The Pale Man

Violet was still tasting her mother on her tongue when the temperature in the room dropped hard enough to raise goosebumps across both their bodies.

Vivien lifted her head from where she had been kissing down Violet’s throat. Her eyes were glassy, still dark with whatever the house had poured into her, but a flicker of the real woman showed through for half a second.

“Did you feel that?”

Violet nodded. Her heart was already hammering again. The shadows in the far corner of the master bedroom had thickened into something denser than shadow. A shape unfolded itself from the wall like it had been waiting inside the plaster the whole time.

The Pale Man stepped into the low light.

He was tall and thin to the point of looking stretched. Skin the color of old milk. No hair. Eyes like wet black stones set too deep in the skull. His mouth was the worst part. Too wide. When it opened the inside was the same unbroken pale as the rest of him, tongue included, as if color itself refused to touch him. He was already hard. His cock jutted from between his legs, long and thick and the same bloodless shade as the rest of his body, the head slick with something that was not quite precum.

He did not speak. He simply looked at the two women on the bed with open, ravenous hunger.

Vivien’s breath hitched. Whatever the house had done to her earlier surged back stronger. She did not scream. She did not pull away. Instead she spread her thighs wider in invitation, still straddling Violet, and reached down to hold herself open with two fingers.

The Pale Man’s mouth stretched into a silent smile.

He crossed the room in three long strides and climbed onto the bed. The mattress dipped under his weight. Cold radiated off his skin. He took hold of Vivien’s hips with long, elegant fingers and pulled her back against him. The head of his cock nudged between her folds. Vivien moaned, low and broken, and pushed back.

He sank into her in one slow, relentless thrust.

Vivien’s whole body arched. A wet, shocked sound tore out of her throat. The Pale Man was big enough that the stretch looked almost painful, yet she took every inch, trembling, until his pale hips were flush against her ass. He started fucking her with deep, measured strokes, each one punching a soft cry out of her. His hands stayed locked on her waist, holding her exactly where he wanted her.

Violet watched from underneath, breath coming fast, cunt clenching around nothing. The Pale Man’s black eyes flicked down to her. He reached out with one hand, still buried to the hilt in her mother, and wrapped those long fingers around Violet’s ankle. The touch was freezing and electric at the same time. He dragged her closer across the sheets until her face was level with the place where his cock was disappearing into Vivien’s cunt.

Vivien was panting, eyes half-lidded, mouth open. “Violet… fuck… look at him…”

The Pale Man pulled almost all the way out of Vivien, the thick pale shaft glistening, then pushed Violet’s mouth toward it. The message was wordless and absolute.

Violet opened for him.

He fed the head of his cock between her lips while the rest of him was still buried in her mother. The taste was strange. Clean and cold and faintly sweet, like milk left out in a dream. He fucked Violet’s mouth in shallow strokes for a few seconds, then pulled free and slammed back into Vivien hard enough to make her cry out. Then back to Violet’s tongue. Back to Vivien’s cunt. Alternating between them like he could not decide which hole he wanted more.

Vivien came first, shaking, collapsing forward onto her hands while the Pale Man kept using her. The wet sounds of it filled the room. When he finally pulled out of her he was still hard, still leaking that strange pale fluid. He turned his full attention on Violet.

He flipped her onto her stomach with effortless strength, yanked her hips up, and mounted her from behind. The thick head pressed against her entrance. Violet had only a second to breathe before he pushed inside.

The stretch burned. He was bigger than any cock she had ever taken in fantasy. He did not give her time to adjust. He bottomed out in one long thrust and started fucking her with the same deep, relentless rhythm he had used on her mother. Every stroke dragged a broken sound out of Violet’s throat. The Pale Man’s cold chest pressed to her back. His mouth opened against the side of her neck, not quite kissing, just breathing that strange cold air across her skin.

Vivien crawled close, still trembling from her own orgasm, and kissed Violet while the monster used her. Their tongues met. Vivien’s hand slid underneath to rub Violet’s clit in tight, messy circles.

The Pale Man’s pace increased. The bedframe slammed against the wall. The house itself seemed to groan in time with the thrusts, old wood and older hunger moving together.

When he came it was with a silent shudder, burying himself to the root and flooding Violet’s cunt with pulse after pulse of that thick, cool spend. There was so much of it that it leaked out around his cock and ran down her thighs in pale rivulets.

He stayed inside her for a long moment, breathing against her neck. Then he pulled out, still half-hard, and looked between the two women like a man deciding where to start the second course.