Haunted House - Part 2

Richard--or Dick to his friends--didn't consider himself a malevolent spirit. Sure, he'd corrupted his fair share of youths back in the day, but they were all the happier after their time with him.

Now that he was dead, the spirit of Richard McDonnel merely wanted to continue what he'd done in life. Namely, convincing impressionable young minds how great it is to suck his dick.

It's notable that Richard no longer had a dick to suck, but he had a plan for that. Death isn't always the great equalizer. Sometimes, it grants power.

Much of that power had been infused in the cigar that these two youths were busily passing back and forth. It hadn't always been there, of course--Richard had laid it as a careful trap after it became clear that his uninvited guests weren't going to immediately descend upon all dildos that Richard had helpfully laid upon their path this his study. His present needed to be somewhat more disguised, he decided, settling on something perhaps even more masculine than a stone cock.

Sometimes a cigar is not just a cigar.

Each puff brought Richard more and more in-tune with the physical world. It felt wonderful to be the center of attention for two virile young men, and it felt even better being inside each of their mouths. As smoke continued to fill the room, Richard’s power grew not unlike the erections in both the young men’s pants.

Soon, he’d burst forth into the material realm, but he needed an anchor, something physical to contain his spirit. Not just an inanimate object like the cigar--something alive. Someone alive.

In truth, Richard chose at random, but it was the weaker of the pair that wound up getting his attention. Already his mind was so muddled with Richard’s smoky miasma that he was as suggestable as a newborn lamb. It wouldn’t take much to have him accept Richard fully.

Richard’s rumbling laugh was mistaken for thunder by the two boys, so fixated were they on their gratification. They didn’t even notice the room had become so filled with smoke that they couldn’t even see the walls. It was just the two of them, one breathing heavily, the other chuffing smoke like a chimney, about to have his best friend touch his aching cock for the very first time.

“Bro, this is a serious tool,” Jack said in awe. He was having difficulty getting the head to pop through the whole in his boxers. The fabric was pulled so tight over his hardon that there wasn’t much room to maneuver, which was a problem that Colin had never really had before.

The cigar clamped between his teeth, Colin decided to help matters along. He got up from his reclined position, undid his belt, and let his pants drop to his knees. The tent his boxers made might as well have been for a traveling circus, but it wasn’t something that Colin truly noticed until he tucked his thumbs around the elastic waistband and pulled his boxers down.

It was like someone had punched him in the gut. There was the meaty thwack and an impact almost like a fist, but coincided with the unfamiliar feeling of mass swinging between his legs. Colin had never been particularly well-endowed, but the shaft that had caught on the elastic and snapped back to hit him in the stomach must have been 9 inches long, at least.

“Wow,” Jack breathed, all thoughts of the cigar gone, his mouth inching towards the dick that dangled in front of his face before the “o” of his mouth made contact with Colin’s shiny, purple helmet. A playful thrust of Colin’s hips buried half the shaft in Jack’s maw, but rather than pull back in surprise, Jack brought his hands up to stroke the remaining shaft that simply couldn’t fit inside him.

What surprised Colin was less the fact that he’d gone from being normally-endowed to having something that would impress a porn star, but that he hadn’t wanted to thrust his cock into Jack’s mouth at all. He was happy to stand there, looming, angrily erect, and chuffing away at a cigar like a life-long smoker.

It was at that moment Colin realized there was a presence in the room, one that he couldn’t identify. But then Jack began to suck his 9-inch cock in earnest and all alarm was washed away.

Colin had never had his dick sucked before, but Jack was clearly not an amateur. He knew to fondle balls and stroke the base with his free hand. He knew to continue licking and swirling his tongue around the head even as he jammed as much of the shaft down his throat as he could. He knew how to breath, how to swallow, and how to use his spit as lubricant.

In short, this wasn’t Jack’s first rodeo. Which was a surprise, given how he’d always presented himself as straight to Colin.

Another rumble in the distance, but this time it had the distinct cadence of a belly laugh. The surrounding smoke began to coalesce as Jack stroked and sucked his friend’s massive shaft. It formed a shape, vaguely like a portly silhouette not too unlike the man in the painting they passed earlier, the one with the eyes that seemed to follow Colin even as he walked past.

Jack’s view was blocked by his friend’s groin, so he never noticed as the man-shaped cloud approached behind Colin and sunk its fingers deep inside his nostrils.