The grocery bags are heavy and filled with candy, and I'm juggling to get a hand free to work the key into the door when he opens it.
"Trick or treat?" he says, grinning a lopsided smile. The grey t-shirt hugging his biceps makes his eyes look bluer, more mischievous.
"I think trick-or-treating is supposed to work the other way," I say, walking through the door and setting the bags down on the counter. "Aren't you supposed to give me the candy, if you're answering the door?"
I take the milk out of the bag and put it in the fridge, and put the eggs in after it.
"Oh, I will," he says, wrapping his arms around me from behind. "I asked you a question: trick or treat?" I can feel his warm breath on my neck as his lips start just below my ear, trailing down to the collar of my shirt.
"Not right now, Brian," I say, jerking away from his grasp. I move to put the frozen vegetables in the freezer, and pull the bags of Reese's cups and Milky Ways out of the bags, crumpling the plastic and throwing it away. I start to open the candy and pour it into our plastic pumpkins, but he grabs my wrists and spins me towards him.
"Oh, come on. Be festive, babe." And he's grinning again, his clean-shaven face crinkling around that stupid smile that made me fall in love with him the first time I saw it.
"The kids will be here in a few hours!" I say, and I'm struggling, but not really. I'm starting to feel heat rising to the skin in all the places that his eyes glaze over. He's licking his lips.
"So, we have time," he says. "You taste sweeter than chocolate, and I'd like to unwrap you."
And then he's kissing me, nibbling my ear and running his hands along my sides from my chest to my waist. I have so much work to do: a paper to finish for my thesis, candy to put out, a costume to finish. I'm trying to keep my resolve, but I can never seem to with him. I want to feel his callouses on my skin.
"Alright, alright, fine," I say, laughing. "I'll take a treat."
"Okay, then. Trick it is."
And he's brought my hands down behind my back, holding my wrists together in one hand as he reaches into his back pocket and grabs a set of handcuffs.
"Brian, what the fuck are you doing? Let me go."
"Why should I?"
"Because I asked you to?" He spins me around and pulls me into him by the hips. I can feel his hardness against my back and I'm angry, I'm so fucking angry because he's not listening, but I hate to admit that it's hot to feel his huge hands gripping me when there's nothing I can do. I will never tell him that, though.
"And?" he asks. "I told you I was going to be a cop for Halloween." He brings a cloth over my eyes and ties it behind my neck so I can see nothing. I shake my head, but it doesn't budge.
"Aw, baby, that's cute," he says, and he's running his hands under my shirt, over my bra, and I can feel my nipples stiffen at the cold air and the goosebumps he's raising on my skin.
"Seriously, Brian, let me go. This isn't funny anymore." I try to pull away, but his hands hold me tight.
"I'm not laughing," he says, and slips a ball into my mouth, tightening straps around the back of my head.
He's not going to let me go, I think, and in that moment, I realize that I'm afraid of this gentle man that I've dated for years. We've used handcuffs before, but never without express permission. We have a safe word, but I've lost my ability to say it.
I'm unable to see or speak, and he starts pushing me, I assume, down the hallway toward our bedroom.
I'm angry, I'm unspeakably fucking angry. Who gave him the right?
But against my better judgment, I feel myself getting wet as I hear a door open in front of me, and he bends and picks me up, helpless and squirming in his arms, and deposits me on the bed like a sack of potatoes.
My teeth are clamped around the ball, and I can see nothing, but I can feel him looming over me, almost like I can see his shadow. And then his hands begin his assault, groping my boobs roughly, feeling their way down my sides, grabbing my ass. I'm jostled and turned and then he's working my zipper and I let out a whimper. It's turning me on but I didn't have a choice and I know that I'm not supposed to be turned on, not like this. And then my pants are down my legs, taking my panties with them, and the cold air makes me realize just how wet I've become.
I feel a tug on my blouse and then cold air rushes in as it's ripped off of me. I feel the cool slice of what must be metal as he cuts off my bra. I'm naked and trussed like a pig, at his mercy. He did say he was going to unwrap me.
And then his lips graze my collarbone, gentle for an instant, his stubble scratching the tops of my breasts. And then he's ravenous, biting every inch of flesh he can get to, from my neck and around the soft skin of my chest until he finds a nipple and pops it in his mouth. Like candy, I think, and almost laugh, as Brian circles his tongue around the sensitive flesh and then scrapes his teeth lightly along the sides, biting down just enough to make me yelp. He moves his mouth to the other nipple, massaging the now-sore one between two fingers, his other hand dipping between my legs. I can feel how wet I am when he touches me after it's seeped onto his fingers.
And then his lips are trailing down to my hips, his teeth biting down hard, hard enough I'm sure that I'll have marks in the morning. I'm not upset about it. I was mad in the kitchen, sure, and I'll have to yell at him about this in the morning, more out of pure obligation than anything else, but when I feel his head gently nudging against my clit, I want to strain against the ball gag to scream for him to put it in me, give it to me, let me take it as deep as he can give it to me.
"I'm yourth," I say around the gag, because I know he loves when I tell him that, even though this time it was muffled and with a lisp.
And Brian pushes into me, and Brian laughs, but Brian's laughter is across the room while he pushes his cock, hot and throbbing, into me.
And I feel Brian's stubble against my cheek as his hot breath blows flames into my ear, his hips slamming into mine as he fills me, and I realize that Brian was clean-shaven when I got home.
Whoever is inside me right now, it is not my boyfriend.
"I did say I was opting for the trick," Brian says. The hands that belong to the cock I'm being speared on are on my ass, but a third hand reaches and takes off the blindfold.
When my eyes adjust to the dim light of the bedroom, it's Mark, Brian's best friend, whose sweaty hair is falling into his eyes as he thrusts into me. He rears up and looms over me, never missing his rhythm, as he grins, a goofy surfer boy-meets toothpaste commercial smile. His afternoon stubble graces his tanned cheeks, which I now know match the perfectly tanned skin that covers his defined chest and the deep lines in his sides that point directly to where he's moving inside me.
"Although, you might think this is more of a treat."
I'm squirming to get him off me. He's beautiful, and I've always admired him, but I never gave him permission to be inside me and he's moving and I can feel the pressure in me building, mounting as he pushes inside me fast and pulls out slow, his hands on my hips, letting me feel every inch of him as he slides out. But this is wrong, so wrong. Fuck him, I think, even as he's fucking me. My movements are futile, as his hands keep pulling me back down to meet him, even as I try to wriggle away.
Brian is on me now, too, his hands groping my boobs expertly, his mouth hot on my neck. He's naked, too, and I'm admiring his porcelain skin, dusted with freckles, against the darker skin of his best friend.
