by Lazuli Jones
“Probably it’ll feel like handcuffs, only…”
“Only…?” Liz echoed with a smile, pouring a glass of wine for one. She wore a lilac nightgown, a sheer little thing, and her skin was already goose-pimpled from the cold.
She was used to the cold. People always talked about ghosts leaving a chill wherever they went, but it wasn’t anything like a blast of frigid December air. It was a soothing cold, the kind you felt putting a cool compress to overheated flesh.
“Only… with movement?” Becca shrugged. And that was the thing, Liz could feel the shrug, because Becca didn’t talk to her with words, so much as with feelings. It was a difficult thing to explain to anyone who wasn’t a psychic medium, probably as difficult to explain as to how a séance had turned into a first date which then led to a lovely, strangely fulfilling relationship.
“So nothing like handcuffs at all.”
“Hey, I know about handcuffs. I died in handcuffs. I’m a hardcore bitch.”
Liz snorted, wine in hand, climbing into bed. “You died in a huge car crash. It was the first thing I learned about you. You can’t lie to your medium, gorgeous.”
When the dating pool of the living ran dry, suddenly the dead didn’t look so bad. Or didn’t look like anything. Liz could feel the ghosts in her head, but couldn’t conjure up an image of what they physically looked like in life. Becca could have looked like anything. Becca probably looked like a gory mess from the car accident that caused her death. Liz didn’t care.
Becca was funny. Becca loved her. Becca was dead. Dating a ghost only left certain logistics a little complicated, but that was the point of tonight. Working past the complications.
“So… you ready for this, babe?”
Liz sipped a bit of wine and considered Becca’s question. A relationship could still be very satisfying without sex. Becca had no physical body with which to pleasure Liz. But… there were other things they could do and share.
The glass of wine didn’t make a sound as Liz placed it on the nightstand. “I’m ready, Becs. Now get inside me and let’s get naughty.”
Becca obeyed with a glee and lust that were beyond words.
It was cold at first, that familiar cold, only… more so. Liz almost shivered, and then she did shiver, from the sudden awareness of thoughts and memories and feelings that weren’t her own. It tickled her mind and then tickled her limbs, until her bare arms and legs were covered in gooseflesh. Her stomach twitched, the back of her neck prickled, and Liz opened her legs, eager for more.
“I’m taking over now,” Becca said, somewhere in her head.
Psychic possession was dangerous. Nothing to play around with. But when Liz compared it to BDSM, to cuffing a lover and surrendering control, it wasn’t any different. Becca was in control. They wouldn’t even need a safe word, because Becca was in her mind and would know when, if ever, to stop.
Liz’s nipples strained against the nightgown. One of her arms moved, a little jerkily, and Liz gasped.
She surrendered, let Becca take control. Becca hadn’t had a physical body in decades. She went right to Liz’s chest, running Liz’s own fingertips against her stiff nipples, rolling them and pinching them through the sheer fabric. Together they moaned. Liz was already wet, something Becca was acutely aware of.
“Oh God…” Becca gasped in her head. “You feel so good…”
Liz agreed with a moan. “Touch me…”
Pure cheekiness. “But I’m not touching you. You’re touching yourself.”
Becca made her hands slide up and down the nightgown, pressing the fabric between her legs until it became soaked with her juices. Liz jumped a little when she found her own fingers at her mouth, opening her lips to suck on them, while Becca made her pull up the hem of the nightgown.
“I like it when you suck me, Liz,” Becca’s voice was breathy in her mind, full of want, and when she pulled Liz’s fingers out of her mouth and slipped the wet fingers inside the fabric to play with a nipple while Becca found her damp curls and wet folds, they both gasped, echoing the sound to each other.
“You’re beautiful,” Becca moaned. The hand slipped away from Liz’s breast, brushed against her face, into her hair, feeling every textured curl and inch of skin, while Becca went wild lower down, pressing fingers inside Liz and rubbing them in fast little circles against her clit. “Tell me what you want…”
Liz gasped helplessly. She could resist Becca’s possession if she tried, but had no interest in trying. She wanted… she wanted those, her hands everywhere. She wanted to feel her own skin as though for the first time, she wanted to thrash and scream and come with Becca…
And Becca said no more, knowing what Liz wanted, giving it to her, using Liz’s own hand to rub her clit and pinch her nipples and lead her body into squirming exhalations until together they shook and trembled and moaned their way through a full-body orgasm.
Liz’s body was not cold at all, not even with Becca still inside her. She was hot, breathing hard, limbs tingling, still not back under her control.
“I’d forgotten how good that could feel. I love you, Liz. Thank you.”
Liz smiled tiredly. Becca wasn’t usually tender with words. “I love you too, Bec—oh jeez!” Liz almost felt like she was falling as Becca made her rise from the bed, rummaging for something in the bedside drawer. It was like being suspended by ropes, watching her own hands dig through notebooks and socks for Becca’s prize.
“Success!” Liz blushed as she held up a thick, bright pink dildo. “Now… lie back while I fuck you, babe. It’s been too long since I worked one of these beauties.”
Liz was right. It wasn’t like handcuffs at all. It was a much sweeter surrender.
Lazuli Jones’ work has previously appeared in numerous anthologies, including Best Women’s Erotica of the Year – Volume 1, Toy Box, They Do, Mythologically Torqued, Nasty: Fetish Fights Back, and the upcoming The Big Book of Submission. Their first novel, Abyssal Zone, is available from eXtasy Books. A performer and queer activist, Lazuli lives with their partner in Southern Ontario.