Ghost Fucked Me Raw at Château de Mortequeue: First Night Adrenaline Rush

Château de Mortequeue bedroom. First full night here. Heart hammers. Legend from the village pharmacist echoes: the ghost with the endless dick satisfies every chatelaine. Five days no visits. Mirror message in steam: ‘No light or I won’t come.’ Rushed to Paris today. Bought IR camera in that surveillance shop. Installed it hidden behind the curtain. Now, lights off. Naked on silk sheets. Legs spread. Pussy drips already. Phone on nightstand, vibrates softly—hubby’s text: ‘Sweet dreams, darling.’ Ignore it. Smell my own arousal mixing with antique wood polish. Every creak is him. Nipples ache. Fingers itch to touch, but no. Want the real monster. Sweat beads on thighs. Clock ticks. Adrenaline spikes like pre-fuck nerves after endless app chats. Chosen him on a legend ‘click.’ No time waste. Fuck now or never.

Sheet lifts slow. Cool air, then hot skin presses my back. No words. Hands rough, greedy—grab ass cheeks, spread ’em. Massive cock throbs against crack, veiny, leaking pre-cum. Smells musky, male, unfamiliar. Breath hot on neck. Fingers trace spine, pinch nipples hard. I arch. ‘Yes, fucker, take me.’ He flips me doggy. Face in pillow. One finger probes asshole—slick, insistent. Pushes in. Burns good. Second joins, twists. Stretch city. Third finger fucks deep, scissoring. ‘Oh shit, prep my hole!’ Lubed perfect. Cockhead nudges ring. Pressure builds. Pops in smooth. Not huge like pussy nights—adapts? Slides deeper, fills colon. Inches vanish. I gasp. ‘Deeper, ghost bastard! Wreck my shithole!’ He grips hips, bruises form. Pounds savage. Guttural grunts. Balls slap thighs wet. Cock pistons, ridges drag walls. Fire and bliss mix. ‘Fuck yeah, destroy it! Bigger, harder!’ Sweat flies. Bed creaks like old bones. Prostate? No, my ass explodes waves. Clit throbs untouched. Scream muffled: ‘Cum in me, fill my guts!’ He swells, hammers final. Hot jets flood deep. I shatter—orgasm rips, vision whites, body convulses. Legs jelly. Piss a drop, don’t care.

The Approach

Pulls out slick pop. Cum leaks hot down crack. Gone. Room empty. Door locked. Window shut. Dash naked, grab camera. Fingers shake. Playback: shadow forms. Back view, muscled. Profile—holy fuck, arm-thick cock swings like pendulum. Hand dives pussy, rubs furious watching him mount. Moans echo mine. He circles bed—face flashes: Charles-Édouard! Hubby. Mister Hyde unleashed. Orgasm crashes again, squirting sheets. Lights on. Calm settles. Wipe cum. Slip to his room? No. Strangers by dawn. Our filthy secret. Phone vibrates—his good morning. Smile. Back to wife. But tonight, more.