Haunted Hotel Room

A Short Story by Bo Blackstar

[f/m, ghost, clothing fuckery, breath play, poor decision-making, dubious consent (at best), anal, dirty talk brought to you by Google Translate]

Beverly Cross checked into the hotel with some difficulty, only due in part to the clerk’s terrible English and her own Google-driven understanding of Czech. The man seemed to be trying to talk her out of renting a room, saying something about there being “no women here.” It had been a long day, and Beverly wasn’t interested in hiking across town to a larger hotel, so she persisted. She asked if it was dangerous, at which the man shook his head.

“No no no, very safe here,” he assured her. “But sometime is complaint. Ah… young lady see… duch. Be very scary, angry.”

Bev looked up the word on her phone. “Duch” translated to “ghost.” She rolled her eyes. Being alone traveling through eastern Europe had very real dangers for a young woman, so she hardly had time to entertain ghost stories. She insisted on getting the room, and the clerk finally agreed. He handed her the old-style key with a worried look on his face.

He called after her as she left. “You be… very concern, buď opatrný.”

Bev dismissed it and found her room, number eight around the back. It was small and basic, decorated in the tacky colors and sparse, worn furnishings of any cheap hotel room. It was clean, at least. No ugly stains or discarded hair on anything. While she was unpacking, Bev thought about the odd warning and her mind started picturing things. Dangerous things that could befall a woman alone far from home. She double-checked the lock and bolt on the door, finding them sturdy, and she let her mind start spinning fantasies. Her pulse quickened. Beverly had a lot of fantasies. The kind of fantasies you don’t tell people about because they’ll think you’re weird. The kind you don’t want anyone knowing you have, because if something awful ever really did happen they’d be even more likely to say you actually wanted it.

With the lock secure, in no logical danger in a perfectly modern and safe little city, Bev let herself indulge in her fantasies. She imagined the door opening at night while she slept. She imagined tall figures gathering around her bed. She pictured herself waking with a hand over her mouth while others quickly worked to hold her down and tie her up.

Beverly made sure the heavy curtain was drawn fully over the window, then threw herself onto the old bed, pretending to have been pushed there. Her hands started to wander across her body, groping through her shirt and jeans as she closed her eyes and imagined a dozen hands in the darkness. In her mind they tore at her clothes, so she pulled on them in the real world too. Soon she had one hand under her shirt and the other stuffed into her pants. She rubbed at herself furiously, writhing and straining against the imaginary attackers taking turns with her. She bit back a cry as she finally came, not wanting to bother the neighbors while she shuddered on the bed.

Beverly lay there for a few minutes to catch her breath, then stripped and headed for the bathroom, leaving her clothes in a pile at the foot of the bed. A beautiful day exploring the city, a nice orgasm, and then a hot shower. Bev couldn’t think of a thing she’d change. The post-Bachelor’s Eurotrip had been fantastic overall, and she was looking forward too much more before she was done.

The sun had gone down by the time she got out of the shower. Wrapped in a small towel, Bev texted her mom that she was safe and alive and missed her, the typical end-of-day ritual. She put her phone down on the room’s dresser and turned toward the bed, then froze. Her clothes were not lying in a crumpled pile. They were laid out on the bed, arranged as if worn by someone who had just evaporated. The sleeves of her shirt were up and back, as if the hands would be comfortably cradling a head. The jeans were casually crossed one leg over the other, completing the relaxed pose of the phantom.

Her blood cold, Beverly picked up a pen off the dresser and wielded it like a dagger as she looked around the room for an intruder. There wasn’t really anywhere for one to be hiding, but someone had moved her clothes! She went to the door, and saw that the bolt was still in place. Confused, she tried the door a few times to make sure the bolt actually worked, and it held. She knelt down to look under the bed, ready to scream, but there was nothing there. There was no closet, just an inlet to hang clothes in. She even checked the bathroom she’d just come out of, but there was still nothing. No one in the room. The door still firmly bolted. She checked the window, but it was also latched from the inside.

Trying to force herself to calm down, Beverly firmly shook away the idea of ghosts haunting her clothes. She quickly threw on some yoga pants and a sweater, and then really started turning the room inside out. She checked the walls for hidden little doors, tapping for hollow sounds and running her fingers around, expecting to find some kind of crawlspace or something. Nothing. She went outside and examined her own door and window, trying to figure out how one might get inside without the key, or even with the key if the door was bolted. She couldn’t figure anything out.

Now as confused as she was unnerved, Bev entered the room again and gasped. The old clothes on the bed had moved. Now the legs of the jeans were spread open with the knees bent, the button and zipper undone and hanging open. The arms of the shirt had changed position too. One arm was lying across the breast of the shirt, and there was a rumple where a hand might be squeezing at the fabric. The other arm was down, the sleeve ending just above the waist of the jeans, so that a hand would be right over the crotch.

Beverly stared for a minute, shocked and horrified at the overtly sexual display, then ran to the hotel front desk. A couple minutes later she returned to the room with the clerk, and together they searched for the intruder. Her clothes lay in a heap at the foot of the bed. They didn’t find anyone, or anywhere someone could have gotten in from. The clerk seemed concerned, and offered her a refund if she wanted to go stay somewhere else. It was already night, and Bev was starting to feel like she might be crazy.

“Tell me about the ghost,” she said. “The duch. You said there were complaints? What complaints?”

He tried to give some vague answer, but she shook her head.

“No, what does it do? What kind of stuff?”

The clerk shrugged. “Eh, lady say it… take their clothes. Say to feel breathing, behind,” he said, pointing at the back of his neck. “Sometimes it say angry things. They say… it touch them. In, ah… woman places. I sorry, is what they say. I believe it them. Every time young lady come, is happen. They never stay.”

Beverly wasn’t sure how to feel about the explanation. She was still freaked out, but there was no evidence that anything had gone wrong, or could go wrong. The clerk offered to move her to another room, and she accepted gratefully. The both of them inspected the new, identical room thoroughly, looking for hidden spaces and testing the locks on the door and window. When she was satisfied, Bev tipped the clerk and bid him goodnight. She gave the room another sweep, then settled into the bed with a book to distract her from the earlier events. She lost interest quickly, and instead found herself looking up haunted hotel stuff on the internet. There were some genuinely spooky stories, but that actually made Bev feel a little better. Now hers could be just another spooky story among hundreds, and there was a weird comfort in that. It even got that fun part of her mind going again.

Not tired at all, Bev got up and once more checked the locks on the door and window. All secure. She slid back into bed, turned off the light, and decided to relieve some stress the best way she knew how. This time her thoughts were filled with horny poltergeists. With invisible forces having their way with her. Her breaths quickened in the dark room. She bit her lip to stifle a moan, and then went still as the grave when she heard another sound in the room.

A low, masculine grunt of approval.

In a flash Beverly was up, flailing at the switch on the bedside lamp and flooding the room with light. It was empty. Nobody was there. She grabbed another pen and jumped out of the bed, standing near the door, which was still locked and bolted. She looked under the bed. Nothing. Carefully, she checked the bathroom. Still nothing. She peered into the shower. Nothing there either. Nothing anywhere. Trembling, Beverly went back into the other room, and then jumped at what she saw.

Her dirty clothes were out again. The shirt was face-down, the hem at the foot of the bed. Her jeans were on the floor, crumpled up but with the legs sticking out and away from the bed at the knees down. The shape was easy enough to fill in. It was meant to depict someone on her knees, bent over the bed with the jeans pulled down. Most disturbing, the arms of the shirt were tucked up and crossed behind the back, and around the ends of the sleeves Beverly’s belt had been tightened into a restraint. Her belt that had been packed in her suitcase.

Bev started to hyperventilate. She had only been in the bathroom for a minute, and the door and window were still locked, but there was no one else in the room. Then the light flicked off, plunging the room into darkness. Someone grabbed her wrist, hard. Beverly shrieked and pulled away, running over in the direction of the door and slapping at the wall for the light switch there. The light came on, showing an empty room.

“What the fuck… what the fuck…” Bev repeated to herself several times, eyes darting all around looking for any sign of who or what had grabbed her. “No way. There’s no way.” In disbelief, she swallowed past a lump… and switched off the light.

The room was dark and still, quiet save for her own pounding heart and heavy breathing. It was like that for a minute, until she heard something else. More heavy breathing, deeper than hers and close by. She flicked on the light again. Nothing. The sound was gone. Once more she switched it off.

“Are you there?” she asked the dark room. She listened, hearing nothing but feeling more and more like there was someone else there, someone watching her. Someone close.

A voice, low and quiet, crooned in her ear. “Coura…” it whispered with a hungry lilt, accompanied by the feel of hot breath.

Bev switched on the light. No one there. She switched it off again. “What do you want?” she asked the dark room. Listening carefully, ready to flick the light on at a moment’s notice, she heard something rustling on the bed. She turned the lights on again to see that her dirty clothes had been thrown into a corner. Laid out on the bed were a set of bra and panties from out of her suitcase. Her nice, lacy ones she only wore when she expected to let someone see her in them.

“That’s fucking crazy,” Beverly said aloud to no one in particular. A ghost wanted to fuck her? What would that even mean? The grip on her wrist had certainly felt physical enough, but it was still bonkers. Utter craziness. She switched off the light again.

For a minute it was silent. Then the voice came again. “Coura…” it whispered, from behind her this time. Bev felt the breath on the back of her neck, and then a hand gripped her waist. She jumped in place, going stiff, but kept the light off. The touch was heavy and warm, hot even, almost unbearably so. The heat washed into her and she started to feel dizzy, her breaths getting quicker and shallower. A presence established itself behind her, big and warm and imposing. Another hot, firm grip established itself on her wrist, the wrist of the hand she was using to hold the light switch.

“Nádherná dívka…” the husky voice whispered behind her. “Coura…” She had no idea what it meant, but it sounded like a very specific kind of praise. Like when some of her past partners had called her “good girl” while she was blowing them. The memories made the dizziness worse. The grip on her wrist started to pull her hand away from the light switch, but she resisted. The presence behind her grew firmer, until it felt like it was pressing against her back. The tingling hot hold on her hip moved, pressure sliding down her thigh and then veering inward. Bev gasped at the touch, shuddering against the solidifying presence. Her hand was wrenched away from the light switch and tucked behind her back, held there with implacable force.

The steaming pressure between Bev’s legs settled over her mound and started to rub, the heat oozing into her. She was panting, biting back moans. Testing her predicament, she tried to pull away from the specter’s grasp. It held her firmly. She could have pulled again, harder. She didn’t.

Behind her, the voice laughed. “Ne… není úniku…”

A scalding kiss pressed to the back of Beverly’s neck, and the dark room spun around her. When it settled again she could feel she was on her back on the floor. The blazing touch of the spirit was on her, under her clothes. It groped her breasts so hard it made her wince, and the pressure between her thighs had become a rough flurry of rapid circles. The heat pushed into her moistening channel and Bev moaned aloud. It pumped into her, somehow keeping up its assault on her clit while its other hand roamed over her possessively. That wandering grip came to rest over her neck, and started to squeeze. Bev brought up her own hands to pull away at the force, but her fingers found nothing there. It tightened until it cut off her air, and she scratched at herself in a panic.

“Relaxovat…” the voice came again, and she was able to suck in a breath. “Shh… chovat se… shh…”

Trembling, Beverly put her hands at her sides. Her legs were already spread, and her hips started to buck against the pumping touch of the spirit. It squeezed her neck again, and this time she craned into it slightly, trying to trust that it wouldn’t really hurt her. While she squirmed, the ghostly presence worked at her womanhood with a fervor, giving her enough gasps of breath to keep enjoying herself. The intensity of the heat filled her, making her sweat more than just the exertion and arousal would have. When she finally peaked, the invisible thing didn’t let up. Instead it clamped down more firmly on her throat. Bev bucked and trembled, her head spinning, and the pitch-black room went darker still.

Bev cried out as she awoke, brought back to consciousness by the feeling of a sizzling hardness lancing into her pussy from behind. The cry was muffled, a gag of her own panties having been stuffed into her mouth. She was bent over the bed now, her sweater gone and her yoga pants down around her knees. When she tried to move, she discovered her hands bound behind her, held in place by a tightened belt exactly like the display she’d been shown earlier. The presence was behind her, slamming itself into her in a way that was pointedly, undeniably physical. It filled her like she’d never felt before. So deep, so hot, so hard. It was too much! She tensed and thrashed, kicking her feet against the floor.

Immediately the phantom gripped a fistful of her hair and pulled back. “Klid!” it commanded. “Shh… dobrý coura…” Her hair was released, and scalding grips settled over her shoulders, pulling her back into each hammering thrust as it fucked her. Bev continued to moan and cry out into the gag, quieter now, her lead lolling about. It was intense, too intense, but it was effective. Gradually she adjusted, and the groans of discomfort gave way to wails of pleasure. One of the grips on her shoulders left, and it started to strum at her clit once more. Bev squealed as she came again, her feet thumping against the floor as she shuddered through it.

The phantom never relented. “Dobrý…” it groaned. “Více… více!”

Instead of giving her a break, it doubled its efforts. Bev shook her head and started to cry out again, struggling in its grasp. She felt its grip on her neck again as it lifted her upright. The rabid thrusting stopped, but Bev’s eyes widened at a new pressure. She screamed into the gag as the spirit thrust into her backside, its boiling tool claiming her ass in a single thrust. She kicked and wailed as it fucked her raw, the violation made better and worse by its resumed attention to her swollen clit and greedy molestation of her breasts. All the while it whispered in her ear, praises and curses as it took what it wanted from her, giving her what it knew she wanted in return. Bev’s next climax came with tears rolling down her cheeks, but it wracked her all the more intensely.

It didn’t stop. The next thing Bev knew she was on her back on the bed, pinned helplessly beneath an invisible, intangible weight as it fucked her again. Between the heat and strain and periodic choking, she faded in and out for the rest of the night. It didn’t stop.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Beverly came to in the hotel room’s shower. She didn’t know how long she’d been there, or how she’d gotten there in the first place. The sun was up. She looked herself over. There were bruises on her wrists, breasts, and a few other places. Teeth marks on one shoulder. No blood anywhere. A lingering soreness. After washing up she got out to see bruises on her neck in the mirror. She got dressed in a turtleneck. Her things were all packed and the bed was made, as if nothing had happened at all. She knew better.

Beverly sat at the foot of the bed and thought for a long time, trying to process what had happened. What came next. She had planned to stop at a few cultural sites in the city today. It seemed stupid to change her plans. What else was she going to do? Run home? With her jaw firmly set, Bev packed her bag for the day and then headed around to the front desk.

There was a different clerk working, and he seemed startled to see her. “Oh. You must be room eight, yes?”

She nodded.

“You are… good?”

Beverly stalled out on that one. Instead of answering, she passed him her credit card. “I’ll be staying the rest of the week,” she told him.

He looked confused. “I’m sorry? You are checking out, yes?”

“No,” she corrected with a patient tone. “I’m staying. The whole week.”

The clerk let out a laugh and shrugged. “Okay. Sure thing, lady.”

Beverly took her new receipt and headed out toward town. A whole day of exploration and fun was in store for her. And a whole night “alone” in the hotel room after that.