What I.F.? Ghost and Mr. Chicken

 

The old haunted house on the edge of town creaked under the October wind, cobwebs dangling like lace from the rafters. Moonlight spilled through cracked windows, painting silver streaks across the dusty floorboards. That was the only light when the front door banged open and Alma staggered forward, clutching a half-empty mason jar of moonshine and bottle of beer.

“Luzzer, (hic) whad arr yoo doin’ here?” she slurred, voice thick and syrupy. Each hiccup jolted her forward, and the flimsy purple mini dress (two sizes too small and fighting for its life) slipped apart. Her heavy breasts swayed with every unsteady step, dark brown areolas peeking farther over the neckline, fat nipples already stiff from the chilly air and the burn of liquor in her blood. No bra. No panties. Just that reckless little dress and a purple satin headband keeping her shoulder-length brown hair from her flushed face.

Luther stood frozen near the staircase, flashlight forgotten in his hand. “A…Alma?! I-isThe old haunted house on the edge of town creaked under the October wind, cobwebs dangling like lace from the rafters. Moonlight spilled through cracked windows, painting silver streaks across the dusty floorboards. That was the only light when the front door banged open and Alma staggered in, clutching a half-empty mason jar of clear, vicious moonshine.

“Luzzer, (hic) whad arr yoo doin’ here?” she slurred, voice thick and syrupy. Each hiccup jolted her forward, and the flimsy purple mini dress (two sizes too small and fighting for its life) slipped lower. Her heavy breasts swayed with every unsteady step, dark brown areolas peeking farther over the neckline, fat nipples already stiff from the chilly air and the burn of liquor in her blood. No bra. No panties. Just that reckless little dress and a purple satin headband keeping her shoulder-length brown hair from her flushed face.

Luther stood frozen near the staircase, flashlight forgotten in his hand. “A…Alma?! I-is that you?” he stammered, eyes huge. He’d come to prove the place wasn’t haunted; he hadn’t expected the most beautiful girl from high school to stumble in looking like sin poured into spandex.

She grinned, glassy droopy eyes sparkling with drunken mischief. “Y’know this place ish haunted, right?” Another hiccup. Another bounce. One more inch and those gorgeous tits would be fully out. She didn’t seem to care. She took a long, sloppy swig of moonshine, throat working, a trickle escaping the corner of her full lips and sliding down her neck, between her cleavage. “Wanna scare the ghosts with me?”

Luther’s mouth went dry. “Alma, you’re… really drunk.”

“Extremely,” she agreed happily, swaying closer until her scent (sweet liquor and warm skin) filled his head. She poked his chest with an unsteady finger. “C’mon, Luzer. Upstairs. Best room’s got a big ol’ bed no one’s died in. (hic) Probably.”

She dragged him up the creaking stairs, hips rolling, dress riding higher with every step until the bottom curves of her ass flashed beneath the hem. Luther followed like a man hypnotized, pulse hammering.

The master bedroom was all dust and moonlight. A massive four-poster bed waited, sagging but intact. Alma spun, lost her balance, and toppled backward onto the mattress with a delighted squeal. The purple dress surrendered completely: breasts spilled free, round and heavy, nipples dark and begging. Her legs fell open, the hem bunched at her waist, revealing her bear pussy, already slick and shining in the moonlight.

“Oops,” she giggled, not bothering to cover anything. She crooked a finger. “Come here, Luther. Been wantin’ you since senior year. Too shy to say it sober.”

The moonshine and her naked want burned away the last of his hesitation. He crawled over her, hands trembling as they finally cupped those perfect tits he’d dreamed about for years. She arched into his palms with a throaty moan, nipples like bullets against his thumbs.

“Touch me everywhere,” she whispered, voice slurred but fierce. “Been wet for you all night.”

He dragged the ruined dress off her completely, kissing down her toned stomach, tasting moonshine on her skin. When his mouth found her pussy she cried out, fingers tangling in his hair, hips bucking. She was molten, shameless, every lick drawing broken, happy sounds from her lips.

“Luther—fuck—inside me now—”

He rose up, shoving his jeans down just enough. She guided him in with drunken urgency, nails digging into his shoulders as he sank deep in one slick thrust. Alma’s head fell back, mouth open in a silent scream that turned into the filthiest, neediest moan he’d ever heard.

They moved together hard and fast, the old bed groaning louder than the ghosts ever could. Her huge breasts bounced with every stroke, dark nipples brushing his chest. She hiccupped through her climax, whole body shaking, pussy clamping around him like she’d never let go.

He followed seconds later, burying himself to the hilt and spilling inside her with a groan that echoed off the walls.

After, she lay sprawled beneath him, flushed and glowing, moonshine jar somehow still in one lazy hand. She took a triumphant sip and grinned up at him, eyes half-lidded.

“See?” she murmured, voice husky. “Ghosts didn’t stand a chance.”

Luther laughed breathlessly, kissing the sweat at her temple. Outside, the wind howled through the broken windows, but inside the haunted room there was only the sound of two heartbeats finally in sync—and the soft, satisfied hiccup of a very drunk, very happy girl.that you?” he stammered, eyes huge. He’d come to prove the place wasn’t haunted; he hadn’t expected the most beautiful girl in town to stumble about looking like sin poured into spandex.