We hear tales of women having s3x with spiritual husbands. Also, I've heard tales of guys having wet dreams that end with them having semen all over their ball...from the dreamworld!
Now one cannot but wonder if it is true that you can actually have s3x with a spirit and feel it physically...
Continue..
I think the answer is YES..and I will prove it will Simon's story. Simon was part of the gang that killed a girl. Now, the girl visits him at night for s3x!
Here you go...
The girl eased out of her dress like an eel.
Her body was perfect in the light of the moon streaming in from the open window.
She walked, glided slowly towards the b3d. She moved without moving. There was no physical sign (that) she was moving. Only the fact that she was suddenly beside the b3d in the middle of the room gave away the fact (that) she had moved.
The girl stopped beside the b3d and looked down at the only occupant. It was Simon. His face was turned towards the window, and the light danced on his face. His eyes were open, but he was asleep. She smiled and sat on the b3d. She trailed her finger across his face leaving a trail of red.
Blood!
Simon stirred and turned away from the window.
She stretched on the b3d beside him facing his bare back. She arched towards him, until her br3asts were pressing gently into his back.
There was a gentle breeze outside. The breeze rustled the curtains, changing the pattern of light filtering into the room. A spot of light appeared on her buttocks, danced up her curved spine and stopped at her neck. The curtain settled back, and the light disappeared.
A small snore escaped Simon. He turned again. This time, he lay on his back. His right hand fell towards the girl’s face. It passed through her face and landed on the b3d. She had not shifted a muscle.
When Simon started sleeping again, she nudged closer and put her hand on his hairless chest. Tracing imaginary shapes on his chest, her hand moved down to his navel and into his boxers.
The open window slammed shut as a gust of wind hit it. Darkness fell on the room. Simon slept on.
She pulled the boxers down a little. Then she placed a hand on his penis. Simon felt a cold wetness on his manhood and woke up. He was still in that place between being asleep and waking up. He could feel the hands as they gently stroked, but he kept his eyes cold.
It is a dream.
That was what he told himself. And he believed it deep within, until the girl shifted on the bed. It was a quick but heavy movement. The bed frame shook, and Simon opened his eyes for the first time since waking up.
The room was very dark.
He did not sit up. He wanted the dream to continue. And it did. Hands grabbed his penis again, and something cold and wet closed over it. It was real, too real. And the coldness was… He found no word to describe it. But he could feel it crawling up his skin, swallowing him up.
Simon froze. Then he screamed and sat up. He noticed a human shape, but it was too dark to know for sure. He pulled back. He placed a hand on his head and squinted at the figure.
The window swung open again at that moment, and light spilled at the foot of the bed. The girl knelt there, looking directly at Simon.
He sat up and saw the girl. Her br3asts were the first thing he saw. He couldn’t see the face, but he noticed she was smiling.
What the fu*k!
He mouthed the words, but no sound came out.
Simon was certain that he had brought no girl home. An alarm went off in his head. He scrambled off the b3d, screaming. His right leg got tangled in with the blanket, and he tumbled to the carpeted floor.
He was up before he landed. Could one of his friends have decided to play a prank? He stopped by the door and turned to face her. She stood by the b3d with her back slightly turned to the opened window. All he could see was her shape. And it was perfect.
Simon swallowed an imaginary gob of saliva. He still couldn’t see her face.
“Who are you?” he asked. It was a whisper.
She did not answer. Instead, she stepped away from the b3d, towards him. She had taken only one fluid step, but she was almost half across the room already.
Simon’s hand flew to the door knob. He did not turn it, but his hand was ready to yank it open.
“Who are you?” he asked again. It was a half scream. “What are you doing here?”
Silence.
The window flew open again, startling Simon. Just then, the girl turned slightly towards the window, and the light spilled on her face.
The light stayed only briefly on her face, but he had seen the face before the light danced away.
Cynthia!
He screamed –inside his head- but he could not hear his voice.
Oh my God! How? This can’t be. They killed her. They killed her and buried her.
He turned quickly and twisted the door knob. The door did not open, so he twisted harder and the knob gave way, broken, but the door remained locked. The broken knob fell to the floor with an exaggerated clang, as though a sledgehammer had dropped onto the floor from six thousand feet above. His ears were hyperactive.
He was still wondering about the sound when Cynthia covered the remaining distance between them and placed one hand on his shoulder. He shuddered at her touch – the fingers were icy cold - and fiddled with the lock in desperation, but the door remained locked.
She placed another cold palm on his shoulder and a cold wave moved from his shoulders to his neck, slowly down his spin, freezing it.
Simon tried to shout - or even beg, but his voice had disappeared. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Failing that, he tried to move away from her. But at the same moment, she ran her cold hands down his tensed shoulders down the groove in his back and round to his chest.
Her fingers left the icy feeling in their wake and his torso was soon numb all over. Even his heart seemed to have been affected by the cold. Simon could feel –and almost hear - the thump-thump, but only about ten beats per minute. The girl must have read his thoughts. Because she pressed her br3asts onto his back, moving to a rhythm he could not hear.
Me and you, we have some things to do. She cooed into his ears. It was the first time she spoke, and her voice sounded like it was coming from inside him. Simon tried to answer. He failed. He tried again and again, but still, he only opened up his mouth and failed to form the words.
You don’t have to say anything. Just let me take care of you.
She kept on talking as her br3asts rubbed against his back. She moved one hand up his chest as the other moved to his crotch. Simon tried to stop her, but her hands were as firm as they were gentle.
The numbness gradually gave way to warmth. It was like sitting by a fireside after a long walk on a cold harmattan night.
His body warmed up, and he let out a deep breath as she brushed her hand over his boxer. Then she withdrew her hands and shifted back a little.
Simon used the opportunity to turn. He wanted to see her face, look into her eye. That was the only movement he could manage. He could see her face, but the darkness made seeing her eyes impossible.
She was smiling -eyes locked on his – as if they were lovers.
He tried to think of something to say, just one word, even if it made no sense. His mind drew blank. He looked away, blinking.
Relax. You don’t have to be afraid.
She spat on her palm and knelt at his feet. She held his stare as she wrapped her wet palm around him. Her hands remained there, teasing, and he felt himself grow in the wetness of her palms. Then she closed her mouth over him.
TO BE CONTINUED ...
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