Halloween: No Sequel

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A Halloween party prank goes awry.
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SikFuk
SikFuk
174 Followers

Disclaimer: Low stroke potential, but an interesting story.

Reid looked out at the western sky, painted in vivid pinks and purples like the backdrop for an epic movie. This was the reason he and Heather had moved up to the Sierra foothills - nature, in all it's raging glory. It was humbling, refreshing, awe-inspiring. It was also a good place for marijuana farming, but they kept that reason to themselves.

"Check out the sunset," Reid gasped between tokes. He passed the joint to Heather, but she was busy, munching on the last of her Halloween treat.

"We should've eaten these mushrooms two hours ago," she grimaced, chasing the bitter taste with a gulp of Calistoga water.

"But then we would've thought this sunset was a hallucination. Plus, we would've had to deal with the trick-or-treaters while we were tripping. Can you imagine what a bummer that would have been?"

"And exactly how many trick-or-treaters did we get tonight?"

Reid frowned. "We could still get one."

"I want one of these," Heather giggled, sliding her hand down inside his jeans.

"Heather, babe, remember how you promised to call your folks on every holiday?" Reid gave his wife a squeeze. "You don't want to disappoint them, do you?"

"You're right. This can wait." She picked up the phone and dialed the number.

********

The stereo was blasting The Doors, 'Break On Through to the Other Side' when Alfred heard the jingle of the phone. He dashed past the drunken revelers; Senator Brassly, in a Dracula costume, chasing someone's wife, trying to bite her neck; (and look down her cleavage,) Congressman Tate, dressed like Lil Abner, checking out a rather plump woman's thigh. (Congressman Tate was famous for bringing huge quantities of pork into his district, which is why he was on a 'ham' kick that night, checking women's thighs for pork potential.) Alfred reached the phone just in time.

"Is that you, Hon?" he panted into the receiver. He could hardly hear his daughter over the racket. "Costume party," he replied, as he dashed out onto the deck. "The neighbors, some folks from work. Your brother Peter's here." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his wife Alicia heading out the back door. He had to admit, her black Elvira dress took ten pounds off her curvy figure, and her slightly tawdry beauty gave him a chill. "Here's your mom." He handed her the phone.

"Your father found a Dick Cheney mask" Alicia told Heather, "and he even dug up the shotgun from down in the basement."

Alfred smiled at the thought of the shotgun. It was loaded with blanks, but it would still be a hell of a stunt, 'accidentally' shooting one of his distinguished guests in the face, just like Dick Cheney had done. That was one advantage to having a bunch of lawyer friends - plenty of targets.

Alfred had one particular target in mind - Thomas, his hotshot Defense Department neighbor. Thomas was after his wife, and although Alfred was pretty certain Alicia hadn't cheated, there was a chemistry there, an undercurrent of understanding that bothered him.

It also bothered him that Thomas had a garage full of munitions he'd 'collected' over the years. That was a problem because Alfred was cheating with Thomas wife Terry, and if he found out, with all those weapons in his garage, that would certainly suck, as his son Peter was fond of saying about anything having to do with responsibility.

********

Peter trudged up the back stairs, dressed in his Muslim terrorist outfit. He'd even fashioned a sword out of a piece of metal pipe he'd found in the basement, which was quite an accomplishment for such a dedicated slacker. He knew the terrorist outfit would piss off his dad, but that was the whole point. Dropping out of college, getting arrested for shoplifting, juggling a lightweight drug habit with his nonexistent finances, it was all for his dad's benefit. In fact, Peter was surprised his dad even let him keep staying down in the guest house. It just proved what a pushover the old man was, and it spurred Peter to push even harder, testing the limits of his dad's patience.

"Looking good, Son," Alfred smiled. Peter traipsed past, giving him a cold stare. How he hated his dad, his mom, this place. Between his dad sneaking around, fucking the neighbor's wife, and the neighbor fucking his mom, was it any wonder he had such a bad attitude? He had a right to be a terrorist, at least for one night. Of course, tonight's planned act of terrorism wouldn't be rewarded with the affection of 72 virgins, but he could probably find at least one who would show him her tits, maybe even give him a blow job.

He spotted a likely candidate; a mousy blonde he'd seen around the neighborhood. He was pretty sure she went to Berkeley, but tonight she wasn't carrying her book bag. She was dressed as a Hooters girl, and he could tell by the way she was laughing she already had a buzz on.

"Wanna see my suicide bomb" he asked. She eyed him suspiciously. He flashed his 'aw shucks' smile, the one he used when he was shoplifting. "I'm Peter, Alfred's son."

Her face lit up. "Peter!" She gave him a limp handshake. "Beverly. Love your outfit."

"Love yours," he said, staring at her large, luscious, Hooters tits. "I can see you're in need of assistance." He snatched the glass from her hand. "Your cup runneth empty."

He marched off towards the kitchen, keeping his eye out for his dad's shotgun, which he found propped up in the corner."Perfect," he said to himself, as he looked over his shoulder. He crouched, split the rifle open, dumped out the blanks and loaded two double-ought shells into the barrel."Dick Cheny don't shoot blanks, Dad. You should know that." He snapped the rifle shut, checking over his shoulder. No one had noticed. Humming to himself, he filled Beverly's glass, and then dropped in a roofie. He watched as it dissolved, just like his dad's perfect life would dissolve when he pulled the trigger on that shotgun; just like Beverly's untouchable status would dissolve when she passed out on his bed.

********

"You need a brighter tie," Alicia said to Thomas, who was dressed as a hobo - an upscale hobo, with brand new army-surplus combat boots and pressed khakis. "I'm sure Alfred won't mind," she winked. He followed her into the bedroom, checking to make sure no one was watching.

"You need to get naked," he said, grabbing her around the waist.

"Not now!" Alicia moaned, squirming away from Thomas' firm grasp. "What about Alfred?"

"Alfred's talking golf. He'll be busy for at least the next half hour."

"Oh alright," Alicia sighed. She could never resist Thomas. He was like the box of chocolates she knew she shouldn't eat, but wanted so badly. Three days after he'd moved in next door, they were making love behind the jacuzzi. Of course she felt guilty about it, but she was powerless in Thomas' presence.

She reached up under her black dress and pulled down her red panties, knowing her orgasm was just moments away. The way Thomas' big fat cock filled her up, sometimes she could cum, just from the feeling of him inside her. And if she didn't' cum right away, one of his talented fingers would finish her off.

He entered her from behind. She gasped, jamming her face into the pillow. It was obvious from the pulsing between her legs, no fingers were going to be needed for this orgasm.

********

"I lost 7 balls on the back nine at Pebble Beach," Alfred whined, but the only one left to whine to was Thomas' wife Terry.

"That's too bad," Terry chuckled, hooking her arm in his. "I've grown quite fond of your balls." She gave his ass a squeeze.

"Terry!" Alfred hissed. "Not here. I promise. Next tuesday. Starlite Motel."

"I don't know if I can wait till next Tuesday," Terry pouted. She hunched forward, letting her princess gown fall open in the front.

"Shit!" Alfred gasped. "Someone's going to see us." But that didn't stop him from peeking down her dress at her stiff brown nipples. Even though he'd seen Terry naked at least a hundred times, it still gave him a thrill.

Terry turned and headed for Heather's abandoned room downstairs. Just before she rounded the corner, she looked back, to make sure Alfred was coming. He was.

********

Peter watched as Beverly's Hooters tits sank lower and lower on her chest. She was sprawled out on the couch, her eyes rolling up in her head. The roofie was definitely kicking in, and it occurred to him it would be a good idea to get her down to his guest house before she passed out.

"Wanna go burn one?" he whispered into her ear.

"Cool," she said, looking cross-eyed at him. He hoisted her up and grabbed her around the waist. They stumbled down the flagstone path to the guest house, the cacophony of the party receding behind them. Peter gazed at Heather, the way her bouncy tits bobbed and jiggled like jello. He was already getting hard just looking at her.

"Shit," Beverly mumbled, as she stumbled on the flagstone. Peter caught her with an arm around her waist, and opened the door to the guest house with the other hand.

"Here we are," he beamed, guiding her towards the couch.

"And why are we here, exactly?" Beverly asked, squinting into the dim light.

"We're here to fuck." He spun her around and whipped the T-shirt up over her head. Just as he thought; no bra.

"Fuck!" she giggled. "I'm too fucked up to fuck." She leaned towards the couch, like a tree ready to topple, while Peter fished her shorts down to her ankles. He tried for her panties, but it appeared she was about to fall, so he went for her tits instead. And what splendid tits they were; round, like grapefruits, and firm.

"Oh fuck," she blubbered, leaning so that her weight was being supported by his hands on her tits. He eased her onto the couch, so that she collapsed onto her back. "Water?" she gasped.

"Sure, I'll get you some water." He grabbed her panties, jerking them down her tan legs. The smell of her pink, juicy cunt took his breath away. Vanilla. The fragrance was so rich, so tantalizing, he had to throw off his terrorist robe and grab his hard-on.

"Water? Water?" she gasped.

"Here, suck on this," he said, dangling his cock under her nose. She reached for it, but missed. Her arm flapped back down onto the couch. He grabbed her by the hair. Her eyes rolled up in her head, and her mouth plopped open, letting a drip of drool roll down her chin. He stuck his cock into her mouth, but all she could do was gag, so he pulled it out again.

"Useless bitch" he snapped, whipping her knees up against her chest. He aimed his stiff cock at her snatch, but it wouldn't go in. Too tight. He spit a gob of saliva on his fingers, lubed the head of his dick, and then it slid in perfectly.

"What do you think now, you spoiled bitch?" She just lay there, eyes closed, mouth hanging open, while he fucked her. He had to admit, she was a good piece of ass, even is she was passed out. Her cunt was so ripe, so perfect, perhaps it would be worth the hassle to date her someday, maybe even make love to her while she was awake.

After he came in her, he wiped his slimy dick on her cheek. What a doll, with her perfect grapefruit tits and her vanilla cunt. He only wished this wasn't Halloween, so he could spend more than a few minutes with this hot chick. But he had more important things to do. Or rather, they were being done, and he certainly didn't want to miss the action.

********

Peter made it back up to the deck just in time. He heard his dad's pinched voice, inviting the party outside for a surprise. He watched as they trooped out, Thomas and Terry, (Terry looking surprisingly hot in her princess gown with the nice cleavage,) a senator, a congressman, some other folks he didn't recognize. He had to give his dad credit. Wearing a Dick Cheney mask in this crowd took balls, something he was pretty certain his dad didn't have.

"Here Thomas," Alfred said from behind his Cheney mask. "Would you mind holding these?" He handed Thomas a pair of painted wooden duck decoys, the kind hunters float out on the lake to attract their prey.

"What's the point?" Thomas said, dangling one in each hand, like an exterminator holding up a pair of dead rats.

"By golly" Alfred mused loudly, in his fake Cheney accent. "I see dinner." He raised the double barrel shotgun and the crowd let out a gasp.

Peter was impressed with the crack of the rifle. Instantly, his ears were ringing. Through the cloud of smoke he saw Thomas sprawled flat on his back, a large red pool growing slowly like a halo around his head. People started screaming, trying to get away. A top-heavy blonde in a Marilyn Monroe dress slipped in Thomas' puddle of blood and landed on her ass. A spindly man dressed as a scarecrow sank to his knees and started throwing up into the potted palm.

"Alfred!" Alicia wailed, "what have you done?" She ran to Thomas side and collapsed in the sea of red, rocking back and forth, sobbing. Alfred, reeling backwards, dropped the shotgun as if it was burning hot. It clattered to the deck, and in one of those slow-motion moments, it fired again, shattering the laundry room window of the house next door, which happened to be Thomas' house - the house with the garage full of munitions.

A moment later, a Secret Service agent bounded out onto the deck. He saw Thomas' lifeless form, he saw Peter in his terrorist outfit, he saw the glint of Peter's home-made sword, which he assumed was a firearm of some kind, and he made a split second decision. With one swift move, he pulled his 9mm automatic from under his jacket, leveled it at Peter, and squeezed off three rounds.

Peter went down like a sack of potatoes, but the shooting didn't stop. In fact, it was just starting. A couple of rounds hit the wall of the house. The secret service agent spun around, looking for another assailant, but he couldn't find one.

What the secret service agent didn't realize was, the shotgun blast that had hit Thomas' laundry room had ignited the gas line for the water heater, and the ensuing flames had ignited a can of paint thinner, which blew out the wall to the garage. When the wall blew out, the flaming paint thinner ignited a box of M-16 ammo, and Thomas' impressive stash of ammo was peppering the whole neighborhood with live rounds.

It started like the first drops of rain that signal the beginning of a downpour. Bullets shattered through the windows of Alfred and Alicia's house. They tore through the scarecrow man, making him tumble and dance like a marrionette. They perforated Terry's tan cleavage. They sliced through the senator and the senator's wife. Alfred went down. Then Alicia. The Secret Service guy caught one in the leg, but, because he was an ex-marine, he had hit the deck instantly, and avoided a fatal wound.

"We're under attack!" he yelled into his headset. "They took out the senator. We've got casualties. Shit! The congressman's down. I think it's terrorists. Yeah, terrorists! I nailed one of them, but they've got the place surrounded!" Finally, a bazooka round took out the hapless Secret Service guy, but by then the wheels had already been set in motion.

Thomas' penchant for weaponry included a radar dish, which he had managed to hotwire into the NORAD missile defense system. When a round of ammo ricocheted off the wall and hit the controller box, the circuit board shorted out, and erroneous information was transmitted to NORAD; information indicating a nuclear attack had been launched from the Middle East. As corroboration, NORAD had already been patched into the recording of the secret service agents frantic phone call. Within ninety seconds, the jets were scrambled, and twenty minutes later, US nukes were raining down on Iran, North Korea, and, due to a small technical glitch, China.

**********

Reid and Heather were in the hot tub, enjoying their mushroom-enhanced Sierra foothills view, when the first retaliatory strike hit the coast of California.

"Cool," Red sighed, staring out at the blinding light. Heather cuddled up to him, mesmerized by the luminescent glow emanating from just beyond the horizon.

"Look how it radiates," she said, watching as the red-orange cloud bloomed like a giant mushroom. "It's like the sky is turning to molten lava."

"What kind of mushrooms did we have tonight?" Reid asked, wondering if perhaps they'd eaten too many. Another glow erupted, further south on the horizon, and he couldn't help but laugh. "What the fuck," he said. "It's Halloween."

He took Heather in his arms, and, perhaps because of the mushrooms, or perhaps because of the mushroom clouds in the sky, he held her closer than ever before, wondering about the meaning of life, the meaning of love, the meaning of the beautiful images lighting up the night sky. As his hard cock eased up into Heather's slit, he had a sudden urge to cry, as if somehow, he knew that tonight would be the last time they'd make love, ever.

It was.

********

SikFuk
SikFuk
174 Followers
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5 Comments
Unknown81Unknown812 months ago

To quote from the movie Anchorman: Boy, that escalated quickly...

AnonymousAnonymousabout 5 years ago
Words fail me

That was SO stupid I don't know where to begin or end. Just awful writing.

Boxlicker101Boxlicker101over 16 years ago
A Funny Story

but I would hate to think that could be how civilization, such as it is, could end. Good luck in the contest.

AnonymousAnonymousover 16 years ago
whoops apocolyse!

A good grin from this story, the end of the world is nigh because someone wanted a little bang.. Nicely done.

I-WISHI-WISHover 16 years ago
Wonderful

As you said not a stroke story but it was hilarious.

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