Haunting Encounter

Amber let her lips linger on the rim of her glass as her eyes surveyed the dimly lit room once more. Even under the cover of darkness, it was clear the now scantily clad Pussy Cat and the Naughty Pirate were enjoying themselves. Similar entanglements were happening here and there amidst candlelit corners and velvet curtain cloaked cabanas. The club smelled of alcohol, cologne and sex. If she hadn't smelled sex, she could've felt it on her skin, like the damp heat of a balmy summer night. She closed her eyes and let the rum slip slowly down her throat.

Someone brushed against her, startling her. A man dressed as Zorro, donned in a black mask and red cape, was pressing by, leading a sultry Cleopatra by the hand behind him. Amber watched them find their way over to a velvet chaise. Zorro motioned, cape in hand, for her to sit. She did as he asked, leaning her back against the cushion, semi-reclined, inviting him to sit beside her. He placed himself on the chaise, pressing close against her, and whispered something close to her ear. The whisper turned into rash of kisses upon Cleopatra's bronzed neck. Amber watch as his mouth snaked down to her collar bone and back up to her painted red mouth. With his eyes intently upon her, he traced her lips slowly with his tongue, and then slipped his tongue into her mouth. Zorro's hand moved to Cleopatra's thigh, and slowly ascended upward beneath her barely there golden dress. Amber felt her pulse throb between her own thighs as she watched them. Cleopatra's legs parted ever so slightly as her eyes closed. She threw her regally dressed head back, biting her bottom lip in silent passion. Zorro draped his arm over her, his cape now shielding them both from view. Amber gulped another drink and nervously shifted her eyes.

She had come alone that night. The two girlfriends she had planned to venture out with both had cancelled on her to be with their dates. She wasn't entirely put out. It was Halloween, after all, and like the jolly spirit people seemed to adopt around Christmas, people seemed to be considerably more mischievous and bold on All Hallows Eve. She figured finding a good time on her own would not be too difficult. Though, so far, it had been. She had anticipated the evening for days, but the evening was turning out to be anticlimactic for her -- rather ironic for this place in particular. No one in the room had caught her eye and she began to tire at averting her eyes from one heated embrace only to stumble upon another. The room was full of flashes of lips and tongues dancing from carnivorous looking mouths and snap shots of bodies grinding rhythmically in the strobe as if the entire club was one big orgy.

She could feel her skin was flush, her breathing quick and irregular from her arousal. Her head felt detached from her body. In her anxiousness, she seemed to have downed her cocktails a little faster than she was accustomed to. Swallowing the last of her drink, she turned in the direction of the bar, resolved to close out her tab and get some fresh air outside.

She let the club door close behind her, instantly dulling the heavy pulsing of the bass inside to a subdued thud. There was a pleasant coolness to the air, which caused her nipples to become instantly taught against the restriction of the black vinyl corset she was wearing. She took in the earthy scent of fallen leaves as she began to walk down a street lined with sleepy shop windows. Some were lit with the glowing smiles of jack-o-lanterns and orange holiday lights. It was a gorgeous night for Halloween.

Despite the chill, Amber felt the warmth of the alcohol color her cheeks. She turned toward the direction of what appeared to be the gate of a park. As she got closer, she began to make out the shapes of tombstones peeking up out of the low-lying fog. "To a bar alone, sure, but a graveyard on Halloween?" she thought to herself, while abruptly turning on her stiletto heel to walk back toward the street. At that moment, she saw a figure leaning against the fence of the cemetery. She could make out a leather jacket and a white shirt. A small fear began to rise from the pit of her stomach and she stepped too quickly from the sidewalk, catching her heel on the curb, causing her to fall to her knees on the pavement. Dazed and still a bit dizzy from the rum, she sat for a moment and grasped blindly next to her for her purse.

"Are you alright? Let me help you up." It was the figure in the leather jacket. He was holding out one hand for her to take and had her purse in the other.

"Um, yeah...I think so...Must've stepped wrong." She grasped his hand, pulling herself up and he handed over her purse. In the light of the street lamp, she could see his dark hair, slicked back on the sides and longer on the top, resting in a slight curl on his forehead. His eyes were dark like his hair. He gave her a dimpled smile and said, "Sure you're okay?"

She was staring at him - staring at his full-lipped mouth - at the tight stretch of his white shirt over his broad chest. She felt a pang of desire spark up like a little flame within her panties. She shook her head and stammered, "Y-Yes... Thank you." She went to take a step and her ankle gave way as pain shot to her knee.

"Looks like you may have sprained it. Where are you headed? I'd be happy to escort you."

"Oh no, it won't be necessary..." Amber blurted, attempting another step away, and coming close to another fall.

"I don't think you should put weight on your ankle just yet. Here, let me help you." With that, he slid his arm behind her back and eased her up, and began walking her back toward the direction of the cemetery.

"THAT way?" she said, tensing.

"There's a bench just over here where you can sit and rest for a bit." He smiled at her, his dark eyes glistening.

"I really think..."she murmured, glancing over her should in the direction of the street.

"I'll sit with you. You won't be alone." His smile was disarming. His mouth was sexy. She felt her face get hot and she glanced away.

The bench seemed a little deeper into the cemetery than she was comfortable with, but her intrigue with leather jacket guy was winning over her fear. Eventually, they arrived at the wrought iron bench, nestled near a large mausoleum wall. He set her gently down upon it and then sat facing her.

"What's a pretty girl like you doing out alone on All Hallows Eve?" An overused line, but coming from him, she didn't mind. However, Amber reminded herself she didn't know him from a psycho killer.

"I'm meeting up with some friends at the bar up there. I can't be too much longer or they'll worry."

"When you're ready, I'll help you walk there."

"Thank you." She looked down the purse in her lap. She could sense him staring at her. She could feel his eyes making their way up her fishnet stockings, moving up to the swell of her breasts at the top of her corset, which she was sure were heaving after having been all worked up. Instead of freaking her out, it was turning her on. She shivered. From fear -- from cold -- from her excitement, she wasn't sure.

"Are you cold? Here-," he said, slipping off his jacket and placing it over her shoulders. He wore only his white t-shirt now, which fit snugly over his well-muscled arms.

"But you will be cold!" Amber protested, trying to distract herself.

"I'm fine. Really -- no need to worry."

"Your costume -- a greaser, right? Like from the fifties?"

He laughed.

"Sure. That's about right. So what's your name?"

"What's YOUR name?" Amber eyed him, grinning.

"Michael." That same dashing smile spread across his face. "Let's have a look at that ankle." He gently brought her foot up and set it on his lap. He tilted his head to examine her. "You may want to ask for some ice when you meet up with your friends." He flashed another dimpled smile. He kept her foot in his hands. "So are you going to tell me your name or do I have to guess?"

"Guess."

"You look like a....Julie?" She shook her head. "Rose?"

"Try again." She smiled.

"It must be Bertha, then." She glared at him playfully.

"I'm no good at this, obviously. If you're that shy about it, maybe you'd better just whisper it in my ear so the ghosts and goblins don't hear you." He winked at her and leaned in closer to her, his hands still on her ankle. "Whisper it."

He was close to her now. His hands on her skin were cool, but felt electric. She could feel her heart pounding and wondered if he could hear. She leaned into him, with her mouth near his ear and whispered, "Amber..."

"Amber, "he repeated. She liked the way it sounded coming from him. She hadn't moved away yet, and before she could, he had turned his head so that his face was an inch from hers. She couldn't move. She didn't want to move. His mouth was so very close. As if something else was controlling her body, she felt herself touch her lips to his, slowly, trembling. Michael responded by taking her bottom lip between his gently. Something like lightning shot from her lips straight down to her thighs creating an instant wet heat. She felt his tongue slip into her mouth, and she met it with her own, melting into his kiss. He kissed her slowly and deliberately, allowing her to feel every little move he made with his tongue. He laced his fingers behind her head, and let his mouth make a hungry trail down her neck. The passion within her thighs quickened and she felt an involuntary moan escape from her mouth. Amber felt Michael's teeth softly at first, lightly grazing her skin, but he quickly became bolder and bit harder, which made her writhe against him, her hands pressing on his chest.

Her foot had remained on his lap, though his hand was much farther up her leg than it had previously been. She froze and drew in a shaky breath as his fingers danced across her bare thigh and grazed her panties. As if the damp satin fabric wasn't indicator enough, she heard his voice low in her ear, "Do you want me to touch you...here?" emphasizing 'here' with firm stroke against her clit through her panties.

"Michael..." her head was swimming. She was about to let a total stranger...do what? Fuck her? The fear crept in as she remembered how far she was from anyone hearing her. The bench he had taken her to could not be viewed from the street. But as she started to analyze and talk herself out of his embrace, Michael stealthily slipped his fingers underneath the tiny triangle of satin. His fingers glided easily up the length of her slippery sex. He teased her, stroking up to her clit and back down. His mouth found hers again and he began to kiss her more aggressively. She was throbbing and with each stroke of his finger over her clit, the tension became more paralyzing. She wanted desperately to feel his fingers inside her. "Michael, please..." she breathed. He growled against her neck, "Amber..."

He took his hand away only long enough to bring her over onto his lap so that she straddled him, being careful to avoid bumping her ankle. His hands moved up to her hips as his mouth found the top of her breasts. She slowly pulled the zipper down, opening the front of her corset, giving him full view of her naked tits. Her nipples were painfully erect. She brought his head toward her, arching her back as he took her into his mouth. Her hips moved insistently, and as if on cue, his hand returned and he slipped two of his fingers deeply inside her, while greedily suckling at her breasts. She was grinding her hips against him, his head in her hands, her pussy feeling absolutely on fire as he alternated between rubbing her clit and finger fucking her.

"Michael...Oh god...oh....fuck..."her words were running together as she felt her pussy convulse around his fingers. Colors flashed behind her eyes and her breath seized in her chest as she felt herself coming on top of him. The pleasure washed over her body in electric waves as her come ran down Michael's fingers. He held her against him, rubbing the small of her back, allowing her a moment to regain her composure.

As she sank down, relaxing onto his lap, she felt the swell of his erection pushing against his jeans. Her mouth began to water. She looked into his eyes as her fingers loosened the clasp of his jeans. She held his gaze as she freed his cock. Amber rubbed the swollen head against her still dripping sex, teasing him and sending aftershocks of pleasure through her clit. His was cock wet enough now that she started sliding her hand down the length of him and back up again, lightly twisting over the top of his head and going back down. She watched his breath become ragged and his body jerk with each stroke she made. Licking her lips, she carefully descended from his lap and positioned herself between his legs. His cock stood like glistening monument before her. She traced the pointed tip of her tongue up the underside of his shaft and circled the top before taking him into her warm, silky mouth. She caressed him with her tongue, taking him deeper in her mouth each time she went down.

She began to stroke him again, so that she could lick further down to his balls, sucking them gently. He grasped handfuls of her hair as a guttural moan escaped his throat. She raised herself slightly so that she could push his cock between her tits, meeting his head with her tongue as it surfaced beneath her mouth. He began thrusting his hips, pulling harder at her hair, "Amber..."

She focused on sucking him while stroking him with her hand at his base. He thrust himself into her mouth with more urgency.

"Michael...tell me when your close...I want it," She groaned, lapping up the juice dribbling from his head.

"I'm going to...I'm..."

She gripped him tighter, stroking him faster, looking up at his face twisted in pleasure, "Look at me. Watch yourself cum in my mouth." He blinked, as if disoriented, then met her eyes. She flicked her tongue at his cock again, watching his eyes move to her lips. She could feel the muscle in his thighs grow even tenser. He was close. She stroked him harder.

"Please, Michael...I want it in my mouth..."

"I'm gonna..." was all the warning he gave before he sent a stream of white onto her waiting tongue. She squeezed him with each spasm she felt rip through him and hungrily lapped up each burst of his come. As they slowed, she took him in her mouth again, softly sucking the taste of him. He pulled her back onto his lap, running his tongue along her lower lip, tasting his himself from her lips. She kissed him deeply, her thighs beginning to pulse again at the feel of his naked cock against her pussy. She slid her fingers inside of herself, withdrew them, and sucked her own taste off her fingers while he watched her. She did it again, but this time, he caught her hand and sucked her fingers into his mouth.

"Here, Amber," he said as he helped to ease her back into a sitting position on the bench. It was he who knelt before her this time, grazing his lips up along the fishnet stockings, followed by his hands on her legs. He dropped his face to the level of her thighs and nuzzled her wet panties with his mouth. Amber tried to stifle the moan it elicited by biting her lower lip. He hooked the sides of her panties with his fingers and began to tug them down over the curve of her hips. She instinctively raised her bottom and let him pull them down past her thighs, then off of her feet.

Amber felt Michael's breath on her tender skin, the lapping of his tongue coming nearer to where she wanted him so badly. She resisted the urge to press his head into her pussy to prolong the delicious torture. He didn't make her wait long. She began to shake as she felt the heat of his mouth on her sex...his tongue licking the come from her lips. He covered her clit with his mouth and sucked her. She began to squirm as she felt her orgasm building. He traced her clit with his tongue over and over while he moved his fingers in and out of her. She thrust against his mouth almost involuntarily.

"I'm so fucking wet...Michael, I need you...inside me," She panted, pulling at him. He gave her pussy one last, luxurious lick, and came up to kiss her. She loved the taste of herself on his lips and sucked his lip into her mouth hungrily. She could feel that he was already hard again. The head of his cock bumped teasingly against her as they continued a deep kiss. She brought her hands down his back, grasping his ass, and pulling him in. His cocked pushed into her hard. She cried out against his neck and held him tighter as he thrust again, every inch of her squeezing every inch of him. She put her feet up over his shoulders so he could push even deeper. Their mouths and hands were a blur...she was seeing stars.

"You feel...so... damn good," she said brokenly as he pounded into her. She whimpered into his ear, knowing she was going to come again. When it hit her, her body became rigid as the tremors of her climax shook through her. With a final thrust, Michael pulled out from her and exploded onto her chest. He knelt down heavily between her legs, resting his head on her thigh. She ran her fingers through his hair and listened as his breathing returned to normal.

Eventually, they both tidied up as best they could. He helped her to zip up her corset and wrapped her in a tight hug.

"How does your ankle feel?" he whispered.

"Not nearly as satisfied as the rest of me," She smiled.

"Thank you, Amber," he said earnestly. She squeezed him.

"My ankle really does feel much better. Thank YOU," She smiled again, "But I really should go. Will I see you around?"

He smiled his dimpled smile, "I won't forget you."

Amber and Michael parted after that. She returned to her car near the club, drove home, and hit her bed like a stone as soon as she got home. She dreamed of her encounter with Michael. She awoke in the morning with a burning urge to see him again. She kicked herself for not getting his last name or number or anything to help her find him again. She decided to take a drive down to the cemetery. The night before seemed like a dream and she thought seeing things in the daylight might make it more real.

Her heart sank when she didn't see any sign of him upon coming to the gate. Not that she expected to. She wandered through the headstones, nothing looking familiar to her. She began to feel silly. She turned to leave and followed a small path she saw that lead back to the front gate. It was then that she saw the bench. She made her way over to it, and sat down. Nothing was left as evidence of the night before except the memories in her head and the ache in her panties. Looking up from the bench, the name of a headstone caught her eye. "Michael..." Chills ran down her back as she got closer. It simply read, "Michael Willis, 1932 -- 1956".

Amber never really understood what happened that night. The coincidence of the name and the way he was dressed unnerved her. Did he read the name from the tombstone that night, she wondered, or was it something more? Amber never had another Halloween that compared to the one that night. The memory Michael would always haunt her.