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God, I loved Halloween.

Since we’d been together, Matt had made Halloween a highlight in the calendar. He’d prepare a month before, allowing me to ‘choose my own adventure.’ We’d draw my character, his, and the scenario from a deck of cards. New toys, positions, fetishes, and limits were often apart of these decks.

This year had been different—I’d been given a deck of cards, each with a number. I’d picked a 3. I was guessing 3 was my costume—two long pieces of silk that were now draped over my left and right shoulders. The two silk was held together at the center of my body by delicate silver hooks with a partnered loop. After my first card was drawn, he’d handed me another deck. These cards were a mystery. Each card was printed with a colored shape.

The card I drew was adorned with a shape best described as a distorted ‘B’ that had been toppled over. My husband helped out none—he simply pocketed the card with a smirk.

Unlike other years, there were no other cards.

So I found myself sitting in our SUV, eagerly (and moistly) anticipating our Halloween. My husband had been inside our house long after he’d sent me out the door. Knowing what we could be doing didn’t make me patient.

Finally, I saw the downstairs light flick off. In the doorway, beneath the yellow glow of the porch light, I saw a shape. More specifically, I saw THE shape. The B. Except, my husband was wearing it.

My husband, typically attired for Halloween in a risque outfit, was costumed in a bulky, black B. It was odd. From atop the smaller mound of the letter, his head emerged. His legs jutted out the bottom of the larger mound and his arms hang from the sides. Steel eyelets glinted just above his shoulders and near his hips.

As he fumbled to fit himself into the car, Matt looked at me, his face red from the warmth of his ‘costume’.

He handed me a black box, with a black ribbon adorning its lid. “I’ll tell you what to do with the present when we get there.”

“Get where?”

“I’ll give you directions.”

As we drove, he offered no hint about how this shape was going to facilitate our adventure and his directions offered no hint to what he had planned.

His directions took us from the suburbs, into the mountain foothills that stretched along the fringes of the city where we lived. They carried us 45 minutes away from civilization to a desolate “town” that seemed to only have a bar, and a boarded up meeting hall.

It was the meeting hall that Matt pointed me towards.

From behind the boards, I could see a glow of light. Several cars were parked out front. I looked over at him. What was he up to?

“Happy Halloween, honey,” he said. “Wait a minute, then follow me in. Give the present to the first person you meet.”

With that, he struggled out of the car and into the hall.

I looked down at the box, and realized my hands were trembling. This was a Halloween mystery. The other cars added to it. What could other people’s presence mean? He knew I loved the risk of exposure. And Matt had gotten me to acknowledge I harbored a secret desire to be shared.

Timidly, I pulled open the door and stepped across the threshold.

I don’t know if the door made a sound behind me or not. All I knew was that I was the center of attention. A half dozen beautifully masqueraded couples stood along the edges of a red carpet, their glittering masks turned towards me. One of the women in attendance, costumed in a sheer, genie-esque number in gold, took the box from me.

“I’ll take that,” she whispered, her voice oozing nearly as much as I was.

The box was unwrapped. Inside the box were four cuffs. Genie’s smile grew wider as she passed two of them to a provocative fairy on my left.

Efficiently, the two women cuffed my wrists and ankles, then pulled me deeper into the mysterious lodge.

At the center of the room was a stage, perhaps twelve feet in diameter. And laying there in the center was Matt. His head tilted towards me and he flashed a victorious smile.

My escorts helped me to the stage and lowered me over Matt’s prone shape. His lips met mine for a brief moment. I heard the clasps on the cuffs click shut over the eyelets attached to his costume.

Someone in the crowd muttered—“I know where I’ve seen that before. He’s a Liberator Hipster.”

I didn’t yet understand the costume. All I knew was that the crowd descended on Matt and I. I felt hands at the clasps on my dress. Felt the material being pulled away, exposing my buttocks, thighs, and the wetness between them.

Soon, more hands were roaming my flesh, petting, stroking, squeezing and groping. Mouths joined in, tongues, teeth, lips and breath. I was sure that some of the caresses were Matt, but I didn’t know which.  I only caught glimpses of who and what from my position bound atop Matt. I came once, a small firework of an orgasm from the spectacle of it all.

My whimper of surrender was the cue that had been waited for—I felt someone push against my opening. Someone thick and hard. As he slipped inside me, stretching and filling me, I understood the advantage of Matt’s costume. With the helpful push of my hips upwards, the phantom behind me could not miss those most desirable nerve endings. Every thrust drew another gasp from me, until Matt silenced them with a smothering kiss.

Then I was gone, lost in the orgasm and the ensuing orgy, a surreal and supernatural experience that I can only recall on evenings when Matt has me tied over our new Chaise.

 

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