But I Don't Want to Be a Ghost

by

Caution: This Erotic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Heterosexual, Horror, Paranormal, Oral Sex, Masturbation, Cream Pie, Exhibitionism, Voyeurism, .

Desc: Erotic Sex Story: The choice of being a ghost was not hers to make. So she just had to make the best of things and hope for the new outlook on her plane of existence to pull her through.

Amy Lickbottom was teased mercilessly about the erotic flavor of her last name. She knew her parents were quite proud of their heritage and she kept the name even though she was the butt of nasty remarks wherever she went. Even her passive boyfriend Herman joked about pulling her panties down to see if she could live up to her name. She pretended to be aghast but in all honesty she would have liked Herman to be a little more adventurous than he was in reality.

At the time that she decided to board the bus at the corner of Eighth Avenue and Fourteenth Street she had yet to have her heart-shaped ass properly licked to her satisfaction. She sat her rump down into the seat feeling that it would be better protected against those nasty boys who made a game of squeezing girl's bottoms right out in public. Unfortunately, the water main break on Twenty-Third Street opened up the pavement and swallowed the entire bus with a single gulp that astonished all within viewing distance.

After all the ambulances and the fire trucks had left, a forlorn Amy sat on top of the fire hydrant sticking out from the First National Bank looking confused and uncertain why they didn't do anything to help her in her plight. In fact, it was as if she was completely invisible to all around her.

She heard two old ladies talking about the accident and telling an enthralled young man that the amount of blood was astonishing. He seemed to be excited by the thought of bodies torn apart by the force of the accident and she noticed his "thing" was sticking out like a flag on a pole on a windy day. She hiked her skirt up to catch his eye and was miffed when he took no notice at all. It was at that point that she realized if nobody could see her, she must be a ghost.

The thought of being a ghost was extremely distressing to Amy because she emphatically refused to believe in such nonsense.

She reached down and pinched her nipple and the sudden tingle sent a shiver up her spine. Well, at least she wasn't a ghost to herself. Not if she had sensitive feelings of an erotic nature. Amy got up off the hydrant and walked over to the young man taking his business in both hands and fondling him with gentle strokes. She could feel the ridges and the stiffness of his shaft but it was obvious he was totally unaware of her manipulations. Well, that was good for her but a shame for him because he was missing out on her skilled ability to arouse male equipment with her skilled palms and inquisitive fingers.

The poor young man knew he was getting aroused for some unknown reason and he was right on the verge of shooting his copious load right inside his sharply pressed trousers. He was certain it had nothing to do with the two old ladies because they were both old enough to be his grandmother. Still, he knew that familiar feeling of reaching a point of no return and turned from them so they would not see the shame of him wetting his underpants and the front of his expensive business suit. He place his newspaper in front of him and hailed a cab to return home and change before heading into his place of work with a cum-load inside his clothing.

For no other reason than she had nothing better to do, the ghost of Amy Lickbottom followed the young man to his nearby apartment and watched as he changed out of his cum-soaked jockey shorts in a pair of clean fresh ones. She approved of his length and girth and decided that his cute backside was just right for pounding her senseless into a mattress or a convenient table top. She wanted to push her finger into his tiny pucker but restrained from doing so because she was afraid it might cause him to become suspicious of her presence.

When they exited the apartment, the young man whose name was Jeffrey White from the mailbox in the lobby walked brusquely to the office building right on the corner near the accident. She saw that he took the elevator to the tenth floor and that entire tenth floor belonged to the Wall Street brokerage house that she had her 401k invested with. For a moment, she was concerned with the fact that she had never written a will and wondered who would claim her belongings such as they were. Probably, the most expensive items were her shoes which took up the entire walk-in closet in her master bedroom.

The sidewalk was almost deserted but she noticed the middle-aged man who had tagged along behind them was still sitting on the bus bench watching her with an amused glint in his eye.

"Ok, buddy, spill the beans. What exactly is your fucking game following me all over the place?"

The man chuckled and pushed his glasses back with a little twist of his wrist that indicated it was a time-worn habit that would never be broken. She saw his wedding ring and the harried look in his eye and figured he was a long-term husband with a roving eye for "young stuff". She knew the type and tried to steer clear of them because they were nothing but trouble with pestering for pussy and falling in love and all that crap that she thought was so cliché.

"You must excuse me, young lady, I too am not used to this form of existence we both seem to be in at the present. I was sitting in the back seat of that bus and I am not certain if they were able to even salvage my body from the mess. My name is Pressley and I was an advisor to the firm where young Mister White is employed. He is lucky that he walks to work each morning and was not on the silly bus that brought us both to the end of the trail as they would say in a western film."

.... There is more of this story ...

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