Out of Costume E-Book

Jeremiah K. Black

• Herausgeber: Berlinable GmbH
• Kategorie: Erotik
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

It's a chilly Halloween night, and single dad Jake is taking his daughters around the neighborhood for trick-or-treating. Dressed up as Frankenstein's monster, he feels out of place, but all the other parents are playing along, and it's a sexy Catwoman with a wagon full of Jell-O shots that catches his eye. After leaving the girls with their mother for the rest of the night, Jake gets invited to a Halloween party down the block. He feels disconnected from all his friends who have settled into suburban life and just when he's almost too bored to function, here comes Catwoman, and Jake cannot resist. Catwoman's full body suit is revealing and she's just as aggressive as the comic book character. She takes the lead and the two find themselves in a room upstairs. They undress, shedding the costumes aside, but in the midst of fucking, the character's they've chosen for the night come in and out of view, but as much as Jake is looking for an escape, he also wants to see who's behind Catwoman's mask. Will he? A very adult Halloween, indeed.

Leseprobe

OUT OF COSTUME

Jeremiah K. Black

Artcover: Jeremiah K. Black

Copyright: BERLINABLE

Berlinable invites you to leave all your fears behind and dive into a world where sex is a tool for self-empowerment.

Our mission is to change the world - one soul at a time.

When people accept their own sexuality, they build a more tolerant society.

Words to inspire, to encourage, to transform.

Open your mind and free your deepest desires.

All rights reserved. It is not permitted to copy, distribute or otherwise publish the content of this eBook without the express permission of the publisher. Subject to changes, typographical errors and spelling errors. The plot and the characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to dead or living people or public figures is not intended and are purely coincidental.

Lulu was a witch. The look complete with a long black dress, black boots, her hair loose. She had spent an hour in the bathroom gluing on eyelashes and painting her eyelids black. Following her sister, Emmie was a witch too. Always a half-step behind, her outfit was already tangled, creased, bent. Emmie couldn’t keep things pristine for very long.

Jake followed his daughters out the door and through the neighborhood, watching the sisters’ bright orange plastic jack-o-lanterns bounce and fill up with ‘Fun-Sized’ candy bars, licorice, gummies, and all kinds of brightly colored sugary treats. Jake had dressed as Frankenstein’s Monster. Thick heeled workbooks, ripped jeans, a skin tight green cable-knit sweater, gelled black hair, a fake scar crossing his forehead, and two bolts that he had made out of papier-mâché. In his get-up he towered over every parent on the street.

The sun just about to set, the temperature hovered around 40F. Chilly.

They walked north down 58th street, along all the 1920s brick two story homes with the big lawns, leaded windows, and neatly trimmed shrubs. The kind of homes where university professors live. All decorated to the nines: little white shining skull lights strung up on the porches, fake foam gravestones with cheesy sayings propped up in the lawn, silhouettes of ghosts in all the windows, black cats, cauldrons. But this neighborhood went even further. They roped off the streets, closed to traffic, and went a little Halloween crazy... each consecutive year topping the previous.

Creepy, yet funny music blared from huge speakers audible for 10 blocks in every direction. A car was parked off-kilter up next to a tree like it had hopped the curb and crashed in a mess by the plastic skeleton behind the wheel. Chalk art riddled the sidewalks. An inflatable haunted bounce house had been plopped in the middle of the street, and every house looked like it was in the running for The Gaudiest Halloween Decoration Award.

He checked his phone. Nothing. Where the hell was Christine? Jake thought as Lulu and Emmie ran up another sidewalk, their hair bouncing behind them. She was supposed to have met them there for the exchange, but she was already 15 minutes late.

“Trick or treat,” the girls said in unison. A makeshift tunnel of foam bricks had been constructed in front of this house. Standing on the porch was a man in a John Deere hat, overalls. He held onto a real chainsaw, tied to and dangling from his hip.

Chainsaw Man was asking Jake’s daughters what kind of witches they were and Emmie, per usual, was giving him an earful. As he waited, Jake’s attention wandered. The street could’ve been a movie set, one of those flicks from the eighties or early 90s that featured a motley group of outcast kids finding a treasure map or opening a portal into another dimension and then all hell breaks loose.

He looked down at his fingers and they were twitching, sore from the cold. Then he looked up at street, teeming with movement. Look at this, he thought, we’re all just dressed up bugs, buzzing and circling without any direction. Fuck, what kind of life is this?

Right out of the darkness, coming straight for him, like it was staged, was Catwoman. The original Catwoman, not the Anne Hathaway or Halle Berry or even the Michelle Pfeiffer Catwoman. This was the original Julie Newmar/Lee Marriwether/Eartha Kitt Catwoman. The 60s television Catwoman. In that simple tight black bodysuit, the wraparound mask that covered just the eyes, black boots that clicked on the pavement, the two triangle ears popping up out of slicked back hair, and the long, thin black tail snaking out from behind.

Jesus Christ, it was enough to make a man’s heart stop.

She walked like she owned it, whoever she was. Her eyes directed straight ahead, hips swaying maybe just a little too much while that tail swished back and forth. All silhouette, all soft curves, with just a little glassy highlight here and there, the bits that caught the light.

Fuck, Jake thought, that whole outfit is just painted on. He felt that costume in his cock.

She looked directly at him, blinked, covering those beautiful brown eyes for just a moment, fluttering her eyelashes, and then passed by, her head swiveling just to maintain the gaze. She walked a few steps, gave him an unfettered view of her perfect heart shaped ass and the soft gap between her legs...the way her thighs curved down to her calves, left very little to the imagination.

She stopped, turned at the waist, crinkling the material, looked back. “Frank,” she said, “looks like you could use a Jell-O shot.” Cherry red lips, her eyes sparkled; she knew how to pause for effect.

He smiled then, took a step forward, noticing that she was dragging a red wagon behind her with a cooler, a couple bags, a blanket. “I wouldn’t dare say no to Catwoman.”

She turned around then and smiled. “Good. Nobody likes a sober monster.” She bent down and flipped the lid to the cooler. He followed the round curve of her back as her hair fell over her face.

There was something lanky about her. Maybe it was the way she stood, cocked to one side. Or it could have been the uneven smile or the way she never stopped moving and twisting or the overall look of her in a shiny black spandex bodysuit. Jake knew it would be a struggle to keep his eyes from wandering: the urge to study the curve of her small breasts, the line of her ribcage, the muscles of her stomach, the soft bump of her pubic mound, and how her warm lips would taste in his mouth... it was all too much. Could he resist? Holy Hell, could anyone? The entire street, reality itself, folded in on itself. Catwoman stood at the base, and everyone frantically slid in her direction, pulled toward her, the center of gravity, eyes wide with lust.

Did she know what her ass looked like? Did she see the way men...and women...pivoted their necks as she walked by?

Plump, sandy haired women would make their minds up about her, she must know that. Women would whisper to other women that they couldn’t believe what they were seeing, with kids around no less! Did she need attention that badly? And the others, the ones that didn’t judge at first glance, would think about her dancing in that costume, spreading her legs, bending over, running her fingers down her thighs, licking, peeling it off.

Who was she wearing it for?

She handed Frankenstein the orange flavored Jell-O shot in a miniscule disposable plastic cup.