All Hallow's Eve

Author's Note: This is a story I wrote almost ten years ago and had completely forgotten about, recently discovering it while cleaning up my hard drive. It was going to be a multiple chapter series; however, thought it would make a perfect submission for the Halloween event so submitting in its entirety. I hope you enjoy and vote favorably!

*

"Mr. Wilcox?" the doctor inquired.

Broken from my reverie—the bright lights of the hospital maternity ward glaring down upon us—I apologized to the physician.

"Sorry doctor. I drifted off thinking about an answer to your question," I told him.

The obstetrician smiled at me, obviously uncomfortable. I knew the reason for his question and unease; although, as many years as he had been in practice, I am sure he had been in similar scenarios, particularly as he attempted to politically handle a potentially explosive situation.

Once again my mind drifted back to October of last year...

*********************

"John, did you hear me? Mary's going to be here on the eighteenth. Will you be able to get off from work early and pick her up at the airport?" Melissa, my wife, asked again—for the fifth time.

It was not that I was ignoring her, I was just mesmerized looking at her, my thoughts straying to more carnal inclinations.

My wife looked beautiful this morning as always. Biasness aside, there was not a man alive who would not openly admire her figure and take a second look at her, and I was filled with male bravado being the man she had come to love. We had been married nine years, and it never ceased to amaze me how she could look so good without any preparation whatsoever. She was one of those women that the older she got, the hotter she became, like a fine wine, and she was more beautiful now than when we married.

Her long blonde hair was slightly disheveled from getting out of bed, giving her a "wild" look and complimenting her beauty instead of detracting from it. Her deep blue-green eyes showed signs of sleep, having been woken by the telephone early in the morning, their gaze spellbinding as I looked at her.

The morning sun coming through the window outlined her sleek 135-pound frame; although the voluminous folds of cloth from the woolen robe she was wearing unfairly obscured her 36-25-34 figure. Yet as she moved through the kitchen I caught occasional glimpses of her long toned legs.

I on the other hand showed signs of middle age. My gut was larger than I would have liked, not as much from laziness as the sedentary aspect of my job—sitting in front of computers all day was not conducive to maintaining an athletic physique.

'Whatever happened to the 180-pound stud in high school?' I wondered to myself.

Thankfully I still had my full head of hair, even if it was graying prematurely. I was not vain enough to dye it, but the increasing quantity of white hairs piling up after each monthly haircut was a steady reminder I was not getting any younger, whereas my wife got hotter and hotter each year.

"John? Earth to John, your wife would like to talk to you!" I heard her said, slightly exasperated.

My reverie broken one more, I smiled up at her. "Yes, that's fine Hon, just remind me when the date gets closer and I can be there. You know I'm always ready to see Mary!" I chuckled.

Melissa smiled knowingly at me as she muttered under breath, "You all are such pigs!"

Mary was Melissa's younger sister by a year. I had dated both in high school, but there was something that always drew me to Melissa, and I have never regretted my choice of sisters. It was a standing joke between the sisters saying I had flipped a coin on who to take to the prom, resulting in us being together for life. Melissa routinely teased Mary saying "gentlemen prefer blondes" as to why I ended up with her. Whatever had drawn me to her, something had 'clicked' between the two of us, and to this day we were still very much in love.

That being said, there were no doubts amongst any of us that had I somehow ended up with Mary, the three of us would still have been as close to each other as we were now.

Mary attempted to visit at least once a year, but work had interfered the last couple years and it had been several years since we had seen her. She finally had a week long break to see us and we were both excited for her visit. More than family, she was a good friend, and it had been too long since we had last spent some time with her.

Mary was a make-up and costume artist in the movie industry. She had finally broken into the 'big leagues' interning on one of The Terminator movies, after a long stint of poorly paid plays and public television shows. Her most recent accomplishment—and the biggest in our eyes—was her 4-year job as one of the costume and make-up artists for The Lord of the Rings, and now The Hobbit.

Although the movies were a huge creation with dozens, if not a hundred of make-up artists, Mary's work had earned several awards and the respect of the movie-making community. She had made such an impression she had actually been invited—as opposed to actually having to apply—for a similar position with the Pirates of the Caribbean movies, as well as many of the Marvel comic book movies coming out, and the whole family was extremely proud of her.

While excited at her long overdue visit, I was dreading the continual influx of family that would inevitably be deluging our house while Mary stayed with us, as she visited others in our family even more rarely than us. Knowing she was staying with us would draw their family like iron filings to a magnet.

Looking out the window, I mentally went over my 'honey-do' list in preparation for the visit: get the backyard in order for guests; clean the pool out—as even for October we had unseasonably warm weather—as well as some minor repairs around the house. Working full time, I only had two weekends available to get all the house and yard done in times.

Gazing out the window across the yard, I saw the National Forest abutting against our property, the tree line looming ominously in the pre-morning light, a partial blanket of fog on the ground giving it an almost ethereal quality.

"John where are you today?" my wife asked, handing me another cup of coffee and breaking my thoughts as her arm wrapped around my waist.

"Sorry honey, just a bit tired I guess," I explained.

She grinned up at me and I knew she thought I was referring to last night. Even after nine years of marriage our sex drive had not diminished. Melissa was in her sexual peak and had become quite a vixen—both in and out of bed—and last night was no exception. Lately she had become insatiable.

Melissa has always been open with her sexuality—as was I—and we were very honest with each other. We had what could be called an 'open' marriage—at least in agreement—given neither Melissa nor I had ever slept with anybody else since our marriage; however, we still had our fantasies, sharing them with each other, which was often more exciting than actually following through on them.

Our strongest fantasy for a few years now was the mutual desire for her to participate in a gangbang. Again, the thought was more exciting than living out the fantasy, so it was something we more than likely would never act out upon. Melissa's version of the fantasy centered on her having every orifice filled with cocks, her body nothing more than a vessel for which the men around her slacked their lust, while for me, the image of my wife being used in such a degrading and unbridled manner was a complete turn on for me.

And once again, although the opportunity would probably never present itself, we were both extremely satisfied strictly being with each other, letting our minds wander into the depth of our fantasies and using those thoughts to heighten our being together. Having similar fantasies fueled both our sexual urges.

Around the house it had become something we joked about, knowing each other's feelings so intimately.

The core foundation to our fantasies was rooted in the fact my wife was an overt exhibitionist and I was a voyeur, two psyches that played well with each other as we described our thoughts during out lovemaking, each feeding upon the other's imagination.

Melissa had even confided one night that Mary had a similar fantasy, even discussing the possibility of us having a threesome sometime with her. The thought of the two sisters at the same time was intriguing—and something I had thought about even in high school—but I still had eyes for Melissa, regardless of my past intimacy with Mary.

Lately my wife had begun dressing in more revealing clothes than usual. As I have mentioned, she has an exhibitionist streak within her , unafraid of showing off her body—a trait shared with her sister—but recently her clothing choices made even the most Puritan of males have ulterior thoughts concerning her.

And it was not just social interactions where she was becoming more emboldened with her outfits—even her attire for work was affected, her skirts each week become shorter and shorter while her blouses got tighter and skimpier. As such, all her clothes had been revealing a bit more of her body than usual.

Not that I or anybody else was complaining, particularly my voyeuristic side. Melissa had a fantastic figure, and we both enjoyed the attention she received from other men. In fact our love making last night had been spurred on by her narrative on how all the men at her office had been more than generous letting her go first up the escalator as they headed to their weekly meeting, knowing they were getting an excellent view of her legs and ass in the short flared skirt and lace panties she had worn that day.

We both knew much of Melissa's increased libido was due to her desire for children. After all these years we still had not been able to conceive. We had been to several specialists, done all sorts of tests, and the final results were always the same—there was nothing wrong with either of us. Despite being completely healthy both physically and mentally, and having a robust sexuality, it was still only the two of us in this big house.

I knew when it was time it would happen, but Melissa wondered if her decision to be on birth control early in our marriage while we worked on our careers had contributed to the lack of a child, even though the doctors told us that had nothing to do with our inability to conceive. Nevertheless, she still had her doubts.

I knew Mary's visit would bolster back some of the confidence Melissa was missing. Both sisters fed off each other for moral support and it would be therapeutic for them getting back together after so long. Most likely Mary needed a 'refueling of the soul' as much as Melissa did after all this time apart from her sister.

Smiling back at her and giving her arms a squeeze, we looked at each other intently, our minds sharing our little evening secret before we finished our breakfast and got ready for work.

*********************

I pulled into the driveway a week later wondering if Melissa had gone crazy and decided to move out. In front of the garage were dozens of boxes and crates, some large enough for a person to fit within them, and as I got out of the car and looked at them closer, I saw they all had various shipping labels from UPS, Fed-Ex, and DHL—as well as others I did not recognize.

Inspecting the labels, I saw several had been shipped from Los Angeles and knew they had to have come from Mary; however, many were from other various places around the globe—a few were even postmarked from New Zealand labeled "Weta Workshop," further confirming my suspicions as to their sender—Mary had worked closely with the group during the filming of The Lord of the Rings movies.

I entered the house looking for Melissa. "Hon? You home?" I shouted.

"Up here in the guest room," came her muffled response as I headed upstairs.

Entering the room I saw she was cleaning the room in preparation for Mary's arrival in two weeks.

"What's with all the boxes?" I asked.

"I have no idea," she replied. "I called Mary to ask and all she would say is 'Good, they got there,' telling me it was a surprise for both of us and not to open them. We'll have to put them in the garage, but it will need to be straightened up first. Some of those things are pretty heavy, so I waited for my big strong man to get here."

"Oh, your lover is coming over? Want me to leave before he gets here?" I joked to her.

Smiling at me, Melissa got a mischievous look in her eyes saying, "Now you know damn well if I were to sleep with somebody other than you, it would be 'they' and not a single 'he,'" she grinned.

Laughing at her comment—our shared fantasy often used to tease each other—I helped her straighten the room up, and then we went to tackle the garage.

Our two-car garage was not necessarily messy, but it was by no means clean enough to house all the boxes and crates which had arrived without some rearranging. It took most of the evening to straighten the area up and move the boxes in. The cleaning and rearranging also gave us a chance to throw away things no longer needed, and by the time we were finished we had almost as much junk outside for the trash than Mary had sent! Even so, as much as we had cleaned, there were still so many boxes we were forced to park one of the cars out in the driveway.

Later that night Mary called and I overheard Melissa ask about the deliveries. After the phone call Melissa told me all Mary would say was they were a surprise for both of us and we would both be thoroughly pleased, stressing to not open anything until she arrived.

"She also said there would be more, not knowing exactly how many we would be getting," she told me. "She said something nebulous like it depending on whether her 'connections' came through or not," my wife explained to me. "And don't look at me like that," she said to my rolling eyes, "I'm as clueless as you are!"

True to her words, more crates and boxes arrived the following week, as well as the days after. By the time Mary was to arrive we had to park both cars in the driveway, and at one point the neighbors actually asked us if we were moving.

Some of the boxes were extremely heavy, and I was thankful we had cleaned the garage the first night so the delivery men could put them directly into the garage. As with the first shipment, all were from various parts of the world, compounding our perplexity as to what Mary was up to.

*********************

"Is she moving in with us?" I asked the night before Mary's arrival, having moved hopefully the last of the boxes delivered.

Melissa laughed, "As if you would be upset living with two hot women?"

I shrugged sheepishly as she grinned at me. I loved my wife, but was not immune to either of the sisters' charms. One of my oldest fantasies involved a threesome with them—they were the Yin and Yang of a man's dreams come true.

Side-by-side Melissa and Mary were very much in contrast to each other: Melissa having long blonde hair and fair skin from her mother's Irish decent, opposite from Mary who kept her dark brunette hair cropped short and inheriting their father's Mediterranean complexion. Beyond their physical attributes they there were almost identical, with similar personalities, the same body structure and sizes, and more strikingly, the same penetrating blue-green eyes. After meeting them for only a minute there was no doubt they were sisters, and in the dark or blindfolded they would be indistinguishable, having the same mannerisms, tastes, and even voices—after all these years even I had problems differentiating them on the phone. If I had a penny for the number of times they were asked if they were twins when they were together I would have retired years ago!

I grinned, one of my fantasies rising to the forefront of my thoughts, centering around the possibility of them switching places, and I often wondered if I had indeed slept with both sisters at one point in my married life, my smile getting larger as I sipped my evening's second cup of coffee reminiscing...

Several years ago the three of us had held a Halloween party, which had now become a yearly tradition. Melissa and Mary had dressed as twins. Mary had some cosmetic solution which after bathing had made Melissa's skin as dark as hers, and my wife had actually cut her hair to match Mary's, each dyeing their hair raven black. Completing the 'costume,' they wore matching outfits—high heeled thigh-high boots, tight leather micro-miniskirts, and a see-through half-top that had left nothing to the imagination, the outlines of their breasts visible if you watched closely—which many a man did!

They were without any question identical and even as intimate as I was with my wife, could not tell which was Mary or Melissa.

As nobody could discern which woman was the single, care-free younger sibling or the more restrictive married one, it gave them complete autonomy to do anything they wanted. Consequently they took turns portraying each other—one would act like more of a carefree slut while the other played at being a demure innocent girl, performing as the married hostess of the party. In fact, I could only assume they took turns knowing the two woman, as it was virtually impossible to tell if only one of them was acting slutty or they swapped roles from time-to-time, both of them often going into the bathroom together and exiting, leaving everybody clueless as to whether the same girl was being the uninhibited and often downright slutty girl or not. I knew my wife had the same potential at being a sleaze as her sisters, and many concluded the girls were merely playing mind games—since Melissa was married she was obviously the 'innocent girl' the entire time, while Mary flirted overtly with the men at the party; however, I knew my wife better than that, and I was one of the small group of people having the suspicion they had switched 'roles' on and off the entire night.

It was quite a turn-on to see one of them being a brazen slut, getting felt up by neighbors I have known for years and not knowing if the woman being so whorish was my wife or sister-in-law.

And both women could sense my excitement, contriving a contest between the three of us, telling me if I could tell who was who by the end of the night I would be an extremely happy man.

Throughout the evening I had poked, prodded, French-kissed, and fondled both personas repeatedly, and although I was fairly certain I had been affectionate to both of them, each played their parts to perfection, never once giving me a clue as to who was who.

By the end of the night I still had no idea as to which of the women was Mary and which was Melissa, my wife for then five years.

When the moment of decision came I could only make a guess. I remembered both smiling in the living room as I announced their identities, my supposed wife taking me by the hand without a word and leading me upstairs, where we made love nonstop all night.

The next morning over breakfast I sat staring at the two identical women sitting side-by-side, still amazed at how indistinguishable they looked. The hue in Melissa's skin would not fade for at least a week, so they would basically be 'twins' for the entire length of Mary's visit. Making matters worse they had apparently decided to continue the ruse by wearing similar clothing—both now wearing identical thick woolen bath robes.

Other than the fact of knowing where my wife usually sat at the table, I honestly could not tell them apart.

One of them asked how my evening was and I smiled, saying I was glad I chose correctly. They both returned the smile, giggling simultaneously as they both said, "Who said you chose the right one?"

I literally spit my coffee across the room, asking what they meant and only getting only a sly smile from each of them. To this day they have never told me if the woman I had bedded that night—or even the entire week—was Melissa or Mary, keeping the charade going the entire time, as well as it remaining a secret for the last five years...