Halloween Favor

"Sam," Karen interrupted him. "I'm half naked, tied to a bed, and you've got muscles, fangs and claws. What am I going to do, refuse?" Sam was about to protest, but Karen kept going: "Kidding, Sam, kidding; I'd love to, really."

Sam said: "Thanks, Karen. That's really...um, thanks." He smiled.

"Sure," she said, and smiled up at him. Then she winked. "Now let's get everybody back in here. You have to finish me off."

16.

Little Red was beyond terror. Her wrists bound to her grandmother's bed with rough cords, her blouse torn from her body, her breasts exposed to the brutal attentions of her attacker's claws and fangs and tongue, and finally her petticoats shredded, and the smooth hairless mound over the cleft of her vagina left naked and vulnerable to her tormentor's lust. Tears streamed from her eyes and her head shook helplessly from side to side as she whispered: "Please, no...please, no..." over and over again. Her ankles had not been bound, and she had shut her legs tight together in an attempt to keep the Wolf from that most private part of her body. But even as she watched, his clawed hands gripped the waist of his filthy, tattered trousers, and pushed them slowly down over muscular thighs. He wore nothing underneath, and now his erect cock sprang into view, short, thick and brutal. A wild sound, something between a scream and a sob, escaped the bound maiden's red lips; her pleas became more urgent: "Not that, oh please, God, not...please don't, I've never... please, don't...you'll hurt me...no...please..." But the beast was out of his mind with lust for his victim. He grasped her bended knees, forced her thighs apart, and positioned his wolfish prick above the gleaming lips of her now open and exposed pussy. He snarled, and reared back to plunge into...

"And cut!"

"Fucking hell!" snarled Sam, just as Karen muttered "Oh God damn it!" Sam half-laughed, half-sobbed, and pushed away from Karen with a speed which in another context she might have regarded as less than flattering. Just at present, though, she was as glad of the separation as he was. After a minute, he came back and knelt by the side of the bed. "Karen," he put his mouth close to her ear, "not to be a total asshole, but are you absolutely sure you want to wait until Halloween?"

Karen was having some trouble drawing breath: "No, Sam," she rasped, "I don't want to. I want you to drive that nice thick cock of yours—and Sam, you have an absolutely lovely cock—into my hot wet cunt and fuck me until the orgasms break me in half."

"Karen!" a barely audible groan from Sam.

"But we can't, so we won't. Halloween," she panted, "not that far away from now."

"Couple of weeks."

"I know, and it aches, everything aches, but I only get one first time with you, Sam. Please? Hang on?"

"Kar, I was mostly kidding. I mean what the fuck am I going to do, actually rape you?"

"I might not mind so much." Then, off another almost sob from Sam, "Sorry, Babe, really I am, but...look, think of it this way: you can take it out on me on the 31^st, ok? You can punish me for all the times I've been a slutty little tease. Will you, please? I want you to; I really do."

"You'll use the safe words if I get too...too..."

"I will. I swear."

"Ok, then. But you might want to wear something, um, disposable that night. Tom's not going to be there with his Velcro, and while I don't want to hurt you, I' m not gonna have much mercy on a bunch of snaps and buttons."

"Mmmm," Karen purred, "yeah! That's the idea."

17.

And just like that, it was almost over. The still photography was all done, and Little Red lay stripped and ravished on her grandma's bed. Her clothes hung in rags from her mostly naked body. Her wrists were still bound to the bed frame, although Manny had replaced the original bindings with tear-aways for the final video sequence. The Big Bad Wolf had long since stopped trying to process his experience in any rational way. Sam had, in the past several hours, realized almost all of his most erotic fantasies: his hands had stroked, caressed fondled, and finally mauled the delicate skin of Karen's breasts and thighs. His tongue, lips, and augmented teeth had kissed and bit at Karen's tiny nipples, and he could still recall the sweet, salty taste of her flesh. He had had his face between her legs, his tongue within an inch of her sopping wet cunt, and the musk of her had made him almost light-headed with pleasure. His erect cock, covered by he thinnest of nylon sleeves, had sawn back and forth across the crease of her pussy. He had felt her heat and moisture through the nylon as he simulated the rape. He had been on the verge of cumming so many times that he had lost count, but, for some reason, he hadn't. And his cock had been hard for so long, it had begun to ache.

Karen had loved all of it. She had told him so, and even if she hadn't, the moans and hums and pants and squeaks that came out between the dialogue, the silly melodramatic dialogue, would have been enough to convince a less experienced man than Sam of his partner's pleasure. He didn't think that she had cum either, although he couldn't be absolutely sure.

And none of it was real. Well, the sensual experiences: the sight, feel, smells, sounds and tastes of her were all genuine. He had experienced the surface of Karen's body, but not the essence of Karen. Everything they had done should have culminated in bestial, primal, even violent sex. It hadn't, and it wouldn't; not for—what—three weeks? The cavalcade of emotions, physical impulses, wants, frustrations, celebrations coursed through his mind and body, all of it focused on the lovely naked woman, lying bound to a bed less than a foot away from the folding chair in which he now sat. Nils, the effects guy—small and agile, with pale blond hair and ice blue eyes—was running a tube of some sort along Karen's neck. Last video sequence coming up; Karen called it "the martini shot." Sam was exhausted.

"Ok, darlings," Anne had come up to stand behind Sam. She spoke to Karen over Sam's head, resting her hands on his shoulders. He could feel the tips of her breasts brush the back of his head. He was too consumed with Karen, and too fucking tired to do more than register the fact. "We'll have to this last bit in two parts, but it shouldn't take long. Am I right, Nils?"

"No, it's pretty straightforward." Nils had a pleasant Midwestern twang to his soft voice. "We need to see BBW sort of manhandle Red into an upright position. That's why Manny rigged the tear-aways. Once BBW has her back to his front, we'll cut, and I'll tape the blood tube to the back of Red's neck right where it meets the shoulders. BBW will do a kind of vampire prep, maybe grabbing a handful of hair and pulling Red's head to the right. Then struggle struggle, fangs bared, and ideally he bites so that his mouth covers the end of the tube. We shoot blood through the tube into BBW's mouth, and it drips out of his mouth onto Red's neck and body. The idea is that he's severed the carotid with his bite. In reality that would be pretty messy, so we'll shoot quite a bit in there..."

The tube had been tested; Sam had tasted the fake blood: minty. How weird was that? The establishing shot had been accomplished in three takes. And now Sam knelt behind Karen, holding her naked torso against his chest, his cock hard against the base of her spine resting in the shallow groove at the top of her ass cheeks. His left hand circled her body, resting just below her breasts. His right lay lightly on her shoulder.

"Sam?" Karen whispered.

"Yeah?"

"You holding it together?"

"I think so. You?"

"Barely. Babe, if you grab my tits while you're biting me, I might cum."

"Um...would that be a good thing?"

"Oh fuck, yes! I've been on the edge for the last...I don't know how the fuck long, but..."

"So cum. What's the problem?" Sam thought that he had probably fantasized about discussing orgasms with Karen. Once again the context was a little off, but he found he didn't really mind.

"Are you...do you think you're going to?"

"Probably not now. I don't know how I held back while I was taking you, or pretending to, but...it's weird, but I think I might be too tired. My cock doesn't even really hurt anymore."

"Still feels pretty hard from where I'm sitting." She giggled, a slightly hysterical sound. "So you're going to make me cum, but I'm not going to help you out. I'm a naughty, teasing little bitch, huh?"

"Karen, just out of curiosity, you do know that I'm supposed to be killing you in a few minutes, right?"

"Yeah, but you won't really, because then you wouldn't be able to punish me on Halloween by fucking me 'til I scream."

"Your blood tastes minty, you know? And I fuckin' love mojitos..."

"Just grab my tits, ok?

"Maybe. Maybe not."

"Bastard!"

18.

His beautiful victim writhed and shrieked as he buried his claws in her hair and forced her head down to the right, exposing the sweet flesh of her pale neck. His lips pulled back in a snarl, exposing his fangs, and a low growl escaped him. As he bit savagely into the helpless girl's throat, his other hand dived between her naked thighs, and the claw of his middle finger found her swollen clit. Blood shot into his mouth and dribbled out splashing onto her throat and breasts. The maiden screamed and bucked in terror and ecstasy as spasm after spasm wracked her body. Blood dripping from his fangs, the Wolf shoved the dying girl onto the bed, flipped her, still twitching, so that she lay on her back, and attacked her breasts, biting and snarling and tearing. A final, gurgling scream escaped her throat, and then she was still. The Wolf raised his bloody face, and howled over Little Red's naked, lifeless body.

"Cut!" shouted Anne. Karen grabbed Sam and pulled his body against hers. His arms collapsed and he fell on top of her, and he could feel her beginning to sob, or laugh, or both. He struggled to free himself, to get a look at her face, to find out if she was alright. She held tight for another couple of seconds, and then collapsed back onto the sticky mess of sheets stained with sugary fake blood.

"Sam, you evil shit!" she hissed. "You absolute bastard, that was so FUCKING good! I can't believe you...Anne's gonna fuckin'...I hope we didn't...oh God! Oh my fucking..."

Anne walked up to the bed. She looked directly into Sam's eyes. Sam held his breath. No penetration; rule number one. Had he fucked the whole thing up? After a moment, her expression relaxed into a smile.

"Nice work," said Anne, "I think that's everything. Karen, are you alright?"

"I'm just fine," sighed the bloody, naked remains of Little Red Riding Hood. Then: "I'm all sticky!"

Anne stared at Karen for a long moment; then she sat on the bed, buried her face in her hands, and howled with laughter. When she could speak, she said: "Go get cleaned up. Showers are in the back."

19.

They'd gotten out of make-up, showered (separately,) dressed, been given their checks, and said goodbye to Anne. Sometime during all this, Karen's hand had found Sam's and held on. They walked out into the cool autumn evening together, and stopped at Sam's car. Karen put her arms around his waist, and hugged him, pressing her face against the hollow of his throat. Her embrace was gentle, but she did not let go for a long time. For his part, Sam felt her breasts flattened against his chest and her breath on his neck. The feeling was erotic, but also warm and comfortable, and he was in no more hurry than she to break away. Finally she leaned away from him, looked up into his face, and gave him a smile at once happy, tired, and a little shy.

"Hey you," her voice was soft, and tired sounding, "thanks. For everything. You were...well, Jesus; I mean we've come a long way today, haven't we. I mean: it feels like that to me. But you were wonderful. That's what I started to say. Are you ok? Are you...um, really frustrated or...?"

"I don't know," Sam replied, and his voice came out on a sigh. "I thought I was, but now...I might just be too tired to feel much of anything." He pulled her close for another quick hug. "You feel good, though."

"Do I? I'm glad. You do too. Are we still on for Halloween?"

"Um, yeah. Do you still want...?

"Uh huh," it was almost a whisper. "I want everything I said in there, and more. You don't have to wear the make-up or anything. I mean, obviously, but...I want my Wolf. Ok?"

"Safe words...?"

"Yeah, but...I don't want to feel safe..."

"No. You won't."

"I know I won't." She turned her face to his, wound her arms around his neck, pulled his face to hers and kissed him very gently. The warm softness of her lips just brushing his. He leaned in to kiss her back, to deepen the kiss. His mouth opened, but she pulled back.

"Sam...I...will you wait until after...to kiss me?"

"Uh, sure. Can I ask why?"

"I'm not being consistent again. Probably I'm not being fair. And you've been so good...what you've already done for me...and what you're going to do. I just...I...I don't want to fall in love with you until after we've...done what I've asked you to do to me. And I'm afraid I might...if you kiss me now..."

"Oh jeez, Karen..."

"I know...would you rather...?"

They were speaking at the same time; finally Sam found a pause: "Karen, can I ask you one thing?"

"Sure."

"If I wait to kiss you, is there a chance you might still fall in love with me?"

Karen's breath came out on a little sigh: "Yeah, Sam. I'd say there's a pretty good chance of that. So will you...can I...will I see you on Halloween?"

"Trick or treat." said Sam. He let go of Karen's hand, got into his car, and drove home.

20.

On October 12, a large manila envelope was waiting for Sam when he arrived for his shift at the Bottle. The owner's nephew was at the front that night, and he handed the envelope to Sam with raised eyebrows.

"Hey Sam. Not that it's a problem, but you don't usually get personal mail here, do you?"

"Never have before, Dean, and I wasn't expecting anything..." he looked down at the address: 'Mr. Sam Dunleavy, BBW.' And the return address: 'LRRS.' "What the...?" And then the penny dropped: "Oh shit."

Dean looked up, concern in his eyes: "Everything all right?"

Sam took a minute to respond: "Huh? Oh, yeah...fine...it's um...I'll open this at home. It's nothing..."

Back at his apartment, Sam tore open the envelope. Out tumbled three 8 x 10 glossy color prints. In the first, Karen James sat in an easy chair reading—or at least holding—a book in her right hand, her left resting against her cheek. Her pose reminded Sam of an old-time pin-up shot, and so did her expression, which managed to be at once frightened, and provocative. Her brows were arched and raised, her large blue eyes opened wide, and her coral red lips pursed in a perfect 'o.' A red hair band held her loose, honey-colored hair off of her face. She was dressed in a red bustier which pushed her boobs up and together creating a deep cleavage. Red garters held up red thigh-high stockings on long shapely legs, crossed at the knee. A heeled slipper with a red marabou puff dangled from her elevated foot. Sam had to imagine the tiny red thong covering the cleft of her vagina, since all he could see of it was the string rising to the swell of her hips from the depths of her crossed thighs. But the title of the book which had apparently frightened the lingerie-clad lovely was clearly visible: Face to Face with Wolves. Sam sat down heavily, as if the breath had just been knocked out of him. His mind registered the title of the book, while his heart-rate skyrocketed, shooting blood into his penis as he took in Karen's provocative pose and outfit. From where it had fallen beside his sofa, he picked up the second shot.

Here Karen was posed as if she had been surprised just coming out of the shower. Again her eyes were wide and her mouth bowed, but now her hair dripped wet and wild around her neck and shoulders, tendrils of it arranged artfully across her forehead, as if she had just that moment brushed them out of her eyes. A red bath towel was wrapped around her, just failing to cover her from her breasts to her crotch. Her hands were at the bottom of the towel, as if she had just that moment pulled it down to cover her pussy, and the tips of her nipples peeked over the top hem of the towel, puffed and erect from their sudden exposure to the cold air. Sam's cock pulsed painfully, and the breath rasped in his throat. In a passing moment of surreal clarity—the eye of the sexual hurricane Karen's pictures had conjured—Sam found time to wonder who had taken the damn things. Something savage and possessive in him snarled that it fucking well better have been another woman. Maybe Anne? Maybe Anne had been wearing lingerie as well; maybe Karen and Anne were...Oh FUCK! Enough already! He still had one more picture to look at. Be a crying fucking shame to have a heart attack before he had seen the set!

As Sam stared at the final shot, he understood. The first two had been teasing and flirty. Little Red Riding Karen letting her Big Bad Wolf see that she was frightened and vulnerable, and a little bit aroused, at the thought of their upcoming encounter. The third shot was on another level altogether, and his hand fell into his lap, squeezing the now definitely painful bulge in his jeans. The last image showed Karen sitting propped against the headboard of a king-sized bed, surrounded by pillows. She had supposedly just fallen asleep, and the copy of Face to Face with Wolves lay an inch or so from the relaxed fingers of her left hand. She was naked except for a short, red (of course,) see-through...something or other—Sam couldn't come up with a name for the thing; nightshirt, perhaps?—which was open at the front, entirely exposing her full, firm tits. Her lovely legs were splayed wide, displaying the red lace thong he'd guessed at in the second picture, and the fingers of her right hand disappeared beneath the damp fabric, distorting the shape of the little lace triangle covering the swollen lips of her dewy cunt. Her cheeks and the tops of her breasts were flushed, and her nipples jutted pink and proud from the tiny areolae.

Sam let go of a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. Had she really just cum? He wouldn't put it past her. But how provocative would that have been: telling the photographer—who was the fucking photographer? Not going there!—to wait for a few minutes while she jilled herself to orgasm? Karen was being more than provocative; a less besotted man than Sam might even have called what she was doing a little cruel. But Sam knew better. He understood what she was doing, and why. She was asking for it. She had begged him to punish her for being such a naughty little slut, and she was determined to show him how naughty she could be. The tease was exquisite, because of course Sam had experienced so much of her. He knew the rose-petal softness of her shaved mound. He knew the smell of her arousal, the slightly salty taste of her skin, the little yips and sighs which heralded her climax. He had seen all the pieces, but he had never assembled the fucking puzzle. He'd had Karen in his arms, fondled her body, kissed her mouth and throat and breasts, and he had the promise of her in front of him like the smell of a wood fire at the end of a long, cold day outside. But he couldn't come inside. Not yet.

He gathered the pictures together and started to put them back into the envelope. One of them jammed against something at the bottom. He removed a much smaller envelope, made of a thin, pink tissue-like paper. Inside was a handwritten note: "Why Mr. Wolf, what big eyes you have. But you'll need more than your eyes to find me, if you want to eat me all up on Halloween Night, LRRS." Now what the fuck was "LRRS?"