Sci Fi Sex Stories – Carrie’s Fucking Ghost

Some people go their whole lives searching for the perfect sexual mate. And sometimes, you don’t even have to look for it to find you.

When I first moved into the old Township house, I was expecting to find maybe a lingering spirit or two in the attic. What I wasn’t expecting to find was my sexual match roaming the halls, waiting for me as if he knew I was destined to come… In both senses of the word.

My experience with ghosts has been going on for as long as I can remember. My very first memory is talking to an old war general that apparently nobody could see but me. When I was ten my parents made me undergo electro-shock treatment, “to fix my mind from playing with demons,” so they claimed.

Mine was a religious upbringing that strictly believed that spirits meant only one thing – sin. Not only did our church glorify the sanctity of marriage, it forbid the existence of  or communication with those who had already crossed over. Ghosts, sex, these were the work of the devil. Not long after the electro-shock therapy the poltergeists came.

My parents committed me on and off as a teen for psychological evaluation, even stooping to sending me to various religious retreats. When I was seventeen they finally kicked me out, resigning to the fact that my soul was perpetually damned. Once I was free from the hell they’d imprisoned me in, I was able to start exploring my gifts. And my sexuality. You know how it goes: The more forbidden the fruit, the sweeter the juice.

So here I am, at the age of 20, closing the deal on my first home purchase, which I’m only able to afford  because of the earnings I bring in from my work as a medium. People travel from all over the country to pay me for a session. Believe me, if they are willing to travel hundreds, possibly thousands of miles to see me, then they are also willing to pay a nice, hefty fee for my services. I don’t feel guilty for taking advantage of my God given gift. I never asked for it.

The first time I set foot in the house, I sensed an unseen power emanating from the floor boards. It both turned me on and drew me to it, peaking my natural curiosity as to what the story behind such energy possibly could be.

Two months after closing the deal my real estate agent found me, I finally moving in to the old, two story Victorian manor house. As I unloaded boxes from the U-Haul I’d rented, packing them up the steps to my huge wrap-around porch, I felt a shiver go up my spine. I stopped and stared at the second story windows for a second, debating whether I wanted to pursue the feeling further. In the fraction of a heartbeat, I shook my head, as if to shake the feeling off of me. But still it lingered. For a split second I thought maybe I was possessed, but the feeling quickly faded away. So my new home had ghosts. So what?

Usually I find it somewhat comforting to be in the presence of spirits. I don’t want you to think that I’m a slut with the afterlife, that is simply not true. I do have my limits, and lines that I absolutely will not cross. I will not find pleasure (of the sexual nature) with anybody’s deceased husband, father or grandfather. The spirits I allow myself to enjoy, I suppose you’d say, must meet a certain criteria. They must  be unattached. In other words, flying solo. They must also be benign in nature; no malignant, or malicious spirits.

I do not summon ghosts or demons to pleasure me, or to do my bidding. They must seek me out, and they must be persistent and take the first initiative. I will not start an affair with a ghost who doesn’t show interest in me. In other words, he – or she -must make the first move.

Fucking a ghost is like having sex with any mortal partner: if the conditions are right, sometimes it just happens. They must meet my expectations for a partner, and not be seeking any earthly gains in return.

As I unpack, I learn a bit about my new roommates personality. Several times I’ve turned my back, only to discover things put away as soon as I return to the task I was working on. I smile each time he does this, and thank him; I do appreciate the gesture.  Throughout the afternoon I gather more of a sense of who  my new roommate is. He appears to be male, between 30 and 40 years of age when he died. Furthermore, he appears to be unattached, meaning I do not feel any emotional ties binding him to anyone.

This pleases me, although I’m not sure why. I do not know this gentleman’s name, or even what he looked like when he was alive. Instead of repelling me, this only intrigues me more. There is a thrill in the unknown, after all. More than once I feel ghostly fingers resting against the small of my back, causing me to shiver. I must break contact, however; there is work to be done.

But now it’s evening, and I find myself singing an entirely different tune. Not that I mind my other worldly roommate, oh, no. Like I said, I’m used to it. As a matter of a fact, you could even go as far as to say as I welcome him- I’m sure it’s a him, as the energy being emitted definitely feels masculine. But he’s yet to apparate, or manifest into being, so to speak. I know he’s here, I can feel him all around me. But I have not seen him yet, nor has he spoken to me. Without communicating, it’s virtually impossible to get a sense for who, or what, he is.

I have spent the day unpacking, and now the sun is starting to sink in the West. I am not wearing anything particularly sexy, just a pair of tattered denim shorts and a ratty old purple button up shirt. It’s hot- my new home is stuffy. I go over to the big, picturesque window in what I have designated will be my bedroom, and attempt to pry it open. It won’t budge. I try both pushing and pulling on the glass pane, but it still won’t open. I sigh in defeat, wiping my hands on my short shorts and backing away.

All of a sudden, the window flies open, and a cool breeze billows in. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. He is here, in this room. I can feel his presence.

I attempt to continue working, but the strong presence of a man I cannot see has shaken me up a bit. Something stirs deep within me as the soft fragrance of Old Spice fills musty air. I feel something brush against the back of my leg, and I shiver. It is hard to tell what his intentions are, when he has yet to reveal himself to me. Yet I don’t feel any sense of danger. There is an invisible, electrical current permeating the atmosphere, a  burst and flow of energy seeping through the cracks in the wall from another place and time. A cold wisp of air grazes against the nape of my neck. I stand still; close my eyes and try to center myself. My pussy is wet with warm juices despite my attempts to stave off my inner stirrings. What can I say, fucking dead men is one of my weaknesses.

He is so close that I can almost feel his body pressed against mine; almost, but not quite. An invisible barrier separates us; the absence of his body, perhaps. The lack of a physical body doesn’t concern me, however. I have learned from experience that the erect cock of a free-form apparition is virtually limitless. Fucking a spirit is the same as making love to eternity.

The soft brush of unseen lips graze against mine. I lean my head back, tilt my face up to receive the cold, fleeting kiss, as brief and delicate as the flutter of butterfly wings. Instinctively my eyes close, allowing me to feel the full depth of the supernatural kiss. You’d be surprised how often the dead reach out and touch us, if we only tuned in with our other senses besides sight. What we can’t see, we often mistake for not being real.

I stand still, deathly still, and let myself sink into the kiss. An invisible hand reaches up and strokes my throat. I am barely breathing. There is a history in this kiss; the faint scent of bygone days, and the soft static hum of another era crackling through the atmosphere. His hand drifts down, until it is cupping my breast, and the pressure from it makes my nipples automatically stand hard and erect.

I feel the buttons peal back on my shirt, one by one until it falls open and the cool air hits my bare flesh. I’m not wearing a bra. I rarely do. Invisible fingers grope my boobs, kneading and stroking, fondling my pert, pink nipples. I suck in a deep breath as he pinches my nipples between his forefinger and thumb. I can feel every curve and texture of his hands against my skin. If I were to open my eyes now, I would expect to find a living, breathing, flesh-and-blood man standing before me. As it is, I know if I open my eyes, all that will greet me will be cold, empty air.

And yet…

There is a body pressed against mine. It’s as tangible and real as any flesh and blood man could ever be. More so, in fact. This is a man who has crossed the veil and seen the edges of eternity. He has more knowledge and sexuality in his invisible pinky than most men have in their entire bodies.

I am sinking, falling, really, into this. My knees tremble and feel week; a sharp, burning sensation burrows into the pit of my stomach, traveling all the way down to my groin, manifesting as a dull throb in the base of  my clit. I moan softly into empty air, and suddenly I can’t breathe. My mouth is being ravished by the sweet lips of my lover from by-gone days. The pressure his existence makes upon the atmosphere in the room pushes me over to the queen sized bed, forcing me down onto the mattress. I sink gratefully into the security of it, the physical reassurance that I am completely awake, aware and conscious.

Burning hot kisses seer the soft, tender white flesh of  my throat. I throw my head back, letting out a low moan from the base of my throat. I feel the nip of teeth  just below my ear. My pussy is wet and ready; I can smell the juices coming from between my legs. He- whoever- or whatever- he is, can smell me, too. Invisible hands nudge my legs open, gliding softly down my silky, bare thigh. He caresses my legs from the top of my inner thigh, down to my ankles, then back up again. Fingers slip over the denim shorts, tantalizing my pussy. I moan as  he undoes my top button and pulls down the zipper.

I have a white lace thong on beneath my shorts. He rubs a finger up and down my mound, soaking the thong with my juices. I hear a distinct sigh and a groan, as my shorts are slipped down my legs and tossed aside. The thong quickly follows.

He delves his hand into  my pussy, causing a sharp gasp to escape my lips. A shock of electricity shoots from my vagina, up to my tummy and back down to my clit. He glides his fingers up and down the length of my pussy, finally pushing two fingers deep inside of  me. I arch my back and moan, as the deep waves of sensation caused by being finger fucked by a spirit ripple through my body.

He grazes my clit with his thumb, tracing it lightly with a circular motion as he continues to pound his fingers inside of me. I wish to god my lover had a physical form, so that I could wrap my arms around his neck, grab his shoulders and bury my hands into his hair. I long for a throbbing cock against my face, caressing my cheek before it pushes into my mouth.

As if my prayers have been answered, I suddenly get the strong, delicious whiff of cock and balls, the latter brushing my chin as it dangles over my face. I open my mouth eagerly, my senses overwhelmed by the sweet taste of an erect cock as it throbs and pushes past my lips.

He thrusts in and out of my mouth with the same rhythm that his hand hammers into my pussy. I run my tongue up the length of his cock, tasting every blessed inch of him. My pussy tightens around his fingers, as what little self-control I have managed to hung onto slips away, and I lose myself in this moment, in the rhythm and the beauty of eternity.

I am riding high on an electrical voltage of nerve endings and pleasure sensors. He continues to thrust, and my body moves rhythmically with his. There is a reluctant groan as he slides his cock out of my mouth, rubbing it against the side of my face as he readjusts. I cry out in protest as he withdraws his hand. A moment later, I feel the weight of time and space itself on top of me, and I cry out again, this time in ecstasy as he thrusts his cosmic cock deep inside me.

I can feel every inch of his body on mine. I know if I open my eyes I will not see him; I keep my eyes squeezed tight as he pounds my body into senselessness. He rides me like the hands of time ride the cosmos themselves. An intense pressure builds up inside  me, rolling over and under with each thrust of his cock. I am falling fast, and am about to crash. I scream as my entire body tightens, then seems to explode with wave after intense wave of ecstasy. I crash headfirst into the void, and am lost, suspended there for a moment outside of time.

When I come back into  myself, I am alone in my room. He has gone, as many have gone before him. I lay there a moment, reveling in the afterglow of the best orgasm I have ever experienced. I finally sit up and fetch my shorts, slipping them back on and buttoning my shirt. I wonder when he, whoever he is, will grace me with an encore performance, as I resume to unpacking my belongings.