Thirteenth Hour (young teens, ghosts)

http://www.asstr.org/~srb

Don't read if under 18 or illegal in your little corner of the world, like you'll listen. This should appear only on my site http://www.asstr.org/files/Authors/srb/www/ F3, Futanari Palace, and basically should be wherever Pal's stuff is. Also at the Grey Archive, and some other places they might end up, they know who they are. Any websites that want to host my story must have expressed written consent to do so. I will list all websites that I have granted permission to list my stories there. If you are reading this now and find this on a new website, then please email me at somerandombastard (at) yahoo (dot) com

This is copyright me, so don’t call it yours. Feedback can be left here. I created all the characters, they are all fictional, and any relevance to anyone living or dead, is incidental.

This story is just a stand alone, Halloween inspired story. It occurs outside of the universe I’ve created (Terraverse) and is just in the ‘normal’ world. Apologies to Theromen for posting it before he gave it a proper beta, but I wanted to post it before my birthday ended.

The following story contains teens, f/f, f/futa, oral, ghosts, breast enhancement, futanarization

Thirteenth Hour

“Nuh uh!” Stacey said defensively, putting her hands in her coat pockets, to keep them warm. The chilly late October air was starting to make her shiver. Or perhaps it was the mysterious house before them.

“Pfft, you two are just big chickens,” Rebecca said, shaking her head disparagingly.

“Your just talking out of your ass Becky,” Amy shot back. She didn’t care if the girl was two years older than her and Stacey, she had no plans on actually going through with this.

“Bawk bawk bu what?” Rebecca clucked mockingly. She put her hands under her armpits and began to flap.

“Come on, like you’re going to spend the night there?” Amy asked incredulously.

“I never said that I would,” she answered. “You two said you were big girls, and boasted that there’s no such thing as ghosts.”

“There isn’t. But that doesn’t mean I want to spend the night in an old abandoned house.

It’s probably covered in cobwebs and dust!” Amy reasoned.

“Not likely, my mom still tries to sell that old hunk of junk at the top of the hill. I see people going in and out of there once a month at least,” Rebecca lied. She had seen people in and out of it three times in the last five years, but the underclassmen weren’t likely to know about it. And her mom was trying to sell it, with the profit she’d make off of it she could pay off her credit cards.

“So what? I still don’t have to do it,” Amy wasn’t going to be goaded into this.

“I knew I shouldn’t have bothered talking to you widdle six graders. Little