An adult stories – Blithe Little Spirit by de_Vere,de_Vere Blithe Little Spirit
This story is loosely based upon the fine 1945 film by David Lean, Blithe Spirit. In that film, the ghost of a man’s first wife shows up to haunt him and his second wife. It’s a fun film, well worth seeing, but was made almost 80 years ago, in a time when studios required films to be wholesome and clean. This story lends itself well to all sorts of naughty possibilities with only the slightest tweaking.
And who doesn’t enjoy a little tweaking?
While this story follows the basic plot of the film, I have taken significant liberties with it, much as my characters have taken liberties with each other. So while it may begin and end at similar places, the identity of the characters is tweaked, and the way they arrive at their pre-determined destiny is new journey.
This family-friendly version of the story contains descriptions of close family members engaged in entirely inappropriate activities that some may find either disturbing or hot. This family is VERY friendly! If family members fantasizing about or taking liberties with each other or otherwise behaving in naughty ways offends you, then you probably should stop reading right about… now.
All characters in this novel are fictional and are eighteen years or older. Any resemblance to any real person, living, dead, undead, or under the age of eighteen, is in your own dirty little mind. Sadly, most of the events portrayed in this story are not based on true events. I wish.
If you are still reading and are not offended by SILF or BILF or pseudo-necrophilia and believe siblings or family members—living or dead–behaving in very naughty ways is hot, I hope you enjoy this naughty ghost story.
Trick or Treat!
One commonality all ghost stories share is tragedy. Without tragedy, ghosts would be no more interesting than living, breathing people. Tragedy has sent them to the spiritual realm. How that spirit handles their transition to the Great Beyond determines the nature of their ghost story. A pissed-off ghost makes a scary horror story, but ghosts may also be benevolent, warning of danger or otherwise protecting or comforting the living.
Some, on the other hand, seek in the afterlife the experiences they craved in life, but were denied by tragedy. This can create very naughty ghosts.
This one started at a dinner party our yuppie friends threw. My wife and I and our friends were thirty-ish, that awkward age when people leave their youth behind and become parents of their own, as several of our friends had. Parties no longer are about drinking and scoring. Some of them have themes, as did this one. This was the Roaring Twenties: braless flappers and men wearing straw hats, drinking some concoction that was supposed to be bathtub gin. It tasted like it came from the toilet instead, but strong enough to kill germs.
It was Halloween.
The main event was the medium. Spiritualism boomed in the Roaring Twenties, as people reached out to loved ones killed in the dual nightmares of the Great War and the Spanish Flu, which, in 1918, killed millions who survived the war. Thunder rolled, bolts of lightning lit up skeleton tree branches outside. On that dark and stormy night, we revisited this eerie part of the past.
Everyone suspected the Madam Desiree was a fraud, if not a stripper. If the neckline of her dress plunged any lower, we would have seen pubes. I was hoping she’d kick the crystal ball off the table, jump up and strip naked, but she instead had us all hold hands in a candlelit parlor while she went into a trance.
“Is anyone from the spiritual realm here with us tonight?” At first, only distant thunder responded. She repeated the question several times, growing louder and more plaintive; perhaps ghosts are hard of hearing.
About the time our last traces of interest had lapsed, the table our linked hands rested on lifted, crashing with thuds to the floor, first on my side, then the side opposite me. An impressive enough display from a grizzled gypsy woman, more so from a woman whose regular salary is dollar bills tucked in her garter.
“They are here. Does anyone here wish to speak to someone who is no longer with us? Perhaps someone who died in France or succumbed to the flu? Or any other loved one.”
My wife glanced at me, but I remained mum.
“My grandmother died last year,” Winnie said. I stifled a yawn.
After Winnie and her grandmother bored us all with dull, vague stories and my wife caught me peeking at the medium’s rack several times, Madam Desiree’s body began shaking as her trance went to another level.
“I see a teenage girl: pretty, blonde, maybe 18 or 19. An innocent face. I cannot hear her, but she’s reaching out to someone here. Reaching toward someone to my right.”
My wife looked at me again. I was on Madam Desiree’s right. Janice squeezed my hand and cleared her throat, but I kept my trap shut. I wasn’t getting sucked into this nonsense. I still had my hopes up for a table dance.
That’s when Madam Desiree began having an epileptic fit. It started off well enough, eyes rolling back in her head, boobs shaking and threatening to escape from her dress—a tad more orgasm than supernatural contact. Perhaps Madam Desiree has a thing for college girls. Who can blame her?
She flung forward onto the table, precariously close to her crystal ball, jerked back, then collapsed onto the floor. There she spazzed in either the hottest orgasm ever or a medical emergency. Defying all known laws of physics, her breasts did not pop out of her dress.
Then she fell still.
“Someone should do something!”
This was a time for heroics. I stepped up. “How ’bout CPR?”
Do you compress a chest over the sternum or over the heart? Seemed like it should be the heart, which in this case was conveniently located under her ample left breast. My hesitation gave Susan a chance to protect her breast. “I’m a nurse—I’ll do it.”
Logical, if unlucky. But, as long as she didn’t die, a little girl-on-girl action would liven this party of the dead up a bit.
Before Susan could begin molesting Madam Desiree’s bosoms or begin hot lesbian mouth-to-mouth, life returned to the medium. Her dark eyes fluttered open, and she sat up. “What happened?”
She held up her arms as all the husbands jockeyed for position to help her to her chair. “You saw a girl reaching for someone,” Janice helpfully filled her in, “then went into a trance and…”
“We thought you were dead,” Ginnie, the host, said. Or at least that her boobs would stage an escape.
“Yes, it’s coming back to me,” Madam Desiree said, hands in a slow wave over the table, her voice low and ominous. “A girl—close. Reaching, trying to grab hold of someone. Sometimes spirits try to cling to someone… and if they grab hold of someone—well, you don’t want them to do that.”
Ginnie, her voice fearful and breathless, asked, “What can happen?”
“They can possess the unwary. Haunt something belonging to them. Spirits don’t just haunt castles and old houses. They can haunt items or even people.”
This medium had talent—she kept everyone on the edge of their seat with her tale, half of them buying her ghost story. She knew it, too, so she kept up the Halloween hokum.
“Does anyone feel her? Is she in this room?”
Janice shivered. “It suddenly feels cold—does anyone else feel it?” My eyes darted down to her chest for a nipple check. So did every other husband. Sure ’nuff, she was cold.
Madam Desiree, fully recovered and enjoying having us eating out of her hand, left us with this dire warning: “Beware! Once a spirit clings to an object or person, removing them can be very difficult—and very dangerous.”
I didn’t mean to kill my sister.
Technically, I didn’t. The coroner ruled it an accidental death, which indeed it was, but starting a chain of events which lead inexorably to your kid sister’s coffin being lowered into the ground leads to dwelling in a pit of self-reflection and blame.
For her 18th birthday, I took Beth camping up in the mountains. Beth was a tomboy, introverted and shy, more comfortable in nature than in groups of people, and camping was the kind of activity she craved.
My favorite part of this camping spot was the swimming hole, which features a huge rock on one side with 2 diving spots: one high and the other higher, 25 feet above the deep pool of crystal-clear mountain water.
“I bet you’re too scared,” I said, as I jumped from the higher point.
“Does it hurt?” she called down as my head surfaced.
“Only if you chicken out,” I taunted her.
As she leaped, she screamed, “I hate you!”
Her head popped to the surface, her expression of pure panic.
“Oh, shit!”
Not waiting for more, I started toward the landing zone. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said, but she didn’t seem fine. Treading water, she turned from side to side, wild arms reaching as if trying to grab hold of something. “Help me—my top came off!”
That last part came out as a whisper. The swimming hole draws quite a crowd on hot summer days like this, and who could blame her for wanting to avoid a feeding frenzy of helpful sharks?
Beth bought this bikini for her birthday, and it looked fantastic on her. Perhaps a bit too fantastic from a brother’s perspective. Why a girl that pretty was so shy around guys puzzled me, but if she’d worn clothes that showed off her body more, she would have been the most popular girl in school. Instead, she hid everything beneath baggy, boyish clothes.
Even I was taken aback by how sexy she looked in the bright blue bikini that matched her eyes—the thought of how she’d look without it, or the top, at least, sent chills down my spine. The prospect of all these people swimming and sunbathing seeing her topless bothered me; more than that, a big brother needs to help his kid sister. Besides, the crystal-clear water offered superior viewing opportunities than through distorting surface ripples.
“You check around here—I’ll search downstream.”
Eager to see—I mean, help—I dove into the deep pool. The only thing better than bare breasts is bare breasts underwater. And nothing is more alluring than sister breasts, uniquely familiar and accessible, yet forbidden. Beth’s were too firm and nubile to have given in to gravity yet, but buoyant, her young flesh drawn taught by icy mountain water, I couldn’t help leaving a string of bubbles as I said aloud, “Holy hell!”
Swimming close as I dared to her kicking feet, soon as I passed, she dove to check the rocky crevices around her as I followed the most likely path downstream. Why hadn’t I sent her downstream, where I could at least keep an eye on her while pretending to search the LZ? Now she was behind me, so I turned back to watch her slender yet powerful legs propel her to the bottom, searching everywhere. After a quick look around, I did the same nearby, half-searching and half-peeping. Her breasts flowed with the water.
If I found her bra first, I resolved to stuff it in my trunks and hide it until just before she gave up hope, when I’d do one last heroic dive for a miraculous recovery.
The quicker I found it, the better my viewing opportunity would be.
Beth dove deep again, reaching for something near the rock wall near her splashdown point. A flash of blue in her hand, she turned to wave to me before heading back to the surface. Sadly, I flashed two thumbs up to her, sure she would misinterpret the signal.
That is when everything went wrong.
Still looking at me, and me at her, Beth pushed off the bottom for the surface, not glancing up. She didn’t see the rocky outcrop halfway up.
Her head smacked the rock, and her body went limp. The blue bikini caught the flow and headed toward me, but I ignored it, making a bee-line to her. Blood stained the water red. Near the surface when I reached her, I lifted her head clear of the water, brushed away hair clinging to her face and towed her toward the nearest spot where I could lift her ashore.
“Somebody help!”
Strangers rushed to help pull her from the river. There she lay on the bare granite, topless.
She wasn’t breathing.
They dragged me up beside her, and I gave her an urgent kiss of life. I turned to look at her chest. I felt her chest for a heartbeat. It was still.
Her nipples were hard.
I tried again to kiss life back into her. I blew all the air from my lungs. “Come on!”
Water gurgled past her lips, then shot out of her mouth, and she began coughing and gagging, justifying my gawking at her cold-hardened nipples while she was dead.
“Give her some privacy—does anyone have a towel?” Silence. “We’ll give it back!”
A heavyset teenage girl squeezed into a too-small bikini handed me a towel, which I draped over her.
“Breathe! Go on!” I rolled her onto her side to pound her back, which unleashed another gusher.
“Why didn’t you ask her what that girl she saw before she went into her trance looked like?”
“Because she was making it all up?”
Janice gave me the eye. “How do you know? Didn’t you wonder for a second if that girl was Beth?”
“No, because there was no girl. It was an act—a pretty darn good act, but a scam nonetheless.”
It was a lie, of course. For a split second, the possibility Beth was reaching out to me from beyond the grave sent a chill down my spine. Janice wasn’t the only one to feel that chill, but no one checked out my nipples. In fact, warm as the night was for Halloween, I hadn’t warmed up since.
But there was no way I would let onto that.
“If communicating with spirits was real, wouldn’t you like to see your sister again?”
“Of course. She should still be here. Heck, she’d only be 28—still young. But I won’t because we can’t because there is no such thing as ghosts. But you believe it, don’t you?”
“Maybe a little.” Nipples don’t lie.
“If you’re still nipply, I could warm you up!”
“You could…” She turned away and leaned back against me. I warmed a breast in each hand.
“Oh, get a room, will ya?”
Strange, but it sounded nothing like her. She must be in a playful mood to be making voices. Me, too, after thinking all the way home about nothing but…
“I love your breasts.”
“Lucky for you, because you’re stuck with them for life!”
“I’m gonna gag.”
I whispered in her ear, “Are you feeling okay?”
“More than okay. Let’s go to bed.”
At the hospital, the doctors credited me with saving Beth’s life. She had a concussion, needed a half-dozen stitches in her head, and for a while everyone thought everything was fine.
Aspiration pneumonia occurs when someone inhales bacteria into their lungs with water or vomit or something else. A couple of days after I pulled her from the water, it set in. Not some normal kind they could treat with antibiotics, but some resistant, killer strain. After a week of trying to save her, the doctors gave up. Mom didn’t want her to die in a hospital, and since hope was lost, we brought my sister home and kept a vigil by her bedside. 1 month and 16 days after Beth’s 18th birthday, on a warm Halloween day in 1989, she quietly passed away in her sleep.
I won’t say that night was the horniest I have ever been, but it had been a while. I had married well. After over 5 years of marriage, Janice still set my heart and loins afire. She is half-Japanese and half-European American, a truly amazing combination. Her parents gave her the best of both: a perfect body, long black hair, black almond eyes and lips to die for, with skin the color of porcelain.
But it wasn’t just looks. I may be the only man in America to marry a woman who does not consider a wedding ring a lifetime excuse to not suck dick. Janice still sucked mine. Don’t get me wrong, she isn’t perfect. She does not like to swallow, and only will swallow on my birthday and Christmas. When I informed her that Orthodox Christmas takes place 2 weeks after our Christmas, I bumped it up to 3 times per year on a technicality, but since she blows me as foreplay on a regular basis, I’m not complaining.
That Halloween she had dressed as a sexy flapper witch, and I refused to let her out of her costume yet. I hiked up the skirt and practically chewed her black lace panties off. For reasons known only to her, she turned the tide and yanked off my pants before I could start snacking on her. I had been hard for a while, so it felt wonderful to be free and her tongue licking my throbbing shaft.
As she took me into her warm, moist mouth, I heard, “Well, this is embarrassing.”
Was it my imagination? Too much liquor before a fake medium planted an image in my mind? The joint we passed around out back? It sure wasn’t Janice, for the words were way too clear for her to articulate with my cock in her mouth.
But her lips and her tongue made quick work of any rational thought. I already wanted to come, and she was just getting started. The only thoughts inside my head were of sheer ecstasy and trying not to blow my wad too soon, before I enjoyed the world’s sexiest Japanese-American witch sucking on my knob for a while.
Whether because of her playful mood or an ability to read my mind, after taking me deep inside, she started giving me quick licks all around, kissing my balls—anything to delay the inevitable. When sure the eruption danger had passed, she sucked me some more.
“I’m going to come!” An understanding is an understanding, and Christmases were only 2 months away, so as she pulled her mouth away, I pulled down the top of her little black dress. She aimed it at one chocolate-kiss nipple, which I proceeded to cover with a prodigious layer of cream. Rubbing it in circles while she continued to crank on it with her hand, the volume shocked me. She giggled as I moaned.
“Oh, my god. Really?”
I gasped, “What?”
“I didn’t say anything.”
As I answered, another wave hit me. “I thought I… OH! I thought I heard something.”
“This is too much.”
I heard it clear as day. “There!”
“What?” Janice looked genuinely confused.
Auditory hallucinations. The words popped into my head, which is pretty much the last phrase you expect to think of when you are wrapping up a climax on your wife’s breast. I glanced around the bedroom, half expecting to see some shadow move or a figure wearing a white sheet, but there was nothing to see but the room and my hot wife dripping cum down her tit.
I enjoy eating my wife. No straight guy wouldn’t, and I suspect a lot of straight women envied me for doing so. I do it frequently, not just as an oral sex trade-off, although fair is fair. I lick her with gusto and enthusiasm, and she rewards me with multiple orgasms. She has never shaved her bush, nor does she need to, because she only grows a cute little patch that’s kind of oval.
With that dark oval filling my field of view, one hand on her non-sticky boob and the other with one finger up her ass, I tore into her like a madman. Her thighs gripped my head like a vise, which is great because I was scared to death I might hear some hallucinatory heckling while Janice was busy moaning and biting her lip. If there were any voices, they were not in my head, and her sweet little thighs muffled them.
There were no voices. It had just been my imagination. And right about then, my imagination was limited to a hip-thrusting, back-arching, near-screaming orgasm. And that is exactly what happened. With a handful of my hair in her fist, she shoved me deeper, and then her whole body started shaking and writhing. The sweet taste of success!
“Okay, I have to admit, that was impressive.”
Janice was still panting, and I was looking at her face when I heard those words. Her lips did not move.
What in the hell was going on? I must be losing it, I answered in my head.
There was only one cure, from what I could tell. I dragged my wife’s sweet little ass to the edge of the bed, stood between her thighs and drove my cock deep inside where my tongue had just been. Harder and faster, I pummeled her. She put her heels on my shoulders, so I gripped her thighs and kept at it. Her boobs bounced with every vicious thrust, and pretty soon I hit a rhythm that had them bouncing up and down like she was naked in a paint shaker at Home Depot.
The thought that this would have been the perfect night to turn on the video camera had just crossed my mind when I glanced up from the mesmerizing, rhythmic jiggle of her breasts.
Beth was standing on the other side of the bed. Not some wispy fog or transparent figure, but my actual sister, looking exactly like she did 10 years before. Her jaw was hanging wide open, like she was watching the Hindenburg explosion live and in person.
My cock slipped out of Janice on the backstroke and almost rammed up her bum, but thankfully missed and went harmlessly between her cheeks.
“What are you doing?”
“I was going to ask you the same thing,” Janice said.
“Not now,” Beth answered, “this is too good to interrupt. I didn’t expect this. We’ll talk later.”
Janice had retrieved my errant cock by then and placed it back in the right spot. “Come on, Honey. Don’t stop!”
Beth nodded and sort of motioned with her head to keep going. I had never screwed Janice while anyone was watching—she is way too strait-laced for that, even if she is freaky in private. Now, with my sister staring at my cock, I slid it inside my wife. This time, I took things slower because I was too busy staring at my sister.
Beth was wearing the little nightgown our mother insisted upon dressing her in when she died. She didn’t look dead, though. Didn’t look sick like she got at the end, either. She looked perfectly normal, like she had gotten up from her sickbed 10 years before, fully healed, and walked into our bedroom to watch me screw my wife’s brains out.
If I thought that wad I sprayed on Janice’s tit was humongous, this one felt twice as much. I was screaming, and so was Janice. Beth had a sly little grin on her face. Then, like someone had flicked a switch, she vanished.
I probably don’t need to tell you I couldn’t sleep that night, so I lay there too terrified to get up and try to find a ghost in the dark alone. Even my sister’s ghost. Besides, what would I say to her after she showed up as a peeper ghost to watch me bang the bejesus out of my wife?
But, eventually I fell asleep, and in the morning, I figured someone had laced that joint we passed around with something, and I was going to kick Jim’s ass for giving us Sherm-stick or whatever that shit was.
Janice was still snoozing when I stepped into the shower. In the light of day, the thought of my sister watching me have sex with my wife was about the hottest thing I had ever imagined, and even with the workout I gave my dick a few hours before, it was hard again and ready for action, so I soaped up and began rubbing out a morning yank.
A montage of jumbled images played before my closed eyes.
“Good morning!”
My eyes flew open, and there she was, standing in the shower with me. Her little nightgown was dry, with the water flowing right through it. A shorter hemline than I remembered, but even bone dry was as sheer as I remembered it. Maybe more sheer. I never understood why our mother liked it so much, but I do know why I liked it.
My jism flew straight at her. Pearly goo shot right through her, just as the water did.
“Wow! That is some welcome! You sure are full of surprises.”
My heart froze and, I’m pretty sure, stopped beating for a while. As enjoyable as a gorgeous woman joining me in the shower is, it is disconcerting when she is your sister. But when she’s been in the grave for a decade and seeing her materialize out of thin air, it’s downright terrifying.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” she said. My mouth moved, but words were beyond my capacity. “It’s me, Jason! I’m not going to hurt you.”
Jizz continued to spurt, although I had dropped my cock. When she noticed, she said, “Sorry to interrupt. Go ahead and finish. Nothing I haven’t seen already.”
Unable to think of a better idea or form words, I rubbed out the remaining brother sauce, which dribbled short of the mark.
My mouth finally started working. “What… what are you doing here?”
“Don’t ask me; your guess is as good as mine. I was minding my own business when some woman started calling for me. I followed her voice and there you were! So, I reached out and grabbed hold of your arm. At first you ignored me, but eventually you started hearing me while you were doing all that naughty stuff with that woman.”
“Janice. She’s my wife.”
“Well, congratulations! You have fantastic taste.”
“What I mean is, what are you doing here, in the shower with me?”
“What am I supposed to do, sit on the toilet? You left the seat up and besides, I’m dead; I don’t need to poop or pee anymore.”
“Can’t you wait outside until I’m…” I glanced down at my nakedness, “dressed?”
“Yeah, about that. I’m as clueless how this works as you are. I seem to be stuck to you somehow. When you leave the room, it’s like you drag me along wherever you go. Sorry, I’d like to give you some privacy, especially last night. I waved my arms and shouted at first, but you didn’t let on I was there until much later.”
“How much did you see?”
“Everything, starting when you were trying to grope that woman on the floor last night. CPR—right!”
Holy shit, my kid sister can see my every move, and I had a lot of XXX moves last night, not to mention my solo performance in the shower.
Once my brain began to recover, the water passing through the nightgown without wetting it was damn annoying. That fabric should be transparent as wet toilet paper, turning a delightful view into an incredible one. This haunting thing was shaping up to have more drawbacks than positive elements.
“You can’t give me any privacy?”
“I don’t know how.”
“Try walking out of the bathroom.”
“I’ll try. This is pretty embarrassing for me, too. I mean, it was pretty hot watching you and…”
“Janice.”
“Right, Janice last night, but I felt like a Peeping Beth and couldn’t do a thing about it.” She was at the door and began passing through it like a CGI effect, but didn’t make it out. She stepped back and tried again, then took a little running start, but it was like she was inside a bouncy house and just came back. “See? Looks like you’re stuck with me.”
She vanished again. “Where did you go?”
“I’m right here—can’t you see me?”
“No. Where is here?”
“I’m back in the shower with you. Wouldn’t want Janice to hear you shouting, would you?” I reached around, but felt nothing. “Hey, watch it! You just touched my booby—well, reached through it.”
That begged a question. “Can you touch me?”
“Good question.” She flickered into view again, reached for my shoulder, and her hand went right through me. “I guess a hug’s out of the question.”
Among other things.
“Okay, I have to ask: what’s Heaven like?”
“Another great question. Beats the hell outta me. I got sent to the other place.”
That came as a shock. She’d been a nice girl—a virgin, never did drugs, never stole anything. “Why did you end up there?”
“Who knows? They don’t answer a lot of questions, and it’s not like there’s a constitution or something. One minute I was in my bed with you and Mom there, the next I was in this concentration camp full of serial killers and congressional lobbyists and rapists and the like. Why do you think I grabbed onto you? I wanted to hold on to you so I didn’t end up back there in that terrible place with war criminals, those people who pass in the right lane, CEOs…”
“That’s awful!” I had forgotten I was naked with my penis aimed at her like a gunman threatening a hostage. This was fascinating, but it really pissed me off that Beth, of all people, was in Hell. “Do they bother you?”
“Are you kidding? You can’t throw a chunk of brimstone down there without hitting some sex offender. It doesn’t matter what you look like, they just grab your tits or butt and force themselves on you whenever they want. Women, men, old ladies, doesn’t matter.”
“Oh my god, they raped you?”
“Well,” she had a twinkle in her light blue eyes, “it is Hell, so there is a twist. If they could just run around doing whatever they want, it wouldn’t be much of a punishment, right? They go limp soon as they grab someone. Apparently Viagra isn’t available in Hell.” That made me feel a little better, but the thought of Ted Bundy or Caligula roughing my little sister up, groping her even if too limp to rape her, still made me sick. She glanced down; my dick was still hard. “Haven’t seen one of those in a while.”
“Sorry, it has a mind of its own.” To change the subject, I blurted out, “Are there famous people there?”
“Oh, the place is full of ’em. Napoleon, Marilyn Monroe, Col. Hogan—he’s a freak.”
“What about Jack the Ripper?”
“Yup. He’s some disgusting horse-butcher named Charles something or other. Yeah, no one’s heard of him. Lechmere, that’s it. But enough about Hell, tell me about you!”
Was she kidding? She had been to Hell and back—I had no stories to match horse-butchering serial killers or Col. Hogan. “Just the normal stuff. Graduated from college, got married. No kids—yet, but we’re planning. Boring job, blah, blah, blah.”
A light rapping from the door. Beth vanished in the blink of an eye. “Hey, save some hot water for me in there!”
“Oh, right—I’ll be right out,” I called to my wife. Then, in a loud whisper, “Are you still here?”
“Right here.”
I toweled off. When I got to my package, I said, “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“It’s a helluva lot more fun than where I have been. I really missed you, Jason.”
“I’ve missed you, too, Beth.”
When we came out, Janice asked, “Who were you talking to in there?”
“What?”
“I heard you babbling away in there.”
Busted! “You must have been hearing things.”
While Janice showered, Beth and I caught up. News reporting leaves much to be desired in Hell, so I filled her in about family and friends from school. “Don’t wear that,” she said. “Try that blue shirt instead.”
Janice emerged wrapped in a towel, which she tossed onto the bed next to me when she put on a bra and panties.
Beth said, “She’s beautiful!”
“The most beautiful woman I know.”
My sister made a face. “Ouch! And right to my face.”
“Dead woman don’t count.”
Janice turned as she adjusted her bra, one eyebrow raised. “What dead women should make me jealous?”
“Well, what do you know? Janice can’t hear me, but you can.”
“That could cause a lot of problems,” I said, unable to stop myself.
“After 5 years of marriage, I find out my husband has the hots for dead women.”
“I didn’t say I have the hots for them,” my face burned as it presumably turned dark as a plum, “just some are pretty.”
Can you hear me? I sent this telepathic thought, scanning the room where my invisible sister was lurking and eavesdropping. Say something if you hear me!
Nothing.
This might get tricky.
“This could be fun.” I shot a warning glare to the side of the room the voice came from.
“Are her boobs smaller than mine?”
“I like small breasts.”
Janice narrowed her eyes. “Random. Should I take that as an insult, a compliment, or scratch Jayne Mansfield off my list of dead rivals?”
“Sorry, I just…”
“You’ll have to excuse him. He’s chatting up a ghost.”
“Enough!”
Janice glanced down at her chest, lifted her breasts in her hands, gave an annoyed “Humph,” and stormed out.
“You’re coming with me,” I said, unaware of the double entendre. “Outside.”
“Wow, and I thought you were kinky last night!”
We strolled through the neighborhood. I’m sure half my neighbors saw me talking to myself and thought I was crazy. I tended to agree with them. Every once in a while, she faded into and out of view, wearing her shortie nightie out in public, but at least my neighbors were not delusional enough to see her.
“You’re going to get me in a lot of trouble.”
“I hope so. At least I didn’t get naked in front of you.”
“No wonder you went to Hell.”
“I may have picked up a few bad habits there.”
In the sunlight, pink circles marked the ring of her nipples more clear than indoor lighting. Her panties were disappointing but perhaps appropriate for someone on their deathbed.
“What are you staring at?”
“You. Don’t ghosts come out at night? How can I see you during daylight?”
“I’m learning as it goes along, but I am not a vampire.”
“Will you try to behave?”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
“How much fun will destroying your brother’s marriage be?”
“Who’s destroying anything? If you’re so worried, why don’t you just tell Janice the truth? She seems like the kind of woman who is very understanding of the man she loves. Besides, would I do anything to hurt you?” She reached out and touched my hand, the absentminded way people do while talking to you. But this was different.
“How’d you do that?”
Beth acted coy. “Do what?”
“I felt you touch me!” Not the way another living woman’s hand would have felt; more of a tickle than touch. Stronger than a gust of wind against my skin, but less than contact with a physical object.
With a sly smile, she skipped a step ahead and turned to walk backwards, facing me. “I’ve been working on a few things. Remember, I may have been dead for a long time, but I’ve only been a ghost since last night.” Then, to show off her powers, she reached for an overhanging tree branch to which a few red leaves still clung. Her hand passed through it, but not without bending the branch as if one tiny, isolated breeze had taken it while leaving the branches alongside still. A leaf fluttered to the ground.
“That’s amazing,” I said before overcome with worry about her growing powers. “I love Janice, but you are going to screw things up between us.”
She faded from sight. I may or may not have walked home alone.
Our previous night’s workout must have lingered inside Janice, some deep part untouched and unsatisfied and smoldering. Beth was nowhere to be seen and silent. Perhaps parole from Hell only lasts 24 hours, or I had recovered my sanity. In either case, Janice’s flirting and furtive touches since dinner had turned my dick into a metal pipe, even pushing aside memories of my sister’s long legs flowing from the hem of her nightie.
When Janice is in one of those moods, she is a lot of fun. She is the only woman I’ve ever met who can be both sex kitten and sexual predator or can switch from one to the other as the situation warrants. It always starts the same: with the longest, slowest French kiss imaginable. Part invitation, part torture that few men could withstand for long, but the reward is worth it. It leaves me desperate and her so wound up that our release is primal and mutual.
That is the kiss she gave. Our tongues moved in slow, carnal circles as I carried her into the bedroom. Beth nowhere in sight, but I kicked the door closed for good measure. Before she released me from our kiss, both our shirts were on the floor, along with her bra. I kneaded the firm, pliant flesh of her breasts, our legs entwined, as she sustained the kiss to the limits of human endurance. Then she fell back, limp, and I attacked her breasts with a thousand more kisses. I sucked each nipple till she moaned, licked them as though their taste matched the chocolate color, alternating between squeezing each with vigor and tenderness like a rising and falling tide.
There is magic in her breasts, the power of orgasm, and I licked circles around her tender left nipple, flicking it from time to time, until she came.
True to form, she gave me a dazzling reward, tugging my pants off and licking my cock with the same enthusiasm I put into her breasts. She sucked my hairy sack as though she enjoyed it, and perhaps she does. Then her glistening lips wrapped around my purple helmet, tongue circling a few times before taking it deep inside her mouth.
So immense was the pleasure that I fell back on the bed like a rag doll, ready to enjoy what promised to be a massive explosion. That’s when I saw my sister crouched down beside us, like a baseball umpire ready to call a ball or strike, her face only two feet away from where my cock was penetrating her sister-in-law’s mouth.
“Don’t mind me.”
“Oh, my god!”
Janice pulled away, mistaking my cry for fair warning, but it didn’t matter. Seeing Beth’s enthralled face so close removed any chance of holding on any longer.
“What are you looking at?”
This confused Janice, who thought I was talking to her.
“Are you going to do it on her boobs again?”
“Ohhhhh!” Janice lifted just in time to spray splooge all over her tit. So much jism she resembled a bukkake film by the time I ran out of ammo.
I was staring at Beth, who in turn was staring at my penis and semen on Janice’s boob. My turn to be confused, as I didn’t know if this was super-hot, annoying, or simply a new decadent perversion.
“You weren’t lying about enjoying small breasts.”
“Did you enjoy that?”
Once again, Janice thought I was asking her. “Very much. From the look of it,” she traced circles of jism on her breast, using my dick as a paintbrush, “you did, too.”
“Me, too,” Beth piped in. “You two put on quite a show. I used to imagine what you were like when you had sex, with your girlfriends and all, but my imagination was not up to this sort of thing.”
My head fell back. “It was wonderful,” I said to no one in particular.
“Did you imagine me having sex—you know, when you were alive?”
“That’s enough.”
“Really?” Disappointment clouded Janice’s face. “I was hoping you might have enough left to go all the way?”
Beth kept going. “I never had sex, though, but you knew that, right?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I know you didn’t believe when Carl Wellington told everyone we did it. But I bet when I was in my room fantasizing about you, you were doing the same about me, weren’t you?”
“I have to use the restroom.” My hand went through her wrist like she wasn’t there, then I grabbed at her hair to drag her with me, but nothing was there. It must have looked like some kind of post-coital spasm to Janice.
I needed to pee, but my cock was still rigid, aimed at the ceiling, so I leaned against the wall, angled it for a long-distance shot and let loose.
“Okay, this is something I never expected.”
“Do you mind?”
“You don’t have to grab at me—I get sucked along with you from room to room.” She started giggling.
“What?”
“I can’t believe I said sucked. Let’s file that under classic Freudian slips.”
“Are you okay in there?” Janice’s voice sounded close to the door.
“I’m just trying to pee,” I said to all concerned.
“Did I just hear voices in there?”
“I’ll be out in a sec!”
“Where did she learn to do all that? I know she’s my sister-in-law and I don’t want to get the wrong impression of her, but that girl knows what she’s doing! Did you teach her those tricks?”
“I’m really tired of this!”
“Oh, you love it—admit it! Having two girls in bed at the same time. Does it count as a threesome if I just cheer you on?”
“I know why you aren’t really here.” I waved my hand through her breasts. “You don’t have the guts. You’re all talk, but if you were here in the flesh, you know I’d take you up on it, but you’re too scared, aren’t you?”
“Oh, so you want me to physically materialize, huh?”
“Yeah. Bring it!”
“Well, I can’t!”
“How come on all those ghost hunter shows, ghosts are always shoving them, scratching their backs, touching their necks? Real physical stuff!” I made a few backhand claps for emphasis. “If you wanted to, you could do it, too.”
“I’m new at this!”
“Who are you talking to? Do you have the cordless phone in there? Open this door!”
“There—see what you got me into? How am I going to explain this to my wife?”
“Why not tell her the truth?”
Janice calmed down after finding the cordless phone in its cradle in the living room and a search of the bathroom turned up nothing. I put some pants on and got her to sit down and listen.
Her face registered a two-stage reaction. First came the look of surprise which, after a brief delay, morphed into an expression of pure shock: eyes wide, mouth forming a perfect O like a cartoon.
“You expect me to believe your sister is here? In our house?”
Japanese culture accepts ghosts even more than Americans, so she gets it from both sides. She claims to be a skeptic, but I’ve seen her eyes scan a room late at night when she flicks on a light, felt her body tighten when the house creaks when we are in bed. So this was a coin-toss. “To be honest, I don’t expect you to, but I hope you do.”
“Is she here right now?”
“I don’t see her.”
“I’m right here,” came the voice from beside me. She must be sitting on the arm of my chair.
“She’s here.”
“You can hear her?” Janice asked.
“Can’t you?”
Janice’s voice became like Madam Desiree’s, a caricature of horror movie mediums. “Beth, if you can hear me, say something to me!”
“Where did you learn to suck my brother’s dick like that? I felt like I should be taking notes or something.”
“Will you stop?”
“A real virtuoso.”
“Did she say something?”
“She won’t stop talking.”
“What did she say?”
“Something about what she saw in there a few minutes ago.”
There was that cartoon O-face again. Her words came slow and staccato. “You mean she was watching us make love?”
“She calls that ‘making love’? Looked more like you were making a triple-X movie in there—and I mean that in a good way.”
“She’s everywhere I go. She’s stuck to me like an afterlife Siamese twin.”
“Conjoined. Siamese twin is considered a slur these days.”
“Sorry.”
“A man married to an Asian woman should know that,” she added.
“Is she calling you a bigot?”
“It won’t happen again. I’m just a bit flustered after my sister watched us having…”
That’s the moment it clicked. “She saw everything?”
“Everything,” I answered.
“Every single thing,” Beth said.
“Oh, no. Listen, I would like to explain,” she said to a random wall across the room.
“She’s over here.”
“Right. Beth, I’ve read that male semen works wonders on the skin. You should see how it firms up my breasts…”
“She’s seen your breasts.”
“Oh, right.”
“I’ve seen my brother come on your breasts. Twice.”
“So it has a legitimate purpose. Works better than any cream I’ve tried on my face.”
“You come on her face?”
“Sometimes.”
“I can’t wait for that!”
“Sometimes what?”
“She asked if I… ejaculate on your face.”
“Eww,” Beth said. “‘Ejaculate’ makes it sound even worse.”
Janice began fanning her face with her hands. “I feel like I’ve been violated. I’m feeling nauseous.” With that, she got up and headed to the bathroom at a trot.
“Well,” Beth said, “at least she believed you.”
Her belief brought serious repercussions.
Turns out the ghost of my sister spying on us having sex is much less of a turn-on to the wife than to the brother. This may not be the case with all sibling hauntings, but it sure was with mine.
My sister loves to cuddle, so each night she crawled into bed, me the meat in the sandwich between her and my wife, her face next to mine. That part was nice.
Beth stood in the shower watching as I beat my meat several mornings later.
“I can’t believe she won’t have sex with you.”
“Correction: it isn’t me she refuses to have sex with; she won’t have sex with you.”
“Well, since we come together—oops, I mean, since we’re now conjoined twins, turns out she won’t have sex with either of us in the room.”
“Sucks for me.”
“Or not.”
“I really wish your nightgown would get wet in here. Are you sure you can’t take it off?”
“I’ve been trying, see?” She tugged on one strap, but it barely budged. “I feel bad; you naked in front of me like this. Honest, if I can figure out how, it only seems fair that when you are naked, I should be, too.”
Just to make sure, I reached for the strap and gave it a pull, but although I had noticed a slight physical sensation of touch, more like flapping butterfly wings than a physical object or human flesh, the strap didn’t move.
“Can’t really blame her, though, having someone watching our deepest intimacy.”
“Of course you can blame her. How do you suppose ghosts in every haunted house around the world entertain themselves? There really isn’t much to do.”
“Guess that explains why people who live in haunted houses complain their TVs come on in the middle of the night. Why can’t you watch cable—at least while we’re in bed?”
“Do you think I came back to watch Frasier? You obviously underestimate your entertainment value in bed. Besides, my thumb goes right through the remote.”
My stokes were slow, half-hearted. Jerking off in front of my sister still felt unnatural and wrong. What is the strangest part about carrying on a normal conversation in the shower with my dead sister while masturbating? Philosophical questions are so tedious.
“Ten years in Hell changed you. You went in a shy, sweet, innocent, normal girl and emerged a sex-obsessed perv.”
“Normal, sure, but raging with hormones and secret thoughts. Sometimes I thought about you.” She faded from sight. Perhaps instead of blushing, ghosts disappear.
“What did you think about me?”
Her voice came from behind me now, and close. “Probably the same things you thought about me.”
“What makes you think I fantasized about you?”
“Are you forgetting how many times I caught you peeking down my top or checking out my butt? It’s only natural, living in the same house, seeing each other wearing things we’d never be caught dead wearing in public.”
“Like that nightie?”
“You sure are pleased I got stuck wearing this for eternity.”
“I like it; the question is why Mom wanted you to wear it at the end.”
“Because it is sweet and innocent, like me.”
“Not sure how innocent it is when you can see nipple through it.”
Her voice was in front again. “You never answered me: did you think about me?”
“Yeah. There, are you happy now?”
“Getting there. I’ve been practicing something,” she faded back into view. “Want to see?”
I was game, hoping her surprise wasn’t straight out of a horror flick, like her skin shriveling up until nothing remained but a skeleton with eyeballs. What she had in mind was much better. One hand reached for my face…
I felt her! That fluttering of moth wings, a soft tingling, pleasant and gentle. “I feel you!”
“You do? What does it feel like?”
Her hand caressed my cheek and ear as I described how it felt. Her gaze went down my body until she was staring at my crotch. “Can I touch it?”
It must be a trick question. It’s not like anything prevented her from touching it whenever she wanted: when I was sleeping, or make herself invisible and grope away while changing. Heck, she could caress my crotch while Janice and I were cooking dinner and my wife would never know—she hadn’t touched it in a week.
My eyes followed hers to the cock in my hand. “You want to touch my…?”
“Why not?” She snickered. “What are they going to do, send me to Hell for touching my brother’s penis?”
She had a point.
“I’d like that.”
Her hand drifted down the side of my neck, then followed rivers of water flowing down my chest and stomach, the sweet tingle sending shivers down my spine. She touched the tip as if testing a hot iron, then, unburned, ran her fingers down the top of the shaft.
“Can you feel it?”
“It feels good,” I said, a massive understatement which I corrected. “Great!”
“Here goes nothing!” She winked as ghostly fingers wrapped around my rod, feeling unlike anything in my experience. Soft, gentle, yet electric and provocative. Words failed me, but sounds of pleasure came out. I reached for a breast, but my hand went through her like air. This wouldn’t take long—the sensation was too powerful to resist.
Beth knelt down and held my cock to her breast. Streams of brother goo shot through her as if nothing was there. I had to brace my arms against the shower walls to keep from collapsing to the floor.
Janice was pissed.
“Can I speak to you privately?”
“We can try, but Beth seems stuck to me.” I avoided any charged words about twins. “Beth, can you leave us for a minute?”
“I wouldn’t miss this for the world, even if I could.” She walked over to the door but could not pass through it, so she stooped like she was picking a lock. “Sorry, looks like you’re stuck with me.”
“Is she still here?”
“She’s still here.”
“This has got to stop! Beth, I’m sorry, but you need to leave!”
“Where am I supposed to go?”
“Where is she supposed to go?”
“I don’t care, as long as I can have you back.”
Taking her hand in mine, I said, “You have me, honey.”
“No, I have the spooky Bobbsey Twins.”
A flawed analogy, as one of us was flesh and blood and backed-up semen, the other only marginally spooky, but I let it slide. “What do you want to do about it?”
“I want to bring in an exorcist.”
Our wedding photo flew off the table, crashed halfway across the floor and left a trail of glass shards until it came to rest clear across the room.
Silence settled over the room. Janice’s dark eyes went from the broken frame to me. “Now can we call an exorcist?”
“You’re jealous of my sister!”
“No,” her voice lacked conviction, “but do you realize you spent 45 minutes in the shower with your sister? I timed it. What were you doing in there all that time?”
“Showering?”
“Then your sister must be the cleanest ghost in town.”
Doubtful, but I didn’t dare touch that one. “We can’t exorcize her.”
I know what you’re thinking, but this had nothing to do with a ghostly handjob or night cuddling. Being haunted by a sexy ghost willing and able to stroke your rod is nothing worth exorcising, but I would not get rid of my sister even if she never touched my dick or if she wore a sheet you couldn’t see boobs through. Those are just happy coincidences. No way I’d be malicious enough to send my little sister back to Hell!
“You know where she came from. What you’re saying is we need to send her back to Hell. No, sorry, I refuse to let that happen!”
Janice’s nipples get hard when she’s angry. How had I never noticed that before?
“I knew I could count on my big brother.”
“Damn straight!”
“Are you talking to your sister again?”
“Damn straight!”
“You’re taking her side!”
“I’m not taking anyone’s side. You are both my family: you are my wife and she is my flesh and blood, and I’m not telling either of you to go to Hell.”
“And you just spent 45 minutes in the shower with your flesh and blood.”
Time to change the subject. “Are you going to tell my sister to literally go to Hell? Go ahead,” I motioned toward the table where the photo had been, to find she had vanished. “Go ahead, tell her.”
“I’m over here.”
“She’s on your right. Tell her to go to Hell.”
“That’s not what I want.”
“That’s exactly what you’re saying. Somehow that medium got my sister out of Hell, and she’s going to stay here.”
“Thanks for sticking up for me, big brother! You always did that, but I never thanked you properly. This time, I will.” She started rubbing my crotch.
“Well, she can’t stay here with us!”
“Stop rubbing my… me the wrong way!”
Beth winked. “Then show me the right way.”
“Not now!”
Janice stood, her usual calm demeanor shattered. “This has got to stop! Either she leaves or you both leave!” She stormed out.
“Janice, wait!”
Beth slid her ghost hand inside my pants in search of my shriveled penis. “You don’t need her!”
“Are you satisfied now?” In a couple of minutes, I sure was.
Beth and I slept on the couch that night. Well, ghosts don’t actually sleep—Beth told me the reason most ghost sightings are at night is that most people are asleep, but since ghosts aren’t, they go wandering around, bored out of their gourds. I didn’t sleep much because she had cranked it up to 11. In case being my flesh and blood proved insufficient to hold her here, she’d stay here by clinging to my dick.
It was a brilliant strategy. It could not fail.
My desire to wrap my arms around her overwhelmed. To feel her, touch her—and not just the way she touched me in the shower. But, yeah, that way, too. So she was the outer spoon, her hand caressing my face, chest—everywhere. Her hands were more tactile, more seductive. More possessive.
“Whose breasts do you like better, hers or mine?”
“Hers.”
I never imagined it possible to feel someone pouting. “Is it because of that orgasm trick?”
“No. Yours are beautiful, perhaps prettier than hers, but hers are flesh, blood, skin, warmth.”
“Why didn’t you try to touch mine when you had the chance?”
“Sure, and risk a knee to the groin and you running to Mom saying I’d molested you. The knee would have been worth it, but…” Laughter prevented me from finishing.
“I wish you had.”
“I wish I’d known, or I could touch you now. Something. Anything.”
“Will Janice ever accept this?”
“Would you accept a succubus for a sister-in-law?”
Sigh. “I suppose not.”
Days were crazy. Nights were hard.
Each night, my sister snuggled up next to me, my wife hugging the edge far away. Hands all over me. If it sounds too good to be true, it was. Her hands always found my way to my dick, which remained in a perpetual state of hard. Our mom used to tell us if we crossed our eyes that long they’d get stuck that way, and I worried the same applied to dicks. A permanent hard-on might have benefits, but would cause problems at work.
Not to mention the problem with your sister rubbing your crotch while your wife is sleeping 2 feet away. To avoid waking her up multiple times each night to my orgasms, I slept on my stomach. I learned my sister likes my ass, too. Not as much as I loved hers, but she could touch mine, while I could not return the favor.
I spent the afternoon working on the car: oil change, spark plugs, wash and wax—the works. A car in perfect condition may have made it easier for her to leave me, but I was fresh out of ideas. It led to a couple of discoveries, only one of which I noticed at the time.
Auto repair bored Beth, who wandered around, testing how far she could drift from me before some invisible force stopped her. About 5 yards, give or take. For a while, she leaned on the fender, watching me while I had my head under the hood. I returned her gaze. “I like that.”
“You like what?”
I motioned down with my eyes; then she understood. Resting on her elbows like that, her nightgown hung loose, giving me a clear, unimpeded view down her top.
“Pervert!” She tossed an oily rag my way, then leaned forward more. “Is that better?”
“Are you trying to keep me from finishing?”
“No, just trying to rev your engine.”
Rrrrmmm, rrrrmmm! The last time a woman had looked so seductive was back when Tawny Kitaen was on Whitesnake’s car.
My enjoyment of our naughty family reunion continued to grow, particularly when she bent low the rest of the afternoon to give me the best possible views. I’m a guy; I like breasts, and hers are spectacular. Janice might have the upper hand with lovely breasts tangible enough to squeeze and kiss and cum on, but I bet in 5 years she hadn’t let me look down her top as much as Beth did that day. Her physical presence increased every day, so how much longer until I could also squeeze, kiss and cum on my sister’s?
If she never developed an ability to fully materialize, Beth already possessed the ability to turn car maintenance into an enjoyable experience.
How much fun would this be if only Janice could make an effort to get along?
All good things must come to an end. I wrapped up the car, and it looked like it just rolled off the showroom floor.
“Have you seen my wrench?”
“Is that what you’re calling your tool these days?”
“Ha, ha! I left it there by the toolbox, but now I can’t find it.”
“You must have been looking in the wrong place—it’s not down my top.”
“Just to make sure, give me another peek.”
What a peek it was! Beth went full Tawny Kitaen, crawling across the hood on all fours like the world’s sexiest predatory big cat.
The wrench was under the car near the front tire; maybe I kicked it while distracted by my sister’s pink nipples. That was another thing I enjoyed, the variety. Although of similar size, Janice’s nipples were small, dark and came to perky points; Beth’s are the puffy and the palest rose, which cannot be fully appreciated through fabric. They say variety is the spice of life—and, I suppose, death, too.
We showered off the grime and sweat. Beth washed my back. Her hands felt almost real, and at the present rate, her whole body might soon be wet as mine. Little urging was needed to encourage her to lather up the rest of my body. She gave particular attention to polishing my rod, simultaneously making it as clean and dirty as possible, bending just enough to provide a fabulous view.
Funny how, despite my years of experience, a hand-job by a woman feels so superior.
Afterward, still wrapped in a towel, I noticed Janice was gone.
“Where’s your wife?”
“She must have gone somewhere. The car’s not here—hope she appreciates the work on it.”
My mood lifted at the prospect of some quality alone time with my little sister while Janice was shopping or whatever, but this news upset Beth. “She didn’t say anything about leaving.”
“She’s giving us the silent treatment.” I lay on the couch, opening my towel in my best provocative move, wishing I had the same effortless sexiness as the two women in my life. “We might as well enjoy being home alone.”
A ringing phone interrupted my chance for an afternoon double-header. “Hello.”
Beth hovered nearby. “Yes, I’m Janice’s husband.”
“This is Sgt. Brown from the State Police. I’m afraid I have some terrible news for you. Your wife has been in an accident. Her car missed a curve on Highway 13 and went off the road…”
By instinct, I turned to Beth for support. I was not prepared for what I saw.
Janice was standing there, and was she pissed! Again. I supposed coming home to find your husband still lounging half-naked with his sister set her off, but I was mistaken.
“I don’t suppose you can explain why my brakes failed?”
“What?”
“There I was, driving on that twisty, curvy part of the road on my way to the mall, and suddenly I had no brakes.”
Sgt. Brown was now forgotten, although his tinny voice buzzed from the dangling phone receiver. “What happened?”
“What do you think happened? I crashed! Do you care to explain yourself?”
“How did you get here?”
“I just crashed our car, and all you can think of is how I got home? Seems you have more to explain than me.”
Beth had a strange expression. “I can explain…” This is when things got weird.
Janice heard her voice and turned, and in a snide, angry-wife voice dripping with sarcasm, asked, “Who is this?”
“You can see her?”
“Of course I can see her—I’m not blind.”
“Janice, this is my sister Beth.” She gave sheepish wave, and suddenly it came crashing down. “What did you do? The wrench—you tampered with the car, didn’t you?”
“How can I see your sister now?”
“I can explain,” Beth said.
I choked back the urge to say, Bethy, you’ve got some ‘splainin’ to do, because humor did not feel to fit the occasion. “You’d better explain.”
“I didn’t know she was going to drive the car…”
“What are you two talking about?” Janice’s fury was giving way to genuine confusion. “Will one of you explain what is going on?”
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“My sister tried to kill me.”
“Kill is such an emotionally charged word,” she said. “I just wanted us to be together.”
“I knew it! You are trying to steal my husband. Sister-in-law from Hell!”
“Did you just kill my wife?”
“Let’s not jump to conclusions…”
I tried to hug my wife, but my arms went right through her. Her features twisted into the cartoon O-face again. “Oh, shit! She is the sister-in-law from Hell!”
It took a few days for Janice to calm down enough, but she refused to let Beth win. The thought of her satisfying all of my sexual needs provided plenty of motivation.
Beth’s lips were entering the butterfly wing stage, a pleasant development. Janice’s hands were still at the moth-wing phase, so while I was kissing my sister, my wife hand-cranked me. Jism shot right through both. A lot of jism. Both women were very catty about the whole thing, which worked out great for me. No one has ever enjoyed bereavement leave from work so intensely.
At this rate, it wouldn’t take long for Beth to start blowing me, a tremendous motivation for Janice to further develop her skills. If only Janice had decided to wear a sexy nightgown to the mall, I might be in Heaven. The tight jeans and top she died in weren’t bad, though, and would have to do.
The only time I wore pants that week was for the wake and the funeral.
Despite my best efforts, so far they refuse to do each other. How hot would that be? Janice will come around, so I keep trying. How long can a grudge last?
Way in the back of my mind, though, lived a tiny little thought, a dark cloud on the distant horizon. With Beth’s demonstration of her homicidal capacity and Janice still pissed off over being murdered, who knows what she is capable of? I suppose it depends on how full their spectral development ends up.
If they become two succubi, capable of using me for their sexual satisfaction, my life may be safe. But, if they can only receive sexual pleasure from a fellow ghost and continue their refusal to embrace the unlimited lesbian possibilities of our threesomes, my days are numbered.
To my surprise, I am okay with that.
THE END
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