"We have reason to believe that man first walked upright to free his hands for masturbation."

Thursday, October 22, 2015

All Male Fiction: Taking Possession

By: Tommyhawk1
Edited by Ryan Michaels


Someone was in the room with me. I sat up, looked around. The room was dark; there were clouds over the moon and stars, only a bit of scattered outdoor lights to give me the barest impression of the room through the window. There wasn't much to see, just the gray squares of the window, the bare hint of the dresser, the chair, the closet door. There was the sound of the wind outside; a long, low, mournful moaning sound. Whoo-hoo! Hoo-hooooooo-hoo!

I lay back down, turned fitfully on the bed. It's always rough settling into a new home, and the nights are always uncomfortable at first. You have the spaces you aren't familiar with and all the small sounds that come with a new home; there's the way the house moves and all those subliminal things that you have to get used to and feel comfortable with...

"You are mine!"

What was that? A vague whisper. I shook my head; must have just been the wind. I was alone in this house after all. I was just letting my imagination turn noises into a voice, that was all it was, just the wind, which was awfully loud after all, all that whoo-whoo-whooing it was doing, and...

"You are mine!"

Okay, that one I heard clearly! I sat bolt upright in my bed and looked around in the dark. "Just the wind," I said aloud. "You're not hearing voices, it's just the wind."

Shit, I was freaking myself out! Why the hell was I feeling this way? Halloween was still a week away; I hadn't even watched a horror flick yet, which in the weeks before Halloween can be a real trick! Why was I suddenly jumping at shadows and wind, just because this was a new house? I lay back down. I would laugh at this in the morning, when it was light again.

I felt it, then. A touch on my leg, like a hand, a cold, cold hand! I reached down, but it was gone. Damn, now I was feeling things! Now my cheek! I felt my face, a trace of moisture like... a kiss? I rubbed my face hard, wiping away the slight wetness there. God, what was going on here? A drip from overhead, for sure! I had a drip and it had landed on my face and that was why I felt...

Another wetness! Shit that one was on my left pec! I felt it, lips kissing my nipple and it was still there! I reached up and pressed my hand to my chest, and I touched a face! Just a touch, and then it was gone. And then the voice again. "You are mine!"

Okay, now I really was freaking out, and I sat bolt upright again and blurted, "What the hell is going on?!"

"Mine! All mine!"

"No! No!" I screamed out. "I'm not yours, I'm not! Go away!"

"Ahhhhh!" that was a sound of... disappointment?

And suddenly the darkness was again only the darkness and the wind was only the wind.

I lay back down again, my heart beating hard. I didn't sleep much that night, but nothing bothered me. Even the house didn't make any sounds to worry about.

When the dawn came, I tried to tell myself it had only been a dream. Somehow, though, I didn't believe myself, and I drove out to see my grandmother that same morning. She had told me when I turned eighteen that I had inherited this house from its former owner on account of I had been given the name he had chosen. So if anyone could tell me why I'd been visited by a ghost (because I was certain that I had been visited by a ghost), my grandmother was the one to ask.

"Why did you get the house?" she responded to my question as she poured me some tea. I took it; I needed caffeine of any kind after the night I'd had. "I told you, because your name is Beau Hennessy. And you're named after your granduncle, your dear grandfather's brother."

"But why did the old guy who left me the house do it?" I questioned. "His name wasn't Beau, it was Clifton Mortimer. Not even a relative of ours, right?"

"Yes, one of the Stafford Mortimers'," my grandmother replied. "Very wealthy family, very generous in the community, very well thought of. A shame what happened to him."

"What do you mean?" I leaned forward. "What happened to him?"

"Oh, it was a scandal, and you don't want to hear about such things," my grandmother demurred, like she had when she'd told me about the house. With a generous trust fund attached to it to let me keep it up properly, as long as I lived in the house that trust fund money was mine; I could even pass it along with the house to my next-of-kin someday.

"I do, Grandma," I said. "I had this huge house just handed to me, and I don't even know why." I was living in it because I could go to college at the university there and so on. It had taken a while to open the house up. It had been closed down for many years, and I had only taken possession a bit after Thanksgiving. I planned to host a Christmas party to really turn the place out for my friends and such at college (and maybe become known as a bit of a party animal, not a terrible thing at my age of not-quite-nineteen.)

"Now, Beau..."

"Tell me, Grandma," I pleaded. "I got to know. Why did Mr. Mortimer leave me the house?"

"Oh, it was a scandal," Grandma said again. "It wouldn't have been as much of one now as it was then, but back in the late 1950's, you just didn't do the things that they do nowadays. You hear about gay liberation and gay pride and all that, but let me tell you, it was different when I was a girl, and… oh, I shouldn't tell you this. Let the dead keep their secrets."

"I need to know, Grandma. Please!"

"Well... all right. Mr. Mortimer and your Grandfather's brother, Beau... well, it was an unwholesome relationship they had. Mr. Mortimer laid eyes on Beau and well, as we said in my day, the love that dared not speak its name raised its head. Not that Beau was homosexual, or at least I don't think he was. I just know that he was a mighty handsome young man and he had Clifton Mortimer wanting to be friendly with him. He was giving Beau all kinds of presents, like clothes and things, and even bought him a car. I guess Beau was playing a bit of the tease with him, suckering Mr. Mortimer along. That went on for about four or five weeks, and I guess one day either Beau finally couldn't fool himself any longer about just exactly why Mr. Mortimer was being so generous to him, or maybe Mr. Mortimer got tired of giving Beau money and not getting anything in return."

Grandma paused while she poured me a new cup of tea. "It was about this same time of year when it happened. I know that Beau and his friends paid a visit to Clifton Mortimer, and they just beat him up something terrible that night… put him in the hospital for a week or more. A few days later, when Clifton Mortimer was back at home, Beau got a call to come visit if he didn't want the law called in. Not that the law would have done anything if Mr. Mortimer was making indecent advances on Beau, but Beau went to see him anyway. We got the call the next morning from the police; Mr. Mortimer had killed Beau and then killed himself. Terrible."

Grandma stopped and I waited. "So where does the house and trust fund come in?"

"It was in Mr. Mortimer's Will when it was read. He'd changed it just a few days before. It would leave the house and the money to any member of the Hennessy family named Beau Hennessy. It was clear that he made the Will intending to kill Beau, and his legal heirs challenged the Will on those grounds, but the judge upheld the Will's validity. It was too late for your grandfather and me to have any more children, but you can't blame your father and mother for wanting you to have that money, so they named you Beau in accordance with the terms of the Will, to be turned over to you upon your eighteenth birthday. Same age Beau was when he was killed."

"I wonder why he did that," I said. I had always wondered since I'd learned about the inheritance, but now I wondered even more.

"I think that he knew he was going to kill Beau and wanted to make some kind of amends to the Hennessy family for doing it, by arranging to have Beau's name live on after his death. Now, dear, don't you see why it was no good learning the secret?"

"Yeah, Grandma, I do," I said. "But thanks for telling me anyway."

"It was a different time," Grandma sighed. "Nowadays, you've got gay marriage and gay adoptions and gay parents and such all. I wonder if Clifton Mortimer would have killed poor Beau if he had been alive today. All that tension and pressure building up and no way to let it out. Only the poor, secret, benighted way like he'd tried to do with Beau, and he got beat up for doing even that."

Grandma went on and told me more about Clifton Mortimer, describing him as a wonderfully kind man who had been so good and generous to his community, a patron of the arts, and a benefactor to the poor, an asset to the entire area, until that one fateful day when his one human weakness led to his humiliation and death. My gut reaction was that Granduncle Beau had been a total prick about the whole thing! Someone gives you a car, you can give them one screw, can't you? Granduncle Beau apparently hadn't even done that. He had "defended his honor" instead and bitten the hand that had fed him.

I left Grandma's house a few hours later, fully convinced that I hadn't just imagined that disembodied voice in the darkness the night before after all, that it hadn't just been the wind as I had told myself. If my visitor came back, and now armed with the knowledge of why he had died (if it was Clifton Mortimer and not some other ghost), I was going to be as ready for him as I could.

It was windy again that night. A storm was supposed to break in the early morning hours, but was already brewing by the time I went to bed. Lying there in the dark again was just another bedroom for a while. Funny, but you really can tell when you are in the presence of spirits. There's a difference there that, once you feel it, you aren't ever in doubt about it again.

After being in bed about an hour, that feeling returned, a presence in the room, the wind taking on the sounds of more than just rushing air. "You are mine!" it whispered to me once again, very softly, almost below the range of hearing. I waited for it to grow stronger. "You are mine!" it said again.

"Clifton Mortimer?"

"Yes-s-s-s-s," it said.

"I'm Beau, Beau Hennessy."

"Beau-u-u-u!" it said.

"I'm the grandnephew of the Beau Hennessy you knew," I went on. "You left this place in your Will to any member of Beau's family who took his name. Do you remember doing that, just before you died?"

"Yes-s-s-s-s," came the sigh. "You are mine, Beau! You are mine!"

Again I felt the hand on my thigh, but I was expecting it and I let it be. "I guess you wanted to set this up, didn't you, before you died, to have another chance at Beau? You wanted him, I mean, and he wouldn't give himself to you, even though you were nice to him and all."

"Beau, you are mine!"

I plowed on. "I don't know just why you set this up beyond that, but you went to a lot of trouble, and a lot of expense to have me in this house, another Beau Hennessy in your house, and well, I'm here. Tell me what you want me to do."

I felt a kiss on my cheek. Had the real Clifton Mortimer done this to my granduncle? Had that other Beau had the hand on his thigh, the kiss on his cheek? Is that why he and his friends came back the next night and beat his patron horribly?

"You are mine!" And then a kiss on my nipple again, like the night before, this time clinging to it.

Suddenly, I knew what the ghost wanted me to do. It was time for me to pay back a long-owed debt of my family, and I was more than willing to do so. I had only pulled the covers up to my stomach, now I pushed them down entirely, kicked them off the bed myself, lying there completely naked and exposed. "You were generous to my granduncle and he beat you up, and you killed him," I said. "Well, you've been generous to me, too. Very generous. So if you want me like you wanted my granduncle... okay," I said.

Now my entire body was enveloped by the spirit. I still couldn't see anything; the room was too dark. I got less than a view, only an impression of a man above me, in his thirties, naked, a mustache and old-style hair-do, and now my lips were matched with his.

When that kiss broke off, when the ghostly lips pushing my lips apart released my mouth, when I had spectral hands moving over my flesh, I said, "My family has owed this to you for more than half a century. So go ahead, take me, I'm yours."

"You are mine!"

And my legs were pulled downwards and lifted upwards. I was being moved by the ghostly hands of an insubstantial lover! And then I felt the ghost-shaft pushing into my ass! It didn't rip me the way a real, dry cock would have, there wasn't enough substance to the ghost of Clifton Mortimer's prick to tear me, but there was the pressure of my asshole being stretched outward to accommodate it. I was being penetrated for certain, even if the object penetrating me bore no physical form whatsoever!

"Oh, ah, ah, ah, god!" I gasped. "Oh, god, uhhh!"

"Mine!" the ghost sighed above me. "You are mine!"

"I am yours," I agreed. "Now fuck me, Clifton Mortimer! Fuck me like you wanted to fuck my granduncle Beau. Fuck me because I'm letting you. You don't have to take me, I'm giving myself to you. I'm all yours!"

"Mine!" the ghost sighed. And that cock began to slide in and out of me. All the roughness of the force of insertion was gone. Passionate fury had gone from this specter, leaving only... passion?

"Ah, ah, yeah, come on, fuck me, Clifton. Fuck me like you've been waiting over fifty years to do. After all this time, there's a man in your bed, and he's giving himself to you, I'm giving myself to you, finally, just like you hoped when you wrote that Will."

"My Will... yes-s-s-s-s," the specter sighed. "My hope, my desire. Mine!"

"So you got me, now fuck me! Fuck me as hard as you can!" I urged him. "You deserve it after all these years. You deserve one good fuck before you go to wherever people go when they die. And I'm giving it to you, Clifton Mortimer… you're finally getting to fuck Beau Hennessy!"

My body was buffeted again by the ghost, but now it was the sort of movement any lover would give you in his bed... assuming he intended to fuck you long and hard and any way he wanted to. I was being taken in my bed by the hard cock of a ghost-man plunging in and out of my ass, and I was rocking as the spectral dick rammed into me and pulled out again. I could feel what I couldn't see, the ghost of Clifton Mortimer was having the time of his life... after-life! I grinned up at him, knowing somehow that he could see me as clearly as if this were noon and not midnight.

"Oh, yeah, god, fuck me, Clifton! Fuck me harder! Oh, ah, ah, yeah! Harder! Yeah, oh, god, yeah, yeah!" I grunted.

I could feel the rapture of the spirit above me, his desires pouring out of him as he rammed into me, and I grabbed hold of my cock and I began to pump it as I was hammered by this ghost-dick, and my body was filling to bursting with delight, with desire. This was what the angels must feel in heaven when they fuck!

I felt a magnificently massive climax building in me, and I groaned and roared as it arrived. "Oh, god, I'm cumming, Clifton! I'm cumming! Oh, ah, ah, AH, GAH-HAH-UHN-GUHHHHHH!" And I creamed myself, splattering my chest and stomach with my cum.

I heard it, the ghostly cries of joy echoing alongside my own, and while I didn't feel anything, I like to think that Clifton Mortimer came right along with me.

All I am sure of is that, when I finished shooting my jizz all over myself, I was alone again in the room, and I had a smile on my face, feeling happy, triumphant. I had rewarded Clifton Mortimer for his long wait here, paid back for the ingratitude of my granduncle, paid back for the mean spirited priggish phobia of the times, the times that could let a pack of college boys batter a man who had been only kind to one of their number, a bundle of kindnesses repaid with anger and hatred.

I sleepily cleaned myself off and pulled the covers over myself. "Good night, Clifton," I said. "Sweet dreams."

I felt, I think, a touch of kindness on my cheek. A touch of parting... a touch of good-bye. For that was the end of my haunting; Clifton Mortimer had finally gotten what he wanted; he had gotten Beau Hennessy (another one, but one just the same) in his bed and willing. His spirit went to wherever such things go, and I like to think it went with a smile on its face. God knows that Clifton Mortimer deserved it.

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2 comments:

  1. Interesting.
    Imaginative.
    Very original.
    And hot!
    Who could ask for anything more?

    ReplyDelete