17) Spectral Blessing

17) Spectral Embrace.

The soft cotton of my nightdress whispers against my skin as I shift in the warmth of Jon's bed. His breathing is a steady rhythm beside me, deep and even in sleep. Thirty years of darkness have taught me to navigate the world through other senses the scent of his clean skin, the weight of his arm thrown over my waist, the familiar texture of sheets beneath my fingertips. Moonlight filters through the window, but for me, it's only a subtle change in air temperature, a slight shift in the room's atmosphere.

Jon's body heat radiates against my back, solid and reassuring. His muscular frame presses against me, the soft hair on his chest tickling my shoulder blades through the thin cotton of my nightdress. I can smell him that unique combination of soap, sweat, and something that's purely Jon. My fingers trace patterns on the pillow, following the familiar indentations where our heads rest.

The house settles around us with its nighttime creaks and groans. I hear the refrigerator humming in the kitchen, the occasional car passing outside, the whisper of wind against windowpanes. These are the sounds I've learned to trust, the audio landscape that paints my world. My red hair spills across the pillow, strands catching against my eyelashes as I nestle deeper into the mattress.

Then something changes.

The air grows colder, not gradually like a draft, but suddenly, as if someone has opened a freezer door in the room.

The temperature drops enough to make goosebumps rise on my arms, the fine hairs standing erect beneath my nightdress.

Jon's breathing doesn't change he sleeps on, oblivious but the space beside me, where his arm rests, becomes noticeably cooler. Yet Jon doesn't move a muscle.

I sit up slowly, my hands moving to explore the space around me.

My fingers encounter nothing but air, yet the cold spot persists, concentrated in one area.

The scent changes too something metallic and coppery, like old blood, mixed with the faint smell of ozone after a lightning strike.

My heart begins to beat faster, a frantic drum against my ribs.

"Hello?" I whisper, my voice barely disturbing the silence.

Jon stirs slightly, his arm tightening around my waist, then relaxes again as he sinks deeper into sleep.

The cold intensifies, coalescing. I can feel a presence now, distinct and separate from the room's usual atmosphere. It's not just cold it's a vibration, a low-frequency hum that seems to resonate through my bones.

My blind eyes strain uselessly, trying to see what my other senses are screaming is there.

"Megan," a voice whispers, feminine and slightly distorted, as if speaking through water or from far away.

"Don't be frightened." It continues.

"Who's there?" I ask, I shake Jon's arm but he doesn't stir.

"Don't be frightened. It's me Jenny." The voice answers.

My whole body goes rigid. I recognise that name from the few stories he's shared. Jenny. His dead wife.

"I'm not going to hurt you," she says, and the cold spot seems to move, to take shape beside me. "Jon can't see me. He can't hear me. This isn't a dream." She says and I can sense her movement up the bed

My hands tremble as I reach out, fingers extended into the cold space. I should be scared, terrified but I'm not.

My hands meet resistance, something solid yet impossibly cool, but not icy, more wet like marble left overnight in winter. My fingers trace what feels like a shoulder, then the curve of a neck.

"I'm real," Jenny's voice confirms, and now I can feel her more clearly the distinct lines of her body, the texture of what feels like torn fabric, the unmistakable shape of a woman's form next to me in bed.

"Well, as real as I can be." Jenny says with a small giggle.

My breathing comes in shallow bursts.

I think this can't be happening. Ghosts aren't real, are they? But the evidence is undeniable the cold, the voice, the solid form beneath my exploring fingers.

And Jon sleeps on, his arm still around my waist, completely unaware of the supernatural visitor in our bed.

"He talks about you constantly," Jenny says, her voice softening.

"How you make him feel alive again. How your blindness doesn't matter, in fact, how it makes everything more intense for you." Jenny says. Her spectral fingers brush against my cheek, impossibly cool against my skin.

"I approve, Megan. I want him to be happy." Jenny says directly to me.

My mind races. Jon's dead wife is here, in our bed, giving us her blessing?

It's surreal, terrifying, and strangely comforting all at once.

"He likes it when you take control," Jenny continues, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

"When you ride him, your red hair cascading down your back, your pale breasts bouncing. He loves watching you lose yourself on his cock." Jenny explains

Her fingers trail down my neck, leaving paths of cold wherever they touch.

"He's always been fascinated by redheads, ever since he was a teenager. And that fire between your legs. your full ginger bush drives him wild. He is actually thinking of making a condition of marriage that you never go bald down there." Jenny says her voice going higher with the last part.

Heat floods my cheeks despite the cold emanating from Jenny's form.

Jon has told me some of this in our intimate moments, but hearing it from his dead wife is something else entirely.

"He loves eating your pussy. He could it for hours, He always loved eating pussy. Mine, yours." Jenny murmurs, her breath cool against my ear.

"And the way you taste, and how you grind against his face when you're close. He tells me you give the best blowjobs he's ever had that you take all twelve inches down your throat without gagging." Jenny says almost matter of factly.

Her spectral hand moves lower, tracing the curve of my breast through the thin cotton of my nightdress.

"And when he takes you from behind. God, the sounds you make." Jenny says her voice getting higher as she says, ' The sounds you make.'

I should push her away, scream, wake Jon, anything.

But I don't. There's something intoxicating about this the forbidden nature of it, the raw honesty, the way her cool touch contrasts with the warmth of my own skin.

Jenny whispers, her fingers circling my nipple through the fabric.

"And you give him anal. Something I never did. But he's worried you'll think he's being too rough, too demanding. He's mentioned it several times but hasn't worked up the courage to ask. He's worried you'll think he's being too rough, too demanding. And when I say mention I mean he says it in his sleep or I can sort of read his mind. It isn't like I sit here with a cup of tea and we talk about your sex lives." Jenny says as she touches my arm.

Her touch becomes more deliberate, more purposeful. My pussy clenches at her words, moisture soaking into the cotton of my nightdress. This is wrong on so many levels, but my body doesn't seem to care. Jenny's spectral touch is electrifying, different from Jon's warm hands, but equally arousing in its own way.

"He also wants a threesome," Jenny continues, her other hand joining the first on my breasts. "With another woman. He thinks about you with another woman, imagines what it would look like, what it would feel like to be between two redheads." Jenny confesses.

She leans closer, and I can feel the distinct shape of her body pressing against mine the curve of her hips, the swell of her breasts, the firm muscle beneath spectral skin. "Would you like that, Megan? Another woman joining you? Or maybe someone to touch you while Jon watches?" Jenny says almost provocatively.

I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry.

My hands, which have been frozen in place, begin to move again, exploring Jenny's form with growing curiosity. I can feel the torn fabric of what must be her police uniform, the smooth skin beneath, the distinct shape of her breasts full and firm, slightly smaller than my own DDs but substantial, nonetheless. Her flat hard abdomen.

"He loves your breasts," Jenny murmurs, her fingers finding the hem of my nightdress and slowly lifting it.

"The way they sway when you move, how your pale nipples tighten when he touches them." Jenny continues.

Her cool hands slide beneath the fabric, making contact with my bare skin.

"He told me he wants to titfuck you someday to slide his cock between these beautiful pale mounds until he cums all over your face." Jenny explains to me as she starts to feel me up.

My breathing hitches as her hands cup my breasts, thumbs brushing over my already hard nipples.

The contrast between her cool touch and my burning skin is exquisite, sending shivers through my entire body.

"May I?" she whispers, and before I can answer, she leans in and presses her lips against mine.

The kiss is unlike anything I've experienced before. Her lips are cool but not cold, soft yet firm, tasting faintly of something metallic and sweet.

I respond instinctively, my mouth opening to hers, my tongue hesitantly touching hers. She tastes like rain and ozone, something like electricity after a storm.

Jon shifts beside us, muttering something in his sleep, but he doesn't wake. His arm remains around my waist, a warm anchor to reality as I'm kissed by his dead wife.

Jenny deepens the kiss, her tongue exploring my mouth with practiced expertise.

She knows exactly how to tilt her head, how much pressure to use, when to bite gently on my lower lip.

One of her hands continues to toy with my nipple while the other slides down my stomach, fingers tangling in the coarse hair of my bush.

"Gosh, everything they say about Gingers is right, You're so wet already," she murmurs against my lips, her fingers parting my folds and finding my clit.

"I can feel how much you want this. Megan." Her touch is confident, sure, as if she knows my body better than I do myself.

"Jon was right about you Megan. You respond so beautifully to stimulation." Jenny says as she continues to finger me.

My hips buck against her hand as she circles my clit, applying just the right amount of pressure. Her fingers are cool against my hot flesh, creating a delicious contrast that has me moaning into her mouth.

"He loves how vocal you are," Jenny whispers, breaking the kiss to trail hers down my neck.

"The little sounds you make when you're close, the way your breath catches when he hits just the right spot." Jenny teases me as she bites gently on my collarbone, sending another wave of pleasure through me.

I should be angry, feel violated, but instead the thought turns me on even more. The image of Jon listening to my orgasms, getting hard to the sound of my pleasure, is incredibly arousing.

Jenny's fingers slide lower, teasing my entrance before one cool finger slides inside.

I gasp at the intrusion, my inner muscles clamping around her. She moves slowly at first, exploring, learning my shape, before adding a second finger.

"You're so tight," she murmurs, her thumb continuing to work my clit.

"He tells me you feel amazing wrapped around his cock like velvet and fire combined." Jenny informs me as she curves her fingers inside me, finding that spot that makes me see stars behind my blind eyes.

"He loves watching you stretch to take all of him, the way your pussy lips cling to his shaft when he pulls out." Jenny continues.

Her words are filthier than anything Jon has ever said to me, more explicit, more detailed. It's as if she's reading his mind, sharing his deepest, most secret fantasies with me. And her fingers. God, her fingers know exactly what they're doing, stroking and curling and pressing in ways that have me writhing against her hand.

"He wants to try DP with you," Jenny whispers, her voice hot against my ear.

"His cock in your pussy, a toy in your ass. Or maybe two cocks if we could find the right man." Jenny says with just the right amount of sauce to her voice.

She adds a third finger, stretching me deliciously.

"He imagines you completely filled, overwhelmed with pleasure, unable to think or speak." Jenny says as she continues to finger me.

My orgasm builds rapidly, a tidal wave of sensation gathering force deep within me.

Jenny seems to sense it, her movements becoming more deliberate, more focused.

"That's it," she encourages, her thumb pressing harder on my clit.

"Let go for me. Cum all over my fingers while he sleeps right beside us." Jenny says her tone somewhere between dominant and teasing.

She bites down on my shoulder, not hard enough to hurt but hard enough to add another layer of sensation.

"He'll smell you on his hands tomorrow and wonder what you were dreaming about." Jenny says.

The combination of her words, her touch, her cool spectral presence, and Jon's warm sleeping body pressed against me is too much.

My orgasm crashes over me with the force of a hurricane, stealing my breath, making my whole body shake uncontrollably.

I cry out, a strangled moan that I muffle against Jenny's shoulder as wave after wave of pleasure wracks my body.

Jenny continues to stroke me through my orgasm, milking every last spasm of pleasure from my trembling body. Only when I collapse against her, boneless and spent, does she slowly withdraw her fingers. She slowly withdraws and then strokes my bushy ginger hair tenderly and gently.

"Beautiful," she whispers, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead. "Absolutely beautiful." She brings her fingers to my lips, and I can taste myself on her cool skin musky and sweet. "Jon would kill to taste that directly from the source."

I lie panting against her, my heart still racing, my body humming with residual pleasure. Jon stirs again, his arm tightening around me, but remains asleep.

"I have to go," Jenny says regretfully, her form already beginning to feel less substantial, more transparent to my touch. "Maintaining this form takes too much energy."

"No," I whisper, reaching for her, but my hands pass through empty air. She's gone.

The room returns to normal temperature, the metallic scent fading, the low-frequency hum disappearing. I'm alone again with Jon, the evidence of our encounter drying on my thighs, the taste of my orgasm still on my lips.

Was it real? Or was it just an incredibly vivid dream, my mind processing my insecurities about my relationship with Jon, my fears about measuring up to his dead wife? The evidence suggests it was real the lingering scent of ozone, the cool spots on my skin where Jenny touched me, the distinct memory of her spectral form beneath my exploring fingers. But part of me wants to believe it was just a dream, a product of my overactive imagination.

Then there's the wetness on my thighs. I have in fact orgasmed. It was real or I had a wet dream.

I lie awake for a long time, listening to Jon's steady breathing, processing what happened. Eventually, just as I'm drifting back to sleep, Jenny's voice whispers in my ear again.

"Megan," she says, her spectral presence returning.

"There's one more thing I want to give you." Jenny says.

I sit up, my heart pounding.

"Jenny?" I reply loudly.

"Shhh," she whispers.

"Don't wake him." She says.

The cold spot returns beside me, her presence once again tangible.

"This takes an enormous amount of energy, but I want you to have it. At least for a moment. Think of it as my special wedding present to you from me,

"What?" I ask, my voice barely audible.

"Your sight," she says.

"Just for two minutes. I want you to see him to see what I see when I watch you together." Jenny explains.

Before I can protest, an incredible pressure builds behind my eyes, a painful intensity that makes me gasp.

It's as if my entire life's worth of compressed energy is being released at once. Colours explode behind my eyelids red, blue, green, yellow a chaotic rainbow of sensation that's painful in its intensity.

It's a kaleidoscope of pain and colour.

"Open your eyes," Jenny whispers.

I hesitate, afraid of what I might see, of the overwhelming sensory input that's sure to follow. But her spectral hand covers mine, giving me courage.

Slowly, tentatively, I open my eyes.

And I see. For the first time in thirty years, I see.

Moonlight streams through the window, bathing the room in silver and blue.

The walls are painted a soft cream, furniture casting long shadows across the dark carpet. And beside me. oh God, beside me is Jon.

He's more beautiful than I ever imagined. His blonde hair is slightly mussed from sleep, a few stray strands falling across his forehead.

His face is relaxed in slumber, full lips slightly parted, his strong jaw dusted with the faint shadow of stubble. His eyelashes are long against his cheeks, and I can see the faint lines around his eyes that tell me he laughs often.

His chest rises and falls with each breath, the navy tank top stretching tight across his muscular pecs. I can see the outline of his abs beneath the thin fabric, the dusting of blonde hair that trails down his stomach and disappears beneath the waistband of his pyjama pants.

One arm is thrown over my waist, and I can see the muscles in his bicep, the veins standing out slightly, the fine golden hairs that catch the moonlight.

He's perfect. Absolutely fucking perfect, better than any description, better than any fantasy.

My heart swells with an emotion so powerful it almost hurts.

Tears stream down my face, hot and salty, and I don't care. I drink in the sight of him, memorising every detail, every line, every shadow and highlight. This is the man I've been fallen in love with, the man whose touch sets my skin on fire, whose voice makes me wet, whose presence makes me feel safe and desired for the first time in my life.

"Two minutes are almost up," Jenny's voice whispers, sounding strained, distant.

I turn my head, trying to see her, but there's nothing there just empty moonlight and shadow. I look back at Jon, my gaze tracing the line of his jaw, the shape of his lips, the way his throat works as he swallows in his sleep.

"I love you," I whisper, reaching out to touch his face. My fingers trace his eyebrows, his cheekbones, the curve of his lips. He's real, he's here, and for two precious minutes, I've seen him.

I then look in the mirror and I see myself, my pale skin, I notice the cascade of copper red falling over my shoulders. My pale pink nipples and areolas and I look at the ginger carpet between my legs and I see for the first time in my life my own pussy. I look at it and I feel it. I see at thirty four what most women see at thirteen or fourteen. I am taken in enthralled, fascinated. I can see but Jenny's ghost magic hasn't restored my eyes to the colour they were. They are still all white, like a milky cloud.

"Meg I can't do this forever." Jenny says almost as if she is in pain.

I look to my left and in a moment of devilment I raise Jon's waistband and I see it. His cock all soft but still a good eight inches long, all veiny and girthy still. I look at it and I take it in.

"MEGAN!" Jenny screams at me.

Then the pressure behind my eyes returns, even more intense than before. Colours swirl and dance, then begin to fade, dimming like a photograph left in the sun. The last thing I see is Jon's sleeping face, beautiful and perfect in the moonlight.

Then darkness. Complete darkness.

Complete and total darkness, familiar and absolute after that brief, miraculous glimpse of light.

I lie back against the pillows, tears still streaming down my face, my heart aching with loss and overwhelming love.

My fingers trace Jon's features from memory now, the tactile sensations enriched by those precious visual memories.

" Thank you Jenny. Thank you," I whisper to the empty room, to Jenny wherever she is.

Jon stirs beside me, his arm tightening around my waist.

"Megan?" he mumbles, his voice thick with sleep.

"Are you crying? What's wrong?" Jon asks as he sits up in bed.

I wipe hastily at my tears, forcing a smile he can't see.

"Nothing's wrong, Just a dream. Go back to sleep." I whisper, snuggling closer to him.

He mumbles something unintelligible and presses a soft kiss to my forehead before his breathing evens out again.

I lie awake in the darkness, the memory of his face burned into my mind, the taste of my orgasm still on my lips, the ghost of Jenny's cool touch lingering on my skin.

My life has changed irrevocably tonight. I've been touched by a ghost, blessed by a dead woman, given back my sight for two precious minutes.

I've seen the man I'm fallen in love with, and he's more beautiful than I ever imagined.

Whatever comes next, whatever challenges we face, I'll carry tonight with me always the spectral visitation, the illicit pleasure, the miraculous gift of sight, and the overwhelming love that fills my heart to bursting.

In the darkness of Jon's bedroom, with his sleeping body pressed against mine, I smile through my tears and drift off to sleep, dreaming of moonlight and blue eyes and the ghost who gave me back the world, if only for a moment. The ghost who also blessed our union.