Halloween Party

"But I don't want to go to some Halloween party, Laurel," I whined at my younger sister.

"That may be, Dane," informed my sister, in that same no-nonsense tone that said I did not have a chance of winning this argument. "There are two very good reasons why... no, three good reasons."

"Oh?" I said, inviting her to elucidate.

"Yes. First of all, the 'rents won't let me go alone, and I want to go, so you are my only hope," she said, and I knew she was correct. Laurel had spent weeks preparing her Maleficent costume, going so far as to sculpt intricate horns out of Worbla thermoplastic. She was a vision of Disney-inspired black-hearted evil at its sexy finest, and I had watched her labor for weeks, with black and purple velvet, a black leather corset, and one of my old Society of Creative Anachronism (known as the SCA) daggers tied to her belt. She looked magnificent and malevolent and other m-words as the fairy Dark Queen.

"Second, you have spent almost three weeks moping around here since Adriana broke up with you, and I get it - it sucks.... But there is a two-week limit on feeling sorry for yourself." Once more, I could not really argue the point. Adriana has stopped by the "ancestral mansion" on her way to the airport and Paris just long enough to kiss me chastely goodbye and break up with me; the fact that she had concealed this plan all summer while we spent hours ringing each others' bells notwithstanding stung worse than pouring mead on an open laceration.

Not to mention it being a waste of good mead, but I digress.

"Third, you have a closet full of ready-to-wear comfortable costumes! Now go change!" She came up behind me and started pushing on my shoulders; I reflexively refused to budge. Laurel was a svelte goddess who stood 5' 2" trying to push a 5'9" tall fellow built like a Neanderthal; I came from "good peasant stock" and grew up swimming competitively in high school, and while I was no longer quite so ripped as I had been, I was still a good180 lbs of (mostly) muscle.

Laurel was correct; I had a closet full of medieval costumes and accessories from the SCA, all of which was built for comfort. I even had my set of leather and steel armor from when I had participated in their armored sport combat events, but that was far too heavy and utilitarian for comfort.

"What's in it for me?" I asked Laurel, with a grin.

She continued to push at me, more for theatrics than actual hope. "You'd do it because you love your wonderful, devoted sister?"

"Try again."

She stopped and thought, and an idea came to her. "I have a new friend at school, who just transferred from Tri-State University because her Dad had to move her for work. She's smart and clever, but she hardly knows anyone here; how about I set you up with her on a blind date?""

"Fine, fine, I'll go... but you have to tell me what she did to piss you off so badly she'd get stuck with me for an evening as punishment," I said as I headed to old bedroom; my studio apartment at college didn't have enough storage space for my stuff, so my hobbies were al stored here. "Give me fifteen minutes, and we'll go, OK!?

"Perfect!" Laurel gave me a quick hug from behind. "You really are my favorite brother!"

"I'm your ONLY brother!" I called back over my shoulder.

Fifteen minutes later we were on our way; I had chosen my Viking-style keyhole tunic in dark grey with the collar, tunic cuffs, and bottom decorated with a black and silver Scandinavian knotwork pattern. Around my neck hung my only jewelry; a silver Thor's Hammer. It hung halfway down my thighs, with a long belt festooned with leather pouches (for wallet, cell phone, and car keys), a sax-dagger, and drinking horn. A separate sword-belt held 37 inches of hand-forged spring-steel. My leggings here black jeans (hey, you couldn't tell under the tunic), and steel toe motorcycle boots completed the ensemble.

"If anyone asks, can I tell them you are my bodyguard?" asked Laurel, half-joking. She had made me play 'boyfriend' before, when some males wanted to take things further than Laurel desired, and having me in reserve was a convenient and harmless dodge.

"Of course you can," I confirmed. Like a good brother, I made a show of being exasperated with my Little Sister (™), but the truth is that I would always be more than a little protective of Laurel, and spoil her as rotten as possible (so long as I could do it without it being noticed). We played the roles of "annoyed siblings", but both of us knew full well the bonds of love and respect we held for each other' we just hated to admit it.

I dropped Laurel near the house and went in search of parking; any convenient street parking had predictably been taken long before we got there. I found a place three blocks down from the party, but that was fine; I was tonight's "designated driver" and did not plan on drinking anything harder than a Diet Coke. The walk would also allow Laurel to make her entrance without escort, which I am sure she would appreciate.

The house itself was decorated with faux tombstones and dirt on the front lawn, faux spiderwebs in the shrubbery, and a stand-up skeleton wearing a cowboy hat and cap gun six-shooters of the kind carried by kids. The front door opened, and a Frankenstein's Monster was on door duty. The house was the residence of the Mayerson family, whose eldest son Larry was a friend and longtime schoolmate of Laurel's and the father in the Frankie costume knew me by sight, if not well.

"GRAAAAWR!" he snarled at me, waving me towards the kitchen and the drinks. The lighting was low but not low enough to be romantic. The music was playing from ad hoc speakers so that the house could be covered by a low volume rather than high at one end and low at another. I grabbed a Diet Coke and wandered in the circle that went from living room to dining room to kitchen to TV room and back past the stairs to the second floor bedrooms and the entrance foyer. The house was comfortably crowded, and I was hailed by old acquaintances and friends from High School. I went slowly, and noticed Laurel in a corner of the TV room, talking with Batman and a costume that can only be charitably described as "slutty nurse".

When I passed though the kitchen I tossed my empty soda into the recycling and snatched up a Lemon hard seltzer, figuring that one drink wouldn't impair my ability to safely drive. I exited the kitchen through the door to the backyard, which held a kidney-shaped pool to the left, and a grassy patch to the right, surrounded by fruit trees at the back fence.

I was feeling depressed, in spite of the festivities. There was eye candy in abundance, but that was part of the problem; while I knew some of the women from school - mostly my sister's social circle - I'd known them for years, and I could never quite get past having known them when they were teenage jailbait, and thus off limits. There were plenty of women I did not know, but while I enjoyed window-shopping, all of them seemed busy with other people. In general, I was not a "people person", and the idea of making superficial casual conversation held no appeal.

I sat on the stone bench near the back, recessed into the foliage of two shade trees, and sat. I was determined to be a good brother and let Laurel enjoy herself for at least a couple of hours. I popped the tab on my seltzer and was about to take a sip when the bushes behind me rustled.

As I turned to look, a soft voice did a horrible imitation of a cat.

"Meowr!" came from the walkway on the other side of the bushes, which led to the side door to the backyard.

"Is there a stray little cat hiding in the bushes?" I called out playfully.

"Meowrr!" confirmed the voice.

"Well, come on out!" I said lovingly.

I heard the bushes rustle, and a woman in a leopard costume came forward.

She was a vision, in tall black boots, worn over thigh-high fishnets that hugged her shapely legs. She wore a leopard-print with black fringe skirt that hung low on her hips and worked hard to reach the top bands of the fishnet stockings; they may have concealed her panties, but only if she stood up straight. A black bustier started an inch above her skirt, cinching her waist and gently shaped and presented her generous, firm breasts, ending just above her concealed nipples. She wore fingerless black lace gloves, which extended in a leopard print pattern to her elbows. She wore no mask, but a pair of leopard cat ears topped her mane of deep chestnut luxuriously wavy hair.

"Meow?" she said with a questioning tone.

"Here kitty kitty kitty!" I said, patting the bench and scooting over to one side to make room. To my surprise she leaped onto the bench in a crouch, and leaned her head forward for attention.

"Good kitty" I said, scratching her lightly behind her faux cat ears. Staying in character, she leaned into my fingers as they petted her hair behind the faux ears.

"I am truly an idiot" I muttered loudly. "What kind of Viking raids all through England and France, but fails to bring looted catnip back?" The cat broke character long enough to giggle, and in a soft alto voice say "Because Viking raids were known for their plunder of all the catnip!"

"Well, have you ever heard of English monasteries having hoarded supplies of catnip? The Vikings took it all!" I said, eager to hear her voice once more.

She cocked her head to the side, "No, but I am not a very good student of such matters. I study boring things."

"Oh yeah? Where do you go to school?" I asked.

"City college. I am a business school student, focusing on... promise not to laugh?"

"Nary a peep shall cross my lips!" I promised.

"... Accounting," she informed.

I winced theatrically. "Well there is no accounting for what people choose to study, I suppose."

"Very punny," she said. "My name is... well, you can call me Kitty for the evening. So... no catnip for your Kitty?"

"No catnip," I confirmed. "But you can have my drink, if you like?" I held out the open can of seltzer.

"Ohh! Sold!" she said, taking the can. She threw her head back, exposing her neck, and pressed the can against her skin. "Too damned hot for October!"

I watched her cool her skin with the seltzer can, fascinated. "Welcome to the fierce California winter..." I said. She pulled the can away and took a healthy sip. I watched her throat muscles move as she swallowed; clearly I was easily entertained.

"So, may I ask why you were hiding here at the side of the house?" I asked.

"Well, Larry invited me to the party, and I thought 'Great, my first college party!' and I thought I'd wear this rather...risque costume at my college party debut... imagine my mortification when I realized that this was a family-safe gathering... " she said, sardonically frowning.

I tried not to laugh. Mostly, I succeeded.

"So I got here, realized I was, let's be charitable and call it 'under-dressed' and fled out here,embarrassed and mortified. I'd have left, but I came with my housemate and her friends, and I didn't want to make them leave just to take me home."

"And here we are," I said.

"And here we are" she agreed.

"Well, my little Kitty," I said, "If you are willing to foolishly trust a rapacious, fierce Viking warrior, I could be convinced to give you a ride home, if you like?"

"Why sir!" she said in an adorably fake Southern Belle dialect,"I don't even know your name!"

"Dane", I said, offering my hand. When she took my hand I brought it to my lips and kissed the back of her fingers. I was rewarded with another of her giggles.

"Dane, what kind of a fool would I be to accept the offer of a Viking who clearly attends family-friendly Halloween parties? Let me tell my housemate and thank Larry for the invitation, and I'll meet you out front?"

"I don't know... what kind of fools are there?" I said jokingly. "I'll go get my longboat and meet you there."

I watched her walk to the kitchen door and vanish inside. Watching her walk was a pleasure; she had beautiful legs, and a dynamite ass. It was probably my imagination, but I thought perhaps she put a little extra strut in her stride as she went to say her goodbyes.

On my way to the car, I texted Laurel and told her I was giving a guest a ride home and would return for her in a bit. She acknowledged me with a wink emoticon and a "Don't hurry on my account".

"I appreciate you doing this," Kitty said when I returned with the vehicle. I held the door open for her and she said "What kind of Viking are you, holding doors and kissing hands? And no catnip!"

"You are never going to let me live down the 'Catnip' thing, are you?" I chuckled.

"Probably not," she admitted.

"As for what kind of Viking, I am a polite one... I nearly lost my Raiders Membership Card on our last voyage," I said.

"Of course you did," she said, her voice redolent with amusement.

We continued to banter, interspersed with directions, as I drove her home (which turned out to be a duplex near the City College campus). I parked in the empty driveway, and she had deduced that she should wait until I came around and opened the door for her. "Thank you for the ride home, my Viking warrior" she said as we approached the front door.

"I was glad to be able to help a kitten in distress," I said gallantly. She turned and closed the distance between us. She pressed against me as my hands went around her waist

Her kiss was sweet and light and questioning. Our lips parted, and she smiled when I showed no sign of releasing my embrace. Her lips were just as sweet the second time... and the third. And the fourth. I lowered my mouth to her exquisite juncture of her jawline and neck kissing and gently nipping with my teeth until she pushed me back.

"If I am going to be carried off by a Viking, I want the full experience...ravish me, Dane. Make your kitten purr," she said while unlocking the front door.

We passed through the door and must have continued to her bedroom; I was too busy kissing her lips and tongue to navigate. She pulled me onto her bed, with her underneath me. I devoured her neck, and she urged me onward. "Harder... kiss me harder. Bite my neck and leave marks of your passion... I want to wake up tomorrow in delightful, disgraceful condition."

What passed for wit from me fled, and I growled like a beast. I feasted on her neck, and assaulted the tops of her breasts, still confined in her costume. I confess, I was not gentle; she encouraged me to greater passion, delight as I kissed and bti and fondled her breasts. Her nipples were stiff and turgid, and I suckled them as if I would gain sustenance from her body.

She unbuckled my belt and sword belt, both of which landed in a heap by her bed. I undid her bustier, impatiently stripping it from her torso so I might once again feast upon her body, covering her lips and breasts with lips and bites. My fingers went exploring, and I discovered that she had indeed worn panties under her short skirt; black cotton panties, soaked and wet with her arousal.

She sighed as my fingers explored her panty-covered mound. She moaned as my wandering fingers pulled her black panties aside.

"Yes, pet my pussy... stroke me until I purr" she crooned while I sacked and bit her breasts. I stroked the entrance to her cunt with my index and middle finger while I diddled her clitoris with the knuckle of my thumb. She was amazingly tight and so I was slow and gentle working my well-manicured fingers into her virgin-tight snatch. She was moaning and grinding on my hand when her orgasm came upon her, seemingly by surprise. She made an almost-inhuman gutteral noise in the back of her throat as she climaxed, her cunt convulsing greedily around my fingers. I kissed her passionately as she came, stroking her gently, letting her drive the pace as she rode out her orgasm.

I held her and kissed her neck and shoulder as she sprawled languidly in my embrace. She turned around in my arms and kissed me. She started to undress me further, clearly wanting my pants and boots to join my tunic in a pile next to her bed. I assisted her with the rest of her costume - even the ears! - and she made contented cooing noises as she rubbed her ass against my erect phallus.

"My Viking warrior, my sweet Dane..." she giggled.

"What?" I asked after the source of her amusement.

"I just realized that I skipped dinner, and so I need something in my tummy... something hot and full of protein.. I want you in my mouth," she said, kissing her way down across my belly towards my cock. "And as you are Dane... that would make you a Danish Viking, yes?" I felt her hot breath as she looked up, her full lips poised at my cock head. She opened her mouth and engulfed my cockhead and shaft, taking me deep into her mouth. Pleasure exploded across my body as she milked my cock with her tongue and throat.

She paused and let me fall from her lips. "And everyone knows that Danish make a splendid breakfast... especially when there are creme-filled Danes." She swirled her tongue around the head of my cock like an ice cream cone. "Will you give me your cream, Dane?" Once more she engulfed my whole cockshaft... once, twice, thrice... She gagged on my cock and I could see strands of saliva connecting her mouth and my cock as she withdrew.

Three more times she took my cock into her throat, her muscles massaging it as it pulsed and throbbed with arousal. Sensing I was close, she moved her mouth over the head of my cock and her fingers stroked the shaft. "Sorry, but if you cum down my throat, I don't get the taste of your hit seed in my mouth... and I want to taste you... I want you to explode in my mouth.

Her dirty little mouth did the trick, and I crested as her mouth and tongue made my cum spurt in thick ropes of semen. She played with it with her tongue, and sought to kiss me; I moaned as her tongue invaded his mouth, and tasted my own cum from her mouth. I never quite understood males who loved their partner to take their cum but balked from tasting their own cum from anywhere from their partner's body, whether cunt, ass, breasts or mouth; if they let me put it there, I was damned if I would not "clean them up" afterwards, and enjoy every second of it

"You make a tasty snack, mister Dane," she informed me.

"Do I, now? And here I was thinking that turnabout is fair play!" I said as I slowly kissed my way down her naked body, lingering in the most delightful places on my way towards my goal.

"Let me know if you get lost," she quipped and I grinned as I bit her left boob.

"You'll be the first to know!" I said as I licked her belly.

"You better not be like most guys and refuse to admit it," she chuckled.

"So you're telling me that if you get a rim job, I've gone too far?"

"Are you telling me that rimming my ass is a possibility?" she asked in a low, sexy voice.

"Kitty, if I thought worshipping your fine ass would get you off, I'd wear out my knees in prayer," I promised.

"Well don't get lost - we need to save something for our second date," she joked. At least I think she was joking.

"Yes ma'am!" I said, spreading her legs open wantonly to have more room.

I do not speak for others of my sex, but for my money I consider a woman's cunt to be a beautiful thing I hold in high reverence; the sight, the feel, the scent, the taste of an aroused cunt I find almost irresistible. I once had a female friend who preferred women to men (and really, who can blame them?), who let me suck and lick and please her sweet cunt when I was single and she was between lovers.

I love enabling a woman to cum on my mouth. It is my favorite thing, no reciprocity needed.

"If you get to my knees, you've gon...oh fuck yes..." she said as I began to tease her clit, taking it and the juncture of her labia into my mouth, and stroking her intimately with my tongue.

"I'm sorry, did my backseat driver have a comment?" I asked.