The mansion looked as spooky as expected. A trifle more colorful than normal for a haunted house, perhaps, but still spooky.
“I like the facade,” Lamia Rearadoora commented airily, cupping her chin in thought. “Interesting. Greco-Nipple columns and a dominant fresco out front. Also, lots of red paint. What do you think, Fidget?”
“I think it looks like garbage,” Lamia's dwarven assistant scoffed, voice haughty but tinged with fear. “And this job is garbage. We should find something else to do. C'mon, we don't really need the money, right? We have enough coin for a flophouse as it is.”
Lamia tossed her raven hair over her shoulders and planted her hands on her hips, scowling. “You're such a little shit. Yes, we have enough for a flophouse, but I'd like to stay somewhere nice for a change. The last dump you found was full of bedbugs. Took three cleansing spells just to clean my mattress enough to sleep in it. I want a proper bed, and with the pull from this gig I can get it.”
“But… I don't want to die...”
Lamia scoffed. The mansion – 1 Scrumptious Road, the only home on its countryside stretch – was not half as dangerous-looking as many of the places they'd visited. It was ominous, sure, those same columns she'd admired earlier cracked and covered in snaking vines, the painting of frolicking angels faded and ghostly, the windows oozing darkness, but it hardly looked threatening. Compared to Nympho Peak, or the Funkalicious Coast, or Vagina Valley, or, hells, even the raucous pub where they'd eaten dinner, it was positively inviting.
Though the long gashes of red paint decorating the front did look a bit like blood. Not enough to stop Lamia, or even slow her down a whole lot, but the comparison lingered in her mind for a while.
“The client wants us to go in,” Lamia reminded the dwarf, “so we go in. We're getting ten thousand for this exorcism. And there might not even be anything to exorcise! Man up.”
“I don't know why anybody would want to live in a place like this,” Fidget grumbled, but he hitched up the massive pack on his back and took a few tentative steps forward, reaching out to cling to Lamia's swishing cape. The cape lifted a bit too much, though, and she smacked him for (presumably) staring at her ass.
Fidget took every opportunity he could to stall the long walk up the mansion's dirt road, and Lamia, rolling her eyes, waited him out by reviewing the details of the case in her head. The mansion was thoroughly haunted, she'd been told by her client, though only by a single phantasm. 'How did they know it was only one ghost?' She'd asked. 'You can't really know that if you don't know any magic.'
'Because,' the client confided, 'it kept stealing the maid's panties.'
'The maid's…' Lamia coughed. 'Panties. The maid's panties. You know it's the same phantom because it stole the maid's panties.'
'Oh, yes.' The client, an elderly man with a stiff mustache, nodded fretfully. 'Stole them five, six times a day, I'd say. Same times every day. One minute she'd be flouncing about in her skimpy little outfit, free as a bird with her drink tray, and the next? Those panties would be winding down one leg and slipping off her foot! Flew away into the attic, never to be seen again! The owner had to pay for so much underwear that he decided it was easier to simply flee the home! Dreadful, simply dreadful.'
'Oh.' Lamia had confidently risen from her seat to give the gentleman a full look at her lithe body, showcasing both armored bra and armored thong. 'Well, as you can see, my panties are firmly affixed to my ass. So I should be fine. Did the ghost do anything else to make you think there was only one?'
'Umm…' The client considered the question over-long, eyes roaming freely from Lamia's pert breasts to her slender, supple legs. 'Oh, I suppose it killed about a dozen butlers by stringing their entrails along the rear topiary garden.'
Lamia blinked. 'Lead with that next time.'
That same garden came into view as they approached the front steps of the mansion, though Lamia couldn't spot evidence of guts on any of the overgrown plants. It was a sizable collection, full of curiously-well-defined animals: two bears, a gryphon, a dog, a horse, a dragon, and a string of smaller mice, gambolling silently around the feet of the rest. They all seemed to be staring at Lamia and Fidget, their green, leafy eyes alert and accusatory.
“How… how long as this place been abandoned…?” Fidget swung his pack around like a shield, holding it in front of himself.
“Two decades, the guy said.” Lamia bit her lip and crossed her arms. “Yeah. I know what you're thinking. They should be overgrown by now. Well, that's no reason to fret – might be some spell keeping them trim.”
“You mean like the one you use to cut your pubi - “
Lamia cracked Fidget hard against the back of his head. Ignoring the topiaries, she strode briskly towards the front door. It was hanging loosely by a single hinge, its upper half collapsing into the door frame, and Lamia kicked it open with a swift boot heel. The wood splintered apart under the impact -
- and the moment it did, something behind the house rumbled.
Lamia paused, glancing between the columns in front of the house. She spotted only the omnipresent woods surrounding the estate, and no signs of movement, but something had changed back there. She was certain of it, if only because Fidget, too, had noticed, and his feet were now clicking together nervously.
“Go check,” Lamia insisted.
“You go check,” Fidget countered. He clung to his master's leg, and rubbed his face a little too far up her right thigh, almost burying his nose in her crotch. She kicked him away.
“I'm paying you to do shit other than carry the backpack.” Lamia winced as the something behind the house rumbled again. “This is it. Go. Or you're fired.”
“But I'll… I'll… I'll...” Fidget dove for her leg again.
Cursing under her breath, Lamia sidestepped the dwarf and raised a finger. She called upon the power of her deity, Zoot, and wove a quick, simple charm in the air, drawing on Zoot's glory to heft Fidget with an invisible hand. He wailed, probably assuming he was dead already, and the pitch of the wail increased dramatically as Lamia waggled her fingers and sent him flying towards the right side of the house. He landed in a bush -
- and screamed, as a topiary rat dove in after him.
“Oh,” Lamia said to herself, nodding. “That makes sense. I guess.”
Fidget was fast, Lamia had to give him that much. Before the rat could rake the dwarf with its brambly claws he'd rolled out of the bush and hopped to his feet, scurrying back down the dirt path towards town with all the speed he could manage. More of the rats, each almost as big as Fidget himself and far more menacing, chased quietly after him in pursuit, the only noise they made the rustle of leaves in a light breeze. By contrast, Fidget's howl echoed across the countryside long after he'd disappeared.
Lamia shrugged. Guess I'm out of distractions. Oh well. Wouldn't want his guts strung up in the garden anyway. She turned to the door -
- and found a very large, very angry-looking bear topiary staring down at her. It had somehow managed to crunch its head into the crooked doorframe without a sound, and it leered at her, body comically wedged into a too-small space.
“You...” Lamia pursed her lips. “You wouldn't happen to have a thing for panties, would you?”
The bear didn't reply audibly. Instead, it reached its leafy arms out and around Lamia, pulling her into a tight embrace. Everything went dark, though Lamia did not lose consciousness, and she wondered just what she'd gotten herself into this time.
~~~
The bear did not carry Lamia far, but it was far enough. By the time it dropped her on the floorboards of 1 Scrumptious Road she'd already lost all sense of direction, and as the bear broke apart into a heap of twigs and dried leaves it didn't bother to offer directions.
“Fine!” Lamia kicked at the remains of the topiary angrily, though because it was so dark in the house she slipped and fell on her ass again. “Fuck! Stupid bears! I don't care if there are bears with two penises, you fuckers aren't cool! Hear me? You aren't cool!”
The bear didn't respond, because it was now a heap of leaves. But the house responded, creaking loudly from multiple directions, and Lamia shut her mouth. A slight breeze whistled along Lamia's skin, and she cocked an eyebrow, searching for the source. Nothing on the ground floor hinted at an avenue of escape, however, and only darkness greeted her eyes wherever she turned her head.
“Great,” she grumbled, dusting a few errant leaves off of her legs. “Fucking fantas - “
Suddenly, something unseen tugged on the drawstring of Lamia's thong. Locked by magic, though, the thong remained snugly in place. Lamia whirled around all the same, hands raised warningly, but she found nothing behind her.
The house creaked again.
Putting a lid on her rage as much as she could, Lamia got to her feet. The floorboards moaned under each step, and she winced, suddenly rather aware just how wide a space she was in. The mansion's interior was, as far as she could tell in this pale darkness, utterly vast: despite the occasional sliver of light slipping through cracks in the walls she didn't have a clue whether she was standing in a spacious lobby, an enormous dining room, an entertainment chamber for orgies, or anything else besides.
The phantom – and there probably was some form of poltergeist in here, because topiaries didn't usually come to life on their own – could be anywhere. The thought filled her with dim unease.
Raising a finger, Lamia cast a spell, and a tiny puff of light popped out of her finger and hovered alongside her. It wasn't much, but it helped her avoid the remains of the bear topiary, and she picked a direction at random and started walking. If I walk long enough I'll find something. Makes sense, right? The place can't be endless.
The mansion creaked. It sounded like a cruel giggle to Lamia. Unseen forces tugged on the drawstring of her thong again, and the metal front tipped forward ever so slightly.
Lamia's slow tiptoes – she couldn't help but tiptoe, even though whatever inhabited the house obviously knew she was there – brought her to a wall with only a few moments of exploration. It looked as barren and cracked as the mansion's facade, and she ran her fingers along the surface, drinking in the sensation of pure age. It was a very old house, that was obvious, and she shivered a little as the scent of mould caught her nose.
Lamia explored. It was fruitless, but she explored. The mansion was much larger on the inside than on the outside, filled with what seemed like dozens of rooms. Each was fully-stocked with old, decaying furniture and hundreds of demolished personal items, the kind of stuff you'd expect from the home of the rich and the famous. Everywhere she went Lamia felt eyes on her, peering out of the darkness from every direction, but she couldn't seem to draw her pursuer out of hiding, regardless of the spells she wove to locate the fiend.
Just likes to watch, she thought, rooting through a musty chest in someone's bedroom. Judging by the contents of the chest – a heap of old, empty perfume bottles – it had probably belonged to a woman. Well, fine. It can watch all it wants. I know how to draw out perverts.
Grabbing the smoothest perfume bottle she could find, Lamia peered around the room. The bed itself had moldered long ago, leaving only a rickety bed frame. Not much, but it was enough. Closing her eyes, Lamia called on Zoot again, and the goddess responded to Lamia's quick incantations and finger-waving by creating a translucent green mattress. It plopped softly onto the bed frame, and Lamia cast another quick spell to reinforce the aged wood.
The mansion creaked questioningly.
Stretching and sighing deep in her chest, Lamia crossed the room slowly, each movement and footstep slow and sinewy. She ran a finger down the length of the glass perfume bottle, and after a whisper of an incantation the grime coating the bottle floated away, leaving it nicely-polished. Lamia smirked, unclasped her cape, and reclined on the bed, bobbing gently on its half-fabric, half-liquid surface.
The mansion was so quiet that Lamia heard her own heartbeat. It was a step higher than normal, though still calm, still in control. The unseen force again tugged on her drawstring, and the whole room seemed to contract around her, as though every worn floorboard and dust mote was staring her down.
“Well,” Lamia crooned, gently flicking her light source away to an orbit over the bed, “I guess if no one's here, then… I might as well get comfortable...”
Tilting the perfume bottle to her lips, admiring the slight scent of roses that flowed out of the neck, Lamia breathed an incantation. Her warm breath slid into the bottle not as gas but as liquid, an oozing goo as white as milk but far, far thicker. She held the bottle over her chest, and several drops of the goo slipped past the magical containment she'd imposed and beaded onto the skin of her breasts, snaking down and puddling in the soft curvature of her cleavage.
The mansion moaned. The tugging on Lamia's panties became more insistent.
Grinning, Lamia raised the bottle to her face and licked the lip. She ran her tongue along the length of the thin cylinder, moaning lightly. She smoothed her belly with her free hand, running trails around her bared bellybutton, then slowly, ever so slowly, inched her way towards her panties. She idly flicked the top of the metal thong, pulling the tip of the perfume bottle into her mouth for a lasting suckle.
Lamia's underwear jostled insistently under her touch, and she could feel invisible fingers pulling the metal taut against her buttocks, trying desperately to drag it down her legs. Grinning indulgently, Lamia winked -
- and the drawstring holding the panties together loosened. She arched her legs, and her thong slipped along her creamy thighs and shot into the air. It dangled, suspended from nothing Lamia could see, at the foot of the bed. She suspected that she could weave a spell to see the gawker at this point, but Lamia didn't want to ruin the moment by scaring her prey.
She chuckled. “Impatient. I guess you've been waiting a long-ass time, though, right? I had better give you a good show.”
Placing the neck of the bottle back into her mouth with a grateful sigh, bits of warm liquid trickling onto her tongue, Lamia spread her legs wide and slid two fingers down her crotch. It was, unsurprisingly, wet, and she guided her middle finger along the moist lips of her pussy and up to her clit. The touch of her fingertips against that sensitive, fleshy nub sent a jolt of electricity up her spine, and she arched her back, releasing the perfume bottle with a little gasp. A tiny waterfall of goo oozed out of the bottle and down her neck, leaving a warm, wet trail in its wake.
Lamia's thong jerked in the air, seeming almost uncertain about its course. It sagged, then rose, then sagged again, lower and lower, and as it did Lamia felt a tingle of cold run along her ankles and calves, right through her boots. She shivered, goosebumps rising along her bared flesh.
Lamia smiled. “Mmmmm, I think someone wants in on the action after all… well, they'll have to join in before I'm done...”
Lamia rubbed her clit more insistently, the pleasure counterbalancing the creeping cold, and as the flame of slow orgasm mounted something pushed her legs wide open. She pulled the perfume bottle deep into her mouth, moving her body in rhythmic arcs as she fingered herself, the mixture of hot and cold on her pussy a strange and sensational contrast. She slipped a finger into her vagina -
- and a second finger, not her own, joined it. It felt like someone had slid an ice cube into her, and she jolted upward, shrieking mild surprise. Then, slowly, she settled back down into the bed, moaning more loudly as the phantom's invisible finger moved deeper inside her, bypassing flesh and bone to probe at the spongy wetness of her sex. Lamia twitched wildly, climaxing almost at once, the heat welling up in her legs and belly strong enough to smother the chill creeping along her skin.
Lamia's hold on the perfume bottle broke. The white liquid inside splashed out, filling her mouth with sticky sweetness. She drank deeply, savoring every drop, opening her mouth at the last to proudly display a pool of mystic ooze on her tongue. She swallowed, and the entire mansion seemed to moan along with her.
Then, all at once, the coldness in her limbs vanished. The prodding presence inside her sex pulled away, leaving behind a pleasurable – but still longing, still unsatisfied – ache, and Lamia blinked, dipping the perfume bottle to her chest.
Her panties, still suspended in the air, fluttered happily. Then, with a parting flap, they glided quietly out of the room.
Head whirling, Lamia staggered to her feet, dispelling her bed as she did. Pushing past the swirl of emotional heat that threatened to clog her senses she summoned the ball of light to her side again and followed the thong back into the main room, both exultant at her success and worried that the ghost might already be done with her.
It was not. The panties were still within sight, a few meters away. She walked towards them, and they sailed several meters further out of her reach. A few more steps, a few more meters. Each time Lamia stopped they flapped invitingly to her, egging her on.
Lamia grinned devilishly. Got your attention. Now, lead me to your little panty den so we can really get this party started.
~~~
Lamia's underwear stopped hesitating once it was obvious that she would follow. Flying happily through the darkness it led her to a rickety set of stairs, dipping close to the floor to reveal cracks and holes that might otherwise injure the sorceress. She tiptoed around the flaws and up to the second floor.
“Damned decent of you,” Lamia breathed, painfully aware that her voice was still the giddy croon of a horny teenager. “Got your own room, then? Somewhere we can have more fun?”
The mansion creaked and tittered, and the panties flew onward, past a broken railing and down a hallway. Lamia gave chase on unsteady legs, navigating past crumbled furniture, through an emptied sitting room, into what looked like an old pantry, and into a small side chamber. Things flickered and moved in the darkness around her, but she knew she was in no danger at this point, and she focused on the panties, ignoring the gloom.
There was one specter she could not avoid, however: the second bear topiary. It was waiting for her as she entered the side chamber, and as she jolted to a halt the bear bowed low, crunching loudly. With one massive paw it reached up to the ceiling… and, grasping a pull string, it heaved. A set of stairs emerged from the ceiling and creaked down, half-crushing the bear into the wall.
The stairs led into darkness. As soon as the way was open, the thong shot up the stairs and into that darkness.
Lamia swallowed. Despite the ache and need still pervading her nether regions she felt a tingle of unease. She'd been safe in the house, that was sure, but this was different. The darkness up these stairs felt alive, and wild, and powerful, as though it weren't inhabited by a ghost, but was, itself, a living, breathing, lustful thing. She would be satisfied by going up here, yes, but… sometimes there was such a thing as being too satisfied.
Her thong did not reappear. The house creaked another question.
“Yeah, fine,” Lamia muttered, forcing steel into her voice. “But you'd better know now that I don't like rutting in the dark.”
The stairs creaked under her feet, a combination of ancient wood and crackling branches from the remains of the crushed topiary. When Lamia reached the top the stairs snapped shut behind her, and a rustle of leaves somewhere below suggested that the second bear was done for. She tapped the raised stairs lightly, to test for any give, but they remained firmly locked in place.
Lamia looked around.
The attic was smaller than she'd expected for such a large house, and most of it was occupied by clutter: old steamer trunks, empty shipping crates, some dilapidated furniture, several headless mannequins, and a body-length mirror spiderwebbed with cracks. It was dusty and dark, without even a sliver of light peaking in from the outside world, and Lamia sent her ball of light outward on a tight arc to investigate.
It didn't take long for her to discover the panties.
They were pinned against a wall, above a heap of old, moth-eaten rags, displayed as reverently as trophies in a display case. There were large panties and small panties, granny panties and thongs, blue panties and white panties and green panties, lacy panties and showy panties and crotchless panties, panties of every make and design imaginable, and the only thing they all had in common was their age. Each looked as ragged and faded as the rest of the house, some so thoroughly worn that Lamia could only assume they'd been panties.
Only one pair looked complete, and that was her own thong. It was pinned right in the middle of the rest, the metal plate on the front gleaming dully in the light from Lamia's whirling magic.
“Quite a collection,” Lamia said, stroking her chin. “Seen better days, though.”
The mansion sagged in the wind, an almost depressed motion.
Lamia reached out and touched the front of her thong. She was, she'd suddenly realized, rather chilly without it, the warmth of her orgasm long faded. “I guess I can't have these back?”
There was no response, but when Lamia tugged on the panties they remained firmly affixed to the wall. Answer enough.
Stepping away from the wall, eyes on the heap of rags on the floor, Lamia bit her lip. She knew what she had to do, but the exorcism required seeing the ghost, feeling the ghost, and if it wasn't showing itself in its own lair then she needed to coax the thing out of hiding somehow. She knew it wanted some sort of repeat performance, but -
The house creaked. Not just a general creak, either – something had moved.
Lamia's breath caught as she turned to investigate, and the first thing she spotted was the body-length mirror. She saw herself in the cracked mirror, she saw dozens of herself, and for a split second she admired her long, sleek legs and smoothed belly. But then she saw more, she saw something behind her, something moving, and she whirled again as cold wood pressed against her shoulder.
Lamia shrieked. But there was nothing there. Or, at least, there wasn't at first glance. But then she looked down half an inch, and she saw the chest of a mannequin, so close that it brushed against her armored breasts with a faint 'tink', and she jumped back.
Another mannequin was behind her. It caught her in polished wooden hands, rocking backward to support her body. One hand snaked down to pinch Lamia's bottom through her cape, and she whacked it away, the motion born of too many days spent with Fidget and his grasping fingers.
The mannequins closed on Lamia, sandwiching her between them. The house murmured softly, purring, as the first mannequin slipped its hands under Lamia's armpits and groped for the string of her bra. As it did, Lamia felt the stirring, the tap, of something on her belly, and as she glanced down she noticed the thick weight of a wooden penis pressed against her. The mannequin at her rear pushed her cape aside, and a second penis slid into the crevice of her buttocks, rubbing anxiously.
“Usually when I do this,” Lamia commented dryly, feeling at last as though she was in familiar territory, “I have something in my mouth.”
The mannequins didn't respond, but the house tittered, as if in promise, and before Lamia could do anything else the mannequins lifted her into the air between them, surprisingly strong despite their thin limbs. They arched their pelvises beneath her, and she wrapped her legs around the mannequin in the front, boot heels clicking together behind its back.
“Okay,” she said, rolling her eyes. “But first, two things.”
The mannequins hesitated, waiting. Lamia waved a finger in the air as she braced herself against the rear mannequin, and all of the grime and dust coating their wooden bodies lifted away and disappeared. They looked as nicely-polished as the day they'd been made, if a little more cracked in places.
The mannequin in front pushed forward, sliding its penis against the still-wet folds of her pussy, tip probing for entrance. The mannequin in the rear did likewise, pushing its length along Lamia's ass to find the pucker of her rear door.
“I said two things,” Lamia chided, smacking the front mannequin hard enough that it stopped. She waved her finger again, and this time a thin coating of white liquid – the same liquid she'd drank earlier – appeared as a thick, gooey wrapper around both penises. Most of the lubricant slopped to the floor, but it was enough to thoroughly coat the mannequins as they pressed up against her. “There. Obviously you've never done anal befo-”
The first mannequin didn't wait for Lamia to finish her sentence. Rubbing eagerly, it rammed its thick member into her cunt with expert accuracy. Lamia jerked upward at the motion, a surprised scream slipping out of her lips which quickly transformed into a deep moan. The mannequin pounded her in its bucking arms, dipping low with each motion and thrusting deep into her, the tip caressing the deepest regions of her pussy over and over, in and out, in and out.
“Oh… sweet… fuck...” Lamia bit her lip so hard that a tiny bead of blood dripped out. “W… wow… I… need to get… one… of… these...”
The jackhammering was so intense that Lamia barely noticed the second mannequin creeping its own member into position. Supporting her bucking ass in both hands the mannequin pressed against her hole, easing its dripping penis further and further inside, showing a great deal more gentleness – or at least restrain – than the first mannequin. Lamia did not realize she was being penetrated from both sides until the second mannequin made its first, determined thrust, half of its stiff cock buried in Lamia's ass.
Lamia shrieked. She'd been fucked in the ass before, of course, but never before with something so stiff and unyielding. It was painful, but it was painful only because it was different, and she rocked her bottom in rhythm with the two mannequins, the discomfort slowly but surely giving way to the usual buoy of pleasure. Her breasts rocked freely, and the first mannequin, propping her on its impossibly-strong legs, reached up to grope them. The sensation of her nipples being pinched mounted so much pleasure on the pain that soon Lamia was smiling stupidly, forehead practically painted in sweat.
“Oh… oh god… f… fuck… fuck me...” She panted hard, struggling to get the words out of her lips, then laughed briefly as one of the mannequins – she couldn't even tell which one – slid two fingers into her mouth. She sucked on the ends, reminded at once of popsicle sticks.
The relentless pounding from both ends had its intended effect within mere moments, and Lamia, screaming around the fingers in her mouth, orgasmed. The wetness of her pussy flowed freely along the first mannequin's slick cock, mixing with the lube she'd conjured, and the mannequin gathered a liberal amount onto its fingertips and slipped it back into her mouth. The pure kink of her own taste sent Lamia into another spiral of orgasms, and every inch of her body felt like it was on fire.
This, she thought, is probably what love feels like. But without the emotional shit. I have got to get me some fucking mannequins. Ha haaaa, 'fucking' mannequins? Is that a pun? Damned if I know.
The mannequins were relentless. They fucked Lamia for what seemed like an eternity, hammering both sides of her with an intensity she'd never felt before, an intensity she knew she could never get from a living creature. They were the ultimate sex toys, cocks forever erect, a thousand times better than any auto-dildo Lamia could conjure on her own. They asked for nothing, only gave, and Lamia rode their wooden pleasure in a sea of heady joy, screaming her ecstasy so loudly that anyone walking by the mansion might have thought she was a banshee.
Thoroughly drilled, Lamia lost all sense of time. She drifted, and thought of nothing.
Lamia was not aware that the mannequins had stopped for several minutes, long after they'd set her, shuddering, onto the ground. She could still feel the phantom push of the twin cocks, one in her pussy and one in her ass, caressing her most sacred of areas, and the sensation did not die away completely until Lamia realized that the room was now filled with light. Not her own light, that had disappeared in the midst of fucking the mannequins, but a weird, blue, ghostly light.
“Lamia Rearadoora,” a hollow voice breathed, “I think you're ready for me now.”
~~~
For once in her life, Lamia was at a loss for words. Eyes glazed, she stared stupidly at the ghost from her happy crumple on the floor, legs askance, her own juices dripping so liberally from her crotch that they darkened the floorboards.
The ghost was a blue-and-white creature, floating a few inches off the ground, resembling a portly man with puffy cheeks in his forties or fifties. His simple clothes looked like they belonged to another age, cut in an archaic, stiff-necked style Lamia had only seen in paintings. The two mannequins stood on either side of him, still stiffly at attention, a pair of perverse honor guards.
The ghost smiled greedily at her, waving a hand over her eyes. “Hello? Anybody there?”
Lamia gurgled something unintelligible.
The ghost chortled, rubbing his crotch. His pants faded away, revealing a pair of flabby, semi-transparent legs and a penis too large for a man of his size. He stroked himself almost absently. “Good to see I'm still in practice. It's been a while.”
“Arghlabsds,” Lamia sputtered.
Reaching for her arm, the ghost pulled Lamia to her feet, legs shaking. He was almost half a foot shorter than her, and compensated by floating slightly higher. His touch was the same icy cold as when he'd fingered her earlier, and the memory pulled Lamia even deeper into the throes of mindless passion.
“I know you're here to exorcise me,” the ghost said. He crooked a finger, and Lamia's thong flew off of the wall, settling into a lazy orbit around the pair. “But I'm not ready yet. True, I'm tired of sitting up here on my own, only able to spy on people from afar, but my lusts shall not be satiated yet. I have plans, you see - ”
“D… dummies,” Lamia muttered.
The ghost cocked a bushy eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
Lamia pointed to the mannequins standing sentinel, finger wavering slightly. “I… want… dummies...”
The ghost grinned. He moved in close to Lamia, sidling up behind her, his paunch sliding through her back. He slid one arm under her armpit, cupping her left breast in a semi-tangible grip. Her nipple perked immediately from the cold touch, pebbling fiercely, and Lamia straightened with a gasp, mind clearing a touch, as he fondled her.
“My, they really had an effect on you, didn't they?” The ghost licked her neck. It felt like someone was running a wet cloth along her skin. “You didn't even let me finish my story. Naughty girl. In my day, I wouldn't have put up with - “
“Dummies,” Lamia croaked again. One of her hands dipped to her crotch, and she groped at the still-lingering flames of desire in her pussy. “Give… me...”
The ghost pointed, almost lazily. The two mannequins standing at attention turned to one another and, working in quick turns, pulled each other apart. Lamia moaned helplessly as the last arm flopped out of the last socket, and the mannequins fell silent and useless.
Chortling, the ghost played with Lamia's hair, twirling around one finger tightly enough that it slipped through his glowing blue skin and floated inside. “You don't give the orders in my domain, Lamia Rearadoora. That's my job. I have possessed this house for over a hundred years, doing as I please with its inhabitants, and… and… wait, what are you doing?”
Pushing herself away from the ghost, Lamia staggered across the room. She knelt beside one of the mannequins, and, with a swift twist, yanked the still-dripping wooden penis off of its crotch. Then, pushing her cape aside, she planted one of her hands firmly on a stable stack of crates, arched her back, raised her ass into the air, and spread her legs. Placing the wooden cock on her tongue, Lamia licked the tip suggestively.
The ghost seemed taken aback, but his penis hitched higher than ever. “Um… I was just… saying...”
Lamia turned to glare at the ghost, eyes blazing with barely-contained rage and lust. “Mount me. Now.”
Flinching back, the ghost scratched his head. The panties floating around his head dipped so low they almost dragged along the floor. “I know I'm a bit perverted compared to my contemporaries, but this is unorthodox even for me. I haven't yet taken on a more pleasing form yet, as I know my current - “
Biting down on the wooden cock, Lamia wrenched her free hand around, silently calling on Zoot. The ghost shrieked as an unearthly force yanked him forward, dragging his ectoplasmic form across the attic. The ghost's semi-solid mass bounced against Lamia's buttocks, driving her forward against the crates, and the length of his cock sandwiched itself neatly between her cheeks.
“You stopped… before I was done...” Lamia's voice was a dull, thunderous rumble, though beneath it lingered a cascade of moans waiting to escape. “Fucking mount me, you little shit… I don't care what you look like… MOUNT ME...”
The ghost swallowed, but his erection had never seemed fiercer. Sputtering, he straightened his cock with his hand and floated back several inches, peering at Lamia's backside. Juices continued to flow liberally from the heat of her pussy, and her asshole remained tantalizingly slick and at the ready. “Uhh… which would you prefer I - “
Roaring vexation, Lamia cast a spell she didn't even know she possessed, a spell with no name and no direction besides, quite simply, stuffing her like a holiday turkey. An invisible force drove into the bouncing buttocks of the ghost, ramming him forward into Lamia's gaping vagina. She shrieked happiness, and the ghost shrieked confusion, and they rocked together in tandem.
Duhudhuoendljwed, Lamia thought.
The ghost didn't hesitate again. The moment his length was inside Lamia he began to thrust, planting the chilly pads of his hands on her back and the left cheek of her ass. His cock travelled easily in and out of her, spattering her pussy juice onto the crates and floor with each quickened push. Lamia responded by shoving the wooden cock back into her mouth, sucking on it desperately, greedily.
“I didn't...” the ghost panted, his hollow blue cheeks now rosy, “I didn't think… I could… ahhh… I knew only… a sorceress… could… but… oh my god...”
“Finger...” Lamia breathed, hard-pressed to brace herself against the ghost's thrusting. “In my… ass… put one...”
Running his hand along Lamia's ass cheeks reverentially, the ghost nodded. Palm flat, he slid his thumb against the pucker of Lamia's asshole, using a smear of Lamia's own juices to easy himself inside. Lamia jolted as he worked at her, sliding his thumb in and out, the sensation not quite so filling as the mannequin's cock, but enough, just enough.
“You… are a hot… hot… slut...” The ghost twisted his thumb lightly, probing as he pumped Lamia's pussy doggystyle. “The… the hottest… oh god… I need...”
The ghost stretched a hand. Lamia's panties, practically forgotten on the floor, wiggled unsteadily into the air and soared towards him, dangling in front of the ghost's face. He pressed his bulgy cheeks into the metal plate, caressing them, sniffing them, savoring them as he fucked their owner.
Unknowing and uncaring, Lamia orgasmed. Her head swirled with the strength of her pleasure, and she knelt against the crate, legs shaking so hard that she didn't know how she was still standing. She cast the wooden cock aside, no longer caring enough about oral to be bothered. The ghost rode her on and on, bouncing against her ass cheeks, thumb buried and twisting in her asshole.
“I… I… ohhhhhh...” The ghost panted, dripping ectoplasmic sweat on Lamia's backside, and his entire ethereal form glowed a subtle pink. He was wearing the panties on his face. “I'm… I'm gonna… gonna...”
Lamia considered telling him not to pull out. She didn't, because there was no point. He wasn't going anywhere.
The ghost bucked one last time, and as he did a spray of unearthly spunk erupted from his cock, warming Lamia's insides. She unleashed a primal scream, stronger even than the screams from the mannequins, and the force of their combined orgasm broke the crate under Lamia's arms. She tumbled to the ground, still screaming, and the ghost tumbled with her, cock rock hard in Lamia's glistening pussy.
They lay together, breathing hard, entangled, the ghost spooning himself around Lamia's curved form. Brushing aside a few chunks of battered wood, he wrapped his chubby arms around her, almost fully corporeal, and played idly with her heaving breasts. Lamia's panties lay askant across his face, covering one eye. He was still in her, but his cock was losing its strength.
“I've… never… never… not… even when I was… alive...” The ghost's heavy breathing sent puffs of chill air against Lamia's neck. “I… I can... I think… I can rest… properly… now… without… an exorcism…”
Lamia peered down at her chest blearily. The ghost's fingers seemed to be fading slightly, losing some of their blue luster, and Lamia could clearly see the reddened tips of her nipples through his skin. Even his penis inside her felt less substantial, and not just from post-sex fatigue.
“Th… thank you… Lamia… Rearadoora...” The ghost smiled. “You've released… released me, from my...”
“Again.”
The ghost blinked. “Ah… what…?”
Lamia pulled away from the ghost, then turned. She flopped the disappearing phantasm onto his back and glared at him, straddling his crotch. “You aren't leaving. I'm not done. Again.”
The flush of pink in the ghost's cheeks faded. He smiled, giving Lamia a little shrug. “I'm… I'm afraid I don't have much choice, my dear - “
Raising her hand into the air, Lamia chanted an incantation, long and loud. The air swirled around the two of them, rocking the entire house with its power and toppling the body-length mirror. The ghost trembled beneath Lamia's legs, and she reared up over him, face dark with desire, a smile playing along her lips. He looked, to her, just as vibrantly blue now as he had been when she'd first met him.
The ghost peered at his hands in confusion. “I'm not disappearing… anymore… what…?”
Lamia leaned in close, running her hands along the ghost's chest. Her fingertips sank into his body, two sets of grasping claws. Her voice was a threatening, husky rasp. “I'm not done yet.”
The ghost swallowed.
~~~
Six hours later, the ghost exorcised himself. Lamia never figured out how.
The moment the ghost disappeared, the mansion loosened, released from his perverse power. The overwhelming darkness of the attic dispersed, taking with it the invisible weight that had settled on Lamia's shoulders the moment she'd stepped inside the house. The panties on the wall had dissolved into dozens of heaps of ash, leaving only Lamia's own thong. 1 Scrumptious Road was just a building again, and Lamia knew that she would have no trouble getting out once she returned to the main floor.
Assuming, of course, she thought, I can move that far.
Lamia lay in a heap on the floorboards, her naked body a sticky mess. In her overwhelming lust she'd forced the ghost into fucking her a record fourteen times, pulling it back from the ethereal realm each time it tried to escape for another round. Her nethers felt sore and raw - though, with the departure of the ghost, they also felt satisfied. She tried to move her legs, but they refused to budge, locked in place by exhaustion.
Lamia lifted a lazy finger, the best she could manage, and tried to summon a bed beneath her body. But Zoot had done enough magic for her for one day, and the goddess refused to respond, leaving Lamia to recline uncomfortably on the floorboards.
“Oh well,” Lamia mumbled, eyes fluttering shut. Her final three words came out as half a snore. “Slept worse places.”
She dreamed of mannequins.
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