It’s almost Halloween, and so I’ve attempted to turn my hand to somewhat-spooky erotica-fiction. I don’t know if I’m happy with this piece, but I love the idea I’ve tried to play with here, of a cuckqueering scene involving a ghost.
Warning: I don’t think I can write spooky smut.
I didn’t believe my girlfriend the first time she told me about her ghost.
We’d been dating for eight months when she told me, and it was so far from what I was expecting that I laughed out loud. Emma had been nervous on the phone when she’d asked me over, saying she had something to talk about. I tried not to assume the worst – that she wanted to break up with me, or she’d violated our relationship agreement – but those thoughts had slipped in and, in comparison, her confession seemed utterly absurd. Even more so because it was coming from my feet-planted-in-reality, overworked-as-fuck-junior-doctor girlfriend. Surely Emma couldn’t believe in ghosts.
Except apparently she did.
I’m not sure how that conversation led to today. Okay, I do know: it’s because my girlfriend has a way of making ridiculously improbable scenarios sound brilliantly hot. As well as negotiating my first open relationship with her, I’ve told her about several kinks I’d never been brave enough to say aloud before. Spanking, wax play and bondage were all things that we’d begun to explore together. Voyeurism, exhibitionism and cuckqueering… they were things that only existed in our lives in dirty talk or fantasies. Except now Emma wanted to take a step into them together, in a way I couldn’t believe that she was serious about.
Because, if I believed her, Emma didn’t only have a ghost, she had a ghost who’d appeared once a year to fuck her – ever since the time she’d masturbated while leaning against a tombstone in a graveyard on Halloween. This year, she wanted to me to watch. Something about the way she described it, her nervousness giving way to confidence as she painted a tempting picture of the scene. I agreed – not totally sure that she wasn’t kidding about everything – and she fucked me there on my kitchen table.
Now I’m in Emma’s bedroom, with the door slightly open. Earlier she stood behind me, her hands wrapped around my waist as she showed me where I should stand to see everything from the coat-rack and the front door, to the wall of the fairy-light-lit hall opposite, to where the hall widened into the kitchen-cum-living-room-cum-art-studio attic-type room with huge windows. I’ve been in this room uncountable times since we’ve started dating, but it feels weird standing here, feet bare on the floorboards and all but holding my breath as I watch and wait.
And wait and wait and wait.
Emma is singing, and I smile. We haven’t said the word ‘love’ yet, but listening to her now, my forehead leaning against the wooden doorframe, the happiness inside me suggests that maybe I should tell her how I feel about her. She stops singing, but I am caught up in a daydream of the best memories from the last eight months and don’t notice. Not until she makes a little whimpering sound, at least. The little whimper she makes when my lips are just a hair-breadth from hers, just before I kiss her. I shift slightly, back to the place where I can see through the crack in the door.
Emma is leaning against the wall – no, she’s pressed against the wall. I blink, trying to focus on the woman who is pinning her there, with fistful of her hair caught in one hand and the other on her hip. She’s not kissing Emma, but I can tell from Emma’s face that she wants to be kissing her. In fact, she’s straining against the hands holding her in place to try to do so. Watching my usually-dominant girlfriend be held in place stirs something inside me. And there was something delightful about the juxtaposition of her being controlled by the whisper-real ghost-woman.
A tiny part of my brain registers the fact that I’m a few metres away from an actual ghost. She is taller than Emma, half-translucent as though she is made of steam. Except for when she touches Emma, where she seems to solidify into transparent paper-thin delicacy. There is something utterly captivating about her, and I can see why Emma is straining to try to kiss this beautiful, enchanting woman.
However, far more of my focus was on the fact I was watching my girlfriend getting fingered. Her hand has slipped under her skirt – not through it – and Emma’s head is thrown back against the wall, her eyes closed in pleasure. I carefully, oh-so-carefully, unzipped the fly of my jeans without making a sound, so I could get my own hands inside my knickers while I watched Emma being teased towards orgasm while her ghost sucked a biting kiss into her neck.
I’m far more turned on than I thought I would be. I’m jealous, as I was worried that I would be, just bewitched by the scene in front of me. I want nothing more than to stand there and watch Emma get fucked by this beguiling woman. Until she turns around and looks right at me; taking her hand from Emma’s shoulder to beckon me to join them.
What the hell, it’s Halloween. Why not fuck your girlfriend and her ghost?
Masturbation Monday is run by the fabulous Kayla Lords. Click on the logo to see what everyone else is getting off to this week.
If you are wanting to bring some Halloween spookiness into your sex this week, check out the Halloween costumes that Lovehoney has on sale for just £20.00. Alternative, click here for sexy halloween costumes reduced $25.00 from Lovehoney if you’re based in the USA.
Image sourced through Pixabay. This posts includes affiliate links and if you buy from them, I make a small commission.
Quinn Rhodes (he/him) is a queer, trans, disabled sex writer with vaginismus. He’s a slut and a sex nerd who writes about his adventures in trying to fuck without fucking up. Quinn can usually be found wearing stomp-on-the-patriarchy boots while falling in love every time he fucks.