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Introduction:

The Ghost entertains the hot librarian.
The Devil's Pact, The Ghost of Paris
by mypenname3000
edited by Master Ken
Copyright 2014

Chapter Four: The Public Library

Friday, September 13th, 2013 – Paris, Texas

There was an away game, so there was no cheerleading practice this afternoon.

I missed those sweet, young Lionesses, and their even sweeter cooches. Every afternoon this week, just like last week, I had spent it with the cheerleaders, fucking one of them behind the bleachers, while the others practiced. It was an arrangement we reached; I had been disrupting their practices too much, so the girls started drawing straws to see who would keep me entertained.

Since I had nothing to do this afternoon, I wandered on over to the Paris Public Library. I was dressed for the first time in the two weeks since I made my Pact with the Devil. Why did I need clothes when I could turn invisible? It was strange, feeling clothes on my body: the t-shirt was tight on my chest, almost like it was strangling me, and the pants chaffed my thighs, keeping my pecker from flopping about. I stole the clothes out of the house I haunted last night; the daughter was a good tumble and her daddy was about my size.

I found an open computer and went to my favorite website: the Unearth Arcana. A website dedicated to every supernatural phenomenon you could imagine, and not just the usual bigfoot, UFO's, and end of the world prophecies. You could find someone explaining how the layout of the major cities of Europe fell on the leylines and were part of an ancient Druidic summoning spell to bring forth Samhain in the year 2035.

I loved this shit; eager to see what the whackjobs had come up with next.

Of course, it wasn't all bullshit—I did learn how to summon the Devil on this very forum. In fact, that was the first thread I checked out on the message board. As I scrolled through the pages of post, it seemed more people were posting that they made their Pacts. My favorite was a guy in Scotland that wished to have superman's powers and posted a link of him melting a soda-pop can with his heat vision.

Finished with the Pact thread, I checked out what was new in the paranormal. One post title caught my eye: The Ghost of Paris.

I smiled, opening up the post and reading about my adventures. It was full of quotes from tweets, facebook pages, and other social media posts of the girls I had been playing with. “I have spoken to several girls that claim to have been molested by the ghost,” ghostXhunt wrote. “The ghost preys on young girls and women, using them to satisfy his unnatural lusts.”

I tried not to chortle in excitement, ghostXhunt investigated a lot of hauntings, and it was flattering to think she had traveled out to Paris because of me. Man, I hope I see her around town; she's one mighty fine looking gal. “Often the ghost spends an entire night preying on one girl. What is truly interesting is all the girls found the experience to be quite pleasant. One girl, wishing to remain anonymous, told me the ghost has visited her room three times in the night and she's eagerly awaiting a fourth.”

That must be Heather, a smoking-hot red-head that was quite a screamer; good thing her parent's bedroom was at the other side of the house. She was the first girl I ever spent the night with as the Ghost. In fact, I was with her just two nights ago and fucked her ass for the first time. My pecker was growing hard just thinking about her fine, young body and that tight, wet hole between her thighs.

I glanced at the librarian, Miss Cheshire, who was looking sexy as hell with her tawny hair pinned up and those small glasses perched on her cute, little nose. I let my gaze slide down and eyed the tits that filled out her gray blouse.

I licked my lips as I stared at the Ghost of Paris's next victim.

In the bathroom, I striped naked and stashed my clothes. I concentrated and my body vanished. I smiled; I was free again. Why did I even bother wearing clothes? I could have just used the computer invisible. So what if anyone saw me; I'm the fucking Ghost of Paris and I could do whatever the hell I wanted.

Who could stop me?

I stalked out of the bathroom, heading towards the counter. Miss Cheshire was helping an old woman, using one of those scanners – like the ones you see at the grocery store that shines all of those red lights to ring up your purchase – on the book's barcode. School was still in session and the library was mostly empty; only a few, old broads, part of some sort of club, were hanging around.

“I reckon you'll enjoy this one, Mrs. Crabapple,” drawled Miss Cheshire. Her voice sounded as sweet as honey dripping over moist cornbread.

To get behind the counter, there was a section of it that folds up, and both Miss Cheshire and Mrs. Crabapple didn't notice me lift it. They sure as shit jumped when it slammed back into place, looking about like a pair of startled jackrabbits peaking out of their holes.

“Good Lord almighty, what was that?” Mrs. Crabapple gasped.

Miss Cheshire frowned at the counter. “I'm not rightly sure.”

I padded silently behind Miss Cheshire, admiring her fine rear beneath the soot-black skirt. My pecker hardened as I stared at the ass, and I shuddered as the tip of my cock brushed the fabric of her skirt, poking her soft cheeks. Miss Cheshire had absently wiped at her butt, brushing my pecker and sending electricity shooting through me. She frowned, peering behind her. She saw right through me and shook her head in confusion.

“Is something wrong, sweety?” Mrs. Crabapple asked, peering around the librarian.

Mrs. Crabapple and I do not get along. She hates me; when I walked into the library this morning, the glare Mrs. Crabapple leveled at me could have peeled paint. So I flipped the old biddy off, practically sticking my invisible finger in her face. The old hag once made a fuss because I was surfing porn on a library computer. Almost got me arrested before someone remembered that porn is just free speech. After the charges were dropped, Mrs. Crabapple and Happy Roberts had led a crusade to get me kicked out of the library. Happy – the wife of the reverend at the Paris Revival for Christ – was misnamed, a shrewish woman that always seemed to frown, at least when I'm around. Maybe this Sunday, I'd pay a visit to her church and put a smile on her face.

“Must be my 'magination,” Miss Cheshire replied, turning to hand Mrs. Crabapple the books. “Well, you take care now, y'hear.”

The old biddy bent over, whispering conspiratorially, “I saw that good-for-nothing Scotty Adams lurking in the library. You watch out. The man's a right piece of work.”

“I'll be right as rain.”

Anger boiled in me. I was tempted to show her just how much of a 'good-for-nothing' I could be and torment the dried-up bitch, but my pecker was hard and Miss Cheshire's rear was far too inviting to give up.

There'll be a next time, I promised myself.

I turned my attention back to Miss Cheshire. She scanned a pile of books, checking them in, I guessed. Her tawny hair was pinned up in a bun, but an errant lock escaped and lay on the slope of her neck. I reached out and brushed it, breathing on her. Miss Cheshire yelped as she jumped, peering around, her fine bosom heaving beneath her blouse.

She shook her head, and turned back to her scanning, and I reached out and brushed her arm below the sleeve of her blouse. She whirled about and her arm bumped into me and she froze. “What in tarnation?” she muttered as her hand felt my chest. “You're the ghost them highschool girls been talkin' 'bout?”

“You've heard of me?” I asked, trying to sound as ghostly as possible. “Then you know I'm mighty attracted to purtee girls.”

A flush crept on her face, and I reached out and caressed her cheek.

Slam!

We both jumped. Another of those old biddies tossed a pair of hardback books on the counter. “I don't have all day while you woolgather, missy!” she barked at Miss Cheshire.

“Sorry.” The librarian whirled about and I pressed my pecker against her plump rear. The librarian wiggled her ass saucily back into me and I enjoyed the sensation of my cock's head rubbing against the rough fabric of her skirt, as she checked out the woman's books.

“Young 'uns these days,” the old woman muttered darkly.

I grabbed the hem of her skirt and started slowly hiking it up. I could feel Miss Cheshire freeze, glancing nervously over her shoulder. “What're you doin'?” she asked me.

“Placin' my books in my bag,” the old woman responded indignantly to Miss Cheshire's question. “If that's a'ight with you, missy.”

“Oh, yes, right. I'm sorry.” Miss Cheshire was growing flustered as my hands rubbed her surprisingly racy, red panties that clung to her ass. I slid my finger down her panties and felt the warmth of her cooch beneath the fabric. I began stroking her, feeling her moisture soaking into the material.

“Ohh, you have a...a nice day, Mrs. Fairburn,” the librarian stammered, a creep of passion invading her voice.

The old lady snorted as she stalked off, her cane tapping on the library floor, and muttered darkly under her breath.

“You gotta stop,” Miss Cheshire pleaded. “There are people here.”

I pulled the crotch of her panties to the side and ran my finger across her shaved cooch. “I reckon you wouldn't be so wet if you wanted me to stop, sweetness.” I shoved a finger up inside her warm depths and she gasped. Stirring my finger in her honeypot, I asked her, “Your cooch is dyin' for my pecker, ain't it?”

“We can go back into the storeroom,” she pleaded.

“Naw.” I pulled out my finger, grabbed my pecker, and shoved it right on into her wonderfully warm cooch. “Funner this way.”

I started to slowly fuck her, reveling in the feel of her cooch about my pecker. She was wet, and pretty tight. Not as tight as one of them sweet, young teens I've fucked, but her cunt was getting the job done. She braced herself against the counter, breathing heavily, as I pumped into her.

Her cunt tightened on me and she whispered fearfully, “Someone's comin'.”

“Not yet I ain't. But soon, sweetness. Don't you worry your purtee, lil head 'bout it.”

“No, a patron.” I kept right on fucking her; no way in hell was I going to stop. Her cooch was first class!

Another old lady walked up, hanging onto a black, wheeled walker. “I can't believe how rude Mrs. Fairburn was to you, darlin'.”

“Oh, um, it's ah'ite, Mrs. Hale,” Miss Cheshire answered. She grabbed the old lady's first book and then dropped it; a soft moan escaped her lips and I felt her juicy cunt spasming on my cock. “Umm, wow,” she muttered.

Mrs. Hale squinted at the librarian through coke-bottle-thick glasses. “Are you okay? You seem flushed?”

“Um, I...ohh! I'm cummin'...” she moaned again. She was cumming hard on my cock, and I just kept fucking away at her. “Oh sweet Jesus I'm cummin'!” I felt her tense as she realized what she just shouted out before this old lady, so she quickly blurted out, “I'm comin' down with a cold, Mrs. Hale.”

Mrs. Hale reached out and grabbed her hand. “You gotta take care of yourself, okay darlin'.”

“I...oh gosh...” I could feel another orgasm spasming through her body and she leaned over, pressing her ass back into my groin. I gripped her hips and fucked her harder.

“Stomach cramps?” the old lady asked. “I can hear your tummy a rumblin'.”

“They just won't, ohh, stop cummin'!” the librarian moaned as she kept cumming and cumming.

The air was filled with her tart scent and I could hear the squishing sound of my pecker sliding in and out of her dripping cooch; it was such a lewd, depraved sound. Goddamn, this was turning into a wild fuck. I slammed into her, every thrust bringing my balls closer and closer to exploding. Her hips pushed back against me and she was biting her hand to stifle her screams of passion.

I exploded into her and her cunt was a vice as it squeezed powerfully on my pecker. Her head snapped back and she yelled loudly. Mrs. Hale jumped back, almost falling over in shock and peered with concern at Miss Cheshire as she slumped her head on the counter. I pulled out of her cunt and gave her ass a slap.

Breathing heavily, Miss Cheshire straightened up, wiping at her sweaty forehead with a handkerchief she pulled out of her skirt's pocket. “Whew, I reckon it's over.”

“You should go home,” Mrs. Hale pressed.

“Thank you kindly for your concern, but I'm feelin' so much better.” She handed Mrs. Hale her books, and when the old gal tottered off, she turned around, asking, “Are you still here?”

“Sure thang, sweetness.”

She smiled at me. “You're right, it is funner when there's an audience.”

To be continued...
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