Oct 142009
 

There is a ghost in my basement. For the most part, I only hear her. Her moans echo through the floor in the middle of the night. Not the scary kind of moans though. These are sexy moans like she is masturbating as hard as she can. She climaxes in a banshee scream that always gives me a hard-on.

That is what I get most of the year but around October, things change. It is not always the same day, and it is not always on Halloween, but it is always in October. One cold morning I go down to my basement and there she is, waiting for me.

She is always tied up. She sits in a wicker chair that I do not own with her hands tied behind her back. The rope is thick but it cuts easily for the knife I keep down there. She is almost naked. A black leather collar is wrapped around her neck, fastened with a tiny padlock that never opens. Her chest is bare and, revealing nice pale breasts with pink nipples. Her legs are covered in leather chaps that expose her shaven sex and her tight pale bottom. Red lipstick colors her lips, a dark unnatural red that is the same color as her hair.

For one day a year, the ghost is all mine.

She barely speaks. I have no idea what her name is. I call her Annie for no particular reason. The only time she talks is when she moans or I tell her to beg. She is good at begging. She is a damn near fountain of babble when I ask her to beg. I tell her to suck harder or bend over, she obeys instantly. Ask her what her name is or where she is from, and she looks at me with frustrated vacant eyes.

She only smiles when I fuck her.

Hey, don’t judge. The first time I saw her, I cut her loose and got her a blanket. She just sat there, making sad moaning sounds. Annie kept reaching for my pants and kissing my feet. I went upstairs to get the phone to call the police, but when I came back, she was gone.

The chair was gone. The rope I cut was gone too. I could smell her though. It smelled like sex.

Next year, there she was again. Tied up and looking up at me with eager eyes. I had done some research in that time. There had never been a death at this house, at least not one documented. I read books where they say ghosts repeat actions they did in life over and over again. I read some theories that said ghosts are trying to achieve something they didn’t accomplish in life. I read some theories that said ghosts are trapped and can only move on to the afterlife if something breaks the cycle.

Annie wasn’t offering any suggestions as to why she was here. At least, not any verbal clues. All I know is when I kiss her, she feels like a real woman. When I pinch her nipples, she moans like a real woman. When I tie her over a bench and fuck her from behind, she cries out like a real woman. When I stop fucking her and tell her to beg for my cock, she begs unlike any woman I have ever met in life.

She likes it. I am sure of it. I spend all year looking at porn, watching bdsm movies and reading bondage books. By the time she arrives, I have a list of things I am going to do to her. She never says no. She never says yes either come to think of it, but she moans. She moans and her pussy gets wet and she begs like she has been waiting all year.

When she does appear, I have roughly twenty-four hours. Man, I don’t even sleep in that time.

First, I fuck her mouth while she is still tied to the chair. I slam my cock into her throat and grab her dark red hair. I push her face in till I can feel my balls on her chin. She sucks me; oh she sucks me so good. Annie keeps sucking me till I shoot my load into her throat.

That is just a warm up. I have to get that out of the way so I can get over the excitement of her return. Once I climax once, I can calm down and take my time. I can break the nipple clamps. I can break out the candles and wax. I can slap her a bit. I can try out my new flogger and leave marks all over her breasts and cunt.

I can do all sorts of things.

The weird thing is, she never has to stop. I can fuck her all day and she never has to use the bathroom. I can feed her nothing but my cock and she never asks for food. When I am done fucking the shit out of her, she just looks at me with those eager eyes. She is insatiable.

I can’t always be fucking her. I find other things to amuse myself. I spank her a lot. I used to do with my bare hand but even a ghost’s ass can wear you out. I use paddles now; the bigger and nastier the better. She likes it that way.

Well, ‘like’ is a relative word, you know? She squirms when I spank her ass. She cries out so loud I have to gag her sometimes. Her pale ass turns all kinds of shades of red and purple when I really cut loose. By the time she fades away, the ghost slut can’t even sit without wincing.

Her ass is always pale and untouched the next time she appears. That is pretty much a license to do what I want as far as I am concerned. She’s like a toy I can never break.

She is a toy I can only play with one day a year.

I do wonder about her. I mean, obviously she is some sort of kinky woman who likes to get tied up, spanked and fucked. Or she was in life. I am providing a service, right? I am like giving her the perfect Heaven by fucking her over one day a year.

Then again, this could be her version of Hell. Maybe getting used like this one day a year is her punishment for something. Maybe she cheated on her husband and had all kinds of kinky sex behind his back. Heck, maybe being my fucktoy is her way of doing penance.

Either way, I am still fucking her. I got some new paddles and this electrical wand thing that hurts like a mother fucker.

She’s my ghost.

She’s my treat.

  6 Responses to “Fiction: Ghost in my Basement”

  1. Trick or Treak :)

    That was hot. I can’t wait for my Sir to read it.

  2. Wow. This is perfect – one of my favorites now. The narrator is a wonderful mix of guilt and desire, and I love the ghost.

    Happy Halloween!

  3. Roxy- Thanks. I think it is one of my favorites too.

  4. That was delicious – what a great treat for us!

    xx Dee

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