Chapter 6: Boo!bs
The twin suns evaporated, their scorching light replaced by a damp, clinging darkness that smelled of mildew, cheap incense, and ozone. Bob lay sprawled on a hardwood floor so polished it reflected the pulsing, migraine-inducing glow of neon red and purple lights. His back was raw from the alien ship’s floor, his skin still tingling with the memory of synthetic lubricant.
Groaning, he pushed himself up. He was, predictably, naked again. The room was a parody of a Victorian parlor—velvet drapes hung rotten and frayed, a grand piano in the corner was stained with dark, unidentifiable fluids, and the walls seemed to breathe, veins of exposed wiring throbbing with a sickly green luminescence beneath the wallpaper. A low, constant hum vibrated through the floorboards, underpinned by the distant sound of a slapping noise, a sharp cry, and a groan of pleasure.
“Ohmygod, do you guys hear that? The EMF reader is going, like, totally berserk!”
A woman’s voice, high and theatrically tremulous, echoed from the hallway. Bob scrambled behind a moth-eaten fainting couch just as three figures burst into the room, accompanied by a cameraman wielding a shaky handheld light.
They were the ghost hunters. The leader was a raven-haired woman wearing a tiny black tank top that read “SPOOK BUSTERS” in glitter, and ripped fishnets. Silver chains, connected to heavy clasps, hung from her pierced nipples, jingling with every step. The other two wore similar themed outfits: one in a white lace nightie that was sheer enough to show her dark areolas, the other in a plaid skirt and a crop top, holding a buzzing, flashlight-like device that screeched with static.
“Holy shit, Stacia,” the one in the nightie gasped, pointing a trembling finger. “Look at the orbs!”
Floating in the air near the piano were three shimmering, vaguely humanoid shapes. They glowed with an internal light, shedding a dripping, viscous fluid that sizzled when it hit the floor. Ectoplasm.
Bob’s body moved. It stood up from behind the couch, presenting himself to the room. He didn’t will it. His limbs were puppeted by the same unseen force that had guided him on the ship.
“A manifesting entity!” shrieked the one in the plaid skirt, dropping her device. It clattered on the floor, still screeching.
The head ghost hunter, Stacia, narrowed her kohl-rimmed eyes. A slow, predatory smile spread across her blood-red lips. “Well, well. A male spirit. And a horny one, by the look of him.” She sauntered forward, the chains on her chest clinking. “You lost, sweetie? This house eats lonely souls for breakfast.”
The three glowing orbs coalesced, their forms solidifying into women who looked identical to the ghost hunters, but translucent and dripping with thick, pearlescent slime. The air temperature plummeted.
“We’re gonna suck the soul right outta ya,” the spectral Stacia moaned, her voice echoing as if from the bottom of a well.
Bob tried to speak, to explain about the desert, the aliens, the endless loop of abrasive titillation. His mouth opened. “I… I think there’s been a mistake.”
It was the wrong thing to say. The three physical women pounced. Stacia dropped to her knees in front of him, her cold hands grabbing his hips. The other two, whose names were evidently Chloe and Mandy, grabbed his arms, pinning him in place.
“No mistakes, ghost-boy,” Stacia whispered, her hot breath on him. Then her mouth descended.
It wasn’t a blowjob. It was an exorcism in reverse. Her lips formed a perfect seal and she began to suck with a vacuum-like force that made Bob’s eyes roll back in his skull. The sensation was impossible, pulling him from the root outward, a deep, marrow-draining suction that triggered an instantaneous, wrenching orgasm. He came, hard, but she didn’t stop. She swallowed, sucked, and pulled again, forcing a second, then a third eruption from him in rapid, painful succession. Fake cum dribbled from the corners of her stretched lips.
“He’s, like, super corporeal, Stacia!” Mandy giggled, squeezing his bicep.
The three ghostly duplicates floated closer. The spectral Chloe reached out a dripping hand and caressed the physical Chloe’s cheek. “So cold,” physical Chloe moaned. The ghost leaned in and kissed her, a deep, open-mouthed kiss that transferred globs of glowing ectoplasm from one mouth to the other. Physical Chloe gagged, then swallowed, her throat working convulsively as she drank the spectral slime. Her eyes shot open, pupils dilating into black pools. A string of the stuff dripped from her chin onto her sheer nightie.
The scene devolved into a wet, chiming chaos. Bob’s body, now semi-autonomous, shoved Stacia off his spent cock. He turned and pushed Mandy over the top of the piano. The ghostly Mandy swooped down, aligning herself with her physical counterpart. Bob drove into the physical Mandy from behind, while the ghostly Mandy pressed her ectoplasmic form over her, the slimy substance coating both of them, leaking into the joining of their bodies. Mandy screamed, her back arching, as the cold ghostly sensation mixed with the physical thrusting.
Stacia, recovering, grabbed her nipple chains and gave them a sharp, vicious yank. Her back arched, a shriek of pleasure-pain tearing from her throat as she climaxed from the pull alone. “YES! THE SPIRITS ARE CHANNELING THROUGH MY NIPS!”
Chloe, now covered in dripping ectoplasm, stumbled over. She and Stacia fell onto a rotting loveseat. Stacia shoved Chloe’s face between her legs while Chloe, in turn, aimed her own dripping pussy at Stacia’s mouth. They scissored and lapped, the ectoplasm acting as a bizarre, glowing lubricant that coated their thighs and chins.
Bob’s body left Mandy convulsing on the piano and stalked toward the loveseat. Stacia saw him coming. “The triple threat!” she crowed, pushing Chloe off her. She, Chloe, and the ghostly Stacia lined up on their knees, their mouths open. Bob’s body fed his cock into the first mouth, then the second, then into the dripping, cool orifice of the ghost, in a relentless, rhythmic sequence. The sounds were a symphonic slobber—gags, slurps, and the wet slap of flesh on ectoplasm.
He pulled out. He shoved Chloe onto her back and mounted her, the ectoplasm making every thrust a loud, squelching splash. Stacia crawled underneath, taking his balls into her mouth while Mandy, staggering over, lowered her dripping, ghost-coated breasts onto his face, smothering him in a triple tittyfuck that tasted of chemicals and salt.
The climaxes were relentless, theatrical. Chloe’s eyes crossed, her tongue lolling out in a perfect ahegao as she squirted a mixture of her own juices and ectoplasm all over Bob’s chest. Stacia came again from just sucking his balls, yanking her chains so hard the clasps drew beads of blood. The ghostly forms shuddered and rained ectoplasmic goo over everyone like a sticky, glowing shower.
Bob felt his own final release ripped from him, a hollow, exhausting spurt that left him trembling. He collapsed sideways onto the ectoplasm-slick floor, panting, staring up at the throbbing ceiling wires.
The cameraman zoomed in on his face. “Dude. That was, like, the most haunted thing I’ve ever seen.”
Stacia wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, smearing glitter and slime. “We definitely cleansed the shit out of this entity.” She poked Bob’s side with a booted toe. “He’s, like, totally drained. No more spiritual energy.”
The hum in the house shifted, deepening into that familiar, draining whine. The neon lights began to strobe. The ectoplasm on the floor started to evaporate into a mist that smelled of burning plastic and sex.
“Whoa, is that another portal?” Mandy whispered, pointing at a suddenly swirling vortex of light forming in the corner of the room.
Bob closed his eyes. The sticky chill of the haunted house floor melted away, replaced by a new, unfamiliar pressure on his back. The last sound he heard was Stacia’s voice, already moving on.
“Next week, guys, we investigate an abandoned asylum! It’s gonna be so fucking creepy!”