Chapter 2

John stirred, a bit confused, not sure of where he was, at first. He supposed that was normal - first night in a new house, after all. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and looked at the familiar figure beside him. Joan was propped up on one elbow, her hair tousled, her eyes bright and intense. “Morning, Sleepyhead,” she purred, her voice a low rumble that vibrated through him.

He could see “that look” in her eyes, the way her body was moving against him, but his mind was focused on the unpacked boxes in the hallway, the clutter that still needed to be dealt with. He reached up and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, a soft smile playing on his lips. “Joan, we can’t,” he said, his voice a gentle rebuke. “We’ve got so much to do today.”

Joan’s bottom lip pouted slightly, her eyes meeting his with a playful challenge. “I thought we could take a little break.” She ran her fingers through his chest hair, tracing lazy circles around his torso. John tried not to let his gaze drift down to the hem of her nightshirt, which was slowly inching up her thighs.

He sighed, his hand dropping to rest on her hip. “It’s not just that, Joan. We’ve got the family coming over in the next couple of days, and I don’t want them tripping over boxes. We still need to figure out where everything goes.”

Joan sighed but reluctantly agreed, and so they started their day with coffee and a quick breakfast. They tackled the kitchen first, cleaning up the cabinets and unpacking boxes of dishes and pots. She moved like a dancer, her body graceful and fluid, her body glowing after the previous night’s events, as she put things away.

John took a break to watch her, a small smile playing on his lips, wondering how he’d gotten so lucky. Even after twenty years of marriage, Joan was still “a babe.” At five foot seven, with very fair skin, deep blue eyes, and dark shoulder-length brown hair, she kept in amazing shape. Dressed in sensible work clothes - jeans and a light pink t-shirt - she still looked sexy to him, with a powerful, muscular ass, and a solid pair of 36C breasts with barely any sag at all, despite having had two children. John loved her energy, particularly in bed, even though he could rarely keep up with her naturally, super-powerful sex drive.

He privately shook his head and thought, “She wore me out last night. Man, those Catholic girls...” he chuckled to himself. It was part of what convinced him to get a vasectomy so many years ago. He knew those amazing childbearing hips would keep producing countless numbers of babies, if he hadn’t taken control of the situation. He leaned back against the counter, sipping his coffee, as she hummed a silly tune to herself. “Well, doll, it looks like you’ve got your own system going here, so I’ll leave you alone for now. If you need me, I’ll be unpacking tools in the garage for a bit,” he announced.

“OK, see you in a while,” Joan responded, without missing a beat. She continued to smile to herself, thinking about last night. She had no idea what had gotten into John. He had never pleasured her with his tongue like that before, she thought. Then, she corrected herself, remembering one time he Had tried it, back when they were first married. She recalled she was nervous and resistant to it, remembering the time her mother once called it “an unholy act”. She also remembered John’s attempt was truly inept, embarrassing really, he was basically just slobbering all over her - nothing like what she’d experienced last night. Now that she had known the true splendor of cunnilingus, she wondered why, after all these years, they’d never given it a second chance? She also hoped she might be able to get him to try it again, maybe even as soon as tonight.

As she moved on to another box of dishes, Joan felt a warm breeze tickle her behind the ear. She paused, her hands struggling to hold onto a stack of plates, her brow furrowing in confusion. She turned around slowly, her eyes scanning the empty kitchen. The house was quiet, the only sound her own soft breathing. She shrugged, attributing the sensation to her imagination, and resumed unpacking the dishes.

She picked up her humming where she’d left off, trying to fill the silence with something other than her own thoughts. It quickly returned, though, a curious electricity in the air. She shivered, her nipples hardening inside the soft fabric of her bra, and poking through her thin t-shirt. She looked down, noticing the change, and an involuntary smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Must be the air conditioning,” she muttered to herself with a sarcastic chuckle. Growing up, she’d never been able to keep her nipples from making their presence known at the drop of a hat. They could literally poke through anything, no matter what she wore to cover them up and, through the years, she’d come to accept that inevitability.

Seeing her positive reaction, the ghost began stroking her nipples from behind, its touch feather-light and teasing. Joan gasped, her body tensing as the sensations shot straight to her core. She quickly put down the plates she was holding to avoid dropping them. Her breath caught in her throat and her body froze in place as the ghost’s touch continued to stimulate her. She dropped her head and grabbed onto the counter for support, unconsciously widening her elbows to allow her tormenter better access to her breasts. For a minute or so, she closed her eyes and swooned as she felt a large pair of hands cupping each of her breasts, lovingly squeezing them over and over again, before giving both nipples one sharp tweak. Surprised, she squealed with nervous laughter at the playful attack.

Then, suddenly, it stopped, leaving Joan confused and aroused. She spun around again, desperately surveying the kitchen, her heart pounding in her chest, but saw no one. She cursed under her breath, annoyed and frustrated. “For heaven’s sake, what is wrong with me? I must be losing my mind,” she muttered to herself, her voice barely above a whisper. She shook her head, trying to shake off the sexual fog and the lingering throbbing sensation from the mysterious phantom touch.

At the same time, in the garage, John was uncovering a dusty old bottle of Scotch, hidden in the back of a cabinet. He dusted it off and admired it. Aged twenty one years, and never been opened. He wondered how the realtors had missed this little gem. He put it aside, with thoughts of how he might share it with Joan after dinner. She’d appreciate it, he knew. He was about to move on to something else when he heard the muffled squeal from inside the house.

“Joan?” he called out, his voice surprised. “Are you alright?!”