Supernaturally Stacked: Dove Plea

They cracked a dusty box open one humid afternoon and the board dropped out like it had been waiting. August and Lana grinned wide, old half-dressed nights flashing behind their eyes: bare legs crossed on bedroom floors, whiskey and candles, the planchette sliding under eager fingers while skirts crept higher. Someone suggested Placard Manor. The idea hit like a match to kerosene. A few miles later they kicked through sagging doors into that familiar gloom—sagging velvet, black timber, the sharp tang of mildew and dust. They dropped onto rotted floorboards, slapped the board down, lit one crooked candle. The pointer twitched before either touched it. A woman’s silhouette peeled itself from the wall: Penny Barber in nothing but pale, see-through silk that clung where the curves met. She glided over, floated inches above the wood, hungry eyes zeroed on both girls. "Been a long time since warm flesh walked these halls," she purred, her voice sliding over their skin like chilled fingertips. Lana shivered. August’s breath caught. The candle flickered. Penny drifted closer, smiling with pointed teeth. "Knees. Now." They went down fast, dresses riding up pale thighs, heartbeats hammering like fists against ribs. Penny hovered above, silk gone translucent, revealing full breasts and the dark patch between her thighs. Her hand, cool as river stone, tilted August’s chin. She kissed her first—deep, slow, tasting of old smoke and cherry. Lana watched, mouth open, then the spirit’s second hand slipped inside her blouse, thumb tracing a stiff nipple. Gasps echoed. Silk brushed skin. August leaned forward, kissed Penny back harder, tongue meeting cool silk mouth. Fingers slid south; Lana’s panties were tugged aside, two spectral digits gliding slick over her clit. August moaned into the kiss. Lana’s head tipped back. The board rattled. Shadows thickened. Penny tasted them both in turn—mouth sucking August’s neck, fingers curling slow inside Lana’s heat, the spirit feeding on every wet sound, every jerk of hips. Sweat dotted August’s collarbones; Lana clutched at nothing but air. The spirit’s body seemed to ripple, silk dissolving, skin pressing full and naked as she pushed them flat, spread their legs wider, licked down August’s stomach, down Lana’s thighs, settling between them with a low, contented growl. Her tongue was velvet and ice, licking like she was starving. August’s thighs shook. Lana sobbed a curse. The plank beneath them thrummed. They came fast, loud, one right after the other, Penny drinking the heat off their skin until the candle guttered and died. Darkness. The scent of sex and old roses. Two girls panting on a cracked floor. Above them, a soft, wicked laugh drifted out, promising round two.