Halloween Hell: Karen

The following story has themes of non-consent, abuse and other such kinks. If such content offends you, please do not read. This is an erotic FICTION story and is not meant as any social, racial or gender commentary.

"Don't move Bunny, don't move!" My husband yells with terror in his voice. He's in the middle of the old wooden platform that is wobbling like crazy. The failing platform is made of old 2 x 4s, and is rocking back and forth as it's about to collapse.

My husband Tom's eyes are wide and he's doing his best to stay still despite the way the platform rocks and wobbles. We both know if it falls apart, he's done for. We are at the very top of the platform and stairs, which oversees the huge cavern below. If the platform breaks apart, he's falling who knows how many stories down. But it's enough that it'll kill him.

I've already made off the platform and onto solid earth. I'm standing here, looking at him as he tries hard to keep his balance while not moving. To be able to give that leap so he can make it to safety.

We are at Fool's Heaven cavern, which my husband recently purchased. It's an old gold mine that hasn't been used in years. My husband discovered it and had his people investigate it and they found that it does indeed have gold. Only it hasn't been used in like 40 years.

He was so excited at the thought of reopening the cavern. He went on and on about how it could provide work to the nearby town as unemployment is high there. That he would give better than a decent wage as he always believed people work harder when made to feel valuable. Even talked about an incentive program where 15% of the profits would be given to the town.

So like he always does, my husband wanted to check the cavern out himself before risking anyone's lives. The experts he hired were versed in dangerous places and knew what they were doing so he didn't mind risking them. But he would never send some idiot for minimum wage to check it out.

After the long day of looking about the cavern, he wanted to go back that night. The experts stated that everything was safe. That everything appeared sturdy, and I guess they were right. The cavern itself looked fine. But they never said anything about the wooden stairs and platform that you can walk up and down to get to the cavern.

My eyes flick to the side where I see something very interesting. The railing of the platform has a long nail that is hammered into the stone earth next to me. The railing has been pulled back from all the wobbling so I'm able to see most of the nail as it is coming out. I can't imagine there's but half an inch still in.

I'm not an engineer, but it sure looks like that railing is what is keeping the flimsy platform up. That if that nail was to come out, it would lose the small bit of structure it has. It would then all come apart.

"W-W-What are you doing?" My husband asks, new fear in his voice. He says this as I bring my hand out to grab the end of railing. As he's too far away, he can't stop me and he's too scared to even move. All he can do is watch me and wonder about what I am doing.

"Becoming a widow," I tell him and laugh. Then I push on the wooden railing, making the nail pop out completely. It was so easy to do. As I had hoped, it was the last straw holding the old platform up. The railing wobbles, then falls apart. Right after, the floor of the platform collapses with all of it coming down like a house of cards.

My husband screams as he falls with the old lumber. His scream of terror is so loud as he falls down into the darkness of the cavern. As he falls, I wave goodbye with a wide smile on my face. I had considered staging an accident before, but never could go through with it as I knew I would be caught. But this is too perfect.

Being married to him wasn't bad as he was a good man, but I rather be single and rich. And as his scream finally is cut off as he no doubt hit the ground, I know I am just that. Single and rich.

I gasp loudly as I sit up in my bed, the familiar nightmare still floating in my head. It's so fresh that I still hear my deceased husband's last scream in my head. As is normal when I have this nightmare, my forehead is covered in sweat and my heart pounds hard.

"Asshole," I curse my husband, even if he's dead. Upset, I swing my legs off my bed and lean over the side. Then I reach over to the nightstand where my $500 a bottle vodka rests. I pour a good amount into my glass and take a good solid gulp of it, which helps to chase the stupid nightmare away.

I have that nightmare once every once in a while, but thankfully not often. I knew I would most likely be having it soon because of the date. It's been 20 years to the day that he died. Seems fitting that it happened on Halloween. Tom always liked Halloween as he liked all that creepy crap.

With another sip, I chase the nightmare away. Just lingering thoughts of things that have passed a long time ago. That incident was 20 years ago. Way back when he was 30 and I was just 19. Back when I was nothing but a broke, good looking girl seeking a way out of a boring broke life.

After I have another gulp, I stand up from the bed. It's dark outside, not that it means anything. I started drinking earlier than normal today for some reason, so I fell asleep much earlier than normal. When I fell asleep, I think the sun was still out, so it's not surprising I woke up early.

Looking at the clock, I see it's just 9 pm. Not even that late. I just basically took a nap. So I walk out of the bedroom and into the long hallway while holding my glass.

I reach the small room in the front of my large house. It's smack in the middle of the house on the second floor. It's not even a room, but there is a door for this houses the balcony.

Opening the door, I step outside and into the cool air of the night. When I do, the night sky greets me as does the nice view of the large front yard, street and city beyond. I step onto it and lean over the sturdy concrete side to look over all that I own.

This is where I come when I need to think about things. Where I go to celebrate. It's almost like a second home to me. Where I can watch the world go by outside. Where I feel in control. For most of what I see here, I own.

You might think that a part of me feels guilty for what I did to my husband, but I don't. I did what I had to do. I deserved the money that I received from him. I deserve to be rich. Sure, his family didn't like that I got all his money, but it was in his will. He was in love even if I wasn't.

It's not like I didn't earn the money. I had to be the wife, after all. You have any idea how hard that was, even for the short time I had to do? I had to listen to his ideas, listen to him talk about plans he was making, listen to him talk about his stupid nerdy hobbies, even pretend to be interested when he talked about sending me to college so I could have the career that I lied about wanting.

Plus, I had to have sex with him. And he was kinky. Not that I ever let him do anything truly kinky. Whenever I said no or told him to stop, he stopped. Some times I would do it just to give him a case of blue balls. God he was such a loser. He never even pushed it when I said I wasn't in the mood. Just accepted it like a loser.

I'm a bitch and I know it. In this world, you have to do what you have to do to be able to make it. And because of my drive, I've spent the last 20 years in luxury, living the best life possible instead of being some working stiff, wasting my beauty and gifts. Career? Who gives a shit about a career? I just want to be pampered and not have to lift a finger at all.

With a laugh from this, I take a deep breath of the cool night air. Then I laugh again. I just can't help it. I laugh at the memory of my dear ex-husband. How he never saw it coming until I finally did what I had to do. That in the very end, he saw the real me, which he had never met before.

"Happy anniversary baby," I say out loud and then laugh. I then lift up my glass of vodka and take an extra long sip in toast to him. In my mind I can hear his dumb voice calling me "Bunny" and toasting me back.

A cold breeze passes by and makes me shiver. I'm still in my nightie, so there's not much cover for me. And I haven't worn a bra or panties to bed since I was married, so no part of me is protected in that sense. The cold goes right through me as this nightie is pure silk.

"Ok. That's creepy," I say out loud when I see the figure. Not sure why I didn't see him before. Probably wasn't looking for him as it's not something I normally look for.

There's a figure standing in the middle of the street outside my gate. A figure that seems to be all in shadow thanks to the streetlamp behind them. They stand, arms to their side, seemingly looking directly at me. Just a lone shadowy figure staring at me from the darkness.

How long have they been there? What are they doing? Who are they? I think these questions before realizing I don't care. It's not like they can get in.

Thanks to my late husband, this house is very well protected. Being smart, he had locks that cannot be picked at every door. Every pane of glass is shatterproof glass, which bullets can't even break. And best of all, he built an impressive A.I. computer thing that monitors everything. I know he did it because he loved the movie Iron Man, but it still was impressive. The moment the A.I. sees something that isn't me, it goes into action.

I keep looking at the figure as it stays motionless. My mind ponders if it could be the ghost of my dear ex-husband, come back to haunt me, which makes me laugh again. To this I take another sip and toast to the weirdo looking at me.

Tom's family believed in that VooDoo, HooDoo crap, not me. I always knew it was garbage stuff that peons believe in. But they didn't mess with spiritual stuff because they believed in it. Hell, he wouldn't even go to a fake psychic in fear of what it might do.

And in any case, this figure's shape is nothing like my ex-husband's. This figure looks to be in good shape. He, to which I assume it is a he, is trim and slender, unlike my husband who had a few extra pounds on him. No, this figure looks like some of the men I've hired to come and take me to wonderland, so to speak. That's really the only good thing a man is for, to get you your tinglies, then to fuck off. And judging by this guy's body, I wouldn't mind spending a few minutes with him in the bedroom.

I'm not worried about the figure as I know he can't get in anyway. My property is surrounded by a very tall brick fence, which happens to have broken glass at the top. It's another thing that my husband left me. He made sure that no one could get into his house unless he wanted them to. That's why I've stayed here all these 20 years instead of moving somewhere else, like the beach.

There's a jolt of unease as I see the figure finally move. I feel my head tilt as the figure moves right up to the gate as if getting a better look at the property. From where I am, he's really far away, but I can make out that his head is turning as if looking about.

"Go sleep it off somewhere else, asshole," I call to him, holding up my glass in another salute. I doubt he can hear me but he can sense what I'm telling him. He has to know that he's not getting in, so there's no point in hanging around. And sure, I could call the cops, but that would mean getting dressed, having to pretend that I care about the cops and staying up for as long as they are here.

"What the fuck?!" I gasp, my glass falling out of my hand. The gate is opening. The automated arms of the gate open both sides of the fence like the code was correctly entered. But that's impossible. No one knows the code, not even me. I kept forgetting what it was so I had a fingerprint sensor put on it years ago. That's how I get in or out. That code was some stupid pattern that my husband made up and only he knew it.

The gate open and the figure just stands there, looking creepy. He hasn't moved from where he was, but still turns his head as if scanning the huge yard. Then his head moves upward, where I know he's looking right at me. That he sees me on this balcony.

I stand here, feeling myself want to panic but do manage to stay calm. It's ok. Sure, he's on the grounds now. He's inside the fence. That is bad. But not terrible. It's not like he's in the house. The house is locked up tight. The A.I. controls the house plus you would need the correct fingerprint to get in. There's no way he'll get in. My husband hired professional thieves to try and break in here and none could.

Not to mention that because the gates opened at a strange time, security will be alerted. If they open at any time other than the normal times I go out, the A.I. alerts the security company so they can check. When I don't respond, they'll send someone out to kick the crap out of this turd. Unless I contact security and tell them it's ok, they will have fun beating this prick to death.

I look down to see my glass on the ground, all of my fancy vodka having spilled out. Annoyed, I reach down and pick it up, furious at this asshole for making me spill my drink. Now I'm going to have to go get a refill. Should charge whomever this asshole is for my wasted drink.

"I'm going charge..." I start to yell as I stand back up, but the figure is gone. The gate is still wide open, but he's no longer there. Concerned, I look over the railing, trying to see if he's come in the grounds.

My eyes scan the dark yard, but I don't see anyone. I scan the grounds repeatedly, but I don't see him anywhere. And even if he ran as fast as he could, I would have still seen him. There's just too much ground to cover in too short of a time for him to not be seen. Not to mention I would hear the footsteps as he ran.

Feeling uneasy, I tell myself that he ran off down the street. It's either that or he's hiding in one of the many spots you can hide in the huge yard. And I don't like that thought. I rather think he accidentally got the gate to open and freaked himself out and ran.

"Hey, dipshit," I say out loud. This is the phrase I use to activate the house A.I.. It is programmed to only react to my voice, or my husband's. No one else's. Even if a person lay dying, if they called for the A.I. it wouldn't respond. My husband made sure of that as he supposedly programmed and personalized the stupid thing.

"Close the fucking gate," I order the A.I. after it makes the chime sound that it is listening. After I say this, it waits for a moment, then the voice of an old British butler says, "Right away ma'am." In the distance, I see the fence closing. That voice was my idea as I always liked the thought of being able to order an old British butler around. Making him get me a drink, then yelling that it was terrible and making him make it again. Well, this is the closest I can get to that.

I exit the balcony, no longer interested in the loser that is out there. All he is trying to do is scare me, which I refuse to let him do. Let him think he scared me because he didn't. And even if he is celebrating that he scared me, where is he celebrating? Yeah, outside.

Walking down the hallway, I walk to the main staircase. The staircase, much like most of the house, is dark and covered in shadow. That's how I like it. I've never really been a fan of the light. That is one of the few things that my late husband and I agreed on, is that we both liked the night and darkness. It just seems to surround you, like a mother's swaddle. Makes me feel alive to walk in the shadow. Like I can be myself.

I start down the stairs, determined to get another drink. As I walk, I do chuckle. I feel how my breasts bounce as I go down each stair, and remember how my late husband loved my breasts. He loved to watch my tits swing, jiggle and bounce, like it was an obsession. Sometimes to make him get off a subject, I would just start to move to my tiptoes and down to make them bounce to distract him.

As I walk down the stairs, I think of how he would have loved to see my tits as they are now. Like I said before, I don't wear a bra when I go to bed. When he was alive, I wore a bra all the time, even to bed. I made sure to always keep my breasts secured and hidden, as I knew he loved to see them.

I don't care if he liked them or loved me, I loved to torture him in those little ways, never letting him fully get what he wanted. Can't even count the times I would make my boobs bounce under my shirt, knowing he would notice, but then walk away to make him a frustrated as possible.

"Bunny, I could watch those babies bounce all night long," a man's voice says from the darkness. Instantly I stop where I am on the stairs, stunned. Fear creeps over me as that voice was inside the house. Not over the PA, not though a wall, but somewhere in the house. Somewhere close.

My head turns on it's own when I hear what sounds like the wind. That's when I see the front door, and that it's open. Wide open. Left open so I would know that someone is inside.

But that's impossible. The locks. The security system. There's no possible way someone could get in. There's not even a fucking place for a key! There's no utter way anyone could have gotten in. It's not like I left the door open either as the A.I. would have closed it automatically.

"HEY!" I shriek as something grabs me from behind. Strong arms wrap around my waist from behind and lift my small frame up easily. I feel my feet leave the stairs completely as I'm made to feel that I weigh less that a toddler, even if I'm 40.

The thought that the intruder is going to toss me down the side of the stairs pops in my head, making me struggle hard. But he doesn't. Instead he carries me to the side, where he slams me against the stairs' railing. My hips hit it hard, making the railing creak from the force.

"What the fuck are you doing?!" I yell as the intruder pushes on my back hard to make me bend over the railing. My feet still are in the air as he makes me balance on the railing on my hips. His strong hands hold onto my back, making it impossible for me to even try and rock back to the ground.

The bottom of my nightie is then yanked up, exposing my bare bottom to this intruder. I feel the air over my bare ass, which I know can be seen, even in this darkness. The ass that I work so hard to make sure is firm.

In a flash, I know what he means to do. My legs try to kick to hit him, but he's already between my legs. With the railing, I can't move my legs in front to try and get the movement to kick hard either. So he manages to stand behind me and between my legs, where I can't do anything about it.

I attempt to swing my arms back to hit him, but quickly decide against this as I feel how off balance I am. It wouldn't take much for him to simply lift my legs and make me sail over the railing and fall all the way to the floor. Sure, it's not that long of a drop, maybe 5 or so feet, but it still would do a lot of damage.

So I grab the bottom of the railing with both hands and push to help keep myself balanced against him. To fight so he can't push me over. But I fear that as strong as he is, if he really wanted to do that, there's not much I could do about it.

"Wait!" I yell when I feel the intruder place something right against my womanhood. He of course doesn't wait, but inserts it inside of me angrily. I then feel his hard manhood slide inside me, where I freeze.

Stunned, I feel his large manhood pushing me apart down there. It feels so very strange. I've had sex plenty, even not too long ago, but none of those men inserting themselves feel like this man's. To use a bad metaphor, the men I pay for sex felt like they were renting space inside me as I was letting them in. This feels like this man owns the space and is taking what is his, even if all he's done is shoved his cock in all the way.