But, still . . . the match between the woman I had met as Flo and my mother's description of the young woman whose wedding pictures she had seen so many years ago was uncanny. The floor above creaked again. "No, it can't be," I told myself. "I don't believe in ghosts. Flo is just a family member who doesn't know or doesn't care about the old story about Flo the slut." My confidence restored, I began to walk up the stairs. Naturally they creaked and groaned, announcing my presence well before I got to the floor above. I pushed another door open that let me into the room. It creaked, just like every other door on the property. This was not a place for sneaking around. The room I entered was large and brightly lit with daylight streaming through several windows. The windows were fogged with age, so no one could really see through them, but they let plenty of light in. I had expected an empty space, but it was furnished with a number of pieces of late nineteenth century furniture,. My hard dick rests in between her cheeks, rubbing against them. “You know I don’t like you watching while I’m getting ready,” she says testily as she applies her eye liner. I always wake up horny, and today I’m especially horny. I rock back, then forward again, rubbing my dick against her. It feels ultra-sensitive, the slightest pressure making me weak in the knees. I want nothing more than to rip off those skimpy panties and sniff them as I bury my dick between her cheeks and squirt all over her. “AWWWummmm,” I moan softly, relishing the mental image I created. She reaches back and gently pushes me away from her as she puts down the liner and picks up her lipstick. “Please. I have to get ready.” I lean back against her again, pushing my hard dick against her butt. God, it feels so good, I clasp her tightly around the waist and press my dick against her, making her lose her balance. “I just sat on you yesterday,” she says angrily. “I have to get ready to go!” I release my grip around.
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