Chapter 8: Public Transportation

Edited by Master Ken

Tuesday, September 17th, 2013 – Paris, Texas

I had just made a pact with Astarte, giving her Darleen Cummins—the mayor's gorgeous, sixteen-year-old daughter—to possess for the night in exchange for unlimited sexual stamina, and now my pecker ached painfully. I had the worst case of blue balls I had ever felt in my life; I had to, needed to, find someone to stick my cock in and take the pressure off my nuts before they ruptured.

I stumbled into the alley, leaving behind the parking lot where I fucked Darleen and summoned Astarte, my pecker leading me on like a divining rod, only it was seeking cooch not water. I reached the main street, almost bumping into a fat man slouching his way down the street. Fuck, I really needed to get my rocks off.

A wheezy screech—air brakes releasing.

I looked up to see a Paris Transit bus pulling up. A stunning woman with flaming-red hair and stacked like brick house, was walking through its open doors. Those melons were huge, stretching her tight t-shirt and jiggling as she climbed into the bus. That gave me a great look at her rear; a tight, and very short skirt, hugged that magnificent ass like a second skin. I had to have her.

I raced down the street, knocking a teenage boy to the ground—his skateboard kept rolling down the sidewalk—and managed to squeeze in past the closing doors. The driver frowned, muttering, "Damn doors never work." The bus was only half-full, but the woman chose not to sit down, holding onto a shiny, metal bar anchored to the floor and ceiling. I didn't blame her for standing—some absolutely disgusting lowlifes, yours included, rode the bus. One of those disgusting lowlifes eyed the woman's ass, rubbing his hands on his ratty jeans.

I got a good look at her face—sensuous mouth, emerald eyes, smooth skin—and I recognized her. Carla Haroldson—ghostXhunt. The famous paranormal investigator that had come to Paris, Texas hunting after my growing legend. This was my lucky day! I was going to pork one of my all-time idols. I loved watching her investigations into ghost hauntings on youtube, or maybe I just loved staring at those wonderful titties as she wandered through old buildings, jumping at any little sound. Either way, I was going to have some fun on the bus!

I squeezed past her, letting my hard pecker rub against her side. If I wasn't invisible, I'm sure I would have left a line of cum across her skirt. She jumped, looking wildly around, then smiled, a pleased, hopeful twist to her lips. Her green eyes gleamed with an excited thrill and color blossomed in her cheeks. Her hand darted into her purse, fishing around, and she pulled out one of those smart phones, her fingers tapping the screen.

Was she calling the police?

"Tuesday, September 17th, 2013 at approximately 8:30 PM, made contact with the Ghost of Paris," she spoke into the phone like a reporter into a tape recorder. Damn, was there nothing these new-fangled smart phones couldn't do?

"You huntin' me, sweetness?" I asked her, pressing my hard rod against her fine ass.

"I am," she answered. "I figured if I trolled around dressed like a streetwalker, I'd attract your attention."

"Umm, you definitely attracted my attention," I growled, humping her ass. "You have my undivided attention."

"I can tell," the ghost hunter laughed in a rich, vibrant timbre. "I can feel how intense your stare is."

I reached around her, groping a firm melon through the t-shirt; she wore no bra. She sighed as I kneaded her flesh, her nipple hardening beneath my hand. She adjusted her phone; over her shoulder I could see the image of her tit getting squeezed by my invisible hand on the screen. The blouse indented, squeezing between my fingers as I pressed into her pliant boob.

"As you can see, the ghost is manipulating my breast," she narrated. "I have never encountered an entity that could manifest so corporeal before. You can see the separate indentation of his fingers. And ... umm ... you can see my blouse rubbing across my ... ohh ... nipple as the ghost pinches and plays with it."

"You know I'm gonna fuck you, sweetness," I whispered. "My pecker's aching to feel your cooch's embrace."

She laughed, "A small price to pay to capture the supernatural on film."

"So you're a real whore for your work?"

"That's one way to put it."

"How'd you put it then, sweetness."

"I'm dedicated."

"So am I," I purred. "Dedicated to fuckin' purtee, young thangs."

She laughed, tossing back her fiery-red hair. I pushed the curtain of red to the side, exposing her pale neck. I wanted to leave my mark, sucking at her neck as my pecker slipped between her legs. She scooted back, leaning her ass—plump, full, magnificent—into my groin. I let my cock side up her thigh, reaching towards the heat that I ached to bury into. My tip brushed her groin; she wore no panties and I felt no fur. I quested for her hole, her shaved pussy lips moistening my pecker.

"Hot damn if you ain't ready to fuck!" I hollered.

A few of the bus riders—besides the bum, there were a pair of grungy teenagers, an old woman, and a fat man with a ruddy face—were staring at her. "Sorry, my boyfriend left me a dirty message," she quickly covered.

Chuckling, I continued rubbing my pecker through her hot and silky cooch, trying to find her hole. A soft, mewling sigh escaped her lips, her hips wriggling. The tip of my pecker finally found her tunnel, slipping in; her hand tightened on the pole as the other held her phone beneath her skirt, immortalizing my invisible cock pushing into her wonderfully wet, wonderfully tight depths. The aching pain in my pecker vanished; her delicious flesh eased my torment, washing it away with her juicy warmth. I drew back, slammed in again. So goddamn wonderful!

"The Ghost has inserted some sort of appendage into my vagina," Carla narrated softly, still holding her phone between her thighs as I slowly fucked her.

"That's my pecker, sweetness," I whispered in her ear. My lips were near her pale neck, as inviting as a slice of watermelon on a hot day.

"Correction, the ghost has ... ohhh ... the ghost has inserted his 'pecker' into my vagina, and ... oh, fuck!" The bus hit a pothole, bouncing her upon my cock and burying me deep inside her; she squealed. "And it feels better than any mortal 'pecker' I've ever experienced."

I want back to sucking on her fine neck—I still wanted to leave a hickey to mark her, to show the world that I had her—and she held her phone up to record it. "Not only is the ghost inserting his 'pecker' into my vagina, he's also sucking on my flesh. You can see my neck reddening, puckering slightly as his mouth sucks on my flesh."

"Are you okay, miss?" the bus driver asked, staring back in his passenger mirror.

"Just fine," she answered. "Just doing a ... ohhh ... paranormal investigation."

I picked up my pace, eager to spill my cum in her sweet cooch since the bus driver was getting suspicious. He'd be trying to interfere before too much longer. Well, I might as well have some fun, so I gave her fleshy tits a squeeze through her t-shirt. I bet they'd feel even better without her pesky shirt being in the way. So I slid my hands up under her shirt, and squeezed her melons. They felt great, soft and pliant; her nipples were fat, hard, and her cunt squeezed on my pecker as I pinched her nubs.

"Blue hells, how you doin' that?" the bum asked—clearly riding the bus because he had nowhere else to go; I'd been there. The feller stared with amazement as my invisible arms writhed beneath her shirt.

"Amazing," breathed Carla. "Just ... oh, yes ... amazing!"

"Why don't we give that poor fucker a show," I hissed in her ear. "Bet he ain't seen a pair of titties in forever!"

"What?" Carla gasped.

I pushed her shirt up, baring those magnificent tits for the bum's gaze. My hands found those lush orbs, and I kneaded them like balls of dough. The bum's eyes were fixed on her chest; a grin as wide as the Mississippi cracked his craggy face. He cackled and clapped his hands together. "Hoo-boy, dem's a mighty fine pair of sweater puppies you got!"

A low, throaty moan escaped her lips. Her hips started rolling, matching the rhythm of my plunging pecker. "The ghost is manipulating my breasts, exposing them. Perhaps to embarrass or shame me," Carla narrated. "It's working. But strangely, it seems to ... umm ... only fan my excitement."

"Miss!" the bus driver gaped, the fat sack finally realizing what was going on. "You gotta put those away right now!" The bus slowed, pulling to the curb. "And get off my bus before I call the cops."

"It's not me," Carla panted. "I'm being attacked by a ghost."

The bus driver gaped at her; disbelief flickered across his fat jowls. I grabbed a fat nipple—still pumping away at her sweet cooch, my balls slapping against her—and tugged hard on it, stretching her breast like a piece of taffy. Her cunt spasmed on my cock, a soft gasp escaped her lips, then I let go, and that titty snapped back, bouncing and jiggling. The bum chuckled, slapping his thigh.

"See?" she moaned. "It's not me."

The driver picked up a phone attached to the computer built into his dashboard. "524, police, 9th and Main, woman performing a lewd act. Police, 9th and Main." He paused, listening. "Yeah, she's got her ... um ... breasts out, and may be ... eh ... stimulating herself." Another pause. "White female, late twenties, red hair, um, five-nine." Pause. "Received, thank you." He turned around. "Cops on the way; I'd skedaddle if I was you, miss."

"Fat chance," I shouted, and kept pounding her cunt. "Gonna fuck this slut 'til my nuts explode in her sweet cooch!"

The bus driver frowned, his fat jowls swaying as he peered about, trying to figure out who said that. I pounded her cooch harder, pushing her forward with every thrust and sending those mighty fine jugs of her bouncing about. I moaned loudly, grunting and gasping with every thrust. The other bus riders, even the bum, skedaddled. The bus driver followed, waiting on the street corner for the cops and talking on his cell phone. I paid it no mind. What were the cops going to do to me? I was invisible; I'd just slip away like, well, a ghost.

"Why do you ... ohh ... do this?" Carla asked, still holding up her phone.

"I see a purtee girl, and I just gotta stick my pecker in her," I answered.

"Do you need to do this to put your spirit at rest?" she asked. "Or are you some sort of poltergeist?"

"Sweetness, I just like to fuck purtee, young thangs." I gave her hooters another firm squeeze. "And you have got a pair of mighty-fine tits. I just had to test your cooch out, and give you a taste of my great pecker!"