Princess to Pleasure Slave 23: Lusty Ghost Edition

by Amanda Clover

  Alas, despite her best efforts, the many labors of the day had left the princess unusually tired, and she slipped into a restless sleep after only a few minutes.

  When she awoke, it was to almost total darkness and a chill that turned her breath to steam. She sat up in the bed and saw at once the faint blue-white glow of the ghost at the foot of her bed.

  My love…

  The voice whispered into her ear from across the room.

  “I-I am not S-Selena,” said the trembling princess.

  Selena, repeated the ghost.

  A human shape began to coalesce from the glowing vapor. The face bore the handsome features of Vincente Poletti that Felisa had seen in the portrait. There was the same proud chin and aquiline nose, though his mane of hair flowed around his head as if he were submerged in water. He wore a costume of antiquity that nevertheless flattered the lean muscularity of the body that appeared from the glowing mist.

  His eyes were not the same as the portrait. These eyes were not bright and full of promise; they were sunken into the sockets of his face and as black as polished obsidian. These dark pools harbored the sadness of a man who had lost everything, including his life, and continued on as an unfulfilled shadow of his former desires.

  “It has been so long since I held you,” spoke Vincente in a more tone as he mounted the bed. “My hands yearn for the warmth of your body, my love.”

  Felisa pulled her knees up as the ghost crawled towards her across the bed. His antique costume seemed to burn away into ribbons of smoke as he drew closer. She saw his naked physique and through it, faintly, to his luminous bones within his body. She felt the force of his yearning like water that pressed down upon a clam diver. That desire enveloped her and she felt as if she might drown.

  “Please, do not touch me,” she said, making the sign of the Yolthul’s Holy Chain with her fingers. “By the gods of the sea… do not…”

  The ghost embraced her softly and coolly, his flesh more substantial than it seemed as he lifted aside the blankets and kissed her lips. It was as if she kissed a fruit held in ice. No fear could override her instinct to open to the sweetness of Vincente’s mouth. His ghostly tongue slid over hers as his naked body slid atop her and pushed her back into the bed.

  “Ooohh,” she gasped against his lips. “Vincente… I am not Selena.”

  “You are,” he said, kissing her neck and sliding his cool hands beneath her back. “My beloved. My adored. My Selena.”

  His hands carried her body up from the bed and into the air and as he held her they floated together above the bed. His ghostly body parted her thighs and his ghostly fingers claimed the childish gown from her shoulders. A single pull took it from her cold-prickled flesh and her jutting pink nipples rubbed against the lifeless chill of his muscular flesh. Spikes of pleasure pulsed from such contact. He trailed one icy hand between her thighs and she wailed as those frigid fingers found the fiery furnace of her furrow.

  “P-p-p-please,” she sputtered. “Please, I am not Selena. You m-m-must… ooooohhh…”

  Her resistance died on her quivering lips as Vincente’s cold fingers slipped into her panties and penetrated the hot channel of her quim. He kissed her as his fingers claimed her, but he was not content to only fondle her delicate folds. He fucked her, roughly, using three fingers and stretching the walls of her pussy. He climbed atop her and his ghostly essence enveloped her like a cloud of cold air.

  She had no more words of refusal for him as his head moved down from her lips and planted icy kisses on his way to her breasts. His ghostly hands gathered her pale mounds and his cool tongue danced around and against her straining buds. He sucked at Felisa’s breasts and pressed his fingers in and out of her ripe and juicy peach.

  “My goddess,” he exhaled a light frost against her abdomen. “My sweet love. I crave your body.”

  “Yes,” was the only word Felisa could find to answer him. Again and again, whispered, moaned, and screamed, it was, “Yes!”

  Her tender thighs spread beneath him and she gasped as she felt a peculiar hardness on her thigh. She lifted her head and saw the faintly glowing gray of Lord Poletti’s cock. The fat head brushed against her entrance, cool and smooth like a river stone, spreading her hot folds as she looked up into the ghost’s shadowy eyes.

  “Yessss!” gasped the princess.

  “Oh, my love,” moaned the ghost of Vincente.

  The ghost took her with a single thrust. His cock opened her like no fingers could. It rode along her silken tunnel and stretched wide the hot walls of her womanhood down to the entrance of her womb. Heavy bollocks thumped against her anus as the ghost took her to the hilt of his cock. She could not even form a word to describe the shock and pleasure she felt as the ghost buried every inch of undead cockflesh in the slippery tunnel of her pussy.

  “Selena,” moaned the ghost and he began to kiss her shoulder and neck with icy lips.

  A tempest of glowing spirit energy swirled around her. It was as if he fucked her with her body pinned to a cushion of stuffed with clouds. Her body mashed against this insubstantial barrier as Vincente’s cock became a glistening piston that worked in and out of her tight channel. Her breasts heaved with every thrust and her mouth opened and closed in wordless pleasure. Not even the rama woman had produced such deep and intense sensations of ecstasy.

  “Light of my life,” moaned the ghost between icy kisses. “My wife. My love.”

  She had no answer for his passion and lost all hope of even trying to deny him as he kissed her lips. The cold of his mouth and tongue seemed to suck at her and yet she yielded eagerly in the throes of her pleasure. The harder and faster his cock worked in and out, the more her tongue searched the cold of his for answers and the more she moaned against his lifeless lips.

  He stiffened up and seemed to flash with new vigor. His cock swelled immensely within her clutching tunnel. She wrapped her legs around him, pulling him deeper, and embraced him with both arms so that his cool chest was against her soft mounds. He took her with one, last shuddering thrust and they both exploded into pleasure.

  Felisa’s inner muscles clutched at Vincente’s thrusting cock. A hot wave of ecstasy crashed through her in waves that seemed to radiate from her depths and reach from her head to her toes. Such pleasure was unmatched by any she had experienced before. It was not simply her clitoris, but the core of her womanhood that throbbed and pulsed in unison.

  In those same moments of her bliss, the ghost’s twitching cock unleashed a torrent of hot liquid inside her. Hot, like the seed of a man, and not at all like the frigid flesh of Vincente’s ghostly form. He held her tight as he filled her up and even overflowed the stretched flower of her entrance. Strands of thick, milky liquid spilled down her asshole and dripped onto the bed. The last spasms of her inner muscles drank every drop he had to offer.

  At the height of Felisa’s orgasm, the world receded to a vague sense of throbbing lights and waves of hot and cold. This was followed by a long darkness that was not quite sleep.

  “He almost took you.”

  It was Cosima. The rama woman sat beside Felisa in the bed. Faint daylight filtered through the shutters and painted the room in a dreary monochrome. The blankets were gone from the bed. Felisa was covered in a slippery, translucent slime that the witch was slowly cleaning from her with a washcloth and a pail of warm water.

  “Wh- what happened?” croaked Felisa.

  “I just told you,” sighed Cosima.

  She cleaned the washcloth in the pail of water and wrung it out before returning it to the princess’s naked breasts. The warmth of the water caused Felisa to gasp and woke her up a little more. Felisa wiggled her toes and felt the slime between them.

  “What is all this?” asked Felisa.

  “You fuck spirit,” said Cosima. “It is geestsavt or ghost sap. It is residue of ghost. Lucky to be alive, silly girl.”

  Felisa wasn’t so sure she was lucky. The more she awakened, the more she felt a deep ache in her
body that worsened in her head. It was the pain of a fever without the warmth. The princess felt a sudden pressure upon her bladder.

  “I… I need to use the chamberpot,” said Felisa.

  She tried to sit up in the bed and found she could barely move at all. Cosima easily held her down against the cushions.

  “Stay,” she said. “I fetch bedpan.”

  It was a humiliating ordeal to be made to urinate in front of this woman, yet she was too ill to refuse the indignity. Felisa looked away as Cosima brought the cool enamel mouth of the pan against her slippery folds. With a groan of relief, she went into the pan with a rush. When she had finished, Cosima wiped her clean with the washcloth. The rama woman looked closely at the urine, furthering the princess’s humiliation.

  “Away with it,” moaned Felisa.

  “He filled you with his seed,” said Cosima. She stirred the contents of the pan with a fingertip. “Seed of ghost does not make life, it takes life.”

  Felisa moaned and turned onto her side. She pulled her knees against her chest.

  “Once he kissed me, I couldn’t stop,” confessed the princess. “He was so handsome and virile.”

  “Hungry,” said Cosima. “Even if he does not know it. Ghost is hungry.”

  “For what?” asked the princess.

  “For you,” said Cosima.

  The rama woman took the bedpan away and returned soon with a warm bowl of chicken broth. It did little to warm Felisa. Even the tea seemed flavorless and lukewarm in her cup. Her teeth chattered even as the house creaked with the warmth of the sun. Cosima piled blankets onto Felisa and massaged her shoulders. Cosima even brewed a potion to soothe Felisa’s aching head, which made her sleep some in the afternoon.

  When the princess awoke alone, she became afraid, and called out desperately, “Cosima! Please, Cosima!”

  The rama woman bustled into the room and sat down on the bed beside Felisa.

  “I am here, princess,” said Cosima.

  The witch smiled sweetly at Felisa and stroked the princess’s hair and forehead. As Cosima comforted the young princess with a hand on her forehead, the rama woman’s other hand slipped under the blanket. Felisa moaned as she felt Cosima’s fingers on her quim. The princess smiled back at Cosima.

  “Is this nice?” asked the rama woman as she began to move her fingers purposefully against Felisa’s pussy.

  “Y-yes,” said Felisa. “It feels… ooooh…”

  She shifted and squirmed beneath Cosima’s fingers. The rama woman’s touch sought Felisa’s aching bud and began to massage it directly.

  Felisa stretched her legs and enjoyed the intimate massage. Cosima was gentle and moved her hand slowly, but continuously, to make the princess forget her troubles and coax an orgasm from her. It seemed to take a very long time. The princess was content to enjoy it for as long as possible. She finally came, gasping, arching slightly beneath Cosima’s hand, and she relaxed back onto the bed.

  “Better?” asked Cosima, still gently petting Felisa’s quim.

  “Mmmmm, yes, thank you,” said the princess. “I think I would like to get up and walk around a bit. Outside, I mean. While the sun is out.”

  “If you feel well enough,” said Cosima. “I’ll bring you a cloak to wear.”

  Cosima helped the princess dress and draped the fur-lined cloak over Felisa’s shoulders. The witchwoman supported Felisa’s weight and led the princess downstairs to the manor’s inner courtyard. Most of the plants in the garden had long ago withered in the inhospitable mountain environment. In a stone planter, a single, strange violet flower grew atop a woody stalk that sprouted fleshy, hand-shaped leaves.

  Felisa shrugged out from Cosima’s supporting arm and limped over to the flower. A strange perfume drifted from the petals of the flower. There was a pleasant earthiness to it, and a more conventional floral lightness, but also an acrid edge that tickled at Felisa’s sinuses.

  “What is this flower?” asked Felisa, reaching out to touch its petals.

  Cosima caught the princess’s hand and pushed it away before the princess could touch the flower.

  “That is sorrowbloom,” said Cosima. “It is known as poisoner’s lotus. It grows only in haunted place or place of tragedy.”

  “The ghost made this flower grow?”

  “No,” Cosima pulled Felisa a few steps away. “It grows because the ghost is here. It is why I dwell in house. Very valuable flower for medicine.”

  “And poison,” said Felisa.

  “Yes, also poison.”

  Felisa studied the flower a bit longer. It was pretty, but there was something unnerving, as if it hungered for life the same as the restless spirit of Lord Poletti.

  “I would like to go inside,” said the princess.

  She felt worse after the flower and so she sat by the roaring fire in the hearth and tried to find warmth that never reached into her bones. Cosima saw to the chores and roasted a chicken for an early supper. Despite the mouthwatering smell, Felisa could barely eat. She felt detached from everything. Sounds seemed muted and the chicken, which had smelled so delicious, tasted as bland as the leeks the day before.

  “You are not eating,” observed Cosima. “You need to regain strength. Eat.”

  Felisa forced herself to eat a little. When Cosima left to refill her cup of wine, Felisa took the opportunity to toss her chicken into the fire. She wiped her mouth with the napkin as Cosima returned.

  After dinner, Cosima served Felisa some of the wine, and then made advances on her. It was not long before Cosima knelt between Felisa’s thighs and tasted the princess’s quim. It was a pleasant experience, but there was no passion, none of the toe-curling pleasure of her orgasm. She thrust her pussy lightly against the rama woman’s tongue and her climax was as muted as every other experience.

  Felisa attempted to return the favor. She knelt before Cosima and lapped at her furry mound. As the princess’s tongue roamed the fleshy folds of Cosima’s cunt, she could not help but picture that violet flower in the courtyard. It distracted her and it became apparent the rama woman noticed the distraction.

  “Is okay,” said Cosima, lowering her gown. “You are sick. No need to lick me.”

  They went up the stairs together, but separated in the hall.

  “No, sleep with me this night,” said Cosima. “You will be safer.”

  “I am not afraid,” said Felisa as she drifted back to her bedroom as if in a dream.

  Cosima had a sympathetic look on her face as she tucked the princess into bed. She brushed a lock of dark hair from Felisa’s face and leaned down to kiss the princess upon her forehead.

  “Be strong,” said Cosima. “Do not give in to him.”

  It was in that moment that Felisa realized Cosima, for all her witchwoman wisdom, understood nothing about Vincente Poletti. He was a good man. His desires were pure.

  After all, Felisa had seen the painting, the likeness of Selena was so remarkably similar to her own that she tried to conceive of some means by which she could actually be Selena. Had the gods returned her to the flesh? Was that why she was sent here to the Poletti manor by her family? Was this her true curse?

  “Goodnight, Cosima,” said Felisa and she kissed the rama woman on the lips. “Thank you for all you have done for me.”

  Cosima’s full lips tightened into a line and she gave Felisa a nod. She cast one last glance at the princess in the bed before she departed the room.

  After the witchwoman left, it seemed to Felisa an eternity before the full darkness of night fell outside the windows. She lit only a single candle beside her bed and said her prayers to all of the old gods of the sea. She lay her head down on the pillow and pulled the blankets up to her chin. She was not afraid; she was excited. She would see him again!

  Hear weariness did not give way to sleep. She waited for him to come. It was surely the midnight hour or later when the candle was snuffed out by a gasp of cool air. Felisa’s sat up in the bed at once. Her nipples stiffened and her b
reath turned to steam. She searched the blue darkness around her for Vincente.

  My love…

  His voice came from all around her and whispered into her ear.

  My sweet Selena…

  “Yes,” she moaned, pulling away the blanket. “Yes, I am here.”

  Though she had known she would embrace the ghost, she had not known she would declare herself to be Selena until that very moment was upon her.

  “Selena…”

  The name was whispered by a singular voice. Vincente Poletti’s handsome figure coalesced from a faintly glowing cloud of mist. He smiled. Even his sunken eyes seemed to shine as he saw her poised invitingly in the bed.

  “You have changed,” he said and he climbed onto the bed with her. “You do not fear me.”

  He reached out a gray hand and his flesh was cool as he caressed her cheek. He ran his thumb over her lips and she opened her mouth to him and touched his thumb with the tip of her tongue. His smile was pure.

  “My love, why do you not fear me?” He wondered.

  “As long as I can remember, everyone was afraid of me.” Felisa’s eyes glistened with tears. “Even my mother and father were reluctant to touch me because of my curse. But you, Vincente, you have touched me like no other. Not even Cosima.”

  It was Felisa’s hand that ventured into the lap of the specter. He looked down at her hand and his trousers parted like a fleeing nest of snakes, exposing the aroused pillar of his cool cockflesh. She looked into his sunken eyes and took his cock in her hand. Touch him in this way chilled her flesh, but she did not hesitate. She began to stroke him and she kissed his lips.

  “Selena,” he laughed against her kiss. “You are so devilish tonight. Your hand is as warm as your supple thighs.”

  An invisible hand squirmed between her legs from beneath her. She gasped as cold fingers began to rub at her quim, pressing the sheer fabric of her panties into her slippery groove. She responded by squeezing Vincente’s cock and stroking it more vigorously. Her nipples ached as they stood out beneath her gown. She kissed him and her breath steamed around their faces.

  “I want to warm your cock,” she gasped. “With my mouth.”