**First one I've written in years. Comments are appreciated.**
The party was going spectacularly well. In normal lighting, most of the costumes present would be revealed as cheap package deals from the Halloween outlet store. But in the dim haze of candlelight, I might've been standing in the middle of a Grim Brothers fairy tale. My good friend Lily, tonight masquerading as Marie Antoinette, twirled by.
"What a splendid party, Mrs. Dracula!" She laughed. I nodded in thanks and sipped at my red wine. I had spared no expense on my own costume, I wore a slinky black velvet dress that was off the shoulder and barely reached my thighs. Over that I had donned a leather demi-corset with genuine ivory boning that boosted my D cups up so that my nipples were barely concealed by the top of the dress. The long sleeves trailed down just above the tips of my fingers which were decorated with long black acrylic nails. I wore thigh high fishnet stockings and the straps of my garter belt peeked from beneath the hem of the dress every now and then. My long jet black hair matched the ensemble nicely and I had strapped on a black lace choker around my slender, pale neck. My black stiletto heels were beginning to pinch my toes but pain is beauty, right?
My husband smiled from across the room as he danced with a giant green M&M. Naturally, he was Count Dracula tonight. He wore an early 19th century black suit with a morning coat and blood-red jacquard vest. His creamy silk cravat had cost a small fortune but it felt like whipped cream against your skin. We had even sprung for retractable fangs and he was delighting in surprising people with them.
A new arrival that I didn't recognize crossed the dimly lit living room. His progress was slow through the press of bodies but he emerged, facing me on the other side of the refreshment table. I couldn't tell who it was behind the Bauta mask but he wore a regal Spanish Carnival style suit in deep velvet and emerald green.
"Mrs. Dracula," he said, bowing with a ridiculous flourish. I recognized his voice immediately and my heart began to race.
"What are you doing here?" I hissed.
"You invited me," he said, innocently as he made his way around the table.
"I did no such thing. I haven't even seen you in a year." I gripped the edge of the table for support and my eyes flew panic-stricken to my oblivious husband who was now dancing with Scheherazade.
"Oh. Well I was invited last year so I assumed the invitation still stood." It was true that I had invited him the previous year, against my better judgment. As I had suspected, under the influence of wild lust and a little too much to drink, we had spent the night in the gazebo in the yard. I lost count of how many times he made me orgasm. A year later, my husband still didn't know, and I had adamantly refused to speak to Gerry again.
"You have to leave," I whispered.
"You know you don't want me to do that." He stood behind me now, his fingertips grazing my velvet-clad arms. I tried to turn, to run, to be anywhere but near him. His smell, his heat, his strength, everything drew me in. But he held me fast by placing his hands over mine on the table and pressing the solid wall of his chest against my back. With his right hand, he removed his mask and I was grateful I couldn't see his face. He snaked his left arm around my waist and I could feel his growing erection against my barely-covered ass. He pulled me gently towards the kitchen door, directly behind us, whispering in my ear.
"You know I can please you. You're getting wet just thinking about the things my hands can do to your body." I wouldn't admit that he was right as I felt a hot puddle of warmth settling between my thighs.
When we had reached the privacy of the kitchen and the door had swung closed, he turned me to face him. His eyes burned, a mirror of my own I was sure, with his desire for my body.
"Please," I whispered.
"Just tell me to leave, Marissa. Tell me to stop and I will." He trailed warm, wet kisses across my neck.
"Please," I said again, stop resting on the tip of my tongue.
"Please...what?" His lips now hovered millimeters from mine and his breath fanned across my face. He smelled spicy, like cardamom and cloves.
"Please...don't stop." His lips crushed against mine, mercilessly as he pulled my body against his. I wanted every inch of his skin to touch mine. His hands tore recklessly at my dress until the corset was on the floor and the top was pulled down to my waist. He pulled his tongue from my mouth and bent his head to my exposed breasts. He licked one of my nipples and I couldn't stifle an eager moan at the sensation rippling through me. Suddenly his teeth sunk into my nipple and I felt a scream building in my throat. Before it could escape, he clapped a hand over my mouth and used his lips to ease away the pain of the bite. God, it felt so good.
He pushed me up onto the island counter in the center of the kitchen and dropped to his knees. His face was now level with my dripping wet pussy. He forced my knees apart and licked, bit, and kissed his way along my thighs. When he reached the center, he laughed softly. I had not worn any underwear this evening.
"Knew I was coming, huh?" He asked.
"No," I grinned, maliciously. "I just knew I would be."
I buried my fingers in his hair and pulled his mouth towards my throbbing clit. He buried his face against me, his tongue going wild. I threw my head back, breathing deeply, feeling my orgasm building. As his tongue swirled around my clit and then in and out of my pussy, I felt my hips start to move against his face.
"I'm close..." I whispered.
"I know," he laughed. He slid a finger into my pussy as a shaft of bright light penetrated the kitchen. I turned to see my husband's shocked face and came so hard I almost cried.
It took me a moment to recover from the racking spasms but when I did, I slowly sat up. Gerry had stood and backed a step or two away from me, staring at my husband who was frozen in the half open doorway.
"Chris...I..." I could barely speak between lack of breath and the guilt that suddenly washed over me. Chris seemed to snap out of his shock then and he slowly stepped the rest of the way into the kitchen, pushing the door shut behind him. I couldn't read his face in the now-darkened room.
