SPIRITS
by Capt Feg

Alison  and her husband had bought a small cottage in northern
France. A simple structure of three rooms. It was very old. It had
been a billet for a company of about 20 German soldiers during the
first world war. Local legend rumoured that the troops had been
found there one night, all dead. The bodies carried no marks. The
cause of their deaths was never found.

A few nights after moving in they held a small housewarming party.
They celebrated moving in, and the month-long visit to England that
her husband was making. One of their guests, a Medium, was intrigued
by the "psychic aura" of the place. Urged on by other guests she sat
down to enter a trance.  After a few minutes of increasingly hoarse
breathing she began to speak in a foreign language.  After several
minutes of confused sounds she began to writhe desparately "NO . . .
NO . . .  NO . . GO AWAY . . .  STOP IT . . . GET OFF . . . LEAVE ME
ALONE . . . NOT NOW . . .  NOT HERE . . . NOT THAT . . " With a
sharp gasp she awoke from her trance.

The guests were concerned for her. They gathered around her,
consoling and trying to find out what had happened. The Medium would
say nothing. She left shortly after, casting a worried glance at
Alison . The next day her husband departed on his business trip.
Alison spent the day occupied about the house and garden. In the
evening she watched television and then retired to bed. She fell
asleep.

Alison  half-awoke some time later. She felt a hand travelling
gently down her body. Lingering over her breasts, stroking each in
turn, upwards, flicking teasingly the nipples into erection. She
smiled to herself. This is what she wanted, a wet dream in which she
could enjoy her husband's ministrations. She stretched languorously,
eyes closed, enjoying the attention she was receiving.

The hands slowly moved downwards, stroking over her hips. A finger
trailed questioningly along her thigh. Her legs opened in response.
The finger brushed the hair on her mound, lightly touched her lips,
paused, as if deciding something, then gently burrowed into her. A
thumb joined, gently tweaking her clitoris. Then it began to brush
up and down.

Alison  sighed with pleasure as the finger moved in and out in her
slick wetness. The thumb dominated her. Every part of her body
responded unconditionally to it.

She opened her legs wider to allow more access, and to signal her
total submission. She thrust her hips upwards, presenting her vagina
to the roving hand.  A moan escaped her as a second finger joined
the first to fill up her cunt. She felt herself opening like a
flower. She felt the fingers smile as they stroked her parted lips.
She groaned under the onslaught of the sensations.

A heat began to rise in her groin, spreading outwards. She gasped as
the hand moved faster and faster, then slowed, then faster again.
Each time taking her to the brink of orgasm. They continued, on and
on and on,  not satisfied with her ragged moans, until she was
screaming.

A mouth closed over her breast, building up the sensitivity of her
nipples. She willed a weight on top of her. Involuntary, she thrust
her pelvis up to meet her invader. Fingers parted her lips. She felt
the tip of a penis touch her, waiting at the entrance She squirmed
against it, pushing down onto it, willing it into her. Without a
perception of movement the hard flesh spread into her, red-hot,
stretching, filling. The heat burned into her. Her juices dowsing
it, but not cooling it. It melted her flesh, she became a flesh form
around the penis, it's pleasure servant.

She abandoned herself totally. Wave after wave of pleasure coursed
through her. The penis rhythmically pounded into her, pushing her up
and down the bed against the sheets. Her breasts moving in time. She
felt every gnarled knot of the hard flesh moving inside her. Then
the penis expanded deep inside her, a stream of juice, hotter than
the flesh it came from erupted deep in her belly. She felt sperm as
it swam into her body, a dark life form, seeking her, to impregnate.
All she could do was lay there, opening herself for it

She climaxed long and slowly, awash with sensations she had never
experienced before. Spent, she drifted into oblivion, dimly aware of
the penis nuzzling still inside her.

She awoke the next morning. As she stretched, memories of the night
flooded into her mind. She sat bolt upright with a start. Her
husband was working elsewhere. He had not been home that night. Her
vagina felt used and distended, as if a penis were still inside her.
She opened her thighs and looked down at herself. Her pubic hairs
and groin area smelt of sex and were coated and sticky. Her thighs
ached from her nightime exercise. She did not understand. Crying,
and in a panic she rushed and poured a bath. She scrubbed her
herself all over, concentrating on her groin. But however much she
scrubbed she still felt distended and full. She explored deep inside
herself with her fingers. She found nothing but herself. Without
much reassurance she eventually half convinced herself that she must
have been dreaming.

She felt tired listless throughout the day. The cottage seemed to
have changed, less colour, more grey. She seemed unable to
concentrate, and rested frequently. Each time she sat quietly, eyes
closed, she felt the hot fullness in her vagina again. The longer
she luxuriated in the sensations she felt, the hotter and larger it
got. 

She jerked awake. Confused and afraid. Her mind revolted against the
sensations she felt, and feared her lack of understanding. Her body
betrayed her mind, revelling in the depth and range of sexual
sensations she was experiencing for the first time ever. She also
experienced a deeper drive for herself to submit to the dominance of
this penis, it's wish to use her body for it's own pleasure, to
breed her as it wished. 
 

By bed time that night she had largely dismissed her memories of the
night before as a solid-gold wet dream.  She sank into the
bedclothes luxuriating in their feel. She fell asleep immediately.

Alison  half-awoke some time later, knees curled up to her chin, on
her side. She felt the tip of a penis touch her, waiting at the
entrance. Drowsily she felt driven to squirm her cunt against it, to
offer herself for it's use and pleasure. Again it spread into her,
red-hot, stretching, filling. The heat burned into her. She gasped.
Again it melted her flesh, she became a flesh form around the penis,
it's servant.  She did not move, she could not move. The penis
somehow filled her entire body. Every atom of her felt it's
rapacious thrusts into her. She was simply it's vessel, a container
for it's enjoyment, a receptical. For the second time she felt it's
molten, volcanic ejaculation. Every fibre and sinew in her body
strained to suck in the seed. The warm glow in her belly spread,
transforming into a climax as she felt again the semen explore deep
inside her.

She awoke next morning in the same position. She felt bone tired.
She remembered the dream-like activities of the night. Her vagina
was sore, her inner thighs were sticky again.

Alison sat silently and numbly in the house for most of the day. She
felt so drained that she didn't wash herself. Her mind was confused
but numb. She couldn't think straight. She must be ill she told
herself. Yes! That's it, ill! The thought blazed across her mind,
offering more reassurance to her fear and anxiety than any other
explanation had done.

With a sense of relief she took some of the sleeping tablets left
over from an old prescription and dragged herself back to bed to
rest.

She slept through the night. When she woke next morning the sun was
streaming through the window.  The greyness was gone. She felt much
better. Up and about, she bustled her activities through the day.
She phoned her husband. It was so nice to hear his voice. She felt
relieved. She wondered whether to tell him anything of her
"wetdreams" as she thought of them. In the end she did not.

That night it happened again. She became aware of a bumpy, rocking
motion. She heard horses hooves and wheels moving over stony ground.
The world was misty and grey, and smelt of earth. She was half
sitting, half lying. One leg on the floor and one leg in the air.
The finger and thumb were at her vagina. The flooding sensations
were also there. She moaned through parted lips.The coach rocked
violently from side to side. Her head swayed with the motion. When
it stopped her lips where brushing a penis.  She smelt it, salty and
sour, unwashed.  The fingers worked her vagina.

Her tongue touched the tip and tasted the penis. Another violent
lurch, her head moved with the jolt, and the penis was suddenly in
her mouth. Her lips formed on "O" around the shaft. Her tongue rose
to bed the glans as it moved smoothly into her mouth. She tasted the
precome. Again she felt the now-familiar compulsion to satisfy it.
She began to move her head up and down the shaft.  Grey and
shapeless hands held her head and moved it in an ever increasing
tempo, in time with the fingers in her vagina and the thumb on her
clitoris. Her mouth was fucked for an eternity. Ever faster went the
coach, rolling wildly from side to side. Ever faster the finger
inside her. The penis shafted her mouth.

She felt it building up to come. The glans swelled hot and angry,
paused by her lips at the limit of it's withdrawal, then plunged
towards her throat, spreading the warm liquid over her teeth and
tongue on it's way. The seed, salty and harsh spilled down her
throat.

She awoke the next day.  These were not dreams.  Her lips were sore.
She could still taste the penis that had been in her mouth. She was
so tired.  Laying on her back she dozed. As she dozed she felt the
presence of others in the room with her. Half awake, half asleep she
couldn't move. She wanted to get up and run out of the place, to
scream.  The room darkened, the walls faded. The bed became smaller,
rougher, lumpy. A damp, musty smell pervaded. She felt her body
change. From tired, cold and fearful, to expectant sexuality. Her
breasts and nipples tingled, sensitive to the cloth of her nightie
brushing them as she breathed increasingly shallowly.  She noticed
an itch developing between her legs. She felt her vagina lubricate,
felt it's emptiness inside her, felt the urge to fill it. She moaned
softly, breath catching in her throat.

Grey shadows coalesced around the bed.  Men, many men, half formed
shapes gathered around her, looking down on her. Faces formed.
Leering, hungary, lecherous and lascivious, heavy with lust.

A mixture of terror and sexual excitement coursed through her.
Ghosts? If so, could they hurt her? Repelled and attracted she lay
there, a slave to the insistent itch between her legs and in her
heart.

The cover slipped from her. The grey forms moved closer. A constant
sigh of breathing filled the room.  Hands formed out of the grey
mist. They reached out  - many hands touched her. Involuntarily, as
if not under her control, her body reacted to the wishes of the
hands. One by one the buttons down the front of her nightdress
parted.  From the neck she was revealed. Breasts. Belly. Pubic
mound. Thighs. Legs. The hands - God knows how may hands - explored
every part and detail of her body. Some hard, some gentle, but all
rough skinned.

She gave up every secret to their probing. Every fold, every
wrinkle, every orifice was probed. Every hand felt like a tingling,
vibrating, taunt to her womanhood. Skilled, playing her body like a
fine violin. Her mind had given in to her body. In her fever she
floated on sea of seminal fluid. Her entire being strained to turn
the fantasy into reality. Spread open, white, soft skin on rough
blanket. Her breasts pointed at them, her groin lifted to them -
whatever they were. Legs bent, hips gyrating. Ready ... ... ready
....

Once more she felt the press of a penis against her. She willed it
into the emptiness between her legs, inside her. It was like no
other penis. It didn't slide into her, as normal. Rather it was in
her and grew to fill her. It had a mind of it's own. She could feel
it exploring her, looking for her. Deep in her womb it sensed, at
last, her egg. She felt it's exclamation, it's thrill of power.
Oblivious of the weight on her that flattened her breasts, forced
the air from her lungs, scratched friction burns on her back on the
rough bed, she existed only for the penis. It pounded her. Hard,
savage, seeking excitement from the walls of her cunt that would
bring on the ejaculation that would race for her fertile womb. Each
stroke slammed from the entrance of her cunt to crash against the
entrance to her womb. She willed it on, revelling in her abuse.

After an eternity of ramming, the penis charged into her one more
time, swelled, stretched her, opened the door to her womb and
exploded into it. She felt the flood. She felt her impregnation. The
sperm plunging into her egg, blind and defenceless. 

Content, but not satiated she became aware of a forest of penises
pointing at her.  Her mouth filled, as did her cunt, her arse. She
was full of flesh, pounding and thrashing her. Time blurred, penises
entered her, fucked her, pumped into her, used her, withdrew, and
left her only to be replaced with others. She lost count of numbers
- not that she ever tried to count. Her body, full, leaked sperm.
She felt it dribbling between her legs, sticky rivers of it over her
breasts, down from her chin and lips into her hair and eyes. She was
happy, this was fulfilment, her body an exciter and extractor of
sperm.

Her last thought as she drifted to sleep centred around the three
penises in her at the time.

The next time she woke she was only half back in her bed room. The
four walls were there, but unpainted. The greyness was still there,
penises lingered around the bed on which she lay. Her bed was no
longer white sheeted and wooden, but a pile of dirty, lumpy sacks on
the bare earth. Sunlight streaming through the window, broken glass,
no familiar curtains. She strained to rise from the bed. She was
crusted in semen. Her lips cracked and rubbery from constant
fellatio, her vagina sore, sticky, her anus the same. Semen
dribbling from her. She smelt of of fetid sex. She sensed the new
life in her. Only a few cells in size, but already a hard lump in
her belly.

In a panic she ran from the bedroom, not knowing , not understanding
what was happening to her. But in the lounge the world was not
normal. Where she expected her furniture, she was now surrounded by
farmyard implements and a strong, sour smell of unkept stables.
Horrified, she glanced her reflection in a cracked old mirror
resting on the floor.

She looked awful. She was covered in scratches. Lovebites around her
neck, her breasts, her groin and inner thighs. Semen glistened in
her hair, on her face, over her breasts and stomach. A trial of it
ran from her crotch to her ankles.

Grey wraithes twined about her body, their caresses calming her
panic and rekindling the now familar overwhelming appetite to be
fucked again. She began to realise that she may have somehow moved
from ine world to another. She may never again see her own familar
world again. But she was excited by the thought that she might now
be open for an eternity of constant fucking. She moved her feet,
opening her legs to allow the wraithes access to her.

Her husband returned from his business trip a few days later. Alison
was missing. The cottage was undisturbed. No-one had seen or heard
her. Due to police investigations and forensic tests, it was several
days before he was able to live in the cottage. The first night he
slept fitfully. He seemed to hear Alison, in the distance, making
the noises she would make when they made love. He searched the
cottage from top to bottom but found nothing. Then one night as he
lay in bed, half asleep, he felt a gentle hand slip over his chest
and cool strong fingers encircle his growing penis. An
all-enveloping urge for sex consumed him. A penis gently brushed his
lips. An overwhelming desire for sex washed over him. Without a
thought for his strong heterosexual inclination and appetite, he
opened his mouth and searched for the tip with his tongue . . . .
