The ghost

Something firm and fleshy pressed against Rhonda's lips. She opened her eyes and saw nothing but explored it with her tongue. Little helmet, dimple at the end with a hole; yeah, that's a cock. She was far too relaxed to be frightened.

"I don't do oral; put it between my tits."

The sensation vanished, and then she felt the warm pulsing length of a male member between her breasts. She squeezed them up and together, luxuriating in the feeling of flesh sliding against hers. The phantom cock thrust forward and back, bringing out little moans from the wet and stimulated girl. After a few minutes there was a pulse and a wad of cum sprayed her upper chest. Rhonda scooped up a handful of water and washed it away.

"That was nice, but how about the main show? Come on boy, or better yet come inside."

She lifted her legs and rested her ankles on either side of the tub. The water rose like something was displacing it, eventually spilling over the sides of the tub and onto the floor. Something pushed at the lips of her already-stimulated vagina.

"Oh, you know what I want; fuck me gently, ghost boy."

She felt the length of it slide inside her; seven, maybe eight inches, not a bad circumference. It slowly pushed in and out, each thrust accompanied by a wave of water that crested on her chest and sloshed a bit of water out of the tub.

There was a rush of warm pleasure when he came inside her, filling her pussy with his cum. Then she felt him pulling out. She instinctively grabbed his ass and pulled him toward her.

"No way, boy! Not until I get some too."

The sense of his action changed; his thrusts became violent and forceful. Rhonda pushed back with the same ****, letting his fast-fucking build her pleasure quickly. She came like a megavolt shock.

By the time she was back to her senses Rhonda could tell the ghost was gone. But he'd left behind a gift. The water was thick, viscous and bubble-free; it wasn't water, she was in a deep pool of cum. She pulled the plug and turned on the water; more cum came out.

"Yu-uck!"

She turned off the tap and got out of the tub; the floor was slippery with cum and so were her the soles of her feet, so she had to lean on the sink cabinet for support. She tried the sink taps: cum; she looked in the toilet bowl: cum; she looked in the toilet tank: cum. She reached for the towel bar and found no towels, only a single facecloth.

"That little fucker! It's like the little shit wants the sex to be unpleasant."

The door opened and Amanda came in, wearing slippers and an oversize Independence Day tee.

"What the hell have you been–? Oh, I guess you've met the ghost then."

"Everything was going fine until–"

"Until you made him do something he didn't want to. Yeah. He's like that. And let me guess, the taps are dripping spuz too."

"How did you know?"

"Duh. If there'd been any water you wouldn't have taken a cum-bath. And all the towels are in the upstairs linen closet. Come on."

"You could just go get one. Or ten, or a hundred."

"No, you're doing the walk of yuck. And you're also going to clean this up. I had to."

"This happened to you?"

"Sort of. Are you familiar with the term bloodbath?"

"That's even more gross!"

"Yeah, it is. But at least I'm going to be walking with you, even though it does mean my shirt gets soaked with jizz."