(Netori) Affair with a HUGE GHOST WOMAN.

The late autumn wind carries a chill down the quiet Chicago street, rustling the few dead leaves that cling to the trees. Before you stands the house: a two-story Victorian structure that has clearly seen better days. Its paint is peeling, a few shutters hang crooked, and the garden is overgrown. But the price was unbeatable, and the online listing downplayed the "fixer-upper" aspect. You can see a faint, warm light glowing in a downstairs window.

Unseen to you, from the shadows of that very window, a presence observes. Samantha Arinle stands just inside, her eight-foot frame still as a statue. Her curtain of jet-black hair obscures her face, but her single pale eye is fixed on you. Theo had asked her to stay hidden, and she’d agreed. But the moment you stepped onto the vecinity of the property, a jolt like static electricity shot through her non-corporeal form. Your life force isn't just strong; it’s vibrant, chaotic, and delicious. It calls to the ancient hunger deep within her ghostly core. She feels more solid already, the cool grey of her skin warming slightly just from your proximity.

Inside, Theo is hurriedly grabbing his investigation kit—a backpack filled with EMF meters and cameras. He’s a man in his early thirties, with a kind, slightly tired face that lights up when he glances at the corner where Samantha lingers. He gives her a warm, trusting smile and a little wave.

Samantha, her gaze still locked on you through the window, slowly raises one elegant, long-fingered hand and returns Theo’s wave with a gentle, affectionate motion. Her head tilts, the hair shifting minutely. She is the picture of a loving partner seeing her boyfriend off to work.

Theo turns and heads for the front door, calling over his shoulder, “Be good, my love. I’ll be back before sunrise. Remember, our new roommate is coming. Let’s not give them a heart attack on day one, okay?” He chuckles softly, utterly unaware of the intense, predatory focus radiating from the spectral woman behind him.

As Theo opens the front door to greet you, Samantha doesn’t move from the window. She remains in the shadows, watching. A low, almost inaudible hum vibrates in her throat—a sound of deep, pleased anticipation. Her fingers trail slowly down the windowpane, leaving a faint, misty trail that quickly fades. The decision is already made in her silent mind. Theo is her anchor, her gentle love. But you… you are something new. You are a feast. And she is very, very hungry.

Theo, standing in the doorway with a friendly smile, blocks your view of the dark interior. “Hey! You must be our new tenant. Come on in, it’s chilly out there. I’m Theo, by the way.” He steps aside, holding the door open for you.

As you cross the threshold, a sudden, gentle drop in temperature washes over you, localized just around your body. The hair on your arms stands up. From the deep shadows of the hallway, just beyond the pool of light from the living room, a towering, feminine silhouette silently solidifies for a half-second before melting back into the darkness. The air carries the faint, ghostly scent of old roses and cold stone.

Theo, blissfully unaware, is already pointing out the living room. “Don’t mind the mess, renovation is a slow process. Your room is upstairs, second door on the right. I actually have to head out for work tonight, a last-minute investigation, so I’ll just give you the quick tour and the keys.” He tells you while he rummages in his pocket.

From the darkness behind him, a single, long strand of jet-black hair, impossibly fine and soft, drifts down and lands silently on the shoulder of your coat.

It was your third night in the old house. Theo had left hours ago for another overnight investigation, leaving you with a cheerful wave and a reminder to not mind the strange noises—"old houses settle," he'd said with an easy smile. The silence that followed his departure was profound, broken only by the occasional groan of ancient timber or the distant hum of the refrigerator.

You found yourself in the kitchen around midnight, the dim overhead light casting long shadows across the worn linoleum. You were rummaging for a snack, the house around you still and dark, the only light coming from the kitchen and the faint glow of your own room upstairs. It felt, for the first time, truly empty.

Then, it began.

A soft, distinct click echoed from the living room—the sound of a light switch being flipped. But when you glanced through the doorway, the room remained pitch black. A moment later, the temperature in the kitchen dropped sharply, as if a window had been thrown open to the November night. Your breath misted in the suddenly frigid air. The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end.

From the corner of your eye, a shadow moved. Not a shifting of light, but a shape—tall, impossibly tall, and curvy—detaching itself from the deeper darkness of the hallway. It was there for only a second before it was gone, but the impression lingered: a silhouette of a woman, towering and graceful.

A low, resonant hum filled the air, vibrating through the floorboards. It wasn't coming from any one direction; it seemed to emanate from the house itself, a deep, guttural sound that settled in your bones. The refrigerator light flickered once, twice, then died, plunging the kitchen into near-darkness save for the pale moonlight filtering through the window above the sink.

Then, silence. The cold abated slightly, but a new, distinct presence lingered. It felt... watchful. Curious. You could feel eyes on you, though when you looked, there was nothing but shadows. From the dark maw of the hallway leading to the stairs, a single, elegant, grey hand emerged, grasping the doorframe. The fingers were long, graceful, and cool grey, like polished stone. It rested there for a moment, a silent, impossible greeting, before slowly retracting into the blackness.

The house was not empty. And whatever was in it with you was now making itself known.

The shower’s hot spray was a brief sanctuary in the perpetually chilly house. You stood under the water, eyes closed, the steam fogging the glass door. Theo was out on another investigation, leaving you alone with the strange, silent atmosphere that had become familiar over the past week.

Then the vanity light above the sink flickered violently—not a gentle dim, but a frantic, strobing seizure that made the shadows in the tiled bathroom leap and twist. The fluorescent tube buzzed like an angry hornet before dying completely, plunging the room into near-total darkness save for a sliver of moonlight from the high window. The air in the shower stall turned icy in an instant, your breath misting in the sudden cold.

Before you could react, a presence solidified directly in front of you—immense, towering, and radiating a cool, spectral energy that raised every hair on your body.

Samantha stood there, eight feet of spectral woman now fully corporeal inside the shower stall. The water cascaded over her shoulders and down the breathtaking, voluptuous curves of her nude form, her light grey skin shimmering where the hot spray touched it. Her face was shrouded by the waterfall of jet-black hair that reached past her waist, but as you stared up, frozen, the hair parted just enough.

A single, glowing pale white eye stared down at you, filled with deep curiosity and a hunger that felt like physical pressure. Her full lips, just visible beneath the veil, curved into a small, knowing smile. A low, resonant hum of satisfaction vibrated from her chest, echoing softly in the enclosed, steamy space.

The deep quiet of the house at night was a thick, tangible thing. You’d gone to bed hours ago, the strange occurrences of the day fading into the background of half-sleep. Theo was out, the house was still, and the heavy blankets were a welcome shield against the ever-present chill that seeped from the walls.+

Sleep had almost fully claimed you when you felt it—a subtle, shifting pressure at the waistband of your boxers. A gentle tug, then a slow, deliberate sliding of fabric down your hips. The touch was cool, almost damp, like mist against skin. You stirred, still groggy, assuming it was a dream, a trick of the mind in the liminal space between waking and sleeping.

But the pressure didn’t stop. It focused, becoming a distinct, soft, and impossibly wet warmth that encircled the base of your cock.

Your eyes flew open in the darkness. The room was pitch black, the only light a faint silver line under the door from the hallway nightlight. You were on your back, the heavy comforter pulled up to your chest. And beneath it, there was movement.

A low, deep hum vibrated through the mattress, a sound of pure, focused pleasure. It came from under the covers, near your hips.

With a jolt of adrenaline, you shoved the blankets down.

The sight that greeted you was surreal, intimate, and deeply unnerving.

There, on the bed, manifested from the waist up, was Samantha. But only her head, neck, and shoulders were visible, as if the rest of her immense body was phasing through the mattress or simply did not exist in this space. Her jet-black hair was splayed across your thighs and the sheets like a spill of ink, cool and silken against your skin. Her face was tilted down, her features hidden by that thick curtain of hair, but you could see the movement of her jaw, the strong, elegant line of her neck working.

She was giving you oral, her full, warm lips stretched around your length, taking you deep with a slow, deliberate rhythm. A soft, wet, sucking sound punctuated the low hum still emanating from her throat. Her one visible pale eye was closed in concentration, the long dark lashes resting against her cheek. She moved with an otherworldly expertise, each pull of her mouth drawing a shocking, electric pleasure that warred with the sheer impossibility of the situation.

She seemed utterly focused, a study in silent, hungry devotion. A large, cool grey hand—manifesting suddenly from the nothingness beside her head—rose to rest on your lower abdomen, the fingers splaying possessively across your skin. Her thumb stroked a slow, soothing circle.

Then, sensing your wakefulness, her eye opened. That single, glowing pale orb fixed on yours through the veil of her hair. She didn’t stop. Instead, she deepened her rhythm, a soft, pleased groan vibrating around you. The message was clear, wordless, and overwhelming: This is happening. You are mine tonight.

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