On The Eve of All Hallows

On The Eve of All Hallows

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Details

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Tags

sex, etc

Summary

Fuckery This is just random wordporn. Dirty stories. That’s what we’re here for, yes? ‘The Fisherman’s Wife’ I wrote after a conversation with some old ladies in a hotel in the Western Highlands of Scotland. I love the way the old like to be naughty! No-one in The States got ‘Bennet’s Brother’ – it was way too English in every way. I had a hoot writing it and its companion piece (now lost, ‘Battle at the Regatta’). I was attempting Wodehouse with added fellatio… ‘Teacher’s Night Off’ – good idea – not so well executed. I didn’t quite get what I wanted with that one. Horny enough, mind. ‘On The Eve of All Hallows’ – again, not quite right. I wanted to write a story using a student of mine, an Indian girl, as muse (obviously her name was not Krythika!). I wrote it in a hurry for Hallowe’en and it shows. It’s a bit clunky. ‘A Christmas Kiss’ was also written for the holidays. This is a better story. A true story, although it didn’t happen quite in the way I tell it. The girl involved is now a senior partner in a law firm in Birmingham and I learned from Facebook last week that she has become a grandmother for the third time! ‘Katie’ is also based on truth. I’ve known Katie for years and years. Our families are still close and, were it not for lockdown, I’d be visiting her next month. Obviously, her name isn’t Katie – or mine would be shit. ‘Yes or No’ is a story I am, or at least was, quite proud of. I wrote it in reaction to a news story about Ivy Leaguers ‘protesting’. I was very angry. Sadly the news story will be forgotten, so the story will lose its punch. Still good, though.

Tags

sex, etc

Summary

Fuckery
This is just random wordporn. Dirty stories. That’s what we’re here for, yes?
‘The Fisherman’s Wife’ I wrote after a conversation with some old ladies in a hotel in the Western Highlands of Scotland. I love the way the old like to be naughty!
No-one in The States got ‘Bennet’s Brother’ – it was way too English in every way. I had a hoot writing it and its companion piece (now lost, ‘Battle at the Regatta’). I was attempting Wodehouse with added fellatio…
‘Teacher’s Night Off’ – good idea – not so well executed. I didn’t quite get what I wanted with that one. Horny enough, mind.
‘On The Eve of All Hallows’ – again, not quite right. I wanted to write a story using a student of mine, an Indian girl, as muse (obviously her name was not Krythika!). I wrote it in a hurry for Hallowe’en and it shows. It’s a bit clunky.
‘A Christmas Kiss’ was also written for the holidays. This is a better story. A true story, although it didn’t happen quite in the way I tell it. The girl involved is now a senior partner in a law firm in Birmingham and I learned from Facebook last week that she has become a grandmother for the third time!
‘Katie’ is also based on truth. I’ve known Katie for years and years. Our families are still close and, were it not for lockdown, I’d be visiting her next month. Obviously, her name isn’t Katie – or mine would be shit.
‘Yes or No’ is a story I am, or at least was, quite proud of. I wrote it in reaction to a news story about Ivy Leaguers ‘protesting’. I was very angry. Sadly the news story will be forgotten, so the story will lose its punch. Still good, though.

Content

Submitted: July 31, 2020

A A A | A A A

Content

Submitted: July 31, 2020

A A A

A A A


The October rain atomised as soon as it came within a foot of Yleth’s glowing blue flesh. The pain was agonising, the pressure of the journey had collapsed her completely, but she was free! Free of the fire that burned but would not consume; free from the heat that sucked out the desire for existence; free from the infernal pain and torture; but most off all free from the soul-numbing boredom of Hell.

This night was theirs! Hers. It was hers. The rest could stay in hell as long as she lived one night on earth and got what she needed.

As her flesh cooled from blue to white to red, the raindrops merely sizzled and popped on her steaming form. Finally she was able to breathe the air without it exploding into composite molecules in her nose. Air. The air of life. She was alive again. She sniffed.

Ah, yes. There is was. The smell of man. Her keen senses picked up a vast array of olfactory signals. Yes. The sweat of a man. The smell of male bodies. Oh the smells. She had missed them so much. The musky, hairy armpit smell. The stale stink of man-breathe. But best of all the tempting tang of cock-scent.

She shuddered with desire as she focussed on cock. The stinging, uric whiff of unwashed pubic hair. The rancid cheesy smegma aroma of unkempt foreskin. The sweet lubricious piquancy of the young man’s lubricant fluids. Oh, yes. There was the one she craved! The fishy, salty savour of fresh semen – she could smell that on all the men in the world who were now ejaculating (whether fucking, wanking or making those involuntary emissions mortals so often do.)

 

Krythika Mistry finishing tying her long black hair into a thick plait; she towelled herself while she considered her situation. Six weeks in the United States and no American boy yet! All her friends in Gujarat kept asking about the boys. Skype, e-mail, Twitter. Boys, Krythika, tell us about the boys! But these things take time. Sure, there were boys in her tutor group, boys in her class, boys in her accommodation block, even boys in her dance class, but Krythika was still finding her feet.

She had been frightened early on by that ill-mannered boy with the shiny teeth and big shoulders. “You wanna taste of American culture, honey, I got a real tasty hot-dog for yah!” Ach! Coarse! Boorish. And he expected me to fall at his feet as if I had never seen a boy before! So she had wanted to take her time, be noticed, be a part of this wonderful American campus environment. And tonight she would! A party – Hallowe’en. Okay, so she would go and she would meet a boy and we would see what happened.

Content she was dry, Krythika viewed herself in the mirror. “Time for you to be seen again, “she said to her naked body. Time for these breasts to be touched, time for these nipples to be admired. She felt a tantalising tingle of pleasure as she remembered Bipin Chadhri - with his pink tongue flicking at her thick dark teats on the garden bench under the moon – oh, she had made him howl! Hah!  Two months since she had a boy to enjoy! Too long. Tonight. Yes, a boy tonight.

She looked at her dense tangle of blue-black pubic hair. “You’ll have to shave Krythika,” her friends told her, “American boys don’t like hairs down there.” But I do, thought Krythika, letting her hand wander to her bush. Maybe I can find a boy who I can teach to like it. Maybe I can show a boy what fun it is to run your fingers through, like this. Oh. Yes. That it is enjoyable to pull the hairs a little, like this. Mmmm. Lovely. Stop, Krythika, stop. You don’t find a boy by masturbating! (More’s the pity.)

 

“5…6….7….”

Morton Charlesworth pushed the bar with a steady rhythm. Tonight (push) I’m (push) gonna (push) get (push) me (push) some (push) Punjab (push) pussy. The bar landed on the rack with a clang. Morton Charlesworth didn’t use no fucking spotters. Spotters were for pussies.

He eyed himself in the mirror, flexing his pecs. Oh yeah. Looking good. Cus tonight I’m gonna get me (stretch, pose, hold..and) some Pakistan poontang, (stretch, pose, hold ..and) some curry cunny (stretch, pose hold..and) some Injun…(here his alliteration and imagination  failed him)…pussy.

In the shower Morton Charlesworth planned his night. Hair styled. Yep. Costume on, and it’s a lulu, a pussy-magnet. Pick up those roofies from Jimmy. Yeah, most def. Then college Hallowe’en Ball. Find that Kristina What-the-fuck, slip her a mickey, get her back to his room and fuck her stupid Injun ass. Yeah, butt-fuck her. Come on her face. Bitch. Then back to the ball and find a decent girl.

Fucking Indian cunt. Thinks she can blow off Morton Charlesworth. Fuck her.

 

The rain had stopped now, as Yleth wandered towards the town. Towns! So many people. So many lonely men, needy men, lustful men. That’s what she needed tonight. A man to lust for her.

When she and her like had wandered freely there had been few towns. Little villages there were, and single huts, places she could take the form of a wife to tempt a husband to fuck her there on the mat, while the wife watched, paralysed, unable to do or say anything, but feel all the pain of her man’s infidelity. Oh those golden days. Where she could be a shepherd girl to trap the unwary traveller into rutting in the sheep pen. Such carefree days! Then He came. That was the end. He sent them all to the devil’s domain. Every single one. To suffer and burn and howl in frustration and rejection.

But then a glimmer of …hope. The thing He started became too big, too unwieldy, others were needed. The holy ones. And one day in the year was claimed by all the hallowed. That disturbed the balance. So it was agreed, for one night in the year, Yleth and those like her could walk again. Hunt again. Torment again.

And those mortals knew the fear again. The fools even tried to defend themselves with their childish disguises and vegetable lights. No demon was fooled. Ever.

And now they welcome us Yleth thought. They want us in their midst. Fools, children, so much like the stupid monkeys from whence they were spawned.

 

Krythika had finally decided to wear the lacy green bra and thong set. A boy would expect no less. Yes. You could see her nipples through the thin material of the bra cup. Yes, there was a dark shadow of lady hair visible in the sheer panties. But that was the point. No? A little tease, a little hint of what’s to come. A taster for the banquet. Yes. Now - costume? Dressing up? Ach. She would wear her best saree – this was a ball after all.

When she finally got to winding the golden threaded green shawl over her short silken blouse, Krythika ruched the material round her hips at her bare waist – Kandy style. Now I can say I am dressed up as a Sri Lanka lady. Not an Indian girl at all. She selected her best jewellery.

 

Morton Charlesworth posed in the mirror. He was in a short tunic with a golden chain belt, it was held at one shoulder by a metal clasp. His hair stylist had worked the laurel wreath he was wearing into his elegant coiffure. His shaved muscular legs ended in tie-up sandals. Hot stuff. He was fucking on fire tonight. Lookit me! A Greek fucking god! He slapped his exposed chest to make the definition higher.

I might not even need the roofies, he thought to himself. That Krystal Injan-what-the-fuck’ll take one look at me and wet her Pakinstan panties. She should be glad of the chance to fuck me, he reasoned. Cus when she goes back to her mud hut and sits on the floor with them other mama-sans, she can tell them –“I once fucked Morton Charlesworth – NFL superstar!” Give her something worthwhile to think about over there with the elephants and shit.

Morton looked in the mirror and flashed a perfect ten thousand dollar smile. I am America, bitch. You fucking want me. And you’re gonna get it but good. Cunt. You had a chance for nice and you blew me off. Payback, bitch.

 

The man smell became fiercely pungent in the wild carnival atmosphere of the campus. Yleth loved the smell of the young. Their particular body odour that so many tried to hide with civet and chemicals; their sweat that came unbidden with thoughts of lust; their pre-come, fresh-spermy cock- scent. Drawing her. Always.

She felt her shape begin to change as she walked among the men.  She was a big blonde girl with huge pneumatic breasts as one boy looked at her, she was a short slim pretty black girl to another: she was anything to any man.  Let me find the most need. The greatest hunger. The strongest desire. The most corrupt and vile coveting.

 

Perfect, thought Krythika, as she scanned the crowded hall. No other women in saree. I am dressed up! But, she considered, so much skin on view! She thought she had been daring, with her short lime blouse and bare midriff. But these girls? So much leg, so much back, so much cleavage. Ach! She suddenly doubted any boy would look at her.

But then she looked at the boys. She had decided that the first boy to be polite and offer her a cup of punch would be assured of her company. Maybe more. But now. Oh no. Why were zombies so popular? So ugly and ragged and … no, no. She would not be seen in her best saree in the company of a zombie. The werewolves were worse and all these hairy savage Games of Things people. Ach! She’d get her own punch.

 

Morton moved with purpose towards the hall. In his little leather satchel he had a special package. “Sure thing, bro’. Slip it in the punch. She won’t taste a damn thing. Good Hunting!” He was gonna fuck her hard. Yes sir. Butt-fuck her. Cock slap her fucking Injun face. Make her suck her shit off his dick. Fucking bitch. Morton was in such a good mood. Strip her and dump her in the quad, all tearful and comey. So everybody could see she was just a fucking whore. He could feel the satisfaction of his revenge like it was a solid thing. A barbell. Yeah, and he could shift a fucking barbell.

 

Yleth listened to their thoughts, sifted their needs, panned for the nuggets of the basest desires. “I hope she’ll talk to me.” “Maybe it’s too small for her.” “Just a kiss tonight, that’s a start, isn’t it?” These were no use. “She said she’d dress like Miley, oh fuck yes.” “Got a pack of three condoms, what if I need more.” “So many girls, so little time.” Better. Yes. “His buns are so cute, I can’t wait to feel his cock,” she recoiled at this, she had no power over sodomites. “Butt-fuck her. Cock slap her fucking Injun face. Make her suck her shit off my dick. Fucking bitch.” That’s the one. His vileness was almost palpable. She searched his seething mind, oh yes it was all there: vanity, ignorance, anger, bitterness, vengefulness and all tied up with lust. Oh she would feast well on this one.

She probed for the object of his desire. Rati? Why her? No. A child. Like Rati, but not her. The facial features were vague. But Yleth shaped her body to that of Krythika. The face, for now, was her old enemy, Rati. As was her dress.

 

Krythika sipped her fruit punch. She didn’t like alcohol. Oh, she might have some wine sometimes, but it was too sharp. Sweet things for a sweet girl, Bipin had said. He was a sweet boy. A clever boy. Respectable. Not like these shambling messy boys with their loud voice and false laughter. Krythika felt a pang of homesickness. She decided that this had been a bad idea and made to leave the hall, when she saw a beautiful Indian lady in a bold red lehenga.

 

“Hey, buddy, you seen that Indian chick, you know, Karina Fucking-Injun-name?” Morton barked at a small and nervous looking zombie.

“Krythicka,” said the boy, “Yeah, she’s here, dressed like a kinda Indian, I guess.”

“No probs – I see her,” Morton caught site of the girl in the long flowing ethnic robes. Soon mess that up, bitch. Pretty fucking hot, though.  Red. I like red.

“Hey Karo-fucking-lina, lemme get you a glass of punch!” he yelled across the room.

 

Yleth approached her prey, moving languidly and sensually, demanding his attention. Fool. He wanted to drug her. Her? Let him try. Let him play his little game. Let his desire build.

Casting about the hall, Yleth saw the child of his desire. Not like Rati at all. Round faced peasant girl. Well, let the fool have his wish. Her face changed.

“Hey honey, I got you some rum-punch. You drink her up now, we can have some fun.” Yleth poured the sticky liquid straight down her throat in one gulp. It would have no effect. Her sort could not eat.

“Whoo-hoo!” yipped the boy, “You like that? We are gonna have some real fun. What you come as anyways?”

“Tonight I am Rati, goddess of passion. And you are a Greek god? Which, I wonder? Maybe Zeus, the ravisher.”

“Donis, sweet-cheeks, he was the most beautiful guy there ever was. Doncha know that?”

Adonis? Fool. She had lain with that ridiculous mortal too. Let me see if I can stir him some more.

“Surely you’d rather be the king of all the gods, who came to earth to have sex with mortal women all the time. He came to Europa as a bull. I wonder if kept in bull shape as he fucked her. Snorting and grunting, his huge bull’s pizzle tearing at her mortal cunt.” She noted his reaction, felt the twitch of his penis with her mind. Oh yes. Tonight I feast.

 

For a tiny moment Krythika saw Rati. Rati, here on earth. But she put that thought away quickly. No, this girl’s face was round like hers, her nose was snub, like hers, why this woman had her thick lips and wide mouth. Oh no. It was her. This woman was me. And she was talking to that Morton boy. That rude unpleasant boy with big shoulders and hungry teeth. He’d been foul to her. Vile. Oh the others had laughed. But it was the laughter of fear. The laughter of relief that some else is being laughed at.

What would people think? I can’t have them see me talking to that coarse, unmannered bully. But at that very moment, the woman looked in her eyes and Krythika found herself in thrall. She could not move. She was stuck, paralysed, her eyes seeing, but unable to move or cry out.

She watched, and her mind saw her doppelganger strip off her red sash to show her breasts to the Morton boy. Here in the room, everyone watching. Her mind saw the boy squeeze her breasts, pinch her nipples, she felt what she was watching. Oh the shame. The embarrassment. Now the boy was licking her nipples, like Bipin Chadhri. She felt his warm wet tongue. Oh no. Her hand was on his penis. The penis of the Morton boy. She could feel it in her hand. She could see this woman, her double, wank the boy. In a hall packed with people. People who knew her. Her class mates were watching as she pulled on the penis of a boy. In front of everyone.  She felt the cock against her. In her tight hairy yoni. The cock of the Morton thug was moving inside her most precious secret place. Her face burned with shame. She had never felt so miserable.

Then she saw the real shape of the woman. She was a red, misshapen crone, withered and ancient. Her face was a picture of the purest evil. It was too much.

For Krythika, the world went black.

 

Yleth relished the misery and pain of the peasant girl. She had enjoyed projecting those thoughts. It was like the old days. Feeling the pain of the wife as she saw her husband fuck with a demon. Not a satisfying meal, but an enjoyable aperitif for the banquet to come.

She let herself be led upstairs to the boy’s room. Oh how she would feast.

 

Once in his room, Morton began to have doubts. Hey, I mean, she is a pretty hot chick. Maybe we could, you know, start again. She sure does like my bod. And she can talk dirty.  Maybe we’ll just play nice.

Yleth felt his mood change and quickly searched his memory. Ah yes.

“Thank you for your kind offer, Mr Charlesworth, but I am really too busy to see you tonight.” She walked towards his door.

“The fuck!” Morton choked.

“I am sure it is a wonderful hot-dog, Mr Charlesworth, but Indian girls do not take meat from just anyone.”

“Fucking Injun bitch!” The memory stung like an angry wasp and Morton grabbed the girl and forced her to the bed. He pushed her skirt over her back and tore at the little-girl white panties he saw there. He pushed her buttocks apart and forced his erect penis into the tight hole.

Yleth blazed in joy at the anger and lust that she sucked from the boy. There was some shame too, guilt. A nice condiment. She knew what was expected and screamed and begged in mock terror. She felt herself grow with every thrust from the boy at her back. Inwardly she laughed in demonic delight. Mortal fools. Food for their betters. Enough of these games. She turned to him.

Morton’s heart leapt in horror as the girl turned around. She rotated on his pulsing penis! He was fucking her ass and she had turned all the way round to face him! Not possible. No fucking way. He tried to pull out, but couldn’t. He felt her cunt sucking on him. Yes, it was her cunt. Not her ass. Sucking. Morton was lost in a haze of horror and confusion. He could feel teeth on his cock. Her cunny was biting him. He screamed as he tried to pull away.

Yleth let her laughter out into his silly human face. She roared and cackled as her body drew the boy in. Oh yes. Fear. Fear and lust and anger and vengeance and vanity. Oh what a feast!

Morton saw the thing he was fucking for the first time. Jesus. What a horror. He found himself drawing back from his face, so that he was looking at her through what felt like the eyeholes of a mask. He was pulled further down. The eyeholes were getting further away, all around was red and slimy. She was pulling him through his body!

Yleth sucked the soul of the boy further into herself, she was filling now. Her empty belly growing and tightening with this meal of sin. Belly? Aye. What needs a demon of a womb? All things end up as food. And the only food for the demon is the soul.

Oh mother. Morton felt himself compressed, squeezed and dragged through a tight, fleshy tunnel. At that moment he knew he was past help. She was pulling him through his own cock. But where? Then Morton felt the heat.

 

Yleth kicked the lifeless husk onto the floor and lay on his bed, sated. Bloated. So stuffed with sin she was unable to move. She felt his final struggle for redemption deep inside her and laughed long and heartily.

 

Krythika was suddenly conscious of a light in her eye. It was a bright flashlight in the hand of man who seemed to be dressed as a paramedic and holding up her eyelid, he had dark brown skin and close cropped black hair. She shuddered and said “What are you doing? What is happening?”

The man put down his light and said, “Easy, lady. Everything’s fine. You just had a bit of a turn is all.” He turned his head to an assortment of ghouls and zombies and said. “Thank you, fellahs. Looks like Miss Mistry is back with us. You can go now.” The Hallowe’en ensemble shambled out of the little office.

The man fixed Krythika with deep brown eyes. “Okay, Miss Mistry, here’s what I know. Everyone saw you arrive. About 50 guys all swore they went to fetch you a cup of punch. But before they got to you, you’d got one yourself. Barkeep said you went for the Kool-Aid. So I know this isn’t an alcohol thing. So please, so we can sort this out, what are you taking?”

“Taking?” Krythika was shocked, “You think I’m taking drugs?”

The man let go a little laugh. It was a sweet laugh. “Miss, when I can in here you were screaming about a demon having sex in the hall with a boy and it wasn’t you. No-one knew what to do, so they called us.”

The memory flooded back, “But I saw her. A demon. In the hall. And she took off her clothes for that boy. Right there on the dancefloor.”

The man laughed again. The warmth of it calmed Krythika. A sweet sound. If honey could laugh it would sound like this man.

“It’s Hallowe’en, miss. The dancefloor is full of demons and goblins and zombies – Jeez, so many zombies. And as this is technically a private hall, the cops won’t take any notice of a bit of public nudity.”

“But she was me…” Krythika thought about this. She looked at herself. Her saree was green, her blouse was done up. Yes, you could see her tummy a bit. But… She shook herself. “You must think me a stupid foreign idiot.” She said sheepishly.

The man closed his long brown fingers over hand. Again he looked into her eyes. “Miss Mistry…”

“Krythika, please.”

“Krythika, I don’t know what happened out there. But I think you’re okay now.” He paused. “You know, when I checked your ID, I saw you were from Gujarat Province. We got a guy in the hospital called Pandit Trivedi, he’s from Gujarat too. I could fix up a meet if you’d like.”

“On no. No thank you, I mean. I have met lots of boys from Gujarat.” She blushed. “Not lots... But I came to America in the hope that I might meet American boys.”

His fingers squeezed her hand and his dark face split in a bright smile.

“Maybe I can help there too. My name’s Michael Farrell, I go by Mikey. Now tell me, Krythika, do you dance?”

 

Mikey Farrell was called in three hours later to help with a possible OD, but the kid was dead at the scene. Still in his costume, Roman slave or somesuch, Mikey noticed, change from fucking zombies anyway.  Mikey wondered what that boy had been on. Jeez, that expression. Looks like he died of fright.

 

Krythika awoke at dawn, the weak November light was pushing ineffectively at the curtains. No boy tonight. She thought.  But…a date with a boy! Mikey. A handsome boy. Well a man really. Beautiful deep brown eyes, a wide sensual mouth, broad manly shoulders….she felt her hand creep under the waistband of her pyjama pants and down towards her yoni.

Her fingers rustled the thick hairs. I’d shave for Mikey. She thought. I would. Really. But maybe I could teach him to do this. Oh. Yes. Maybe he’d like to pull just here. Mmmmmmm.

 

Yleth screamed in rage and terror as she felt herself pulled back to the pit. She was sustained, albeit in the tiniest of ways, by the thought that Hallowe’en would return.

And so would she.

 

Happy Hallowe’en everybody.


© Copyright 2020 FranciscoFraser. All rights reserved.

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