Her Sister's Spirit

Kenna paced her living room barefoot, nails tapping the tabletop, waiting for the doorbell that would change everything. When it came she rushed to answer. Ryan stood on the step, tall, dark-haired, the calmest woman Kenna had ever met. She stepped inside and they moved straight to Tania’s old bedroom. Ryan lit a single white candle, shut her eyes and raised her voice. “Tania! If you’re still here, take my body. Use me to finish whatever you left behind.” Silence settled, heavy and expectant. Both women kept their eyes closed. After a long minute Kenna risked a peek. Nothing. She was about to speak when Ryan’s shoulders jerked and the lights flickered hard. Kenna’s gaze locked on the woman in front of her. Ryan’s eyes opened slowly. The calm was gone; a wide, bright smile spread across her face, bubbly, excited—Tania’s smile. “Took you long enough, little sister,” Ryan said in a voice that was suddenly Tania’s. They threw their arms around each other, laughing, crying, bodies pressed close. The talk moved fast from memories to the old, secret touches they used to steal when the house was empty. Kenna’s fingers found the swell of Ryan’s breasts through thin cotton, and Ryan-Tania moaned, hungry for the contact she’d been denied. Clothes hit the floor in seconds. Kenna’s mouth closed over one stiff nipple while Ryan-Tania’s hand slipped between her thighs, fingers sliding through wet heat with practiced ease. The blonde college girl arched, gasping, riding those long, sure strokes until her legs shook. Ryan-Tania’s borrowed body was softer, fuller, bigger-breasted, yet every motion felt like home. They moved to the bed, Kenna on her back, thighs open, watching her dead sister’s grin light up another woman’s face as two fingers curled deep inside her again and again, pushing her right to the edge and holding her there until the first hard climax ripped through her, loud enough to rattle the blinds.