleared, she saw he was kneeling, ready for her. Without further ado she spread her legs and straddled him. It was the work of a moment to pull him inside and then she was riding him, feeling his cock thrusting up deep inside her, skin to skin, nothing between them at all. All the slow build up came to a climax now for them both. Martin gave a great roar and rose on his haunches, pushing up inside her and she clung to him, feeling his cum spurting within as brilliant fire burst in her mind.

  * * * *

  "Oy veh!"

  Laurel was glued to the image on the monitor, her fingers frantically working the dildo between her legs in unconscious time to Martin's jerking, shuddering figure. With her stockinged feet braced against the desk, her chair was as far back as it would go. Her panties—big, sensible ones tonight—lay discarded over the empty chair. The long, battery powered dildo was all she'd get tonight, and she was making it work.

  Martin shuddered one last time, and the couple collapsed onto the bed. Claudia wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tight, her face the picture of happiness. Laurel came, her orgasm forcing itself from between clenched teeth as she strove to cum without making too much noise.

  Wet from sweat and exhausted, she sagged in her chair. Suddenly all the false passion and voyeuristic thrill went out of her and she was left panting, feeling horribly depressed. Having to fuck without making a noise brought to mind her teenage years and her secret fumbling in the bedroom above the parlor—with or without a boyfriend—as her parents entertained the Rabbi and the Rabinowitzes a few feet below.

  With an effort she drew the dildo from her pussy and held it up. The thing was streaked with her juice, and went on buzzing until she swore and threw it across the room. It lay now somewhere on the floor in the darkened room, out of sight but still buzzing. Deep sobs welled up in her chest, but the idiotic sound turned them into snorts of self-mocking laughter.

  "Who the hell am I trying to kid?" she asked the empty room. "Damn, but I'm getting too old for this shit!"

  Taking a couple of tissues from her purse she wiped herself before reaching across the desk to turn off the computer. Tossing the wadded tissues into the trash can she picked her panties up off the other chair and stooped to put them on. It was only then, as the whirr of the computer cooling fan died away that she noticed the arrhythmic thud of footsteps coming along the passageway outside the office.

  For a second she froze, thinking of the strange figure she had seen the other night. The thudding feet drew nearer, and she relaxed. "Stupid woman!" she told herself. "There's only one pair of feet that can make that sound around here."

  Tossing the panties to one side she smoothed her skirt down, went over to the door and opened it. "Come on in, Davy," she called. "You're just in time. Maybe this night won't be such a wash-out after all."

  The familiar figure opened the door and stepped into the office. She hadn't bothered to turn on the light. Backlit by the passageway lights, it was hard to make out his face as he stood and stared at her. She shaded her eyes with her hand as she peered at him, noting he wore nothing more than his pants. When she saw his eyes she felt a chill run through her body that had nothing to do with the sudden coldness that filled the room. The man who stood in front of her looked like Dave but had the eyes of a stranger.

  You're not Dave! she thought. What the hell?

  Before she could move, he clamped a big hand over her mouth and forced her backwards. Dave was normally strong but tonight he seemed unnaturally so. Her muffled scream gave way to a muffled yelp of pain as the backs of her legs collided with the edge of the desk. She toppled backwards as Dave leaned into her, one hand still over her mouth, while the other scrabbled at her skirt. In the darkness his eyes seemed to burn with an unholy light as he glared down at her. A toothpick jutted from his lips as he sneered at her.

  Terror gripped her heart and she felt her bladder relax, adding shame to her fear as she wet herself. His weight crushed her against the desktop, forcing her legs apart, scattering items far and wide as she struggled. She felt her skirt being yanked up about her waist—then his cold fingers were on her pussy.

  The cold touch and the sense of violation restored a measure of control to her mind, and it demanded she fight back against this stranger. Scrabbling frantically about the desktop with her free hand for a weapon, her fingers closed upon her heavy leather purse. It was still open from when she'd retrieved the tissue. For once she blessed her oversight and slipped her hand inside.

  Dave fumbled with his pants, still glaring fixedly at her. She glared back, her fear beginning to turn into anger and determination. Fingertips questing, she felt and discarded item after item as he dropped his pants and she felt his cock against her pussy. She clamped herself as tight as she could but Dave gave her a feral grin and began to enter her—just as she touched the small cylinder she'd been searching for and grasped it.

  The tip of her forefinger fell automatically into the guidance slot put there for just such a purpose and closed upon the small button. Snatching the cylinder from the purse, she brought it up, aimed it straight in his face and pushed the button.

  The mace spray hissed, driving a high-velocity stream of stinging vapor into Dave's eyes. He screamed, the sound issuing strangely from his mouth. She had just enough savvy to close her eyes to avoid the back blast from the spray, and with strength drawn from some primitive reserve, she forced him away from her.

  She ran for the door, wanting only to escape, to leave the office and seek help before Dave—or whoever he was now—recovered and came for her again. Yet something still held her back, made her hesitate in the doorway. This was Dave, she thought; the same big, accident-prone lunk who shared her loneliness and her bed. Looking back, hovering on the verge of flight, she saw him on his knees, fists jammed into his eyes. What she saw next nearly finished off the rational thought she'd won back.

  A pale shape seemed to ooze from Dave's body, surging up and above him in the stuffy, urine-reeking air of the office until it hovered there, glaring at her with inhuman eyes. A stinking wave of malevolence emanated from it and knocked her back into the passageway, her hand over her mouth, gorge rising in her throat. Giving up any thought of staying, she ran. Only one name was on her mind now.

  * * * *

  "Martin!"

  He came abruptly out of a half-doze, his head against Claudia's breast, and stared at the door. Someone hammered on it fit to break it down.

  "Martin, it's me, Laurel! Open up, Goddamnit!"

  Claudia came awake, blinked, cocked an ear and swore. "Is that Laurel?"

  "So it seems." He slid off the bed and fumbled for his robe.

  "If she's looking for a threesome, tell her we're not interested," Claudia muttered, pulling the cover over her head.

  He padded over to the door, unbolted it and opened it a crack. "Laurel? What's wrong?"
he asked, peering out.

  She pushed her way inside, slammed the door and leaned against it, panting hard. Her face was chalky-white, her eyes wild.

  Claudia stuck her head out from under the covers and stared at her in amazement. "What the hell?"

  "You…you've got to help me!" Laurel gasped. "It's Dave—or someone. He attacked me!"

  He came awake in an instant and glanced at the door. "Is he chasing you?"

  "No!" She pressed her hands to her face and rubbed it vigorously. "I don't know. He… I left him in my office." She looked at them with pleading eyes. "There's something really strange going on! You're the only ones I know can help me!"

  "Okay." Pausing only to bolt the door again, he took her by the arm and guided her to the chair by the dressing table. Kneeling alongside her he clasped her hand. "Take a deep breath, let your nerves settle, and when you're ready tell us what happened."

  Claudia wrapped the cover around herself and fetched a glass of water from the bathroom. Laurel took it in her trembling hands and sipped.

  "Feel better?" Claudia asked. She knelt at Laurel’s side and put her arm around the older woman's shoulders.

  "Yes, yes, thanks." Laurel took a deep breath, closed her eyes briefly. "I was working in my office, just near finishing, when I heard someone outside in the passage. Dave came in, and he attacked me!" She turned a bewildered gaze on them. "But I swear it wasn't really him! It seemed like someone else!"

  They listened without interrupting, Claudia glancing at Martin from time to time as if to gauge his reaction.

  "That's when I ran for it," Laurel said. "I'm sure it was a ghost I saw, riding in or around Dave. So I came to find you."

  "What do we do, Martin?" Claudia asked as Laurel sipped more water.

  He looked down at himself. "Get dressed, to begin with; it's cold out there."

  "Okay," Claudia said, looking around. She picked up her panties. "Where's my brassiere?"

  "Under the bed," Laurel told her, gesturing with the glass.

  "Thanks," she replied, fishing under it and drawing out the black lacy garment. "What do we do when we get over there, Martin?" she called as she went into the bathroom to dress.

  "This is no time for half-measures, darling," he said grimly. "From what you say, it sounds like Dave has been possessed. Laurel, I think you'd better stay here."

  She put the glass down on the dressing table, slopping some of the contents over the rim in her haste as she stood up. "No way! You're not leaving me alone! I'm coming with you." Claudia looked at her with raised eyebrows. Laurel flushed. "Look, let's be practical. Dave needs help. It won't hurt to have someone he knows there with you. Besides, I feel responsible."

  He weighed her up. In the minutes spent in the warm and rational surroundings of the plain cabin, Laurel had recovered most of her former poise. Behind her, Claudia nodded agreement.

  "Okay, then," he said. "Let's get going."

  * * * *

  He led the way slowly down the passage toward the office, holding his pocket-size electronic and magnetic resonance detector up so he could see the reading. The red LED glowed brightly, showing background count only. Claudia and Laurel followed, their combined footsteps setting up a quiet susurration as they walked.

  His perception spread far wider than the physical bounds of the walls, floors and ceilings that surrounded him. On the psychic plane he sniffed the wind and scanned the nearby cover for signs of an ambush. There were none, but he kept his defenses ready—just in case.

  As they neared Laurel's office he got the first intimation of psychic activity. Holding up his hand he slowed and stopped.

  "What's wrong, Martin?" Claudia whispered, coming up alongside him.

  "Can you smell it?"

  She sniffed the air and wrinkled her nose. "I smell something; it's not pleasant."

  "I got so scared I peed myself in the office," Laurel said in a wretched voice, and plucked at her skirt.

  "It's not that," Claudia said kindly, patting her arm. "This smells like—I don't know—over-ripe cheese? Or an unwashed body. It's a kind of sour smell."

  "That's ectoplasm," he said. "It's a protein-based substance many spirits use to manifest. They can summon it from thin air." He checked the instrument again. "It's funny you should mention cheese. At one time fake mediums used regurgitated cheesecloth to produce a similar effect to ectoplasm."

  "Ewww!" Claudia wrinkled her nose. "That's gross."

  "Oh yes." He sniffed again. "It's fading now. Sometimes it leaves a residue, but I doubt we'll find that tonight. Laurel, you're right; something manifested itself near here."

  "You believe me now?"

  He looked at her. "I didn't doubt you from the first," he said. "Let's go."

  Tucking the device into his pocket he approached the door to her office. Cautious to the last, he peered around the doorframe and scanned the room. "Dave's sitting on the floor," he said. "His eyes are closed and he's still breathing." A sonorous snore rolled out of Dave's lips. "More than that—he's asleep."

  "Why, the little rat-fuck!"

  Laurel made to push her way into the room but he held his arm out and stopped her. "Wait, Laurel. If he was possessed, this needs a careful approach."

  Sniffing the air, he stepped into the room and looked around. The surface of the desk was in disarray, matching Laurel's description of the struggle. A pair of panties lay on the floor by a chair, along with a small red-striped aerosol can. He picked it up and inspected the label. "'MACE spray—For self defense only,'" he read aloud.

  "That's what I zapped him with," Laurel said from the doorway.

  "I've never heard of a possessing spirit being driven off by this stuff before," he said, and set the can down neatly on the edge of the desk, avoiding the damp area of the surface and the rank smell coming off it. "What's that buzzing noise?"

  Laurel started. In the dim light she looked flushed. "It's…it's the computer fan, I think it's out of alignment or something," she said quickly. Martin glanced at the blank screen. "The machine's still running; I just turn the screen off to save power."

  Martin was distracted when Dave snored again, his head lolling to one side, a trail of drool running from his open mouth onto his bare chest. A toothpick hung loosely from the corner of his lips. Martin removed it as he knelt alongside the man to examine his face, and snapped his fingers several times. "Dave? Wake up."

  Dave opened one bleary eye and looked at him with a blank expression. Martin could smell the alcohol on his breath. "Do you know where you are?" he asked gently. Dave looked from him to Laurel, and back again. "Do you know where you are, Dave?" Martin pressed.

  This time Dave seemed to think about the question more seriously, for he looked up and around. "The office." His voice was thick and heavy, as if he was drugged.

  "Correct." Martin looked back at the others. "Turn on the light, please."

  The fluorescent light flickered, came on. Dave screwed his eyes up and rubbed the back of his hand across his brow. "What the hell happened, man?"

  "I think you were out of it for a while," Martin said. "What was the last thing you remember?"

  "My cabin," Dave mumbled.

  "What were you doing there?"

  "Drinkin'. Thinkin'."

  He belched, and his breath was noxious. Martin drew back and fought the urge to fan the air. "Did anything happen that seemed weird?"

  "Lots o' things." Dave fixed him with an eye that resembled a poached egg floating in red wine. "I was stoned, man. Y' see things, y' know?"

  "Dave, I warned you about that!" Laurel said.

  Dave waved his hand and struggled to sit up straight. "Yeah, yeah; don't hassle me, Laurel." He put his head in his hands and groaned. "Man, but I'm on a downer!"

  Laurel came into the room and stooped to look at him. Martin sensed a degree of nervousness in her stance, as if she was ready to run at the slightest hint of danger.

  He stood up and looked around. "Laurel, I think it would be a good
idea to get Dave back to his cabin and make sure he's settled for the night. He should be okay for now. I'll do a cleansing of the place to ensure nothing can get at him again." He touched her arm. "For your sake and the sake of completeness, I'll do the same for your cabin and this office."

  "Thanks." She looked down at Dave. "Are you sure he'll be okay?"

  "Get him off the drink and the drugs, Laurel. The nastier types of spirit tend to home in on those with weak wills and addictions to narcotics or drink." He looked down at Dave, who stared back with a bemused expression. "Clean him up, get him to stay clean, and he'll be okay for life—and after."

  "Okay." Laurel looked down at Dave and frowned. "We'd better get him back to his cabin, I guess."

  "We need to make a detour to the kitchen," Martin said.

  "Are you hungry, Martin?" Laurel blinked at him with surprise. "Couldn't it wait for a while?"

  He smiled and waved his hand. "No, I need a packet of dried sage. If Lenny's as good a chef as you say, I think we'll find some in his stores."

  Laurel looked set to question him further but Claudia laid a hand upon her arm. "Don't ask," she said. "I've been with Martin long enough to know there's always method in his madness."

  * * * *

  Martin had to support Dave for most of the way back to his cabin, with Claudia and Laurel lending a hand to open doors and negotiate stairways. The smell of an unwashed body in such close proximity made the gorge rise in his throat but he contained his feelings. It was with a great deal of relief that they reached the cabin.

  Like all the other cabins, the outside door opened onto the main bedroom. A rank, sour smell flavored with more than a trace of cannabis greeted him as Laurel pushed the door open and turned on the light.

  Blinking away the water that sprang to his eyes, he managed to dump Dave on the unmade bed. "Dear gods!" he said, stretching to work out the kinks in his back. He looked around. "How can anybody live in a stew like this? It needs more than a psychic cleansing!"

  Dirty linen was draped over most surfaces. Used polystyrene cups and the odd china plate lay scattered on the floor. Parts of the grubby carpet on either side of the bed were thick with ash.