Time doesn’t move in a linear fashion at Camp Enchantrix. You’re never sure whether reality is real here, either. It seemed like eons trapped in the dimension of Miss Kellie’s world of tease and denial. The orgasmic blast She finally allowed made the world go white, and felt strong enough to blast you into a new one. Only when the ringing in your ears is gradually replaced with cricket song and the hoot of an owl, when your vision clears to reveal the star-spangled night sky through the bare branches of close-crowded trees, do you realize that it literally had.
For a time, the cool night breeze feels good on your sweat-soaked naked body, and is comforting to your aching balls so recently drained. “This must be a place of rest,” you say to yourself contentedly. You simply lay there, catching your breath, and crack a contented smile. You have survived yet another inexplicable event at this camp. Why you didn’t simply leave after the first, you don’t know. But you’re sure that despite the kinky nature that brought you here, you’ve had enough.
Soon you will recover the strength to rise, find your way to your cabin to pack your things, and return home where you can tell yourself you’re a bit more in control of your slutty desires.
Foolish mortal. You’re never in control. But especially not here.
A bit troubling to you, however, that the ache in your balls isn’t subsiding. After a time, in fact, you realize it’s increasing. And somehow, your chafed cock once again begins to rise.
When your eyes pop open to look down at your tormented genitals, a shriek of shock and fear escapes your lips. Hovering above you is My translucent form, cloaked in diaphanous robes of similar character. The robes spread open to reveal My naked body. My eyes are bottomless pits of seduction and sadistic mirth. A misleading grin curls the corners of My mouth.
Despite your fear and confusion, you can’t help but be taken in by the sight of My curves and secret places. You utter a soft phrase: “My god, you’re beautiful . . .”
“This wood knows only a goddess, no god. But isn’t that sweet, just the same.” says My voice in your head with slight sarcasm. You observe that My lips don’t move, but stay in that uncanny grin.
“You can look at Me all you want. And you’ll stroke while you do.”
“What . . . what are you?” You manage as your eyes devour Me: My face. My breasts, with nipples that seem to harden as you look and beg to be sucked. My velvety flat stomach and slim waist. The neatly waxed v of My mons.
I let your question hang in the air as My ghostly form turns a slow horizontal pirouette, ethereal garments displacing at just the right moments to reveal My long, strong, slender legs, round ass, and dainty feet.
“Why, I’m the Gooner Ghost Goddess of the Camp Enchantrix woods. This is the just reward for compulsive masturbators. Here, you can stroke to your hearts’ content, and you’ll never, ever cum. The longer you stay in My woods, the less you’ll even remember orgasms. You’ll feel and experience edge after edge, and all you’ll want is to keep pounding that hand up and down. I’ll always be here for inspiration.”
The last few words are punctuated with My chuckle.
The Gooner Goddess sees what you’ve been doing . . . in all realms.
“But . . . but I love to cum! And I’m not a compulsive masturbator, I swear!” you cry as, through no will of your own, your hand reaches down and wraps around your throbbing cock. Similarly against your will, the muscles in your forearm strain as your grip tightens. You begin to stroke with supernatural speed.
“Who are you kidding. I saw into Miss Kellie’s realm, and I saw what you were doing. You were there for ages.”
“But She–She MADE Me!”
My voice in your head giggles. “I could see you at home too, before you came to camp. *tsk tsk tsk* Naughty naughty.”
I float downward until My mouth hovers over your cock and its fist prison. You watch with wide eyes as an enchanted and sparkling string of spit dribbles from My lips and onto the head.
“There,” My voice in your head whispers, “I have gifted you with the substance that only exists in these woods, the lube that never dries out. My new gooner toy will slip and slide in and out of your fist effortlessly for the rest of your life.”
“But wait! I don’t want to goon without orgasm for all eternity! I don’t! I don’t–Ohhhhhh!”
Your sentence terminates as your balls at once feel so full of un-expelled cum that they may pop under the pressure, and so tight that you fear they may crawl up into your body. Simultaneously, the full-body tingle of an edge sweeps over you, climbing and climbing until you’re sure that despite what I’ve said, you are going to desiccate your whole body with the volume of jizz you are about to shoot.
You teeter on the precipice, filled with wonder and the promise of epic relief.
“I didn’t say for all eternity.” I whisper between your ears. “I said for the rest of your life.”
Goon for the ghostly Goddess, gooner!
Then, it’s as if an iron hand has clamped down on your wrist, arresting your stroking just as the divot in the tip of your cock opens to blast it forth. A long, silvery string of precum oozes from it and slowly stretches down to your stomach, mocking your yearning. Slowly the edge recedes, the iron grip loosens, and the otherworldly stroking resumes.
“No! Please, no!” you cry.
“Yes. Ohhh yes,” My voice in your head murmurs, and for the first time My spectral facial expression changes to one of closed-eye, open-mouthed ecstasy. One ghostly hand moves down to caress My pussy, and the other moves to lightly pinch a plump, succulent nipple between thumb and index finger.
It’s then that you realize, as your mind melds further with the paranormal energy of the woods, that every edge eked out of you increases My power. Likewise, the hold on you, and on your cock. Suddenly your vision becomes preternaturally acute. Your head whips from side to side to see for the first time the skeletons of gooners past, half-buried in fallen leaves and entwined with roots.
As another maddening edge crests, the wind whips up whistling through the trees. On it the cries of ecstasy, desire, and frustration that were the last utterances of those departed gooners, before their bodies simply gave out, and My woods claimed the last of their lifeforce.
“Noooooooo!!” You scream, eyes squeezed tight against My beguiling form.
And then suddenly, you are sitting up in your cabin bunk, drenched with sweat, respiration hectic, realizing that it was all a bad dream.
Except that your eyes peer at the treeline not far outside your window. The wind howls, and on it, you swear you hear a sexy, spectral chuckle . . .
Mistress Rachel, The Gooner Ghost Goddess of the Camp Enchantrix Woods
P.S. This is part of Our Halloween blog train! Did you miss earlier installments? Start at the beginning here!
If you’re all caught up, see what Miss Daphne has in store tomorrow!