A Haunting Experience

by Kessily Lewel

  A bank of monitors was stacked two high and four across, but the center monitor was twice the size of the rest and that screen was now showing the kitchen feed. The female assistant (dubbed rude assistant number two) looked up as they entered, fixed her eyes on April and smirked.

  "Someone had an interesting night," she commented.

  April frowned at her, flushing slightly; she was glad that a little blushing didn't stand out obviously on her skin. It made it easier to play off that she wasn't disturbed at what they might have seen.

  "And you are?" she snapped.

  The girl's bubblegum pink hair was short and spiky. It seemed to convey attitude, but just in case it didn't make a clear enough statement, she'd had both eyebrows pierced and her septum, as well.

  "Carson, tech girl at your service."

  She nudged the guy next to her, and he finally pulled his attention away from the screen in front of him, blinking slowly in confusion for a second.

  He stared at her blankly and then after a long pause said, "What? Oh. Uh, Jerome."

  His eyes were an interesting shade of amber that looked unusual against the dark umber of his skin, and he fixed them on her intently, as though memorizing her face, before letting them drift back to the screen.

  "He doesn't talk much," Carson said helpfully. "Jer, replay the footage for everyone to see."

  He nodded and started it over from the beginning.

  Professor Marlowe kept repeating, "Good lord," under his breath, while his assistants took turns gasping and snickering. April alone was silent. She swallowed hard as she watched her experience the night before from an outside perspective.

  It was fascinating. The man she'd met wasn't on the tape. She was there alone, yet it was obvious that someone was there, because you could see the force he was exerting on her body. She was grabbed, moved, at one point lifted right off of her feet. Her body was pushed down over the counter and her clothes whisked down without her hands going near them.

  The spanking was the most interesting part. The loud reports of the slaps were very clear on the recording, as were her sounds of pain. The camera panned very slowly across the room, paused for ten seconds, moved, paused again, which meant a significant part of the spanking was caught on tape before the angle moved away. You could actually see her ass cheeks ripple and turn pink as something struck her. You could even tell that it was a large hand, because when it clapped down, it was neatly outlined as it pressed into her flesh.

  "Pause there, Carson," the professor said. The girl did so. "Zoom in. More. Right there. Stop. Good lord. Look at that," he whispered.

  Her left ass cheek took up the entire screen, so she could hardly avoid looking at it. She was mortified, and her face was probably as red as the ass on the monitor. Five distinct fingers and a thumb were molded into her ass and frozen on the screen for them to examine. Her ass. On camera. This was not what she'd signed up for—but the money.

  "Want me to print it?" Jerome asked without taking his eyes from the screen.

  "Yes, do," the professor said.

  She ended up telling the whole story again, this time on camera. She even allowed them to take pictures of the evidence, not that there was much left by then, and by the time they left in the afternoon, she was exhausted. She skipped dinner, perhaps subconsciously avoiding the kitchen, and went upstairs to collapse in her bed. She was asleep almost instantly, but it wasn't the deep restful sleep she'd hoped for.

  Her body writhed under the blanket as she slept. It wasn't a nightmare; it was very similar to the dream she'd had before she came to the house, the one with the spanking. That time, she recognized the man. In that vague way dreams had of making impossible things seem perfectly reasonable, she found herself in his arms.

  "You're the ghost," she said, staring up at him.

  "You might call me that," he agreed, as his arms tightened around her, holding her.

  His hand slipped down to cup her ass through the long nightgown she was wearing in the dream. It was old-fashioned, a coarse fabric, some kind of linen, she thought, and very different from the shorts and t-shirt she normally wore to bed. It felt appropriate, though aged, like the setting around them was. It was like she'd stepped back in time; it was the same room, but different.

  "You spanked me!" she accused as his touch reminded her of the humiliating incident in the kitchen.

  "I did and I'll do it again, if necessary," he warned her.

  Deep asleep, she was able to make the connection she hadn't made while awake. She'd dreamed of this man before she'd even entered the house.

  "I liked it the other way better," she muttered.

  "The other way?" He looked down, then the confusion vanished. "Ah! You prefer the bedchamber games to the punishment. You're not supposed to enjoy punishment, Miss April; it wouldn't work if you did." His hand stroked up her back and then down to rub her ass with the flat of his hand.

  She moaned softly, chest pressing against him as her back arched. She loved the possessive feel of his hand on her ass, covering it. Her head tipped back. and she stared up into his dark eyes.

  "I haven't earned any punishment today," she pointed out with a hint of a request to her words.

  That fragment, that small slice of fantasy she'd remembered when she woke up, had tormented her. She'd tried so hard to remember more of it, filling in the missing pieces with fantasies and daydreams, but this time maybe she'd get another chance. Maybe this one she'd remember, and it was only a dream, after all.

  "That's true. Are you asking me to spank you?" he asked, a growling undertone of interest in his voice.

  "Maybe. Not—not like in the kitchen but—the other way, yes," she said.

  There was a tingle in the center of each ass cheek, and her muscles tightened reflexively. He pulled her up hard against him, and she could feel the bulge of a growing erection pressing between them. He liked the idea; so did she. Her nipples hardened, the skin around them crinkling until they pulled her focus to their sensitivity.

  He kissed her hard, claiming her mouth, sliding his tongue between her lips to taste her. She'd never really been a fan of deep kissing before. It was messy and wet, but she'd never been kissed quite like that before, either. The way he focused all his attention on her made her melt. Her knees nearly buckled as he investigated, his tongue probing the inside of her mouth, searching.

  She responded tentatively at first. Her tongue glided over his. Her hands tightened to grip the back of his shirt as her head tilted. It felt like they were the only two people in the world at that moment. She was only barely aware of her surroundings. Small details trickled through her awareness, like the flickering of old gas-lit wall sconces, but she couldn't spare the attention to take a look at them.

  She broke contact first with a soft whimper, and her tongue licked across his bottom lip in promise as she tried to catch her breath. Her heart thumped rapidly in her chest, and she was suddenly acutely aware of her skin. They said the skin was the largest sensory organ of the body, but until that moment, she'd never realized that she could feel so much at once. Small bumps rose everywhere as he skimmed his hands down her side, gripped the nightgown at the hem, and slowly tugged it up to her waist and then up over her head. It fell to the floor behind them, and her nude body seemed to glow in the soft light.

  She felt flushed and chilled at the same time. A shiver rolled down her spine as she reached up and tugged her raven hair loose, letting it spill down her back in a sleek, dark waterfall. It felt like she was aware of each individual hair as it grazed her skin. Her eyes were half-lidded in sensual pleasure as his other hand slid under her hair to cradle the back of her head, tilting it back so he could trail kisses down her neck and shoulders.

  With every step, she was convinced she couldn't get any more excited than she already was, and each time she was wrong. He caught her nipple in his mouth, suckling it like a plump little berry, capturing it between his teeth and exerting just enough pressure to make her hips buck against
him as she gasped.

  Arousal built between her thighs like a flood being held back by a dam until the thatch of dark fur that covered her mound was soaked with slippery fluid. Glistening drops rolled down her inner thigh, and when his hand slid down and pressed her legs apart, slipping between them, there was no doubt the effect he was having on her.

  He pressed his finger between her plump lower lips, finding the swollen kernel of pleasure and stroking it, finger curling to make little come here motions as she rocked against his hand. He brought her close, close enough that she couldn't stop the whining complaint that burst out of her when he suddenly stopped.

  He laughed and shook his head teasingly. "You asked for a spanking, did you not?" he reminded her as he caught her hand and pulled her to the bed. "You would not enjoy it nearly so much if I gave you that pleasure now, believe me." He settled with his back against the headboard, lanky legs stretched out in front of him, and he patted his thigh. "Here," he said.

  She knelt on the edge of the bed, her hair slid forward over her shoulder, and she tossed it back so she could crawl across the bed without pulling it. There was a war inside that left her feeling both eager and tentative. Her only real experience with spanking was what he'd done in the kitchen, and that hadn't been fun at all. She could barely feel it anymore, and her skin was almost back to its original color, but the memory of the pain lingered in her mind.

  Of course, she hadn't been aroused then; she'd been scared and unprepared. She didn't remember ever being that turned on before. He pulled her up to kiss her again, a light brush of his lips across hers, like a promise, and then he arranged her across his knees. She settled nervously; his body under hers felt odd, because distantly she was aware that he was a ghost. It didn't seem to matter in the dream-state, but she'd still expected him to feel cold or intangible somehow.

  While she got comfortable, shifting to stretch out, he stroked a hand down her back, letting it glide over her smooth skin. There was a touch of roughness that caught and scratched lightly, as though he'd worked with his hands. She remembered her father's hands being like that when she was a child, from the carpentry jobs he took during the summer.

  He hadn't mentioned it before, but he'd noticed that she'd been wearing nothing under the nightgown. "You seem to have a problem with wearing proper undergarments. Why is it every time I find you, you've nothing underneath your clothing?" he asked softly as he gripped her hip and pulled her up tight against him. "Walking around bare like this is just asking for a hand to your backside," he said. His tone was amused, though, not angry.

  "It's not like I picked the outfit. Besides, women these days have more freedom, and no one cares what they wear under their clothes," she retorted.

  "Mmm, they care. Believe me, men will always care what a woman is wearing closest to her skin." He paused. "I find that I like you bare like this just for me."

  He caressed the smoothly curving flesh of her backside with the palm of his hand and then pulled back to land a light swat. She jumped in surprise before she realized it hadn't hurt.

  "Times have changed," she protested weakly. Her ass seemed to rise of its own accord, lifting for the next slap.

  He dragged his fingertips over her skin, nails scratching lightly in a circle at the center of her cheek, and then his hand slapped down again. The palm connected with a firm smacking sound and enough force to send a ripple over the flesh. He'd cupped his hand so it didn't hurt much, and she was left with just some light sting. The heat from it spread out over her flesh to soak in pleasantly.

  "Yes, I've heard of some of these changes," he said in a tone that made it clear he was suspicious and not entirely approving.

  Well, what had she expected? He'd probably died at least a hundred years before when times were vastly different. And there were some benefits to the whole alpha male thing, she was discovering.

  "Men don't just spank women anymore," she whispered, squirming nervously as his hand cupped her ass and then spanked with a snap that bounced her cheek. There was more pain that time, but not unbearable.

  "What? Not even when they ask for it so nicely?" Teasing and definitely amused, he rubbed the red mark he'd just left.

  "No, I-I mean it's okay when they ask," she assured him.

  Her body writhed sinuously as his fingers trailed down the crack of her ass. When he followed the line down to where her thighs pressed together, her legs fell apart automatically, and he chuckled, teasing the inside of her thigh with feather-light movements.

  The pad of his finger smoothed across her slit, playing with the soft curls he found there, and then he pulled his hand away and began to spank her upturned ass with steady, slow, open-handed swats that caressed as often as they stung. She began to rock forward and back across his legs as the heat built. Her cheeks took on a warm glow, and the heat seemed to turn to liquid, melting down between her legs until she was shifting them farther apart and trying to entice him to touch her there.

  She'd never felt so wanton in her life, the way she lifted her ass and begged for more. "Please," she whimpered. "Please—" She trailed off because she wasn't sure what she was asking for. More spanking? More touching? All of the above, really.

  Maybe he wasn't sure, either, because he decided to give her both. He switched hands and began spanking her with his left, bringing his arm down over her back with a series of crisp swats. He let his palm bounce back up to absorb some of the shock and sting as his right hand slid between her spread thighs and cupped her mound.

  "Enjoying this, girl?" he asked, not really a question that she needed to answer.

  The evidence was there for him to feel, and he found the little seat of her pleasure and stroked it. Her juices coated his finger generously.

  "God, yes. That feels so fucking good," she moaned.

  Apparently, even in a dream he didn't approve of profanity, because he landed a searing slap to each cheek, and the hand underneath immediately stopped playing with the bundle of nerves it had found under the hood of her clit.

  "Did we not speak of using foul language?" he said, in a tone heavy with annoyance. "If I hear you use the Lord's name or curse again, this will turn into an experience you will not enjoy," he warned her.

  A panicky feeling filled her. He couldn't stop now; she was so hot and ready.

  "No, please! I'm sorry!" she said immediately.

  Old-fashioned man, she reminded herself; she had to be more careful with her words. Which would be more punishing at the moment? His stopping what he was doing between her thighs or his giving her a spanking like she'd gotten in the kitchen was a toss up. Neither was something she felt she could endure just then.

  He hesitated as though judging the sincerity of her apology and then he brought his hand down in a crashing blow that made her squeal. She thought he'd decided to punish her after all, but apparently it was just a final reminder as he began to drag his nails over the reddened swatch of skin. It gave her the most delicious tickling sensation low in her body, and her toes curled.

  His fingers slipped between soaked folds again and probed at her entrance, moving gently in and out. She got nervous and tensed. She'd heard there was pain the first time. She'd never let a guy actually put anything inside of her, not even a finger, and she bit down on her lip, waiting for it to hurt.

  "What's wrong?" he asked immediately. He was still massaging her skin, not spanking, so there was no reason for her muscles to suddenly tighten unless she was afraid.

  She twisted slightly to look over her shoulder. "I've never—" How would a ghost from years ago phrase it? She wasn't sure done it was going to get the point across, but he must have guessed what she meant.

  "You've never lain with a man?" he asked, eyebrow going up. She nodded, dropping her eyes in embarrassment, so she didn't see his smile. "I was under the impression women no longer waited for marriage," he commented.

  "Some women don't, but—some wait for the right man," she whispered.

  He hesitated. "That is n
ot something that can be done here. Your first time will wait," he said firmly.

  She suffered a moment of desolate disappointment, thinking that meant he was going to stop, but no. He simply went to other things. His finger withdrew from her warm tunnel and stroked upwards to find her clit, and he began to strum it with gentle gesturing motions.

  Then he started to spank again. Every time his finger stroked her clit, his other hand slapped down. Many of the swats were light, cupped to bring heat without much pain, but, occasionally, when he thought she was getting complacent in the rhythm, he'd spice things up by sweeping in with a hard slap that made her rock forward. The more she pushed back against his fingers in desperation to get to that peak she was striving for, the more often his palm left a fiery hand print across her ass.

  He kept her from orgasm as long as he could, but eventually the stimulation was too much. Her body arched, stiffening as her head fell back. She cried out, a wordless garbled sound of pleasure, and then she sat straight up in bed. Alone.

  "What—what the hell was that?" she whispered in confusion.

  Her body still pulsed with pleasure, clit throbbing between her slick thighs. Her juices had left a small puddle on the sheets under her. She slid out of bed and went to the bathroom to clean up.

  Her ass, when she checked the mirror, showed only the slightest pink left over from the day before. No new marks of spanking decorated her cheeks. So it was all just a dream, one she'd woken from as soon as she'd reached orgasm. Interesting, but it made sense really. She'd had wet dreams before, though not for years, but she remembered they always woke her up.

  But she got the sense that this dream, like the one she'd had of him before, wasn't just a dream. It was an actual connection that they'd made. The things that happened were real, maybe not in a physical sense, but mentally. And wasn't most sexual pleasure seated in the brain? Attraction, emotion, arousal; so much of that was in the mind and it made this just as real, but she did wonder if he'd kept her from coming as long as he had on purpose to hold her there longer. Had he known she'd wake when the shocks of pleasure crashed through her body?