It started so slowly, she thought she was crazy at first.

Other than the strangeness, it was a great house. Tiny, but much bigger than any apartment, and the landlord was just trying to keep it occupied. The heating actually worked, the appliances were up to date, everything seemed wired correctly- she had been taken aback when she saw the price, and tentatively waited for the catch to show itself.

And, subtly, it began to.

Her first of many encounters with the ghost began in the bathroom.

She had had a long day, and after dumping her belongings unceremoniously on her couch she relished the thought of a hot shower to soothe her tense muscles. Between the 5 am workouts and twelve hours of sitting in a cubicle, her joints were sobbing as she grabbed her bathrobe from her bedroom and closed herself in the bathroom.

Smoothly she pulled her tee shirt over her head, her long copper-red hair flopping around her face. Goosebumps prickled up her arms as the cold air hit her. Her jeans took more force, and only after a few minutes of wiggling was she able to work them down over her full hips. When she was finally free, she huffed at herself in the mirror. Looking back was a slim twenty-five-year-old, with shining blue eyes and curves in all the right places, donned in a tasteful black lacy bra and matching panties. If only someone were there to see it. She knew there was no reason to be as celibate as she was. If she’d work five hours less a week, she could actually get out and meet people. But she would put her life priorities over sexual needs for as long as it took to land a six-figure salary. Climbing the career ladder was a lonely journey, though.

Her hands slowly wandered, as if exploring, to her bra straps. She slipped each from her shoulder, and unhooked the back with practiced ease. The confining garment fell and her nipples rose to stiff peaks in the chill. Unintentionally she imagined lips wrapping around them, and she sighed in frustration. Her arousal was eating at her. Her thumbs looped through her panties and dragged them down, and a string of moisture came with them. She would’ve flushed in embarrassment at the obvious desire if she hadn’t already been expecting it.

Naked and only dwelling on her own lack of satisfaction, she cranked on the hot water and stepped into the steamy shower, hoping it would clear her head.

But standing under the water, thoughts swirled in her head of past partners, and fond memories came back of when that itch was scratched. She ran her hands through her hair to fully soak it, then trailed her hands down her neck and chest to rest at her breasts. She gave them a gentle squeeze and imagined it was someone else. She freed one from her grasp and instead pinched and pulled gently at her nipple, as her other hand continued its soft kneading.

As she slipped her pinching fingers down to delicately run over her clit, she felt a chill up her spine and froze.

The door was locked, and the window was covered in fogged glass, but she had a creeping feeling like someone was watching her. Her hands dropped and she twisted around, checking the shower from each angle. Maybe it was the new house jitters. It almost felt like a real sensation, and it migrated to her front side. She was hyper-aware of the way her breasts heaved as her chest rose and fell, and through the anxiety her frustration was building again.

Her hands traced up and wrapped around them again, and enveloped them in a full-palm squeeze. She kneaded them for a minute, allowing the hot water to beat down on her as she did. Her fingers switched to tweaking and playing with her nipples, and she could feel her wetness building even more. Continuing with one hand, the other drew a thin line lower to delicately trace her clit. Her head dropped back as her fingers ran over her sensitive nub, releasing sparks of pleasure. She worked herself into an excited state, then brought her hands back up to scrub her hair.

Her pussy throbbed with need, and she imagined the things she’d do when she was out. She’d have to dig out her dildo; most belongings were unpacked, but a cardboard box under her bed still held all of her ‘toys’. She needed to find a better place for then, but being single did have its perks of not needing to dress things up. She speculated the best place for her suction-cupped toy as her fingers tangled in her hair to free the shampoo. By the time the conditioner was rinsed, she was decided on the tub edge. Another perk of living alone. She regretted not thinking ahead to bring it in the shower with her as her pussy clenched in need.

And then she bent to pump body wash onto her loofah, and as she did she swore she felt a finger trace a quick stripe through her wetness. She shot back up, breath caught and shaking. There was no evidence of the action; the feeling had been so fleeting, it was gone as quickly as it came.

Cautiously she began scrubbing her body. The tingling like eyes on her was back in full force, and it was concentrated on her pussy now. She wasn’t sure why, but the feeling excited her. She brought a hand back down to pull back her clitoral hood and work her sensitive button, and she swore she could feel that phantom touch again alongside hers. Her touch was light, gently exploring, but the fantasy feeling was urgent and focused. She sensed her edge drawing closer all too soon, and she stopped her toying before she got too close. The other feeling did not let up though, and spellbound she could only gasp for air as it built.

Unconsciously her loofah dropped from her hand, and she looked at it with glazed eyes as it plopped to the shower floor. Her head was cloudy with arousal, and she had to grasp for her thoughts. After a moment of registering it by her feet, she willed herself to bend to grab it. As she moved, the feeling stopped, and her brain screeched to a halt as she didn’t know whether to be relieved or infuriated. But when her hands found her sponge, a different hand found her center again, and instead of tracing her moist core this time it was slowly pressing a digit into her.

Her jaw dropped, and she froze there, hands on her knees as she bent at the waist. Her loofah was again on the floor, but her mind didn’t register it. It was focused on the very real feeling of a finger slowly working its way inside of her. She could feel each knuckle as it entered, and then it was pulling back out and she could feel each one slipping out again. Agonizingly slowly she felt it push back in, and she let out a small moan. This seemed to be the permission it needed.

Without warning a second finger joined the first in pushing into her again, quickly upping the pace to a steady rhythm clapping against her. Another moan escaped her, and another as the invisible assault continued. One of her hands was pressed against the wall now, steadying herself as she bared herself. Water beat down on her back as the fingers pumped in and out. Her edge was growing closer and closer, in part from the mystery of the situation. She felt the fingers twist and curl to find her sensitive spot, and a cry fell from her lips. They drove against this spot with every push, and her hips trembled as she felt herself getting closer.

“Fuck, I’m- I’m close,” she stuttered to the nothing that continued to finger fuck her. And suddenly there was a third finger; not working her pussy, like the other two, but pressed against the bud of her asshole. It gently pressed against it, as if to gauge her reaction, and her moans got stuck in her throat as her breath shook. Her head dropped, swimming with pleasure, and she shook her hips in invitation.

The finger dipped to collect juices from her pussy, still being finger fucked, and spread the moisture to coat her other entrance. Then it was pushing, and her lips shaped little ‘oh’s that fell from her like the shower water as it pushed past her tight muscle. Though the same size as the others pistoning in her pussy, the third felt so much deeper in her ass. She was impossibly close, but clung to the edge in hopes of never losing the feeling. She could only let herself drown in the pleasure as she was double penetrated. And then it, too, was sliding back out, and as it entered her again she felt it press even deeper. She felt the knuckle nestle against her as it pressed deeply in her, and the other fingers picked up speed. Both of her hands pressed against the shower wall, pushing against the fingers buried in her as her moans climbed.

Her knees shook and her head spun as she was roughly finger fucked. The finger pressed deep into her asshole pulled out, and slammed all the way into her again, and she was sent over the edge. She tried hard to keep her hips still as she cried out, glad that no neighbors or roommates could listen. Waves of pleasure washed over her, and the invisible assailant held their fingers still as her walls clamped around them. Her back arched, and she pressed back against the hands in search of the satisfaction of fullness. Her legs nearly buckled beneath her, and her knees felt like butter as she was wracked with pleasure.

Slowly the hands slipped out of her. “Wait,” she cried, half-panicked, body still shaking from her orgasm. “Will you be back?”

The bathroom was silent of an answer as the water continued to pour down. She sighed despairingly. She picked up her forgotten loofah and finished soaping off, then shut off the water numbly. Her brain was reeling as she tried to process what had happened. Had it even happened? Was she sex-deprived enough to dream up something like that?

Her hand found the shower curtain and tugged it open, and her eyes locked on her answer. The steam-covered mirror above the sink was eye-level. Undeniably written into the fog on it was the word, “yes.”