Pamela loved the plan. In fact, if she and Hal got caught by her husband, Chet, she'd probably love it all the more. She wanted Hal, but she also wanted Chet to know that he'd been cuckolded and both that he wouldn't blame her for it and couldn't do a thing about it.
The opportunity for the perfect act of adultery arose with the garden club's plan for the Halloween costume party at Evangeline, the deteriorating plantation house on the Mississippi below Natchez, an ideal haunted house location for a costume party. The place hadn't been used for more than two decades, not since the last of the Turnballs died out from some family-shared rare form of anemia.
Pamela's best friend, Cindy, had recently married a grade A hunk, Hal, and Pamela wanted to lay with him so badly that her body ached for him. She had grown tired of Chet years ago and spurned all of his efforts to revitalize their sex life. Lately he had been into kinky outfits and had this strange notion that if they tried exotic positions and she let him take her in the ass it would somehow bring them closer together. Not a chance, she thought; she just needed a strong man's cock throbbing inside her, and she had every belief that the handsome, muscle-bound Hal was just what she needed.
And Cindy had played right into her hands—in fact had given Pamela the idea of how she could pull off the feat. Cindy was so busy with the party arrangements that she asked Pamela to help her and Hal find their costumes. Pamela took Hall shopping and had gotten Hal alone, half dressed, in a changing room, where she quickly was assured that Hal's eyes for her very definitely had been of the roving variety. He was so hot and what he was packing inside his briefs was so massive that Pamela nearly melted on the spot. But she needed something more than a quick grope and some lip work in a costume shop changing room. She needed what Hal was packing pumping inside her, and, for her own sense of humor and thrill, she wanted Chet to suffer in the process.
Her plan was simple in a complex sort of way. She selected the identical costume for both the men and the women of the foursome. Hal and Chet and she and Cindy were close to the same size and build, so, with a bow to Shakespeare and large masks over the upper section of their faces, and if she arranged the tryst in the dim garden of Evangeline, she was sure that she'd be able to say that her coupling with Hal was simply a case of mistaken identity all around, what with both men in vampire costumes and both women decked out as Little Bo Peep. Even if Chet or Cindy discovered them in the act—and Pamela did so hope it would be Chet, if anyone—neither she nor Hal could be blamed.
The night of Halloween proved to be ideal for Pamela's plan. The evening was warm and the moon was nearly absent, leaving the old plantation house's boxwood gardens, with its mazes rich with deadends and isolated park benches, dripping in the rich atmosphere of stolen love. The party was in full swing when Pamela, having just parted from her husband on the dance floor, gave Hal the high sign that she was going out into the garden to an isolated bench nearly swallowed by a graceful old magnolia tree.
By prearrangement, she would stand in front of the bench, facing a nearby giant spruce tree, as if deep in thought, ready to be approached from the rear by an "accosting stranger," who she was prepared to tell the world she believed was her husband, pursuing his latest fetishes to enhance their married life, an activity she would say she was willing wholeheartedly to succumb to in this enchanted garden on Halloween night.
And then, just as she had planned, her lover was there, close behind her. The cape from the costume she had picked out was swirling about her, and his strong arms were enfolding her. He kissed the hollow of her neck and she turned her head, meeting his lips with a hungry, open kiss. Tongues dueled, hers giving in to his as he stroked his big, consuming tongue in and out of her mouth, a harbinger of delights to come. She found his taste intoxicating, and, just as if she were drinking sweet wine, his kisses were loosening her, making her weak while at the same time inflaming her to his touch.
His hands ripped at the laces criss-crossing her peasant's blouse across her ample bosom. He was being rough and insistent with her as he freed the vest that the laces had been holding together and pulled her breasts, one by one out of the low-necked billowy blouse. And she loved him being rough with her. He worked her breasts in his hands, rolling her nipples between his fingers, making her flow start. And he kissed her deeply, using his teeth, in the hollow of her neck. Her world was spinning; she was loving this; she was putty in his strong arms.
