Unhinged Halloween

    "The tattered, shoddy wings of Robert's 'faerie princess' became clearly visible to everyone." (Fenton Maurer)                                       

Unhinged Halloween

by Yoru Lamourfou

[Author's note: this is a rework of an earlier story in Irish Richard has my Heart.]

Three days before

Patty and Robert had experienced passion’s highs, as high as one gets when one thinks about the best moments of one's life. When those rare moments are destroyed, life stops. 

For fun, the couple had scheduled their wedding on Halloween, but three days before the spooky nuptials, Patty turned up and told Robert she was not going through with it. She had met "someone else." The tattered, shoddy wings of Robert's "faerie princess" became clearly visible to everyone.

Everything, he concluded, had been a lie.

In the cross-hairs

Three days later, Robert asked Yoru to come over for a Halloween party. He had fallen hard when Patty dumped him, but to put on a brave face, he was going ahead with the festivities. “I’m not calling this a wedding,” he growled, “I’m calling it a ‘wedding wake!’"

She didn't know it, but he wanted revenge on the duplicitous woman who had shipwrecked his life, and unsuspecting Yoru was in his cross-hairs.

On her way to Robert's house, Yoru had passed ghosts, goblins, and witches, all  in colorful costumes, begging at every door for candy. When she arrived at Robert's door, he seemed in no mood for sweets, but she attributed his behavior to the creepiness of the holiday.

Still, something more seemed afoot. Patty had left Robert flat, literally almost at the altar. The man had sent out wedding invitations, which added to his severe loss of face, and he was acting unhinged. Patty was very, very gone.

He was rough with Yoru that night, so much that he frightened her a little. But she reasoned once more that it was a spooky night, with zombies eating the living, that sort of thing, and she still didn't think it overly odd. He tied her hands angrily behind her back, rendering her helpless, but Yoru loves rough treatment and enjoyed it.

Italian boots 

Twisting her in her ropes, Robert slammed Yoru into a position where she was facing the bedroom window, and through it she noticed Patty’s Italian boots. The stylish, blood-red leather boots had been placed neatly on top of what looked like a large table next to the pool.

A steel coffin

To her horror, Yoru realized it was shaped more like a steel coffin than a table. It must have been a joke meant for Patty, putting her boots on a coffin. All the same, it was then that the thought occurred to her that he might be punishing her for the treachery shown him by his jilting ex-fiancee.

“I wonder,” Yoru thought, “if this is Robert's way of getting even with her? He wouldn't put Patty in a coffin, would he? I mean, he might I suppose, only symbolically of course...”

Yoru twitched in her ropes. Such a macabre sight would normally have made her want to leave instantly, but the fact that she was tied and immobile wasn't her only motivation for lingering. She knew the reason behind this macabre, presumably empty, burial relic.

Patty was with them, in a horrible manner of speaking

Robert snapped Yoru back from her dark musings. Climbing on top of her, he pushed her legs open wide and penetrated her without checking to see if she was wet enough. She was. Yoru had started getting wet the moment he had bound her wrists, but she reflexively twisted her hips at the sudden intrusion anyway, flexing her leg muscles and struggling with the tight ropes, which had the unintended effect of making her breasts buck provocatively. He fell on top of her, and she fought to stop him from sliding more snugly into her crotch, but clutched her pussy even tighter around his cock instead. His manhood curved evilly upwards, deep inside her.  She stole a glance down at their naked bodies, the wet genitals glistening in the moonlight, and in spite of herself began experiencing profound pleasure. He withdrew, pushed her lower legs above her head in the air, opened her pussy lips with both hands, and buried his face between her thighs in a swoon. He needed to drink her, and she imagined herself his fountain of love.

Still, it increased Yoru’s uneasiness that the creepy, duplicitous woman was there with them, in a horrible manner of speaking. Out on the patio, by the pool, in the coffin? No, it had to be empty.

Dirty thrills and divine comfort

He let her legs down and shouldered himself up over her, so that she thought he was going to fuck her again, but he straddled her torso on his knees and climbed up around her shoulders, making her feel closed in and compressed into a tight flesh box. He took out his erect cock and filled her mouth with its oddly contradictory sensations, the rod all stiffness, but topped with swollen, yielding, pre-cum smeared, darker flesh of the head. He used her throat as a vagina, gripping a handful of her hair, he pumped his manhood in and out of her mouth, then again, making it plop, then withdrew it a few inches in front of her eyes for her to admire. She licked him languidly, sucking his love rod back into her waiting lips. He liked this ritual , and he repeated it many times, but she could not say how many, she was in such a daze. The hard cock with slick, blood-colored head had made her, like him, a little crazy. Inhaling his sex, Yoru became a dispenser of dirty thrills and divine comfort.

She sucked him until she tasted that anticipated but still startling addition to her saliva, the slightly sweet, musky, viscous body fluid unlike any other. And her own climax felt indulgent, for she had experienced orgasm with only her lips and tongue on his cock, two instants after she tasted his semen. She hadn’t been able to touch herself, not even once, bound as she was, nor had he, absorbed in his own pleasure with her face. Absolutely nothing had stimulated her clitoris, it was all precipitated by her mouth, her second vagina. Yoru climaxes giving head. Can you expect less of beloved lips capable of the miracle of a passionate kiss?

The man had more for her

Robert, it appeared, was not only interested in tying and fucking her. The man had more for her, he wanted to hurt her for some reason. He was in an erotic daze and hadn't noticed that Yoru was feeling uneasy. She knew now that she was being used as a surrogate whipping girl. When she asked about Patty's boots, he stuffed a red ball gag between her teeth, stretching her lips cruelly. He was still clearly in the crazed mindset that he had lost Patty to another man.

At least that was what Yoru thought. He couldn’t have heard about Yoru and Patty, could he?

His salty, tear-smeared nightmare

In danger and helpless, she still sought, tied up tightly, undaunted by spankings and vicious hair-pulling, to find solace in orgasms that swept her mind away from her precarious reality. She turned to blinding sex, and her pleasure-soaked brain resumed loving Robert in spite of her unintended role in his misery. She was past any feelings of revenge she might have felt herself. He had left her for Patty, but she yearned now only to join him in his salty, tear-smeared nightmare.

In the madness phase of the throes of death

Yoru's orgasm enveloped her once more. She fantasized she was inhabiting another world alongside the one in which Robert had her bound and gagged. Patty appeared to her there. The problem was, thinking about the taste of Patty’s tangy, sweet-salty kisses only frightened her more. Was this apparition of her bisexual lover actually some ghost or impostor or angel of death reaching to pull her into the next world of sensual oblivion? If Patty was real, Yoru needed her erstwhile girlfriend's pussy to squirt her love juices down her throat to convince Yoru she was not in the madness phase of the throes of death. It was an instinctual taste no demon or angel could masquerade.

She opened her eyes and her legs in one surprised jerk. She was expertly bound and gagged, and although he was handling her roughly, she relished being fucked in every opening of her body. Is this not a contradiction?  In Yoru's defense, it was a hot Halloween party. Trying to dismiss a growing revulsion with her weakness for pleasure and the creepiness of the location, she told herself again that it was, after all, just for fun. Such a scene is erotic only if it is totally consensual, and she was moaning "yes." 

Finally, she ordered her body to stop trying to flee, since that was lavishly impossible. Limp, she was totally his.

Love in a tree

Robert's dark ropes crisscrossed her body, plunging her once more into a fantasy. She imagined him fucking her with her legs tied tightly and her knees bent up high over the limb of a tree. She dangled there now in ecstasy, having climbed to the top boughs among the yellows, greens, and blues, and Robert's soft hempen coils stretched out around her smooth skin like brown, veined arms of sturdy wood.

She mused that being in love is like climbing a tree. In her fortress of airy green she is untouchable, she is as good at climbing as at making love. Yoru learned to trust her grip on the limbs, she sensed what the wood could give her, how far it would bend to her desire to sway into danger, and she felt simultaneously controlled and in control. It was exhilarating to glide without fear between limbs and lovers.

Falling, like the end of love, is mostly unexpected

"Always," she murmured, "I can find an escape high in my tree…"

But at that thought she stopped her reverie abruptly, remembering that she was unable to move, much less escape. She remembered a lesson of fear she had once learned climbing in the highest boughs and thrilling in lofty passion: falling, like the end of love, is mostly unexpected.

Understandably baffled

She thought about the time when Robert and she had first made love, months before, how they had snuggled hidden under blue-green domes of impenetrable woods. She trusted him, had been his lover, and had embraced him in secret as the bright day gave way to cooling shadows and hot love. Licking his neck, she had tasted the salt still clinging from their swim in the sea where she had surrendered in deep waves of female invitation to his inexorable rising tides. He gulped in her heady, perfumed wetness, flourishing in the fullness of her sensual rain, abundance feeding pleasure, passion bursting to fruition in the dewy night.

And so it was understandable that Yoru had been baffled when Robert told her he was going to marry his Italian lover, Patty, and not her, Yoru. She had blinked involuntarily, but hadn’t cried. She was struck speechless that it was Patty, because weeks before, Yoru also had made love with the same Patty, in those same Italian boots.

Why would she have bothered mentioning it to Robert? Yoru didn’t even know Robert was seeing Patty. At the time it had mattered not at all, for Yoru was falling in love with both of them, separately. But now it was different.

A fragrant pussy trembling close

She slipped into another fantasy as she remembered Patty’s hands pulling her urgently down onto the bed, and when next she opened her eyes she saw a delicate, fragrant pussy trembling close to her face. Tentatively, she inserted her tongue into Patty’s musky slit, and Patty did the same to Yoru, and their mutual spells of seduction swept upon them. They couldn't help themselves, they became secret lovers. They adored each other’s dark pubic forests, they found refuge from rough lovers in tender, feminine caress. 

How was she to tell him that it was her, Yoru, who was the “someone else?” She had never found the right moment, and now Patty had left him! For her! If ever Robert found out, Yoru would be punished.

Robert must have known, for the moment she dreaded came sooner than she feared. He picked up her naked body easily in his strong arms, and carried her, unable to move, gagged silent and breathing rapidly through gasping nostrils, out the door, around the pool, and over to the steel coffin. 

Yoru had been right, the coffin was still empty.

The End