The Boss’s Halloween Costume Ball
Gene Schoff headed up the front steps of his boss Betty’s annual Halloween costume party. It was the usual eclectic collection of staff, spouses and significant boyfriends, girlfriends and a few strange ‘others’. He usually hated these after-hours work parties, but Gene’s life had changed recently. He was naked under the leather braes, that pleated leather kilt that was the standard, authentic Roman legion uniform that Gene wore as a costume; and Gene knew he was going to get laid real good tonight.
Gene moved through a foyer decorated with hay bales and bound corn stalks, and strewn with orange and black balloons and Betty’s real live black cat Pywacket. He walked through the entry arch of hanging plastic bones into Betty’s massive living room, which was decorated with jack o’ lanterns and a moody atmosphere provided by three different fog machines. It was as if Gene had walked into a freaky dream.
In a corner of the living room Dave and Jeanette were slow dancing, in matching Greek togas. Gene knew they would have their hands inside each other’s starched sheets before very long. Gene shook his head mentally, after fourteen years of marriage they still had eyes (and roaming hands) exclusively for each other. Gene was mystified by their commitment; it was so untypical of any long married couple he knew of. There they were, dancing cheek to cheek, while Dave fondled his wife’s titties through the material.
Gene floated through the crowds, looking for the ‘TeaserGirl’ he arranged to meet at the costume party. He did not know what character she was costumed as, but he waited for her to ‘tease’ him. Girls flirted with him, but the RIGHT girl did not grab his attention. He looked for HER, searched the pulsating mass of fantasy or horror characters.
Dawn Marie embraced him from behind, running her hands over his chest, tweaking his nipples through the thin shirt he wore. Gene’s passive side emerged. He stood there and allowed her caresses; she slowly massaged his pectorals through the light cotton material. Gene felt his nipples pebble as she squeezed and pinched them. His erection pressed against the leather braes wrapped around his hips. Pleasure and arousal washed over Gene in soft, sensual waves. A soft sigh escaped his lips.
Within a few moments though, Dawn Marie’s giant-sized husband Craig came along, dressed like a huge, hairy Goliath in the skimpiest loin cloth Gene ever remembered seeing, bearing a platter of food from the buffet table (no four inch paper plate for Craig) and a cold Foster’s. No time to play with the delicate Dawn Marie. She had the body of a ten-year-old girl: no breasts, no ass, no belly and virtually no waist, either. And the biggest deep-ocean blue eyes Gene had seen in his entire life. Dawn Marie was Gene’s image of the perfect, sexy woman, but Craig Butler had scooped her up first, lucky devil.
Soon. Gene knew his TeaserGirl would be finding him. Soon he would have her, his way. Damned fucking straight, he would do it his way.
His best friend KaCee and her boyfriend Kenny were standing by a large, black caldron of bubbling brew. Gene knew it was probably ‘hard’ apple cider (as in previous years), but it was a nice effect. Gene did briefly wonder about KaCee’s husband Bubba. She had come with him because Gene had seen their matching Civil War costumes as they parked their car, Bubba as the Confederate soldier and KaCee as his pampered plantation southern-belle wife.
This was sooooooooooo Nashville, Gene chuckled to himself, remembering the “It’s Soooooo Nashville” contest run by a local entertainment paper. But seeing her boyfriend Kenny here, as well; and Kenny dressed like a Confederate general, caused a shiver of apprehension to pass through Gene. If KaCee was not worried and her “husbands” were not worried, then Gene had no worries, either. Gene moved on without distracting them from their friendly conversation with each other.
Where was his little witch? Who was she? How did she plan to foil him tonight?
Bernadette, from payroll, and her husband Greg were lounging near the formal stairs. As mismatched at a Halloween costume party as they were in real life. Greg, a computer tech by trade, was dressed as a Wild West cowboy, complete with black Stetson and long leather duster and a fancy two-rigged setup slung low on each hip. Bernie, plain of face but an intellectual superstar, came as a colorful gypsy fortuneteller. Scary, that was, as she did dabble in “The Arts” and was a self-proclaimed witch; black witch or white witch, Gene was not quite sure which.
Bernadette did have all the props though; full, bright skirts and a peasant blouse hanging low on her ample bosom, huge gold bangles on each wrist tinkled with every movement of her body and tinkling gold bells hung from her ears. In Bernadette’s right hand rested a large multi-faceted glass sphere, the preverbal crystal ball. A little more oval shaped rather than round, Gene thought (but also thought he wasn’t supposed to notice, so he made no comment canlı bahis about it). She approached Gene and asked him if he wanted a ‘reading’. He already knew his destiny this evening. So Gene dismissed her. “Nah, I don’t need that,” he told Bernie.
But Bernadette being Bernadette, she persisted. I know your destiny, she insisted, on this All Hollow’s Eve my ‘gift’ is infallible. Gene glanced at her, his eyes skewed, his lips quirked to the side of his face. Considering. Mentally shrugged.
“Tell me,” he asked, suddenly serious. No one knew of his recently kinky past, so who could know of his hopes for this Halloween night. “Tell me, please”?
Bernadette looked him right in the eye, stared a moment, assessing his open-mindedness to accept her psychic revelations.
She stared into his soul a moment more then shifted her eyes and glanced down at her crystal. Bernadette’s eyes gazed over and in her mind images began to coalesce. Bernadette frowned. In her hazy vision a man who was spread eagle on a large, unkempt bed in a dark room, he wrists evidentially restrained. The woman wearing a dark sweater and pants was crouched over the man’s waist holding a big serrated knife to the man’s throat. Neither person in her vision is clear enough for Bernadette identify.
Another image floats through Bernadette’s consciousness. It is Gene; she clearly recognizes his office and his long black leather biker jacket hanging behind his chair. Gene is sitting in his desk chair; his big, rangy body relaxed, his legs spread wide. His face is tense with emotion as he frowns intently at his computer monitor.
Bernadette relaxes deeper into the meta-physical image the crystal conjures for her in her mind. Deeper, deeper she stares at the image of her boss Gene. She studies his face and realizes his face is not tense. He is seriously aroused. Though he is clearly at work, at his desk, Bernie can see his pants unzipped and his erect penis rises straight through his pants opening. The shaft is thick and the head is a marvelous dark pink color (that is, what she can see of it around his left hand, which is stroking and massaging that fine looking penis).
In her vision, Bernadette can see that her boss, Gene is reading some e-mail on his computer monitor; the e-mail is too unfocused for her to make out the actual words. The words apparently arouse Gene further because he begins to pump himself more vigorously. His mouth gaps open and he exhales in panting breaths. He is obviously approaching his orgasm.
Bernie wishes she could hear him. She knows he must be moaning. She yearns to hear his full arousal. But like her spiritualist mentor Jane Van Ness, Bernadette’s visions have a high degree of accuracy but they are silent visions. Darn and drat, thinks Bernie.
A moment later, Gene’s face blushes furiously right down his neck and his right hand cradles the head of his dick lovingly as cum ejaculates his pleasure. Once, twice, and a third time as milky cum fills his palm and his whole body seems to deflate as well as his penis.
One last vision fades into Bernadette’s consciousness. They always come in threes, so she knew this would be the last one. It is Gene, as he is now standing before her. A tall, dark haired Roman legion soldier, with a sword on his hip and leather sandals on his big, well formed feet, his lightly hairy legs bare until they disappeared beneath the leather braes.
A woman appears at Gene’s shoulder, significantly smaller. A full figured, voluptuous Cleopatra. This Cleo sported an elaborate Mardi gras mask of dark blue and green beads (no feathers as so many of them had) and a long black wig (the hair clearly looked manufactured). She had on a high, enamel looking neck choker and a long, pleated skirt of some flimsy, opaque material. Under an equally opaque scarf wrapped around her chest and torso, this Queen Cleopatra teased the eyes, as it was evident that her breasts were bare under that scarf.
Gene grabs the costumed woman in the vision roughly. Rude kisses, almost a rape of her mouth quickly takes place. The woman is slammed against a wall while Gene presses his lower body provocatively into her small one, his rough, bare thigh between her legs. His hands roughly clutch her tits through the thin material. Again, Bernadette can see that the woman must be moaning, but with her pleasure or her pain, Bernie cannot be sure. She can see Gene’s leather clad backside grinding and pumping into the woman’s soft belly as he simulates the sex act.
Bernadette looks up from her crystal ball. Wow! She would never admit to being so shaken up, but like a light bulb of understanding illuminates Bernie’s mind. For Bernie knew this vision was completely accurate in all three permutations. And one other thing Bernie knew about this vision. Bernadette recognizes Queen Cleopatra, because they had worked together for years, after all. Wow! This was her very best para-normal episode yet!
She looks Gene in the eye and tells him, “Your Queen is here, bahis siteleri tonight. She is expecting you and WILL meet with you”. Gene releases a breath he did not realize he had been holding.
“You must decide, Gene. To continue your adventure or end it here tonight.”
“It is your choice,” Bernadette pronounces her message from ‘the other side’.
A bunch of claptrap, Gene mentally dismisses her ‘great’ revelations. He loves working with Bernie; she is funny and ego stroking and did her job so well he never had to check up on her. But this psychic mumbo-jumbo she had to spout off periodically? He shook his head.
“How will I know which choice to make?” Gene asked, shocked as the words are ripped from his mouth against his better judgement. He never intended to give her words credence. He whispered, “Do you have a sign for me?”
“The sun, the moon and the stars”, Bernadette intoned, fast feeling the last of the psychic barrier closing, closing behind the vision she had witnessed. Her head snapped back a second and her head cleared completely and she was herself again.
“Wow, Gene,” Bernie looked at him. What the fuck kind of shit have you gotten yourself involved with, she stared at him. Then asked,” what HAVE you been up too”?
“Crazy shit,” Gene retorted. “So? What about the sign? How will I know what to do”? He seemed equal parts curious and skeptical.
“Huh?” Bernadette thought about his question for a second. “Nah, no more spiritual help.” You know what the sign is, she told him. “The sun, the moon, the stars. That is THE sign. The spirits believe in free will, so actual decisions are yours to make alone.”
“But, understand something Gene. You are at a crossroads. There have been many new changes for you lately. You have a chance to return to what your life was before or to continue on this new path, continue to grow and explore in even further directions. She asked him, “What choice do you want to make?”
Bernadette asked again, “What do YOU want?”
Gene stared straight ahead, his eyes gazed above nearly everyone’s head in the room. He was sure about what he wanted. Not so sure he could negotiate the twisted path successfully. He wanted his captor, his TeaserGirl, his Queen.
He glanced over his shoulder to see Bernie making for the front room where Betty’s husband had constructed a small Gypsy tent. He knew Bernadette had agreed to give amateur tarot and tealeaf readings and even, to an adventurous few, cock readings, as well. Gene knew he worked with some crazy people. Thank G-d, he loved them all.
His queen, where oh, where was his queen. He turned toward the back patio. Gene almost collided with two Confederate gentlemen. The two Confederate soldiers were sharing a brewski and chatting amiably. His eyes nearly bugged out of his eye sockets as he recognized both Confederates as KaCee’s husband Bubba and her boyfriend Kenny. No swords were drawn and neither looked ready for bloodshed.
Gene shrugged mentally. What did they say? People in glass houses should not throw stones? Gene knew that figuratively speaking he was standing in a huge glass house buck-naked.
He did say “hi” to both Bubba and Kenny, he had had lunch with both of them at different times, when he had gone out to eat lunch with KaCee. Then Gene moved out into the balmy night air of the patio.
The raised patio was decked out for Halloween. Candles burned in jack o’lanterns and black and orange crepe paper was wrapped diagonally around all the pillars. A phosphorescent human skeleton hung from the rafters as if from a hangman’s noose. A real live, pure black cat, the devil’s familiar, Pywacket by name; prowled between the costumed guests legs and over any lap that looked inviting. Gene loved the dark and gloomy atmosphere.
Several guests were bobbing for apples, on their knees, heads hung over great big tubs filled with beer and bursting with both green and red apples. Gene could see distinctly through the sheer material of Peter’s wife’s long, white Druid gown. While she was covered from neck to feet, she wore no undergarments and she had a gloriously shaved pubis (so like Gene, himself). The tent standing out in front of Peter’s matching druid robes told him that no apples were needed for them to taste of lust.
Bernadette’s prophesy echoes in his head. His Queen. She was here, tonight. Anticipation gripped his gut. The hairs on the back of his neck bristled as a sixth sense told him he was in her presence.
A woman stood under the purple wisteria arbor; leaning back in the shadows was Queen Cleopatra. Not unlike a shorter, more voluptuous version of Elizabeth Taylor. She appeared to have longish, straight midnight black hair, a blue enameled headpiece and a matching blue and green beaded mask. She wore a long, blue, nearly translucent gown attached at the shoulders. He could vaguely see through the scarf that underneath was a dark, dark girdle that wrapped around the midriff. Gene noticed a pale scarf she had tied and draped over bahis şirketleri her bodice. She looked mysterious to him. Gene knew this was his tormentor, his queen. He yearned to have her.
Gene strode to her side and seized her shoulders roughly and dragged her small form to his body. Squeezing her body tightly from his chest and loins.
They stared silently at each other. Judging. Assessing. His queen raised her chin, haughty and disdainful. He wasn’t going to let her get control tonight. He would start out as he meant to go on. Unbalance and unnerve her sensibilities.
So he told her, “I had a real juicy hard-on first thing this morning. But my PC was not logged up. I would have powered up my new webcam. That would have teased you, like you really deserve. Damn you. Do you know how much I hate you? But I did want you there, to sit on my woody, with your legs wrapped round my thighs, riding it hard and fast, and your juices dribbling down my leg.”
Never mind, he tells her rudely. You don’t deserve to know what I am thinking.
“You think you hate me, but that is a big stiffy poking my navel, “she says to him, her rough–edged voice disguised by the throat strap she had used when she had tied and raped his body in his bedroom. Her identity was still hidden from him but presence is familiar to him: he knows as soon as he takes a moment to think about it her name will be on the tip of his tongue. All choices were his now, but he remembered that his future with her was also in his hands, and he was not ready to chuck it all, he was not ready to end it.
Her arrogance is maddening to Gene. He is experiencing residual anger, lusting for her body and lusting for revenge, and ignited by her arrogance as she refuses to submit to him.
Gene is a southpaw, so as his anger spikes, he takes a swing at her with his left hand, a stinging slap to her right cheek sharply. Tia’s head snaps back, but she does not break eye contact, she is not afraid of Gene Schoff. His violence is not unexpected. She wraps her arms around his waist and hugs him closer, crushing his already erect penis against her belly. Tia grinds her soft belly against him, masturbating him, almost like a massage.
Arousal, serious arousal is written on Gene’s face. He lowers his head, brushing her lips, and about sucks her tongue into his mouth. The deep kiss makes both their heads swim. Tia’s mouth tastes of the strawberry Margarita she had sipped waiting for Gene to show up at the party. Her kisses, her compact body was like heaven to Gene. His cock was like a bullet.
They kissed roughly for a few minutes more, before Tia broke away from him. “I am not an exhibitionist. I don’t want an audience, do you?” It was the false voice of his midnight captor, he heard. His hands instinctively went to her throat and felt the beaded collar and the small contraption over her vocal cords. He caressed the round button, feeling his TeaserGirl’ s body freeze, still like a mannequin as her eyes bore into him. She was not ready to end this charade, either. Gene’s processed all the ramifications. No, he made the decision for both of them, not yet ready to end this game for either of them.
“Leave it,” she quietly told him, “you know you are not done, yet? Are you?” She eyed him. He had been abused and tortured in his own house, her e-mails had tormented and distracted him at work. She deserved a measure of his personal retribution.
“Back here”, Tia dragged him back behind a line of tall ornamental brushes, into a small private clearing and towards the back gate where a small gazebo stood. Dusty, dirty, with real spider webs (and probably real spiders, too) draped over the lattice entry and guarded by that evil, hissing Pywacket that witch Betty insisted was a pet. Gene wasn’t in the mood for patience this time. He hissed menacing back at the cat and it retreated with a swish of tail.
A shaft of moonlight streaked its way right through the lattice roof of the gazebo. Gene looked closely at his Cleopatra, the queen of his nights (and his nightmares), there were no soft, romantic emotions in his heart this night.
He wanted to see more of her body, all of her, in fact; he had missed that most of all. He was a visually stimulated kind of guy. But last of all, to tease himself, the last thing he would remove would be her mask and wig. He absolutely knew he was acquainted with her; she most likely worked with him. She knew him too well, knew his habits too intimately. But who was she exactly? Gene had an overwhelming sense of familiarity with her? He knew when he took a moment to think, he would know exactly who she was.
First, he tore off the scarf that billowed around her shoulder and chest. Gene froze, staring appreciably at her bared skin. It was as he had suspected. The bodice of her chiffon gown scooped below her breasts, the dark blue and green beads of the five-inch belt clenched tightly below her breasts. Big, round boobs, with large, dark areolas and homey colored nipples. Hard, pebbled and very aroused nipples. Like a true Egyptian Queen, she enslaved his senses with her scent and her beauty. Fully exposed to his view, his TeaserGirl was a gorgeous woman. Tia broke the spell, pursing her lips at him.