Tell your mother

Your mother needs to know about this. Whether you’re losing your mind or there’s really a ghost, keeping it a secret won’t help anyone. Tracy has singlehandedly, in just a week, almost completely cleared away all the old wallpaper from this house. She’s always been a hard worker, but this is an indication that she is not taking all of this well. You can’t really fault her for that.

You head for her room, where you knock softly.

There’s a noise from inside.

“Mom?”

There’s another mumbled reply, but it’s not the clearest. She’s not making this easy.

“Not setting the best example here,” you say as you open the door an inch and look away. “Mom, are you good? I can’t hear you. These doors are like four inches thick.”

“I’m fine. What’s wrong?” She sounds tired; you clearly just woke her up.

The door hits something, and you look down at the clatter to see an empty wine bottle rolling across the floor. Your mother must have had it waiting to go down to the recycling bin.

But she’s drinking wine in here? The whole point of coming to this house was to take the pressure off her, not drown her in more stress.

You open the door and look at her. It’s just reflex. You’re worried.

She’s in bed, among rumpled sheets, sitting up. Her hair is wild. She wears a T-shirt and panties. She rubs her eyes and looks at you, but it’s too late. Her legs are bare, and you can see just a hint of some gray underwear. The panties will be cotton, boring, and full coverage. Not remotely sexy. Her, disheveled like this, bathed in the morning sunlight, is a picture of staggering beauty like Renaissance art.

You grimace as it hits you.

She sees it, and that wakes her up. “Oh—come on, Flynn. Can’t we just yell at each other through the door like normal people?”

You clutch the doorframe, teeth grinding. “Sorry.”

She sees the tent growing in your sweatpants and swallows; the sharp breath she takes next tells you that she has lost as well.

You have enough control to shut the door, but that’s it. This is severe. It’s not a mild one where you can slip away and deal with it.

“OK, let’s just…” your mother says as she pulls off her shirt, revealing her breasts. She’s going to suggest that you just jerk off on her boobs or something.

You drop your robe. Her eyes widen as you approach the bed.

“Oh, um—oh!” She can’t hide her eagerness.

You push her down and climb on, feeding your cock straight into her mouth. She sucks you readily, and while she’s not half as good at it as some of your girlfriends have been, there is no mouth that turns you on more. That’s a thought that you have no desire to unpack or deal with. You push your shaft deeper into her throat. She’s touching herself, and her free hand slides admiringly over your muscles.

This is actually your way of being polite. You’re supposed to carry condoms with you. Everyone is supposed to have them for reasons that needn’t be discussed.

But you forgot them. So, this is how it has to be.

Her mouth is incredible, but this thing inside you that drives you to do this doesn’t want you to go 12 rounds of erotic foreplay; it just wants release. You pull your cock out of her mouth and jerk it hard. She nuzzles it with her face and licks desperately, rubbing hard inside her panties. The idea for a second was to reposition and try to aim for her breasts, but she’s looking up at you. Her face is red, her eyes are dark, and you can’t look away.

You let out a shuddering sigh and your legs quake. Your first rope of cum lands perfectly on her tongue. The rest is on her chin and cheek. The last shot, weirdly powerful for some reason, decorates her nose and forehead.

You let your breath out and sag, grabbing the headboard to pant as she holds her hand tight over her mouth, still rubbing. She stiffens, a tear running down her cum-streaked face as she finishes.

For a minute after that, she lies there with a big smile.

But the smile doesn’t last.

“Oh, Jesus,” she grumbles, reaching for tissues. You climb off her and hand her the box.

“Sorry,” you say.

She has no reply.

“Look, I came to tell you something,” you say as you pick up your clothes. “I saw something weird. This lady with horns.”

Your mother gasps, and you stop what you’re doing.

“Shut the front door,” she says.

“Huh?”

“I’ve seen her too!” She shrieks and claps like a teenager. “I thought I was losing my mind! Oh my god! Don’t you understand what this means?”

“Um…”

“We’re haunted, Flynn! It’s not us! We’re just haunted!” She hugs you from behind and squeezes tight. “Flynn? What’s wrong?”

Her boobs feel amazing back there.

Her grip on you loosens. “Oh no. Hold on, I’ll put on my… oh!”

The bed squeaks as you throw her on it.