"So, what do you think," said Sally, "do you like it?"
It would have been tough not to like my wife's Halloween costume. The black satin contrasted beautifully with her pale complexion and long blonde hair as she paraded in front of me.
"A witch," I joked, "how very appropriate!
But not any normal witch costume this. The front was scooped down so low as to show all but the smallest portion of Sally's breasts and the skirt was so short that the casual observer would have been able to immediately tell the colour of panties that she wore - if she in fact had have worn any. Her long, slim legs were encased in the finest black silk stockings and the whole ensemble was finished off with vicious looking black spike-heeled shoes.
"Oh yeah?" she chided, lifting the skirt to show me her neatly trimmed bush, "but I bet you'd love to ride my broomstick!"
I moved towards her my hands immediately reaching for her partially exposed body. The slap to my wrist stung as I was mere inches from my goal.
"Down, boy! Just for that you will have to wait for the party. If it's anything like last year, we'll have so much fun!"
Last year. How could I forget? That memory would be with me - haunt me - for the rest of my life.
Say what you like about Sally - and in the past, people have done just that - call her a slut; a whore; a tart, it's likely she will agree with you. But she enjoys herself - as do I.
I learned a long time ago that I would never be enough to satisfy her alone and, as time has progressed, I have found sharing her with others to be some of the most sexually fulfilling experiences of my life. Our parties are notorious within our close group of friends and last years Halloween bash was, to be frank, one of the single most weird experiences that I have yet encountered.
Last years party began normally enough but, as usual, soon degenerated into a sort of "free for all" orgy. We had invited six of our closest friends - three men and three women - whom we knew to have similar sexual tastes to ourselves. The evening was full of games and tricks that always seemed to have a sexual undertone to them and, before long, most of our guests were either completely naked or at least in various stages of undress.
Sally's outfit was again of a most revealing nature: Blood-red, hold-up stockings and a tight black basque that had been pulled down to reveal her voluptuous breasts. Both Sally's nipples have been pierced and she wore an ornate chain that linked to large rings through each of the permanently stiff buds.
As the clock ticked relentlessly towards the midnight "Witching" hour, I was happy to watch my wife dancing and swaying in lewd embraces with David and Carl as they alternately felt up her tits and slid fingers down the front of her panties. Carl's wife, Janey was by my side with her own panties around her ankles while I probed her sweet depths. Janey's fingers were just about to work my cock out from my torn leather pants when the clock struck midnight.
How the idea of a seance was reached is still a mystery to us all, but knowing Sally as I do, the idea would probably have been hers.
In various stages of nudity, the eight of us sat on the floor in a circle with hard cocks and wet pussies. The lights dimmed - again, nobody can remember an explanation for this - and candles flared illuminating the gloom and casting weird, eerie shadows over the room. Sally placed a newspaper cutting with a photograph on the carpet in the centre of the circle and encouraged us to join hands.
"Is that the picture I think it is, Sal?" asked Clive, a little too loudly.
"Shhh...Concentrate!" Sally hissed, her eyes tight shut.
I remembered the article well. Two years previously, on Halloween night, there had been a car wreck on the main road outside our house. Not so much a car wreck as a motorcycle wreck. A whole gang of young bikers had been racing up and down the street until a truck had pulled out unexpectedly in front of them. The whole street was a carnage; fragments of bikes and truck littering the road. Three of the biker gang lost their lives that night. It seemed clear now what Sally had in mind.
"Just concentrate!" she repeated in the same hushed tones, "Let's see if we can contact them!"
In my experience, this sort of unexpectedly strange behaviour usually elicits a not so strange response. A few giggles from around the circle were immediately quieted by Sally and apart from a little heavy breathing caused by fingers that still sought out erogenous zones, the room lapsed into an eerie silence.
I could see the beads of perspiration forming on Sally's furrowed brow as she fought to concentrate harder and harder on her task before finally letting out an exasperated cry and admitting defeat.
"Oh, fuck it!" she spat, "if they don't want to talk to us then I'm not gonna try anymore. Switch on the lights, someone and pass me a drink!"
