Haint Nothin Like Me (Haints Misbehaving 3)

Haint Nothin' Like Me (Haints Misbehaving 3)
J. Hali Steele
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Copyright ©2023 J. Hali Steele

Bad Badgett, in the guise of another gentleman’s skin -- which he’d appropriated purely by accident -- relished screwing men. He was determined to make good use of his return to the realm of the living. While he had not been excited by his reflection in the mirror nor the feel of the short, slight body he’d seized, Bad learned a lot about this time period from the quiet, reserved executive whose role as COO he also usurped. When the man’s memories faded and ceased yielding information, Bad continued to use the body, but he missed his six-foot-tall body with his thick thighs and big dick. He ached to run his hands through his own wavy black hair and finger the curls that had graced his chest.

He hadn’t been able to fully embrace the deliciousness of his current existence until he’d encountered another angry spirit, a haint appearing to have mastered survival in this strange new place and time. Crossing paths with Coll Collins had provided Bad the erotic opportunity he’d long ago yearned for. Damn if Coll hadn’t found a human who not only accepted his angry spirit but delighted in the haint’s ability to change skin by slipping into another’s body and using it to provide highly erotic satisfaction.

JD’s research into paranormal phenomenon might come in handy. They took the time to explain that Bad could snatch any human form he chose, then retake his own. There was no explanation for where human souls and remains were relocated. That unfortunate outcome appeared to disturb JD.

Now that Bad was back in his own skin with a sizeable dick between his legs, he didn’t give a shit about anything but sticking his cock in a tight asshole. He reminisced about time spent smelling odors from the latest stopover his small wooden vessel had made. He recalled the aroma of coffee brewing every morning in the place he’d occupied where the owner decided to display the box containing his haint on the shop’s counter.

Until Bad’s remains were stolen.

He’d become obsessed with the scent of the man who’d pilfered the tiny cedar box Bad resided in for nearly a century. Citrus and musk. Haunted him every time he stopped in the coffee shop. Bad prayed the smell would envelop him again. He’d been able to hear while he was locked away, and he longed to catch the thief’s soft voice, a voice Bad realized was full of… fear.

When the thief finally returned to the shop, Bad was loath to approach the miscreant in a body he’d considered unacceptable. But he followed him home on numerous occasions. Bad suspected, and happily discovered, the shoplifter had a penchant for men. He fumed over suitors who entered the front door. Bad swore to one day hinder the man’s extracurricular activities. At least until he had had his fill of the youthful, handsome devil.

A smile curled his lips now that he’d learned he could take his own form anytime he wished. This day, you’ll be mine.

* * *

Shane Taylor entered his apartment and was assailed by the smell of cedar. His dick raged to attention, demanding he release the button and unzip his slacks, adjusting his nuts to make them more comfortable.

Immediately he recalled the small wooden box he’d swiped from a local coffee shop. He’d experienced the same aroma and sensations the short time the curio was in his possession. Glad to be rid of it, Shane assumed he’d put the cedar-smelling object out of his mind. Evidently, he hadn’t erased the memory.

Often running his fingers over the container while waiting for service, Shane took pleasure in feeling his body come to life. No one will notice. He’d never stolen anything before, but couldn’t resist the box.

Someone did notice. A non-descript man followed him home and approached Shane with an offer he couldn’t refuse. Promising to remain silent, the cash the man offered blew away any resultant angst over his impulsive action and convinced him to sell quickly.

Rent for two months. Shane had been worried as he expected to gain control of a large inheritance after graduation from university, but left in the hands of Marie, his stepmother, his monthly stipend discontinued.

Shane’s anger brewed as he recalled his father’s death. Fuck you, cancer!

“Hold on a minute!” The stolen knick-knack sat dead center of his coffee table. “How… Shit, who… What the fuck!”

His hands shook as he lifted the small box from the table. Overcome with erotic imagery, Shane dropped the box. It broke and he huffed the scent of cedar into his lungs as smoke filled his living room.

“Damn, I like your cock.”