It 'twas Halloween once again. A time for pumpkin pie and roasted seeds that I find more thrilling and exciting then a handsome man parading around in a bath towel or a skimpy G-string in the back of my charming mansion on the hilltop. Well, at least not until I have my yearly dose of penis-cillene.
Each year I would select a special someone to dress up as a pumpkin-head and read to me in my lonely Victorian room. You see, I am an ailing granny of twelve children and as many as fifteen grandchildren. So you can see why I am bedridden and can't get around like I use to. Ever since Henry died and left me with his family business of growing giant pumpkins, I felt obligated to carryout his last request. To never sell or allow anyone to gain control of the business his granddad once began back in 1901!
I reside somewhere in the eastern part of the country where my two sons and one lovely daughter still remains. The giant brick estate is part of American history, once a plantation in the early 18th Century along with 200,000 acres and over 200 rooms in the beautiful historical mansion.
Henry was a fair man and a damn fine lover too! He was the one that begins this whole idea of having an annual pumpkin festival in our own backyard that consists of baked pumpkin pie and many other types of dessert that I will explain later in my story that I know will arouse you and your senses.
Many fine folks like yourself would come here to meet newer friends or simply to gain some of granny's special recipe, hair pie, that's always lined with the white powder or such known vitamin as...ecstasy! To accompany them in their quest for an affair or to quite simply rekindle the love they once knew and enjoyed. Many wearing scary masks as we, the staff, provide the cemetery and a host of spooky goblins stirring about the estate to raise the clients blood pressure.
Henry has been gone now for twenty-some odd years and would be very disappoint if I didn't have a bed partner on such an occasion as...Halloween Delight. Often feeling him around the eerie estate, especially on such an occasion as this. Filling the guests heads with fear and excitement as his spirit lurks in places not established by the staff or I to provide a scary environment.
Most of the clients, we like to call them, are mostly from far away counties or in a differ-ent state, mostly out of our time zone. But never the less we treat our clients as if they were our own children. Feed them right and they'll come back for me.
Often we try to drum up different treats and styles of play to keep our guest coming that it's not so predictable. Like for instants, bobbing for seeds, pie filling wrestling, or our favorite, pumpkin-throwing contest. Where the winner, usually the strongest, would get to read to me upstairs in my own Victorian bedroom. Usually the story is about a man entertaining a young beautiful wife. Often feeling the presence of my late spouse, Henry that watches and preys upon my lovers mind.
Sometimes the contest backfires. Like a couple of years when one of my seven darling son's won and had to read to an old goat like me for the entire duration of five and a half hours. Which usually only takes me two and a half before I'm sexually aroused. But, it's not exactly what you would call a family affair.
My butler of thirty-five years always enjoys the fine festivities and the beautiful women that bounces around in the sack with either a gal she brought with her or one of the many attractive men dressed up in a Halloween costume. "Oh, yeah! That's a must here."
Marie, a fabulous dancer and my private nurse can always be found walking around to fantasize about the gorgeous hunks, and more often than not, getting laid by one of them.
