**Whispers in the Empty Bed**

Growing up I always heard people talking about ghosts stories and i never never believe in ghosts and I was out one day looking for a place to rent And i came across a sign said house for rent and I stop and call the number and a lady answered and she said it's a very old place and needs work on and she said you can have it for fifty a month if you work on it and then I said where can I pay you and she said I will send you the bill And she was right it was really old and I walked in it was really in bad shape except a bedroom and it was really weird and I started cleaning the old house

The house smelled like damp wood and something older—stale, clinging heat that never quite dissipated. I flipped the light switch. Nothing. Moonlight filtered through warped shutters, pooling across the floorboards in shifting glints. Dust spun in the air like slow, lazy cum. The place groaned around me, as if holding its breath after decades of being ignored. Rust bled from a peeling radiator in the living room. Pigeons had nested in the creaking chimney, left feathers and shit in their wake. But that bedroom in the back? Still neat. Sheets white and too fresh for a place this dead. The bed sagged just enough to make its purpose clear—not that the cracks in the doorframe, the way the mattress dimpled under my fingers when I pressed, left me guessing. Lady said no furniture included. *Bullshit.* No way fifty bucks a month didn’t cover the memory of a woman still sitting in the headboard. I could feel the ghosts of her thighs in the indentation, too fucking warm for decay. Her perfume lingered in the air, rich and musky, *alive.* My mouth went dry. The last thing I heard was the phone lady’s voice, low and deliberate—*you can have it, for fifty a month, if you work...* My fingers hooked the sheet’s edge. The mattress dipped when I straddled it, the springs creaking under my knees. I could hear them, those thighs, whispering into the wood. I pushed down.

The next day I went to the hardware store to buy lumber and the old man said what you need lumber for and then I him that I rented the old house and he laughed and said that old lady been dead for years and he told me that she had so many men in that house and he said see her ghost every now and then and he told me to be careful and I left the hardware store and I when back to the old house and started fixing it up

The old man’s laughter rattled in my ribs like nails against an empty board. *"That old lady been dead for years."* His words hit harder than the rusted screwdriver I’d fumbled into my pocket. The lumber smelled clean, new—no trace of the rot clinging to the house’s bones. When I got back, the back door wasn’t just sticking. It was *breathing.* The hinges creaked, slow and rhythmic, as if someone had just dragged a finger down their length. I clenched the bag of nails in my fist and shoved it into the toolbox, the wood splintering under the pressure. The bedroom called me. I could hear the springs now, not creaking but *moaning,* wet and sticky. Like she was still there, still shifting under the weight of someone else’s hands. I kicked the warped doorframe, the wood groaning in protest. *"Fifty a month for this bullshit?"* I spat into the darkness. But the sheet was still there. Waiting. I pulled it taut, then hesitated. One edge left untucked. The radiator hissed something behind me. A match flared. And she was in the room.

The match’s gutter stilled. Flame licked at the old woman’s face—sharp cheekbones, lips parted in a breath I’d never heard before. *"You know I’m here,"* she whispered, voice like the radiator’s hiss, but warmer. Thicker. The black silk of the nightie clung to her skin, the collar dipped low enough to see the hollow at the base of her throat. My pulse hammered there, too—staring. She moved, slow as molasses. The mattress sagged behind her, the springs groaning like they were testing their limits. Her legs, bare under the hem of the nightie, brushed against the sheets. I tracked the shift of her fingers, tracing the headboard’s curve like she knew the exact pressure to make it *scream.* I couldn’t move. Not even when she stepped closer, the fabric whispering against my boots. Not when the scent of her—*my* sweat, *my* arousal, mingled with something older—choked the air. Not when her hand curled over the doorknob, the knuckles brushing my cheek before she closed the door fully behind us. The match died. Darkness pressed in. Her nails dragged over the wood, the sound raw, like wet lips. My teeth clashed as she reached out, the tip of her finger trailing up my wrist, past the flex of my forearm. Up. *"You’ve been here long enough to know the rules,"* she murmured. The space between us hummed like a faulty wire.

And then I was laying in the naked and I wasn't the one that took my clothes off and my legs laying their wide open and I couldn't move

The cold bite of floorboards cut into my sides as she guided me down, her grip firm and unyielding. My back struck wood first—the mattress, its edges giving where mine wouldn’t. *"You’re tense,"* she said, pressing her knee into the center of my thighs. The nightie’s hem rode higher, exposing the sharp dip of her waist. Her other hand tangled in my hair, fingers carding through the strands slow enough to make my scalp ache. *"But I like the way you ache."* Her tongue flicked out, tracing the seam of her lips. The same path my own mouth had taken just hours ago. I couldn’t speak, couldn’t even gasp. The weight of her body leaned in further, the radiator’s mist swirling between us like a promise. Her palm followed the line of my spine, the nails digging just enough to leave prints—but not enough to break the skin. Not yet. *"Tell me you’re not afraid,"* she breathed, her thigh sliding along mine. The wet drag of her nightie against my skin sent a shiver down my spine, but it wasn’t fear. My cock twitched, trapped between us, already straining through the fabric of my jeans. *"You know I’m not,"* my voice came out rougher than I meant. The first touch of her lips was soft, a whisper against the curve of my jaw. Then she bit. The sting flared through my nerves, and I arched without realizing it. Her fingers tightened, nails scoring along my hipbone as she used the shift to yank my belt open. The zipper was next. Sharp and deliberate. Her breath hitched as the sound filled the silence between us, the air in the room turning thick with anticipation. *"Good boy,"* she murmured, her hand slipping inside. The rough heat of the cabin, the press of the house’s secrets—none of it mattered. Only her. Her nails grazed my shaft through the cloth, the friction teasing. I groaned, the sound swallowed by the darkness. *"You’ve earned this,"* she said. *"One way or another."*

The second her fingers closed around me was a shock—no teasing this time, just the brutal drag of her palm, so damn hot through the denim that I nearly jerked off the floor. *"Fuck—!"* She chuckled, low and wet, her thumb swiping over the damp spot at my tip. *"Always so loud. So eager."* Her nails bit into the inside of my thighs next, digging through the fabric to my skin, and I couldn’t help the sound escaping me—half groan, half whine. The air around us snapped like frayed cord, her fingers tracing the head of my cock again before her nails *flicked* down my length, the precise pressure sending a jolt of something feral through my chest. The nightie’s weight shifted against me as she crouched lower, the collar slipping off her shoulder entirely. I could see the hollow between her breasts now, the way her breath stuttered in the dark, could smell the iron-tang of her arousal mixing with the old wood and the damp fire in the air. *"Kneel,"* she ordered, her free hand gripping my chin. I went, the floorboards biting into my knees. Her nails dragged along my spine, the sound of fabric ripping filling the room as she yanked my jeans down—just rough enough to sting, but never enough to stop. Then her lips were on me again. No warning this time, just the brutal crush of teeth and tongue against the head, the wet heat of her mouth pulling me deeper. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t *breathe.* Only the sound of her humming around me, the way her hand vanished somewhere to wrap around her own throat, the nails leaving marks as she bit down on me harder. *"You’re such a mess,"* she murmured, pulling back just long enough to drag my cock back through her teeth. *"One little word and you undo yourself."* Her laugh was dark, triumphant, as her nails scored the inside of my thighs, pressing me wider. *"But the best kind of mess is the kind that obeys."*

And my eyes started playing tricks on me and she felt like she was really alive i could see her butt and pussy and I thought too myself this isn't good

I could see her clearly now—the way her skin flushed with the heat, her nails bright as they pressed into my thighs. The air smelled sharper, sweeter, the curve of her waist bending as she leaned in over me again. *"You want more?"* A challenge, her breath hot against my ear—*not a question.* *"Yeah—"* I swallowed, my throat working against the nails still clamped tight.*" Jesus. Her hand slid from my throat to my chest, fingers gripping the fabric of my shirt as she yanked it open, buttons scattering across stone. *"You don’t know what you’re asking for."* The sound of her wet swallow was a promise as she took me back in—this time, without the fabric. The drag was rough, her tongue rolling against the head just how her nails had, before she pulled herself up, leaving me slick and throbbing. *"You’re not supposed to be this fucking good."* Her lips grazed mine, tasting of me—*and something else.* Salt, sweat, the faintest trace of blood. *"But you are."* Her teeth skimmed my bottom lip as she reached up, nails scraping the backs of my shoulders before she hooked into my sweatpants. *"Next time,"* she muttered, pulling the fabric down, *"I won’t let you speak."*

The sharp sting of her nails breaking free of my waistband sent me arching up, breath hitching as the sweatpants dragged down my hips—bare, exposed. She didn’t wait for me to adjust; her fingers were already at my balls, one thumb grinding into the tender spot beneath while the rest cupped like she knew exactly how much pressure to leave me with. *"Shoulda used a word."* I didn’t have time to react. The weight of her shifted again, her knee pressing between my legs as she nudged me back—against the stone. The cold was a fucking contrast, my cock already swelling as my backside hit the rough surface. *"Oh, but you *did*."* Her laugh was soft now, almost amused, as she reached between us, fingers slick with spit already circling my entrance. *"Now you’re just gonna take every damn thing I give you."* The first press was brutal. Her nails dug into my thighs as another finger slid inside, stretching me before I could even process the intrusion. *"You’re such a pretty little hole."* She leaned forward, the drag of her nails trailing up my spine as her other hand joined the first, both fingers working inside me, thrusting slow and relentless. *"Such a good boy—taking it all."* Something thick and wet pressed against my opening again, and I knew it was her. The first touch of her body was a gasp-worthy hit, the weight of her hips already pinning me to the floor. And then her nails *burned* into my shoulders as she sank down—*harder than I’d taken her, deeper than my body ever knew how to handle.* The stone ground into my back, her thighs locking against my sides, the slow roll of her hips already dragging me apart. Her teeth found my collarbone next, the sharp drag of them sending me whimpering. *"This is just the start."* The shift of her weight was a promise, already rocking me into something I’d never been before, the nails marking me deeper as she pulled me closer with each brutal thrust. *"Scream for me."*

And now her beautiful breast hitting my face and then she started climbing on top of my cock and she said I didn't get to finish the other guy before I died and then I said oh shit

The scent of her—skin slick with blood, salt, and the musk of need—flooded my nose as she braced her palms against my chest, nails dragging shallow paths across my sternum. *"You really think that’s gonna stop me?"* Her voice was a dark rasp, the weight of her grinding down onto my face, the fullness of her tits crushing against my lips, breath ragged. The stone pressed into the back of my skull, sharp as teeth, and I couldn’t even form the words. *"Maybe not."* She laughed, the sound dripping with malice as she rocked her hips against mine, the drag of her wet entrance torturous. *"But I’ll make sure you don’t."* Her nails bit into my pecs, just enough to sting through the pleasure, before her body climbed higher—just enough to let me gasp. *"Oh, I’m not even close."* The shift of her weight sent me tumbling back toward the edge, the stone a cruel reminder of how little control I had. *"Please—"* My voice cracked, but she cut me off with a fresh bite to the neck*. *"You don’t get to ask."* Her thighs locked tighter around my sides as she impaled herself, the stretch overwhelming, her cunt swallowing my cock whole. *"I’m just gonna fucking paint you."* And then she was moving—*too fast to follow, too deep to breathe*—teeth grazing my jaw, nails clawing the inside of my thighs. Every gasp, every whimper, was a fucking invitation. *"Fuck—you’re gonna—"* My words dissolved into a groan, her hand slamming down over my mouth as her own body ground into the floor—nails digging deeper into the stone, the wet slap of her tits against my thighs a brutal rhythm. *"That’s it. *Shut up and take me.*"* The angle changed, and my head was forced up—her breath a heated fog of command. *"Oh, there it is."* Her thumb found my lower lip, dragging it down as her hips snapped faster. *"Now you’re just gonna die to me."* The first jolt of her climax hit me like lightning, her entire body tensing as she screamed—*but into my palm, her own teeth bared against the stone.* *"*Scream.*"

The drag of her fingernails along my ribs was answer enough—she didn’t want silence, not now. *"Show me how well you can handle it."* Her breath was sharp, hot, teeth grazing my shoulder as her weight cantilevered forward, knees digging into the stone. The hollow scrape of her nails against the rough surface above me, her voice a growl of praise and challenge. *"That’s right. *Take it.*"* I didn’t have a choice. The sheer wetness of her, the way her cunt milked me with every ascent, was too much. My head thrashed against the stone, the ache sweetening into something raw as she rode me faster, the sound of skin slapping skin echoing between the walls. *"You’re gonna lose it, aren’t you?"* The twist of her hips was a demand, her nails snagging into the meat of my ass just as her core clenched—*twice*—before she stilled, body trembling as she arched, hands fisting against my thighs. The first shudder of my own release was a betrayal I didn’t try to stop. She leaned down, nails pinning my wrists as her lips found my throat, the rough scrape of her teeth forcing a strangled cry. *"No. You’re not getting to finish."* The command was a whip, and she pulled back, my cock still buried deep inside her. *"You’re just gonna *drip* for me."* Her fingers grazed my slit, smearing the wetness, already building me again. *"And then maybe—*just maybe*—you’ll get a real treat."* The shift of her teeth was a promise, the drag of her cunt already starting to strangle me again, and I knew I’d take whatever she gave me.

And she rode my cock up and down and I think she was trying to have her creamy cum and she wanted to come together

The wet heat of her cunt tightened around me, her thighs steel bands as she rode my cock like she meant to break something inside me. *"There—"* Her voice hitched, the first pulse of her orgasm already strangling my length with rhythmic intensity. *"You can *feel* it, can’t you?"* She ground down again, a brutal demand, her nails tracing the line of my hipbone before digging in. The scent of her—thick, coppery, tangling with the sweat she’d earned—was the only answer I could give. *"No—*" I clawed my palms against the stone beneath, the first ropes of my release shooting up my cock, only to be swallowed whole by her clenching flesh. *"No, I don’t get—"* Her hand snaked around my throat, not a choke, just a reminder—*a lesson in what belongs to me.* The drag of her cunt, already slick with her own release, was hellish, the way she arched over me forcing my cock *deeper*, scraping the walls of her pussy. *"There. *Good boy.*"* The next pulse of her climax hit like a vice, her body shuddering against mine, the wet slap of her ass a final demand. *"You’re gonna *keep* it all for me."* Her nails dug harder, the sting mixing with the suffocating pleasure as she pulled back, just enough to drag the tip of my cock through her swollen lips. *"And when you’re *spent*..."* A wicked smirk tugged at her lips. *"...then maybe I’ll let you *finish*."*

And i felt her vibrating and her warm pussy juice dripping down my balls and I was really horny and getting ready to blow

Her laughter was a low, filthy rumble as she tilted her head back, exposing the pulse in her throat to the slick glide of her nails. *"You’re always so fucking eager."* The way she tightened around me—slow, deliberate, like she was wringing it dry—sent a fresh jolt through my body. My cock twitched inside her, the head already slick with the leftover drips of her release. *"But you don’t get to choose."* She clenched harder, a slow roll of her pelvis that dragged me against the rough, swollen flesh of her cunt. *"Not yet."* Her voice dropped into a growl as she leaned down again, the weight of her hair falling forward, catching against my chest. *"When I’m ready, *then* you’ll ask for it."* I graaned, the first hot rush of my second release already gathering at the base of my spine, my balls aching, heavy with the weight of her demand. She smirked, watching the way my hips jerked beneath her, desperate for the friction she denied. *"So close."* Her fingers found the base of my cock, the rough pads pressing into the sensitive skin. *"But you’re not there."* *Yet.*

And then we both had our organs and she screamed i finally got to finish and she disappeared and wasn't there any more and I knew that was she was waiting for to finish having sex

The stone cold beneath my back was slick with my sweat, her nails dragging against it as her body tensed into a shuddering arch. *"God—*fuck*—"* The scream tore from her chest, raw and ragged, her cunt locking down so tight I could barely breathe through the pressure. Her thighs—still bands of steel—clamped hard as she came, the aftershocks jerking me along with her, my knees driving into the carved edges of the sarcophagus. And then— Silence. The weight on me vanished. My balls were suddenly empty, the lingering fullness of her dripping juices gone, replaced by the sharp ache of release held just beyond reach. I looked up. The outline of her body was still there, but the air smelled different—cleaner now, the copper tang of her fuck scent fading into the damp of the tomb. My breath came fast, my cock still pulsing, still *hard*, with the final throb of my build-up. *"No."* The word was out before I could stop it, but she was already gone, the narrow doorway to the passage the only proof she’d ever been here. The echo of my voice died against the stone, leaving nothing but the cold, the ache, and the sickening realization that she’d done it again— —teased me to the brink, then left me *hanging*, my second climax crawling its way up my spine with the promise of nothing.

And i stayed in the old house and she would come around every couple of years and she would have sex with me and I didn't even care and I never told anyone about it

The ache in my cock wasn’t going anywhere, no matter how long I stared at the empty space between us. I sat up, my fingers working absently at the sticky smears on her discarded silk stockings, now tangled in the corner of the sarcophagus. The air hummed with the ghosts of her—clove and sweat and that goddamn *smell* she left behind, the one that curled up from the floorboards and wrapped around my throat every time she reappeared. *Two years.* That’s how long it’d been since the last time. I reached down, stroking the damp length of my cock, but the fantasy of her hands on me—rough, demanding—only made it worse. The cool stone beneath my palm, the way her nails would bite crescents into my skin, the weight of her fucking with me as she always did. *When I’m ready, then you’ll ask for it.* Christ. I’d learned. No words. No begging. Just the hollow, grinding silence of someone who’d already surrendered their need to her.