(Author's note: The following tale is an official entry into the Literotica 2009 Halloween Story Contest. I hope you enjoy this bawdy tale of lust. Enjoy the read, and Happy Halloween.)
* * * *
"This is gonna be fucking awesome!" Derek declared, bouncing jubilantly in the passenger seat of the vintage sedan. "I've wanted to go to Zombie Stomp for, like, forever!"
Steve rolled his eyes, but he had to admit he was excited as well. The stresses of working forty hours a week on top of a full load of classes demanded relief. Only two months into his senior year, and he was already looking forward to winter break. But a Halloween weekend away from work and school was the next best thing.
"Gonna be some hot fucking chicks there, man," Derek continued, the gleam of his ruddy cheeks showing even through the white vampire face makeup he wore. He slapped Steve's shoulder. "Even you could get laid."
Steve scoffed. "Yeah, but I won't need to get a girl drunk, first," he said meaningfully, indicating Derek's obvious pudginess. Even with the shimmering red vest, his best friend's stomach was obvious.
Derek grinned, running his hands up and down his thick body. "Hey, I ain't fucking fat. I'm husky."
Steve chuckled. "You know, for every fifty pounds of excess weight, you lose an inch on your dick."
Derek snorted. "I got inches to spare, man."
"Uh huh. I've seen you in the showers after practice."
"Dude! You been fucking checking me out? Don't tell me my best bro's a fag!"
"You wish," Steve drawled.
"Don't count on it, dude. I ain't jumping no fucking fence."
Steve laughed, shifting in his seat. He had decided to go for a tribal savage motif in his costume, which consisted of a makeshift loincloth draped with leather tassels and feathers, similarly-decorated strap-up sandals and abundant body paint. He maintained an impressive build, due to being a wide receiver as opposed to Derek's role of linebacker, and hoped that would help him attract female attention.
He kept pace behind a long row of cars which, ostensibly, were headed to the same destination. As far away from everything as the old quarry lay, it was unlikely any of the cars were headed anywhere else. Indeed, as they approached, the cars slowed almost to a crawl. Police cruisers were parked to either side of the road, flanking a checkpoint. Steve and Derek both exchanged slightly worried looks; while they had not been drinking, both young men carried fair amounts of marijuana on them.
"Dude, this is so fucking fascist," Derek commented.
"Relax," Steve calmed. "They're probably just checking IDs. Look – you can see the lights of the quarry."
"You better be right, dude."
Car after car inched forward, and as Steve edged the rebuilt Ford Galaxy toward the checkpoint, he saw not a police officer, but a pudgy, bearded man in a white T-short displaying the bloody Zombie Stomp logo. The cops stood off to the side, sipping coffee and generally keeping to themselves. Apparently, Steve figured, they were present due to past incidents of violence erupting at the annual concert. Their visibility alone was a powerful deterrent.
The rotund man in the T-shirt waved through the car ahead of them and indicated for Steve to stop.
"Twenty-one and over only, guys," he said, shining a flashlight upon the two young men after Steve had rolled down the window. "I gotta check ID."
"No problem," Steve answered, quickly producing his driver's license. Begrudgingly, Derek did the same. The pudgy man checked them both, looking closely at Derek's made up face. Satisfied the two men were of age, he stepped back.
"Enjoy the concert, guys."
"Happy Halloween, fascist dude!" called Derek before a sharp slap from Steve had him wincing and clutching his shoulder.
"Asshole," muttered Steve.
"What!" snapped Derek, massaging his arm.
"Just don't get us thrown out."
Derek said nothing, distracted instantly as Steve rolled the car into the grassy field that served as the venue's parking lot. A bevy of scantily-clad pirate wenches giggled as the car passed, making inaudible comments about Derek's obvious gawking of them. One of them flashed the majority of her upper thigh before they were out of view.
"Dude!" Derek exclaimed. "Chick fucking wants me. I can tell."
"Yeah, right," Steve commented, parking between a pair of large SUVs. He cut the engine and palmed the keys with a grin. "You ready?"
* * * *
The broad expanse of the old limestone quarry was filled with a literal sea of people more than twenty thousand strong. Four stages occupied each corner of the venue, belting out rap, hip-hop, rock and metal. The air was heady and thick with the aromas of sweat, cigarettes, pot and alcohol, kept potent by the hazy cloud hovering between the towering walls of the quarry. While Halloween came during the first chill of approaching winter, the mass of bodies, glowing lights, and humming electronics increased the temperature noticeably.
"This place is fucking huge!" Derek proclaimed as he and Steve followed the crowd through the gates. The broad path sloped down toward the quarry proper, affording a brief overview of the entire venue. The four stages flashed with various lights and the minimal sort of cheap props indicative of low-profile bands. For, while Zombie Stomp was a much-lauded event, it was open only to local bands. For many, it was the first stepping stone toward national and, hopefully, world-wide exposure.
"Look at this, Steve," Derek urged as he tapped the glossy program he had picked up at the gate. "Slammin Sammy is gonna be on the metal stage at ten. Bad ass. I saw those fuckers at the Naked Iguana couple months ago. They fucking wail."
"Hmm." Steve was not as interested in the various bands as he was in his surroundings. Halloween brought out the slutty nature in every girl, he noticed. Regardless of motif, the aim for feminine costumes seemed to be to reveal as much bare skin as possible. Not that Steve was complaining.
Derek's exclamation recaptured Steve's attention. He looked first to his friend, then to the pamphlet his best friend was reading.
"Check this: 'Zombie Stomp was first envisioned to celebrate the anniversary of the death of William Adler, madman and sociopath, who is believed to be responsible for the deaths of over twenty people before he himself perished in 1899. A wealthy patriarch of the community, Adler's vicious and perverse habits were never fully revealed until many years following his funeral. In 1944, with the passing of his daughters in a fire that destroyed the family mansion, the real story began to emerge. A collection of letters and diaries written by the daughters described instances of kidnapping, rape, sexual perversity, and even incest.'" He lifted his head, giving his friend a knowing look and crooked grin. "Dude screwed his own daughters. That's fucking sick."
Steve wrinkled his nose. "And we're celebrating this guy?"
Derek chuckled, picking up on the pamphlet where he had left off. "'Zombie Stomp is a celebration of all things perverse and free. While unquestionably an inglorious, unrepentant madman, William Adler nevertheless embodies the spirit of hedonism and total loss of inhibitions. We, the organizers of Zombie Stomp, like to think the spirit of William Adler looks down upon this festival with approval from the Adler Family Mausoleum which can just be seen above the northern face of the quarry.'" He finished with a grin, directing his eyes toward the northern end of the quarry. But the darkness of night and the haze in the air obscured the view.
"Okay, before we get creeped out, I wanna get a beer and maybe find a couple chicks to smoke a blunt with," Steve declared.
"Sounds like a plan," Derek agreed, folding the program and stuffing it in his back pocket. He shook out his black cape and leered at a pair of young women passing by.
"Alright," said Steve, clapping his hands together. "The mission is pussy. Carnal knowledge, on the premises. Got it?"
Derek looked around with a lecherous grin. "Not yet, but I guarantee I'm gonna get it."
Steve rolled his eyes, but he was already looking around for possible prey. Confident that his mostly-revealed and very toned body would gain him abundant attention, he was happy to find his confidence confirmed in the eyes of speculative feminine onlookers. With a cocky smirk, he clapped his best friend upon a meaty shoulder. "Then let's go get 'em, Crackula."
"After you, Tribal Thunder."
* * * *
The music was infectious, as it often is in such a large venue. Even though the majority of the music was not exactly what Steve would enjoy on a regular basis, in the context of being surrounded by thousands of writhing, sweaty bodies, with the aroma of a hundred different perfumes mingling with marijuana and alcohol, Steve found himself enjoying the thunderous beats and enthusiastic lyrics.
Like a freakin' orgy, he thought, wandering in the periphery between the rock and metal stages. Derek, he knew, was worming his way toward the metal stage in anticipation of hearing Slammin Sammy. Steve didn't worry about being split from his friend. They both had their cell phones, and had already agreed to meet back at the car at two a.m., come what may.
The first beer down and a second half-finished, Steve found a spot near a bank of port-a-potties, away from the chaotic crush of revelers. He was glad he had included the small leather pouch as part of his costume; it was useful in carrying his ID, money, and the little plastic bag containing three rolled joints. Having seen numerous others openly smoking spliffs and bowls without fear of arrest, and with just enough alcohol in his system to make him reckless, he took one of the carefully-rolled cigarettes out, tweaking the ends before tucking it between his lips. He lit it, puffed a few times to pull the flame in, then inhaled deeply.
Holding the bittersweet essence in his lungs for a few seconds, Steve exhaled slowly, smiling at the rich aroma of Hawaiian-grown weed. The smile lingered as he surveyed his surroundings like a conquering soldier. Women glanced his way, some giving appraising looks, others rolling their eyes or giggling in veiled embarrassment.
Then, as if materializing like a vampire from a cloying mist, she was there in the crowd, striding meaningfully toward him. Clad in a snug black dress with the neckline plunging to her navel, she was an alluring blonde, hair swept back and free, smooth, pale skin glistening with the sheen of the night. While slightly-built and possessing narrow measurements, Steve was instantly attracted to the almost feral, wanton look in her glittering green eyes.
"Give a girl a toke?" she asked boldly, keeping her shoulders back to accentuate the near-nudity of her chest.
Steve smiled in his best "suave" way. He was always a little intimidated by girls who were more forward than he, but the alluring charms of the blonde beauty before him made him make the extra effort to match her cool approach.
He held the joint between thumb and forefinger, letting his eyes wander down the girl's lithe body. "Only if you tell me your name," he answered, returning his gaze to her eyes. He felt a stirring in his gut, traveling swiftly down to his groin, upon noting the light array of freckles across her cheeks and nose. Freckles had always been a weakness to Steve; they evoked impressions of hometown life and demure innocence. But it was already apparent that the blonde before him was neither small town nor innocent.
The corner of her mouth curled. "Vicki," she responded with a lick of her soft, kissable lips.
Without bothering to hide his admiration for the girl, Steve handed the joint over. She puckered her lips before pulling on the illicit cigarette, eyes closing while she inhaled. She held it for several seconds after passing the joint back, then slowly let the smoke filter out, trailing up like the thick grey fingers of a skeleton over her face. She smiled upon Steve.
"How about me?" asked another voice, bidding Steve to divert his attention from the blonde and look to his right. A sultry redhead smiled back, clad in a dress to match the blonde's. Her freckles were even more pronounced and abundant.
Two girls? thought Steve with a brief moment of anxiety.
"It's okay," Vicki said. "This is Becky. We share everything."
He glanced back to her with an obvious expression of interest. "Everything?"
"Yes," confirmed the luscious redhead, gaining Steve's attention once more. She framed the joint in Steve hands with slender fingers and took it away, locking his gaze as she drew upon it with as much suggestive sexiness as the blonde. "Everything."
He smiled through both excitement and anxiety. "I like the sound of that."
Becky emitted a deep, throaty chuckle. "I bet you do."
"What's your name?" asked Vicki, sliding just a little closer.
"Good name," replied the blonde. "It means 'crown.'"
He chuckled. "I doubt I'm gonna be a king any time soon."
"Maybe not," remarked Becky as she took another hit, then passed it to Vicki. "But I think you just might deserve royal treatment."
Steve's smile grew even more. "I always enjoy being pampered," he declared, then gave both young women a meaningful look. "But I also like giving as much as I get."
The blonde and redhead exchanged sly smiles and nodded to one another, making a voiceless agreement. Finally, Vicki gave the joint back to Steve and curled her arm around his. "Come on. Love Puddle is gonna hit the stage in a few minutes. You like them?"
Steve shrugged. "Sure," he said, accepting Becky's hand in his. I'll go anywhere you honeys want . . . .
* * * *
He had to admit, for an unsigned band, Love Puddle was pretty good. Their music reminded Steve of old Smashing Pumpkins tunes he had heard often as a young boy. The four members of the band all wore plain, cyan-colored doctors' scrubs and had their faces made up to depict bloodstained mouths and sunken, zombie-like eyes.
The pair of beauties flanking him made Steve's ego soar, especially once he noticed the appraising looks men gave them. A few ventured to flirt with the winsome blonde and redhead, but they responded with cold, curt replies, clinging to Steve like devoted slaves to a master.
Still, despite the strange and sudden devotion of the two women, Steve was still startled when the blonde, Vicki, slid her hand up the inside of Steve's thigh to cup the weight of his cock and balls through the loincloth. He gave her a wondering, aroused look, which she returned with a sly smile.
And there, in apparent obliviousness of the people surrounding them, she slipped around before Steve and lowered herself to a squat, legs splayed widely. Smiling upon the growing bulge hidden behind a single layer of cloth, she peeled the waistband down, fully exposing Steve's hardening dick to both the revelers around them and Vicki's appraising gaze.
This is nuts, thought Steve, glancing around. But it seemed no one caught on to what the slender blonde was doing, at least not right away, save Becky, who only grinned and winked.
The warm firmness of Vicki's tongue brought his attention back to the eager blonde. She smiled up around an open mouth as she licked and lapped along the length of his engorged shaft, making it glisten. But the smile faded after several seconds, replaced by an expression of wanton desire as she spread her lips around Steve's cock and slid them all the way down the shaft.
Steve groaned, staring down in stupefaction as Vicki's lips caressed the base of his cock, her nose brushing the soft dark hair of his lower abdomen, her chin pressed against his balls. He felt her jaw moving, tongue massaging, and the fluttering of her throat around the head of his sensitive phallus. He swayed slightly, more light-headed than if he had guzzled a case of beer, and touched her head.
Lost to sexual delirium, Steve noticed a few interested eyes watching what Vicki was doing. A man clad in a pirate's costume gave a thumb's-up. A girl looking like a slutty Alice in Wonderland stared with astonished eyes, her mouth hanging open.
A hand touched his chin, gently urging Steve to look to Becky. She smiled sultrily and offered her lips for a taste. Steve moaned into her mouth as they kissed, and all the while, Vicki's mouth never let go of his cock.
Finally, the blonde slid her talented mouth from Steve's cock and rose. Giving him an impish look, she tucked his still-engorged penis back into the loincloth.
"Come on," whispered Becky in his ear, her voice just audible above the musical din.
He frowned. "Where?"
"Some place we can be alone," answered Vicki, taking his hand.
* * * *
With the absence of pounding music and the crunch of human bodies, Steve's senses gradually adjusted to normal levels as he followed Vicki and Becky along the rear of the quarry, behind the stages and various band vehicles, to an old iron gate the blocked the way out. There was the faintest of paths beyond the gate, which was otherwise overgrown with thick vegetation.
"Where are we going?"
The girls paused, exchanging a glance, before Vicki turned back and pressed herself against Steve's body. "How kinky are you?"
Steve searched her face, alcohol and marijuana making him both bold and relaxed. "I'm willing to give just about anything a shot."
She slid a bare thigh around his, then directed one of his hands between her thighs. Steve's libido surged as he felt slick, pliable flesh and just the faintest trace of hair. "I'd like you to give this a shot," she purred, then kissed him fiercely.
"Come on, hurry!" Becky urged, standing beside a now-open iron gate. Without further thought, Steve followed the winsome redhead through the gate, towing Vicki behind.
The narrow trail lead upward, following the craggy face of the cliff that was the other side of the quarry's northern wall. Away from the heat of humanity and electronics, Steve shivered at the drop in temperature and the buffeting winds. Only the promise of enjoying the delights of two sexy, willing women allowed him to endure the cold. He only hoped they were going somewhere enclosed. The fear of "shrinkage" became suddenly and embarrassingly real.
Becky climbed with the agility of a cat, almost effortlessly following the tiny winding trail up inclines of almost forty-five degrees in places. Steve stumbled behind, figuring his two imminent lovers were gymnasts. They certainly seemed to possess the bodies of athletes. With the wind whipping at her clothes, and Steve's vantage point of behind and below, he was treated to several inspiring glimpses of Becky's naked rear and the plump, shadowy sex just beneath.
The climb was thankfully brief, resulting in the three of them standing above the massive concert below. The contrast of raucous revelry below on one side and calm, windswept hill on the other was startling.
"Here we are, baby," Becky cooed, gesturing with her arm toward a structure a little further along the crest. Surrounded by thick vegetation and standing beneath the heavy boughs of a broad-limbed elm was a weathered stone edifice that looked like a small cathedral. Simple columns flanked a heavy, eroded door composed of iron and stone, beneath a large, engraved panel that read, "Adler."
Steve suddenly blanched, feeling more sober than if he had never touched a drop of beer. He suddenly cursed Derek for having read him the history of the sociopath for whom Zombie Stomp had been held. "You . . . wanna go in there," he said hesitantly.
"It'll be cool," Vicki whispered in his ear before giving the lobe a quick, teasing lick. "The three of us, naked together, getting down and dirty."