Three Streaks

I hear the birds chirping—soft, melodic, and... annoying. I’m not ready to wake up yet. I’d gone to bed late, but the little feathery fuckers won’t let me sleep. I groan into my pillow, finally opening my eyes and brushing the last remnants of sleep away.

I get up finally, yawning.

I’d moved here just a few days ago from the city. This place is way out on the outskirts, almost edging into the forest. The city had drained me—constant bustle, endless people, betrayals I’d rather forget. I couldn’t take it anymore. So I picked this cabin house, away from everything. The office would be far, sure, but I’d take the commute over dealing with people any day.

This shithole I now call home used to belong to some man, apparently. People warned me not to buy it—said it was haunted. “Ghosts,” they whispered.

I didn’t believe it.

The first time I visited here, I saw a little boy staggering around. Creepy, but I interrogated the brat and he laughed, admitting he liked to scare people for fun. I shooed him off and figured that was the end of it.

I pull the sheets off—and jolt.

Something stings.

I look down, startled—and there it is. My left thigh. A gash. A claw mark. Red. Angry. Throbbing. Three deep streaks oozing tiny droplets of blood.

Not small enough to be a cat or dog, but not big enough for a bear. And why would a bear leave me alive if it had the chance to maul me?

What the hell was it, then?

A trail of fear brushes down my spine. I need to be careful. I can’t become some wild animal’s feast. I clean the wound, bandage the gash, maybe I should get a rabies shot, I think and start getting ready for work.

But when I reach the front door—I freeze.

It’s still locked. Closed tight.

Then how the fuck did the animal get in?

I distinctly remember closing the windows too. Every entrance had been sealed.

So how did it get in?

A shiver ripples through me.

Could it be? Are the ghost stories true?

I scramble out of there as fast as I can. I’ll deal with it after work. Maybe I did leave something open and just forgot. Just in case, I check every entrance again—windows, doors, back latch. All closed. Then I bolt.

I return to the house in the evening, tired out of my mind. The day had dragged on and on—but finally, it was over.

Weird and over.

I kept hearing low moans here and there, soft and strange, just out of reach. My thighs kept clenching of their own accord under the desk.

I open the front gate—and the memory from this morning slams into me.

The claw marks.

I go around the house again, checking every entrance. Still closed.

A sigh of relief slips out of me and I collapse onto the couch, exhausted.

The side table still has the wine glass I’d sipped from last night. A little left inside.

But then my eyes catch something odd—a thin trail of wine snaking along the floor.

Did I spill it?

I don’t remember spilling the wine.

I frown and follow the trail, crouching down... and there.

Under the couch.

Another glass of wine. Half-empty. The rim slightly chipped.

What the fu—

I live alone. And I wasn’t nearly tipsy enough last night to forget drinking from two glasses.

Did the animal drink too? Or what?

I swallow hard. This doesn’t make sense. I feel... watched.

Unsettled.

Like the air has teeth.

I get up to grab the mop—and freeze.

The picture frame.

A photo of my old dog. That frame had been sitting on the side table. But now it’s lying on the couch, face up, tilted like someone placed it there. Not dropped—placed.

Had I done that?

I shake my head, forcing myself to move. I start cleaning up, trying to ignore the way every shadow seems deeper than it should. When I go to cook dinner, I grab one of the plates from the rack—

—and it’s wet.

I left this morning. No one’s been home. So how the hell is the dish wet?

I freeze again. And it clicks.

A burglar.

There must’ve been a burglar while I was gone.

That would explain the wine glass. The dish. Maybe even the picture.

But... the claw mark?

Maybe the burglar came today. After I’d left. That could explain the scratch. Maybe they had a dog or—

My thigh throbs in memory, and I wince, reaching down to press the bandage.

Except... it doesn't hurt anymore. No sting. No throb. No burn.

I frown.

That can’t be right. It ached all day, even through my clothes. There was blood this morning. Real blood.

I hurry to my bedroom, pulling my pants down and unwrapping the bandage in front of the mirror.

Nothing.

No wound. No redness. No mark at all.

But it had been there. It had hurt.

I remember the warmth of the blood. The stickiness. The sting of alcohol when I cleaned it.

So what the fuck is happening?

My breathing goes sharp.

My chest tightens.

Something’s wrong here.

Thoughts race.

Should I sell this place? Should I stay the night?

Where would I even go?

I have to stay the night. I have to.

And that thought bothers me more than I expected.

Like something inside me already knows what’s coming.

But the thing that really surprises me—

—is the little pool of wetness between my thighs.

Barely there. But still there.

What even…

I get ready for bed—

Dinner done.

Locks bolted.

Windows closed.

I stand in front of the dressing mirror, brushing my hair, ready to fall asleep.

And then I notice it.

My hand lags.

What?

I brush again, slower this time, eyes fixed on the mirror.

Everything looks normal.

I relax—at least as much as I can—but then it happens again.

A hesitation.

A twitch.

Like my reflection doesn’t move when I do.

What the…

I drop the brush.

Back away.

I rush to bed, heart racing.

I’ll deal with this tomorrow. I’ll have to.

I lie down, finally giving in to the aching soak between my thighs. My fingers drift lower, one sliding up my slit, slow and slick, from the entrance to the clit.

My breath staggers.

Soft circles over my clit. Gentle. Building.

My finger moves lower teasing my entrance just little and a groan slips out of my mouth, my lower lip caught between my teeth. And then drag my finger back to the throbbing center and I start circling faster.

Little moans slip out of me, hips twitching, back arching into the rhythm.

The tension winds tighter.

Hotter.

I’m right there—right there—

And then I feel it.

A whisper.

Right beside my ear.

“Yes, do it. Shatter.”

I jolt upright, screaming.

Spinning, panting, looking in every direction.

No one.

Nothing.

But I heard it.

I felt the breath.

Panic claws up my throat.

I get out of bed, frantic now, checking every lock again. Every window.

Still sealed.

Still empty.

The pretense of calm is gone. Shredded.

I put on my pants and grab my purse, stuffing in the essentials, breath tight and shallow. I’ll stay at the office if I have to. I’ll sleep in the car. But I’m not staying here tonight.

I head toward the door—

—and freeze.

The bathroom light flickers.

Once.

The switch is off.

So how?

I back away, mind spiraling. I’m losing it. I’m seriously fucking losing it.

And then—

A sound like glass shattering.

My heart lurches.

It came from the living room.

I move toward it slowly, clutching the long taser I keep by the nightstand.

It’s all I have.

The photo frame lies on the floor.

Shattered.

Glass everywhere.

But there’s no wind.

No sign of movement.

Nothing to knock it over.

I gulp down a breath, hands shaking, eyes frantic.

But my thighs are still sticky.

Still aching.

I didn’t finish.

And somehow, that makes it worse.

My cunt is dripping, and I don’t even know if I’ll be alive tonight.

I don’t go back to the bedroom.

Don’t grab my bag.

I rush straight out the front door—car keys already in hand.

But before I can enter the car, I hear something.

A rustle.

Behind me.

I whip around—

Nothing.

Another rustle, this time to the right.

Still nothing.

My breath stutters out in frantic bursts.

Get out of here, my mind screams.

I reach for the car door—

And shriek.

A hand.

I felt someone touch my waist.

But there’s no one.

No one around.

No one in sight.

I spin again, frantic, grabbing at the door handle—

It won’t budge.

My heart slams inside my chest and then—

Arms wrap around me.

Strong. Cold.

Holding me still.

A whisper, low and amused, right at my ear:

“Run, little human.”

I scream.

Thrashing.

Fighting my way out of the invisible hold.

The door relents.

I wrench it open and hurl myself inside.

Slam it shut.

Lock it.

I start the car, hands shaking violently.

Eyes dart back toward the place where it grabbed me—

And there.

A shadow.

Huge.

Wrong.

Smiling.

Paralyzing.

He doesn’t move, but I can feel the grin—like a blade against my spine.

“You are coming back, little human.”

My car jolts forward.

My body’s free again.

I floor the accelerator, tires screeching as I speed away from the house, the memory, the thing.

I chant to myself like a prayer.

It’s behind me. I’m out. I’m safe. It’s behind me. I’m safe.

I try to breathe better.

Calm my racing heart.

And I realize then—my body.

My panties are soaked.

My pussy is dripping.

Nipples hard, tight, and swollen.

What the hell?

I shake my head, trying to focus. Later. I’ll think about it later.

I drive until I’m sure I’m miles away from that thing.

Then I pull over, finally able to breathe.

Heart still hammering.

Body still trembling.

But I’m safe.

Mostly.

Except my core is throbbing.

My cunt is pulsing.

Like it needs to remember what just touched it.

Maybe if I just…

Calm myself down.

I push my pants down.

Brush my panties aside.

My fingers slide through the wetness—slick and pulsing.

I coat them in it.

And shove one in.

Hard.

Fast.

I thrust it deep, curling it against the sweet spot—

My body glitches.

My head falls back, smacking the headrest.

Another finger joins.

Dripping.

Filled.

My hips grind forward, the steering wheel in the way.

I drag one leg over the dashboard, the angle hitting deep—

A moan bursts out of me, loud enough to echo past the windshield.

My thumb finds my clit.

Rubbing. Fast.

Hard, messy circles—frantic.

Every thrust drags a cry out of me.

Every pulse climbs.

I’m right there. Almost—

“You’re back, little human. Ha ha.”

My eyes snap open—

And I scream.

I’m not in the car.

I’m back in my bedroom.

Fingers still buried inside me.

And he’s there.

Looming.

Grinning.

Inches away.

I’m back where I ran from.

I scramble back against the headboard, arms up like a shield.

“Go away,” I whisper, voice cracking. “Go away… Leave me alone…”

I hug myself tight, eyes squeezed shut, sobbing into the darkness.

Maybe if I don’t look, if I don’t acknowledge it-him, he’ll vanish.

A moment passes.

Then another.

Silence.

I peek between my arms—

He’s gone.

I sit there trembling. Pants still tangled around my ankles. Core soaked. Throbbing.

I pull my clothes up, fumbling with shaky fingers.

I should run. I have to run.

I don’t wait—I bolt for the front door, yank it open—

“Going somewhere, little human?”

I shriek.

Spinning on my heel, I sprint back inside, his laugh chasing me like a knife down my spine.

I slam the bathroom door shut. Lock it. Drop to the floor, crouched low and shaking.

This won’t stop him. I know it won’t. But I cling to the illusion like it’s armor.

I breathe slower. Try to calm my erratic heart.

I’ll stay here. I’ll wait. He can’t come in. He won’t.

That lie soothes me.

For a while.

An hour passes.

I’m still on the cold floor, arms wrapped around bent knees.

My cunt aches.

The denial twists inside me like a blade—torn from release again and again. I squeeze my thighs together, trying to numb the heat, but it’s no use. I’m drenched. Pulsing. Desperate.

But I can’t.

Every time I touched myself…

He came.

No.

I won’t.

I won’t—

But my body clenches. My arousal builds without any touch, without anything.

I need release.

Can I?

Before I can decide—

A sharp gust of air floods the room.

Wrong. Taut. Electric.

My knees part— jerked wide by unseen hands.

My clothes vanish.

In an instant, I’m left naked, vulnerable, held down by nothing I can see.

I whimper.

And then—

It’s gone.

Just like that.

I’m left shaking. Exposed. Pulled open by something I couldn’t even see.

Wetter than before. Worse.

Two hour crawls past.

Maybe… maybe he’s gone. Maybe he got bored. Maybe I can finally leave.

I crack the door open. Peer out.

Nothing.

Still, I wait. One full minute. No sound. No movement.

I step out, cautious.

Something sways—

I flinch and retreat—

But it’s just the curtains, brushing against the wall.

The wind.

Not him.

I take a breath. Steady myself. I can do this.

I will not back down.

Whatever he is, whatever this is—I’ll face it.

And then I’ll run.

Far away.

Even if my cunt tells another story.

I ignore the ache between my legs. The constant drip of arousal. The heat building again from nothing.

I cross the room to grab clothes from the wardrobe.

I tell myself I’ll go to a priest or a psychic or a damn exorcist if I have to.

I almost make it past the bed.

Almost.

But then—

I’m thrown onto it.

The mattress bounces beneath the impact.

And I feel him behind me.

I scream—

And he laughs.

A cold, inhuman chuckle.

I feel him climb over me, his weight settling heavy and wrong on my back.

My arms are yanked behind me, pinned. My thighs forced apart by his, my face pressed into the mattress.

“I told you, little human… you can’t run.”

Another low, cruel laugh. His voice like broken velvet.

Then—

I feel it.

Something pressing between my ass cheeks. Large. Cold. There.

His whole frame is ice, unnatural, dead. But between my thighs, it’s molten. Heat. Wetness. I’m dripping. Throbbing.

“So turned on,” he murmurs. “The scare turns you on? Makes your little cunt gush like a faucet, little human?”

I whimper.

“I’m going to fuck the fear out of you,” he hisses. “Until you moan about being scared.”

I shiver.

I should be screaming. Should be begging.

But my pussy pulses at the words. A hot, wet ache.

Then—

A finger glides through my folds.

Cold. Inhumanly smooth. From slick entrance to the sensitive bud above.

“You were going to tase me, hmm?” he purrs. “Let’s see how well your toy works…”

His finger settles over my clit.

A pause.

Then—

A shock. A sharp, sparking zap.

My hips jolt, and a moan is torn from my throat, muffled by the mattress.

“You liked that?” he growls.

Another zap. Stronger.

My body arches, mouth open, breath gasping.

I’m soaked. Shamefully wet. My thighs trembling with need.

And then his hand disappears. The air feels too cold now but somehow his finger felt colder, deliciously colder. My clit throbs where he touched me. Where he zapped me. And the absence feels like agony.

I grind against the mattress, desperate for friction. Anything.

Suddenly—

His fingers twist in my hair, yanking my head up. I gasp.

His face hovers beside mine.

I see him clearly for the first time.

Eyes gold and glowing, animalistic. Wolf-like. His teeth sharp, fanged as if a vampire. His features exaggerated, twistedly beautiful—terrifying and magnetic all at once. His skin pale as moonlight, face way larger than mine.

“You still scared?” he whispers. “Want me to fuck you now, little human?”

I can’t speak.

I can’t.

But my body screams yes.

His hand moves, brushing down my face—tender, almost reverent.

"My little human." He mumbles.

His hand moves down to my neck, then the dip between my breasts, and cups my right breast softly.

He kneads.

Gentle. Slow. Like something fragile in his hand.

Then he grips my nipple between his fingers, holding it.

“What do you want, little human?”

I grit my teeth. “Fuck you.”

The pinch comes instantly. Hard.

I cry out.

“You will, little human,” he purrs. “But not yet.”

His fingers zap again—straight through the nipple. I moan, the heat lancing straight down to my clenching pussy.

Then he switches, rubbing the other nipple.

“Say it again,” he urges, voice coaxing now. “Say it, little human…”

“Fuck you,” I gasp, eyes shut tight, hips trembling for touch.

Another zap.

Harder.

Stars burst behind my eyelids. I cry out again.

“Last chance,” he warns, voice darker now. “Tell me you’re scared. Tell me you want me to fuck you.”

I don’t answer.

I can’t.

I won’t.

He growls—and moves behind me again.

Fingers back between my thighs.

Cold.

Then they land on my clit.

And this time, the zapping doesn’t stop.

It’s constant. Relentless.

My hips buck, but I’m pinned beneath him. My legs spread wide by his, his chest heavy against my back.

The shocks hit again and again—painful, maddening, perfect.

I moan louder, wilder. My body pulses, clenches. The zaps painfully good, I’m going to come. Right now—

And then it stops.

Gone.

Just like that.

“No—!” I scream, thrashing beneath him.

The loss, the denial, is so sharp it hurts.

My release ripped away at the edge.

"Please. Please. Please..." I sob—shameful, scared, aroused.

“Please what?” he asks.

"Please fuck me, you monster," I grit out through clenched teeth.

He listens.

His hand disappears from my hair, his weight lifts—and then I’m flipped onto my back in one fluent motion, as if I weigh nothing.

I see him fully for the first time.

Broad shoulders. Muscled body. Huge. Bigger than any man. And his cock—erect, proud, massive. Not just thick, not just long. Inhuman.

He watches me take him in, golden eyes gleaming.

“Curious?” he murmurs.

I stare up at him, lost in those vivid, haunted eyes.

He grabs my wrists in one hand, pinning them high above my head. With the other, he spreads my folds.

And then I feel it.

He enters me.

Slowly.

Inch by inch.

Filling me. Stretching me.

He’s not even fully inside, and I already feel split wide open. My cunt clutches him, trembling around the intrusion.

I moan, thrashing in his grip.

“You’re going to take it,” he growls. “All of it.”

He pulls out completely—then slams back in, one brutal thrust, deeper than before.

My breath leaves me in a shattered gasp.

He pulls out again—faster now—then thrusts back in, all the way.

I’m a mess. Moaning. Screaming. My hands struggle in his hold, my thighs shaking.

Too much. Too full.

And still—he doesn’t stop.

His thrusts get wilder, harder. Unrelenting. Stretching me to my limit. My cunt is soaked, greedy, wrapping around him like it doesn’t want to let him go.

His mouth descends on my throat. I feel the graze of fangs.

His hips pound into mine, my wet heat sucking him in, and then—

His fangs pierce my neck.

Pain. Sharp. White-hot.

I arch under him, mouth open in a silent scream, caught in the agony, the pleasure.

His tongue licks the puncture, tender as if soothing. His hips keep grinding, brutal, inhuman.

I’m close. So close.

My walls clamp down around him, milking him, desperate.

A groan rips from his throat—and then, with one more thrust that shatters me completely, I explode.

My body spasms, everything contracting. I come, hard, crying out, writhing.

He doesn’t stop.

He rides it out. Fucks me through it. Extends it.

And then—he pulls out in a single, ruthless stroke.

My pussy clenches around nothing. Empty. Gaping.

And before I can even catch my breath, before I can make sense of anything—

I feel his cock press against my other hole.

My ass.

"Wait—no—"

He thrusts in before I can finish the word.

It tears from my throat as a moan.

He stretches my ass brutally, too full, too sudden. I sob, thighs twitching, body jerking from the pressure. My hole clenches uselessly, aching around the size of him. He doesn’t move—just stays buried deep.

I groan, helpless, desperate for friction.

And then he starts.

Slow thrusts. In and out. Long, complete strokes.

I cry out, the sensation sharp, obscene. His cock slides through me like a slow knife—merciless, deliberate. His hands return to my breasts—one zaps through a nipple, the jolt making me yelp—and the other is taken by his mouth.

His tongue. His teeth. His lips.

He suckles like I’m his to feed on, his mouth huge, covering almost the whole breast. Fangs graze the nipple, scraping it tender, raw. I gasp—it’s too much, too intense, too real.

His thrusts shift.

Faster. Rougher.

Cold hips slapping into me. Skin against skin, obscene and loud.

He pulls all the way to the tip, then slams back in—again, again, again—fucking my ass with brutal rhythm. His hand and mouth torment my nipples, switching sides, never giving me relief.

And then—his other hand slides between my legs.

Two fingers thrust into my pussy without warning.

I scream.

He fucks me there too—his cock in my ass, his fingers in my cunt—alternating at first. As he pulls out of one hole, he thrusts into the other. Slick, wet, overwhelming.

And then—

His fingers and cock thrust together. Simultaneous. Brutal.

Both my holes filled.

My body bucks, writhing.

And his thumb joins the chaos—rubbing my clit in hard, fast circles. Then strokes. Then zaps. Sparks shoot through me. I moan. I sob. I can’t handle it. I’m coming apart.

His rhythm builds. Wild. Vicious.

His cock twitches inside me. He’s close—I feel it in the way he moves: erratic, desperate, feral.

His fingers fuck me. His cock pounds into me. His thumb—relentless—circles my clit in tight, punishing spirals.

Then his mouth. His tongue. Hot and slow.

He traces circles around my nipple, deliberate, careful—until my hips twitch into his cock, until my breath catches on a broken sob.

"You like that, little human?" he murmurs against my skin, voice slick with mockery—and something darker. "Let me hurt you a little. Just a little."

Then he bites.

Not a tease. A claim.

His mouth clamps down on the swell of my breast, fangs dragging as he sinks in, deep.

I gasp—sharp, stunned—the pain tearing through me like lightning. My back bows, thighs clench, heat flooding low and fast, a raw ache twisting through shame and pleasure.

He doesn’t stop.

Just holds me there—teeth deep, tongue flicking the raw, throbbing peak—his cock still pounding into my ass, hard, brutal.

"Still like it?" he breathes against my skin, almost gentle.

His other hand finds my other nipple. Twists.

Pain zaps through me—sharp, electric—

And then—

He drives in. One last time.

His thumb slams down on my clit.

I break. Again.

Come shreds through me—violent, unbearable. I shake, sputter, thrash, everything white-hot and too much.

Eyes rolling back.

Wave after wave.

And still—he doesn’t stop.

His cock keeps slamming in. Rougher. And then he groans.

Cold cum floods my ass.

Ice.

Like even his orgasm is dead.

I collapse beneath him, breathing hard, my body bruised, marked, wrecked. My cunt soaked. My ass used.

He stays inside.

Still hard.

Still deep.

I try to move, to beg him to pull out—but he only presses in deeper, as if I’m not allowed to ask.

"You think I’m done, little human?"

"We’ve only just started."

"You’ve yet to be haunted. Wet. And properly fucked."

And I realize—I’m gone.

Forever.

---

Author’s Note:

So… you made it to the end. I hope your soul’s intact and your sanity only mildly singed. 😌

This was my wicked little one-shot, and I had far too much fun writing it. If you screamed, squirmed, or blushed a little too hard—good. That was the goal.

Let me know if you survived in the comments. Or don’t. Maybe the ghost will find you either way.👀

Thanks for reading, haunting, and riding with me. And if you would like to have some more fun, a little bit of vampires and priests then check out my other story.

—Your Sweet little Author.🐣