The Ghost and the Submissive

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Maya meets a new...unusual...Dom on Halloween.
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October was supposed to consist of fall leaves, pumpkin donuts, and apple cider. Instead, Maya looked out the window of her apartment and saw nothing but the green grass and sunshine of Savannah's most famous park. Heavy oak trees dotted the landscape surrounded by happy people and wandering children, but not one of them demonstrated a homesickness for a true fall experience.

Despite a lack of seasons, Georgia was her personal choice. Tired of the harsh northeastern winters, the Peach State was supposed to inspire the grownup world of responsibility and a primary commitment to her happiness, but ten months of never ending green landscape exhausted her patience. She sighed heavily and turned her attention to Facebook pictures of her parent's crisp Massachusetts backyard.

A heavy southern accent broke into her thoughts, "Look at all those damn leaves! How long does it take to clean that mess up?"

Maya shot a scowl toward her stunning roommate. "It's not a mess. You have no idea how much fun a pile of leaves are. You can jump in them and play in them and throw them at people. It's a blast."

The sculpted mass of human was probably the best looking guy she ever met, but his girlfriend thought so too and Maya's relationship with Jared was strictly courtesy of Craig's List and shared expenses for the two bedroom, 19th century rental. The premier location across from Forsyth Park was ideal for a young professional even if her personal life was as dismal as the mucky backwaters on the edge of town.

Jared shrugged, "Looks like a mess to me. I'll take the beach in October any day"

He headed out the door with a shout, "See you in a week, Maya. Cindy and I are staying at my parents to watch the dog while they are in Europe."

The slightest part of her heart followed Jared out the door. She wasn't infatuated or anything stalker related, but he clearly represented her closest relationship since she moved to Savannah. The fact he didn't remember her birthday last August was an accurate summary of her dismal new life.

Finding the job was easy. Her credentials were excellent, and the purchasing job at a mid-sized manufacturing plant paid well. She could have afforded her own place in a more traditional location, but the original wood floors, intricate trim, and classic hardware located in the heart of the historical district was different from anything back home. Her history major heart had to have it.

When the well-built Jared answered her advertisement to share expenses, she couldn't refuse. He would be the perfect man to disprove all the skeptics in her life, and validate her decision to move a thousand miles away from everything familiar. Instead of a hot lover, or even a simple friend, however, she received an absentee roommate who paid rent to convince his girlfriend's conservative family they weren't really living together.

Friendships were hard to find when most of the people she worked with were either married or as old as her parents. Neither characteristic appealed to her, even if her aching sexual needs were filled with the simple plastic of her electric fuck toy. Miserable experiences followed social media sites, bars, and the worst of all, a class she took at a local community college where the middle aged, female professor tried to take her home. Telling her she didn't play that way was a tremendous embarrassment for both of them.

With no other options, the next two days would follow all the other weekends of her new world; hunkered down with a sleazy romance novel and half a bottle of wine. Her new habit of long conversations with herself would categorize as creepy on anybody's list, and she briefly considered calling her professor friend for a drink before the ludicrous idea was discarded for a large pour of merlot.

Her computer was still opened to the crisp colors of a New England autumn, and Maya thought about connecting to her friends and family back home before she took a deep breath. She poke sternly to herself. "Get a grip, girlfriend. You chose this whole new life, now go out and live it.".

Before she could move, the eerie sounds of silence in the small apartment began to dominate her thoughts. Silence was a noise all in itself, and her brain struggled to interpret the lack of stimulus. Seconds turned into minutes as her mind grew mellow, and she focused on her surroundings with an intensity that was almost painful. The nicks and scratches of the hardwood floors, the worn spots on the ornate trim and even the brass door knobs drew closer to her reality until she was part of the house itself. The feeling was frightening, but a small hint of security began to twist into her thoughts when a bang at the window erased her daydream.

A large orange cat sat on her sill, and she smirked at her own jumpy reaction. She loved cats, but the owner of the building lived on the second floor, and her no pet clause was firm. Maya moved to the kitchen to gather the ingredients for her dinner, but the cat remained persistent. He howled and threw his huge body against her screen until she was forced to admit he could no longer be ignored.

"Fine, you can come in for a minute, but if the landlord catches you, you are on your own buddy.

The huge cat wandered the room happily. He purred and rubbed against her legs until Maya caressed his soft side. He expressed his gratitude with copious purring, and her lonely heart was quickly lost. "I bet I can find some chicken or something. Are you hungry?"

The cat shot her a haughty look and wandered to her roommate's bed where he sprawled out with full authority. Moving her hand over his warm smoothness, she left large amounts of cat hair behind and made a mental note to shake out Jared's bedspread before he returned.

He was clearly too comfortable to rouse, so she left him to continue her quest for dinner. A few bits of lettuce and the chicken she had promised the cat made a decent meal, and she topped off her wine glass. Cuddled in her flannel pjs and pink slipper socks, she turned on a game show when the reality of her thirty-one-year-old life hit her. My God, she had turned into her grandmother.

Muttering to herself, she googled a site on weekend events and settled on Halloween in Savannah. With no small children and no social life, she had forgotten the next day was Halloween, and a city as old as Savannah had their share of spooky fun for people willing to leave their house and go look for it. A guided tour of Colonial Park Cemetery started at dusk. Under the right tour guide, the history of the city could come alive on a spooky Halloween Eve. If she added make-up and decent clothes, she might even meet a friend. If not, she would at least have a fun story to tell her parents during their weekly phone call.

First, she had to lose her new cat. She couldn't leave her window open and there was no litter box, so Mr. Kitty clearly had to go. She walked to the bedroom calling his fictitious name, but the damn cat had mysteriously disappeared. Twenty five minutes later, he still hadn't been located. Most of the doors were shut, and there were very few places he could hide. A last minute look at her watch, and she knew she had to leave. Hopefully, he wouldn't pee in her house because she had no idea how to explain it to her roommate or her landlord.

Colonial Park Cemetery offered a beautiful parallel to the history of Savannah. The massive stone arch transported her to a different era, and dusk arrived that much faster under the twisting and winding of the heavy trees. Eerie landscaping brought images of spooky finality as the souls of thousands of Savannah's early citizens rested beneath her feet.

She left her car to join the small tour, but within a few seconds the second strange trance in as many hours tied her mind into the very soul of the Spanish moss that hung from the branches. Her body became one with the coolness of the marble and granite tombstones, and the sounds of the people around her became distant. A cherubic angel stood in the shadows, and her eyes worked to take in every detail as her fingertips registered the touch of the marble and the small pits where wind and rain had worn the inscriptions to a faded memory.

She worked to pull herself out of her reverie, but this time focus and reality were even harder to find, and it wasn't until a warm hand touched her shoulder that she jumped. An elderly man in a suit looked at her suspiciously. "Are you okay, miss? If you are here for the tour, he has already started."

Everyone stared at her with judgmental intensity, and she turned briefly away from their thoughts. The realization she was the youngest person by two or three decades made her question the decision to leave the comfort of her fuzzy slippers, but with all eyes on her, she had no choice but to smile weakly and say, "I'm fine."

The tour guide was a geeky looking thirty something with thick glasses and hay fever to accompany his southern accent. With a clearly skeptical glance at her pale insecurity, he began to share his wealth of knowledge. "Most of our citizens in Savannah were buried here in the first half of the 19th century. Over seven hundred yellow fever victims rest in a mass grave from the 1820 epidemic. The cemetery was also the location for many duels, and all are said to be resting poorly. The Yankees desecrated and looted many of the graves during the war, causing more souls to wander. They earn us the distinction of being one of the most haunted places in America."

As the man continued his tour, Maya's mind wandered for the third time. Embarrassment threatened to consume her before she lost her focus, but nothing could stop the path to a different plane. Her mind returned to the angelic monument, and the elderly population of her tour group was replaced by a crowd who wore clothing from a different era. The trees were smaller, and the sky was brighter as a result, and there were fewer tombstones dotting her horizon.

A young woman wore a somber black dress and delicate lace bonnet. She cried with gut wrenching sincerity as a miserable man patted her back with a bored glance. The grave had yet to be closed, and the dark mahogany of the coffin caught Maya's eye. She could feel the glazy smoothness hidden beneath the subtle grains of the wood. The brass trim was cool to her touch, and her hand refused to leave the comfort of the coffin.

A tingle of fear formed deep in her soul, and slowly radiated throughout her entire body. When she shuddered, a warm hand rested on her shoulder, and she took the comfort offered while her fear began to subside.

When the emotion passed, she was left with a dangerous ache between her legs. Her pussy shivered as a small electrical dance sparked neurons deep inside her tight vaginal walls. Tiny nerve endings responded to a stimuli she couldn't understand, but her mind still couldn't leave its focus on the dark mahogany of the coffin. The two emotions became one as her unfilled need consumed her from the inside, and she moaned softly. Without a warning the world went dark as her reality and her fantasy were both lost to her sight.

A second gentle hand rested on her shoulder, and the elderly crowd was at her side. The dark coffin was gone, and the young crowd in antebellum clothing had disappeared. Several worried looks supported her side while one man mumbled, "drunk" before he turned away. The ache between her legs, however, was a strong as ever, and the tiniest bits of wetness pooled against her panties.

The geeky tour guide pulled out his phone, "I'll call an ambulance."

Maya cringed. "Please, I'm fine. It's just low blood sugar or something. I feel fine." She rested her hand on the angel tombstone to help herself up and a searing heat bit into her skin. She gasped, but there was no mark, and the pain was gone almost instantly.

The tour guide held out her purse with an intense gaze, and she wondered if perhaps the ambulance was a good idea when he laughed. "You picked a good stone to collapse on. This is the resting place of Nathaniel Holmes. He was a cotton factor in Savannah in the mid-1800's, plus he owned his own prosperous plantation on Skidaway Island. He died in dual right here in the cemetery when somebody insulted his sister."

Maya stopped listening to fight the images of her daydream. She waited a few polite minutes before she left the group and snuck to the car. Her quiet bed and fuzzy warm pjs sounded like the perfect night after all, and her little bunny vibrator should take care of the need which burned inside her core.

By the time she reached home, her sexual edge left her agitated. Decisions became harder, and her breath grew shallow in anticipation of her release. She hoped another extra-large glass of merlot would cancel the strangeness of her evening and looked to rid herself of the cat before collapsing with her toy. But the cat was simply gone. Confusion became more important than the wine when a glance at Jared's bed showed the smoothness of his spread and not a single cat hair. Her hand touched the spot where the cat had slept, but the action cost her connection with the rest of the room.

Maya's eyes closed tightly but her mind refused to focus on the mystery and shifted further away from the gold and maroon of Jared's décor. The design details of the room grew distant until they disappeared for good, and she visualized only the skeleton of the doors and windows that represented the foundation of the house.

The room remained empty for the most frightening of moments as Maya willed her body to scream or run or do anything besides stand in the void of space, but control over her reaction was gone. She simply stood in stunned silence while her body trembled.

Slowly the space refilled with a heavy aged oak furniture of beautiful design. A suit rack appeared in the corner of the room with a black frock and thick leather boots. A beaver skinned top hat rested on a small writing desk, and a large wardrobe stood half open to display shirts with ancient French cuffs.

At the heart of the room lay a solid sleigh bed with a fluffy mattress and crisp white sheets. Weakness caused her to lean against the comfort of the bed, and the touch of the white cotton spread opened her heart and mind further to the fuzzy dream. She became a willing part of her vision, seeking, desperate to find the connection that was missing between the present and her reality.

The bed grounded her thoughts, and its connection removed her last vestige of fear. The world remained fuzzy, but the touch of the furniture and the feel of her feet on the floor was real. The urge between her legs grew as wetness threatened to drip down her thigh, and her hand instinctively moved to her clit for release.

The feeling reached her first. The unseen worked across the sensitive nerves of her stomach, tickling and taunting her skin with a gentle touch. Slowly it moved to the edges of her bra before it worked under the elastic. She wiggled in response, but it did not stop. With a shudder, she felt the release of the binding to give her breasts the freedom she wanted.

Reason told her to fight, but emotion forced her relaxation. The touch rewarded her complicity by moving to the ache in her breasts, and an invisible line connected to the nerves in her pussy. Slowly, the feeling extended down the front of her pants, toying gently with the soft curls that rested out of sight. It slithered to the apex of her sex and taunted the tiny bundle of nerves that represented the greatest of all rewards. She moaned softly and attempted to fuck the mystery, but failed to connect to anything solid.

Her shirt was carefully lifted over her head and her bra removed. Her pants and panties were discarded to the floor as well, and her naked body was exposed to the unseen. A firm nudge pushed her to the bed, and she did as she was told. After a moment, she relaxed enough to rest her head on the soft pillow.

Instead of fear or mortification, she felt alive. She ran her hand through her chestnut hair and allowed the tingle of her scalp to connect to the rest of her body. The air surrounding her skin was cool and crisp, and she welcomed the freedom behind the breeze. The ache between her legs consumed the last of her focus, but her hand failed to leave the pillow. She could see no restraints, but her wrists were tied to the bed as clearly as if she were cuffed.

With a desperate attempt to end her ache, she tried to move her thighs together but found the same restraints applied to her legs. She was open to the world and waited for the longest of seconds with the certainty somebody watched her. The swelling of her pussy revealed her readiness, and she wiggled and whimpered her frustration, but she knew the touch would return. She trusted him.

Instead of being frightened, she remained calm against the comfort of the antique bed. Gentle touches to the insides of her thighs brought movement to her legs, but only to increase their opening and expose her wet need further to the room. She lost track of all tangible objects and turned her mind to the demands of her body. Her clit throbbed with its need to be touched but restraints kept her prisoner to his choice. The soft folds of her labia whispered drops of moisture to encourage exploration, and her vaginal wall constricted slightly with each breath in a desperate attempt to pull something, anything into her soul.

As her focus continued its futile attempt to connect each and every emotion, his image began to emerge from the shadows of the room. Bits and pieces twirled dangerously, in and out of her vision, but she wanted to see him. She needed to see him and unsuccessfully fought her restraints with a growl. She turned every available part of her brain to form his human shape, and finally a shadow of the man stood before her.

His powerful appearance reflected the historical period of the bedroom. Open to the neck, his shirt gave hints of a muscled body, and his pants fit snuggly around his ass. Long, golden curls rested in a disheveled manner on his shoulders, and the place where his top hat would have rested lay flat against his head. His tanned skin surrounded powerful muscles to reflect the integrity of the working man, and the strength of his hands were apparent.

He remained fuzzy, but Maya didn't care. She belonged to him, at least at that place and at that time. She stopped fighting the restraints of her prison and returned her head to the soft comfort of the pillow. Her legs spread wide in anticipation, and she waited for him to reward her.

A smile appeared on his face as he unbuttoned his cock from the tight confines of his pants. The lack of a zipper took time, but Maya's gaze relished every moment as though she watched a gift being opened. His hardened readiness begged to be touched, but she could not move her hands. She could only whimper and lick her lips, but words weren't necessary. He knew what she wanted, and his hardness came to her side where she could take him in her mouth.

The power of the connection was immediate, and her body jolted at the first touch. Electricity ran deep through her system, and she felt the smallest release of fluids between her legs, but his hand comforted her with the same touch she had felt earlier. Soft touches, gentle, swirling hands gave her a foundation to service him without losing her mind. His taste was real, the touch of his skin tantalizing, yet the full image of the man remained a mystery.

She understood the message of his every movement, but when he pulled away, she cried over her loss. With a comforting smile, he climbed on the bed to kneel between her legs. The rough feel of his skin against her sensitive inner thighs caused her body to quiver, and her eyes teared in anticipation.

Slow gentle fingers found her need, and he played with her swollen sex. His touch settled on her clit with an intoxicating vibration as he moved up and down her channel, soaking in the gift of her wetness. Soft groans were the only release allowed under her physical restraint, and she increased their intensity until she bordered on whimpers.

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