THE COSTUME PARTY
By Maren Smith
So, the devil really did look good in a three-piece suit.
Colby stood at the punchbowl, stealing sips from a plastic cup while also stealing glimpses of the Lord of Darkness from across the crowded living room. Say what you want about Marcy Hallebacker—backstabbing gossip-monger that she was—she certainly knew how to throw one whale of a Halloween party. The decorations were garish and the costumes were lavish; everything had been thought of. Enough munchies to feed a small army abounded in the kitchen, games and laughter filled both living rooms, a dearly-departed séance was spooking out the pantry, and Michael Jackson’s Thriller was blaring (yet again) from every stereo speaker so people could zombify in carefully choreographed jerks and lurches wherever they were. The punch was spiked, the baby gate across the upper-floor stairs had been surreptitiously breached at least three times, and Rob Schroeder, captain of the neighborhood watch, was passed out on the back lawn and had been for about three hours.
Even now, at a quarter after midnight, the party showed no signs of stopping. Despite the fact that many couples had already gathered their coats, thanked their hostess and wandered off into the night to relieve their babysitters, sixty people still crowded the lower floor of Marcy’s house. A night owl from birth, Colby had no intention of going home. Oh no. It was midnight, but it was also Friday and this was her first party since becoming single again more than five months back. As far as Colby was concerned, tonight was less about ghosts, goblins or trick-or-treaters, and more about saving a horse by riding a cowboy.
Too bad there were no cowboys here. Oh, there had been one earlier, but he’d stayed only long enough to grab a plastic pumpkin head before dashing off to join the rest of the six-year-olds in the neighborhood treat-or-treat brigade. So yeah, no cowboy.
Still, Colby was determined. She had a whole houseful of men to choose from, which, once she’d weeded out the married, the taken, the geriatric, and those not yet old enough to legally drink the punch, had amounted to twelve remaining options. Between Popeye (complete with plastic blowup forearms), the zombies (currently shaking their undead stuff on the dance floor), and, of course, her choice of royalty—two Elvis impersonators and one king (the Burger King king, to be exact) romantic pickings proved slim.
Until the devil showed up.
He was a stunning specimen of manliness. Though he lacked cloven hooves and tail, pitchfork, or any hint of gaudy red paint, Colby knew exactly who he was pretending to be. He had horns and sharp black fingernails filed to wicked points. And his eyes…it was truly amazing, what people could do with contacts these days. They were completely black—no pupils, no irises, no surrounding white. Just black. It was an awesome look. And the suit—dark gray boardroom attire—just put the icing on the eye-candy cake. It came with a complimenting crimson and gold tie, a red handkerchief tucked into his breast pocket and shoes spit-polished until they shone like glass. His features were both ruggedly handsome and yet perfectly refined. His horns protruded just off his forehead, poking through neatly-combed, short, black hair, and—
And he was coming her way.
A languid tingling sensation lit through Colby’s belly, moving down in lazy waves to lap at her belly until she felt a low, answering throb begin between her legs where moisture was quietly accumulating.
“Let me guess,” the devil said as he drew near enough to be heard over the music. “Naughty kitty?”
“Slutty kitty, actually.” Colby smiled. “But I don’t know…Naughty Kitty?” She pretended to think it over, then deliberately kept her tone light and teasing. “Will I get a spanking out of it?”
Something unreadable flashed through the well-dressed devil’s black, black eyes. He laughed, a low sultry chuckle that made that pulsing deep inside her grow arousingly more pronounced. “Do you think I won’t?”
She hid her smile behind another sip of punch. “I would think the devil has more important things to do.”
The devil paced a slow circle around her, his roving gaze bringing a warm blush that had nothing to do with the liquored punch rising to her cheeks. Colby knew she looked good—full-length lace body stocking, leather push-up bra and shiny black shorty-shorts that could have doubled for a thong, it showed so much cheek. Her pussycat tail was pinned inside the waistband. Her headband kept her black ears permanently perked with interest, and the crowning touches were her own little black falsie-claws. Yeah, she looked good.
She turned to watch as the devil strolled around her. Every fine hair prickled along her nape as he disappeared behind her. The heat of his palm lightly touched her hip as his voice caressed her left ear. “Fortunately for you, I’m on vacation and quite available to attend to this bad kitty’s needs.”
“First I was naughty, now I’m bad?”
“I’ve upgraded my estimation of what kind of spanking may be required.”
“To put me in my place?” she breathed, thoroughly intrigued.
“To put you on your hands and knees. Head down, ass up beneath me. Pinned the way bad kitties should be pinned.” The heat of him was at her back, burning into her while he teased, the brush of his air along the shell of her ear sending every nerve in her body dancing in response. “I spank, I pull hair…I bite.” Warm lips caressed her shoulders in a kiss so seductive that her eyes almost closed and her knees tried to buckle. Then she felt his teeth, sparking an instant flood of interest that saturated her panties. “Come with me, Colby.”
She shivered, a bonfire of wanting bursting to life within her womb. Or was that his hand, circling around her hip to press his palm against her stomach? “How do you know my name?”
“I’m good with names.” Another kiss, another smile. He took her hand in his. “Come.”
And she went, like a marionette walking where he pulled her since he held all her strings.
She half expected him to take her over the baby gate—couple number four, in search of an unlocked bedroom—but he didn’t. He took her outside instead. Rob was still passed out on the lawn, only now he was covered with a blanket so he could sleep it off in relative comfort. The devil walked her beyond the port-a-potties—classy—where Marcy’s prized flower garden was already being tucked in for the coming winter, blanketed under soft mounds of dying leaves. In this earthy and quiet place, the devil let go of her hand.
The lights from the house windows didn’t reach this far into the garden. The only illumination she had was the faint cast-off glow of the back porch light, obstructed as it was by the port-a-potties. She could only just make out his features when he said, “Turn around.”
She turned to face the house.
“Hands on your head.”
She obeyed that too. Her heart beat faster. It had been a long time since she’d felt excitement like this.
The heat of him was like a furnace at her back. His arms came around her, his fingers following the band of her shorts.
“Are you a bad kitty, Colby?”
She nodded, shivering all over again. Sex games weren’t really her thing, but she liked this one.
He unbuttoned her shorts. “Do bad kitties need to be spanked?”
One by one, he led the zipper down the track, releasing each of its teeth in agonizing slowness.
Again, she nodded, and the next thing she knew, his hands were inside her shorts and her shorts were peeled down her thighs. Gravity caught them and they dropped to her feet.
“When kitties are bad, how hard do you think they need to be spanked before they learn their lesson?”
Her mouth ran dry. Her throat closed in, choking her with tiny hitches of breath that might have been laughter if only she weren’t so tightly wound. His heat was all around her and his hands dipped down to follow the seam of her sheer lace body stocking—one hand trailed down over her smooth-shaven pussy, pressing in when he found wetness and a heat all her own; the other rounded her hip to follow that seam down between her buttocks. He stopped just above her anus. One finger tapped and when she failed to answer, he said, “Perhaps I should be the judge of that.”
Again, that tickling urge to laugh. “Is the devil ever lenient?” she whispered.
He tapped his finger again, and she could hear the smile in his voice “Never.”
Her whole body jerked in surprise when he shifted both hands to her bottom, gripped the seam of her lace body stocking and roughly ripped it open.
Her gasp sounded almost as loud.
“Bend over.” His hands were inside her stocking now, squeezing and kneading at the mounds of her flesh. “Feet apart. Brace yourself, hands on your knees if you have to.”
Her legs were trembling. Putting her hands on her knees helped to bolster them, but that lasted only until she felt the impact of that first slap. She caught her breath, then quickly locked her lips to keep back the moan that helplessly followed in the wake of all that rising heat and sting.
She wiggled her bottom. She couldn’t help that, either. It wasn’t at all like she’d expected. It didn’t hurt. Not really, not as much as it felt good, and again his bare hand flattened her bare flesh, slapping again and again, first one side and then the other, never quite striking the same place twice and igniting a sting in her skin unlike anything she had ever known. A soft mewling sound of enjoyment escaped her and she quickly clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from making another.
Behind her, the devil changed position. His arm snaked around her waist, tucking her right up against his side, and down his hand traveled, under her belly, between her legs, finding the hole in the lacy seam and penetrating to touch her as intimately as any man could. His fingers slipped within her folds and the fragrant scent of her arousal filled the air. He breathed in and then kept right on spanking, brisk slaps that warmed her, made her wriggle and yelp and even push her bottom back to meet his palm for more, and more, and more!
Oh God, did she just say that out loud? Colby locked her lips even tighter, determined to be quiet if it killed her, but the devil redoubled his efforts.
It wasn’t just stinging now, it was hurting, but even that felt good. Pulsing, throbbing, bonfire-like flames at her bottom and traveled in between her legs where his fingers gripped her, squeezing and kneading and pressing in so hard that she could feel the delicious pressure of him right against her clit.
“Please!” she panted, her back bowing, alternately dancing up on her toes and bending her knees. She could only guess how lewd she must look from behind, but nothing mattered beyond the burning intensity of his spanking hand, clapping harder and faster now, over and over again, without rest or reprieve until her breathy little gasps and moans had become lusty yelps. She was so wet she could feel it dripping down the slope of her inner thighs, and her pussy was begging his fingers to come inside so she could grip and milk at him. He laughed again, that low, slow chuckle that rumbled out of him and straight through to her pussy.
He suddenly let go of her, dropping with her onto a cushion of dead leaves in the bushes. His spanking hand pushed flat between her shoulder blades, forcing her nose to the musty earth.
—head down, ass up—
His knee knocked hers wider apart. His nipping teeth sank into the fire of her well-spanked bottom, her hip, her back. His body jerked as he worked his fly open, and then the heat of his cock was at her entrance, and in a single conquering thrust, he was in her so deeply that she could feel it in her chest.
There was no keeping back her moans now. Not anymore.
He wrapped his hand in her hair and yanked back, arching her taut. The strain in her neck and spine were nothing compared to the glorious friction of his cock, spreading her open, filling her up. His long, slow strokes began to pound hard and deep until the slap of his hips against her hot bottom felt as if he were spanking her all over again.
Colby came in a burst of stars and fire, her fake bad kitty claws snapping off as she scraped deep furrows in the soft garden ground, helpless to stop her shuddering and shaking while he continued to pound into her, his thrusts growing shorter, shallower until he finally stiffened over her with a guttural, hissing grunt. It was the only sound of rapture he made as his seed washed her quivering womb.
Afterward, she lay panting, her ragged breath billowing at the thin wisps of her hair which now lay across her face.
Gradually, the devil let her go. She fell softly into the leaves, lying first on her side and flopping weakly onto her back. Barely able to see his smile in what little light still seeped through the bushes, she touched the side of his face when he leaned over her. She didn’t even know his name. Maybe knowing might rob the moment of its lingering magic.
She should say something.
“I’m not going to give birth to the antichrist now, am I?” she teased.
In the darkness, his smile grew. “No.” He began to glow then. Not a lot, just enough for her to see his horns melting into his head. The black of his eyes shifted, becoming first normal and then just as blue as blue could be. His dark hair lightened and lengthened, flowing down like strands of gold to touch his shoulders. Even his clothes changed. The three-piece suit became the gossamer white flow of an angelic robe.
“O-ho…” Colby said, so stunned she didn’t know what she was trying to say. She couldn’t move, not even to blink.
His smile was so handsome and soft. “Thank you,” he said with sincerity. “This was the most wonderful vacation.”
What few coherent thoughts she managed to drag together scattered when his wings came out from behind his back, spreading open wide, the long white feathers as pale as the purest dove’s.
“Y-you…” she stammered. “Y-you’re an…an angel?”
Again that gentle smile, followed by a one-shouldered shrug. “Well…It was a costume party, after all.”