Halloween
by (Hidden)
Fantasy Sex Story: I received an invite to a Halloween ball at a local mansion house; the host was unclear. When I arrived, the other guests seemed to be more than adorned with makeup, and when I met the host, he was a delicious good dancer.
Caution: This Fantasy Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa BiSexual Heterosexual Fiction .
You are cordially invited to celebrate All Hallows’ Eve at Corston Manor on 31st October at 20:00. Costume attire preferred. Masks optional.
Well, then, that was that. It had arrived in the post this morning, and I hadn’t got a clue who had sent it, nor did I have any idea where Corston Manor was. On the interweb, I did a search. It was north of town out towards the dales. I would get an Uber. I looked on Street View, but all it had was some very old-looking iron gates. You couldn’t see the house, and for some reason, the aerial view was covered in clouds.
Okay, none the wiser. I am not going to turn a party down, that is for sure, but what to wear? I supposed I ought to go as a witch. I had a very long, Victorian, multi-layered, dark bottle-green floor-length dress that had a low front and showed plenty of cleavage. I wondered if there were enough rooms in the manor for guests to stay. It might be a devil of a game getting an Uber back after midnight. There were no RSVP details; I assume that I was simply expected to turn up. I wondered what would happen if I ignored the invite. I had some weeks until the invite, which gave me plenty of time to source an outfit if I decided not to go with my long Victorian dress.
I met Lana in the precinct coffee shop; we tended to try and meet up at least a couple of times a month; sometimes it was weekly, sometimes it really wasn’t. This was our first get-together since I had the invite to the Halloween party, and I couldn’t wait to discuss it with her.
“I have been invited to Corston Manor.”
“What? Where? Why?” She replied, taking a suck on the straw in her milkshake between each word.
“A Halloween ball, costume according to the invite. Corston Hall, it is up in the Dales, not far from the Devils Hole.”
“The what?” Gosh, this conversation was becoming very difficult.
“You know, that hole in the ground where the beck goes in over a waterfall and then disappears underground.”
“Oh, yeah, I know; I went there with my dad several years ago. Very private, if you know what I mean.”
I did know exactly what she meant; she had told me in great detail exactly what had happened between her and her dad in a cave behind the waterfall, and she left no detail to the imagination.
“Yes, exactly. Well, I think that the Devil’s Hole is actually in the grounds owned by Corston Hall. It is certainly up that way.”
“Crumbs, that is a bit of a way out. The taxi won’t be cheap, or are you going to drive?”
“I don’t want to drive; I plan on getting an Uber, and yes, I guess it won’t be cheap, but I hardly ever go out and spend money, so I am not worried.”
“What are you going as? A witch, a demon, or what?”
“Do they have female demons?”
“Oh yes, you must know of Lilith, the first woman.”
“No, I thought Eve was first?”
“Oh, no, Lilith was first, but she clashed with Adam so terribly that she was cast out of Eden and replaced by Eve. Lilith was, I think, the first demon, certainly the first female demon.”
“Oh, okay, no, I don’t think they taught us that in school. Was she a lover of Lucifer?”
“I kind of presume that she must have been.”
“So, are you going as her, you know, wearing a fig leaf over your fanny and boobs?”
“Well, I hadn’t planned on wearing fig leaves. I have a long Victorian dress, all cleavage and layers, that I thought I might wear. A bit of goth makeup and leave it at that.”
“Yeah, that would work, I suppose.”
“Do you want to come back to mine?” Lana asked, “We haven’t been together for weeks.”
“Yes. But I can’t, not this side of the Corston Ball; I cannot afford the distraction. If I lie with you, then I fear that I shall not go.”
“Is that such a bad thing?”
“Yes, yes, it is. I do not know who I shall offend if I do not go.”
“If you do not know, then surely it matters not.”
“I do not know, but it matters.”
We hugged and went our separate ways; it was only a week until the ball, and I had my makeup to plan. I had tried on the dress, and it fit perfectly, as if it had been handmade for me. When I arrived home, I found an envelope on the doormat. No sign of postage; it appeared to have been hand-delivered.
Your carriage will collect you at 18:00.
Strange, the writing font and the stationery were identical to the original invitation. I concluded that the reason why there were no RSVP details was because it was expected that I would go. The host had arranged my transportation. Did it, I wondered, include my return journey? Oh well, if not, then an Uber or a taxi of some description would collect me; of that I was sure, there was always someone willing to earn a shilling.
The days until ball day seemed to fly by, as if time had sped up; it was very odd. I still had no idea who had invited me. Was it someone I knew? I had tried to find out who owned and lived at Corsten Manor, but the interweb had failed me. No data seemed available; it was all very strange.
Before I showered, I checked for hair and stubble; all was clear according to my fingers, but I waxed to be on the safe side. The painful pulling of the cloths from my groin told me that a few errant hairs had hidden in plain sight. My mons and petals were now utterly hairless; of that, I was pleased.
I turned on my shower and stood under the falling water, soaping and rinsing, ensuring I was scrupulously clean, beyond spotless. I also douched; I needed to be clean inside as well as outside. Well, you just never know. Satisfied that I would pass any muster, I sat in my bedroom and dried my hair, running a soft brush through it to ensure no tangles.
Finally, my hair was dry; I tied it back, ready to style after I had put my dress on. First was the petticoat, of three layers, all tied at the back and giving shape to the overdress. I did not wear any underwear; I didn’t want to perspire under the dress, and so no knickers, and the dress shaped my bust better than a bra could.
Time for some makeup. I added some dark foundation to the inner edges of my breasts. This would make the depth of my cleavage seem greater than it was. It was not insignificant to start with, but every girl likes a little help, and I still had no idea who the host was.
I stepped into the dress and then put my arms into the dress sleeves, reaching behind me to do up the clasp and then the parade of buttons that followed my spine. Not an easy manoeuvre, but one I had practised. I stood before my mirror and turned, looking at myself from every angle. The dress was very tight above the waist, showing and accentuating my shape, and then flared out dramatically, almost as if I were wearing a bustle, and finally finished at floor level. I would wear low heels, just high enough to keep the hem from the floor.
I could see it. I wondered if anyone else would, but the dress plunged low enough to just reveal the upper edges of my areolas. A little boobage on view did not offend; of that, I was sure. I sat before my mirrors, ready to add my makeup to my face. I slipped a bedding sheet over my dress, tied under my arms. Nothing could be allowed to spill onto my dress.
I applied my foundation, a light almost white base, with a little black on my cheeks, blended to highlight my cheekbones but giving me a deathly pallor. My eyes had black eyeshadow, softening and blending towards my ears, and then dark jet-black mascara. The lipstick was gloss black, a very wet look, yet totally devoid of colour.
I could do nothing about my blond hair; I wasn’t going to wear a wig or dye it black for a night out. I just hoped it contrasted perfectly with my dark complexion. I slipped my heels on, simple black ‘nanny’ shoes with one-inch square Cuban heels just two inches high. They would be relatively comfortable to stand in.
Into my clutch bag I added tissues, a credit card, a couple of tampons (useful for containing any liquids that might need containing, if you know what I mean), and a twenty-pound note. I was ready; I looked at my watch – two minutes to go.
I stood by the front door, my key in hand, ready to secure my house, and at exactly 1800 a large limousine arrived. A man wearing a buttoned uniform got out, opened the rear door and walked to my front door. As he was about to knock, I opened the door.
“Good evening, madam. Your carriage awaits,” he said, his voice quiet yet unmissable.
“Thank you,” I said, pulling my door to behind me and double-locking it. My house was secure. I followed the chauffeur to the car. I grabbed my dress and hugged it to me as I got into the car and sat back into a very comfortable leather seat.
The chauffeur reached in and took a bottle of champagne from a small fridge set into the rear of the front seat. He popped the cork and poured me a glass, returning the bottle to the fridge.
“Madam,” he said as he passed it to me. “Please sit back and enjoy the trip.” He shut the door, and I took a sip of the champagne. Gosh, that was good champagne; the bubbles said hello all the way down.
I hardly realised, but we had moved off. There was no engine or road noise in the cabin, and the windows were so dark that I knew that no one would see in; I could hardly see out. I sat back and sipped my champagne, trying once more to see if I could work out who had invited me and wondering if they had, perhaps, invited the wrong person.
The driver did not hurry, but he had the luck with him. Every set of traffic lights that we approached changed to green for us. There were no approaching cars at junctions, and so we barely had to slow en route. I topped up my glass more than once and then, in a moment of doubt, became worried that I would arrive tipsy. What kind of impression would that make on my unknown host?
The driver pulled up at the old gates to Corston Manor a few minutes before six. The gates seemed to open automatically, and then we went along a drive and stopped in front of the manor house. I sat waiting, but it was not the chauffeur that opened my door but a footman from the manor.
“Madam,” he said as he opened the door and offered his hand as assistance for me to alight. I ignored the hand and turned, my feet touching the gravelled drive, my hand pressed on the seat of the limousine, and I was out.
“If you will follow me,” he said and led the way through the large, heavy-looking door into the interior of the manor. I could hear music from a room to the side; it sounded as if it were from a small string ensemble. The music sounded old, perhaps from the thirties era.
I followed the music into a large room thronging with people. Some were standing at the sides, talking; some were dancing; some were sitting at tables drinking champagne. The room was lit by candles, some on pillars and most on chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. A waiter approached and offered a tray with glasses of champagne in, the older coupé-style large glasses, not the more modern flutes.
I took a glass and then a taste. Excellent, this was not a cheap supermarket fizz; this was expensive, many hundreds of pounds a bottle, I had no doubt. I looked around the room; it seemed full of demons and witches. Even the group playing music were dressed up, but more as monsters, it seemed to me.
“My Lady Mica,” a voice said to my left. I turned and faced a tall, dark-haired man with a goatee beard and very dark eyes. I wondered if he was wearing dark contact lenses.
“Hello.” Well, what else could I say? I had no idea who he was.
“Thank you for attending my little soiree to celebrate All Hallows’ Eve.
“Thank you for inviting me, but forgive me, I do not recall who you are.”
“Oh, I do know that we have not met on this mortal realm,” he replied, a smile on his face. “Perhaps you will accompany me in a dance?”
He still hadn’t told me his name, trust issues perhaps.
“Of course, but I am not the best of dancers; I would guard your feet well.”
“Oh, there is no fear of that, my lady; my feet are well guarded.”
I resisted the temptation to look down. He stepped forwards, took my drink from my hand and placed it on a pedestal next to me that I had not noticed. He took my left hand, stood in close, and his right hand circled my waist and rested across my hips. I detected a slight aroma of smoke, or perhaps sulphur? I hadn’t noticed if there was a fire in the hearth.
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