Perverts 'R' Us

Annabelle

By Danyealle ( M/F, supernatural, oral )

Flopping onto the bed, he shut his eyes and felt the room spin. That sense of euphoria one gets from smoking a joint made of some of the highest quality pot you could find held him tightly in its grip. Lying there, as the world ebbed and flowed around him, that easy calm descended and enveloped his brain, slowing down the thought processes. As his world spun, his mind lazily ran a theater of random images and topics. Slowly, he drifted in and out of sleep, that warm, fuzzy blanket of euphoria still holding him tightly.

Suddenly, he was jarred back into reality by a loud bang, something that sounded like a heavy object being knocked to the floor. Sitting up, he rubbed his eyes, still disoriented and unsure how long he had been dozing. For all he knew, he could have been asleep for hours or minutes. Looking around, he noticed one of the collection of hand-carved wooden statues of movie monsters was on the floor by the chest of drawers it usually sat on. With a bit of an effort, he heaved himself out of bed, the room still spinning a bit, though not as bad as it was before, and then lurched over, picked up the figure, and placed it with the others.

Turning around, fully intending to once again flop back down on his comfortable feather bed and do nothing more than gaze at the lightshow that would happen when he closed his heavy lids. Lurching forward a step, putting on hand on the heavy oak footboard of the bed, he looked at the head of the old fashioned bedstead and stopped cold. Sitting there, prim and proper as if she was waiting for high tea with the Queen, was a girl dressed in a scarlet ball gown that looked as though it came from the civil war era. Leaning against the footboard, he rubbed his eyes and looked again but she was still there.

Her hair was a light ash blonde that hung around her face in small curls with the back piled on top of her head in an elegant bun. Diamond earrings hung from each of her small lobes, her face was devoid of make-up but had that smooth, alabaster peaches-and-cream complexion that so many modern women spend oodles of money on products to produce it. Her neck was long and graceful, like that of a swan, and had a sparkling diamond and ruby necklace at the hollow of her throat. The dress was low-cut, but covered all her cleavage behind an illusion of lace and fabric that made you think you saw something when you really didn't. That large, billowing skirt that was the hallmark of ball gowns during the civil war era was fanned out over his down comforter and extended down to her thin, crossed ankles. On her feet were delicate slippers, dyed the same color as her dress.

Standing there, mouth hanging open, he just stared at her; sure she was just a by-product of the Mary Jane. Snapping open a fan that was held in one of her tiny hands, she smiled at him coyly, blue eyes bright and alert, then began to fan her face lazily. "I'm sorry Sir, I was looking at your object de' art and I knocked on over. I hope I didn't damage the piece." she said, voice soft but lilting, like a beautiful piece of piano music. The thick, deep, southern accent weaved its way between the words and made it seem as though it was a beautifully-written piece of music.

Looking at her, he then glanced at the figures on the dresser then back at her again. "Huh? Oh, the monsters! No harm, no foul, you didn't hurt anything."

Emitting a lilting giggle, she put the fan in front of her face so that it covered everything but her eyes. With a playful sparkle in them, she said, voice somewhat muffled by the fine silk fan that was adorned with colorful images, "They are most interesting kind, Sir. I don't believe I've ever seen anything like them. Even when Pa took me to Paris and we had a look-see through some of the strange things there."

Shrugging, he just stared at her like some awestruck idiot, "They're just movie monsters is all, nothing that's high art." When he moved into this old place he had heard from other tenants that it was haunted but had thought nothing of it. Hell, he even thought the idea of living in a "haunted house" was cool. But until this point he hadn't seen anything out of the ordinary. In an area such as this, steeped in history that stretched back well before the war between the North and the South with many of the old, stately homes and plantation houses converted into single family dwellings or apartments, the rumors of ghosts and hauntings were everywhere. It seemed as though every old place in the area had at least one resident ghost.

Several residents in this ancient, three story building spoke proudly about their "resident ghosts", almost taking pride in the fact that the restless dead took up residence in their living space. The lady on the first floor in the back, the part of the house that once held the kitchen, spoke of a black woman who bustled around as though she was cooking up a fine feast. The school teacher on the top floor talked about a distinguished man in an old fashioned suit that was often seen looking out her window. But he hadn't taken much stock in what they said, thinking it was probably just wishful thinking on their end. Until now that is.

Keeping one hand on the footboard for balance, he slid around and sat down on the end of the mattress, eyes never leaving her. He was sure if he blinked or looked away she would vanish. Looking a bit closer, he noticed she didn't seem as 'solid' as he thought. Although she did indeed look quite real and human there was almost a wispy quality to her that shimmered a bit, like the illusion of water at the horizon point on a highway during a hot day.

Clearing his throat, and trying not to look or sound like a complete and utter idiot, he asked, voice calm, "So, did your parents own this plantation or were you just visiting here when you uhh… ummm…"

Giggling loudly, the sound like a tinkle of fine crystal bumping, she looked at him, eyes twinkling, and then snapped her fan shut and rapped him on the knuckles with it playfully. "No silly. This wasn't a plantation house, it was a whorehouse! My name is Annabelle, and I worked here when my time on earth ended."

Mouth hanging open, he just stared at her. He had been told this was a plantation at one time. There had never been any mention of whores!

Dropping the fan on the bed she slid down to the floor then kneeled in front of him, spreading his legs apart with her tiny hands then zeroed in on the zipper of his jeans. With practiced ease, she had his pants undone and his cock out in no time flat. Leaning forward, her small, pink tongue darted out and flicked against the slit, eyes on his face.

In a wispy, giggly voice she said, "The least I can do for you Sir is give you pleasure after my clumsiness almost damaged your statuary." Leaning her head down, she flicked her tongue up and down the slit before taking just the head of it into his mouth and sucking on it while her tongue traced the ridge around.

Groaning loudly, his head dropped back and eyes shut. With every flick of her tongue his whole body quivered. While her mouth felt warm and moist, just as a human did, there was another element along with it. It seemed like there was a silken and light quality to it that humans didn't, almost as though her flesh was made of the delicate material.

Wrapping her small hand around the shaft of his cock, she started to move her mouth up and down it, leaving it wet and shiny in the dim light. Every so often she would pull her mouth off and lick the head, letting the small, pointed end of her tongue wiggle in the slit slightly, and flick against the very entrance of his pee-hole.

Grunting loudly, he leaned back on his elbows and spread his legs more. With his head thrown back, teeth gritted and eyes tightly shut, his hips began thrusting upwards in sync with her mouth. Beads of sweat broke out on his face and he flushed red, panting heavily.

Gripping his seven-inch cock firmly, she slid her mouth down on it slowly, throat working as she started swallowing it. When she reached her hand, she pulled it away and continued on until she had it all in her mouth, nose buried in the reddish-brown tangle of his pubic hair. Gently, she cupped and massaged his balls with a practiced hand that seemed to show that she was no stranger in giving a man what he wanted.

Grunting, he began to thrust his hips a little faster, fingers digging into the soft down comforter. Chest heaving and breath starting to come in short, harsh pants, he could feel his cock throbbing madly.

Without moving up and down, her mouth worked on his cock, sucking it and her tongue flicking and licking around the underside of the ridge. Gently, as though she was holding a piece of the most delicate glass, she rubbed his balls, feeling them throb and pulse in her palm.

Breath coming in short gasps, his hips thrust faster as he felt the cum starting to boil in his balls and rise. Then, letting out a strangled cry, he began to shoot into her mouth.

Swallowing rapidly, she milked his cock until there was nothing left. Standing up, she smoothed out her skirt then pulled out a delicate lace hanky from her sleeve and dabbed her mouth, almost as though she was at a fine dinner party rather than having just given a blowjob to a complete stranger.

Sitting up, taking deep gasps of air, he looked at her, his brown eyes bloodshot and half-drooped. "Damn! That was the best!" he said, not really knowing what else to say.

Smiling demurely, she dropped into a curtsy and bowed her head. "I'm glad I pleased you Sir. But I now must be going. With as kind and nice as you are, I shall return." Blowing him a kiss, she then turned on her heel and walked into the wall, vanishing.

After catching his breath, he stripped off his clothes, turned off the light then crawled under the warm comforter and dozed off, exhausted. A few hours later he awoke and shook his head groggily. "A ghost giving me a blowjob? No fucking way! I really have to lay off the bud, its giving me some seriously fucked-up dreams." Turning over, he fell back into a deep sleep in seconds.

Suddenly, there was a soft, tinkling laughter in the air and invisible hands seemed to draw the covering over him all the way and tuck it in, almost the way a mother would tuck in her sleeping child. Then there was the sound of a kiss being blown gently. "Sleep well Sir, I'll visit you again, you have my promise of that." said Annabelle's' soft voice then the quiet once again descended on the room, the only sounds heard were of his deep breathing.