The Bentley purred to a halt before our private luxury cabin, deep in the woods—a childhood discovery now renovated into an elite retreat. Velvet cushions piled in the reading nook. Marble-topped bistro table gleamed under crystal chandelier light. Champagne chilled in silver buckets, Dom Pérignon bubbles sharp on the tongue. Frank, my best friend from old money circles, poured generously. His girlfriend Mélanie, lithe and blonde, sipped slowly. Pauline, my art class crush, black lace top hugging her curves, eyed me seductively. We shared paranormal tales to set the mood. Mélanie whispered of her sister’s voice on death’s anniversary. Tension built like foreplay.
Fingers on the Ouija glass. Frank’s theatrical ‘Spirit, are you there?’ The glass slid to YES. Shock rippled. It spun alone. Girls screamed—a little girl ghost, Mélanie’s dead sister Marie. Boys saw nothing. Heart pounding, I suggested air. Mélanie insisted: talk to her. Another round of champagne. Glass spelled M-A-R-I-E. Then M-O-R-T. T-U-M-A-S-T-U-E-E. ‘You killed me,’ it accused. Mélanie paled.
The Privilege
Pauline’s eyes blackened, pupils swallowing blue. Child’s voice from her throat: ‘You let me drown, Mélanie.’ Frank yelled denial—spirits sow discord. Demon taunted his father’s photo: crossdresser, gay secrets, colleagues’ cum on his face. Worse: Frank’s fantasies on me—sucking my cock, my load on his fag face. Frank’s fist cracked Pauline’s nose. She crumpled, smirking slyly before blackout.
We revived her. Packing to flee. Pauline wailed. Mélanie levitated—feet kicking air, head lolling unnaturally. Eyes milky voids. Teeth rotten black stubs. Demonic growl: ‘I took the blonde bitch, Frank. I’ll fuck her better than your tiny dick.’ Chemisier ripped off. Black bra discarded. Seins heavy, nipples sucked greedily by her own lips. Jeans shredded. Naked, shaved pubis tattooed black rose. Fingers plunged into slick cunt. Frank hurled back by invisible force.
The Excess
Fist-fucking frenzy. Entire hand vanished wrist-deep in gaping pussy. Cyprine dripped. Demon read my mind: ‘She’s a slut for big cocks.’ Her voice begged, then silenced. Arm to shoulder threat. She yanked fist out, glistening. Jaw unhinged serpent-like. Swallowed hand and forearm, gagging wet slurps echoing. Cloc—jaw snapped back. ‘Taste her juices, Jérôme?’ Arm thrust toward me, reeking. I bolted into woods, branches whipping, terror choking.
Lost, panting. Cries drew me back. Pauline straddled nude Mélanie, gold cross on forehead. Demon spat bile, silenced. Mélanie breathed, out cold. Frank face mangled—clawed, teeth gone, tongue bifid. Pauline improvised exorcism. We dressed wounds. Drove out in silence.
Frank’s car at my penthouse. Mélanie vanished again—possessed voice mocking parents, green slime oozing orifices. Climbed buildings spider-like, devil tongue lolling. Pauline ghosted me. Elite secrets bind tighter than fear. What haunts next?
