Chapter 35: College Buddies
The courtyard was the one part of the property that felt, if not safe, then at least less actively watched. The ivy was a mess and the stone bench was cold even through his jeans, but the late afternoon sun cut through the oak trees, dappling the flagstones with gold. It was a place to think, or to try to. Elias tapped his fingers on the wrought-iron table, waiting.
Mark showed up exactly on time, because of course he did. He looked the same as he had in college, just with more expensive shoes and a sharper haircut. He navigated the overgrown path with a bemused expression, his eyes taking in the crumbling statues and the general air of genteel decay.
“Thorne,” Mark said, a wide grin spreading across his face. “You weren’t kidding. This place is a monument to itself.” He pulled out the other chair and sat, leaning back. “So. This the big inheritance?”
“This is it,” Elias said, gesturing vaguely at the mansion looming behind them. “It’s… a lot.”
“I bet. So what’s the play? Tear it down, build condos? Please tell me you’re building condos. I know a guy.”
“It’s not for sale. And it’s… complicated. There are stipulations.” Elias leaned forward, choosing his words with the care of a man defusing a bomb. “I need to talk to you about something. Something off the record.”
Mark’s grin softened into a look of curious interest. “Okay. I’m listening. You in some kind of trouble?”
“No. Not trouble. It’s more of an… opportunity. A unique one.” Elias took a breath. “You remember how we used to talk about experiences? Real, raw, once-in-a-lifetime stuff that you can’t get anywhere else?”
“Yeah. The stuff that makes you feel alive.” Mark’s eyes narrowed slightly. “What are you selling, Elias?”
“I’m not selling anything. I’m offering an invitation. To a very exclusive kind of party.” He held up a hand before Mark could interrupt. “The people here… the residents… they’re unlike anyone you’ve ever met. They’re passionate. Uninhibited. They live for connection. And they’re looking for… guests. Willing participants who are open to adventure.”
Mark leaned back, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then he chuckled. “Dude. Are you running a cult? Because if you are, I’m out. My tolerance for Kool-Aid is zero.”
“It’s not a cult. Jesus.” Elias ran a hand through his hair. “Think of it as the ultimate immersive experience. No rules, no judgments. Just… pure id. You come in, you have a good time, you leave. Everyone gets what they want.”
“What do they get?” Mark asked, his tone shifting from skeptical to genuinely intrigued.
“Company. Energy. The thrill of the new.” Elias met his gaze. “It’s a trade. A fun one.”
Mark was silent for a long moment, his eyes scanning Elias’s face. He’d always been able to smell bullshit a mile away, but he also had a hunger for the unconventional. He finally let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “Okay. Keep talking.”
But Elias could see it in the slight tilt of his head, the way his fingers drummed a restless rhythm on the table. He was humoring him. The skepticism was a solid wall behind his eyes. This wasn’t working. He needed to break through, and that required a leap of faith he wasn’t sure Mark was willing to take.
“You think I’m full of it,” Elias stated, his voice flat. The sun dipped behind a cloud, plunging the courtyard into a sudden, cool shadow.
“I think you’ve been out here alone for too long,” Mark replied, not unkindly. “It’s a great pitch, really. Very exclusive. But come on, man.”
Elias leaned forward, his voice dropping, intensifying. “Mark. Seriously. Can you do something for me? Can you suspend your disbelief? Entirely. Just for the next few minutes.”
Mark studied him, the playful smirk finally fading from his face. He saw the intense, almost feverish look in Elias’s eyes, the same one he got during finals when he was three days deep on caffeine and no sleep. “Alright, man,” he said, holding up his hands in surrender. “Fine. Disbelief suspended. For the next few minutes, this is all real. What now?”
“Now we go inside.” Elias stood, his chair scraping against the stone. He led the way, pushing open the heavy oak door into the grand salon. The air inside was cool and still, thick with the scent of old wood and that faint, phantom perfume. Shadows clung to the high corners of the ceiling, and the grand chandelier hung silent and dark.
They sat in the two worn velvet armchairs facing the cold fireplace. Elias had planned this. He knew the script. “Remember in college,” he began, his voice calm and measured, “that fantasy you used to talk about all the time? The one that was your go-to after a few beers?”
Mark let out a loud, genuine laugh, the sound echoing in the vast room. “Which one? I had a lot of fantasies.” He leaned back, getting comfortable. “Oh, you mean the threesome. Yeah, of course. Two women at the same time. The classic.”
“Was there anything more to it than that?” Elias pressed, his gaze steady. “Any specifics?”
“Well, yeah,” Mark said, a grin spreading across his face as he warmed to the memory. “I mean, they’d have to be hot, obviously. And at least one of them should have big tits. I’m a simple man with simple needs.” As he spoke, the air behind his chair began to waver, like heat rising off summer asphalt. Two forms shimmered in and out of view, one with a busty figure and long chestnut hair, the other slender with shoulder-length black hair.
Elias watched them solidify for a heartbeat before fading again. His pulse was a dull thud in his ears. “So, let’s say they appeared. Right here, right now. Two women who fit that exact description. What would you do?”
Mark thought about it for a second, a lewd smile playing on his lips. “What would I do? I’d whip my cock out and start fucking them. Why waste time?” He shook his head, the smile turning wistful. “But it’s all pointless, man. What you’re describing is impossible. A nice dream, but—”
Then Carissa and Suzy appeared directly in front of him.
They weren’t shimmering or translucent. They were solid, real as the chair he was sitting in. Carissa stood with a hand on her hip, her tiny bikini a splash of bright color against her skin. Suzy, her chestnut hair cascading over her shoulders, looked Mark dead in the eye and squeezed her ample breasts together in her own bikini top.
“Sounds like a plan,” Suzy said, her voice a teasing, bubbly challenge that seemed to vibrate in the still air. “So it’s time for you to whip out that cock.”
Mark’s face went blank. All the color drained from it, leaving a waxy, pale mask. His jaw hung slack. He made a small, choked sound in the back of his throat, a half-gasp, half-gurgle of pure, unadulterated shock. He stared, his eyes wide and unblinking, refusing to process the two impossible women standing barely three feet away.
He stared, his eyes wide and unblinking, refusing to process the two impossible women standing barely three feet away. His brain stuttered, trying to fit them into a logical box. “Is this… some kind of hologram?” he finally managed, his voice thin and reedy. “A projection?”
His hand lifted, tentative and slow, reaching out toward Suzy’s shoulder. He clearly expected his fingers to phase through shimmering light and empty air. Instead, they met warm, yielding flesh. The shock of solid contact jolted up his arm. His instinctive, disbelieving grasp closed not on her shoulder, but around the soft curve of her breast.
Suzy let out a theatrical, mock-offended gasp, her green eyes sparkling with mischief. “Well, hello there,” she purred, not moving an inch away from his grip. “That’s one way to say hi. But I can think of a better one.”
With a fluid, confident motion, she reached behind her back and untied her bikini top. The tiny triangles of fabric fell away, and she tossed them casually over her shoulder. She presented herself to him, her posture proud and inviting. “See? Much better access.”
Carissa, without a word, mirrored the action in a show of effortless solidarity. Her own top joined Suzy’s on the floor, the simple act stripping away the last pretense of this being any kind of normal encounter. They stood before him, real and utterly exposed, their young bodies glowing in the salon’s dim light.
Mark’s hand was still frozen on Suzy’s breast. He looked from her to Carissa, his mind visibly short-circuiting. All his slick confidence had evaporated, replaced by the raw, primal awe of a man whose deepest fantasy had just physically manifested. “Oh, shit,” he breathed, the words full of reverence. “You’re real.”
“We’re real,” Carissa confirmed, her voice a softer counterpoint to Suzy’s bubbly energy. She stepped forward and placed her hands on his knees, leaning in. “And we’re all yours. For a little while.”
That broke the spell. Mark’s paralysis shattered into frantic, eager motion. He fumbled with his belt buckle, his hands shaking with a mixture of adrenaline and lust. He got his jeans open, pushing them and his boxers down his hips in one clumsy, desperate shove. His erection sprang free, already fully hard and eager.
Suzy laughed, a sound like chiming bells, and sank to her knees in front of him. “Now that’s what I’m talking about,” she said, wrapping her hand around him. She didn’t hesitate, lowering her head and taking him into her mouth with a practiced, enthusiastic ease that made his eyes roll back in his head.
Carissa moved behind the chair, her slender arms wrapping around his shoulders from behind. She nuzzled his neck, her cool lips and warm tongue tracing the line of his jaw. Her hands slid down his chest, exploring the tense, trembling muscles of his torso. He was trapped in a sensory vortex, moaning helplessly as Suzy’s mouth worked him over.
Elias watched from his armchair, the familiar, low hum of the house beginning to vibrate up through the floorboards. It was the same energy he’d felt with Perry in the basement, the same ancient machinery waking up to feed. He felt a strange, detached pride. His pitch had worked. The product was simply undeniable.
Mark’s composure completely unraveled. “Oh my god,” he grunted, his hips bucking involuntarily against Suzy’s face. His hands tangled in her long chestnut hair, not guiding, just holding on for dear life. “Don’t stop. Please.”
Suzy pulled back, a string of saliva connecting her lips to his tip. “We’re just getting started,” she grinned, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She looked at Carissa. “Switch?”
Carissa nodded, coming around from behind the chair. She pushed Mark back so he was fully seated, then straddled his lap in one smooth, athletic motion. She guided him inside her, sinking down with a sharp, satisfied intake of breath. Her head fell back, her black hair brushing his knees.
Mark cried out, a raw, guttural sound of pure pleasure. His hands gripped her hips, his knuckles white. He stared up at her, completely captivated, as she began to move, establishing a slow, rolling rhythm that was entirely her own.
Suzy knelt beside them, her hands roaming over Mark’s chest and stomach, her mouth finding his ear. “Yeah, you like that, don’t you?” she whispered, her voice hot against his skin. “You like watching her ride you while I play with you?”
He could only nod, his breath coming in ragged pants. His eyes were glazed, lost in the overwhelming reality of it. The house’s hum intensified, a deep thrum that seemed to resonate in Elias’s bones. He could almost see the energy, a faint, shimmering haze in the air, flowing from the entwined trio and into the very walls.
Carissa’s movements became more urgent, her breath hitching. She leaned forward, bracing her hands on his shoulders, her pace quickening.
She leaned forward, bracing her hands on his shoulders, her pace quickening. Her dark eyes were locked on his, wide and unfocused, as her body moved with a building, desperate rhythm. Mark’s grip on her hips tightened, his own movements becoming jerky and uncoordinated beneath her.
Carissa brought her lips to his ear, her breath a cool ghost against his feverish skin. “Quiero que me llenes,” she whispered, the Spanish words a soft, secret command. Then her entire body went rigid. A silent, shuddering scream seized her, her internal muscles clenching around him in a series of violent, pulsating waves.
The climax ripped through her with a force that seemed to steal the air from the room. She collapsed against his chest, her form flickering faintly with spent energy. Before Mark could even process her finish, Suzy was there.
She pushed Carissa off with a playful shove, not ungently, and took her place in his lap. “My turn,” she announced, guiding him back inside her with a practiced, efficient motion. She didn’t just ride him; she consumed him, her hips moving in a frantic, writhing dance that was all greedy possession.
Mark was lost, a passenger in his own body. He could only watch, mesmerized, as her full breasts swayed with her movements, her chestnut hair whipping around her shoulders. The building pressure in his groin became an unstoppable tide. With a choked, guttural cry, he came, his release shuddering through him as he emptied himself inside her.
Suzy rode out every last spasm, a look of profound, simple satisfaction on her face. Then, as if a switch had been flipped, she simply stopped. She climbed off his lap, gave a little shimmy, and plopped down cross-legged on the Persian rug. Carissa, having recovered her composure, settled beside her, leaning her head on Suzy’s shoulder.
They both looked at Mark, then at Elias, their expressions as casual as if they’d just discussed the weather. The transition from raw, spectral sensuality to placid normality was jarring.
Mark slumped back in the armchair, his chest heaving. He stared at the two women on the floor, then down at his own half-dressed state, a slow dawning of awe and calculation replacing the blissful haze in his eyes. He wiped a hand over his mouth, his breathing gradually slowing.
“Okay,” he panted, a slow, wicked grin spreading across his face. He looked from the spirits to Elias, his mind clearly already racing miles ahead. “So. How do we scale this?”
Mark’s question hung in the perfumed air, sharp and commercial, a stark contrast to the heavy scent of sex and spectral energy. Elias watched him, this college buddy now looking like a venture capitalist who’d just found the next disruptive tech. He felt a familiar weariness settle in his bones.
“Scale it?” Elias repeated, the words tasting flat. He gestured around the grand, silent salon. “We’re confined to the real estate, Mark. This isn’t an app. You can’t duplicate the servers.”
“But the concept,” Mark pressed, leaning forward, his eyes alight. He’d pulled his pants up but still looked thoroughly rumpled. “The demand for this would be insane. We could charge a fortune. Members-only access, vetting, the whole thing.”
“There’s also the screening,” Elias said, his voice low. He chose his next words carefully, avoiding the terminology that would shatter the fragile understanding. “I’m not running a brothel. The… talent… has to want whomever they’re with. It’s not a transaction. It’s a connection.”
From her spot on the rug, Carissa stretched like a cat, a sly smile playing on her lips. “He’s right,” she said, her gaze flicking to Mark. “There was some pre-screening involved here. Elias told us about you. Showed us pictures.” She gave a casual, one-shouldered shrug. “We knew ahead of time that we would be eager to fuck you.”
Mark blinked, the businessman in him momentarily stunned into silence by the blunt, supernatural logistics. A slow, proud grin spread across his face. “You showed them my picture?”
“It’s part of the process,” Elias said flatly. “It’s not just about you wanting them. They have to want you, too. That’s the bottleneck. That’s the limit.”
“So we get a portfolio going,” Mark said, his mind already adapting, solving. “We curate a client list. The residents here… they get to browse. It’s like a dating app, but with way, way better first dates.” He looked over at Carissa and Suzy, who were now whispering to each other and giggling. “You guys would be into that, right? Picking who you want to… hang out with?”
Suzy looked up, her expression mischievous. “As long as they’re not boring,” she said, popping a bubble of gum Elias was sure hadn’t been there a moment before. “And they have to be fun. And reasonably well hung.”
Elias massaged his temples. “This is what I’m talking about. It’s not a perfect system.”
“But it’s a system,” Mark insisted, his voice buzzing with excitement. He stood up, pacing in front of the cold fireplace. “We can work with this. A private membership. Exclusive, discreet. My God, the people I could introduce to this.” He stopped and turned to Elias, his expression utterly serious. “You have no idea what you’re sitting on here. This isn’t an inheritance. It’s a gold mine.”
Elias let out a slow breath, the sound swallowed by the room’s oppressive grandeur. Mark’s eyes were practically spinning with dollar signs, seeing a revenue stream where Elias saw a precarious, breathing ecosystem. “The money is part of it, sure,” Elias conceded, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. “Property taxes on this place are no joke, and the repair list is a nightmare. But it’s not the main thing.”
“Then what is?” Mark asked, his tone shifting from exuberant to genuinely curious. He leaned against the marble mantelpiece, finally looking at the house itself, not just its potential for profit.
“The house… runs on a certain kind of fuel,” Elias began, choosing his words with deliberate care. He gestured vaguely at the air around them. “It needs energy. A specific frequency of it. It comes from… well, from enthusiastic sexual activity. The more intense, the better.”
Mark stared at him, his brow furrowed in genuine confusion. He opened his mouth, then closed it, clearly trying to fit this new, bizarre parameter into his business model. “Okay… so we’re… what? Harvesting orgasms? Is that the product?”
From her spot on the floor, Carissa let out a soft, melodic laugh. “You’re still not getting it, are you?” She stood up in one fluid, effortless motion, her dark eyes locking onto Mark’s. “We’re not employees. We’re the infrastructure.” She took a step toward him, her form solid and undeniable. “We’re ghosts, Mark. All of us. We died.”
The word landed in the silent room with the weight of a tombstone.
Mark’s confident posture deflated. He looked from Carissa’s serious face to Suzy’s casual shrug, then back to Elias, who simply gave a tired, confirming nod. The last vestiges of his slick, business-ready reality crumbled. “Ghosts,” he repeated, the word a hollow echo. He didn’t argue. After what he’d just experienced, disbelief was a luxury he could no longer afford.
“We can’t just conjure any type of person you want,” Carissa continued, her voice matter-of-fact. “You get who lives here. That’s the roster.” A sly smile touched her lips. “That said, there is a wide variety. We’ve been collecting for a long, long time.”
Mark absorbed this, his mind visibly recalibrating. The sheer impossibility of it all seemed to have short-circuited his skepticism, leaving only a raw, bewildered acceptance. He slowly sank back into his armchair, the leather creaking under his weight. “Okay,” he breathed, his voice barely a whisper. “Ghosts. Right.”
Suzy popped her gum, breaking the heavy silence. “So,” she said, her eyes sparkling with impish delight. “Can we mention our ‘secret weapon’ yet?”
Elias pinched the bridge of his nose, a wave of profound exhaustion washing over him. He knew what was coming. He gave a curt, resigned nod. “Yeah. Go ahead. Let’s get it all out there.”
Suzy grinned and turned toward the center of the room. “Tucker!” she called out, her voice echoing slightly in the vast space. “Showtime!”
The air in the middle of the grand salon shimmered, distorting like a heat haze over asphalt. Then, with a faint crackle of static, a man solidified. He had shaggy, sun-bleached blonde hair and a stocky, powerful frame stuffed into a Motley Crue t-shirt and baggy acid-washed jeans. He looked like he’d just walked out of a 1985 concert.
Tucker Bonner looked around, his gaze landing on Mark. A lopsided, confident grin split his face. Without a word of greeting, he unbuttoned his jeans, shoved them down his hips, and whipped out his cock. It was thick, veined, and indisputably, impressively nine inches long flaccid.
“So,” Tucker said, his voice a gravelly baritone. “You the money guy? You know how to market this?”
Mark’s mouth fell open. He stared, utterly transfixed, at the sheer, audacious display. All his slick marketing pitches and business jargon evaporated from his brain, leaving only a blank, stunned silence. He looked from Tucker’s proud offering to Elias’s resigned face and back again.
“I… uh…” Mark stammered, finally finding his voice. He cleared his throat, trying to regain some semblance of composure. “So the… the recharging. How does that work, exactly? Is it just… that?” He gestured weakly toward Tucker, who gave his hips a little thrust.
“It’s the energy released,” Elias explained, his tone clinical, trying to ground the surreal conversation. “The culmination. The more powerful, the more… shared… the better for the house.” He could see Mark was still struggling to visualize the mechanics, to see past the absurdity to the system beneath.
Elias turned to Carissa, who was watching him with a knowing, patient expression. “Would you mind?” he asked her quietly. “A demonstration?”
A slow, sensual smile spread across Carissa’s face. “I’d love to.” She walked over to Elias’s armchair and gracefully settled into his lap, straddling him, her back to Mark. She wrapped her arms around Elias’s neck, her dark hair curtaining their faces for a moment as she whispered something that made him nod.
Then Elias’s hand slipped beneath the waistband of her bikini bottom.
He didn’t rush. His movements were practiced, his fingers finding their mark with an intimate knowledge that spoke of practice. Carissa’s breath hitched. Her back arched, pressing her chest against his. A soft, shuddering sigh escaped her lips, then another, sharper one.
Her eyes fluttered closed. Her hips began to move in tiny, involuntary circles against his hand, her whole body tensing like a drawn bowstring. Elias watched her face, his expression focused, almost detached, as he worked her with a precise, relentless rhythm.
Carissa’s quiet gasps escalated into sharp, pleading cries. Her fingers dug into his shoulders. “Yes… right there… don’t stop…” Her body began to tremble, the vibrations traveling through Elias’s own frame. The air in the room grew thick, charged, humming with a pressure that made the fine hairs on Mark’s arms stand up.
Elias turned them around so Carissa was in the chair and he was facing away from Mark. He used the leverage to drive into her, his fingers curling up to caress her g spot.
Soon, she broke.
A raw, screaming climax tore from her throat, a sound of pure, unadulterated release that seemed to shake the dust from the chandelier. Her body convulsed in Elias’s lap, her form blazing with a sudden, brilliant white light. As the waves of her orgasm peaked, the energy exploded outward.
All throughout the grand salon, figures flickered into existence.
Dozens of them. They lined the walls, filled the shadowy corners, stood on the grand staircase. A woman in a Victorian gown stood next to a man in a 19th-century dandy suit. Richard and Carol from the 70s shimmered near the fireplace, holding hands and watching with avid interest. Mary Callaghan, her form still faint and hands-only, coalesced near a bookcase. The room, moments ago occupied by four people, was now a crowded parliament of the dead, all visible, all solid for a breathtaking moment.
The collective presence was overwhelming, a silent, staring audience to Carissa’s spent, panting form as she slumped against Elias’s chest.
Mark sat frozen in his chair, his face a canvas of utter astonishment. He had seen the product. He had seen the manufacturing process. He had seen the entire supply chain, laid bare in one shocking, visceral display. He looked at the assembled spirits, then at Elias, who was gently helping a trembling, smiling Carissa to her feet.
He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. A slow, determined smile finally broke through his shock. It wasn’t the grin of a businessman anymore. It was the grin of a convert.
“I’m in,” Mark said, his voice firm and clear, cutting through the quiet. “However this ends up working. I’m absolutely in.”