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Every character in this short is 18+. It's a supernatural gangbang with horny ghosts, but the female protagonist is mostly in control of the situation.
“Why don’t they just move?”

Yeah, I’ve said that out loud while watching haunted house horror movies. I now understand that it’s not so simple. Run away and never come back is your first thought, sure, but then you start thinking about all your stuff, how you have everything set up the way you like, and how you’ll never get a better deal on rent so close to your work... So, once the terror dust settled, I decided that the first step should be to talk to the three roommates that materialized in my apartment one night. I would move out for an Amityville Horror scenario but not for a Sixth Sense.

“Honey, I’m home! I’ll get started on dinner soon,” I shout at the seemingly empty apartment while hanging my coat.

“You spoil me, my love.”

“How was your day?”

“You’re late.”

All voices came from the living room where three men stared at a black TV reflecting an empty couch. My ghost husbands don’t hover or glow; they look like regular men in their thirties. They can touch things, move stuff, sit on chairs, and lie in bed, but you can’t confuse them with mortal beings when they forget a door is closed, or when they clip through walls and each other. Like right now, they all chose to sit more or less at the same spot on the sofa. This is the most important detail I’ve learned; all three phantasms think they live alone with a young woman who looks like the fading memory of their wife. If I take off my glasses, tie my dark brown hair in a high ponytail, and avoid modern jewelry, it’s convincing enough for all of them.

“I was swamped today at work,” I reply. It’s important to give generic answers that apply to all conversations. If I address a specific ghost, the others start getting confused and that’s when the air grows thick with suffocating tension with papers flying everywhere and you end up in fetal position on the floor waiting for the storm of screams to pass... I’m much better at managing my husbands now.

After a quick change, I step into the kitchen and pretend to wash the plate I purposefully leave in the sink. I have no intention of making food. The best I could manage with my skills and resources is a frozen dinner anyway. Three heads twist and perk up. They want to know if I’m wearing my apron. I am. They want to know if I’m wearing anything under my apron. I am not.

It’s a small, thin white thing that leaves my back and butt fully exposed and my breasts overflowing on the top and sides. The tiny frontal skirt flutters loosely over my pussy and leaves plenty of thighs to titillate. I’ve often fantasized about ordering pizza and answering the door in this getup but never worked up the courage. Now I get to practice on ghosts.

My fake husbands each have different personalities, but the universal appeal of a rather busty young woman in a kinky outfit obviously transcends mortality. Yes, I’m using my wiles to trick ghosts into a polygamous gangbang. I still think I’m being a gracious host by not calling an exorcist.

“Mmmm, you’re wearing my favorite outfit.” Adam is on me first, his hands slide inside my apron over the bow at the waist and move up to my breasts as he kisses my neck. Ghosts are cold when you touch them, but so warm when they touch you. Adam starts caressing my breasts but never stops giving my neck attention.

“You’re feeling like a little slut today, aren’t you?” Lance’s hands trace my round butt until they reach the underbun and he gives my soft cheeks a firm squeeze. He adjusts a little deeper in the crack and squeezes again, I feel his breath on my neck over the wet patch of Adam’s ongoing kiss. Lance picks the same spot to kiss, now there are two pairs of superimposed lips kissing my neck.

“Is this your way of apologizing?” One of Dwayne’s hands wraps around my throat and gently squeezes as if to warn that he could wring the life out of me if he wanted. My gasp of playful fear turns us both on. His other grabs my right breast, still being gently massaged by Adam, and gives it a dominating clench. There are now six hands on me like I’m the plaything of some Buddhist deity.

“Maybe...” I reply in a breathless whimper. “What are you going to do to me?” See? Generic. Good enough for all three. I made up the names, by the way. They don’t seem to recall anything about their past life other than their wives. That also means no hidden cash or buried treasure, unfortunately.

“I have half a mind to skip dinner tonight.”

“I haven’t decided yet, but I’m going to start by bending you over this sink.”

“I’m going to fuck you so hard, you’re going to think of me whenever you sit down tomorrow. Maybe that'll help you remember to come home on time.” Dwayne claims I’m late no matter what time I come home. I think he's from a time when men felt emasculated by working women.

All six hands are on my breasts now as three jeans bulges rub against my bare butt. Ghosts smell like incense and coriander (no idea why). Just a hint of that fragrance makes me wet like the mouth of Pavlov’s dog, and right now I’m practically bathing in the pungent aroma. I part my legs and hold on to the sides of the sink, knowing how wild of a ride awaits me.

“Oh fuck... fuck, fuck, fuck,” I scream to myself since Adam doesn’t like it when I swear. Three cocks are penetrating my pussy from behind. They don’t take the space of three cocks, thankfully (all three of my husbands are on the large side). It’s still an unparalleled experience as they each have a completely different feel, tempo, and forcefulness. Adam is into slow, languorous thrusts, Lance humps me like a horny rabbit, and Dwayne wants to spank my ass red with his crotch. To them, it’s just standing doggy with the dutiful spouse. To me, it’s a multifaceted orgasmic experience that has forever ruined mortal sex. If you don't have a triplicating cock, I swipe left.

Hands squeeze my waist, breasts, and neck all at the same time. My husbands are coming. Ectoplasmic jizz seems to dissipate into the ether after a few hours, which means no mess to clean up. I’m also pretty sure I would have found out the hard way by now if you could get spectrally inseminated. But when it’s being squirted inside your womb, so warm, sticky, and plentiful, there is no doubt that ghost cum is real.

I pant over the sink as the manly grips on my body parts relax and the stretching of my pussy eases. I came four times during the short session; my husbands must each see themselves as sex gods, an empowering feeling that men, alive or dead, usually channel into more sex.

“Let’s take this to the bedroom.” Even with spaghetti noodles for legs, I have to get ahead of my husbands or they might take different positions on the bed and turn a relaxing night of rolling orgasms into a contortion puzzle game. Thankfully, they all have to get undressed while I only need to pull on the bow of my apron for the whole thing to unravel.

I climb into bed and spread my knees like a funnel for the wet, hungry hole. As much as I enjoy our kitchen ritual, I’m happy to trade the sharp edge of a counter and get pinned between warm bellies and soft sheets. They are going to make me cum until I pass out, that’s just a fact after months of the same routine, and I tremble with excitement just like the first time.

Always the gentleman, Adam dives in, mouth first. His tongue is on my clit like the cherry on top of a sundae. Lance starts with his fingers, two of them. Dwayne doesn’t waste time on foreplay, he spreads my legs wider and rails me with his thick cock, fingers deep in the flesh of my breasts. I can’t imagine too many women have experienced what it’s like being eaten out, fingered, and fucked all at the same time. I grip Dwayne’s arm as an ironic tether to reality while losing myself to yet another orgasm, but I spare a thought for how silly I must look to the other two with my cupped hands in the air and switch to clenching the sheets instead.

Lance takes the dripping fingers out of my cunt and puts them into my mouth for me to suck. I would never let a normal guy pull a stunt like that, but everything ghosts do seems to drive me crazy. My pussy welcomes his cock home, and I moan inconspicuously around his knuckles at the intensifying feeling of penetration. Adam takes my extra squirminess as a sign that I’m ready for the main course. He unwittingly joins his two ghost buddies adding his warmth and passion to an already intense double-penetration. 

I am losing my mind. If a neighbor hears my demented moans through the wall, they will think my apartment is haunted or something. My entire torso is covered in hands. Dwayne is talking dirty, calling me slut, telling me (accurately) that he’s ‘going to fuck me senseless’. Kinky Lance is using his mouth to nibble on my left nipple and Adam... Adam’s mouth is against mine in a deep, passionate kiss. There’s something insanely erotic about French kissing a ghost that is as pleasurable as penetration for me. I’m about to cum again when my tongue is suddenly outnumbered. Lance has replaced his teeth with pinching fingernails on my nipples and is leaning in to kiss me. I savor the moment, taking in as much ghost saliva as I can, building my orgasm to even greater heights.

Everyone cums at the same time. I bear-hug all three bodies with my arms and legs, clenching every muscle, putting every fiber of my being into this orgasm. They fill me up like a balloon as their combined weight sinks me into the mattress. The world goes black and, for a moment, I wonder if I joined my husbands in death after so many near-misses. But Dwayne rolls over on the bed, exhausted, and Adam dips to the side over my arm, keeping only a hand between my breasts and allowing my chest to expend in a desperate breath with only the mild crush of Lance’s metaphysical mass to fight against.

Lance is getting hard again inside me. I can’t moan as much as I want yet, not without confusing Adam and Dwayne, but I know they will be up for another round soon. Dependable, predictable, insatiable. As long as you prefer sex to sleep, I highly recommend finding yourself a haunted apartment.

“Darling, what’s that noise?” An unfamiliar voice from outside the room. I have one ghost cock inside me, and I’m giving handjobs to the other two... “What are you doing!?”

Sheesh, how many people died in this apartment? I should see if I can leverage these morbid statistics against the rent. In the meantime, I better take care of that new ghost because his confusion is starting to manifest in the room, threatening everybody's good time.

“I’m waiting for you...” My brain is fried so I have to hope this is generic enough.

Dwayne gets angry at me for questioning his endurance, but he decides to punish me with sex.

Lance takes it as a challenge and started humping me faster.

Adam happily rolls back over and resumes his kiss as soon as he anchors his recently re-engorged cock between my legs.

And the new guy (let’s call him Steve) takes off his clothes and joins his horny wife in bed.  Turns out sex with three ghosts is not the most intense sexual experience a girl can have.
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