Spirit Lovers

by Fulani

  SPIRIT LOVERS

  A collection of five paranormal stories

  Edited by Miranda Forbes

  ISBN 9781907016752

  Copyright © Accent Press Ltd 2010

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be copied, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publishers: Xcite Books, Suite 11769, 2nd Floor, 145-157 St John Street, London EC1V 4PY

  The stories contained within this book are works of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the authors’ imaginations and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Contents

  The Incubus Candle Fulani

  The Moment J.

  Stroking The Tree Toni Sands

  With These Eyes I Do Not Truly See Don Luis de la Cosa

  His Ghost James Hornby

  The Incubus Candle

  by Fulani

  Lauren thought of it as the local “head shop”. It sold bongs and pipes, grinders and super-size rolling papers. The back of the shop had a selection of death metal T-shirts, gothic voodoo dolls, plastic skulls, gewgaws with cannabis leaf emblems and anti-establishment symbols, piercings and cheap makeup.

  None of these things interested Lauren, which is why she always walked past the place rather than into it. Except now, because one thing inside the shop caught her eye. It wasn’t in the window: but it was a small place and glancing in from the doorway she could see the collection of candles in the glass-fronted serving counter. The largest of the candles was a faithful representation of a large phallus.

  It wasn’t something she’d normally buy, but it had been a mental day and she was in a silly mood. It would be a talking point for the girly evening she had planned for later.

  The shop assistant looked no more than eighteen and was a walking advertisement for death metal T-shirts and piercings.

  ‘Be careful when you use it,’ she said, passing one to Lauren. ‘These things work really well.’ She had a knowing smile on her face.

  The beast was a foot high and came in a plastic cylinder. A sheet of paper wrapped around the inside of the container doubled as a label: Incubus candle. For summoning sensual spirits.

  What was there to “work” with a candle, apart from giving out light? Lauren snorted. ‘If they’re that good, I’ll have two.’

  The shop assistant shrugged nonchalantly. But there was a spark of amusement in her eyes as she took the money and handed the pair to Lauren in a plastic bag.

  She had a girly-night-in preparation ritual. Wine and nibbles into the fridge. Set the pizza to defrost, ready for later. Decide on a dress and lay it on the bed – she might not be going out, but she still wanted to feel smart. Then a long soak in the bath. She had two hours before her friends would arrive. Languorously, she ran a sponge over her breasts, enjoying the warmth and silky smoothness of the bathwater, the apricot-scented foaming bath gel. Then the sponge was replaced by fingers, gently brushing her nipples, encouraging them to stand up.

  Her fingers traced their way down her body, so softly that she could barely feel them, to play with the hidden folds of her labia and the little bud hidden inside. It felt good. She relaxed into a semi-hypnotic trance, imagining the kind of man who might touch her in that special way. Or maybe it wouldn’t be a man: didn’t women know more about unlocking a woman’s secret places? She kept seeing stuff on TV about how woman-on-woman action was supposed to be the new thing. Lipstick lesbians, was the term she remembered. One had to be broad-minded these days. Maybe she should try it.

  The steam in the bathroom gradually cleared and the water cooled by a couple of degrees. It was time to drop back into reality. Despite the pleasure she found in taking a bath, Lauren never quite managed to come while she was there. Minor details seemed to get in the way: the splash of the water, the lack of space for her elbow. Wrapping a towel around herself she padded downstairs and poured a glass of pinot grigio.

  And on the coffee table were the candles.

  Lauren smiled to herself. She didn’t want them to be burned down by the time her friends arrived, but it would be nice to see them alight. She closed the curtains and lit a match. Flames flickered in the darkness. Settling back on the huge leather sofa – an expensive present to herself when she’d moved into the house – she allowed herself to be indulged by the wine and candlelight.

  Yet there was something strange about the candles. They seemed scented, but not with any of the usual perfumes. The room filled with a musky, essence-of-male odour. Not stale sweat and beer by any means, a fragrant, freshly-toned muscle smell, if such a thing were possible.

  And the candles didn’t burn with a normal yellowish flame. If anything it was more orange, with some red. She sipped her wine and watched shadows dancing on the wall.

  There was no warning: no clap of thunder or swirl of mist, not even a sudden guttering of the flames. One moment Lauren was alone on the sofa; the next she was sharing it with two men, one either side of her. The transition was so abrupt it shocked her speechless.

  The men turned to look at her, and saw each other. A moment of surprise passed across their features, then they nodded to each other with grins on their faces.

  ‘Who …?’ Lauren managed to squeak.

  The one on her right turned, his lips nuzzling her ear lobe. ‘You called us, my lady. I have a name you won’t be able to pronounce.’

  There was a sensation like pages being turned over in her mind.

  ‘Call me Mark.’ The name of her favourite actor of the moment. The words weren’t special, but the way he said them gave her a delicious melting feeling, like liquid sunlight on her skin.

  Mark was tall, perhaps over six feet if he stood, and bare-chested – yet smooth, as though he had shaved and oiled it. He wore close-fitting trousers, almost like men’s dance tights, that outlined and highlighted every bulge and muscle.

  He took her hand in his and slipped it along the back of the sofa. It was a warm, flesh-and-blood hand; nothing ethereal about it, or him. She leaned back, finding him suddenly pressing up against her body, and looked into his violet-coloured eyes. And despite the warmth of his body, who on earth had violet eyes, unless they wore contacts?

  A hand on her thigh startled Lauren – but of course, the other man was there as well. She turned her head to see him better. He was smaller, swarthier and bald. He had black eyes; a black fuzz of bear-like chest hair; big hands; clean nails. He grinned at her, flashing white teeth in an almost predatory way. Looking down, she was surprised to see he wore nothing apart from a cock ring and an erection that made her insides go to jelly. It was the size of the candle.

  Mark’s voice in her ear, caressing it. ‘That’s Bruno. He tends to cater for the … well, let’s say the darker side of a woman’s imagination. If I were you I’d just go with it. Between us we can cater for your every desire. Even the ones you don’t know you have …’

  Hands were running over her body, pawing at the bath towel, unwrapping it as though she were someone’s sexual present. It was an unfamiliar feeling: she’d had no boyfriend for several months. Instinctively, Lauren leaned forward, reaching for the knot in the towel to secure it. But even as she wondered why she’d want to do that, her hand was pulled aside and forceful arms pushed her back into the sofa.

  ‘You like to play hard to get.’ Bruno’s voice was deeper than Mark’s, more like dark velvet with an undercurrent of black leather. And it was a statement, not a question.

  Mark breathed in her ear, barely more than a whisper, ‘You didn’t expect the candles to work, did you? And suddenly, now, you have two of us. Have you even tried a threesome before?’

  She
shook her head and he chuckled. ‘I understand. Just allow us to do what we do best. It will be very decadent and very exciting …’

  He made decadent and exciting sound like a challenge. Lauren felt momentarily like a rabbit caught in headlights, unable to move. She had to make a conscious effort to breathe.

  She whimpered as the towel disappeared, exposing her nakedness. It felt vulnerable, but exciting at the same time. One of the men took her hair in his hand, pulling her back against the sofa so that she had a sudden view of the candlelight flickering on the ceiling.

  Mark kissed her neck, sending delicious shivers down her body, and Bruno applied his tongue to her left nipple, flicking at it gently just the way she’d done with her fingers in the bath. Except this time, there was the enfolding warmth of his lips and the male scent in her nostrils. When Mark applied his tongue to her right nipple as well, Lauren couldn’t help but moan. The sensation in her nipples intensified to the point that when Mark’s hair brushed against the side of her breast, she was tormented by little pinpricks of pleasure. She felt her pussy tighten involuntarily.

  Lauren had heard somewhere that a brain could distinguish three separate hands on a body, but more than that just felt like one huge hand touching every part of your body. And that was exactly what it felt like, being wrapped in a massive satin sheet that touched and stroked every part of her skin at the same time. Her toes began to curl …

  Hands grasped her knees, roughly pulling them apart. Unbalanced, Lauren slid down the sofa, ending in a half-lying position. She gasped as fingers began to explore the inside of her thighs, silkily at first, and then playing them like drum skins. By the time one finger reached her clit, moving over it like liquid satin, her resistance to the men had evaporated and she’d forgotten why she’d even responded that way. Surely she should have thrown the towel aside and draped herself right across their laps? Because right now, it was impossible for her not to gasp and grind her hips, looking for more pressure.

  The finger continued its slow, circular exploration of her inner folds and bud.

  ‘Fffffuuu …’

  Lauren didn’t get as far as the ‘uck’ part, and no longer knew whether she meant it as an exclamation or an instruction. Or both.

  Slick fingers plunged into her, taking control, exploring her wetness. Lauren had enough time to wonder how she’d got that juicy before falling under the hypnotic spell of their movement inside her. The fingers were impossibly long and flexible, stroking and massaging her g-spot with superhuman intensity. How was that even possible?

  Because they are supernatural, of course, flashed in her brain.

  Lauren mewled in surprise and anticipation when Bruno’s cock breached her, pushing against the walls of her pussy with its girth, working its way inside. She rocked her hips, trying to accommodate the grossly engorged dick, ease its passage inside her.

  Several things seemed to happen at the same time. Hands took her ankles and pulled them into the air. Lauren found herself lying with her arse completely over the edge of the sofa. It felt like the whole weight of her lower body was being taken by the cock moving inside her. At the same time, warm lips clamped over hers and a tongue invaded her mouth, feeling inside her, playing with her tongue. It felt strong, powerful, as though it was capable of extending as far as the pit of her stomach to meet the cock coming from the other direction.

  ‘Mmmm … mmm … mmmph …’

  It took several seconds for Lauren to work out that the muffled yet frenzied moans echoing off the walls of the room were her own. Their rising cadence reflected how close she was to coming.

  The cock inside her pulsed, thrust and drove all at the same time. Beads of perspiration formed on her face, on her flanks. As they trickled down her flesh, they seemed to add their own little bursts of torrid stimulation. Every muscle in her body trembled uncontrollably. If the men hadn’t been holding her legs up and her arms down, she would have crumpled into a heap.

  ‘Aaaaaahhh! Aaaaaa …’

  The climax was sudden and blinding. Lauren gulped for air, fighting spasms up and down her body as if she’d been pulled under a tidal wave of uncontrollable pleasure. She couldn’t even see properly – her eyes refused to focus.

  But it went on … and on … and on …

  Lauren had read about multiple orgasms. She knew they were possible. But she’d never experienced one. The cock was still moving inside her, giving no quarter, wringing every last bit of sexual response from her body. And the climax just didn’t stop. She learned to surf it, staying just on top of the sensation, allowing it to carry her.

  There was a moment of disorientation and Lauren found herself on her knees, on the carpet, leaning with her arms on the sofa. How did that happen? How did he manage that while he was still inside me? It felt like magic. Oh, wait, it was …

  The cock in her pussy continued to throb, penetrate, and jerk. But just as importantly, her head was in Mark’s lap and her lips up against his cock. He’d been wearing some tight-fitting garment, but it wasn’t there now. Instinctively, greedily, she parted her lips and – It’s huge, I’ll never take all that in my – Ulmph!

  Lauren allowed the monster to slide into her throat, finding that its size seemed to adjust itself to her comfort. She didn’t need to move: the cock that was still pounding her pussy bounced her whole body back and forth. Trying to concentrate on relaxing her mouth was difficult because at the same time the muscles in her legs and inside her slit were screaming in response to the fucking. Somehow her brain detached and just let it happen.

  Spit roast, it’s called a spit roast.

  The thought came unbidden from Lauren’s memory. It was an idea she’d found tacky, maybe even a little degrading, when one of her friends had confided in her and described the experience. But now she was in the same position it didn’t feel that way at all.

  She squirmed and squealed in surprise as a hand slapped her backside. Strangely it didn’t hurt. She was far too wired. But the squeal thrilled along Mark’s cock and he grew enormous in her mouth. Bruno laughed and said something Lauren couldn’t catch. It seemed to be in a foreign language.

  ‘He’s saying, my lady, that you may be a lady but you’re also a slut and you like rough treatment,’ Mark translated. ‘I think he’s right!’

  Normally Lauren would have protested at the “S word”. But under the circumstances, riding the edge of one orgasm, about to climax again and with two cocks in her, she didn’t feel in a position to argue.

  Bruno slapped her again, and when she squealed a second time the cock in her pussy felt like it was about to explode and the one in her mouth seemed to fill her entire skull. And anyway, slut wasn’t a bad word: hadn’t feminists spent years reclaiming it? Being a slut was definitely allowed in this situa …

  Lauren felt ambushed, taken by surprise. The orgasm moved from a hungry fluttering in her pussy to liquid gold in her veins, to a thundering wave that powered its way through her entire body, to a banshee wail of exultation … Wait, the banshee wail must have been her giving voice to the climax!

  Some time later Lauren opened her eyes to discover that she was curled up across the laps of the two men, who were talking quietly in a language she couldn’t follow. Their hands rested on her, in a comforting way.

  ‘Hello again.’ Mark spoke to her quietly. ‘You’ve come round?’

  She sighed, smiled, and snuggled deeper into the warmth of their bodies.

  ‘That was … ’she was temporarily lost for words. ‘It was magical.’

  The men laughed.

  ‘If I buy more candles, do I get you again?’

  This time it was Bruno’s deeper voice that answered her. ‘Lady, that depends on the candle. There are many of us, and for you there is no way to tell which candle summons which spirit. For you, this means every candle is an adventure. And for us too!’

  Later again, Lauren woke with a start. The room was dark. The digital clock on her Blu-ray player told her the doorbell would be rin
ging any minute now. Confused, she tried and failed to stand; her legs wouldn’t quite support her. She reached out to the reading lamp on the side table and flicked it on, shading her eyes against its sudden glare. No one else was in the room. Her bathrobe lay in a heap against the far wall, and the empty wine glass lay to one side of the sofa where she’d apparently dropped it. Thin coils of man-scented smoke rose from the remaining stubs of the candles; they’d burned down.

  Lauren tried again to stand on wobbly legs and this time succeeded. She felt thoroughly wrung out, but in a good way. A very good way, and one that made her smile even as she began to doubt her own memories. Had all that really happened?

  Well, her body told her that it had, and she wasn’t about to argue. She’d just about donned the bathrobe again and taken the candle stubs, and their packaging, to the kitchen waste bin before the doorbell rang.

  ‘I, um, I had a bath and then I just crashed out,’ was the only explanation she was prepared to give her friends.

  It was the usual laughter-filled and raucous evening. But Lauren couldn’t keep a special smile from twitching at the corner of her mouth.

  ‘Lauren’s got a secret,’ Beth observed. ‘Look at the way she’s glowing. Come on, girl, spill it. Have you got a secret lover or something?’

  The trouble was, if she denied it, they’d assume she was covering up. So she gave them an economical version of the truth: yes she had – in fact, two of them. The laughter was even more raucous after that.

  Late the next afternoon, Lauren was back in the head shop. The assistant was still there, still looking like she was just out of school, and still advertising death metal and the shop’s range of piercings. Also she looked tired but excited, as though she’d had a sleepless and passionate night.

  ‘I’ll have another couple of those candles, please.’

  That knowing smile, again. The woman reached into the cabinet behind her. ‘I’m afraid there’s only the one left at the moment. They’re proving kind of popular. We should get more in for Saturday.’ But she put two on the counter. ‘We have these ones as well. Succubus candles. Same price.’