The Devil’s Pact Ghost of Paris Chapter 9: The Marital Bed
Introduction:
The Ghost violates the marriage bed and fucks a wife next to her passed out husband.
by mypenname3000
edited by Master Ken
Copyright 2014
Chapter Nine: The Marital Bed
Tuesday, September 17th, 2013 – Paris, Texas
It was nearing midnight and Heather Pritchard lay on her side, snoring softly, which was strange to hear coming from such a beautiful, young woman. She was my favorite bedmate—a redheaded vixen that loved my cock. Tonight I had made a deal with the demoness Astarte: she got to possess Darleen Cummins’s body until dawn and I got unlimited sexual stamina.
The only problem was I couldn’t seem to get any satisfaction. After making my wish, I fucked Carla Hardings—the famed paranormal investigator who came to Paris to investigate me—on a public bus. When the cops showed up, I fucked elfin-faced Officer Snider up the ass and left her begging for more of my pecker. Then I came to Heather’s house and I fucked the girl for three hours straight. I must have cum ten times, leaving buckets of the stuff in her various holes, and wearing the poor slut out.
And I was still horny.
I was thinking of waking the little slut up and fucking her again. We could be as loud as we wanted; her parents’ bedroom was at the other end of the house and they never heard a thing. The way her daddy had been drinking, he’s probably dead to the world anyways, and her momma never seemed to check on her.
My mind drifted to Linda Pritchard. She was mighty fine for a woman in her late thirties. A pair of nice titties filled out her blouses, and her ass was only a little too plump, but that added some nice curves to her. Heather would be a lucky gal if she looked half as hot as her momma in eighteen years. I bet I could slip into bed and fuck her without even waking up her husband Elvis.
The thought of fucking a woman next to her passed-out husband sent a dark thrill through my body; my pecker seemed to ache even more. I slipped out of the bedroom, padding through the house as quiet as a burglar.
After carefully opening the door, I spied the couple on the bed. He was fat, on his back, and snoring like a saw mill, sleeping off his drunk. His wife lay on her side, sandy-blonde hair almost glowing by the moonlight. I ripped away her covers, revealing her body clad in a cotton nightgown that covered her modestly from head to foot, decorated with little blue flowers.
I slipped into bed with her, stroking her beautiful, peaceful face. She stirred, muttering something. I grasped the hem of her nightgown, pulling it up to reveal a pair of sexy legs. Her hands batted at mine. “Not now, Elvis,” she whispered. “Trying to sleep. I’ll jerk you off in the morning.”
“I’m ‘fraid I want more than a handjob, sweetness,” I whispered in her ear, my hand reaching up beneath her hem to feel her sleek thighs.
Her eyes popped open with fear and I clapped a hand over her mouth and muffled her shout.
I soothed her, “Don’t you fret, sweetness, I ain’t gonna hurt you. Just gonna make you scream!”
My other hand reached her panties, rubbing her cooch through the fabric. Her body tensed, then surrendered to me as I felt a growing warmth and moisture bleed through the cotton gusset. I removed my hand, her mouth opening, and a soft sigh escaped.
“What are you?”
“I’m the Ghost of Paris, sweetness,” I answered. “I haunt all the purtee gals in town. And you’ve attracted my attention.”
“Well, I’m flattered,” she whispered. “But I’m a happily married woman.”
“How happily married are you wearing this ugly tent to bed? When was the last time you and your husband got down and dirty.”
“I gave him a handjob just this mornin’.”
“That’s it, a handjob? Shoot, you two have the hottest sex life I’ve ever heard of, sweetness.”
“We didn’t have time for more,” she added defensively. “If he hadn’t drunk so much, we’d have made love tonight.”
My fingers wormed past her gusset, wiggling into her honeypot. “So your husband’s not takin’ care of his marital duties, huh.”
“It’s fine,” she moaned, her cooch squeezing on my fingers.
“I hot MILF like you shouldn’t settle for ‘fine’. You should have a hard pecker up your cooch whenever you want!”
“You need to stop that,” she protested. “Oh, God, please stop!”
“Why?” I asked, my thumb finding her hard clit. “ ‘Fraid somethin’s gonna happen?”
“Yes,” she hissed. “God, help me.”
“What’re you ‘fraid of, sweetness?”
“Cheatin’ on my husband.”
I smiled, pulling my fingers out of her snatch and yanking her panties down; her ass lifted up, helping me. “I think you want to cheat on him. You want to feel my pecker sliding in your married cooch! You want to cum with a cock stirring up your cunt!”
She bit her lip, fighting her desires and the power of my wish, but every woman gave in to my molestation. “I do!” I felt her thighs part for me, her hands hiking up her nightgown; I mounted her like a bull rearing to fuck. “Fuck me!”
I dove into her cooch, sliding every last inch of my pecker into her moist sheath. She sighed, loud, passionate, relieved. My lips found hers, tongues battling as I stabbed my cock over and over into her wonderful hole. The ache in my cock melted away beneath the wet ministrations of her snatch; a nurse easing the suffering of her patient.
The bed shook; her husband snored. Another sigh escaped her lips, then a loud, throaty moan. Her hips were rising to meet my thrusts, urgently grinding her groin into mine. She was as desperate to cum as I was, to feel that sweet, shuddering release wash away all your cares in a single moment of passion and bliss.
“Oh, yes!” she moaned loudly.
Elvis gave a snort and rolled over. She froze; I kept right on fucking her. The only sound was her husband’s wheezes, the squeak of mattress springs, and the wet noise of my pecker invading her cooch.
“Don’t worry, sweetness, he ain’t wakin’ up!”
She relaxed, gave a throaty laugh, and her hips started up their wiggle again. “This is so wrong!”
“That’s what makes it so excitin’.”
Her cunt rippled on my cock. “Oh, fuck it does!” she moaned as she came, greasing my cock with a flood of fresh juices.
I rolled over on my back, carrying her with me, almost touching her fat, dead-to-the-world husband. She sat up, yanking the nightgown off and exposing those large tits in the dim moonlight. They were heavy, round, starting to sag, but still retaining some of their youth. Her nipples were fat, her areolas dark and huge. She rode me like a cowgirl on a bucking bull.
“Oh, fuck!” she moaned, the springs protesting our passion. “Oh, God, I’m cummin’ again!”
It was like my pecker had driven a hole in her dam, releasing her passion in a torrent of orgasms as she bounced on me. I came in her; she kept right on riding me and my pecker stayed hard. Her juices drenched my crotch, rolling down my skin to seep into her sheets. My hands groped her melons, squeezing, kneading, pulling, and pinching.
Her cunt rose and fell on my pecker, squeezing and massaging me. Her hole was hot and hungry for what I was packing, and the little slut worked her hips to get all the pleasure she could out of my pole. My balls tightened and that tension built.
“Your cooch is workin’ all the cum out of my balls, slut!”
“Are you gonna cum?” she moaned.
“You best believe it!” With a grunt, I flooded her cunt a second time. Her back went rigid, and she howled like a bitch-wolf at the moon, her cooch going grazy about my pecker. Then she collapsed on my chest, her pillowy breasts rubbing against me as she panted into my neck.
“Oh my God, I ain’t been fucked like that since high school,” she sighed.
“I reckon it wasn’t your husband that fucked you like that, was it?”
She gave me a smile. “It was his brother. That was before we was goin’ steady, mind you.”
My pecker still ached. Would I ever be satisfied? Was I going to go through life with my pecker permanently hard? My hand slid down to her pleasantly plump ass, giving her cheek a squeeze. “You ever been buggered?”
“Hell no,” she emphatically said. “Elvis tried once, it hurt so much when he stuck the head in, I ain’t ever let him try that.”
“We gonna change that tonight.” I gave her ass a slap. “Get on you hands and knees like a bitch and I’ll cornhole you nice and good.”
With some apprehension, she followed my instructions like a good slut, facing the foot of her bed as she knelt. I got behind her, spread her cheeks, and rubbed my well lubed cock against her tight hole. “Now relax, bitch, and I’ll make you feel good.”
“Okay,” she muttered.
I pushed into her hole, as tight as a virgin’s cunt, and slid my pecker all the way into her. A low, steady grunt escaped her lips, her body shuddering as I buried into her. With my balls resting on her cooch, I asked her, “See, that ain’t so bad?”
“No,” she admitted. “It kinda feels nice”
“You sound surprised. All you sluts like it up the ass.”
“Is that what I am? A slut?”
“What else would you call a woman that fucks someone next to her sleepin’ husband.”
I started fucking her ass and she smiled at me over her shoulder, beginning to move her hips. “Guess I am a slut. Cause this is feelin’ great.”
I picked up my pace, groaning as I plumbed her depths. My balls slapped loudly on her cunt, the bed rocking to the rhythm of our rutting. Another sigh escaped her lips and a low groan escaped mine—her ass felt like heaven wrapped around my pecker.
“Whatcha doing, Linda?” her husband sleepily asked her.
“Nothin’,” she answered, her voice strained as her ass spasmed on my cock. The little slut was getting off on her husband catching us. “Just tryin’ to get…ohhh…comfortable. Go back to sleep.”
“A’ight, sugar,” he muttered, then started snoring again.
“Oh, God, oh, God,” she whispered, still cumming, transforming her ass into absolute paradise as it milked my cock.
“You’re such a dirty whore, sweetness,” I whispered back.
“I am!” she giggled. “Now cream my backdoor with your spunk!”
With a loud whoop, I erupted inside her backdoor, my entire body tensing as my pleasure poured out of me into her tight ass. She fell forward, my softening pecker popping out of her ass, while she curled into a ball; a big, shit-eating grin on her face.
“Thanks, I needed that,” she murmured sleepily. “You can come haunt me anytime, Ghost.”
“Sure thang, sweetness,” I answered her.
I padded out of the room, my cock blissfully soft for once. I slipped into Heather’s room, my cute bedmate sprawled on her back, her tiny titties on display. My cock hardened painfully; I needed to stick it in something. Her mouth was open slightly, invitingly.
She woke up as I stuck my dick in her mouth. She moved, my dick popping out, and she blinked, glancing at her clock and groaning. “I guess you want me to blow you?”
“You bet, sweetness.”
“Fine, but then I’m goin’ back to bed.”
“It’s a deal,” I told her. I was tired too, and was once my balls were drained I was sure I could get some rest.
Her mouth was warm as she sucked me back in. She froze, then popped it out. “What’s on your dick? It taste funny.”
“That’d be you momma’s ass,” I answered. “I just gave her a good tumble. Now you be a good slut and get back to suckin’ my pecker.”
I groaned as her mouth enveloped my cock, her little tongue swirling around, tasting the sour flavor of her momma’s ass. I definitely had to visit the Pritchard house more often; it was exciting have one Pritchard gal suck the other’s flavor off my pecker.
With a grunt, I sprayed her mouth. “Umm,” she sighed, swallowing, then she rolled over and began snoring. I cuddled against her, resting my head on my pillow, thinking about all the women I’d molest tomorrow.
Maybe I’d go down to the park.
To be continued…
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