The Bleaker House Ghost

It was the scythe that made his sister cave. "I'll do anything Cleave, anything. Come on, baby, let me show you. See?" Oh she showed him alright. Over and over again. She showed him things he never even dreamed possible. They could've kept going for days if the rope hadn't got tangled up.

The rope. That was the key. Cleave just had to be more on top of the rope situation. No more of those fancy knots that get tighter when you pull on them. What good is it if the gal can't squeal no more? No, there are better ways to use a rope than that. All he had to do was be creative.

His sister was creative. That was the sad part, now that she was gone. She could draw, she could sew, but her real talent was with the music. She would sit there, her back ramrod straight, playing that piano like her life depended on it. And could she sing? Oh Lord, her singing could make him cry. In fact, her singing almost convinced him to cut her loose that second day, out there in the barn, when she was all cinched up with the rope around her neck. "Please Cleave, if you loosen the rope, I'll sing Amazing Grace for you." He did loosen the rope, and she did sing Amazing Grace. It was so beautiful, it gave him goose bumps.

But, of course, he had to go and ruin it right there near the end, when he took the tip of that scythe and started running it up the inside of her leg, softly, so it barely even touched her tender white skin. "...was blind, but now I...." she sang, but her voice broke, watching that scythe slithering up onto her bare hip. And then, when it stopped and made a little left turn, sliding across her tummy, and back down...

"Cleave!" she begged him, for the hundredth time, "please, baby. Just let me go, and I swear I'll get nekkid with you whenever you want to. Just put the scythe down, please?"

"You wouldn't get nekkid with me before you went to the city," he said, the tip of the scythe poised at the bottom of her tummy. "I'd been waiting twenty-one years for you, but no, you had to go and run off before I even got the chance - took the damn bus while I was fixing the gearbox on the tractor. Why in hell should I think you've changed now?"

"Cleave," she sobbed, "I've already proved it, what, ten, twelve times in the last two days? I swear baby, now that I know how good it feels, I want to do it every day for the rest of my life. And I want to do it with you, baby. But that scythe scares me."

"That's what it's supposed to do, Lu Anne. I ain't takin' your crap no more. You're going to learn who's boss around here, and I'm not done teaching you yet."

Margaret returned the following Friday night, loaded for bear. She not only had a gun - a Beretta semi-automatic - she'd even taken a lesson at the indoor shooting range, popping holes in the center of the target like she was Annie Oakley.?

She stocked up the fridge with fruits and veggies, opened a bottle of pinot noir, and settled in for a long, leisurely weekend. After her bath, and her book, she shut off the light, but she didn't feel like sleeping. She had a sneaking suspicion that the Bleaker house ghost had been waiting all week for her to return, but this time, it would have to contend with a thirteen-bullet clip.

Cleave crept down the hall, his fancy stun gun in one hand, his coil of rope in the other. But it wasn't the same coil of rope he'd used on his sister. No, he'd thrown that coil of rope in the bottom of her grave. This was a different one, made of soft nylon. After all, women have soft skin, and it don't do no good to get them all scraped up with red rash marks everywhere. A man has to think of a woman's comfort when he's tying her up - especially if it's going to be for more than a couple of hours.

As he rounded the corner into Miss Margaret's room he was pleased to see that she was naked, her back to him, the covers down to her waist.

"I think I'll just save this stun gun for later," he thought to himself, as he undid his buckle."Gotta give the woman a sporting chance." He wormed his boots off, climbed out of his jeans, and pulled his shorts down."This is going to be too easy," he thought, pulling the T-shirt over his head.

He grabbed the coil of rope, and approached the head of the bed. He'd learned from his sister that it was best to start with the rope around the woman's neck. It made it much easier to control her, just like catching a stray calf. He slid the loop of the rope open so it was about the size of her waist. All he had to do was drop it over her head, cinch it tight, and she'd be his girlfriend for as long as he wanted her to.

The one thing he wouldn't do was put a gag in her mouth. Cleave enjoyed the squealing and crying. It gave him a sense of accomplishment - a feeling of importance and power. What would Miss Margaret offer him in trade for his mercy? That is, after she got over the screaming and crying? A hundred dollars? A thousand? There was only one thing she could offer him to gain his mercy, and he seriously doubted she'd be willing to take that vow.

Margaret couldn't see him, but she could hear his jeans rustling down his legs, followed by the clank of his belt buckle hitting the polished oak floor. The smell of Right Guard was overpowering. The hissing of his breathing came closer. It was an animal sound, like what you'd hear at the bear exhibit at the zoo. That was surprising, considering how small and wiry he was.

Suddenly it seemed as though he was holding his breath. Not good. She gripped the pistol under the pillow, opened her eyes wide, and flipped over on her back, grabbing the Beretta with both hands.

"Well howdy Cleave," she said politely, taking a bead at his crooked, hawk nose. "What brings you out tonight?"

Cleave froze, the rope dangling in his hand like some bronze cowboy statue you'd see in the town square up in North Dakota. "Shit" he grunted, taking a step back.

"And why are you naked, standing in my bedroom?" Margaret sat up, pulling one foot to the side of the bed. "And why do you have a boner?"

"I just thought, you know..."

"Well, pardner, you thought wrong." Margaret eased off the far side of the bed and took a wide stance, keeping dead aim at Cleave's face. "Toss your rope on the bed, Cleave." He did so. "Now, get down on your knees and say your prayers."

"Aw, Miss Margaret, you're getting the wrong idea here..."

"Shut up! Do as I tell you or I'll blow your dick off."

"Yes ma'am," he stammered, kneeling at the edge of the bed.

"Put your hands up here on the bed so I can tie you up."

"Yes ma'am," he said, looking up at her like a dog that had just been caught pissing on the floor.

Margaret tied his hands tight, wrapping the rope around like she'd learned in Girl Scout camp. Then she secured his wrists to the head-rail of the brass bed.

"Roll over, Cleave. Let's have a little talk,"

"Yes ma'am," he replied, squirming onto his back.

"Aw," she cooed, nudging the head of his shrinking cock with the muzzle of her gun. "What happened here? You don't like being tied up?"

He gave her a sullen look, pulling his knees up to protect the family jewels. She sat down next to him on the bed, switching the gun to her left hand. "Tell me, Cleave, what, exactly, did you have planned tonight? I'm an open minded gal. Maybe I'd be into it."

Cleave looked up, surprised. "Well, ma'am, I just thought we could have a little fun, you know, get to know each other?"

"Come on, Cleave, be specific. Were you going to fuck me in the ass, like they do in Deliverance? Were you going to cum in my mouth, like they do in the porn movies? I'm into all the shit honey. I'm from the city, remember?"

"Well," he drawled, "now that you mention it, I was going to do those things - I mean, you know, if you wanted me to."

"Oh really? So then, why the rope?"

"Well ma'am, you said it yourself, you like being tied up."

"Cleave," she muttered, shaking her head, "you're a sly one, aren't you?" She reached over and flicked his soft dick up onto his groin. "Do you like hand jobs, Cleave?"

"Yes ma'am," he said, nodding his head.

She closed her fingers around his soft cock. "Do you want me to give you a hand job, Cleave?"

His eyes lit up as a smile creased his weathered cheeks. "I would like that very much, ma'am."

Her hand gripped him gently, moving up and down in a soft, soothing rhythm. In thirty seconds he was hard. In thirty more, he was gasping for breath.

"Now, Cleave? Now?"

"Yes ma'am!" he moaned, gritting his teeth and staring bug-eyed at her hand on his cock. She cupped her free hand over the head of his dick and caught the hot jizz as it spurted out of him.

'Is that it, Cleave? Is there more?"

"That's it, ma'am," he sighed, lolling his head back and gasping for breath.

"Good boy," she cooed, holding the handful of sperm so it wouldn't spill. "Now Cleave, I want you to close your eyes so we can kiss, okay? I don't like to kiss a guy when his eyes are

open."

"Okay ma'am," he said, nodding his head. He closed his eyes and poked his head forward, like a chicken reaching for a kernel of corn. Margaret hovered over him, her face just inches from his.

"Open your mouth baby, so I can give you some tongue." He complied, and when he did, she poured the handful of cum into his mouth, smearing what was left on his lips and chin.

"Ahhh!" he gagged.

"Swallow it!" she commanded, pressing the muzzle of the gun under his chin. "Swallow it and smile and say you love it, or I'll blow our jaw off!"

He shook his head back and forth, indicating a 'no'.

"Do it, Cleave. The safety's off on this Beretta, and the more pissed I get, the tighter my finger's going to be on the trigger."

He looked at the gun, his eyes bugging out of his head. Then he swallowed, gagged, and swallowed again, a single tear beading up in his eye.

"Was that good, Cleave? Come on, tell me. Did you like it?"

"Yes ma'am," he gasped, stifling a heave while a shiny drop of semen slithered off his chin and splattered on his chest.

"Good boy, Cleave," she said, patting his cheek. "Do you need something to chase it? How about some wine? Do you like pinot noir?"

He nodded, even though she was pretty sure he didn't know a pinot noir from a pig snout. She grabbed the glass off the bedside table, and picked a Viagra out of the drawer.

"Take this with it baby. It's an aspirin. You're going to need it." She popped it in his mouth, and then tipped the glass till he started sputtering. "More?" she asked. He shook his head.

She set the glass down and ran the muzzle of the gun across his chest, letting it settle up under his armpit. "Now, roll over."

His sickening grimace only made Margaret even more excited. "Come on, Cleave. Be a good sport. Roll over and stick your ass in the air."

"No!" he begged, his face contorting like a little kid about to get a spanking.

"It won't hurt, baby, I promise." She reached into the drawer of the bedside table and pulled out a shiny pink vibrator and a tube of lube. "See? KY jelly. Just like at the doctor's office." She greased up the end of the vibrator and waited for him to comply.

"Oh shit!" he muttered to himself as he rolled over onto his stomach.

"Just relax, baby. It'll be fun." She slapped his white ass. "Upsidasy," she said, grabbing him by the waist and lifting him up. He got on all fours, looking back at her like a calf about to be branded.

"Have you ever taken it up the ass, Cleave?"

"No ma'am," he whimpered, looking a lot younger and more vulnerable than his forty-something years.

"Come on! Never? Not even drinking beers with your buddies on a lonely Saturday night? Or out camping, like on Brokeback Mountain?"

"No ma'am. It ain't right, doin' it that way."

"Oh really?" she said, drawing out 'really' the way Jerry used to do on the Seinfeld show. "Well then, tell me something Cleave. If it ain't right doing it that way, why were you going to do it to me that way?"

"I meant, you know, two men doin' it that way. It ain't natural."

Margaret sighed, disappointed at how narrow-minded this Cleave fellow was. "Are you religious, Cleave? Do you believe in God?"

"Of course I do, ma'am," he said, settling down, so his ass was no longer waving in the air, inviting Margaret's vibrator to give it a poke.

"Well, Cleave, what do you think God would have thought about you tying me up and fucking me in the ass?"

"I hadn't actually thought about that, ma'am."

"Really? Are you thinking about it now? Are you praying to God to get you out of here in one piece? Are you praying to God that when I pull the trigger on this Beretta, it'll misfire? Thirteen times?"

"Miss Margaret! Please!" He started sobbing softly, his shoulders heaving, spit dripping from his mouth onto the clean sheets.

"You're an asshole Cleave, you know that? God won't have anything to do with you. You can pray till the sun comes up, and He won't hear you, although He might hear the squeals of a stupid farm animal emanating from this bedroom tonight." She jerked his hips back up and jammed the vibrator into his anus.

"Huhhh!" he grunted, letting out a squeaky gasp.

"You're such a baby," she giggled. "It's only in an inch or two. Just relax and take it like a man."

She spread his ass cheeks with one hand while she worked the vibrator with the other, easing it in gently so as not to damage his rectum. Once it had settled in she turned on the switch, the muffled buzz of the vibrator filled the moonlit room with a soft, soothing hum .

Cleave took it stoically, groaning like he had the flu, shaking his head back and forth, twitching his ass. She let up every few minutes, checking for blood, making sure he was okay. Finally, she shoved him over on his side, being careful to not dislodge the Brokeback Mountain love machine from his butt.

"Cleave!" she exclaimed, relieved to see that the Viagra had kicked in. "You've got a boner! Are you a queer? You're really digging this, aren't you?"

"No," he moaned, eyes closed, mouth agape. "No."

She pulled the vibrator out, nudged him over on his back, and reached for a condom. "Now for the fun part, baby," she said as she rolled the condom on his stiff dick. "You get to fuck me." She straddled him, easing the vibrator back into his butt with one hand while she guided his cock into her pussy with the other. "Do you like that?" she asked, settling down onto his groin.

He stared, grimacing, while she ground her clit against him. "Oh yeah," she sighed, "I could do this all night." She closed her eyes and succumbed to the feeling of his hard pecker inside her. The throbbing of her clit, the gun laying on his chest, the sense of power, it was so overwhelming, she had her first orgasm almost immediately.

She continued riding him like a bucking machine at a country and western bar, "oohing" and "ahhing" as one orgasm melted into the next. "Fuck me, Cleave! Make me cum! Make your little city girl crazy for your cock!"

The orgasms continued, one after another, till she was drenched with sweat. She couldn't tell when he ejaculated. All she knew was, suddenly, his dick had slipped out and she was fucking his pubic bone. She sat up, found the vibrator lying between his legs on the sheet, and climbed off him.

"That was cool, kid," she said, tossing the stinky love machine to the corner of the bed. "You're a real stud, you know that?"

Cleave wouldn't look at her. He just stared off at the wall, his condom collapsing around his drooping dick like a loose sock sliding down a skinny ankle.

"Time to get dressed, baby," she said, reaching for the rope that bound his hands. She undid the knot with one hand, holding the gun with the other, and then she motioned for him to get off the bed.

"Well?" she asked, "what do you think? Are you going to cross over to the dark side? Did you like having man-cum in your mouth and a dick up your ass?"

No answer. He pulled on his shorts, his jeans, his T-shirt, never meeting her eyes. She circled him like a cat, the gun aimed alternately at his face or his groin. "They'd love you in the city, Cleave. That little ass of yours, that skinny chest, you could make a mint fucking horny stockbrokers and Republican congressmen."

When he was finished dressing, she got between him and the back wall. "Party's over kiddo. Time to go. Just tell me one thing. How have you been getting in here? I swear I locked all the doors. Do you have a key or something?"

They had just reached the hallway when she saw it, the louvered door ajar. "Well I'll be dipped in shit!" she said, trying out one of his corn-pone expressions. "You crawled in here through a secret passage."

"It's the abandoned laundry chute," Cleave said, hinting at a smile. "I put the ladder in myself."

"And why would you do a thing like that, Cleave?"

"I just figured a nice old house like this needed a ghost. Plus, it was a way to put Beuford County on the map. The Bleaker house ghost even made it into a book on haunted houses."

He said it with such pride, she couldn't help but feel sorry for him. But it was a fleeting feeling, like when the sun peeks through the clouds, but then changes it's mind and retreats back behind the grey.

Cleave continued his sorrowful tale, his voice quiet, sincere. "It gets lonely out here, ma'am, especially after what happened to my sister. Did you know they never even found her body?"

Just the way he said it gave her a chill. "You killed her, didn't you Cleave?" She grabbed the gun with both hands, taking the wide stance she'd learned at the shooting range. "And then you were going to kill me!"

"Well, yes and no, ma'am," he said, finally looking her in the eye. "I did kill my sister, but it was an accident. See, we was just fooling around out in the barn, cause she lost a bet and I got to tie her up, but I had the rope too tight, and then the bull got loose, and by the time I got back, she was a goner. As far as killing you goes, I was just going to, you know, have a little fun, and then maybe take you home and lock you in my cellar for a while, see if you'd take to my cooking. I was even going to buy you a ring, ma'am."

Margaret sighed, wondering what to do. Nobody would believe her if she told them what had actually happened. But nobody would be safe if good old Cleave stayed on the loose.

Cleave was certain if Miss Margaret only knew the whole story about him and his sister, she'd cut him some slack. Any fool could see it was his sister's fault. If she had never taken that stupid music class down at the junior college she'd have never tried to leave Beuford County, and she'd be standing in his kitchen right this minute baking cookies, or a peach cobbler, or maybe even washing her hair, with her white bra getting all splattered with soapy water.

"I swear I'm gonna do it," she said to Cleave one Sunday afternoon. They'd just returned from church, and she was still in her pretty flowery dress, sitting at the kitchen table sipping iced tea.

"Lu Anne," Cleave said, chewing on a straw, "you're a great singer, and you look hotter than any woman in this county, but you ain't got what it takes to make it in Hollywood. You ain't got no pizazz, you ain't got no sexy outfits, and you ain't got no experience with men."

"I do so!" she snapped, arching her eyebrows in that way that got Cleave all excited.?

"Show me. Show me your pizazz, show me your sexy outfit, show me you're good in bed."

"Cleave!" she snapped, "you watch your mouth." She stood up to smack him one, but he ducked. She was, after all, a couple inches taller than he was, and she outweighed him by at least twenty pounds.

"Shit, Lu Anne, I'm just goofin' on ya', but if you do have a sexy outfit..."