CHAPTER ONE

"Well, if it isn't old Matt Bateman. How the devil are you?" The tall man crossed over from the bar, pint in hand and sat down beside Matt who was sitting, up to that time on his own, in the corner of the hotel lounge.

Matt looked up and recognised a fellow student from his days at college. He had often wondered what had become of him. Now it looked as if he was about to find out.

"Hello, George," he replied. "What brings you to this part of the world?"

"Just taking a few days off to get away from it all," George said, casting his eyes around the room. "This is about as far away from it all as you could wish to get but I do love the atmosphere of the place. I'm told that the original building was supposed to be Elizabethan and it really doesn't look as if much has changed since. Are you staying here?"

"Yes. Just for the night."

"Then I hope you don't mind ghosts. I hear this place is haunted. Things that go bump in the night and all that sort of thing." George laughed loudly. "Don't believe in such stories myself but I bet it draws the customers." He lowered his voice, almost to a whisper. "They say there are moans and groans and a disembodied hand, all dripping in blood, creeps out and grabs the unsuspecting guest. It's more likely that some of the guests have had a bit too much to drink."

"Don't scoff at the idea of ghosts, George. I used to think it was funny myself but not any longer."

"You're surely not trying to tell me that you have actually seen a ghost, have you?" asked George, suddenly becoming a lot more interested in the conversation. "Where was this supposed to have happened?"

"Oh, it's true all right and it happened right here. Or at least upstairs, in one of the bedrooms," replied Mat. "That's why I'm here, or at least I was. I'm thinking of moving on in the morning."

"Well. There's nothing better than a ghost story in a haunted inn. You always were a good teller of tales, Matt. We would love to hear all about it, if you have the time. My wife and are very good listeners, so if we promise not to make fun of you, would care to join us for a meal this evening? You can pay for your supper by entertaining us with your tale of the supernatural."

"All right," agreed Matt. "I would be delighted. I need to lay the ghost, as they say."

"See you in the dining room then," said George. "About seven thirty be O.K.?"

"Fine," said Matt. At least it would give him something else to think about and he really had nothing better to do. Nothing to look forward to, now or ever.

That evening, he entered the dining room to find that George and his wife were already seated at their table and as he joined them, George introduced his wife. With the meal ordered, Matt began to relate his story. To tell them of the events that led up to this day and why he was about to move on. The couple sat and listened intently to his story, with the only interruptions being the serving of the meal, otherwise they kept their promise and did not interrupt him.

A little over a year ago, Matt had been staying in the same inn and sleeping in the same bedroom, that he was using at the moment. He had come to the area to instruct a local flying club on micro-light aircraft and, as an instructor and a successful author on the subject, with his own two seater micro-light, he was constantly in demand. Matt's full name was Matthew Bateman but he was known affectionately as either 'Batman' or as 'Matt the Bat' and he had used these nicknames to his advantage, even occasionally dressing as the famous Batman character. To maintain the image, he had recently purchased a new two seater micro-light with black, bat shaped wings. It was all good, harmless fun and he had raised a considerable amount of money for charity. Matt was a popular figure and well liked, because of his unassuming and steady nature but he was also practical and the last person to believe in ghosts. When his colleagues had pulled his leg and told him that he was going to sleep in the most haunted room of a haunted inn, he joked with the rest of them and thought nothing of it, not even when he went to bed that night and climbed into the soft bedding of the four poster bed.

"Sleep well," they had called to him as he made his way to his bedroom, creaking across the old floorboards of the long corridor. He was quite sure that he would sleep very well. The day had been a busy one and he had been flying or instructing for best part of the day. He was tired but fortunately, tonight was his last night. Tomorrow, he would be on his way back home.

Pulling the warm blankets up around his shoulders, he curled up and drifted off to sleep, almost as soon as his head touched the pillow, so that when he next opened his eyes and saw that it was light, he assumed that it was morning. He yawned and stretched, then looked at his watch, which was clearly visible in the lightened room. He looked again. According to his watch, he had been asleep less than an hour. He shook the watch, not believing what he saw, then focussed his eyes on the room, to see that the light was not coming from the window but was actually in the room itself; a shifting, golden glow that rippled and moved, as a curtain might do, caught in the breeze of an open window.

Matt shook himself awake and half sat up, leaning on his elbows, trying to make some sense of what he saw. There was no sound. In fact it was eerily silent, as if he had woken up without the ability to hear and then, as clear as bells on a frosty night, he heard the words. They were not loud. They were not menacing. It was a girl’s voice and it was pleading, appealing, begging.

"Please bind me," it said, almost in a whisper. "I beg of you, please bind me."

Matt's other interest dominating interest was bondage and he could be described as a bondage enthusiast. He loved the S & M scene and to hear someone actually make this bizarre request did not come particularly as a surprise to him. He simply assumed that he was dreaming but despite making every effort, was unable to come out of the dream. And then something happened that told him that this was no dream. There was a slight, additional disturbance at the centre of the glowing curtain of light and Matt's eyes opened in astonishment and disbelief as a hand slowly appeared out of the golden, misty curtain. The hand appeared to be smooth and feminine, as if it were that of a girl and it held a length of rope, offering it to him.

"I would be forever in your gratitude, if you were to bind me, kind Sir," said the voice, as clear a bell but louder and closer now, sounding as if it were whispering in his ear.

Matt felt the room grow cold, sending shivers up his spine. He could feel that his whole body was covered in goose pimples and if his hair was not standing on end, it certainly felt that way. His ears strained, to hear the voice again but all he could hear was heavy, gasping, desperate breathing and realised that it was his own, making the only sound, in the otherwise silent room.

"Wha ...what do you want?" he stuttered, feeling foolish to be talking to an arm and a curtain of light.

"I only ask, kind Sir, if you would bind a poor girl for a while. You will be handsomely rewarded for your troubles."

Matt tried to clear his throat, started to speak but only managed to croak, then swallowed and tried again, trying to bring some normality to the situation.

"I can hardly tie an arm. You need a whole body if you are going to make a proper job of it."

'This is bloody ridiculous', he thought to himself. 'Here am I, sitting up in bed in the middle of the night, discussing anatomy with an arm.'

"Oh. I beg your pardon, kind Sir," said the voice. "I thought I was all the way through" and as Matt watched, a face appeared, pushing out through the glowing, shifting light. It was the face of a girl of about eighteen and she had a smile on her face as bright as the curtain of light she was peering through.

"Is that better?" she asked, cocking her head to one side, her long black hair hanging down over her shoulders.

"Well, not really," replied Matt and despite everything, returning the smile. "All I can see is your face and one arm."

"Oh dear!" she admonished herself. "I didn't want to step out and trample all over you. There, that must be better."

The girl stepped into the room, whole and complete. She was wearing a grey coloured fine woven top that looked more like a low necked blouse than anything and her skirt was of green wool, heavy and full. On her feet were leather slippers. She didn't look too clean but on the other hand, not exactly filthy. Matt didn't think she knew too much about hygiene.

In her other hand, she held several more lengths of rope and she held both hands out now.

"Well? Are you going to bind me or not?" she asked, almost indignant that someone might refuse her.

"If that's what you want," replied Matt. "I don't see why I shouldn't."

"Yes. That is what I want and I don't see why you should not either."

Matt couldn't help laughing at that, reached across and took the ropes from her, fully expecting to find that his hand passed right through the apparition. The ropes and obviously the girl were as solid as he was. Even the glowing curtain was beginning to fade away.

"I thought you were a ghost," he said with an apologetic smile.

"If you mean a spirit from the past, then I suppose I am," she affirmed. "But only the present is real. The past has gone forever and the future will never come. Only the present stays with us."

"You've lost me," said Matt.

"No I haven't," she said indignantly. "I've found you and I want you to bind me with those cords."

"And why should I do that?" he asked. "Does it do things for you?"

"These cords do nothing if you stand there like a dolt holding them."

"What I mean to say is, do you enjoy being tied up?"

"I do indeed, kind Sir. `Tis a dangerous thing to do in my own time but here, me thinks you understand more of a girl's feelings."

"It isn't too often that young girls pop up out of the woodwork and actually ask to be tied up," said Matt with a grin, having forgotten that he was talking to a ghost. "But if that is what you want, who am I to argue?"

He selected a length of rope and asked the girl to turn around, binding her hands behind her back.

"Are you a wench to be so gentle with me?" she asked indignantly. "Bind me well. I am not a flower."

"I'll agree with you there," replied Matt, as he untied the rope and started again, this time pulling each turn up tight and making sure that the knot was well out of reach of her fingers.

"This must be a first," he said to himself, as much as to the girl. "I've never heard of anyone having a bondage session with a ghost before."

"What is this bondage thing?" she asked. "Bondage is being in servitude to someone and I am not intending to be in servitude to you."

"It's a term we use these days for making someone helpless. All part of the S and ... Oh, never mind! I'll explain it later. There seem to have been a great many people who claim to have been haunted by you. How many others have you managed to persuade to tie you up?"

"You are the very first."

"Do you mean to say that nobody else would listen to you?" he asked.

"I don't understand, but they all seemed to run away," she said in all innocence.

"I'm not really surprised," Matt said and continued to tie the girl with the ropes she had provided and having bound her hands, her arms and some rope around her upper body, he told her to lie on the bed, while he bound her legs. With the addition of a hog-tie, he had the girl well and truly bound. The ropes were tight, as she had demanded and she tested them by struggling and squirming about on the bed.

"You shouldn't be able to get out of that," he informed her. "Give it a really good try."

The girl lifted her head up as far as she could and strained to look at the ropes encircling her hands, searching for knots, to reach and undo.

"That's cheating," he said, as he realised what she was doing. "It looks as if I'm going to have to gag and blindfold you."

"Gag?" she asked quizzically. "Do you mean a prop in the mouth?"

"I think that's what I mean," he replied, then made a gag out of two of his large white handkerchiefs by folding one into her mouth and used the other to hold it in place. He pulled the cloth tight, distorting her mouth but she lay there, allowing him to do what he wanted, without complaint. A third handkerchief served as a blindfold.

Matt leaned across and smacked her hard on the cheeks of her bum. He doubted that she could hardly feel it through the thickness of the skirt.

"That's for frightening me," he said and then smacked her again. "And that is because I like smacking people. Especially young ladies who demand to be tied up and especially if they are ghosts."

The girl struggled and rolled about the bed, trying to locate knots with her prying fingers, or wriggling her body in a vain effort to make the ropes slip and loosen. Fortunately for Matt, he was well experienced with girls who possessed exploring, pliable fingers. She remained as he had tied her. After ten minutes or so of futile struggling, she stopped, exhausted.

"Give up?" he enquired.

She mumbled through the makeshift gag and Matt removed it, together with the blindfold.

"I beg of you to give me pleasure with your fingers," she gasped at him. "I would ask you to replace the prop in my mouth."

Matt did as he was asked and reached up the girl’s skirt to feel between her legs. Her pubic hairs were thick and wiry. Her hole was wet, warm and inviting. He eased his finger inside and began to feel about, searching for her clit; it wasn't difficult to locate and the moment that he touched it, the girl squirmed and moaned. The moan was a soft sound of pleasure, as if she had waited a long time for this moment. Perhaps she had.

Matt worked his finger gently up and down, using all his experience to masturbate the elusive 'G' spot. It was not difficult to know when he was doing the right thing. The gag seemed to make little difference to the sounds she was able to make. If someone in the next room was listening, then they were sure to think that the place was haunted. Matt was grateful that she hadn't brought chains along. With those rattling around, they would have cleared the inn of guests.

She didn't take long to arrive at a shuddering, juddering climax and as she lay back, trying to recover her breath, he released her from the hog-tie and untied the cords at her wrists. The girl sat up, removed her blindfold and gag and continued to remove the rest of her bondage.

She leaned across and kissed him on the cheek.

"Thanks to you, kind Sir," she said with a soft smile.

He smiled back. She was a funny sort of girl. One minute she was telling him off and the next praising and thanking him.

"Tell me about yourself," he said, as he sat beside her on the bed. "What is your name and where exactly do you come from?"

"My name is Jenny Blain," she said, as she studied the white handkerchiefs which had been her gag. Feeling them and rubbing then against her cheek.

"You can keep them if you like," Matt said to this Jenny Blain. "If that is possible. I'm not sure whether ghosts can take things with them."

"You are this thing called a ghost," she said, tucking the handkerchiefs into the top of her blouse then turning on him and slapping him. "I'm as solid as an oak tree."

The slap stung Matt's arm and without thinking, he turned on her and pushed her on to the bed, lying on top of her, his face an inch or so from hers. He kissed her lightly on the lips and could feel her ample breasts pushing up against his chest. His cock already felt hard as his body lay over her. If she was a ghost, then she was an extremely warm and soft one.

"You're a witch," he told her. "You've cast a spell over me and I'll wake up in a minute and find that I've been dreaming all this."

"How did you know I'm a witch?" she said, pushing him off and looking at him enquiringly.

"Just an educated guess," he replied and tried very hard not to show any astonishment at her statement. "You are joking," he said to her but she shook her head, her long black hair shaking across her face.

"Of course I'm a witch. Who else would understand how to use the windows of light? Others don't understand such things and that which they don't understand, they fear. If I get caught, they'll duck me in the pond, to make me confess, then when I confess, they'll burn me. Do they burn witches here?" she asked, a look of terror suddenly crossing her face.

"They might not take too kindly to you admitting that you enjoyed bondage but they gave up burning people a long time ago. In fact, you are allowed to be a witch and cast all the spells you want but the law says that you can't enjoy yourself with bits of rope, even though you can buy all sorts of gear in rubber, plastic and leather. As soon as you use it, you’re doing something wrong."

"Then things haven't improved much in the last few hundred years, have they," she stated and Matt had to agree with her. "Could you show me what these strange sounding things are like? I don't understand the words you say but they are surely exciting."

"It would take days to show you everything and we would have to travel, at least to my place. Can ghosts or witches, or whatever you are, can you travel? Are you still solid during daylight hours?"

Jenny looked at him in amazement and then, not able to contain herself any longer, burst out laughing, rolling on the bed until tears came to her eyes. Finally she recovered some composure.

"You don't know much about travelling the windows of light, do you? Never you mind. Jenny Blain will teach you. I promised that you would be well rewarded. Now tell me your name."

Matt told her.

"That's a strange name. What does it mean?"

"It's short for Matthew but everybody calls me Matt."

"All right Matt," she said with a grin. "Tomorrow, you can show me all about this thing called bondage. You be here at the same time and Jenny Blain will be back."

With that, she stood up and walked to the centre of the room and, as she walked, the curtain of light appeared as before.

She put a foot through the misty light and that part of her body vanished from sight. Jenny Blain turned her head and an impish grin crossed her pretty face.

"Wait for me, Matthew Bateman," she whispered. "Until then, goodbye."

"Goodbye Jenny Blain," he whispered back and she was gone.