Spirits

SPIRITS by Capt Feg Alison and her husband had bought a small cottage in northern France. A simple structure of three rooms. It was very old. It had been a billet for a company of about 20 German soldiers during the first world war. Local legend rumoured that the troops had been found there one night, all dead. The bodies carried no marks. The cause of their deaths was never found. A few nights after moving in they held a small housewarming party. They celebrated moving in, and the month-long visit to England that her husband was making. One of their guests, a Medium, was intrigued by the "psychic aura" of the place. Urged on by other guests she sat down to enter a trance. After a few minutes of increasingly hoarse breathing she began to speak in a foreign language. After several minutes of confused sounds she began to writhe desparately "NO . . . NO . . . NO . . GO AWAY . . . STOP IT . . . GET OFF . . . LEAVE ME ALONE . . . NOT NOW . . . NOT HERE . . . NOT THAT . . " With a sharp gasp she awoke from her trance. The guests were concerned for her. They gathered around her, consoling and trying to find out what had happened. The Medium would say nothing. She left shortly after, casting a worried glance at Alison . The next day her husband departed on his business trip. Alison spent the day occupied about the house and garden. In the evening she watched television and then retired to bed. She fell asleep. Alison half-awoke some time later. She felt a hand travelling gently down her body. Lingering over her breasts, stroking each in turn, upwards, flicking teasingly the nipples into erection. She smiled to herself. This is what she wanted, a wet dream in which she could enjoy her husband's ministrations. She stretched languorously, eyes closed, enjoying the attention she was receiving. The hands slowly moved downwards, stroking over her hips. A finger trailed questioningly along her thigh. Her legs opened in response. The finger brushed the hair on her mound, lightly touched her lips, paused, as if deciding something, then gently burrowed into her. A thumb joined, gently tweaking her clitoris. Then it began to brush up and down. Alison sighed with pleasure as the finger moved in and out in her slick wetness. The thumb dominated her. Every part of her body responded unconditionally to it. She opened her legs wider to allow more access, and to signal her total submission. She thrust her hips upwards, presenting her vagina to the roving hand. A moan escaped her as a second finger joined the first to fill up her cunt. She felt herself opening like a flower. She felt the fingers smile as they stroked her parted lips. She groaned under the onslaught of the sensations. A heat began to rise in her groin, spreading outwards. She gasped as the hand moved faster and faster, then slowed, then faster again. Each time taking her to the brink of orgasm. They continued, on and on and on, not satisfied with her ragged moans, until she was screaming. A mouth closed over her breast, building up the sensitivity of her nipples. She willed a weight on top of her. Involuntary, she thrust her pelvis up to meet her invader. Fingers parted her lips. She felt the tip of a penis touch her, waiting at the entrance She squirmed against it, pushing down onto it, willing it into her. Without a perception of movement the hard flesh spread into her, red-hot, stretching, filling. The heat burned into her. Her juices dowsing it, but not cooling it. It melted her flesh, she became a flesh form around the penis, it's pleasure servant. She abandoned herself totally. Wave after wave of pleasure coursed through her. The penis rhythmically pounded into her, pushing her up and down the bed against the sheets. Her breasts moving in time. She felt every gnarled knot of the hard flesh moving inside her. Then the penis expanded deep inside her, a stream of juice, hotter than the flesh it came from erupted deep in her belly. She felt sperm as it swam into her body, a dark life form, seeking her, to impregnate. All she could do was lay there, opening herself for it She climaxed long and slowly, awash with sensations she had never experienced before. Spent, she drifted into oblivion, dimly aware of the penis nuzzling still inside her. She awoke the next morning. As she stretched, memories of the night flooded into her mind. She sat bolt upright with a start. Her husband was working elsewhere. He had not been home that night. Her vagina felt used and distended, as if a penis were still inside her. She opened her thighs and looked down at herself. Her pubic hairs and groin area smelt of sex and were coated and sticky. Her thighs ached from her nightime exercise. She did not understand. Crying, and in a panic she rushed and poured a bath. She scrubbed her herself all over, concentrating on her groin. But however much she scrubbed she still felt distended and full. She explored deep inside herself with her fingers. She found nothing but herself. Without much reassurance she eventually half convinced herself that she must have been dreaming. She felt tired listless throughout the day. The cottage seemed to have changed, less colour, more grey. She seemed unable to concentrate, and rested frequently. Each time she sat quietly, eyes closed, she felt the hot fullness in her vagina again. The longer she luxuriated in the sensations she felt, the hotter and larger it got. She jerked awake. Confused and afraid. Her mind revolted against the sensations she felt, and feared her lack of understanding. Her body betrayed her mind, revelling in the depth and range of sexual sensations she was experiencing for the first time ever. She also experienced a deeper drive for herself to submit to the dominance of this penis, it's wish to use her body for it's own pleasure, to breed her as it wished. By bed time that night she had largely dismissed her memories of the night before as a solid-gold wet dream. She sank into the bedclothes luxuriating in their feel. She fell asleep immediately. Alison half-awoke some time later, knees curled up to her chin, on her side. She felt the tip of a penis touch her, waiting at the entrance. Drowsily she felt driven to squirm her cunt against it, to offer herself for it's use and pleasure. Again it spread into her, red-hot, stretching, filling. The heat burned into her. She gasped. Again it melted her flesh, she became a flesh form around the penis, it's servant. She did not move, she could not move. The penis somehow filled her entire body. Every atom of her felt it's rapacious thrusts into her. She was simply it's vessel, a container for it's enjoyment, a receptical. For the second time she felt it's molten, volcanic ejaculation. Every fibre and sinew in her body strained to suck in the seed. The warm glow in her belly spread, transforming into a climax as she felt again the semen explore deep inside her. She awoke next morning in the same position. She felt bone tired. She remembered the dream-like activities of the night. Her vagina was sore, her inner thighs were sticky again. Alison sat silently and numbly in the house for most of the day. She felt so drained that she didn't wash herself. Her mind was confused but numb. She couldn't think straight. She must be ill she told herself. Yes! That's it, ill! The thought blazed across her mind, offering more reassurance to her fear and anxiety than any other explanation had done. With a sense of relief she took some of the sleeping tablets left over from an old prescription and dragged herself back to bed to rest. She slept through the night. When she woke next morning the sun was streaming through the window. The greyness was gone. She felt much better. Up and about, she bustled her activities through the day. She phoned her husband. It was so nice to hear his voice. She felt relieved. She wondered whether to tell him anything of her "wetdreams" as she thought of them. In the end she did not. That night it happened again. She became aware of a bumpy, rocking motion. She heard horses hooves and wheels moving over stony ground. The world was misty and grey, and smelt of earth. She was half sitting, half lying. One leg on the floor and one leg in the air. The finger and thumb were at her vagina. The flooding sensations were also there. She moaned through parted lips.The coach rocked violently from side to side. Her head swayed with the motion. When it stopped her lips where brushing a penis. She smelt it, salty and sour, unwashed. The fingers worked her vagina. Her tongue touched the tip and tasted the penis. Another violent lurch, her head moved with the jolt, and the penis was suddenly in her mouth. Her lips formed on "O" around the shaft. Her tongue rose to bed the glans as it moved smoothly into her mouth. She tasted the precome. Again she felt the now-familiar compulsion to satisfy it. She began to move her head up and down the shaft. Grey and shapeless hands held her head and moved it in an ever increasing tempo, in time with the fingers in her vagina and the thumb on her clitoris. Her mouth was fucked for an eternity. Ever faster went the coach, rolling wildly from side to side. Ever faster the finger inside her. The penis shafted her mouth. She felt it building up to come. The glans swelled hot and angry, paused by her lips at the limit of it's withdrawal, then plunged towards her throat, spreading the warm liquid over her teeth and tongue on it's way. The seed, salty and harsh spilled down her throat. She awoke the next day. These were not dreams. Her lips were sore. She could still taste the penis that had been in her mouth. She was so tired. Laying on her back she dozed. As she dozed she felt the presence of others in the room with her. Half awake, half asleep she couldn't move. She wanted to get up and run out of the place, to scream. The room darkened, the walls faded. The bed became smaller, rougher, lumpy. A damp, musty smell pervaded. She felt her body change. From tired, cold and fearful, to expectant sexuality. Her breasts and nipples tingled, sensitive to the cloth of her nightie brushing them as she breathed increasingly shallowly. She noticed an itch developing between her legs. She felt her vagina lubricate, felt it's emptiness inside her, felt the urge to fill it. She moaned softly, breath catching in her throat. Grey shadows coalesced around the bed. Men, many men, half formed shapes gathered around her, looking down on her. Faces formed. Leering, hungary, lecherous and lascivious, heavy with lust. A mixture of terror and sexual excitement coursed through her. Ghosts? If so, could they hurt her? Repelled and attracted she lay there, a slave to the insistent itch between her legs and in her heart. The cover slipped from her. The grey forms moved closer. A constant sigh of breathing filled the room. Hands formed out of the grey mist. They reached out - many hands touched her. Involuntarily, as if not under her control, her body reacted to the wishes of the hands. One by one the buttons down the front of her nightdress parted. From the neck she was revealed. Breasts. Belly. Pubic mound. Thighs. Legs. The hands - God knows how may hands - explored every part and detail of her body. Some hard, some gentle, but all rough skinned. She gave up every secret to their probing. Every fold, every wrinkle, every orifice was probed. Every hand felt like a tingling, vibrating, taunt to her womanhood. Skilled, playing her body like a fine violin. Her mind had given in to her body. In her fever she floated on sea of seminal fluid. Her entire being strained to turn the fantasy into reality. Spread open, white, soft skin on rough blanket. Her breasts pointed at them, her groin lifted to them - whatever they were. Legs bent, hips gyrating. Ready ... ... ready .... Once more she felt the press of a penis against her. She willed it into the emptiness between her legs, inside her. It was like no other penis. It didn't slide into her, as normal. Rather it was in her and grew to fill her. It had a mind of it's own. She could feel it exploring her, looking for her. Deep in her womb it sensed, at last, her egg. She felt it's exclamation, it's thrill of power. Oblivious of the weight on her that flattened her breasts, forced the air from her lungs, scratched friction burns on her back on the rough bed, she existed only for the penis. It pounded her. Hard, savage, seeking excitement from the walls of her cunt that would bring on the ejaculation that would race for her fertile womb. Each stroke slammed from the entrance of her cunt to crash against the entrance to her womb. She willed it on, revelling in her abuse. After an eternity of ramming, the penis charged into her one more time, swelled, stretched her, opened the door to her womb and exploded into it. She felt the flood. She felt her impregnation. The sperm plunging into her egg, blind and defenceless. Content, but not satiated she became aware of a forest of penises pointing at her. Her mouth filled, as did her cunt, her arse. She was full of flesh, pounding and thrashing her. Time blurred, penises entered her, fucked her, pumped into her, used her, withdrew, and left her only to be replaced with others. She lost count of numbers - not that she ever tried to count. Her body, full, leaked sperm. She felt it dribbling between her legs, sticky rivers of it over her breasts, down from her chin and lips into her hair and eyes. She was happy, this was fulfilment, her body an exciter and extractor of sperm. Her last thought as she drifted to sleep centred around the three penises in her at the time. The next time she woke she was only half back in her bed room. The four walls were there, but unpainted. The greyness was still there, penises lingered around the bed on which she lay. Her bed was no longer white sheeted and wooden, but a pile of dirty, lumpy sacks on the bare earth. Sunlight streaming through the window, broken glass, no familiar curtains. She strained to rise from the bed. She was crusted in semen. Her lips cracked and rubbery from constant fellatio, her vagina sore, sticky, her anus the same. Semen dribbling from her. She smelt of of fetid sex. She sensed the new life in her. Only a few cells in size, but already a hard lump in her belly. In a panic she ran from the bedroom, not knowing , not understanding what was happening to her. But in the lounge the world was not normal. Where she expected her furniture, she was now surrounded by farmyard implements and a strong, sour smell of unkept stables. Horrified, she glanced her reflection in a cracked old mirror resting on the floor. She looked awful. She was covered in scratches. Lovebites around her neck, her breasts, her groin and inner thighs. Semen glistened in her hair, on her face, over her breasts and stomach. A trial of it ran from her crotch to her ankles. Grey wraithes twined about her body, their caresses calming her panic and rekindling the now familar overwhelming appetite to be fucked again. She began to realise that she may have somehow moved from ine world to another. She may never again see her own familar world again. But she was excited by the thought that she might now be open for an eternity of constant fucking. She moved her feet, opening her legs to allow the wraithes access to her. Her husband returned from his business trip a few days later. Alison was missing. The cottage was undisturbed. No-one had seen or heard her. Due to police investigations and forensic tests, it was several days before he was able to live in the cottage. The first night he slept fitfully. He seemed to hear Alison, in the distance, making the noises she would make when they made love. He searched the cottage from top to bottom but found nothing. Then one night as he lay in bed, half asleep, he felt a gentle hand slip over his chest and cool strong fingers encircle his growing penis. An all-enveloping urge for sex consumed him. A penis gently brushed his lips. An overwhelming desire for sex washed over him. Without a thought for his strong heterosexual inclination and appetite, he opened his mouth and searched for the tip with his tongue . . . . 2614 1.56/512345