The house was quiet when Jill entered. If she hadn’t known better, she’d have thought she was alone. But Jill did know better.

The bottom story of the old manor house was empty of everything but dust, and Jill believed ghosts. She dropped her backpack on the wood floor and starting setting up for the night. She balanced her camera on the mantle and turned it on, making sure it could see the entire room.

When the ghost manifested, she was going to get it on film. With the camera filming, she set laid out a sleeping bag, flashlight, and few odds and ends to make staying overnight in a vacant house more comfortable.

She relaxed on her sleeping bag and called out to the ghosts.

The only answer she got was silence. After about fifteen minutes, she was bored. She rolled on to her stomach and pulled out a magazine. She paged through, holding the flashlight in her freehand. Until she was certain she felt someone in the room. She rolled back over, and shone the light around the room.

It still looked empty. She called out again, inviting any spirits to communicate with her. The feeling of hands on her arms was almost instantaneous.

“Fuck me,” she muttered. “Ghosts are real.”

The ghost, perhaps taking her oath as an invitation, moved its hands down her arms. Jill shivered feeling ghostly hands brush over her nipples and bit her lip. Nothing she’d read or watched about ghost hunting led her to expect this.

The hands disappeared, and she decided in that moment that she was going to let this encounter unfold. “Come back,” Jill said to the empty room.

The hands returned, this time cupping and squeezing her tits. Her moan drifted through the empty house, and her nipples stiffened.

It was strange to clearly feel hands touching her, but have no body, no presence to focus on. When the hands paused, Jill pulled her shirt over her head tossing it aside. Her bra and jeans followed. She was shimming out of her panties when the hands returned to her tits, joined by hands on her legs.

“How many ghosts are in this house?” She asked, before the hands teasing her tits found her nipples and started rolling the hard nubs. Jill moaned softly, “oh yes.”

The hands on her legs moved higher pulling her forgotten panties down to her ankles. When the fingers started stroking her thighs, she spread her legs. “More,” she begged, and felt the ghostly fingers replaced with something larger. The ghost cock pressed inside her, and she bucked her hips up loving the feeling.

The ghostly fingers in her nipples continue to to pinch and tug at her, and she urged on the rough touching. She thrust her hips up to meet the ghost, feeling its cock filling her, but having no sensation of a body. It was almost like using a dildo that controlled itself.

Jill reached been her thighs, rubbing her clit while the ghostly cock fucked her. She briefly wondered what would happen when the ghost orgasmed before the grew distracted by the ghost fucking her changing his pace. Seeing her touching herself must have turned him on as his thrusting grew harder and faster.

When Jill came she shuddered and twitched on the sleeping bag. The ghost wasn’t far behind her, and she felt its cock twitch and a rush of cold as it orgasmed. She lay, spread out on the sleeping bag, panting.

Then the second ghost entered her.

When she woke up the next morning, naked and sore, she wondered if she’d dreamed then entire night. It seemed to impossible to be real. At least it seemed than way until she watched the recording. Her camera had caught every depraved detail of her with her ghostly lovers. She may not have been able to see them, but the camera caught them as pale shadows sliding over and into her body.

As she watched the recording, she slipped her fingers between her thighs and rubbed her clit until she came again.