Ghost Cuck - MyErotica.com

Danny had never been up in this neighborhood above Sunset where the billionaires lived. All the streets were named after birds. There was Bluebird Avenue, Oriole Drive, and one he recognized from the Beatles song — Blue Jay Way.

He got to the gates of the address she had given him — 15 Mockingbird Place — and buzzed the intercom. The gate opened and he drove into the mansion. He pulled up into one of those estate-type driveway courtyards that you only see in the movies.

“Jesus Christ,” he said, getting out of his crappy Kia, which looked so out of place in front of this house. There were two Mercedes and a Tesla (the expensive one) parked across the way.

The enormous carved mahogany front doors opened and there she was, in a sexy negligee.

“Took you long enough,” she said.

“Well, I got lost. I should have followed you like you said.”

“It’s alright, it gave me time to get myself ready for action, you know…”

Damn, she was hot. Tweny-six years old, same as him. But she seemed in a different league in terms of poise and power and…everything. Now he understood why. She was a fucking billionaire.

“I had no idea…” he said, going up to her. He was going to say something like, when I met you at the coffee place, after matching on Tinder, I thought you were just a regular girl, and you might have warned me you were a Rockefeller or whatever. But she shut him up with a big smooch, and then led him into the foyer.

There was a gigantic painting on an easel, of Suzy and well, that must have been the guy she had told him about — her dead husband. She had told him that her husband died a year ago and that this was her first date since his sudden passing. That much he had known.

“Yeah, that’s Jonathan,” she said casually. “And that’s Jonathan, and that’s Jonathan, and that’s Jonathan.”

There were paintings of Jonathan all over, and photographs, some with Suzy and some by himself.

“I’m gonna get rid of them,” she said. “I know, it’s weird. I just haven’t gotten around to it. Come on…let’s not waste any more time.”

Danny spotted a recent photo of Suzy and her late husband. They were sitting on a cliff overlooking a blue lagoon somewhere fabulous. But he looked sick, and very old.

“Jesus, how old was he, Suzy, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Oh, when we got married he was 71. He died at 73. I guess I killed him — that’s what his kids think anyway. Ha ha!”

She laughed. For a second Danny felt a shiver of fear. What was funny about that? Why did she laugh?

For a second it looked like the face of a statue by the French Doors at the rear of the house was laughing at him. That’s not possible. Statues don’t laugh.

He looked a bit closer at the statue — it was probably Jonothan, too. Who else would it be, an old guy standing there looking like the boss of the world with a grin on his face.

It occurred to him that he really knew nothing about Suzy, except that she was fucking hot and he wanted to fuck her, especially now, seeing her ample bosom in that negligee, and her beautiful shapely legs, as she walked in high heels to the grand staircase with him.

“The bedroom is up here,” she said to him, coquettishly. “That’s where I want to take you. And have my way with you. And then I’ll be free of him. Free at last.”

“Free from your husband?”

“Yes, it will show him that I’ve moved on. I want to show him. I want him to see for himself.”

“Um…OK,” said Danny.

I guess this is the point in the movies where the hero sees a sign saying “Turn back now,” but the hero ignores his gut instincts and carries on.

In Danny’s defense, he did have a half-erection already, so he wasn’t thinking so clearly. Otherwise he might have noticed that it was a strange thing to say, that she wanted to “show” a dead person something.

Dead people can’t see, can they?

But Danny didn’t think about that. He just thought, fuck, what a large staircase that separates me from where I really, really want to be — between this hot babe’s legs.

It seemed to take an hour to get up the first flight, and then the staircase turned around 90 degrees in the other direction and headed up to the second floor, underneath an enormous green crystal chandelier.

“I know, it’s the color of vomit,” said Suzy, “after you’ve gotten drunk on creme de menthe, I mean, which yes, I’ve done. Have you?”

“Creme de what?”

She laughed at him. “Oh jeez, Einstein, don’t worry your pretty little head about it.”

Then, to herself, or so Danny thought, “Well, Jonathan, I really know how to pick em, huh?”

Danny might have been a little offended at that, but he was used to it. You know, guys that look like Danny, handsome jock types, their intelligence gets underestimated. But Danny knew he was no dunce. He’d graduated magna cum laude from Fresno State, and had come down to LA to make it in the entertainment industry. Hopefully in front of the camera, but he’d directed a few movies in college and was open to that side of things too.

Two years in, and he’d been in one commercial that paid only three thousand bucks. He worked at Starbucks. That’s why he had insisted that the coffee shop Suzy and he got together at be anything but Starbucks. They met at Pete’s in West Hollywood. And now he was here.

In her fabulous bedroom. Where you guessed it, there was another giant panting of Johnathan and Suzy — this time it seemed that in the painting Suzy was wearing the exact same negligee and heels as she had on now. And Johnathan, in his old man body, was wearing nothing but a g-string.

“Jesus,” Danny said, looking up at it from the bed, as Suzy began unbuttoning his shirt and breathing heavily into his ear.

“Oh, don’t pay any attention to that,” she said. “I’m sorry, I promise I’ll have it taken down tomorrow. Fucking Johnathan…but see, I told you, I want him to watch this.”

“Well, he’s looking right at me,” said Danny, staring straight back at the beady eyes of the old man in the painting. The old man didn’t look angry at him, necessarily, but maybe a bit jealous. Not that Danny was with his wife. Danny thought he looked jealous that he was old and withered, and this body on the bed with his wife was chiseled and buff and cut like an Adonis.

She had him nearly naked now, and Danny was still looking up at the painting.

“Oh my! Look at this, Johnathan,” she said, as she pulled down Danny’s briefs and his big erection popped up. “About three inches longer than yours, and a full two inches in diameter thicker, I’d say. Well, done, Danny, your dick pic didn’t lie.”

“Thanks…”

Danny had been surprised after their first text exchange on Twitter that she had made this request. The girls back in Fresno hated dick pics. He chalked it up to “an LA thing.”

“I’m an honest guy,” said Danny, as the waves of pleasure filled his brain, with her stroking his dick.

This is my lucky day, he was thinking to himself, and ignoring how weird it was that she was talking to a painting. No, instead, he was thinking how finally he’d caught a break in this damn town, and he wasn’t going to have to scrimp and save any more and live in that crappy studio apartment. He’d hit the jackpot here. A beautiful babe who was loaded beyond anything he had ever imagined. I mean, the view from that bedroom, through five enormous panels of windows overlooking the twinkling lights of LA below — it was a billion-dollar view, that’s all. A fucking billion-dollar view.

And just when he thought his day couldn’t get any luckier, he felt something warm and soft on his penis, and looked down to see her luscious lips upon it, giving him the best blowjob of his life.

“This is a lot harder to suck than your dick, Johnathan,” she said, looking up briefly from his cock to the painting. “Look, I can barely get my lips around it, it’s so wide.”

Again, that was weird. So weird. But you must remember, it really was the best blowjob of his life, so it didn’t occur to him how weird that was. All that occurred to him was, Jesus those thick lips of hers, and that soft tongue and Jesus!

“Alright baby,” she said, after a few minutes of heaven. “Do me now.”

And she pulled her negligee off, revealing the goddess nakedness beneath. And she got on top of him. As she guided his cock in, this is what she said.

“I want Johnathan to see me cumming, so he can see for himself that it wasn’t my fault that I didn’t cum with him. I know how to cum just fine. It was his tiny cock that didn’t make me cum. I mean, I could hardly feel him. It wasn’t anything like this…oh my, oh my, I can really feel this big sausage going in, Johnathan. This is what a real man’s dick looks like. And this is what a real man is like, you fucking prick. Sure, he may be a fucking barista working a shit job and living in a fucking dump. But look at the size of that fucking dick, you bastard. And look at these manly arms and pecs and muscles. You see, this turns me on, you fucker. Not like your shriveled-up little doughy nightmare of a body. That’s right. You were a nightmare. And you know what this stud is, Johnathan, huh? Do you know? This is my fucking fantasy guy right here. This is my fucking dream come true! This body, and your money, you fucking asshole Jonathan. Finally I got it! I got what I want! Yes! Yes!”

Danny didn’t pay too much attention to any of that, because, you see, he was putting both his hands up to those lovely breasts, and caressing them, cupping them, squeezing them, the way he used to fantasize about squeezing some centerfold fantasy girl’s breasts when he was younger. But it wasn’t a fantasy any more. He finally had landed that girl…you know, the one that all the guys fantasize about. Large breasts, blonde hair, thick ass, beautiful face. He took a break from stroking her large breasts and let his hands stroke both sides of her long blonde hair that was now let down so sexily and flowing all over those comely shoulders and…

“Oh God, I’m gonna cum, Johnathan! I told you! You motherfucker. Yes, I just married you for your fucking money. Yes, you disgusted me. And yes, I was using you. And yes, I’m glad you’re dead and I don’t have to fuck you any more, because, fucking hell, Johnathan, I’m gonna cum so good right now…Oh! Oh! Here I go! Ahhhhh!”

As she was cumming, Danny was thinking, I’m the fucking boss, look at me, satisfying the wenches. I really know how to rail. I’m a major stud! Yee haw!

Then, after she came, she continued fucking him slowly, very slowly as she caught her breath. Then she said, “I just had the best orgasm of my life, Johnathan. Did you see that?”

“Yes, I did. I saw the whole thing.”

WHAT?

Danny heard a male voice saying that, and it snapped him out of the reverie he was in. He looked up and there at the end of the bed was the old man. Not the painting of the old man. The old man himself. Johnathan! Wearing nothing but that blue g-string from the painting. A disgusting, shriveled but very well-tanned old man.

“What the fuck!!!”

Danny pushed the naked woman off him and jumped out of the bed in terror. He’d never seen a ghost before, or had any kind of supernatural experience, but he did have a great fear of demons, from those movies about demonic possession, you know, The Exorcist. Or worse, Hereditary. That movie freaked him out. And that was suddenly how he felt — that the room had gone all cold, and the demon was standing at the end of the bed, about to possess him. He instinctively reached for his jeans, forgetting his underwear and shoes and shirt. He threw on his jeans and without buttoning them, went stumbling to the door of the bedroom, past the demon, his heart racing and the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end, and thoughts of eternal doom and punishment racing through his head.

“Oh Jonathan,” Danny heard Suzy saying. “Now you’ve gone and scared him off.”

Danny for a second felt paralyzed. You know, like in one of those dreams where you’re running away from the monster but suddenly you’re in like a quicksand state and your limbs refuse to obey you any more and you’re just stuck.

“Oh, don’t worry about him,” said Johnathan. “He’ll be back. He’ll be back. Once a young man gets a taste of your sweet…offerings, my dear, it would take a team of wild horses to drag him away.”

For a second it seemed to Danny that it was the demon’s voice that had paralyzed him, held him frozen in the doorway. And yet, there was the doorway and now the hallway, it did seem he was making some small progress to get away. And that perhaps there was still hope and…

“I mean, that pussy of yours, my dear, it clenches a cock like no pussy I ever felt. Am I right, Daniel? Didn’t it clench you in a superlative manner?”

WTF? thought Daniel. He wasn’t interested in discussing a dead man’s wife’s pussy. He was just interested…in…stairs…those grand stairs, of the grand staircase…there they were!

A miracle.

He was flying down the stairs, like a wild horse.

And then he heard wild laughter. It was a female’s cackle, and a male’s. The two of them, still in the bedroom laughing, but far enough away that he shouldn’t have been able to hear their cackles. It was a supernatural sound, he knew it. As his feet touched the oriental carpet at the foot of the stairs, past the oriental vase, and then the door.

Oh, what if the door is locked? And he was imprisoned here in this mansion by the demon.

But now, he saw it was still a foot open. She had left it open!

And he was through the door and out of the prison, into the air. The freedom of the night. His car! His Kia. It was there.

He leaped in the car.

But what if it’s another one of those movie moments, he thought, as he grabbed the key and turned it. What if it doesn’t start? But no!

The car started. He floored the accelerator and zoomed toward the metal gate. He didn’t care, he would plow through it, if they tried to keep him there. But no, the gates opened.

And he was out on Mockingbird Place. Free.

Yet he could still hear the laughter. The mocking laughter, in his head, of the female and male.

“Ha ha ha ha ha!”

He had to get off Mockingbird Place. And away from any streets with the names of birds. And away from this Doheny estates section of Los Angeles, where he didn’t belong, anyway. He belonged back in Atwater village in his crappy apartment.

With his crappy life.

Who was he kidding, anyway? It had all been too good to be true. Nothing ever works out so fucking awesome like that. Nothing!

And yet, he at least had gotten laid, he thought, as he found Susten Boulevard and started heading east in a slow line of Friday night traffic, back toward his real life.

It hadn’t been so bad. I mean, he hadn’t been able to finish. But he could finish himself off when he got home.

He could picture those fantasy breasts and that movie star face and that long blonde hair, and he could feel that perfect ass, and he could…oh….

Jesus, what happened?

He looked briefly down at his crotch and saw a wet spot and realized he had made himself cum by just remembering being with that sweet piece of ass. That’s how sweet it had been.

That had never happened to him before. A waking wet dream? Jesus.

That’s when he knew, I suppose, that he wasn’t quite as free as he felt, now that he was well away from the scene of the horror.

He wasn’t free at all.

Because…now…he wanted more than he’d wanted anything in his life…to be with Suzy again…and to hold her and kiss her and feel her warmth and her sexiness and to be inside her again…and to…have her.

He had to have her.

He knew that. And he also knew… that he was completely fucked.