Halloween from Hell

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This is an original work of erotic fiction. It employs intensely graphic sexual descriptions and explicit sexual language, and is intended only for an adult audience. If you are under 18 years of age, or are offended by sexually explicit situations, then please do not read this story.

If you agree to and comply with these terms, then scroll down to begin the story.

@Copyright 2009 by Don.Key12. Unlimited redistribution permitted, as long as this original author copyright notice remains attached.

It had been quite a while since Michele had permitted me to have sex with her. She had always been a control freak about when and how we would have sex, so much so that it was very infrequent, never spontaneous and always felt forced. So much for romance! She always had some excuse: too tired, too sore, too late at night, not in the mood, headache. The list was long and distinguished.

So, it was a surprise to me when she matter-of-factly stated, after dinner, that we would be having sex later on that evening. She said it with that kind of fake smile that should have tipped me off as to what was to come. Well-motivated but blissfully ignorant, I hurried my way through kitchen clean-up, and hustled to get the kids off to bed for the evening. Then, I headed to the bedroom to get ready.

I did a quick shave, floss and brush, then put on my pajama bottoms and lay down on the bed, awaiting Michele’s arrival. She strolled into the room, took one look at me, and said, “You’re not dressed for bed. Don’t look at me like that. You need to get ready for bed before I’m ready to do anything with you.”

She went into her closet, and came out carrying a shopping bag from Dillard’s. She dropped the bag on the bed and commanded, “It’s time you got ready for bed. Get out of those pajamas. Call me when you’re done. Do it, or there is going to be nothing tonight, or for a long time to come.” Quite a threat, I thought to myself. She turned her back on me and marched out of the room, shutting the door behind her.

I wondered what was so special about the contents of the bag that she had to demand that I had to do what she said or else. I dumped the bag out onto the bed, and was totally blown away by what I saw.

You see, Michele had known about a secret fetish of mine. I made the mistake of telling her about it, and now it looked like I was getting called on it. She knew that I had a thing for women in feminine clothes, silky stockings and sexy underwear. However, she was mostly a cotton panties kind of woman, so my desires remained mostly unfulfilled. But here, on the bed, I saw black stockings, a black garter belt and a black silk short nightie. I thought to myself, it might be interesting if Michele were to wear these for me. But, she would never…. And where was what I was supposed to wear? Then I came to my senses, and realized that I was the one who was expected to wear these things to bed tonight, not her.

I sat there and thought about it for a minute. If I don’t do this, then there will be hell to pay, since this is one of her mind-made-up activities. She must have had this all planned out for some time, and, in her my-way-or-no-way attitude, she will INSIST on it happening. If I do it, then she won’t be upset, won’t make a scene, and she may even have sex with me. If I don’t do what she said, then I might as well grab my pillow and go sleep on the couch for the foreseeable future. What a demeaning choice to make: either give in and be her little bitch slave, or push back and create what would likely be a long lasting, nasty argument. Unfortunately, she knew that my little fetish would eventually tip the scales in her favor. I gave in. If I only could have known the whole story.

I took the garter belt up into my hand. It was one that was almost like an open bottom girdle, with heavy spandex material and four garters. I slipped it over my legs and pulled it up to my waist. It felt firm and tight against my hips and tummy. Then, I took a stocking and rolled it, as I had done with a previous girlfriend who indulged me from time to time. I pulled the stocking up, inching the top over my thigh. What a strange sensation to feel the silky nylon against my leg! I hooked the stocking top to the garters, and proceeded to put the other one on as well.

Finally, I pulled the nightie up over my head and down. It was like a slip, very silky and sheer, and I could see the outline of the garter belt through the filmy fabric. The nightie was short and did not quite cover the stocking tops. I turned to look at myself in the mirror built into the headboard, and saw this strange sight of a man in black silk looking back at me. I started to get aroused. I was a bit embarrassed by being so turned on by this scene. I wondered what she was going to say about my boner when she returned.

Just then, there was a knock on the door, and Michele called out, “Are you ready yet? You better be, because I’m coming in!” She Maltepe Escort burst into the room, and I saw that she had also changed, She was wearing a white tee shirt and a pair of plaid boxers. I guessed that the scenario to be played out tonight was that she was the man, and I was not. Good guess.

She saw me standing there, observed my now-obvious state of arousal, and said sarcastically, “Cute, very cute. I see you like your new nightgown.” She came up next to me, and gave me a push on the chest to position me down onto the bed. She got on top of me, straddling me with her legs. She stroked my chest, then grabbed my nipples through the silky fabric and gave them a little twist. Then, she reached back and rubbed my nylon-covered thighs, and worked her way up to my exposed crotch.

I will spare the details of some brutal but not very long-lasting sex. She rode me, came very quickly, then got off me and went to sit in the recliner near the bed. I was still hard and unfulfilled from her short, violent, self-serving actions. Still breathing a little hard, she panted, “Now I want to see you come for me. Start doing yourself, and don’t stop until you come. Do it, NOW!”

I reluctantly obeyed. I needed relief. Here I was, in nylons and a garter belt, masturbating. I was having trouble focusing, and was losing my erection. I worried that I couldn’t finish the job, so I concentrated even harder. Unfortunately, I didn’t notice her reach down by the chair and pick up a camera. I had almost come. I saw the flash and heard the click, and knew at once that I was caught on film in this compromising position. I looked up, and she shot another, then quickly got up and left the room. She returned in a minute to witness my failure to complete her order, my completely limp member a testament to my total embarrassment.

“Out of those clothes, now!” she commanded. I was at least thankful for that. I quickly unfastened the nylons and rolled them down, then stepped out of the garter belt. Then, pulling the silk nightie over my head, and sat down naked on the bed. I crawled under the covers as she scooped up the clothes and put them away in her closet somewhere. She returned to bed, and turned out the light without saying another word.

The incident was not discussed the next morning or even in the days following. It was as if she wanted to pretend it never happened. I know I did. It was several days later when, around bedtime, she went into the bedroom and came out in a few minutes, saying, “Come on, it’s time for bed. Turn off the TV and the light and come, now.”

I walked into the bedroom and immediately saw the nylons, garter belt and nightie laid out on the bed. “You know what to do, so get started,” she instructed. I immediately objected, since the previous time had ended with no pleasure and plenty of embarrassment.

“No, no way. I’m not doing this again. You can just forget it,” I stated emphatically.

She must have expected my objection, because the next thing she did was pull out a color print photo of me from the last time, in all my glory. “OK, have it your way, but copies of this get emailed to your boss and friends at work bright and early tomorrow morning. It’s a pretty good photo, don’t you think? Nice and clear, no shadows or blurring. It’s you alright, and you look mighty guilty.”

I looked at the photo, at her and her determined expression, and then back to the bed. After a minute of thought, I came to the inevitable conclusion: the worst was already done, so what could happen to make it even worse? So, I reluctantly stripped off my shirt, pants and underwear, and sat on the bed. I re-dressed myself like I did that night a week ago, but this time feeling less excited by it and instead dreading what might happen next.

We had the same sort of quick and brutal sex that happened the week before. However, since she now had her blackmail photos, she skipped the pictures part and just demanded that I get in bed, still wearing the outfit. She cleaned up and crawled into bed, again turning out the light without a single word. I waited until she was asleep to carefully get up and get out of the “costume” and into my pajamas.

The next few days were also similar to the last time. No mention of anything unusual, just day-to-day boring logistical conversation. However, there was this sixth sense in me that kept saying that there was more to come, that she wasn’t yet done with her plan.

Michele had told me earlier in the week that we were going to a friend’s Halloween party on Saturday. Our plan was that we were to be the President (a warlock) and the First Lady (a witch), and wear Bill and Hillary masks that she bought at the fun shop. She told me to go and drop the kids off at the sitter’s. When I returned, I saw “that evil look” on her face that told me that I had been tricked into yet another trap. Oh, God, what was it going to be this time?

I followed her into the bedroom. On Ümraniye Escort the bed, laid out next to the two Halloween masks, were my dark blue pinstripe suit, white shirt and red tie. Also, there was a long black raw silk dress with a full skirt, along with some black lingerie and black nylons. “Go on, start getting dressed. We don’t want to be late,” she ordered. She went into her closet, undressed and came out in a pair of men’s tighty-whitey briefs and a tee-shirt. I had gotten out of my street clothes and was picking up the white dress shirt. “Oh, no you don’t!” she ordered, as she plucked the white shirt from my hands and began to put it on. “Come on, get going! You know what to do,” she urged. She continued dressing, putting on the pants, then sat down and added black socks and a pair of her man-looking shoes.

Well, now I knew exactly what she wanted me to do. But, I couldn’t go to a Halloween party dressed as a woman! Especially Hillary! I started to walk out of the bedroom, when she stopped me cold with her sharp attack. “You HAVE to do this! These are my ORDERS! If you don’t, then those photos I took of you get sent to everyone you know, even your Mom.”

So, this is how it was going to be? Blackmailed for her control? I was really angry, but I also knew I was beaten, since she held the trump card: that terrible photo of me playing with myself while wearing nylons. I couldn’t live if that ever got out at work. So, I thought to myself, how badly could it go at this party? I probably didn’t know anyone at the party (it was with her friends from work), and I was going to wear a mask, and it was Halloween, so maybe it might be OK….

Given the choices and possible outcomes, I caved in. I took off my underwear and sat on the bed. I thought about the times when she demanded that I put on the garter belt and nylons if I wanted sex. I now understood that those events were just pre-planned as “training” runs for me, leading up to this next level. What a conniving bitch!

I looked down at the clothes. I now noticed the bra as well. So, this was going to be a complete dress-up? She stormed over to me, impatient at my lack of progress. “Come on, or we’ll be late! Stand up!” she ordered. I stood, and she took the bra and held it out, opened. “Come on, put your arms in and I’ll fasten you.” She slipped the bra over my shoulders, and did the clasp in back. It felt weird to feel the band and straps. She took two pair of my white athletic socks, rolled them into balls, and stuffed them into the cups. The bra cups were foam, and held their shape.

Then she picked up the garter belt. It was about ten inches long, with hooks up the front. She handed it to me and said, “Pull it on, all the way up!” I bent over and stepped into it. I pulled it up and over my bottom and up to my waist, and it really fit tight. “A little more, pull!” she demanded. It now stopped about two inches above my waist, but the bottom was still slightly above my crotch. She started at the bottom hook, and fastened them all the way up, making the garment an even a tighter fit. “Now, sit and put on the stockings!” This part she knew I could do myself. She watched as I rolled them, slipped them around my toes, the unrolled them all the way up my legs. I fastened the garter tabs and stood.

Then, she picked up the long dress, bunched it up, and said, “Arms up!” She placed it over my head, and I cooperated (what else could I do?) by working my arms into the half-sleeves. She pulled it down, working it over my torso and hips. She turned me around, then zipped the long zipper all the way from my butt to my neck. It fit really tight at the waist, and over my now-curvy chest. There was a built-in petticoat of sorts that made the full skirt poof out a bit. The petticoat felt kind of funny against the tops of my thighs and my bottom, since she had not provided (or permitted) any underwear. I thought to my self that I was going “commando”, but I’ll bet that not many commandos went like this.

“Now, for the pièce de résistance,” she crowed victoriously. She handed me a box, and told me to sit. I opened the box, and saw a pair of high heels with ankle straps. They looked huge, big enough to fit my feet. I struggled to bend over enough to get them on and buckle the straps. “Now, stand up and walk for me, and try not to fall down.” I stood, took a couple for wavering steps, and stopped. “Fine, that will do fine. Now wait while I tie my tie, and then we will go.”

She grabbed the masks from the bed, and motioned for me to follow her out to the car. I sat in the passenger seat, of course. Not a word was said while we drove the short distance to her friend’s house. I was somewhat surprised by the view, my legs, in nylons, poking out from under a black silk dress. I also wondered if I had the guts to even get out of the car once we arrived.

We parked on the street, and she got out. I did not. She cam around to the passenger door, and opened it up. İstanbul Escort “Time to get out and join the party. You’re the First Lady, start acting like it.” She reached in to the back seat, and grabbed a witch’s hat, with a round brim and pointy top. She handed me the Hillary mask, which I thankfully put on. I followed the mask with the hat. As she closed the passenger side door, I saw my reflection in the glass and didn’t recognize myself. Good. I may get through this yet.

She put her Bill mask on as we walked to the front door. A ring of the doorbell, and we were inside. I looked around, and saw that I did know a few of the people there, at least the ones not wearing masks. Everyone got a big laugh out of our pair of costumes, especially the ones who must have thought, as I did, that the real Hillary really was a witch. As we walked to the kitchen, I felt funny trying to maneuver in the shoes, but I didn’t fall at least. I noticed that several of the women there seemed a bit “dikey”.

Her friend, Barb, recognized Michele and gave her a big hug. She looked at me, thought for a minute, and then grinned widely. “So, this must be the First Lady, Mr. President. Come here, dear, and let me have a look at you.” I didn’t move, so she took a couple of steps and had her arms around me in a big hug. I could feel her hand, now around my back, examining the bra. Busted, I thought to myself. Then she moved her hand down my back, feeling the tightness of the high-waist garter belt. She went even lower, now feeling the bottom of the garter belt through the dress fabric. She tucked a finger under the garter strap and followed it down my thigh to where it attached to the stocking top. She turned to Michele, showing off her finger under the garter strap, and said to her, in a decidedly evil and memorable voice, “Oh, you are so, so, very, very BAD!” Then Barb turned to me, and repeated, “And YOU, You are so, so, very, very BAD!” I somehow knew I would hear from Barb again later.

We got a drink, and walked back to the living room. There we ran into a couple that I did not know, but immediately felt some kinship with. She was dressed as a football player (her size made it look convincing) and her husband was in a similar predicament as I was. He was dressed in a cheerleader uniform, complete with short pleated skirt and tan tights. The women began to chat, and I took him aside and said, “How’d you get talked into this?”

He waited a minute, then finally realized that we could probably be friends based on our similar situations, and replied, “I was blackmailed. How about you?”

I shook my head and said, “Yep. Same thing. She has photos. I had no choice but to give into this, whatever it is.”

“I’m Dave,” he said, “and I’m glad to meet you. Hey, look over there. That’s Carl. He was blackmailed as well.” I followed his gaze and saw, at the far end of the room, a guy in a classic French maid uniform, complete with the little white apron and cap. I motioned to Dave to follow me as I walked over to meet him.

“Hi, I’m Bob,” I said to Carl. Dave here tells me that we all have the same problem.”

Carl replied, “Yes, I got caught spanking the monkey on hidden camera, and she has threatened to send the video to XTube and a link to everyone at work if I didn’t come to this Halloween party with her. I looked around the room and found the last victim, dressed as Snow White, with a Disney mask on an otherwise male body. I began to feel both less embarrassed and more angry, since now it was clear that this was a contest of sorts between these women, to see who could successfully deliver a husband in girl clothes to this party. I also noticed that, aside from us four men in costume, there were no other men at the party. Maybe no other husbands were successfully blackmailed.

Just then, a little bell rang, and Barb, the hostess, announced, “It’s time, ladies, for our Halloween beauty contest. Now, our finalists need to all line up here, in front of the fireplace. Come on now, get with it!” Michele came over to me quickly and said, “Get on up there now, and don’t embarrass me. Get into character! You need to WIN!.” She took me by the arm and dragged me to the front of the room. The other wives were doing the same with their “finalists”. The wives took positions behind us, as if to prevent our escape.

Barb and another woman began their inspection of the candidates. They asked Snow White to turn around once, slowly. Then they asked Carl, the maid, to do the same. Then they asked us all to walk, single file, over to the bar and back. Dave started the procession, and we all fell into line. After we showed ourselves off to the “judges”, we were back in line, in front of our spouses, in front of the fireplace. Then Barb announced that Snow White and the maid could sit down, and the final vote was now between Dave and me. Barb approached Dave, and Dave’s wife, the football player, reached around him from behind and lifted the front of his pleated skirt to reveal the matching red cheer panties underneath. There was an unmistakable bulge showing in his privates. The audience ooh’d and ahh’d at the sight of this. Barb gave his crotch a little pat with her hand, and said, “Nice, very nice.”

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