The Ghost Groom

Disclaimer: The following is a piece of fiction. Fiction (in case you don't know) means it's made up, not real, a bunch of lies. The characters in the story are all fictional too, meaning they don't exist. While non-existent, if they existed and had an age they would be over 18.

Furthermore, since the characters aren't real they can't possibly be harmed by the stuff they do or that happens to them in the story. This would not be true in reality, meaning you should not think you can do the same things safely, legally, or ethically in real life. Just because bullets bounce off Superman (he's fictional) that doesn't mean they're going to bounce off you, got it? If you believe that the things fictional characters do in a pornographic story are a valid guide to behavior in the real world, then you have much bigger psychological problems than a story could ever cause and you should stop reading this and seek medical help immediately.

His first flight got delayed until he missed his connection. The next available flight to his destination was many hours later. The airport was under construction, too noisy and crowded for him to get any rest during the long layover. The second flight was overcrowded and full of wailing children, try though he might he couldn't sleep on board.

When the taxi finally dumped him at the place the company had booked for him it was midnight and Don was dead on his feet. He dully noticed that it was a "grand old hotel" with lots of columns and an antiquated but fancy lobby, which from past experience probably meant the rooms would be small and lack modern amenities. He just hoped the mattress wasn't as old as the hotel.

"All right, here's your key," bustled the night manager. "Our kitchen is already closed, but if you need anything else ..."

"No, I'm sure it will be fine," Don sighed.

The woman cleared her throat. "There is one more thing I ought to, uh, mention. We had some walk-ins and we weren't sure you were still coming, so you're getting the last room we have available. Room 628."

Don was puzzled by her odd demeanor. "So?"

"Room 628 is supposedly haunted," she explained sheepishly. "A lot of people know us due to that, we're somewhat famous for it. Not that there's anything really there, of course, but we're supposed to let guests know when they check in. Just in case they want a different room."

"But you just said you don't have another room," Don pointed out.

"Well, no, we don't. I'm still supposed to inform you," the young woman said, giving him a bright and purely professional smile.

Don shrugged. "I'm sure it will be fine," he repeated, and took the key.

"Need any help with your luggage?" the manager chirped, relentlessly cheerful.

Don didn't really like people handling his suitcase at any time. "No, not really."

"Then have a good night, Mr. Summer."

Don flinched, sure there was a smirk on her face as she said it. Pretty much all his life he'd been the target of mockery through no fault of his own. He certainly didn't make his parents name him Donald when their last name was Summer. Nor did he have any control over the fact that a like-named female singer had become the "Queen of Disco" while he was in grade school.

"Donna" became a taunt so routine that it was used almost more often than his real name during his childhood and early teen years. Even now, decades later as a grown man and sales manager, he had to fake a laugh whenever a client decided to make a joke about his name.

The irony of it was that in his heart of hearts Don wouldn't have minded being Donna.

He'd grown up in a medium-sized town in the center of the country, where merely being a Unitarian was considered tantamount to perversity. He'd married his high-school sweetheart and produced three offspring mostly because both their families expected it of him. He was a regular at their church, out of habit and convention. He'd never, ever done anything even slightly homosexual (at least, nothing that involved another person). For one thing he was far too afraid of someone he knew finding out if he did. And his features weren't feminine in the slightest.

But that didn't stop Don's dreams. In those he was Donna and a beautiful woman, a woman that men desired. He'd been having those kind of fantasies as long as he could remember. But they were without any outlet whatsoever until he got his first sales job.

Being a salesman for a large company meant travel. Travel to big, anonymous cities, and staying alone in hotel rooms while you were there. His colleagues would often brag about taking advantage of the situation to party all night, to visit strip clubs, even to hire hookers or otherwise cheat on their wives. Those particular things didn't appeal to Don, but their libertine tales clued him in to the freedom one had when on a sales trip.

Don began visiting lingerie shops when he traveled, always claiming to the staff that he wanted to buy some "pretty" things to surprise his wife. In fact he was the one who wore them, but only in the privacy of his hotel room. There he could finally act out some of his fantasies, at least by dressing up in the clothing of a beautiful woman.

After many such trips Don now had quite a collection of various panties, nighties, corsets, and other garments in his size. He still went to lingerie shops at times to look for exciting new items, but his basic wardrobe for a trip was taken from his hidden stash at home and packed in a zippered bag in the bottom of his suitcase.

As it was right now.

Don unlocked the door of 628, walked in and heaved his suitcase up on the bed. As he'd expected it was a small room of the sort typical of grand old hotels, with a high bed covered by a frilly bedspread. Turning on the lamp produced a weak yellowish light that left the room half in shadow. He sighed and went to use the bathroom. Real porcelain and heavy copper fixtures, the old-fashioned sort where the hot and cold taps were separate. He splashed cold water on his face, then returned to the bed and began unpacking.

Once all his regular clothes were unpacked Don took out his Donna kit and opened it. He was too tired to stay up any longer but he wanted to wear lingerie to bed. He always did that when away from home.

At first he started to pick out a sexy red bedtime outfit, but something made him change his mind and put it back. After hesitating for a moment his hand seemed to automatically reach out for a white babydoll. That somehow felt right, so he took a pair of white panties to go with it. He stripped off his travel clothes and took a quick shower, then put on his chosen nightwear and crawled into bed. Turning out the lamp he immediately fell into a deep sleep.

That night Don had a very unusual dream. In the dream she was in bed in the hotel, just as she actually was, but there was a man in the room with her. The man's hands were caressing Donna's body through the nightie and panties and the touch was electric, causing Donna's flesh to prickle. Donna's heart raced and her breath came faster, and she opened her eyes to see who was touching her. But there was no one there, nothing she could see at all, even though the hands still roamed over her body.

After that however the dream jumped over to something involving Don needing to find a specific classroom to take a test but he'd never been to the school before and couldn't find it, much more like his usual sort of dream. When the alarm went off Don found that he had thrown off all the covers in his sleep. He groaned and climbed out of bed to stumble to the bathroom for his morning shower.

The meeting he'd come to town for went better than expected. So much so that there was really nothing left to do than sign the contract, but that apparently required the presence of their CFO who was off today. So Don arranged to return at 11 the next morning to get the final paperwork done, then it would be back to the airport for his flight home.

Don got back to his hotel very pleased with the outcome, not least because it gave him the evening to himself without any worries about getting up early the next day. He decided to eat at the hotel's dining room to save time, wanting to get up to his room and back to being "Donna" as soon as possible. His odd dream the night before had left him quite aroused.

While waiting for the waiter to take his order Don found that the back of the menu contained the story of Room 628. Apparently more than a century ago (when the hotel was brand new) a newlywed couple reserved the room for their wedding night. At the end of the reception in the hotel ballroom (now gone, converted to a conference area) the bride claimed she needed to visit her sick aunt across town who couldn't attend, and told her husband to go upstairs to the room and wait for her to return. In fact one of the bride's old beaus had shown up uninvited to the wedding and during their dance had begged her to run away with him. That's exactly what she then decided to do, and did.

The groom, one Cornelius Higgins, waited all night for his bride to join him. When he came downstairs in the morning and learned what had happened, Cornelius turned around, went back up to the room, and cut his own throat with his straight razor. And ever since that day certain employees and guests had sworn they had seen or 'sensed' Cornelius' presence on the 6th floor or in room 628 itself, still waiting for his runaway bride to return.

"Pretty gruesome," Don muttered to himself. "Plus I can't see a cheating bitch like that coming back to him, ghost or not."

After dinner and three glasses of wine Don went up to his room. The short winter day meant it was already full night outside. Once he locked and chained the door, the yellow light from the lamp again left the edges of the room full of shadows.

Don chuckled. "Our haunted room features mood lighting perfect for either romance or ghost hunting," he quipped.

He then noticed that in fact there were was a more modern floor lamp in the corner which probably would have lit up the room better, but he decided that the current situation suited him and left it turned off. There was the usual clock-radio on the nightstand, he flicked it on and found it was tuned to a station playing old jazz. That was fine, it wouldn't distract him and the music would cover any sounds he happened to make.

The big old tub in the bathroom had caught his interest earlier, so he began to fill it before stripping off his business attire. Naked he stepped into the tub and settled down with a sigh in the steaming water, letting his muscles relax.

"It's too bad the hotel doesn't supply bubble bath," he thought. He lifted a leg out of the water to look critically at it, again wishing he were brave enough to shave them. But of course he couldn't, his wife might notice and ask questions.

When he felt his skin getting soft from the warmth and water he climbed out of the tub and put on skin lotion (luckily all hotels supplied that) to enhance that softness. He got out his razor, at least his face could be nice and smooth. Then he took out his cologne, a brand which was as much like a women's perfume as he could find, and spritzed it lightly over his whole body.

By this time the anticipation had made him too excited for much more preparation. He went back into the bedroom and got his Donna bag out of the closet. What to wear tonight?

He'd been planning on wearing his black nylon negligee, but just as had happened the night before he found himself hesitating and then his hand was drawn elsewhere, to a long white slip. It was actually his very first bit of woman's clothing, an old undergarment of his wife's that he'd surreptitiously pulled out of a box of charity donations they were making. It was quite plain and too thick to be transparent, but it was the longest garment in "Donna's" wardrobe, reaching to her knees. This not only made it the modest garment Don had with him, it was the closest thing to an actual dress Donna possessed.

Tonight the thought of pretending to wear more than just lingerie felt appealing. Don began picking out underwear to go with his "dress." A basque with white lace for his torso, and the white silk panties he'd worn the night before. The basque had garters but he didn't have any white thigh-highs, flesh-tone stockings would have to do.

Don had a struggle getting the corset built into the basque to close and decided he'd have to go on a diet soon. Once he'd succeeded though it gave him a much more feminine waist and hips, pleasing him. He slipped on the stockings first and the panties second, knowing from experience that doing it the 'proper' way would trap the panties under the garters at the critical juncture. Then he drew the slip on over it all, arranging the straps to lay neatly on each shoulder.

There. Donna pranced into the bathroom to look at herself in the mirror, and smiled at what she saw. The basque's cups, filled with a pair of socks, had given her curves on top to match the ones created by the corset below. Her outline was most definitely female now. All one had to do was ignore the overly-hairy limbs and the very unfeminine face and she could imagine herself a cute girl.

Donna gave a little giggle considering the amount of imagination required. It would take a lot of plastic surgery to make her passable, let alone pretty, and she knew that. She'd practically need a head transplant to tell the bald truth. But a girl could dream, and that's what Donna intended to do until tomorrow.

She walked out of the bath and sashayed around the small hotel room, pretending men were watching her with admiring eyes. She posed and preened for her imagined audience, then sat on a chair, crossed her legs like a woman, and began batting her eyes and flirting with an unseen beau.

The radio was playing a slow, dreamy number. "Yes, I would love to dance," Donna fluted, and offered her hand to thin air. She rose up out of the chair and began to sway, closing her eyes to better imagine she was on a dance floor with a handsome partner.

Donna felt her slip swish against her skin as she slow-danced in the small room and gave a little sigh of longing. If only something like this could really happen to her! The low lights, the soft music, the feel of a man in her arms. In fact as she danced it seemed she could almost feel his muscular shoulder under her left hand, his left hand holding her right, his own right arm draped around her corseted waist.

The phantom hand on Donna's waist suddenly tightened, drawing her hard against a broad male chest. At the same time something like a long mustache tickled her cheek.

Donna gasped in shock and opened her eyes. There was nothing there ... but she could still feel the body pressed to hers, and the muscular arms on her.

Don shook his head as if trying to dislodge this illusion from his brain, but the arms didn't let him go. In fact, the hand around his waist dropped down and began to suggestively squeeze his rear cheeks through his slip. He felt the tickle on his face again, this time followed by what seemed to be a cool pair of lips pressing against his own!

Don turned his head away and began to struggle against the grasp holding him, but it rapidly became obvious that his unseen suitor was far stronger than he was. He felt something grip his head and force it to turn forward again. He opened his mouth to scream in terror, and suddenly the cool lips were back, covering his mouth with what was unmistakably a hard, deep kiss.

Stunned, Donna sagged in the arms of her assailant as she felt an impossibly long tongue enter her mouth and tease at her own. The probing appendage was not warm but not cold either, firm and yet somehow fluid rather than solid. It felt faintly wet and oddly electric as it darted around her moist oral cavity. Meanwhile the hand at her rear continued to grope her bottom, while the other hugged her waist tightly.

The invisible kiss ended abruptly, leaving Donna gasping for air. She still felt fear, but the sheer masculinity exerted on her had not only switched her femme side back on full force, it was making her confuse her current panicked dread at the eerie experience she was having with the alarm and dismay that were part of certain fantasies she'd had about being caught as Donna by a man and forced into sexual submission. She began to struggle again but in a deliberately ineffectual manner. "No, please," she whispered, less of an objection than an appeal.

As if her assailant was plucking her fantasies from her mind, implacable hands seized her shoulders and began forcing her down to her knees despite her efforts to resist. When she was kneeling on the carpet a sharp tug on her hair caused her to open her mouth to yelp, and once again she felt unseen flesh plunged into her mouth. But this piece of flesh was obviously not a tongue. No, it was bigger and more rigid, a different organ entirely.

Donna had never sucked cock before. She'd never even touched one, aside from her own. But even if she couldn't see it she had absolutely no doubt that what was in her mouth now was a penis. The crown pushed its way into her mouth toward the back of her throat and Donna bit down by reflex, but though her teeth closed on what seemed to be a tough, rubbery shaft this oddly did not slow the advance of the invading rod one bit. It was as if it simply slithered between her teeth going deeper.

In short order a large, cool, oddly flexible and completely invisible prick was buried past Donna's tonsils. She also felt but couldn't see what could only be a hairy groin and balls pressed up against her lips. To her surprise Donna didn't feel like choking, even though her gag reflex certainly should have kicked in. In fact once she got over her shock she realized she could breathe through her mouth just fine, despite the sensation that a fat penis filled her entire throat.

Once she realized she was in no danger of suffocating, Donna relaxed and stopped fighting. As she did the invisible grip on her head slackened and became a caress. The phantasmal cock pulled back until she could feel the crown resting on the front of her tongue. Next it slowly slid forward again, filling her so deep she couldn't help but gurgle on it.

The unseen rod pulled back once more and stopped, resting in the front of her mouth. Now that she was less panicked Donna could feel that it caused the same sort of electric tingles in her mouth that the tongue had previously created there. The crown continued to sit in place, apparently waiting. After a long moment Donna hesitantly gave it a lick.

Her action made the cool electricity grow stronger, and suddenly Donna could smell a pleasant male musk in her nostrils. Excited that she was finally (and unexpectedly) living out one of her fantasies, Donna closed her eyes and began licking and sucking at the cock vigorously.

Seemingly her first try at giving a male a blowjob was a success because soon the cock began thrusting again, and shortly after that it began pulsing and spurting into her mouth. The seed ejaculated was thick and cold, and it tingled strongly where it touched her flesh. Donna swallowed some and the tingle spread throughout her body, causing her to shiver. Her skin prickled and her own skinny dick throbbed.

The cock pulled away, shooting a last wad of cum onto her lips. The hands on her body also vanished, leaving Donna kneeling on the floor gasping from the sensations brought on my the ghostly semen she'd ingested.

She reached up and wiped at the stickiness on her mouth. Her fingers came away coated with a shiny, slimy substance, the only visible trace of her abuser.

"Ectoplasm?" Donna whispered, staring at the stuff oozing from her fingers.

Her slip was now tented by the raging erection she'd gotten while giving her abuser oral sex.