MAGENTA
It was a warm summer night, and you stand before your open window, looking down onto the street. Your apartment overlooked the main street of this little burg where your work as a paranormal investigator took you. A real shithole, but that's the life, isn't it. That fucking X-files show makes it all look so glamorous, but mostly you deal with small town hicks who think they've seen Elvis porking their prize heifer, or that aliens are talking out of their cat's asshole, or some damned thing.
<sigh>
Still, it's the life you've chosen, and you wouldn't give it up. Because one day you know you'll find the one true thing, the sighting that makes it all worth while. The Truth, as they say, is out there.
The streets are mostly deserted, which isn't surprising since it's 3 am, and you can't sleep because this trip has been another ride down Elvis Lane, and the boss is gonna be pissed, and take it out on you again, because once again, there's no proof, and no proof means no money when the various funds start digging measly little awards out of their too tight assholes, and handing the smelly wads over to whichever projects have produced the most "results", which usually means has kissed the most butt.
You sigh, watch the one inhabitant still out on the street. She's easy on the eyes, that's for sure. A leggy redhead, with hair going down to her butt, wearing tight jeans and one of those shirts that barely covers the breasts, and flaps in the breeze, almost showing the goods, but not quite. Yep, easy on the eyes, that one is. Sure wish she were up here, don't you?
Then she looks up.
I don't mean she looks up in your general direction. I mean she looks right at you, her brown eyes locked on yours, like she was reading your soul. And how do you know she has brown eyes? She's three stories down and there ain't no streetlight, just a half moon and the stars. But you know. You shake your head, turning briefly from the woman, then turning back. But she's gone. Totally gone. As in nowhere to be seen, anywhere on the deserted street in either direction. Absolutely impossible. But true.
You scan the streets, trying to figure out where she might have gone, when the smell of apples reaches your nostrils. You frown, and lean out a bit to draw in a breath of fresh air, but no apple smell out here. Shrugging, you turn around. And there she is.
She is standing in the middle of the room, smiling enigmatically at you. The door is still closed. There's no way she could have gotten up three flights of stairs and into a locked room in that time, but here she is. Watching you. Smiling.
"Hi, can I help you with something?" you say, immediately cursing yourself silently. But she only smiles and watches you.
"Are you lost? Can I help you find someone?" She shakes her head, and points to you.
"Are you looking for me?" you ask, your heart beginning to hammer in your chest, and your cock slowly making the rise to full alertness.
She nods. And steps forward.
You smile back, still not sure this isn't a dream, but not really caring if it is.
"My name is Micheal. What's yours?"
"Magenta." she says simply, her voice high and musical. "And I am looking for you. You are the one."
You still cannot figure this out, but your lower head is starting to do the thinking for you.
"You say you're looking for me? Why?" you ask, heart racing.
"I want you to help me. I want you to love me. Will you help me? Will you set me free?"
"Free? Free from what? Are you in trouble?"
She laughs, a merry tinkling sounds, and says "Trouble? Oh yes, Micheal, I am in trouble. Or rather, I was...." She turns slowly, and you see the bloodstained back of her shirt, torn in several places, and her back, covered in stab wounds, and she couldn't be alive, and she ISN'T alive....
You awake on the bed. Your clothing is gone. The window is open, and a cool breeze flows over your hot flesh. The girl, or whatever, is standing by the bed.
"I am dead, Micheal. Murdered by a brutal man who seduced me and then killed me when he couldn't complete the act. I hounded him to death for his crime, and still I find no peace. That is why I need you. I need you to finish the final act of love. And then I need you to send me home."
"Send you home? I mean, you're a great looking...whatever...but what does send you home mean?"
"You will know when the time comes, Micheal. And then you must be brave. But for now, you need only be loving." So saying, she lifts her tattered shirt over her head, revealing her pert breasts, with their erect nipples pointing at you. Her tight jeans slide off next, revealing her mound, already most and ready... "Love me, Micheal..."
She steps towards the bed, and lies down next to you, her lovely brown eyes on yours, watching and waiting. You reach a hand to touch her breast, and are not all that surprised that her flesh is cool to the touch. But her smile is warm and inviting, and she is so beautiful.
You lean towards her and give her cool lips a kiss, which she returns with passion. Your hands move to her breasts, and run gently over her hard nipples, drawing a moan of pleasure from her. Her mouth tastes wonderful, and she smells of apples. Her skin, though cool, is soft and pliant to the touch, and your every caress draws new moans of pleasure from her.
Your cock is harder than it has ever been, and you cannot wait any longer, so you slide gently into her snatch, feeling her inner walls clutch at your manhood, her moisture coating your penis, as you slide further into her alive yet dead snatch. You begin to thrust in and out of her, and she clutches your back, her nails clawing at you as she feels her passion building. She is so hot and ready, who knows how long she has waited for this fuck to be complete? And your own excitement is building faster than ever, too fast to be contained, and you feel yourself cum, as she jerks beneath you, her body lost in the throes of a powerful orgasm.
Sated, you lie against her warm flesh, lost in the heady glow of post sex bliss. That's why it takes you a few moments to notice. Her skin is warm to the touch. You look up at her, and she smiles sadly at you, and runs her fingers through your hair.
"You're alive? You're alive!" you yell, and move to hug her tightly.
But she raises a hand, and shakes her head sadly. "No Micheal, I'm dead. My body lives now, but I am dead. I need to be free. I need to die again. Kill me Micheal. Kill me and send me home."
You begin to protest, but somehow, the words die in your throat. You know its true. She cannot stay here, she must go on. And you have to send her. Wordlessly, you pick up a pillow from the bed. She nods, but you see the beginnings of fear in her eyes, and you know why she said you would need courage. She doesn't want to die, but knows she must. She might fight. You will have to murder her, to set her free.
Acting quickly, you thrust the pillow over her lovely face, cupping it hard down either side of her head. You roll your weight onto her soft body, pressing her down, knees clamping over her arms before she can lift them. She struggles desperately under you, and the motions make you hard and ready. Her breasts jiggle as she fights. You hold the pillow tight, and her struggles slowly begin to subside. Her beautiful body spasms under you, her limbs jerking once, twice, and then she is still.
You hold the pillow over her face for another couple of minutes. Then take it off. Her eyes are wide and staring, lovely mouth open in her desperate attempts to get air. Her tongue protrudes between full lips. You lean down and kiss the tongue back into her mouth, tasting her warm flesh, then you slide your engorged cock back into her most dead pussy. You feel her hard nipples pressed against your body as you slide in and out of her lifeless body, taking your last pleasure from the beautiful ghost, Magenta.
Copyright by Moira Lynn.