Intimate Phenomena

Floorboards creaked as Tom adjusted the card table, stepping back to check the framing through his viewfinder.

Jessica looked up from her script with mild concern. “Tom, the fire.”

He glanced to the line of candles surrounding them, casting faint shadows across the dusty floors.

“Thank you dear.” He said, flashing her a quick smile.

She raised a sculpted brow. “All set up?”

“Just a second.” He said, checking the white balance again. Accounting for sudden bursts of light was awfully optimistic, but his wife's exasperation was more fond than annoyed.

She pressed a kiss to his temple and settled into the chair. “Are there cobwebs in my hair?”

“You’re good.” He said, focusing the camera as she smoothed her hair anyway.

Jessica always insisted on dressing sharp for these things, even if she didn’t believe any of it. Tom didn't mind that, it was enough that she was there.

“Are the spirits ready?” She asked with a wry smile.

“Indeed they are!” He said. “Rolling.”

"Miss Labelle," she began, voice confident and clear, “we know you were a maid who died in this hotel, unwed and unloved.”

Jessica held up the EVP recorder, set it before her. “This is a ghost box. Use it to communicate your message.”

She switched on the recorder. It crackled to life, scrambled voices floating in the chilly air.

She waited with her head tipped, listening for discernible words. “Restless spirit, can you hear us? We wish to speak with you.”

Tom waved a hand wildly, straining his ears to pick words from the background static.

“Tcccht… why are – tcccht – unfulfilled? I would – tcccht...”

Jessica eyed the box. “Miss Labelle?”

The static continued. She sighed and cast a quick glance to Tom. “What did you—”

Thud.

Jessica jumped, rattling the table. “Shit!”

The rattling continued, intensifying until the EVP recorder was knocked to the floor, sending broken plastic spinning across the wood.

Jessica’s breath came quick in the silence. As she opened her mouth to speak, the table pulled away from her, into the darkness.

“Tom?” She whispered.

“Stay there, okay?” He breathed, training the camera on the table as it shuddered to a stop in the corner of the room.

“Oh fuck!”

Tom whipped around, struggling to focus the lens on her pale face. Then he saw it.

A breeze ruffled the pleats of her wool skirt, although the room was perfectly still.

“What should I do?” Jessica's voice began to rise with panic.

“It’s fine. Keep talking to it, describe what’s happening.”

She nodded once, setting her jaw and clearing her throat. “Miss Labelle? What are you – oh!”

Jessica’s eyes were wide and she shifted in her seat. Her skirt moved, as if there was something under it.

“Are you alright?" Tom took a step forward. "What’s happening?”

“I– I’m fine.” She held out a hand. “She’s touching my legs.”

“What?” Excitement warred with his concern. “What does it feel like?”

“Cold. And electric?” She said, breath hitching. “Not static, more like touching a plasma globe.”

“Fascinating,” he breathed, “so the electromagnetic theory may be correct.”

“Uh-huh.” Jessica managed before letting out a squeak.

“Is she hurting you?”

“No, it doesn’t hurt. It feels, um…” She bit her lip in an effort to stay quiet. “It feels good.”

Tom blinked. He recognized the flush that crept up his wife’s chest, but the glassy look in her eye was new. “I think—”

He was cut off by the EVP recorder’s static hum. A feminine voice warbled out, tinged with hunger. “At last.”

There was a ripping noise and Jessica yelped, knees parting forcefully. Beneath her skirt, something shifted and bulged, straining the heavy fabric. Jessica laid shaking hands on it, not quite pushing it away.

“Oh my God there’s a tongue.” Jessica said. “Tom, she’s licking me.”

His stomach flipped. “Do you need—”

“Just keep filming.” She said through gritted teeth.

Distantly, Tom recalled their fifth date. They’d discussed sex over a bottle of wine, flirtation postponed as she shared her dating woes. “I swear, all my friends are lesbians and I’m starting to understand why.” It was a joke, at the time.

Now he could only watch as his wife experienced the closest encounter with a ghost that he could envision. Labelle moved under Jessica’s skirt, stretching the fabric as she pressed against her. The wet sounds nearly drowned out the crackling spirit box and Jessica’s hitching breath.

“Describe it.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. “Uh, wet? And cold. I think – ah!” Her fingers tangled in unseen hair as her skirt was rucked up to reveal the tear in her hose. In the candlelight, Tom could see a thick, gel-like fluid coating her skin.

An invisible tongue skated along her pussy, teasing licks that made her twitch and press up to meet unseen lips.

“Is the ectoplasm from her mouth?” Tom asked.

“What? I don’t – oh!”

Jessica’s legs were lifted, plush thighs yielding beneath claws that tested her hose. Miss Labelle was frenzied, lapping at her with determination borne from a century of celibacy. Her labia parted under the onslaught, pussy shuddering around an invisible appendage that prodded and twisted within her. Ectoplasm dripped and pooled to the seat, supernatural fluids mixed with human arousal.

“Her tongue,” Jessica panted out, “it’s long.”

“Jesus Christ.” Tom focused on keeping the camera steady, fighting the urge to palm himself through his jeans.

A whine crawled its way up his wife's perfect throat, laid bare as she panted into the darkness. “Oh my God, it’s good.” She managed.

Her hips rolled in time with her breath, suspended in Labelle’s grasp.

“How long is it?” Tom asked, grasping for any scrap of professionalism as he tried to focus on his task.

Jessica cast her unfocused gaze in his direction. “I-I don’t know, can’t…” She panted out. “Fuck, this is better than anything.”

Tom’s chest felt tight. He’d never seen her react this way – not when he went down on her and certainly not when they fucked. She usually took control, riding his cock with a quiet, steely determination. With a ghostly woman's tongue on her clit and phantasmic whispers in her ears, Jessica seemed like a different person.

She bucked and writhed, tipping in her chair as she wrapped her legs around the spirit. The claws tore her hose, scratches raising on her skin.

“Fuck, are you okay?” Tom asked. “Her nails look sharp.”

“N-no I’m fine, I’m…” her words slurred together, devolving into moans and mindless pleads.

He’d never heard Jessica make those sounds, long keens that pitched and strained, torn from her by an unseen lover. For reasons beyond his understanding, this creature had chosen her, reached beyond the grave to twist and change her into something that he couldn’t recognize.

It was this thought that finally broke him. He unzipped his pants, giving up on filming as he released his aching cock. He pumped himself as Jessica’s cries turned to wails, gaining in pitch and volume as the ghost pushed her to the edge of earthly sensation and held her there.

Eventually, it was too much for her mortal frame. Mascara tracked down her face as she twisted and sobbed, coming with an intensity that rivaled any orgasm he’d seen.

He wasn’t far behind. The world whited out for a moment, the ringing in his ears drowning out the sounds of his wife riding out her orgasm.

When he recovered, Jessica was sprawled in her seat, gasping and twitching from the aftershocks. A figure kneeled before her, servant garb dissolving at the edges.

After all that, Miss Labelle was startlingly human. She looked up at Jessica, a dreamy smile gracing her lips. Her hair was pulled from its tight bun, tousled by trembling fingers. She reached up to cup Jessica’s cheek, brushed over the mascara with a gentle thumb.

Jessica’s eyes fluttered open and they gazed at each other for a long moment. Labelle drew her down into a deep kiss and they clung together, breathing in the silence until the specter’s form began to ebb away into the still air.

Jessica’s hands stayed on Labelle’s face until she disappeared. One last satisfied sigh drifted from the broken EVP recorder.

Tom hastily straightened himself out, then moved to Jessica's side. “You okay? Are you hurt?”

She blinked up at him then shook her head. Her hands were steady in his, although she wobbled a little as she got to her feet.

They stood awkwardly for a moment, then Tom remembered the camera. He found where he'd dropped it, cursing as he inspected it.

When he turned back to Jessica, she was straightening her clothing.

“It won’t start.” He said, voice hollow.

Jessica laid a hand on his arm. She looked more like herself again, save for the makeup that stained her cheeks. “We’ll check it later. Let’s go home.”

The ride back was quiet. Over the next few weeks, Tom noticed some changes in his wife – longing glances towards other women, a sudden interest in lesbian romance novels, hours spent alone in the bath. Even stranger, she’d started listening to the paranormal podcasts he’d recommended years back. The encounter had instilled a hunger within her, one that seemed to drive her every waking thought. He supposed he couldn’t blame her. She’d tasted what lay on the other side, of the veil and of the flesh. He didn't expect her to settle for less than she deserved.