Little Red Riding Hood!

The emaciated man with the long, stringy dishwater hair waved a hand toward the buxom witch riding sidesaddle on a floating broomstick near the inside of the archway. "And this is Tamsin. Tamsin adds a special touch to our Halloween party this year. It seems that every year, whatever party she attends, there is at least one death . . . " He hissed softly, " . . . among the guests."

At this, many of the newly arrived party guests twittered and nudged each other, rustling their costumes against one another. "Maybe they should arrest her, then . . . " muttered a Viking with real cow horns.

The butler rolled his eyes and stepped back with a creak of worn bone on bone. "That is . . . unlikely. YOU have been . . . warned," he replied, waving them in towardTamsin.

The guests arrived in great costumes, a Viking in a real bearskin, a horned helmet of real cow horns (although the horned helmet is not historical) and a Werewolf, despite having a rubber mask had theatrical hair on his throat and maybe real hair on his chest that was draped by a heavy necklace of real gold. There was a Cleopatra with a real snake, a Salome covered in veils but exposed at the same time, a regal Josephine, an Evelyn Nesbit or Gibson Girl, carrying a bird cage with a canary happily singing on a swing.

At the approach of the guests, the witch flashed a bright smile and settled herself more firmly on the broomstick that started to bob up and down in time to faint music on the edge of hearing. She reached a hand out to them, singing, "Come little children, I'll take thee away." Waving her hand in toward the inner rooms, she continued singing, "Into a land of enchant-ment." Rising toward the ceiling, she took her other hand off of the broomstick caroling, "Come little children, the time's come, to play!" Her arms extended as if to embrace them all, the broomstick slowly dropping as she finished, "Here, in my garden of ma-agic." As the tune ended, she performed a sidesaddle-curtsey so low that the group could see completely down the dangerously low-cut front of her dress, which the men of the group did, with great delight.

A woman in a hot cat suit watched the witch also with great delight. This cat wore a suit was all Shiny black latex; black mask covering her head except her eyes and from her nose and ears down with two cat ears at her head's top that seemed to twitch at sounds. A strappy vest/bra covered little, her black, shirred gloves covered her arms to mid biceps with cuffs that hung back to her elbow and black tight pants covered her legs down to her short, black, open-toed boots with very long, spikey heels and short, blackened toenails cut into points. She moved catlike just below the broom with her body, legs and arms twisted dramatically and giving off that rumbling cat-purr.

The broomstick lifted again, returning Tamsin back to where she was sitting when the group had entered, her smile once more bright enough to light an entire pumpkin patch. As the Viking moved toward her, one hand outstretched as if to help her down off of her ride, a Salome cried out, "Why, she's just a puppet!"

With a curse of surprise, the Viking jumped back, almost snagging his hand on a piece of wire that now seemed to jump out of the background of strings and cobwebs. As Tamsin started her song again, the group moved further into the mansion, with the usual assurances of 'I knew she was a puppet all along,' said one while other comments were being shot back and forth.

The Viking came upon a luscious red devil of a girl in a dark room. Did she wear lingerie or swimsuit? What little there was of it was all metallic red. A shiny triangle top held by glinting black strings and matching hot shorts bottom both (or was it all three) had small orange, yellow and blue flames in the sinister corner. Her 6 inch heeled pumps were also metallic red high lighted with flames on her smoky sheer hose that appeared to run along the edge of her pumps. Her smoky hose was striated to appear to be smoke rising to her welt containing red sparkles flashing as if they were embers. She had a six string ruby choker that flashed at her throat as she laughed and shiny red horns peeking from her artistically mussed black hair. She easily made the most seductive, lust-inspiring demon you could ever want.

Recognizing his lustful stare she dip-stepped to him, wrapped her hands around his bare and muscular arms and purred, "I'm your devil Lilian!"

Only a movement in the room's corner made him look away from this diabolical siren to see another temptress who was all aglitter in a bra that was mostly cleavage and the little there was clear crystal tassels and a short skirt of strings of clear crystals. Her always moving white sequined pumps set it all a-sway as she danced toward him to the barely audible soft music. Her red hair was punk style with two spikes forming asymmetrical horns.

Taking his other arm in her unusually warm hands she huskily whispered, "You may call me Hurley Girly!"

The red and white devils both kept their gaze directly on his eyes that flicked back and forth from one to the other with their wicked smiles at his agony of not knowing which to choose. While caressing his arms they danced him in a circle to face the doorway where now was crouching the woman in a hot cat suit. She moved toward him sideways with deeply bent knees until she was able to run her gloved hands under his bearskin and over his abs and pecs.

"My name is Praline because I'm sweet and nutty!"

Lilian purred cattily, "Ahh, you're Praline. I love sucking Pralines."

Hurley Girly twined her fingers around his ear and the back of his neck. "Hmmm. Pralines are luscious covered with ice cream."

Praline was dismissive as she said, "We all have one except for this Nordic hunk who can have as many as he wants. What is your name, beefcake?"

The Viking replied squeakily, "Bryce," then cleared his throat before going on. "Hmmggmgg! My name is Bryce."

The three girls picked on Bryce, fondling his arms, chest, neck and rear or resting their sweet smelling heads on him Praline encircles his spear with her hand and slowly strokes it up and down while she moaned, "I just love a man with a spear, especially a long and hard one with a sharp point that can prick me."

Lilian gently pushed her away and looked up at Bryce. "Bryce? A Dane with a spear. Does that make you a Spear Dane?"

Hurley Girly gave a throaty laugh. "He could be from sceptered isle; then he would be a Spear Brittainy!"

Praline squealed, "Ohhhh. I bet you'd like that. Spear Brittainy Spears!"

Hurley Girly shot back instantly, "He'd have to take a number."

Lilian announced, "Now serving 68!"

Praline giggled. "She'd owe you one."

Lilian lifted Bryce’s bearskin and pressed her face against his chest; breathing deeply or him as she intoned,

"This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, (She pressed her hands against him next to her head)
This other Eden, demi-paradise, (she sighed)
This fortress built by Nature for herself (She pushed her head away from him with her hand while pressing her hips against his)
Against infection and the hand of war, (she snapped her teeth at him)
This happy breed of men, this little world, (she lapped his nipple with her tongue)
This precious stone set in the silver sea, (One of her hands went down to his crotch)
Which serves it in the office of a wall
Or as a moat defensive to a house,
Against the envy of less happier lands,—
This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this Spear Brittainy!."

At the end of her soliliquy she bumped her hips against his and stepped away.

Praline changed the subject by displacing Lilian and announcing, "I know a Viking story."

They all fell silent as she told them. "There were two neighboring Vikings who cannot stop feuding. One, Lars, shoots a duck which falls inside the others field. As he walks onto his neighbor's field he is stopped by his neighbor who claims the duck as his since it ended up in his field. After much arguing his neighbor states he is prepared to settle the matter by the Viking method. The Viking method involves kicking each other in turn between the legs until one gives up, the other is the winner. Lars agrees reluctantly. His neighbor states that since they are on his land he goes first.

"Lars stands with legs apart and hands on hips while his neighbor takes an mighty swing with his foot and sends Lars into the air. Ten minutes of writhing on the ground went by before Lars eventually gets to his feet and prepares to take his turn. His neighbor turns and walks away saying 'O.K. I give in! You keep the duck!'"

Lilian now back entirely from Bryce faced him standing astride, her legs fully apart and her pelvis forward. "Go ahead. You kick me first!"

As all three giggled Lilian hooked his arm with hers and led him out the door, saying, "I hear they have a punch that makes you skip and go naked. Wanna try it?"

Hurley Girly put her arm around Praline's waist and pulled her into a dark corner, saying, "Praline, eh?"

Nearby a drunken young man stumbled through a room and out onto one of the balconies. Through the eyes of his rubber werewolf mask, Joel saw a Dracula with bloodstained fangs sitting in a chair, while Jason with a bloody knife sat in another. A third chair sat empty between them, in front of it a young woman, in a skimpy red dress with a short dried-blood red hooded cloak covering her head and shoulders, was gazing up at the moon. Grinning, while hoping that he wasn't going to look foolish, the 'werewolf' stepped up behind the girl, wrapping his arms around her waist and murmuring, "Hey little girl, what are you doing out of the woods?" into her ear.

He was promptly met with a shriek and a small basket that felt like it was filled with solid gold against the side of his head.

"Owwww . . . " he howled. "What'd you do that for?" He tried to stop the pounding in his head and moved his mask back around so he could see out of the eyeholes.

"Oh, I don't know! Maybe because you were feeling me up? What was I supposed to do?" asked 'Little Red Riding Hood.' She did not look happy. This was a look of a Red Riding Hood who had the woodcutter on speed-dial. But remorse slowly crept into her eyes and after a moment, she was looking him up and down, checking him out. Oh yeah, he still had it. Whatever 'it' was.

"Look, I didn't know you were alive. Real. Whatever, not one of those stuffed dummies like your friends here." He shook his head again, his ears still ringing. He tried to take a step closer but stumbled, his balance gone.

The woman sighed. "Sit down," she said, maneuvering him into the empty seat. She knelt in between his sprawled legs, waving a finger in front of his face. "Is that better? How many fingers am I holding up? What's your name?"

Joel focused on her face. It was a little hard to do . . . after all, he didn't have many beautiful girls kneeling in front of him, with full frontal shots, asking him if he was okay. "Ummm," he mumbled. "Yeah, one, and Joel, what's yours?"

"You can call me 'Red,'" the girl answered. "Well, it doesn't look like you have a concussion. Just don't sneak up on girls like that!"

Joel gingerly felt the side of his head. Everything seemed to be okay, and the alcohol he had drank earlier seemed to be coming back in full force, making everything feel good. "What'd you have in that basket anyway? You bringing Grandma a barbell or a fruitcake in that thing?"

Red blushed a little. She cocked her head to the side and looked up at him. "Not quite. Trick or treat?"

Joel blinked back at her. No concussion or not, he wasn't following that quickly.

Red reached into her basket and pulled out . . . a can of whipped cream. "Well, I guess you should get a treat for all that I've put you through so far. Hold out your paw like a good wolf . . . " Her smile turned predatory, her teeth showing.

Joel obeyed, not quite knowing what was going on, but not minding either. He held out his right hand, palm down.

Red slowly shook the can, the mixing balls rattling up and down within the metal can. She popped the top off the can and slowly started to spray whipped cream all over his hand. Every inch of his hand was covered, from wrist to fingertips. "Turn it over, carefully," she commanded.

He did as he was told, and she soon covered the entire palm of his hand and the inside of his fingers. That done, Red put the cap back on the whipped cream and put the can back in her basket. "Are you ready?" she asked him, her eyes big and round and innocent.

Joel nodded, his brain telling him that the vision in front of him was only a dream while the throbbing of his face told him that this was real and for his brain to shut up before he missed something!

Red's tongue slowly flicked out and licked the inside of his wrist, the bumps on her tongue catching slightly on the ridges of the tendons under his skin. "Yum," she sighed, licking a trace of the whipped cream off of her upper lip. She looked back up at Joel. "Should I continue?"

At Joel's frantic nod, she returned to her work. Inch by inch, she scoured the palm of his hand clean, no particle of dairy delight left on his skin.

At her whispered command of "Over," he slowly turned his hand over, hoping that the cream wouldn't slide off of the back of his hand. Miraculously, it all stayed and Red resumed her task. Joel was feeling very . . . warm by this point and wished that he had taken off his werewolf mask before his Halloween treat. Oh well, it couldn't be helped now.

Too soon, Red had finished the back of his hand and Joel was breathing rather heavily already. As Red looked up at him again to judge how he was doing, he tried to leer back at her but realized that his mask was hiding everything about him from her . . . except the flashing of his eyes and his heavy breathing. He wondered just what he had done to deserve this kind of night.

All that was left was the whipped cream on his fingers. Seeing that some was about to drip off of his thumb, Red drew his hand closer to her and wrapped her lips around his thumb, taking it completely within her mouth. She sucked off all of the whipped cream, her bottom lip dragging slightly over the bottom of his thumb.

Joel's gasp was cut off suddenly. The feeling of her removing the whipped cream from his thumb had almost sent him over the edge. And there were four other fingers left! He tried to move out of his chair but he felt paralyzed. All feeling was concentrated in his right hand and the sensations of flesh on flesh.

"You know, Joel," Red said as she scooted closer to him, looking this way and that at his hand as if to try and decide which finger to clean next. "I hadn't really expected to have much fun this Halloween. But a friend told me to try one of Tamsin's parties. And you know . . . " Her head dipped down as she slurped the whipped cream off of his pinkie finger. "This has been so . . . " She paused, then cleaned off his ring finger.

Joel simply nodded, unsure of being able to communicate anything beyond a feeble moan. His breathing sounded harsh and bestial and he had to remember to breathe shallowly enough to not inhale the rubber of the mask. Sweat that had been harmlessly beading before was now running rivers under the werewolf visage.

"You've been such a good boy through all of this, I feel almost sorry I hit you with my basket." Joel's mind had slowly been turned to hormonal mush through his ministrations. His only thoughts were concentrated on the feeling of Red treating his middle finger like a favorite lollipop. One finger to go . . . and he felt like he was going to pop.

"But enough of my tricks, wolfy . . . I want a treat too . . . " Red smiled, now a Red Riding Hood who didn't know any woodcutters . . . because she carried her own hatchets. She slowly sucked off all of the whipped cream on Joel's last finger. He heard the sound of the rubber filling a mouth inhaling too hard as she bit off his index finger, just a bit beyond the second joint. Joel's eyes sprang wide-open as he tried to scream. The rubber he had inhaled, however, was stuck to his face from the sweat running down his face.

Red sucked on his hand like a straw, firmly holding him in place and drawing more and more blood into herself. Too shocked to even scream, Joel did the only thing he could think of.

He fainted.

Red felt his body become lax as she continued feeding from him. Minutes passed and still she suckled from his fingers, guzzling every last drop. But all too soon his blood clotted enough to slow the spigot to a mere drip. Sighing, Red wiped her mouth off with her hooded cloak and stood up. Meals like this always put her legs to sleep.

"Thanks Wolfie, you've been a doll!" she chirped, lifting his hand to artistically dribble blood onto his costume. "There, much better. More realistic." She surveyed the scene of the bloodstained vampire, the sadistic hockey-masked killer, and now the werewolf caught after having fed, perhaps on some helpless little girl who had lost her way . . . "One more and you guys could play bridge . . . "

She adjusted her victim's mask and hid the hand with the finger missing in his lap. Placing a hand on Joel's neck, Red could just faintly feel the slightest of pulses. "Good luck to ya surviving, wolfie boy . . . you shouldn't have snuck up on me while I was hunting. Oh well." She turned toward the doorway leading back into the mansion. "You really should be more careful at one of Tamsin's parties . . . you never know who will show up."

The red-hooded girl made her way back downstairs to the main entrance. As she passed through the hallways, she could hear a song she had heard before. It was the theme song to some old black-and-white TV show that she could never remember the name of. Some fat guy always came onto the screen when they played it . . . it was right on the tip of her tongue . . . Red licked her lips thoughtfully. No, wait, Joel was on the tip of her tongue.

She giggled at her own joke as she passed through the anteroom to the main entrance where she saw Tamsin bobbing up and down in time to the music. Red jokingly called out as she walked near the broomstick, "Thanks for the great time, Tamsin!"

With the sound of two pool balls rubbing together or the mixing balls in an aerosol can, Tamsin's eyes rolled forward from the back of her head. The broomstick floated so that the witch was sitting at eye-level. "I'm so glad you had a good time here." Her head tilted to the side, looking the young woman up and down. "I take it that you found a friend?"

The woman in red nodded. "Sweet guy up on one of the balconies." She frowned a little. "Didn't kill him though . . . I only took about a liter out of him. I could have taken a leg off and drained him dry but those leg wounds get so messy!"

The puppet nodded. "I could feel his pain from here . . . so tasty! But he is still alive upstairs. One of the others will probably have to keep up my 'reputation.' this year. But did you have fun, dear?" The anxiousness in her voice could have come from any nervous hostess, although her left eye rolling around to the back of her head was a bit disconcerting.

"The best party I've been to in a long time," assured Red. "I'll definitely have to come to another one!"

Another group of party-goers rang the doorbell, awakening the butler from his animatronic slumber. "Ooops, showtime!" burbled Annette. "I'll see you later . . . umm, I didn't catch your name, Red."

On her way out toward the opening door, the woman resettled her hood. "Call me Ursula," she tossed back over her shoulder before disappearing into the night.

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