Voluptuous college girl gets her money makers fondled by a ghost
POP! SCREEEEEE! CRASH!
“Fuck!” Cinnamon Twist screamed, banging her hands against the steering wheel.
She was driving down a dark and mysterious highway when her front passenger tire exploded. Losing control of the wheel, she crashed into a tree. Her airbag failed to deploy, but she was saved by two physical airbags smooshed together in her corset, the top laces of which were now snapped apart so that her fun bags were less smooshed together and more hanging out.
That gave her something else to curse about.
She was going to go to Sugar Cane’s party dressed as a pirate, but now unless she was feeling a little whorey that night, she had to go as a skanky pirate since everypony would already be gawking at her massive ahoogas.
Also, it was raining.
Reaching into her cleavage, she pulled out her phone.
No signal.
She sighed.
There were two options. She could wait here for somepony to drive by. That was the most unlikely case, as she’d been driving for almost an hour and hadn’t seen another car. The second option was she could take her chance and find shelter. She wasn’t too far outside of the county line, and rich folks really liked building their dream homes in places like this.
She settled on option number two.
Option two wasn’t very fun.
Back at home, she had to decide whether to go with the mother-pleasing tortuga, or that skimpy vixen skirt that’d show her panties if peaked from the right angle. The tortuga was an ugly shade of green and black while the vixen was a brilliant crimson. The latter turned out to be the best option, as she had no trouble traversing through the rain. Only, the cold was nipping at her legs, the only thing to protect her being knee-length stockings. She could even feel her nipples hardening.
After walking for a few minutes, she was fed up by the downpour. Undoing the laces on her leather corset, she held it over her head—which proved to be effective—only now anyone gawking at her could see her baby feeders through her blouse.
It wasn’t long before she happened upon a sign. A warm feeling of excitement welled up inside her. Reading it, she was slightly disappointed to find that the words on it were illegible, but that excited feeling remained as there was a path that cut through the forest.
There was hope!
She tore across it, splashing through puddles, nearly twisting her ankle when her foot sank into mud, but she kept going. Just when she worried that she’d never find the end of the path, she came into a clearing.
Before her stood the silhouette of a house that was maybe three, four stories tall. Lightning flashed, and she had the perfect view of its face. Many of its windows were boarded up and it was covered in vines. Her heart lurched at the thought that it could be abandoned, but another idea crossed her mind.
Even if it was abandoned, that meant she could still step inside until the rain cleared. Was it really breaking and entering if the property was old and forgotten about? It’s not like there were any police around so…
She knocked on the door, the rotting wood shaking in its hinges. It sounded hollow, as if termites had eaten most of it away by now. She waited a few minutes and knocked again.
“Heeeey!” she yelled.
When she got no answer, she tried the handle and was surprised to find that it was unlocked. Opening it, she stepped into the foyer.
It was dark, the only light available coming from what little the open door could provide and the occasional lightning flash.
Activating her phone’s flashlight, she shined it around the foyer. The place was decorated with antique vases, clocks of many different shapes and sizes, and paintings probably worth a pretty penny. Spotting a waiting area not that far from the door, she walked up to it and ran her finger along a low table’s surface. Dust, dust, and nothing but.
Looking around more, she spotted a set of stairs on the other side of the foyer.
Well, Cinnamon Twist thought. Since I’m already here, might as well explore.
She climbed the stairs, every step creaking, and every creak giving her goosebumps at the thought that one could cave in. When she was halfway up the steps, her ear flicked. Music. She could hear music. And it just now started playing.
Finishing the trek upwards, Twist arrived at a long, dark hallway. On the other side, a door hung ajar, light seeping out. Somepony was still living here.
Oh no, she thought. I’m trespassing!
She calmed herself. Maybe they’ll be understanding?
Another thought crossed her mind.
Maybe it’ll be some old perv that’ll get the kicks at seeing a young wet mare with a sparkling pair of humongous igloos with her nipples visible for all to see.
She shuttered at the thought, but perhaps she could use that to her advantage. Undoing the top buttons of her blouse, she allowed her bazookas to spill out a little more.
Arriving at the door, she started with a subtle knock, “Hello?”
Pushing it open, she was surprised to find no one inside.
The room was well-lit. It was circular. On a table next to a vanity desk, an antique phonograph was blaring distorted symphony music. The crimson carpet had a lovely gold lattice pattern. In the center of the room was a king-sized canopy bed with white sheets.
Walking up to it, she pulled aside the curtain to see if anyone was lying in it.
The last thing she expected was for someone to grab the back of her head and slam her face first into the duvet.
“What the—” she shouted and was interrupted by something slapping her ass cheek so hard that she could feel the imprint.
She let out a cute little squeak and kicked her legs out, somehow hitting nothing but air. Her face turned a deep shade of red as she felt something resembling a hand gripping her bubbles.
It sank its fingers in, relishing in the squishiness, doing the same to the other and pulling the ass cheeks apart. Like a masseuse, it massaged her ass, only without delicacy. It grabbed, it smacked, it rubbed its fingers into her like it was sampling her.
And it was somehow doing it with not one, not two, but—count 'em—three hands. Two for both her cheeks, one to hold her head down. How?
As if in response to her thoughts, it yanked her head back, forcing her onto her feet. She tried flailing her arms out, but an invisible force grabbed both of her wrists and forced them to her sides.
Two disembodied hands glowing a deathly white appeared before her.
“W-what the?”
Palms splaying outward, they tackled her gesticles, smooshing them inward before latching on with all fingers. A pleasing sensation she absolutely loathed washed over her. Her face reddened with each breathy moan that the hands forced out as they moved her Julius Squeezers around and around like joysticks on a controller.
One dropped down, the other pressing its thumb into her nipple, and undid the buttons on her blouse.
Sorry, an understatement.
It tore the buttons from her blouse, ripping it open so that her massive wet tits bounced around in circles before settling like jello. More hands appeared, cupping around her hips, feeling up to her abdomen, down to her thick juicy thighs.
Two more groped her ass cheeks, a third reaching beneath a skirt to rub her pussy through her panties.
Moans filled with pleasure bounced off the walls, the only noise to accompany them the distorted symphony music. Already, she could feel her pussy swelling with arousal, juices already leaking along her inner thighs.
The hands fondling her breasts squeezed them together and let go as if some invisible force was standing there and watching them jiggle. She yelped as they pinched her nipples and dragged both rolling hills upward, lifting them as high as it could before allowing them to fall again.
Smooshing them together again, a new appendage appeared. This one was long, white, and shaped like a phallus. Cinnamon Twist immediately knew what it was for.
"S-stop!" she shouted. In response, one of the hands groping her slapped her ass cheek, and she let out another cute little squeak.
The phallus hovered beneath her breasts and inserted from the bottom. It slowly pushed its way up until the tip came out the other side, close enough to touch her chin and draw a string of precum as it slid back down her cleavage. Up and down, up and down, up and down it went for several minutes. Its pace only improved when her cleavage began to sweat, creating a natural lubrication the ghost could use to rub her raw all it'd like.
Meanwhile, the hand rubbing her camel toe lifted up to the hemline of her skirt and yanked on it, tearing the fabric away to expose her gluttonous hips.
It forced her arms over her head, forcing her wrists together. Something pushed her back, and her entire hovered mid-air. Another hand appeared behind her head and forced it forward. She tried yelling, but just as she did the phallus entered her mouth. It only made it to the entrance before pulling out in sticky silver strings and disappearing into her cleavage. Coming back up, it reinserted into her mouth, repeating this process over and over again.
One of the hands pulled her panties down so that they were between her thighs and began to vigorously rub between the folds of her vagina. The ghost yanked her head back so that she slurped loudly when the ghost cock was forced out of her maw.
Yet another hand appeared. This one stuck its fingers in and pulled at the corners of her mouth. Her guess, to toy with her. It clamped its index finger and thumb over her tongue and pulled it out, meanwhile the hand rubbing her vag sticking its middle finger inside so that it rubbed against her labia.
Hair still damp from the rain and covered in sweat, steam wafting off her body, she let out a feisty moan that made the house rattle. Literally rattle. As if the spirits were getting off to hearing it.
Gosh these ghosts are such pervs! she thought.
The finger slid in and out of her, the bottom half of her being hoisted in the air by the hands smothering her ass cheeks, peeling them apart until it felt like her anus would tear in two and squeezing them together. The hand fingering her sped up as her arousal increased, the process only becoming easier and easier.
Finally, she screamed.
"Uck! Uck!" She tried to scream "Fuck! Fuck!" but that was difficult when a ghost had her tongue.
Pulling out, the hand transformed into yet another phallus, this one much larger than the one fucking her massive flesh mounds.
Fuck.
It inserted slowly. Her body tensed up as she took on the full intensity of its girth, which was as thick as her forearm. It pulled out once it got halfway, taking its time in doing so.
Vaginal juices dripped onto the floor. Beads of sweat rolled down her face and tits. Her body felt hot, like if she were to go back out into the rain it'd all sizzle off. Part of her wouldn't be surprised if it decided to cook an egg on her belly.
When it reached the tip, slammed back in, this time catching her off-guard and inserting itself all the way. It disappeared inside of her, and pulled back out, taking her fluids with it. It reinserted, disappeared into her vagina, and pulled itself back out. This process became metronomic. It'd insert all the way, pull out to just the tip, insert all the way, pull out to just the tip. It became a blur, fucking her senseless. Like a parasite's evolutionary purpose to mate. Like a horny ghost that probably hadn't seen a girl this voluptuous in half a century.
The phallus fucking her tits sped up too, her beautiful rack flinging sweat to and fro. The hands smooshed her flesh globes together even harder, probably in an attempt to increase its pleasure. Whatever the case, that seemed to be working, from what Cinnamon could tell. The phallus was swelling, dripping precum across her chest, throbbing with ecstasy.
And, just like that, three spurts. One over her snout, the other across her face and into her mane, the other onto her tits just as it was pulling back.
Instead of releasing their grasp from her first stage sippy cups, they fondled them some more. They pinched her nipples, pulling them out far and wide before letting ago. It did this over and over, over and over, over and over again, the bouncing of her voluptuous breasts appearing hypnotic to it.
The ghost rod ramming into her picked up speed, going turbo into her puss like she was a fuck doll. Shoving in and pulling out in a blur. Pushing apart her walls. Making her feel pleasure in ways she hadn't felt pleasure before.
Finally, it came inside her. Its ectoplasm came out like a broken spigot. It slid out, shooting more onto her pelvis, across her stomach, and onto her heaving tits.
It released its hold on her tongue, and for the first time since the ravaging began, she took a breath.
Then ghostly tentacles sprouted from the floor.
"Oh fuck!" Twist shouted in anger.
They snaked across her body, wrapping around her torso, rubbing up against her vag, pulling her legs apart, entwining around her boobs like a snake claiming its territory. Two of the tentacles—the ones entwined around her baby food supplies, protruded outward and turned to face her. They grew mouths.
She stared in shock. "Fuck."
They slammed into her nipples, sucking on them. She shivered at how gross they felt. They were actually wet. Not just wet, but salivating. And licking her.
One pulled back and released her boob with an audible pop. It gave it a lick before plunging back in. The other sank in deep, trying to suck every ounce out of her. The ghost probably thought she could lactate, but thanks to smart decisions, she had yet to get pregnant. Well, unless a ghost could get her pregnant, then...
"Fuck!"
The tentacle around her waist rubbed its length against her vagina. By now the demented orchestral music had stopped, so the schlick, schlick, schlick of her pussy echoed across the room.
Another tentacle rose up to her face and shoved into her mouth. It barely gave her the time to prepare. It introduced itself to the entrance and plummeted in past her gullet, pulling back and diving back in. She tried biting down, but it was too squishy for her to sink her teeth into it.
It pulled out. Resting on her tongue. Tickling her tongue. Wrapping around her tongue. Yanking on her tongue. It pushed back in, tearing into her throat.
It did it again. Pulling out. Resting. Tickling. Wrapping. Yanking. Pushing. Pulling. Resting. Tickling. Wrapping. Yanking. Pushing. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.
The one rubbing up against her vagina plunged in, tackling it like a whip. Shoving in and out at blinding speed, like she was a trophy it wanted to claim.
The other tentacles tightened around her body. It wasn't that bad since she kept in good shape, but having the air squeezed out of her abdomen while simultaneously getting railed through the mouth made breathing incredibly difficult.
But the ghost was generous!
It came in her mouth. The tentacle finished fast. so it could cum in her mouth fast, forcing. It slid out slowly, forcing her to take every last ounce of its ectobatter before evaporating. Her mouth was now free. The same could not be said for her mommy milkers, nor her ass, nor her cooch.
Her anus had been spared for the most part—she guessed it wasn't into anal. It's a shame, because she loved it, and it'd probably be the only source of consensual pleasure she'd derive from any of this. Her ass cheeks on the other hand—err—hands, well, the ghost seemed to be getting bored playing with them. Before it was treating her bubble butt like a couple of Chinese health balls. Now it was just rubbing them gently, massaging them.
The hand on her right buttock trailed up her back, tracing a finger along its crevice. It felt up the side of her torso, touching anywhere it desired. The other did the same, moving from her left buttock and running up and down the curvature of her hips before sliding down to her thigh.
Then, she felt it arriving. She felt herself arriving.
As if knowing her body, the tentacle started to ram into her with unbearable force. She gritted her teeth and tried to ignore the pain. The tentacles suckling her press were practically latched own, refusing to release no matter how madly they flailed around.
Slchick Slchlick Slhick
By now the pleasure overrode the pain, and she felt like she would explode at any minute.
Schlick Slchlick Schlick
As if making one final claim, the hands feeling along her body gripped her ass cheeks as hard as they could, as if retrieving portions to end world hunger.
Schlick Schlick Schlick
"Ah!" she screamed, spraying spittle.
She came. A brilliant explosion of juice erupted from her vag, and at the same time, the tentacle came inside her. It stopped thrusting, forcing every last droplet into her womb.
And, just like that, she dropped to the ground.
Cinnamon Twist lied on the floor, her breasts heaving and glossing with sweat. She was covered in ectoplasm and red markings all over from where the tentacles had wrapped around her.
Crack!
SSSSSSSSSSSS
Looking down, she saw an egg cooking on her belly.
A giggle echoed across the room.
She groaned. "Next time I'm taking Uber."
Author's Note
Wrote this because I needed an excuse to write something, and I was like, "Hey, it's Halloween. Why not?"
Not my usual quality of content. I usually take time to focus on the sensual aspect, but I wanted to get something out in time for Halloween. Plus, it's good momentum to get back into the groove.
If you've made it this far, please spare this poor fool a meager updoot.
If you like this or just feeling generous, consider donating to my GoFundMe so that I don't go homeless.
