Spirit High: a sexy ghost story by Tamara Vincent

Author:Tamara Vincent [Vincent, Tamara]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: ghost story, drugs, bisexual, horror, erotica, lesbian
Published: 2017-07-08T00:00:00+00:00

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“Kiss is a great spotter,” Clarisse said in a dreamy tone, as she led me by the hand along the black corridor. The blue fluid was working on her, too. I felt her heart accelerating against the palm of my hand. Everything about her was more animated, more alive. “This place was considered haunted for ages,” she went on. “It's so loaded it burns.”

Darkness closed on us like a shroud, many-textured and inviting. “Can you feel it, Honey?”

I laughed. I was feeling a lot of things in a lot of places. I straightened my back, walking taller. I was clear-headed and yet faint. Each step caused an electric flash to run from my toe-tips up to my fanny. My boobs bounced, stretching the fabric of my top. I batted my lashes, the blue light dazing. I caught Chuck and Kiss disappearing together down the steps to the basement. Clarisse squeezed my hand, pleasure quivering up my arm. Back to the hall we went. Clarisse's hips swayed invitingly as she climbed the stairs, heels clicking. I followed, enchanted.

My high peaking, I was seeing things. The pattern in the floor tiles. The spiders nestling in the chandelier. The three faces in the portrait were now crisp and clear in front of me. A round-faced father, portly and proud, standing at the back of a sharp-faced woman with haunted eyes, sitting on a chair. And a kid, the same triangular face of his mother, standing stiffly by the side. Their eyes dead, they followed nobody.

But there was more. Light spots blinked in and out like fireflies. Scraps of dark gauze floated in the air, blown by an invisible wind. Like seaweeds they drifted in some ghost current. Like big brown snowflakes, fluffy like cotton candy, they stuck to the steps, the walls. They clung to the balustrade, the stanchions of the dead lamps, the chandelier. Where they brushed my skin, I felt a chill and a frisson. Clarisse ran two fingers on the handrail. She collected a fat glop of the substance. She stopped and turned.

“What's that?” I asked.

She shushed me and pushed the stuff to my mouth, forcing it open. My lips ablaze, my taste buds exploded in a firework of fizzing pinpricks. I swallowed, feeling the substance dissolve down my spine. The buzz at the back of my head rose to symphonic levels, matching the low underground note.

“Ectoplasm,” Clarisse whispered in my ear. “Here...”

She collected some more. One arm encircling my waist, she pulled me closer, cooing like she was feeding a child. I lapped at her fingers, eagerly, as she poured the thick fluid down my throat.

“Yes, Honey, like this,” Clarisse whispered. “This is it.”

I wanted more. My scalp tingled as I helped myself, scrapping fat globs of the foamy stuff from the frame of a portrait. My tits hurt, the nipples hard as nails. I swallowed some more. Then my pussy caught fire, my brain pulverized, and I sank in darkness.

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