Mr. Grey and the Spirit from the Sky

by A. J. Matthews

  "I want to do something for you," he said softly, his voice strained.

  "Later, Martin," she said with a smile as she released her hold. "But don't worry. Your pleasure is my pleasure." She stroked his cock, feeling the moisture of her saliva on the tight skin, loving the warmth, the solidity of him. "Ready for a little more?" she asked, cocking an eyebrow.

  "Oh yes!" he said, and laughed softly. "Damn, but I love you!"

  "I love you, too! Now, if you'll excuse me I'm going to have my mouth full for a while!"

  "I don't think I can last much longer, love."

  She kissed the tip of his cock. "There's no need. We'll have all the time we want later."

  Keeping her lips tight and moist, she drew him slowly into her mouth, simulating the feel of her pussy and stimulating him so he groaned anew. Setting to with a moderate rhythm she slid his shaft in and out, almost to the point of dropping free of her lips, before plunging deep into her throat once more.

  Martin began to shudder, and she could hear his breath hoarse in his throat. Drawing back briefly, she said, "Don't fight it, lover!"

  "Okay," was all he could say.

  She swallowed him once more, striving to take him all inside. He gasped, jerked, and clasped her head between his strong hands. She had time to take a deep breath before his cum exploded into her throat, filling it with his hot musky essence as his cock throbbed and convulsed between her lips, the boathouse echoing with his cries of release.

  "Oooohhh godddd!" he gasped, as his wits returned. "Oh, blimey, Claudia!"

  She swallowed his cum with relish, savoring the taste as she stood up and held him close. His arms enfolded her once more and he held and kissed her ardently. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me!" he whispered.

  "I bet you say that to all the girls you seduce in boathouses," she chuckled.

  Martin stroked a strand of hair away from her eyes. "Only gorgeous redheads by the name of Claudia Mackenzie," he said.

  Chapter Five

  Laurel swiveled slowly back and forth on her office chair. It was nine at night. The blinds were closed, the light off; the sole, blue-tinged illumination came from the computer screen. The only noise in the room was the susurration of the computer cooling fan, punctuated by irregular clicks from the mouse as she worked.

  Images jerked and scrolled across the screen. There were pictures of empty rooms, rooms with people sleeping, or reading, or watching late-night TV, all of them seen from different vantage points, all unaware of her scrutiny.

  She was aware of Dave's presence. His slender form lay in her peripheral vision, hooded eyes watching her enigmatically. He had a quality for stillness unguessed at by anyone who knew his habitual clumsiness. It was a quality she liked—although his recourse to cannabis and Jack Daniel’s was something she didn't care for.

  "Looks like a dry hole tonight," she said quietly, smiling at her little pun.

  Dave didn't reply. She clicked the mouse again, and again. "I hope there's something here," she said. "I feel in the mood for pleasure."

  "Bruce? Joanne?"

  She cocked an eye at Dave. "It speaks!" she said. "No, darling, he's not in his room."

  Dave stood up, seeming to unfold endlessly from his chair, and came over to stand behind her. He winced as his weight settled on his bandaged foot, clad for protection in a slipper. Laurel felt his firm fingers begin to knead her shoulder muscles and she leaned back and sighed with pleasure.

  "Try staff cabin number three."

  She frowned. "Why there? It's not on the list."

  "It is now."

  She swiveled around in her seat, forcing him to let go of her shoulders, and stared up at him. "You added another?"

  "I see things," he said in a flat tone.

  "Okay, let me see."

  She turned back to the screen, clicked, clicked again.

  A new scene popped up on the screen, the two naked figures frozen briefly as the computer processed the image. Then Bruce and Joanne began to move sinuously over and around each other on the big bed.

  "Oh, good boy, David!" She set the recorder function going, and sat back to watch. On screen, and in a cabin three hundred yards away, Bruce turned Joanne over onto her front and pulled her hips roughly upwards and onto his lap.

  "Yes!"

  The thrust of her boss' hips as he entered the girl was clear.

  Laurel settled back to watch. "What excellent timing!"

  Dave's hands crept around her sides and upwards, until they cupped her breasts through her blouse. His thumbs stroked the area of her nipples until they began to peak inside the constraining fabric of her brassiere.

  Laurel reached for her pack of Marlboro Lights and tapped one out on her palm. She lit up as Dave removed her blouse and slipped the straps of her brassiere from her shoulders, freeing her breasts from the cups. The yellow flare of her lighter added a more natural light to the room, and she flicked her gaze around, thinking yet again how God-awful tawdry it looked.

  Dave kissed the back of her neck as his hands reached around to cup and squeeze her breasts. She leaned back against him, and watched Bruce gripping Joanne's thighs as he piled into her, his face a mask of tension. Dave's tongue moved slowly over the back of her neck, and down, between her shoulders, his fingers and thumbs pinching and squeezing her nipples, pulling at them until they throbbed with pain and pleasure. She felt his hands about her waist, pulling her upwards, urging her onto her feet.

  Cigarette clamped between her lips she stood, stumbling as her high-heeled shoes slipped. Kicking them off, she bent over, feeling the pressure of his hand on her back, guiding her into the position he wanted. Pushing her butt back she wiggled it, inviting him to go further—as if Dave ever needed much urging, she thought.

  His hand closed on her hip, fingers searching for and finding the zipper of her skirt. Tugging it hard, he managed to pull it down against the resistance of the tight fabric, his fingers returning to unfasten the clasp.

  "Am I putting on weight, dear Davy?" She cocked her head back to look at him in the blue-lit twilight. "My skirt feels awfully tight these days."

  "No, no!" His breathing was loud, and she could feel the trembling of his hands as he eased the skirt off her butt and down her legs. The air of the room felt cold against her exposed skin and she shivered with a mixture of cold and anticipation.

  On the screen Bruce was bulling Joanne hard. Her breasts swayed violently with each thrust of his hips. Laughing softly at the image she drew on the cigarette and blew the smoke out until the small figures blurred.

  Dave had his fingers in the hem of her panties now. They were the ones she always wore for their assignations—flirty; sexy; not quite what one would expect of a senior manageress of her years. She felt a moment of depression and self-loathing. Maybe it was time she grew old gracefully, and not disgracefully?

  But then she would miss this pleasure, the feel of Dave's hands against her hot skin as he pulled those sexy panties off her butt and then the feel of his hot breath against her shaved perineum as he knelt behind her. The tip of his tongue touched her butt hole and she sighed, forgetting the moment of doubt.

  Clasping her hips, Dave began to probe her anus with his tongue, pushing it inside her against the resistance of her sphincter. The image of Bruce and Joanne cleared just as the philandering resort owner clutched the girl's thighs and went rigid. She grinned, imagining how it must feel for the girl, all that hot cum jetting deep inside her pussy. Her own sex felt so damn moist; a cool droplet fell onto her foot and she absentmindedly wiped it off against the calf of her other leg.

  Dave's tongue twisted inside her butt hole, warm and wet and so pliant. She slipped a hand down over her swinging breasts, pinching her nipple, and down over her belly, to her shaven pussy. Spreading her lips with her fingers she began to masturbate, sliding them slowly along her labia, stroking her clitoris lightly every now and then, feeling the heat building, watching the images on the screen. Her fingers were soo
n wet with her creamy juice and she breathed hard.

  "Dave…" she said in a murmur.

  He stood, and she could feel him fumbling with his pants. The touch of the fabric was soon replaced by the touch of his bare skin against her butt, his hard cock resting against her pussy. His hand touched it briefly as he dabbed his fingers in her juice. She felt his fingers brushing her own and knew he was using her juices to lubricate his cock. And then he was entering her anus.

  "Ooooooh yeah!" she cooed, as his long slender shaft overcame the slight resistance of her sphincter and entered her. She wriggled her butt to help him inside, and gasped with pleasure as he slid home. "Ooh, baby, yeah!"

  Her fingers began to stroke faster, rubbing her clit harder until the bud felt hot and swollen. Dave jerked his hips back suddenly and she grunted as a thrill pulsed through her nervous system. Then he slid inside again, slowly, until his balls tapped against the backs of her fingers as she frigged herself. The tip of her cigarette flared orange as she breathed in sharply.

  And then he pulled out sharply again, making her gasp, his hands clasping her hips. Her fingers played across her nerves like violin strings as his cock slid back deep inside her. Her breath came in short hard gasps and the cigarette flared with each breath, the smoke thickening until she swore and stubbed the thing out in the ashtray. Dave began to thrust and withdraw faster, faster, grunting with each thrust, until her anus seemed to glow with heat. Sensing her coming orgasm, he closed his hands about her breasts and squeezed them cruelly.

  Fumbling, she reached to grip the table edge to brace herself for the coming rush. Her hand accidentally brushed the mouse, clicked it—and the scene on the monitor changed to another viewpoint. Blearily, her mind dominated by the sensations pouring from her anus and clit, she peered at the screen. A pale cloud appeared on it, and at first she thought it was a stray wisp of cigarette smoke. Then the cloud grew in definition, until she was looking at a human figure. The tag across the top of the screen showed the view to be of the passageway outside. Whoever—whatever—the figure was, it was right outside their door.

  "Uh?" The strangeness made her pussy clench, squirting juice all over her fingers. A tingle of fear ran up her spine. She turned to look at the door.

  "Oh yeah, babe!" Dave grunted, thrusting avidly. "You're so fuckin' tight now!"

  She came in an oddly spasmodic, distracted way, staring at the door, her fingers burying themselves deep inside her pussy. Dave thrust a few more times and then he came too, his grunts and groans rising to a roar that filled the small room.

  * * * *

  The next morning Martin woke to the alarm clock and a day that seemed much darker than normal. Alongside him Claudia stirred and fumbled for his hand.

  "Mornin', lover," she mumbled. "What time is it?"

  "Eight o'clock."

  She raised her head to look around. "Why's it so dark?"

  "No idea, honey. You stay put, I'll go look."

  Stumbling out of bed he padded on bare feet over to the window and opened the blinds—to be faced with a pitch-black window.

  For a long time he stared at the sight, wondering if there had been an eclipse, a sudden and very heavy snowfall, or if his clock was somehow wrong and it was still night. It was only after he had opened the outside door and peered out that he found the truth of the matter.

  * * * *

  "I've called you all here to ask one question; who covered the windows of Mr. Grey's cabin with black paint?"

  Laurel Kratzmer stood on the stairs in the reception area and glared down at the small coterie of assembled staff. They fidgeted and glanced at each other. Someone sniggered. The guy who'd barged past Martin the day before stood at the end of the line, a dark and glowering expression on his face as he darted glances at the other workers. Martin watched from one side, feeling flushed with annoyance and embarrassment.

  "C'mon! It was childish behavior! I'd expect it from the seasonal staff after a long hard season but not from you people! If I find out who did this, I'm docking their pay for the cost of the clean-up." She let this sink in. "That is all; you may go. Pete?" The surly man stopped, looked up at her. "Get that stuff cleaned off the windows, ok?"

  He nodded reluctantly and left, casting covert glances back at Martin and Laurel.

  "I'm sorry about that," she said again. "They can be a crazy bunch when the season's coming to an end, but I didn't expect anything like this."

  He took in her appearance. Dark smudges under her eyes and a degree of tightness about the corners of her mouth spoke of a late night and some inner strain.

  "Are you okay, Laurel?" he asked.

  She rubbed her forehead and avoided his gaze. "Yeah. I'm getting a headache, is all." When she smiled it seemed genuine. "Dealing with these crazy fools is all I need right now."

  "Well, there's no harm done. I'll admit the blackout confused us for a while." He watched as the glowering man disappeared through the door. "Who's the chap in the overalls, who looks like he's chewing a wasp?"

  She chuckled. "That's Pete Ashby, Joanne's dad," she said, taking his arm and leading him upstairs. She leaned close, releasing another wave of perfume. "Between you and me, I reckon he's not all there," she said softly, tapping her temple. "We keep him on partly for Joanne's benefit—and mainly because he's a damn good worker." She glanced back. "He may even have been the one who painted out your windows; he's the only guy around here with access to the paint, now his partner's in and out of the hospital."

  "Did they get the nail out of Dave's foot?" he asked as they reached the main office.

  For some reason Laurel flushed. She cleared her throat. "Yeah, they did. They had to cut out the floorboard around it—Bruce will not be happy to hear—before they could take him to the hospital. He's there now to get it checked over and have the dressing changed. Now," she said, looking around the office. "Would you like to see to your instruments before Greg and Bruce come in?"

  Martin checked his devices whilst Laurel sat at the desk to leaf through the mail. The recorders had all run to the end of their tapes; the digital thermometers showed no major differences in maximum and minimum temperatures during the night; humidity was within normal limits. All Martin could find was an intermittent and irregular fluctuation in magnetic resonance on a spot near the window. He crouched down to try and pinpoint the source.

  "Got anything?" Laurel had put aside the mail and was now leaning over to watch him work.

  "Possibly," he said, glancing up—and into a good deal of cleavage. Laurel's jacket hung open and the top three buttons of her shirt were undone. The skin at the top of her breasts was a network of very fine wrinkles. He hurriedly looked away.

  "You can look if you want," she said. "I don't mind."

  Martin felt his face burning. "Laurel, I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I'm with Claudia."

  "Ah?" She smiled and straightened up, tugging her jacket closed. "You're sure?" He nodded and she chuckled ruefully. "Well, I'd hate to break up anyone's relationship. She's a lucky girl." She bit her lip. "Martin, there was something…"

  Bruce arrived at that moment and she turned away. For a moment Martin saw a flicker of frustration cross her face.

  "Hi, folks, what's happening?" Bruce asked. Laurel filled him in on the post, and mentioned the blacked-out cabin windows. "Dammit!" He slapped the side of a filing cabinet in frustration, and it boomed hollowly. "What the fuck is the matter with these people?"

  Laurel shrugged and gave him a tired smile. "You tell me, Bruce. Pete's cleaning the paint off now. I've got to go. See you later, Martin."

  Bruce made a visible effort to calm himself, and sat down in the chair Laurel had vacated. "What you got, Martin?"

  "I'm not quite sure," he said, looking at the magnetometer from a position close to the floor. "There's a reading here which could be something, or nothing."

  "Is it ghostly activity?"

  "Possibly." The LCD readout increased rapidly as Martin watched. A tingling sensation beg
an to creep across his skin.

  "Well, at least something's working," Bruce said sourly, reaching across to open the drink locker. "I need a drink…"

  Reality blinked suddenly and Martin found himself staring at a pair of overall-clad legs from very close range. A strong reek of spirits, kerosene and leaf-mulch filled his nose.

  "You okay?" Bruce's voice came to his ears as if from a distance.

  "Can you see anything, Bruce?" Martin asked, straightening up slowly to look at the man who had appeared by the window. A pair of fuddled dark eyes looked back.

  "No. Like what?" Bruce looked around and shivered. "It's gotten colder in here, though." He sniffed. "And I think I can smell something." He looked at Martin, then at the window. "Are you telling me the ghost is here?"

  "Yes; he's standing right in front of me." Martin got to his feet. "Or swaying, I should say. I think he's well and truly pickled. May I ask who you are, sir?" he asked the spirit calmly.

  "Holy shit!" the figure said, voice slurred, eyes focusing on him with an effort. "You can shee me?"

  "Yes, I can. I'm here to help you, in any way I can."

  The figure stopped swaying and tears began to flow down his cheeks. "Oh, sir! Oh, sir!" he cried, reaching out with both hands. "I've waited yearsh for shomeone to say that!"

  * * * *

  In the privacy of their cabin Claudia checked the time, mentally adjusted for Indiana time and dialed a number on her cell phone. It rang three times and was answered.

  "Hi, Mom!" she said.

  Her mom's voice came over clear and she felt her throat tighten at the sound of the familiar voice. "Claudia! Darling, how are you?"

  "Doing good, Mom; just fine. How're things there?"

  "Missing you, honey! Will you really be home for Thanksgiving this year?"

  "Try and stop me!"

  "Where are you now?" A burst of laughter came over the line and she heard her mom sigh. "Wait one, baby, I need to close the door, those kids outside are making too much noise." She waited. "That's better. It was good of you to call while I'm on my break."