The Ghost and Silky Butterbum
Chapter 1

Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, NonConsensual, Coercion, Heterosexual, Fiction, Ghost, Incest, Brother, Sister, Spanking, Light Bond, Humiliation, Petting, Voyeurism, Violent,

Desc: Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Sandra "Silky" Butterbum didn't know how lucky she was to have her older brother Patrick living right on the estate in a private cottage of his own. She was in a desperate state of forced denial, when he seized on the brilliant solution of having the "Ghost" of their centuries-old forebear Sir Charles visit her lonely bedroom for nocturnal festivities.

My name is Patrick Butterbum and I am a recently retired naval officer of not particularly high rank and little fame. This story is about my much younger sister Sandra. Sandra Butterbum was not fond of her given name of Sandra and told all of us in the family to call her by her school-chum nickname of “Silky”. She much preferred it to the more mundane and outdated “Sandra” with its fuddy-duddy connotations.

Dear little Silky is in her mid-twenties now and still looks like a teenager due to complete lack of stress or concerns about the status of current affairs. Her head is wrapped up in Cinderella daydreams and she lives in a world of unicorns and candy cane fashions with her as the center of the universe. There is no need to waste time discussing my details because I am pretty much a boring fellow and seem to blend into most backgrounds with little notice at all.

She used to bounce on my lap when she was just a little tyke and I remember with great fondness the flexibility of her double-jointed legs wrapping around my waist with typical little girl confidence of innocence. I often had the thought that she would break lots of hearts when she was a fully grown human and with the power of femininity to deceive young lads with an instinct to promulgate the species. She had come late in life to my middle-aged parents who were delighted by her presence in their withering world of long-past importance. I was mostly at sea during her childhood years and had only recently returned to live on the estate in a small cottage willed to me after the passing of my mother a mere month before I retired.

Of course, Silky was in the main house and she had the servants previously retained by our parents who doted on her as if she was an only child and not the youngest of seven children. All of our other siblings were females and I can disclose with some degree of certainty that they were all much distressed at the disproportionate distribution of assets by our well-off parents on the occasion of their demise.

Frankly, it made little difference to me and I was quite content with my little cottage at the edge of the small stream well stocked with trout and other small pan-fish of mysterious lineage. Sometimes, I would join Silky in the “big house” to dine in splendor and partake of the fantastic wine cellar with its inventory of well-aged vintages. Silky was happy to share it and in fact she was not enamored of the grape, much preferring her favorite gin and tonics.

In all honesty, the main building on the estate was a bit of an unfortunate “pink elephant” because of the exuberant cost of maintaining it in proper order. With all that being said, I have to admit both Silky and I were perfectly compatible in our comfortable Brother and Sister relationship and nothing ever untoward ever transpired between us.

Of late, I had noticed that the usually highly-charged Silky was somewhat passionless in her responses and seemed a bit skittish in my presence. When I inquired of her the reason for her nervousness, she responded with an apologetic air,

“I am so sorry, dear brother, I have been feeling a bit depressed lately because I lack male companionship in the way that females of my age are desperate to entertain. My Mister Johnson informed me he is no longer interested in my favors and has expressed his intent to marry that teenaged daughter of the horrible Merriweather brood with that prime land right by the falls.”

I had long known than the much older Johnson fellow was humping my naïve sister with noisy abandon at every opportunity and to the delight of the gossiping servants. I didn’t much care for him, because it was rumored he was free with his hands around the apprentice girls at his factory and bribed them with extra cash for their obedient compliance with his undignified orders and depraved demands.

He was a confirmed woman chaser and I couldn’t help but feel she was well rid of the lout.

I recognized the depth of her female need and was perplexed on how to solve the issue.

I knew she would be struck with unforgiveable guilt, if I offered my masculine charms to her in temporary respite to drive away the doldrums of deprived sexuality. At the moment of her disclosure of sexual deprivation, we were in the upstairs study with the walls covered from ceiling to floor with a library of some impressiveness. She was reading a family history of sorts that gave little tidbits of our ancient family good deeds and misdeeds of which there were many.

She told me with a laugh that our forebear, the tall and handsome Sir Charles was reputed to have returned in ghostly form to pester the immature females of the household with his nasty games of nocturnal pleasure. I faintly remembered being told that tale when I was much younger and having laughed at the thought thinking nothing of any sort ever happened inside the placid walls of our estate.

Later that evening, I was writing letters in my cottage, still concerned over my pretty younger sister’s problem, when I had the thought that with the proper caution, I might convince my gullible younger sister into thinking the Ghost of Sir Charles had returned to seek her favors. The more I thought on it, the better I liked the idea and I would be the first one to admit it was probably inspired by the now empty bottle of fine French wine on the bed table like a faded soldier of some desperate military expedition.

I dressed in the heritage clothes we used for our historical celebration week and made my way back up to the main house. Fortunately, all the servants were either asleep in their beds or gone to visit relatives for the weekend.

It was easy for me to pad silently up to my younger sister’s bedroom taking care to tread lightly and not make any noise. I slipped inside her unlocked bedroom door and heard her steady breathing all the way from the other side of the room. She was on top of the covers sprawled out in sensuous female fashion. Apparently, she had also liberally imbibed the fruits of the vine before retiring and was deep in repose. I noticed an object near her hand and realized it was an artificial penis used by distraught housewives to replace a lack of ardor on their disinterested spouse’s part. It was a shame to think my beautiful and nubile younger sister reduced to a state of need so urgent that she had to resort to such trickery to comfort her urges for normal copulation.

Her nightdress was arrayed in such a fashion that her bare inner thighs and even the downy fluff of her snatch was visible to the naked eye in the light of the full moon shining brightly through the glass doors to the solid stone veranda. I reached out and quietly affixed her ankles and wrists to the bed posts with the use of the silken cords quietly removed from the full length drapes. She stirred and pulled against the restraints without waking up and I saw her mouth form a quizzical circle of surprise at her lack of mobility. Her bare knees rose up testing the strength of the cords and she whimpered because her dreams were suddenly filled with thoughts of basement chambers and masters with no mercy for helpless maidens.

I leaned in close to her delicious ears and whispered,

“It is I, the ghost of Sir Charles come to visit you in your bed, my child.”

I repeated it several times and she remained still unconscious but now trembling with anticipation of something strange about to happen. Then, I started to run my fingers through her hair and touch her heaving breasts with my fingertips with gentle strokes. She was almost purring now like a kitten still asleep but in deep contentment totally immersed in receiving pleasure from the unknown touches that played all over her almost naked body.

I could see now that her womanhood was vibrating with passion and her young girl cheeks were slightly off the sheets raised up like a virgin offering to the gods of passion.

It was time for me to place the thin blindfold over her eyes and she made no move to remove it in the darkened room. I could sense that she was awakening now but she would be unable to see me and unable to pull away from my ravishment of her physical form.

She was wide awake when my lubricated with pre-cum member pushed up inside her tender folds discovering that she was already dripping wet with anticipation of being taken.

“Oh, dear, who is it? What are you doing to me? Please, sir, I am a good girl. Pity on me and spare me this indignity.”

Silently, I cupped her bottom cheeks and lifted her happy slit to my gentle entrance. She sighed and said nothing further. Only the sound of my slurping member and her panting acceptance filled the room with the sounds of animalistic mating. I ravaged her backside and whispered,

“You are so sweet, my darling descendent, open up to Sir Charles like a good little girl.”

Poor Silky moaned and groaned and took it all without a complaint.

I sensed she was on the verge of her womanly release from the way her back arched and her pretty bottom moved vigorously on the damp covers wetted from our love-making and profusion of perspiration. Both of us were naked from the waist down and our writhing bodies were reflected in the mirrors on the wall aglow from the ghostly light of the moon chasing the shadows into the corners of the sex-scented room. I removed her blindfold and allowed her to gaze on my masked face and the leather jacket from another century.

She looked up at my ghostly image and surrendered her orgasm to me in the belief I was a visitor from the past come to give her solace in the midnight hour. Her wail of fearful satisfaction wafted down to the servant’s quarters and one of the serving wenches turned over in her semi-conscious state pushing her greedy buttocks into the cook’s helper’s groin growing hard with each passing second. Other than that, only the lazy dogs in the detached kennel lifted their heads into the chilled night air and lowered them back onto the top of their paws without a sound.

I drained into Silky’s gleaming white thighs and she overflowed onto the covers with evidence of my mortal existence. Quickly, I removed all signs of her restraints and smoothed her nightshirt into a semblance of normal nocturnal relaxation. I could not resist kissing her sweet ruby lips because she was so tempting in the moonlight and finally joyful in a way that only a nubile female could be after absorbing the spoils of unexpected copulation. She felt no guilt because it was only a ghost from her family lineage and the outcome was of her truest liking.

The next morning, my pretty young sister was beaming with that bloom of a fully satisfied maiden and the knowing smiles of the servants betrayed their suspicions that she had found another beau to help her pass the hours of darkness in a congress of cleaving that so clearly changed her outlook on life. I looked at her youthful form in all its perfection and decided right then and there to continue my performance as the ghost of Sir Charles as long as possible keeping the facts of my sinful opportunism from her knowledge for I knew it would only depress her with the guilt of our familial sin.

It was far better for her to reflect on her good fortune to be haunted by a convenient ghost wandering the halls of the estate with ready resolve to end her loneliness forever.

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