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It was the third week in the new house.
It was the first time that you actually felt at home. Somehow, you’d managed to make two friends from school, which was equally as shocking to you as it was to your parents. In previous schools, you’d always been on the outskirts, bored stiff at the idea of socialising. When you’d announced to your dad at dinner that you’d actually braved the choppy shores of friendship, he’d nearly choked on his coffee.
“That’s wonderful! Why don’t you invite them over for dinner tonight?” Your mom asked, setting her mug down on the table. You rocked your foot back and forth, mulling over the idea. Previously, your days off from school had been spent unpacking and checking around corners, listening to the creaking and whining of an old house.
Your mother was delighted with its age, commenting on the Tiffany glass and wood — but you felt things that had rotted underneath the wood. Things that whispered when your back was turned, or lingered in the kitchen when you went for a glass of water in the middle of the night.
“Okay, sure.”
So that night, instead of flicking the light switch off in your bathroom and making a beeline for your bedroom, you sat on the floor with Jessica, Angie, a dish of pizza rolls and three glasses of grape soda.
You swallowed the mouthful, and nodded. “No, I’m serious. This house is weird. The first week I was here, in the kitchen… I saw a blonde lady with a hole in the back of her head.”
Jessica snapped the book she was leafing through, and turned. “I bet she was murdered. Don’t you have an Ouija board?”
“Yeah,” you nodded, pointing towards the bookcase. “Never used it, though.”
“You’re going to. This is much more fun than going to Town Hall and asking for records on previous owners. Sometimes, they don’t include death certificates — which is obviously what everyone is interested in. That’s the good stuff.” It took all of three minutes for Jessica to set it up. In unison, the three of you delicately placed two fingers on the planchette.
“Okay… so, what do we ask?”
You chewed on the inside of your lip, thinking.
“Is there anyone here with us?” You blurted out.
The planchette skidded to life, circling in the middle of the board. You’d seen it happen in movies, but the actual sensation was an unsettling one. YES. You all exchanged looks, searching for any guilty expressions — but it seemed that none of you had opted to play any tricks. The planchette had moved by itself.
“Did you die here?” Angie asked.
YES.
Jessica gasped. “Ooooh, what if it’s a cute ghost boy like in Casper? Can I keep you?”
Completely enrapt with the idea, she turned her attention to the board, and asked, “Is the spirit in this room male?”
YES.
“Well, that rules out Miss Hole in her Head.” You cleared your throat, focusing on the printed letters. “Have you been the one in my room every night?”
“The one in your room every night?!” Jessica hissed, shooting a pointed look at you. You shrugged apologetically. Angie, who was visibly uneasy with the entire idea, almost fell backwards when the spirit answered.
YES.
“Oh my god!?” Jessica hung her head between her arms, laughing. “It’s probably some old grandpa with a shrimp dick, let’s be real here.”
“Bet. I’ll find out. Do you have a big dick, Mr. Ghost?” You asked.
Again, the planchette zipped to YES. Whoever he was, he didn’t hesitate. Cute. The three of you howled, laughing at the ridiculousness of the question. Angie desperately tried to redirect the conversation by asking the ghost what it wanted. The planchette spelled out HER.
Jessica lifted her fingers, and Angie screeched at her to return them. “If you don’t say goodbye, the spirit will have an open invitation to come into you!”
“To come!?” Jessica mocked. “To come into me?! Oh, the horror — don’t come into me! Pull out first, Ghost.”
Angie scowled. “You’re so gross.”
As they bickered, you stared at the planchette. It was still active, despite Angie and Jessica’s attention being pulled away. It quivered back and forth, as though it was shaking nervously.
Once Jessica’s wandering mind had been reigned back in, the three of you managed a few more more questions; some about murder, some about occult, and some about other ghosts in the house. Eventually, the sun disappeared from your window, plunging your room into darkness, and your mother called the three of you down to eat. Your friends stayed for about an hour after dinner, and they’d seemingly forgotten about the Ouija board. You hadn’t, though. You leaned your back against the door, the coldness of the glass piercing through your cotton shirt. Your eyes trailed up the staircase, following the bend of the bannister as it curved to the left. Before you made your way upstairs to ready yourself for bed, you craned your neck down the hall, trying to listen for the whispers.
~
You sat upright in your bed, gasping for air. The book clutched in your hand fell to the floor with a thud. You hadn’t even really remembered falling asleep, but the creak of your floorboards had woken you up. You were met with nothing but the silence and glittering darkness of the room while your eyes adjusted. Eventually, the speckles turned into furniture pieces; your dresser, your mirror, your bookcase… everything seemed in order. The clock on your bedside table incessantly blinked 2:34 AM.
Something skidded across the floor, a spinning blur of tan and black. You yelped, throwing yourself up against your headboard. Your room was silent save for that sound of something hard scooting against a flat surface. You took a deep breath, and crept forward gingerly, wincing each time your mattress creaked.
You gripped the edge of your bed frame tightly, knuckles paling. You peered over. In the middle of the floor where you’d been sitting earlier, the Ouija board was laid out. The planchette swept across the board as it had earlier, but this time with no hands to guide it. It zipped across the board aggressively, as though it was trying to get your attention.
“Hello?”
The triangle paused, then slowly drifted to hello.
Dumbfounded, your mouth opened and closed. You were at a loss — because no horror movie had ever given you any idea how to politely hold a conversation with a spirit outside of the traditional setting.
“Um…. can I… help you? Are you here to possess me?”
Stupid. That was stupid.
Watching as the planchette swept across the board, you read the letters allowed.
“L…A…Y…. Lay? Lay. Okay. B…A…C…K? Lay back?” You waited for further confirmation, but the planchette stayed still for a moment.
It started spinning again, quickly spelling out a final instruction. “Close my eyes. Lay back and close my…. eyes.”
You heaved a sigh, and against your better judgement, you did. You shimmied back underneath the covers, pulling them up to your chest, and waited. The seconds were excruciating, and you were sure some horror movie had to have started like this.
The duvet rustled at the bottom of the bed, and all at once, a gust of cold air hit your feet. The mattress gave to the weight of someone, and you yelped at the feeling of clothed shoulders nestling in between your thighs.
A broad hand ghosted across your stomach, fiddling the scalloped edge of your pyjama shorts. It swooped into your inner thigh, then circled down along your knee. Though the actions were soft, you couldn’t help but feel the knot forming in your stomach. Letting out a soft whimper, you bit your lip, clamping down hard. One hand slid up, caressing the curve of your ribs. You writhed. “You’re driving me insane…” you whispered harshly. Had you really been that touch starved?
Lips hovered over your inner thigh, the hot breath washing over the warm skin. A single finger ran along the inside, trailing further and further up. He slowed as he neared you, wordlessly asking for permission.
“Please,” you begged, doing everything you could not to scoot your hips down into him and embarrass yourself any further. “Please…”
He continued. The pad of his finger floated over you, stroking, teasing until the wetness soaked through the threads. The hands disappeared, but only to return to the sides, where they gripped the waistband, tugging them softly off your hips.
You took a deep breath and immediately clamped your hand over your mouth, muffling the shrill whine that tried to escape. Whoever he was, lapped at your cunt like it was a melting ice cream cone, and it didn’t take long for it to start weeping, soaking the green sheets beneath you.
Your chest rose and fell quickly, and your eyelids fluttered, overwhelmed with the sensation. Everything was white and on fire. Your thighs trembled deep within the muscle with every flick of his tongue. Were you really getting eaten out by a ghost? Was that actually happening? You felt silly acknowledging that. His tongue flattened out against your clit and you let out a whine, erasing every other thought. He pressed his face deeper into your wet folds, tongue flicking at the underside of your clit.
“Fffffuck, oh my god.”
You had to know. You swallowed, and tightened your lips into a thin line. You were ready for whatever horrifying visual would meet you. With one final surge of courage, you flipped the covers up, opened your eyes and gazed into the tented darkness. A head of soft, blonde curls bobbed softly between your legs.
“HELLO?!” It wasn’t a greeting, but the boy lifted his head from your cunt. Two dark eyes glimmered at you from beneath the duvet.
“Hey,” he said, chin glistening. “I’m Tate. I used to live here.”
“You’re so…. cute?”
He smiled crookedly, the dimples in his cheek deepening. “Were you expecting Freddy Krueger or something?”
Your head fell back on the pillow like an anvil and a breathy laugh broke your pants. “Yeah, maybe. Jesus Christ…. I don’t know. I’ve never had a ghost between my legs.”
“You liked it. You’re so wet.” He was pleased with himself, you could tell. Reaching one finger up to stroke your opening, he angled his head to watch the way you clenched and squirmed at his touch.
“Was I… were you the one I was talking to with my friends?” He nodded. He shifted his weight, manoeuvring himself up until he was above you, supporting himself with hands on either side of your neck.
“I’ve been watching you since you moved in, Y/N… I didn’t want to scare you away.” He confessed, searching your face. “I’ve wanted you for weeks.”
You were scrambling to keep your thoughts in one manageable bundle. On one hand, this scenario was insane and you were sick to be enjoying it. On the other… sure, he was dead, but he was easily one of the cutest boys you’d ever seen and the way he wanted you was intoxicating. His dark eyes darted from your lips to your eyes, wordlessly asking for permission. You craned your neck up to meet him, pressing into his plush, pink lips.
You’d never been one of those boy crazy teenagers, but you understood the cathartic release that sex brought. It was carnal and natural. You’d only ever slept with one other person, so the hunger was never sated, and you were left quietly fingering yourself after your parents fell asleep. Every time you’d had the chance to have made out with someone though, you tasted them. Deeply. Kissing someone released their scent, the one that only intimate partners got. And none of them had ever been as heady and addictive as Tate was. You tilted your head to get further into his waiting mouth, swirling your tongue with his. You whimpered, sending a moan down his throat.
You reached under, sliding your hands down his stomach. The tiniest trail of hair guided you to the waistband of his jeans, where you made quick work of the buttons. Breaking the kiss only to help with scooting his jeans over the curve of his ass, Tate quickly returned his lips against yours, his tongue moving past your lips eagerly.
Although you were going in blind, it wasn’t difficult to find his cock. Not only did it take up most of the space between you two, but it was hot to the touch, the heat radiating from beneath the thin fabric of his boxers. You pressed your hand against him, getting an idea for the length.
“Huh. So, you weren’t lying about that.” Tate’s hips ground against your palm in response. You reached up, flipping the elastic down so you could slip your hand in, dragging your fingers along the soft tip. Your palm was immediately slick with his precum; the thick fluid coated the soft skin. You used your thumb to smear some of it to the underside of the head, teasing at the ridges. He groaned, burying his face into your neck.
“I didn’t lie about anything you asked me.”
You began stroking him underneath the sheets in slow, full movements and Tate’s breathing hitched, hips bucking forward involuntarily. You sped up, feeling warm droplets dribble onto your exposed tummy. Your thumb pressed into the squishy flesh of his head, not expecting the reaction that followed.
“Mm-uh—please. Please, I want you. Please.” He was begging, whining, and his big brown eyes were filled with a pathetic yearning that made your walls soak even further.
“So do it.”
He wasted no time in completing your demand. He sat up, the covers falling off his back.Tate gripped himself, giving his cock a few pumps before he lined himself up, pressing his hot, leaking tip into your entrance. Snatching the opportunity from him, you bucked your hips up to his, forcing his cock inside. You clenched around him hungrily and Tate let out a throaty whine as he pushed the remaining length into you.
He started out slow, taking his time as he slid in and out of you, but the slick pull of your walls each time he slid out unravelled his concentration. Each thrust seemed a little more desperate than the last, his balls slapping against you, splashing the mixture of his spit and your cum against your inner thighs. Bottoming out inside of you, he arched his neck backwards, letting it hang heavy. “Are you a virgin?”
“Wha — no.” You breathed, adjusting your head on the pillow to look at him. Odd question to ask in the middle of the deed. “Why?”
Tate swallowed, and between pants, said, “Because…. you’re so wet.” He dropped forward, pressing his forehead against yours. His cock was still inside, the girth hitting you at a new angle, and the fullness made your stomach clench.
“I’m going to fuck you hard, okay? Tell me if I’m hurting you. I don’t want to hurt you.”
You nodded fervidly, and slithered your hands underneath his sweat-soaked shirt until it gathered. Tate lifted his arms, and allowed you to slip the shirt over them. You tossed it towards the edge of the bed, and raked your nails along his naked chest.
“Please.” It was your turn to beg. Tate backed his hips out, pulling himself from your warmth. “I want it.”
He dropped back down to his hands, getting a tight grip on the mattress behind you. His lips met yours again, hungrily. It provided only a momentary distraction, because the second that Tate started pounding into you, you could focus on nothing else — except suppressing your aroused screams. He scooted closer to you on the bed, angling himself to get deeper.
He was hitting every spot he could, and your breaths quickened as he fucked you closer to the edge. You bit down on your lip, squeezing your eyes shut. He had just started, and you were already about to lose it.
“Are you gonna’ cum? Huh?” Tate asked, now struggling to keep his rhythm. If you were close, he seemed to be closer — and you didn’t feel so bad. Tate reached down, pulling himself out to slide the tip of his cock over your clit a few times before stuffing it back in. Your lips parted in a soundless scream as you felt the unmistakable warmth filling you, the quivering in your legs, and the desperate, spasming arch of your back.
“Fuck, fuck,” Tate chanted, feeling your orgasm as it gripped him in a wet, pulsing chokehold. “Fuck!”
As he spilled into you, Tate fell atop of your body, pressing his sweaty forehead against yours. His hips were on autopilot, erratically bucking with each gush. You winced, on the verge of overstimulation. Gradually, his thrusts slowed.
He flopped over on the side of you, one hand stroking the outside of your thigh delicately. He was gazing at you dreamily when you turned to face him.
“So, do I have to bring out the Ouija board each time I want to see you?”
Tate propped his head up on his hand. “You want to see me again?”
You rolled your eyes to the ceiling, a taunting smile curling around your swollen lips. “Uhhh… yeah.”
“I can be here every night if you want.” He purred.
“Haven’t you been anyway? Or did you lie about that?”
Tate’s brows pulled upwards, looking hurt. “I told you — I didn’t lie about anything! I’d never lie to you!”
“Okay, shh —“ You silenced him with your lips. “I’ll be right back. I have to pee.”
For the first time since you’d moved in, you weren’t afraid of ghosts as you walked to the bathroom. You were just afraid that the one in your bedroom would be gone when you got back.
He wasn’t, though.