Anne Virginia's First Halloween

The Headmistress spoke again. "This is worse than I thought. You are a really bad girl." She grabbed Katy's panties, and pulled them off.

"Yes Headmistress, I'm sorry," Katy said breathlessly.

The Headmistress resumed spanking Katy's slit, which was bright red, and Katy really started moaning and wailing. "OH! ...OH! ... OH! ... yeah ... OH! ...OH! ...OH!"

Did the girl just say "yeah"? The TV was turned up a little loud, but the ancient tape's sound started cutting on and off.

Anne kept spanking Little Miss Anne, roughly matching the rhythm of the teacher. She was starting to feel out of breath... her stomach felt full of butterflies and there was something... building... It was like there was something.... there... not in reach but getting a little bit closer.

Anne spanked her slit a little harder through her panties, trying to hasten the approach of the mysterious feeling.

But, after a few more minutes the teen's hand was getting tired of paddling, and Little Miss Anne felt sore, throbbing, and the building feeling felt like it was not getting any closer. She looked at her frilly panties. They had a wet spot now, just like the girl in the movie.

The Headmistress had stopped spanking Katy and she was now rubbing her with the ruler. There were strands of sticky thick stuff clinging to the ruler and her hand as she slid it up and down Katy's slit. Katy was grunting and jerking like nothing Anne had ever seen.

Anne stood up. She could hear her pulse beat in her eardrums, and she felt flushed and slightly dizzy. She hooked her thumbs into her panties and pulled them down. She kicked them to the side and sat back on the bed. She resumed lightly tapping Little Miss Anne with Gloria's small paddle. This time, the building feeling came back. It was extremely electric feeling now! Each tap on Little Miss Anne was like a jolt to her core. She barely noticed the little gasping noise she had started to make, each time she tapped herself. Her legs jerked slightly, almost like a reflex, with each tap. The something was almost there... she could almost... Tap! Tap! Tap... but then the paddle started to hurt her again.

Anne started to rub the paddle instead of tapping, but it had little metal stud nubs on it, which sometimes snagged on her light public hair. She picked up the floppy-ish rubber stick thing and experimentally used it to spank herself. It was heavier than the paddle and made a meaty "smack" sound. She tried rubbing it on Little Miss Anne instead.

At first, it was kind of clingy and sticky-like. But, after a moment, the wetness coming out of Little Miss Anne lubricated it, and it started to slide smoothly along her slit.

"Oh wow... that's. Ohhh... huhhh.. uh uh uh..."

It was delicious. The thing was so smooth, and it slipped and slid around just... like warm jello? It was like nothing Anne had ever experienced before... It was out of this world.

"God is good," Anne muttered between her heavy breaths. The sound of the video had cut off completely but Anne barely noticed.

The Headmistress had dropped the ruler, and was now licking, LICKING the student's slit! This seemed so wrong, they were both girls! But technically, this wasn't against any rules Anne had ever heard of...

Anne started to jack the black rod up and down her slit in time with the Headmistress licks. She imagined she was the blonde girl on the desk, with the big boobs. The feeling... it was really close... The headmistress was not supposed to be doing this to Anne, but she was in charge! What could Anne do but obey?

On screen, the headmistress had one arm around each of the student's legs, holding them apart and up. She was bobbing her head up and down vigorously; grinding her tongue up and down the girl's slit.

Anne was grunting and moaning like the student had been, unaware she was now the one providing the soundtrack. For a second, out of nowhere for some reason it popped into Anne's imagination that the Headmistress was Gloria Peterson. Coming in and catching Anne messing around with the stuff from her closet. Catching Anne, being a bad girl. In a split second, as she continued to rub Little Miss Anne with the rubber rod, Anne's mind replayed the entire scene again, but with Mrs. Peterson taking the role of Headmistress, and Anne was the disobedient student. Anne rubbed the rubber rod up and down Little Miss Anne. The thought stuck in her head. It seemed so bad, but so exciting.

"Uh huh huh huh Mrs... huh miss Pete... I ... hmm... am... sor-ry... HUH! ... HUH!"

Maybe Gloria would spank Little Miss Anne with her paddle. Was that why it was there in the first place? Maybe Mrs. Peterson would use the rubber rod on Anne's slit as punishment for her snooping. Maybe she would lick Anne, like the headmistress licked Katy.

That thought did it.

The feeling slammed into Anne, like a huge crescendo. The electric sensation crested like a wave that drowned out everything for an immeasurable space of time, and every muscle in her body tensed. Her being seemed to chant "yes yes YES YES YES that's IT!" even as the sounds that came out of her mouth were an animalistic gasping and grunting. It seemed like her heart would beat out of her chest and her blood vessels would burst, but it was good, it was great, it was the thing she was here to do, they were all here to do. And in that unmeasurable moment... was it short? Long? Time seemed to stop, and in a way... she began to understand.

Then she did say it, loud: "YES!!"

Then quieter, "yes.... Oh yes."

And then the feeling, still delicious, started to diminish, going in waves like it came, retreating into the distance whence it came. She wasn't sure when she stopped rubbing herself.

And in its absence, came a feeling of calm. Then remorse. It wouldn't always be remorse, but when one went too far with the dream, too far with the fantasy, sometimes remorse came.

Anne felt slightly grossed out with herself. That she had thought of Gloria, who was Dan's loyal wife. That she had used Gloria's stuff, Gloria's private stuff. That she had played the tape and drank extra bottles of wine, when she had specifically been told not to!

That was when the phone rang. Right before Anne's life changed forever.

***

Anne grabbed at the Peterson's iPhone resting near her head on the bed. The phone was configured to use Wi-Fi only since the Petersons no longer had a land-line, and Anne's parents refused to let her have a cell phone.

Anne intended to merely look at the name of the caller, and then decide if she should answer it or call back later, but she cringed when a split second after she saw "Gloria", she accidentally brushed the screen with her thumb and answered it. Anne lifted it to her ear hesitantly, glancing down past her naked slit, still glistening with the same bodily fluids coating the black rubber rod and the mini-paddle she had used to punish herself, not to mention the TV soundlessly displaying The Headmistress video now showing the blonde student's face buried between the teacher's thighs.

"Hello," Anne said with a slight slur. Oh no! What's wrong with my voice?!

"Hello Anne!" Gloria said brightly. "I hope you are having a good night. Are you taking good care of Little Miss Anne?"

Anne froze, blushed deeply and lay perfectly still. How could Gloria know... It seemed like time was frozen and her thoughts felt like they were mired in sticky molasses. Could there be a hidden camera in the bedroom?

"Hello... Anne? Is... are you still there?"

Anne stammered, "No... yesh, I'm doing... good."

"Oh! Sorry, my phone must have broken up, are you taking good care of Little Miss Anne? Anabellum? Is Anabel behaving herself?"

Anne sighed in relief. "Oh! I... you... I never heard you call Anabel that before. She's as happy as a pussy -- PUPPY, yes."

Anne cringed. Come on! Snap out of it! Where is Anabel? Anne glanced around the room.

"Good! Can I say goodnight to her? You can just put me on speaker."

Then Anne remembered she had left Anabel outside. Oops.

"Umm, sure Mrs. Peterson, let me just hit the button, I don't know if she'll have much to say."

Anne felt a surge of confidence as she tapped the iPhone's speaker button, transitioning the phone to "speaker-phone mode". They had done this routine before. Usually the little dog was as quiet as a mouse, seemingly completely unaware Gloria was trying to talk to her through the phone. Thus, Gloria would have no reason to suspect Anabel was actually outside. I can finish-up this charade and go about getting things back into a semblance of order! She smiled at the brilliance of her plan. Unfortunately, at that moment, the old VHS tape came fully back to life, and suddenly the sounds of The Headmistress filled the room. Anne's gaze jerked up to the screen and she nearly dropped the phone. The student was licking the teacher's slit on screen and thrusting one finger in and out of her pussy.

"Ooo Oooo... mhmm... MMMHHMMM... Katy! Katy... use more fingers.... Put in 3 fingers... " Katy bundled 3 fingers together and started thrusting them into the teacher, underneath her slick chin, still licking up and down the Headmistress slit at the same time.

No no no no! Anne thought frantically as she ran to the TV and slapped the power button. The TV winked off.

"Ummm... Sorry... Did you... uh, say something Anne?" Gloria's loud voice came out of the iPhone held at arm's length.

"No n-n-no Mrs. Peterson, it was just a... a commercial. I turned off the TV so you could hear Little Miss Anne." Anne's unintentional double entendre made her cringe with horror. "I mean Anabel!"

"Are you... there alone Anne?"

"Oh yes! Of course Mrs. Peterson, it was just the TV!"

"Ok, well then. Umm... HELLO ANABEL! Are you being good? Did you take your medicine like a good girl? Did she take her medicine?" Gloria clearly meant this last question for Anne.

"Oh yes, although she tried to escape..." The teenager looked at the open chest that had spilled during the medicine-mode escapade. Man, this is an awkward conversation. "I 'ad to catch her but we got it all taken care of. Umm, she ish scratching at the door, I think she needs to go outside, I had probably better let you go Mrs. Peterson."

"Ok! Well you two have a good night, and don't forget Anne you should watch her in the backyard because I don't think Dan did a very good job patching a hole in the fence."

Anne slapped herself on the forehead, "OHH... I... Yes! I know. Dan told me. I'll watch her. I better go though. Don't worry!" Anne jumped off the bed, stumbling slightly and almost crashed head-first into the wall, turned the light on, and searched for her panties.

"Ok... and Anne... Don't... Well... Be careful and just... I know you are growing up and I'm proud of you, and it's normal to.... Well, just be careful. Have a good night."

"Goodbye Mrsh-ish. Petershon!"

"Bye Anne."

Anne hung up the phone. "Where are my panties?! Crap I don't have time for this!"

Anne gave up the panty search for now and pulled the poofy skirt back on. She ran to the backdoor, threw it open and launched herself through.

"Anabel!" she called out.

The little dog was calmly sitting in the backyard, staring back at Anne, next to a 2x4 nailed across two pickets with their ends broken off. Anabel looked at the girl as she heard her name.

"Oh, God ish good! Why can't I talk!! Come on Anabel, let's go inside," Anne said with a tone of relief in her voice.

The little dog stood, turned towards the fence, and calmly wriggled out through a small gap under the 2x4.

"Oh no! Anabel, come right back! COME BACK NOW!" she ordered.

Her loud words terrified the tiny creature. Anabel seemed to panic and scurried off into the dark vegetation behind the house.

"Oh NOO!" Anne screamed. "Wait, wait, I'm sorry, it's ok little baby, come on, you want a treat? Anabel?"

The back fence gate was overgrown with grass and had not been opened in years, so Anne had no choice but to re-enter the house through the backdoor, exit the front door, and run around the side of the house. Anne reached the dark treeline moments later.

"Anabel?" she called into the dimness.

Anne could feel her chest pumping and her heart seemed to be about to burst. The sun had set a little while ago and the light was fading fast. She needed to find the little dog quickly. She pulled out the cell phone and shined its light into the woods.

"Anabel?" she called again, a note of desperation creeping into her voice.

She heard the jingle of Anabel's dog tags, and sighed in relief as she saw the Chihuahua sitting calmly a short distance inside the wood.

"Oh God is good! Ok Anabel... You want a treat? Let's go home," Anne squeaked in a high voice, trying to make her tone as inviting as she could muster.

Anne picked her way through the vegetation, which was thick at the fringe.

"Ouch!" the sticks hurt her feet slightly. Wish I'd had a chance to put on my shoes!

The puffy skirt was clinging to everything as she tried to clamber through the brush. It caught on a thorny bush and tore in the back. Now it parted slightly as she walked to reveal her right butt cheek.

"Oh no!! Seriously?!" Anne exclaimed in frustration. Tonight had definitely taken a sharp turn for the worse.

The tiny dog patiently watched Anne painstakingly climb over the bushes, with a slight quizzical look. Just as Anne reached her and slowly bent down to pick up the little dog, Anabel darted further into the trees.

"Anabel!?!? Baby let's go home!" Anne begged.

With the trees now farther apart, and the ground covered by a softer bed of pine needles, Anne broke into a run, determined to end the chase. Anabel ran faster. The ceiling of leaves overhead made the wood quite dark. A twig snapped behind her. Something was there. Anne didn't notice.

***

Earlier that day, Mr. Grumple stooped to pick up his newspaper, which had been sitting on his porch. He still read the paper from the previous day, each morning. He had to keep an eye on the local news for items of interest to his... unique situation.

As he carefully straightened his back, he noticed a young woman walking up the road to the Peterson's house. The girl came to take care of their annoying yip-yapper. The Peterson woman badly spoiled the little dog. It had no discipline whatsoever, and thought it was in charge of the entire house-pack.

The girl had grown like a seed that had turned into a beautiful flower. Her golden hair and angelic face was as perfect, clean, and innocent as a yellow rose. But her leaves are plump and thick, and they beg to be picked! He smirked to himself as she reached the door, bent over and sat down her bag to ring the doorbell. Holy shit. If only he were 50 years younger.

Peterson yanked open the door before she could reach the doorbell. They mumbled some nonsense, pleasantries, which he couldn't hear. Then Peterson turned to look at him.

"Good Evening Mr. Grumple!" Peterson said.

He spun without a word and went inside. He had learned the hard way not to overly associate with the neighbors. That way, there was less to explain should things go... unexpectedly.

Then he waited. He waited for dusk. He didn't need the moon. Full moon, half moon, didn't need any moon. He had no idea if there was any truth to that old legend or not. He had never met another of his kind. He only dimly remembered his foster parents. He had no memory of his real parents. Somehow, he'd always known what he was. He could feel it in his bones. He could smell what he was, and that his foster parents were not the same. They were "normal". Which was why he waited, not for the moon but for the cover of dark.

He glanced out a front window, parting the curtains just enough. Still too much light. The stabbing ache in his hip was bad tonight. It was making him impatient. Before he closed the curtains, he saw something move... Peterson's front door was opening. The girl ran out, slammed the door behind herself and ran her cute little hiney as fast as she could go. She booked it full-tilt around the side of the house, and disappeared behind the Peterson place.

His blood stirred. He needed to eat. Needed to run, fast, and forget the hip burn. He told himself it was dark enough, but he was already planning to follow the girl as he shuffled to the back door. He wanted to get a good look at her with eyes that could make out every detail, and a nose that could breathe her in. It had been a long time since he had a chance like this.

He kicked off his house shoes, unbuckled his pants and dropped them on the floor. His right shoulder arthritis ached as he pulled off his shirt. He opened the back door and stepped nude onto his back porch concrete. A maze of tall bushes in his backyard concealed his grizzled, ancient body from the neighbors.

A hawk or a vulture would attract the least attention if any neighbors happened to be in view of his backyard. A hawk had sharp eyes, moved fast, and were relatively commonplace in this part of the world. The prey instinct made him feel powerful. He had to work a little to suppress it enough to be fully present in his thoughts, and not scanning constantly for mice and squirrels, but that suppression was second nature to him now.

He thought of the spotted brown hawk he'd used for years. He closed his eyes. He could see it in his mind, and he could see the whole thing. Not just the feathers, but the bones, sinews, muscles, even the individual cell membranes. He could see everything, inside and out. He re-imagined that hawk, which he'd seen so long ago he couldn't remember when or where. Then he felt the hawk. Immediately the pain in his hip vanished.

He felt the hawk's wings, claws, beak and then he felt the eyes. A hawk could feel his own eyes. A man was always aware of the precise location and feel of his hands. Hawk eyes were like that. He opened his eyes. The colors were very different, so distinct, and the world was sharper and so trivial to see all at once, unlike human eyes which had a distinct difference between what you were looking at and what was in your peripheral vision. It was like the difference between reading a paragraph about a painting and seeing the painting.

He spread his wings wide and jumped at the same time that he pulled his wings down, hard. He urged to screech to announce this was his land and find out if any other female Hawks were nearby, but repressed the instinct. In less than two seconds, he landed on a tree behind the Peterson's house.

The young woman was picking her way through the scrub. Even before he noticed the girl, his hawk brain picked out the four-legged dog and evaluated it in an instant, following predator cerebral synapses evolved over thousands of years. He could see from the shape of its lips that several teeth were missing, and others were dull. It was old, slow, and weak. He could easily eat the little dog and he was hungry, wasn't he? He repressed the thought.

He wanted to really see her, and the ultra-high definition hawk vision and altered color scheme made her look alien. Besides, the hawk's primitive instinct was too strong to look at her as his consciousness wanted to look at her, which was as a man looks at a woman.

He landed silently on the ground next to the fence. He thought of the wolf-dog hybrid. He had seen the wolf-dog at a carnival when he was a teenager, and later learned the carnie in charge of the animal had spoken true: the wolf-dog was very rare because dogs and wolves had different reproductive cycles which rarely aligned.

The first time he shape-shifted to the wolf-dog experimentally he realized it was different. It had a useful prey-instinct and domination drive shared by both wolves and dogs, but the wolf's wild, willful nature was blunted. Wolves could be hard to suppress when their instincts demanded a response to deep-ingrained triggers, like attacking a weaker animal when you were hungry, even if his human mind knew the time or place wasn't right; or if he smelled a bitch in heat, to ignore it was a struggle. These instincts could be dangerous. Once, he had to quickly land, and become a deer before he lost control of a vulture who smelled something dead. His body changed, but the contents of his stomach did not, and carrion could be poisonous for the human stomach. The wolf-dog could hunt, and kill as well as a wolf and the raw meat had never bothered even his old-man stomach. Conversely, it did not have the timid, subservient nature bred into dogs over millennia when coming across a human. When he became most dogs, the instinct to obey and fear humans and not to harm them was so strong he could not always repress it, and this could also be dangerous to him in some situations.