Ghost Of A Flea

A warning to the reader.

This story includes situations in which sex is not entirely voluntary. If this is something you would not enjoy, this may not be the story for you.

The majority of the sexual material in this story occurs between two nominally male characters. If this is something you would not enjoy, this is definitely not the story for you.

Finally, this story includes themes of cuckolding. If you read it anyway, just remember: I told you so.

- The author

GHOST OF A FLEA

Or, the Loves (Found and Lost) of One William Hooke

I

I stood by the foot of the bed and watched as my beloved Catherine entered our bedchamber.

Pale, abundantly rubenesque, she wore not a stitch of clothing, with only her thick pubic hair to protect her modesty. Her long blonde ringlets gleamed with moonlight. Her soft parts trembled with each step.

My well-seasoned prick hardened instantly. It strained the fabric at the waist of my own soft belly. I shucked my clothing and dropped it in a careless pile in as much time as it took her to cross the room.

She'd been afraid on our wedding night. She'd been unspoiled--except, she'd eventually admit to me, by her own fingers. The enormity of my appendage, knowing it would be her first, filled her with terror.

She had learned since then to regard its large, hairy protuberance with a smile, as she did now.

With a knuckle, I tilted her chin up. With our heights so mismatched, I had to lean down considerably to kiss her; my cock was high enough on her to touch her deep navel. Her kiss was delightfully unladylike.

She then sank to her knees. Her mouth was warm and wet and soft; she'd been blessed with a thick, pillowsome tongue. My size was such that she could only cover the first few inches of me. I didn't mind.

During the ensuing hour, Kate and I committed many of the perversions to which we had become accustomed. Every available member, every available bodily cavity, was tarnished by the delight of our sins.

Nobody could know of our impropriety. We were outwardly the model of the respectable married couple. The secretiveness, the forbiddenness of the skills we'd acquired, further aroused our bodies and our minds.

At some point, while she bucked astride me like a rider in the saddle, her round, pendulous belly brushing mine with every stroke, she came. Our neighbors might have thought they were hearing a murder.

"William," she cried, "Oh, William."

She laid back. I knelt over her and finished myself by my own hand, spilling my seed on her--first, her thick neck, then her heavy breasts, then her nipples, pale and pink and broad as tea saucers.

She was so beautiful. Lying there, the sheen of her sweat and the strands of cum picking up glints of the moon on her plush pale skin, might have driven a good man such as myself into the arms of madness.

I could have been ready for her all over again, were I just a little younger. But my cock began to wilt, even as it dribbled its last, even as the last of that wonderful feeling was still glimmering inside me.

Kate. Oh, Kate.

I collapsed next to her. My sagging member listed against her leg, depositing its last dollop on the rumpled flesh. We dozed off in each other's embrace, with the heavy scent of sex as our only blanket.

Perversions. Sometimes, I felt like we'd tried them all.

II

I must have been dreaming.

I found myself standing on a hilltop. It reminded me of the ones past the woods that surrounded our house, but I couldn't be sure. I was high up; the air was thin and foggy and translucent with moonlight.

And I was cold. Not bitter cold, but it chilled my skin, and I realized then that I was naked. My nipples were hard. My penis laid small and soft upon the tightened skin of my scrotum.

My pisshole was red and sticky with the vestiges of orgasm. It couldn't have been long since tonight's adventures with Kate. Could I have walked all the way up here without waking?

I felt a presence coming up from behind. I didn't hear footsteps, but merely felt the hint of the approach through the air. I could feel something looming high over me. Something tall, something imposing.

I couldn't turn around. I don't know that I was afraid, but I was nevertheless paralyzed. I could only breathe and listen and wait for some sort of contact from the being at my back.

I became very conscious of my nakedness, my vulnerability. The wind kicked up, stirred perhaps by the mysterious figure. Cold air whipped my bare ass and thighs, raising gooseflesh.

A shadow passed over me. Reaching down, not so much around me as over my shoulder, a dark hand, shrouded in shadow and large enough to cover the breadth of my torso, descended towards my flaccid penis.

My own hands dangled at my sides. The vigor to raise them in defense had fled from my bones. I could not see the hand that loomed ever closer to my skin, save for that it seemed hairless and scaly.

A long fingernail, or a claw, touched the underside of my cock, near the beginning of my scrotum. It raised the reddened end of me into the moonlight as if for our mutual inspection. Hot breath stirred my hair.

Also over my shoulder appeared a fleshy appendage, fearsome and disturbing. It followed the mighty hand down the front of me. Even though it hadn't yet touched me, I could feel its heat, its moisture.

The thing was thin as the end of a snake's tail at the tip, but the bulk of it was as big around as my wrist. It seemed endlessly long as it descended. It spotted my round belly with hot, sticky liquid.

It loomed closer and closer to my urethra, until it was joined to me by a strand of wet mucus. Though I couldn't move, the contact with my penis made me jerk involuntarily, not quite breaking the connection.

The long, shadowed finger pointed me skyward. The short, soft length of me became enrobed on all sides by viscous saliva. It gathered at the base of me, soaking my pubic hair and dripping from my balls.

Then the tip of the thing itself touched me, and, this time, I did not jerk. At first, it merely rested on me, content to draw up the bead of semen that had clung to me there. Then it began to push its way in.

To my surprise, it did not hurt at first. There was a pressure, then a discomfort, but the thing was slick and pliant; the end of it narrow enough so as not to widen me too much with its circumference.

But then it pushed deep enough that the soft innards of my poor little pisshole began to register the pain of its deflowering. My already pounding heart was filled with true worry as the thing kept going.

I felt a touch between my shoulder blades--smooth, but hard, and very hot. It felt like the tip of something. Then I felt more of it, quite a lot of it, press against my back, the entire length of my spine.

There was a breath upon my head, like a sigh of pleasure, though it made no vocalization save for a rustling like dried leaves on stonework.

I looked down, and the opening of me was stretched as big as a thumb. And though my thoughts were fading, I could still feel the thing as it kept going, pushing deeper and deeper. I was erect again.

III

The next few days, or weeks, passed by in a haze. It's difficult to explain, but my mind felt fuzzy, as though I couldn't quite connect one thought to the next. Moments passed by like snatches of memory.

The first thing I remember was being back in the bedroom, in the doorway, still nighttime, still gazing upon my moonlit Catherine, sleeping naked and uncovered in bed like a cum-streaked statue

I shambled in, feeling bone tired and disoriented, but no worse for wear. It was as if I'd arisen from a deep sleep to go relieve myself before coming back to bed. Not quite asleep, but never quite awake.

I could not even be sure that the thing with the claw and the tongue had been real. In fact, I was becoming certain that it wasn't.

All just a strange dream.

Even so, my pisshole was sore enough that I briefly contemplated calling upon the local doctor before deciding the better of it. He would find nothing, I told myself, and I would be embarrassed.

If I had injured it during my scandalous interludes with Kate, that would explain everything. And, in order that we might preserve our honor, it would be all the more reason to tell no one.

My mind was just beginning to clear, I was just beginning to feel normal, when I next encountered the thing.

This time, I did not fall asleep, or, at least, I don't think I did, and I don't remember falling into a dream. Kate and I were in the town square, strolling through the market, past vendors of all kinds.

The haze that gauzed my senses was coming and going. This time, it was coming on with a particular intensity. I fell behind Kate by a few steps, and I felt an odd compulsion to duck into a nearby alleyway.

There was no one there, and the alley came to a dead end far from where I had entered. Still, I walked the length of it. The buildings to either side were spaced by less than the span of a man's arms.

For reasons I could not explain, I found myself nose-to-nose with the brick wall that closed off the far end, and that's when I felt the looming presence behind me. The one I remembered from my dream.

Though it did not touch me, I could feel how close it was. Its heat came through the clothes on my back. Its breath stirred the hair on my head. Again, like that night on the hilltop, I could not move.

That is, until I felt an inistent tapping--a thudding of heavy fingertips, really--on my back, upon the belt that held up my leggings. For a moment, I didn't understand.

Then, I found myself moving, my limbs moved by a compulsion not of my own desire. I dropped my trousers, stepped out of them, and hiked up my jacket, so that my bottom half was exposed to the open air.

My feet, still in their boots, were spread apart, past the width of my shoulders. There was no explanation for it; I did not move them myself, though I did not find myself trying to refuse the impulse.

Through the bricks that lined the ground beneath my feet, I felt twin thuds. I got the sense of a giant dropping to its knees. Hot breath on my bare buttocks and on the back of my balls, blanket of moisture.

There was a sharp sensation, which would be one of its fearsome claws, the size of my longest finger, tracing the round contour of one of the cheeks of my ass, from the top down to the wrinkles of my scrotum.

It hurt. I don't think it drew blood, but it dragged heavily upon my flesh.

I felt enormous fingers part the cleft of my ass as easily as one parts the delicate lips of a woman's cunt. It was forceful, but not exactly unpleasant. I heard and felt the effect of a great sniffing.

Then I heard the wetness of a sodden tongue moving about in a sodden mouth, and I shuddered as I felt the thing lick me. Its snakelike tongue touched my balls and ran its way up over my unprotected anus.

The first lick was experimental. The second took its time, as though luxuriating in its new findings. It circled in on my anus, not penetrating me, but roaming round and round over its taught ridges.

I felt like the prey of some dangerous animal--though, as strange as it may seem, I did not feel fear. Unprotected, to be sure, and at the mercy of this mysterious and powerful being. But I was not afraid.

It pushed on my back, one open palm as wide and powerful as both hands of an ordinary everyday man shoving with all his might. I tottered on my feet, but I remained upright, not understanding what it wanted.

For the first time, I heard what amounted to a vocalization. A wooden, creaking grunt, made by a windpipe that sounded as though it was being used to speak for the first time, as if it had just now learned how.

It sounded impatient, insistent, though I did not know on what.

Then two fingers and a great thumb encircled my neck from behind, closing completely around it, pressing my face to the wall. I did not strike the wall, so much as touch it with an ever-increasing pressure.

Through fading vision, I glanced down. I was more erect than I'd ever been. Not even Kate, that first night in our wedding bed, her body trembling as it accepted me the first time, had gotten me this hard.

I could barely breathe. I wasn't getting enough air. I felt my muscles loosen as the darkness closed in from the edges of my sight. I felt my anus open as something hot and slick began to probe its way inside.

When I came to, I was simply standing on my feet in the alley, feeling lightheaded and unsteady on my feet, but unharmed and quite alone. My clothes were all properly on. I had no idea how much time had passed.

I dallied there, trying to compose myself, for who knows how long.

Then I left the alleyway and found Kate browsing nearby. She had not noticed I was gone.

IV

One night, I fell asleep, and the thing was there. I could feel it, though my eyes were closed and my body slumbered, there in the bedroom, standing over the bed.

My first instinct was to protect my wife, who dozed obliviously next to me. Though I did not awaken, I spoke to the thing.

"I'll do anything you want. Just leave Catherine out of it."

A large, powerful fingertip stroked the underside of my cock, which laid erect against the roll of my belly. It felt rough and callused.

I heard a croaking voice, like wind whipping around the corners of the house. The sound of it sat uncomfortably in my stomach.

"Cum," it said. The first word it had ever spoken to me.

"Where do you want me to go?" I heard my sleeping voice say.

"No," it said, and there was an insistent tapping on my balls, raising a feeling that made my stomach more uncomfortable still.

Then I understood what it wanted.

Not "come."

Then I woke up.

After a moment's slowness, I sat up, sweating coldly, breathing heavily, my eyes darting around the room, searching for the thing.

It wasn't there. Either it had slipped away by whatever powers that might have animated it, or it had never been there at all. The only other being in the room was Catherine, sleeping soundly by my side.

I could only thank God that she was a heavy sleeper, and hadn't had to encounter the thing.

I had to piss. I slipped out of the room, and, not bothering with my robe (we lived in a secluded area; there was little danger of being seen), I walked outside in the nude to where we'd made our lavatory.

I sat in the dark, wooden booth, willing my erection to go down so that I could piss comfortably.

Then the door to the jake flung open with a wooden bang, and I saw horror.

It was like a man in form, but taller than the tallest man I'd ever seen, like a bullock standing on its hind legs. I could scarcely see its head through the doorway. It was wide and massively muscled.

And it was naked. It had a masculine appendage, not flaccid, but not quite erect either, protruding in a downward arc. It was as big as my arm and would have hung to the creature's knees had it been soft.

My body shook violently. Piss vacated itself from my erect penis of its own accord, emerging from the hole and dribbling down to my balls before falling through the opening in the seat.

The fearsome apparition parted its fangs. A long, slithering tongue emerged, seemingly endless as it snaked through the air and cupped the underside of my cock. I jerked away, but it was already retracting.

It slurped the tidbit of of my urine into its mouth, sampling it, before shaking its head.

"No," it said, its voice churning in my bowels. "Cum."

My hand shivered as I clasped my cock. I willed myself to stop shaking as I began to masturbate.

The creature watched me, watched the repetitious up and down of my hand. Its reddened eyes were inscrutable, though, if I were to impose a recognizable emotion upon it, I would have said it was fascinated.

Dimly, I felt the familiar pleasure, the advancement towards self-induced orgasm that I'd first felt as a boy on the cusp of maturity, though the presence of the hulking being was stealing my focus.

The thing apparently grew bored. As quickly as a predator pouncing on its prey, it fell to its hands and knees. It swatted my hand away from my penis and maneuvered its large head into the jake over my lap.

Before I could protest, its mouth descended upon me, engulfing my cock in its entirety. I felt that its depths could have taken more of me still, had there been more of me to take.

Though I hated myself for it, my impulse was to think of Kate, doing her best to take a fraction of my length without hacking and coughing.

God, Kate. Please keep me safe, for her sake.

The creature somehow knew what to do, perhaps from some prior experience too horrific to imagine. It bobbed its mouth upon my cock, though, I hasten to add, it was not pleasurable. Not at first.

Without thinking, I hissed, "Damn your sharp teeth."

Incredibly, though it did not voice a response, I felt the thing adjust its stroke, shielding me from its teeth with surprisingly soft lips, cradling the length of me in its mouth with that awful tongue.

The thing was making monstrous noises in the back of its throat, slurping and smacking and grunting, like a bear eating a fresh kill. The low, rumbling tones vibrated my penis in a most sensuous way.

At that point, focused or not, I was enthralled, unable to resist. With my sincerest apologies to dear, sweet Catherine and her formidable technique, this was the best prick-eating of my life.

I was sweating a different sweat. The muscles in my face and in my middle were contorting. I was climbing swiftly towards orgasm, and there was no dissuading the fucktious creature from taking me there.

I came. Helplessly, joyously, I came. My balls ached, my body convulsed, as semen lurched from me in great gobs into the creature's mouth.

It kept up its attentions as my climax played itself out, until my sudden sensitivity made me hiss at it through my teeth.

Then it released me, withdrew its head, and stood back up to its full, awesome height. Ostentatiously, it swallowed once.

"Cum," it said, as though pleased.

Then, as fast as blinking, I was alone, sitting in the jake with the door open. I was suddenly very cold.

V

Catherine and I were having dinner with her parents, with whom I could get along some of the time. As was typical during our visits, her father set me to a list of chores while the women prepared dinner.

Alone, I strode across the courtyard to the entrance to the wine cellar to fetch a jeroboam of wine, which seemed a fair enough task.

In the cool, sunken building, lit by a trickle of sunlight through the doors hanging ajar above, I was contemplating how much time I could spend without being missed. That's when I felt the presence behind me.

"Oh, damn it all," I groaned as the thing gripped me by the head and turned me round to face it.

It had to hunch in order to fit, though the ceiling of the wine room was not low. Its penis-appendage was, as it had been before, a semi-hard arc that lunged out and drooped, nearly the size of a human arm.

"Cum," it growled, its English more legible today.

I sighed, hiked my jacket, and dropped my trousers, surprised to find that my own penis had already achieved its whole fullness.

"No," it said, gripping itself in a vulgar fashion and aiming its bulbed end just inches from my face. It smelled slightly sweet, slightly sickly, like a mix of fresh flowers and fish.

Hesitantly, I asked, "You want me... to...?"

It nodded. "Cum. I, cum."

"I don't know how. I've never done it."

"I cum. Now."

The thing was so tall that I did not have to bend at the knees for it. Wondering what it would do if I refused, unwilling to find out, I gripped it by both hands and lifted it to my mouth. It was heavy.

"Yes," it said. "Mouth. Yes."

I opened my mouth and found that it was too big for me, the circumference of my lips almost but not quite slipping over the large head of it.