The Trick Or Treater

"Trick or treat."

"Oh look, a slutty nun. I've never seen that before." I rolled my eyes at her standing there, plastic jack-o-lantern with a black purse inside clutched in her hands. Her lingerie/nun costume was unbelievably cute, and I praised the warm spell we'd been having that allowed her to go out like that. "Step inside, unless you're a vampire... Oh, just come in."

Once in the foyer, I got a better look at her, all petite with black fishnet thigh-highs, garters, and black panties. The intricate black bustier, rosary and nun's habit completed the ensemble. Her figure was slim, her hair obscured by the habit, but presumably brown, based on her eyebrows. Her green eyes looked at me nervously through, shifting one foot on the floor as she smiled at me coyly.

"You understand I'm a visiting American professor here at the University. No one ever trick-or treats around here and my French is poor."

Again, she did that thing with averted eyes and a coy smile, but I see that a lot. The young undergraduate women at the University I teach do that. I have no idea what it is about my salt-and-pepper hair or my dark academic aesthetic - or maybe it's the glasses, but I've had my share of young crushes that I've had to, well, crush. But she's not one of my students, and I wonder.

Her English had only a slight, undefinable accent, "One of my friends said you might be homesick and would appreciate this," she stammered, "She dared me to do this." She smiled coyly again and looked around. "Do you live alone, this place is awfully big?" In truth, I did live alone, I had a stipend for a housekeeper but never got around to hiring one. So, piles of books lay haphazardly around the place, and I spent most of my time in the study or the sitting room as most of the other rooms gathered dust. But, despite being considered modest, it really was too large for just me.

"I see." Luckily, I didn't have to try to speak French to her. My students must use English for my classes and while I can read French well enough, I've never been able to produce anything but awkward, poorly pronounced sentences. "The University provides my home; all of the dark wood and antiques are just a bonus." She looked all around, soaking it all in, and then back to me with that damnable coy smile.

"Well, I appreciate your thoughtfulness, please thank your friend for me," and I started for the door.

"No treat Mister?" She asked, "Isn't that the custom? Or a Trick?". Hmmm, a trick. I wondered if she wasn't a pro, and this was some even more elaborate setup. I'd seen those girls, although not so close to the University this far out from the main city, and she didn't have that air about her. She seemed almost innocent, but that could simply be a byproduct of youth. Or her nun outfit? Still, even if someone had gone to all the trouble of hiring a whore for me, to what end?

"It's Doctor, and no tricks for you mademoiselle. I'm also fresh out of treats." I regarded her thoughtfully. There was something about her... After quick consideration I led her into the kitchen, the one actually neat and tidy room in the house and poured us both a glass of whatever red wine I was drinking at the time. "Hopefully this will do." I beckoned her to sit at the corner of the counter bar and pulled out a stool. I sat across from her as she scooted closer to the counter, placed the jack-o-lantern on it, and removed the nun's habit.

Over my glass of wine, I chatted with her for a while. Her name was Selena, and she was 23. She had moved from France at a young age, lived in England mostly and Montreal for a while, and had recently moved back to France after her father had been convicted of several felonies and her parents divorced. She now lived with her uncle, whom she described as a "vile abusive pig" and was struggling to find a decent job. Eventually, she wanted to complete her degree in journalism.

Her delicate fingers held the wine glass too firmly and I was afraid it would break. She finished the first glass a little too quickly, and I refreshed our glasses. She must have had a phone in her purse because the jack-o-lantern buzzed angrily. She seemed sweet, and the way she would half-smile, with her eyes darting to my face and then looking away, made me drop my usual guard. It was nice to have someone to chat with, and she began to relax, and didn't seem as nervous.

"Are you chilly? I can get you something to cover yourself." I found my eyes drawn to her bustier and didn't want to appear lecherous, as I'm sure she could see me looking down periodically. Her breasts didn't seem overly large, but the bustier certainly made them "pop".

No, I'm fine, thank you for your consideration though." She took another sip of wine. "I think this is warming me up quite nicely. Not bad for an American."

"We're not all uncivilized boors. Or ugly."

"No, certainly not ugly." She twisted her hair around a finger and smiled coyly at me again.

I had spent some time as a journalist out of college, and recounted stories, probably boring ones, from my days with a travel magazine. I was working on my Master's degree.

"The magazine wanted a story on Haiti, so I found myself there in February of 2004, at the beginning of the coup against Aristide."

"2004? How old were you?" I laughed to myself, she was maybe three or so.

"I was twenty six. Yes, that makes me 46 now. An ancient, wizened old man." I pulled my lips over my teeth trying to look comically toothless. She politely laughed and smiled at me, taking another sip of wine.

I resumed my story, "I felt I had a responsibility as a journalist to observe what was going on, so I went out to talk to people and find out what people thought about what was going on, and my French is bad enough but Creole? Suddenly someone shouts something at me, and there's gunfire, and then a pain in my side."

Selena looked concerned, gazing intently at me with those alert, green eyes.

"I'd been hit by a stray bullet. It was a foolish risk. Luckily some kind people pulled me off the street and the next thing I know I'm in a hospital, and apparently lucky to be alive. The Marines arrived, and once I had recovered enough, I got back to the States. The doctors in Haiti did a bad job, and I ended up in a hospital again. One of the nurses took a liking to me and we dated after I was discharged. My thirst for adventure was gone, so I finished my Masters and decided to go with my Doctorate. I married the nurse, her name was Caitlin, and I've been teaching and doing journalism about journalism ever since. And my French is still atrocious."

"So, you are Doctor... who?"

"I'm often mistaken for a Time Lord, due to my advanced age." She obviously did not get the reference. "Palmer, Doctor Palmer. James Palmer, but please, just call me Doctor." She smirked at that. "Jim, call me Jim."

"Nope. Too late. It's Doctor."

"Is it too late to go back to Mister?" I winced at that. Both suddenly sounded so... old. "OK, Doctor it is. But only if I can call you Miss...?" I fished for her last name.

"Miss works just fine," she said with a smirk, not taking the bait.

"Anyhow, here I am teaching American Current Affairs in France. Year four of a five year contract."

"What will you do when your time is up?"

"I honestly don't know."

She was oddly attentive and asked questions. She was particularly interested in going to school back in the States and she laughed at my poor attempts at humor. She talked more of her time in the States, and we compared experiences of places we had been. I was fascinated by her perspective, and she was considerate of my experience.

Try as I might, I could not stop glancing at her bustier, and realized it was warmer than I thought. I stood, and took off my cardigan sweater and bowtie, casually laying them on the counter, and even unbuttoned a couple buttons of my oxford shirt. Must have been the wine.

"Can I see it?" she asked hesitantly, doing that coy thing with her eyes.

"It?" I probably sounded like an idiot.

She laughed and mock whispered, "You know, 'IT'. She laughed again. "Your scar, from the gunshot."

"Oh, yeah. It's not that large," I untucked my shirt and pulled it up just above my waist. "See, smaller than a dime." I tugged my shirt further up at my back. "And here's the exit wound. Luckily it went clean through and just nicked some vital organs. Infection was the worst part, and crappy hospital care."

"I'm glad you ended up OK."

Standing a couple feet away from her I reached for my glass, figuring the evening had played itself out. and noticed she was looking at me, studying my face. This time she did not avert her eyes and there was no smile on her face, in fact, she looked a little sad. "Your family didn't move here with you?" She finished her second glass. I realized I hadn't spoken of my late wife. I never did. The jack-o-lantern buzzed angrily again.

"My family..." I trailed off. "Caitlin died several years ago, we never had children. Not that we didn't want them, just didn't work out that way." I collected her glass and refreshed them both again, emptying the bottle. "So, I applied for a position here in France. It seemed like a good time for a change of scenery."

"I'm sorry," She said quietly, "I didn't mean..." Her words hanging unspoken in the silence.

"It's alright, it was several years ago." I handed her the glass, and my fingers brushed hers, sending a shiver down my spine. She was beginning to show signs of intoxication, and I was definitely feeling warmer myself. I stood over her, looking at her face. Her short brown hair topped a porcelain face with a tapering chin and thin, dark lips. Her green eyes looked at me with curiosity, and I lost myself for a moment in them, full of promise, and peril, unknown depths that could...

Coming to my senses I continued: "It's just... I... Now...," My usual glibness had fled me. I'm not sure what I was trying to say. All I knew at that moment was I was lonely and had been that way a long time. I was masterful in creating my own distractions from it, but in that moment, gazing at her face, that beautiful face, the face of a woman less than half my age but full of the life I once had, I was suddenly and acutely aware of it. I steeled myself to don my usual impenetrable armor again, but it wasn't there. I felt naked before her. What she thought of me, a man she had only recently met, twice her age, staring at her (I felt I was staring but couldn't look away), I cannot say. I tried to avert my eyes, my hand searching for my glass of wine, and then her hand touched mine, and I was afraid I'd burst into tears. The seconds ticked by.

She had swiveled on her stool to face me, and despite us only being a couple feet apart, I felt the impenetrable gulf of a lifetime separating us. Then, I felt foolish, like a young boy, and looked for anything to snap me out of this enchantment so I could regain my typical reserve and composure. Which naturally, was when the doorbell rang.

Ding-dong.

"I should get that." I was at once relieved and annoyed.

She continued to look at me and I started to pull my hand away. "No," she said, and squeezed my hand, holding it tight. I shifted uncomfortably, uncertain how to continue. She smiled at me again, and I was paralyzed. She released my hand and pulled a black cinch bag from the plastic jack-o-lantern. From it she produced a mobile phone and quickly began composing a text. The doorbell rang again, twice.

"My friend dropped me off and that's her coming to... rescue me so we can go to a party." She put her phone back into her cinch. "I told her you were not here, and decided I didn't want to go out, so I had a bolt take me home." She took a sip from her glass of wine and stood up, her eyes looking up at mine as she smiled. "Besides, I don't think I'm the only one who needs rescuing." She took my wine glass from my frozen hand and set hers and mine on the counter, stepping slightly towards me. "Now, where were we?" My mind reeled at this revelation, and it was as if some imprisoned beast had been released. She had scarcely finished her sentence when my hand was at her waist, encircling it as I drew her tight.

She smelled of amber and sandalwood, and I pulled my glasses off and threw them on the counter as my lips sought hers hungrily. I wanted to consume this woman, this Selene with the green eyes and perfect smile, and as my hand reached to guide her face, my lips pressed to hers. She answered with a slim tongue piercing my mouth, and her lithe body molded itself to mine. Her skin was warm, and my hand on her waist felt brutish and clumsy, holding it firmly as our faces swiveled and turned and our mouths devoured each other.

Her one hand was on my shoulder, and the other cupping my face, as our tongues danced in each other's mouths, and soft moans broke free from our throats. She smelled so delightful, and her warm breath mingled with mine as I inhaled her scent, our lips and tongues continuing to explore. Standing at the kitchen counter, the hard granite pressing into my hip, I pulled her hair back from her neck and began to explore with my mouth. She tilted her head offering me greater access and kisses trailed down her neck to her exposed shoulder. I pulled the strap of her bustier to the side, hanging loosely by her arm, as I first sucked, then nibbled her shoulder. Her little gasp as my teeth first bit, followed by her pulling me even closer encourages me, and my head is full of her scent as I savor her tender flesh.

I fear I am losing control, with this strange but familiar beautiful woman I have just met, plunging headlong into an abyss with no thought of return. It is exhilarating and inevitable, and... A small part of me appears from the depths, asserting a tiny amount of reason and I stand over her, my mouth hungrily exploring her shoulder, and the base of her neck.

"Are you OK? Would you like me to stop? I'm not sure I can restrain myself if we continue." I hoped I wasn't spoiling the mood, but I had to know this is what she truly desired. Her response was to guide my hand to her panty covered vulva and press it against the obvious wetness soaking them. She sighed, and in that moment, I was undone.

My mouth returned to hers as our lips locked together, tongues straining to explore as yet unplumbed depths. My finger instantly slipped her panty aside at the crotch, and easily penetrated the freshly exposed wet folds, as she let out a little moan, clinging to me. My finger hooked as I found her G spot, and my thumb further exposed her sex as it pressed against her rosebud and burrowed its way down to draw it from its hood. Her hips shifted at this, and I could feel her breathing increase as through conjoined closed lips, she suddenly sucked the air from my lungs. We breathed each other's breath, and her hips squirmed as she released my mouth and started kissing my neck. Free to concentrate, I used the lightest touches on her exposed bud, and soon she was slowly squirming, her mouth absently sucking at my neck.

I continued to tease and stroke her sex. Her mouth ceased its activity, and her moans had become louder, with more depth. I felt her grip on me tighten and her rapid breath against my neck. Her legs shook as she trembled against me. I fully supported her weight with my other arm, as her back arched slightly, and her whole body spasmed, her sweet voice stuttering an inarticulate song of pleasure.

Slowly she relaxed, and I withdrew my hand, intoxicated by her aroma, as it passed by my face to her shoulder. She resumed kissing me, but without the earlier urgency. Our lips were gentler, and I stroked her shoulder tenderly, still mindful of the burning intensity I felt within, snarling its desire as my hardened member strained against my tweed trousers. My fingers reached behind, and unclasped her bustier, in an almost forgotten but long practiced manner, and watched as it slipped off her shoulders and down to the floor at our feet. Her small breasts were full and pert, her nipples were rigid, turning slightly upward. I wanted to touch them.

I lifted her body onto the counter, and she yelped with surprise. "Doctor! My ass is cold!" She smiled as she shifted herself, not looking in the least put out. I slid my hands underneath her cheeks as she rocked back and forth to let me.

"Warmer?" I asked, and she placed her fingers in my hair and nodded assent, as I stooped my shoulders and bent at the waist so my mouth could envelope one of her breasts. And still the scent, her scent, like little tendrils of mist entering my nose and sweeping away all reason with every breath. Urging me on, I hungrily devoured first one, then the other breast, feasting on her dusky, hardened nipples and licking all around her pink areolas. When I would nibble too hard on one of her nipples, she would shiver with a start, and I would mouth at the air like a baby bird, trying to reclaim my luscious prize. She teased me and giggled as she would arch her back, watching me, mouth open, trying to engulf a breast again.

I would squeeze her shapely, firm butt each time I did this, to gain more leverage, and she appeared to enjoy that almost as much as my attention to her nipples. All pretense of shyness was gone. She smiled at me openly and sighed and moaned as her fingers roamed my back, and neck and face, and played with my hair. I was afraid I would wear out her breasts, and as much as I thoroughly enjoyed them, I was eager to enjoy more of her delights.

With one arm under her knees, I slid my other under her shoulder and scooped her up in my arms, cradling her against my chest. She threw her arm around my neck and laughed at the suddenness of it. She leaned in to kiss me again, cupping her hand along my face, and I started the walk to the bedroom. She was not very heavy, and her slim frame was easy to hold. I'm certainly not an athlete but maintained myself well enough to climb the stairs with her giggling and trying to kiss me the whole time, depositing her on my bed, arms and legs akimbo as she sprawled amongst the crumpled sheets and blanket.

"This is your last chance Selene," I nearly whispered as I began to unbutton my shirt. "Do I have your consent?" My shirt came off with my heart in my throat, my entire being orbiting her pleasure and my pleasure in her. Her response was to unhook the garters from her fishnet thigh-highs and remove her stained black panties and the garter belt itself. The black fishnet stockings remained. She scrambled forward, pushing aside the heavy blanket, and reached for my belt. I placed my large hands over her ethereally delicate, porcelain fingers, and together we removed my belt, and then lowered the zipper. She gave a tug on my boxers and they, and the tweed trousers slid down my legs to rest on my shoes. My hard on snapped to attention, bobbing like a coiled snake, ready to strike. In my momentarily restricted condition, she acted.

Those delicate fingers reached out and she dabbed at the drop of pre-cum that had formed at the tip with her thumb, then taking her thumb she licked it. An exaggerated pantomime of delight filled her face, as she simply said "Yum," and then reached out again and started gently stroking the head and glans. It was too much for me to bear, and I could not wrest my eyes away from her beautiful sex. Even the word beautiful; I have no language to work from, for I fear the word beautiful pales in description of the reality I was mesmerized by.

I slipped off my house shoes, and in trying to free my one leg I lost my balance a little and in trying to regain my balance I lost it completely and came crashing down nearly on top of her, pushing her backwards into the bed. My face came to rest on her lower belly, and I looked up, past her breasts, to see her face, that heavenly face, looking at me with surprise and amusement. She started to laugh as I kicked off the first pantleg, and now free to move, I pulled back and buried my face between her creamy white thighs.