THE SPIRIT BECOMES HER
by: R. Broox
SERENA KICKED OFF her beige pumps as soon as she had passed the threshold of her tacky motel room. Due to the overcrowding in this part of the city, it was the only thing her people at the zine were able to book for her. The nylons she wore made the characteristic swish swish sound of her hurried steps toward the bathroom.
After spending most of the afternoon and all of the evening at the regional New Age & Paranormal Convention, she felt absolutely beat. Being an investigative reporter for the PREEMO zine she worked for was so demanding; driving four hours this way and back, staying at cheap motels, taking endless notes and dictations from countless interviews. It had really done her in that evening, and so she made short work of undoing her earrings, brushing her teeth, and carefully hanging up the gift her editor had presented to her. It was a silver necklace with a set of seven glass jewels cascading vertically, each one a color of the rainbow and depicting the seven chakras. Having seen it at a different convention together, she mentioned how it quaintly caught her eye. Her editor promptly coughed up the cash for it and had put it around her neck himself. She suspected he had feeling for her for some time, and the gift of the necklace was a glaring indication. She ran a brush through her dusty, rather plain hair, and managed a smile-snarl at the mirror. She was simultaneously checking herself out, and inspecting her teeth for any leftover funk or lipstick smudges.
Knowing very well that deadlines required her to go and start writing the expose immediately, she knew that anything she wrote right now could only amount to crap. She undid the clasp to her turquoise dress, and awkwardly unzipped the confounded thing. It was obviously a man who must have been the designer of this torture the world called women’s clothing· She stood for a moment before the mirror, examining her figure and finding it still to her liking despite her less than perky age.
“I’m not that old.” Serena was a big fan of assertation, believing fully in the power of the subconscious mind. After undoing her white silky bra, a comfortable present to herself, she examined her own supple high breasts and their remarkable pert nipples. They had always been a source of pride for her, and not much less now that she was in her thirties. Playfully, she put one hand on a hip and reached another high into the air in a cute pose. Blowing herself a kiss, she finally sighed loudly and plopped down on the spongy bed in the other room. She was frustrated about being alone.
It almost seemed like her editor, despite his harmless crush, had sent her to the city and booked her into the convention so that she could get out and meet some people. Make new friends. It was awfully humiliating to consider, but the more she thought about it the more it seemed true. Everyone back at PREEMO knew that she was a big fan of Damian Savage, the key note speaker and organizer of this year’s convention. More than a fan, really, she was a dire enthusiast of the enigmatic and robust author. Over the years she had read all five of his books, and had currently ordered a copy of his newest which had yet to be printed and released. She had eagerly awaited her turn in line after watching his fine mouth speak such melodious and secret things at the podium, hoping to speak with him privately afterward about his new work, and maybe more. Despite her press status, she was forced to wait in line with the rest of the plebs for over an hour, only to be curtly dismissed by Damian’s people after a quick handshake, explaining that, “Mr. Savage is a very busy man.” She did remember, sadly and fondly, the feeling of her hand being held by a man she had fantasized of frequently in the past. After such rude reception by Damian and his entourage, that was probably the end of her fantasy. She was a down to earth girl, and liked down to earth people. Despite the way he seemed in his books, Damian Savage was just another money grubbing faker trying to con the scene into believing his psychobabble–and here she was, still awaiting his next pulp rag to materialize in her apartment mailbox! It was all so damned depressing.
But still, she could not help but to think about his square shoulders, big hands, and wickedly seductive voice as she drew back the comforter to climb into bed. He was a very handsome man, and perhaps his impatient and rude side was merely a side effect of being fabulously wealthy and famous; another big turn-on for Serena. Clicking off the lamp and turning on the tv, she climbed under the covers after removing her stockings and pulling on a silk slip. Her thoughts went back to the convention, the many faces and names she had gathered in her mind, but none so starkly memorable to her as that of Damian. She was replaying his powerful speech over and over in her mind, watching his dark mustache twitch with charisma. With the volume so low on the television, and her own burden of fatigue, in no time at all she had fallen asleep.
It seemed only a moment before she was awake, but extremely groggy. She thought she had felt something, something which brushed against her in her sleep and brought her around. The covers were down by her ankles, oddly enough. She had fallen asleep with them tucked under her chin snugly, and it surprised her to be in a sort of fever. She could feel the slick of a wet layer of sweat gleam on her body, and a cold breeze which swept over her sent sharp chills down her spine. Her nipples, small as they were, became instantly hard and brushed pleasantly against the silk of her short night gown. It took a moment of her lying there and a few shivers before she consciously decided to reach for the covers and pull them back up. She was shocked to discover that when she tried, she could not move a muscle. The beginnings of a fear crept up the back of her skull, and yet another chilling breeze moved upward from her feet and across her entire body, pulling her night gown up around her hips as it played eerily across her prickling skin.
The television was still on since she had fallen asleep, but presently the screen went completely black. Serena felt her string panties pulled down sharply by a force unknown, and she managed to reach down with both hands to put them back. Her hands were pulled to either side and held down by something powerful, and invisible. By now, Serena’s heart was beating extremely rapidly, and her breathing came in short shallow pants. Her hackles rose on the back of her neck, and a sort of quiet desperate panic began to set upon her. Mysteriously, the panties were pulled more slowly down the length of her smooth legs and off both of her feet. Psychokinetically, they were thrown aside. An image coalesced onto the screen of the tv: it was the ethereal face of Damian Savage glowering over her like a predator about to kill.
The horror she was feeling was merely a precursor to what she began to experience when the ghost of Savage spoke to her through the motel television in an otherwordly and altogether evil voice. “I want your soul.” Craning her neck against the psychic force holding her down in preparation, she struggled to comprehend what it was that was being done to her. “I will eat your soul.” At the utterance of those last words, the face on the screen rippled and twisted in the mask of some demon–an incubus–that through the manipulation of ether, psychokinesis, and electromagnetism began to wretchedly and thoroughly violate Serena, having its way with her in manners entirely hellish and infernal. She fought against the force, trying desperately to scream. But every time she opened her mouth wide to let out a shriek, something plump and hard was pushed so deep into her throat it made her gag. The green hue of the demonic Savage on television flowed outward and filled the room with a spooky light. She could now see fists of force holding her hands snug against the bed and restraining her movements, allowing her to only be where it wanted her. Against her will, her legs were pulled apart as the green ether solidified to form an evil phallus between them. The muscles of her thighs were rippling from the effort of her struggle, and her body produced the pungent yet sweet aroma of fear and arousal.
Despite her fear, she could feel the moisture of her vagina begin to accumulate. It had been a long time since Serena had made love, she realized, along with the fact that this must surely be a dream! Being somewhat of an expert on lucid dreaming, she began to understand that she could take control of this situation by not fighting it. Surely she would awake to find the world a boring uneventful place in the morning, so she made up her mind to enjoy this experience.
The fear and terror fled instantly, and she was allowed to flip over onto her hands and knees.”I like it like this,” she told no one in particular. Immediately she felt the ghostly green hands all over her body, running along all her lines and contours and mystically savoring her willingness to cooperate in this arcane gratification. Ghost hands fondled her hard breasts, and grasped her fine waist, and in a bit of the rough manner which she so enjoyed, gently grasped her throat. The fearsome translucent phallus penetrated her hungry hole, which quivered with the need of satisfaction. The force of this ghostly cock bloated,to fill her very limits, expanding inside her to its maximum size.
She moaned with throaty enjoyment before commanding, “Take me and make me your spirit bitch!” The sound from the television emitted an electronic gurgle as the massive green ghost dick pounded her pussy like prom night in a bad horror movie. She could not believe how perfectly this protruding ghastly appendage filled her cunt, and felt thrilled at how much her lips were being stretched to accommodate its entirety.
She had not felt this many hands on her since her college days, when she experimented (rather unsuccessfully) with some group-sex orgies. It was erotically gratifying to be taken in so many bizarre ways, spiritually enlightening to be fucked so hard by a ghost, and intellectually stimulating to even consider the profound depth of this dream sequence. After a hard ramming by Savage, she felt a smaller, more prehensile thing slip comfortably into her asshole. It felt amazing as the haunted cock railed her to feel the ghost pinky perform the shocker. She could feel the ectoplasm from her juicy cavern begin to drip down her thighs while Damian savagely had his way with her. She knew, secretly, that she was having her way too when the force flipped her onto her back and began fucking her even harder with powerful energies holding her up by her ass to be hammered again and again by the magical violator. The force relentlessly fucked, pushing her up the wall against her back, and finally nailing her against the ceiling over her bed. Accepting the maniacal diaboltry of her pleasure, she cradled the demon force between her legs, begging for it to take her, to have her, to devour her. After a crescendo of thrusting pulsating fucks, she was finally dropped down onto the bed.
She promptly awoke, under the covers with her panties and night gown still on, and the television playing info-mercials. She knew it had only been a dream, but was outrageously horny from having not reached orgasm. Feeling the succulent ripe crotch apple pruriently lusting under her silk panties, she decided to take matters into her own hands. After a shuddering and explosively juicy orgasm, which continued on and on and produced and epic puddle of gush which spread out beneath her, Serena fell back against the pillow to feel simultaneously thrilled, guilty, and most of all, dirty. Deciding she must take a shower to cool down and rinse the sin from her heaving and indulgent body, she threw back the covers and flipped on the lamp.
It was there on her night stand. At the moment the light came on, a pristine hardcover book with an occult patterned cover appeared and beckoned her examination. Though her heart and mind were still boiling and quaking from her sinister climax, she reached her moist, glistening fingers toward the book to open the cover. She was both terrified and excited to discover the contents.
“Thanks for the fun night, and see you at the next convention—D. Savage”