Chilled

From Torg Adventure

The chill wind woke me up from dreams of the book I read before bed. It was summer, and I had thrown the sheets off me. Frigid hands rubbed my body, concentrating on my breasts. They felt great, but I knew where this was leading; my boyfriend's ghost was back. I was getting excited anyway, even from his polar, immaterial flesh. An otherworldly moan filled the room.

I gasped as his ice-cold stiffness pierced my hot loins. I winced with pleasure every time his frozen lips kissed my warmth. Riding higher toward my peak, my groans were nearly as ethereal as his. When his wintry ectoplasm flooded my womb, I screamed in passionate release.

When I felt an arctic probe at my nether rosebud, I said aloud, "No, Toby! Go away! You still don't get to fuck my ass!"