Page 21 of Ghoul as a Cucumber

I love it.

I’m not analysing the situation. My brain has completely shut off, and I simply exist, floating in this cocoon of wild sensations. Every touch sears through my body, making me ripple and tighten like I’m a jelly.

The ice, the fire, the ghostly fingers joined by Pax’s real ones, it all blurs together until my pussy is screaming for release, until my stomach is a hard coil of nerves and wanting, until someone bites my ass and I cry out with pleasure.

Something cool and hard presses against my lips.

“A drink, m’lady?” Edward asks as someone – I presume Pax – tilts a wine bottle against my lips. “Ordinarily, I would serve only the finest French Champagne with a meal, but since my infamous wine cellar was drunk dry by my ungrateful friends, you will have to make do with this £4.99 Sainsbury’s pisswater. Pax will pour for you.”

I can’t make words form, so I tilt my head back and allow Edward to pour a little of the cheap bubbles down my throat. As I swallow, I feel the splash against my skin as he sloshes some into the small of my back.

“Taste her now,” I hear Edward prodding Ambrose.

Tingling, ghostly lips caress my skin, sucking up every morsel of the Champagne as it pools into the little crevice made by my arched back and then…

…and then lips touch my clit.

“Argh!” I jerk in the restraints. After so much anticipation, the touch of those warm, ghostly lips against my most intimate parts is far, far too much.

I think I might come right now, just from that one gentle kiss.

But I don’t. It’s like I’m floating on the edge of an orgasm, and they won’t let me fall. Bastards.

I think it must be Ambrose. Yes, that is Ambrose lovingly, tenderly stroking me, drawing out the most inhuman sounds from my throat as he drives me closer and closer to that cliff edge without allowing me to go over.

My body can’t take it. I squirm and buck, but I can’t escape, and that makes it even more intense. Edward is saying something but I can’t hear – it’s as if he’s calling from some great distance away.

I think I have an orgasm, but I actually can’t be sure. It’s as if I truly have fallen over the edge of a cliff, only instead of falling, I’mflying. My heart thrums in my ears and blood rushes into my head and I’m being buffeted on all sides by wild winds, but instead of wind, it’s emotion. It comes in waves, and each is a mini orgasm that threatens to send me falling back to earth, but I’m held and lifted and carried away…

Woah…woahhhhh…

White spots dance in front of my eyes, and slowly, slowly, I’m pulled back to earth. But it’s not over. Edward wouldn’t allow that. No, now someone else is between my legs, rough hands gripping my ass as he buries his face into my pussy. Pax. He hungrily takes my clit in his mouth, sucking all the juices that he helped to create.

While Pax is doing that, I feel something else touch my lips. It’s light and soft and makes my mouth tingle with warmth. It takes me a moment to realize it’s a ghost cock.

“Be a good girl. Take your prince in your mouth,” Edward orders.

I’m too far gone to call him out for being an arrogant ass and calling me ‘good girl.’

Pax is still between my legs, eating me out with a ferocity that makes my legs quake. I can feel another orgasm growing like a distant wave inside me, cresting as it nears the shore.

I open my lips, and Edward slides himself inside.

He tastes amazing. He tastes the way he’s always smelled to me – like burnt sugar and summer blossoms, with a kiss of opium. Because he’s still a ghost, I can’t quite grip him with my lips, but I do my best.

I take Edward deeper, sucking hard and using my tongue to swirl around his tip. I try to give him as much sensation as I can, knowing that as a ghost I might not be able to make him come.

“What should I do?” Ambrose asks.

“She quite likes you playing with her breasts, and her clit,” Edward says. “And I think you enjoy it, too.”

“Oh, yes.”

And then Ambrose’s hands are on my breasts, thumbs lovingly stroking over my tortured nipples. On any other day, the sensation would be too soft for me, but after the way Edward built me up with the ice and the wax and the food, each swipe of Ambrose’s warm, ghost fingers nearly has me tearing free of my restraints.

Edward strokes my head, which is something I’ve always hated guys doing, when they push your head onto their cock like they think they’re in some porn film. But when he does it, it doesn’t feel controlling. It gives me a little depraved thrill. Or maybe that thrill comes from the fact that I have one ghost’s cock in my mouth while another is playing with my nipples and a Roman warrior has his face buried between my legs?

Yeah, that could be it.

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