He's Home Alone on Halloween

He's Home Alone On Halloween

Cintra could feel herself getting wet as she watched the young couple sitting in the mall food court, feeding each other French fries and sneaking kisses and tit-squeezes. The conversation she overheard was less harmonious than the physical affection, but the boy eventually talked his pale, tight-T-shirt and cutoff-denims wearing girlfriend into coming home with him. His parents weren't home. In fact, they were out of town, wouldn't possibly get home in time to interrupt.

Even then, Cintra heard some reluctance in her voice, so she followed discreetly as they went to the boy's car. It was expensive and fast, but decorated in male bad taste with dents and scratches showing an unconscionable carelessness, so Cintra rather knew what would happen. Sure enough, half a minute after the passenger door closed it flew open again and the girl flew out, even paler than before, long, jet-black hair flying in fury, almost knocking Cintra over as she ran, screaming obscenities.

He was enough of a gentleman to check if Cintra was all right. Or maybe not. Cintra never wore panties or stockings and the collision with the girl had disarranged her skirt, showing him she really was -- despite numerous grey hairs that had invaded both her scalp and her crotch over the years -- a natural redhead.

"Shame," she said as she caught her breath and slowly straightened her clothes (her blouse had got rumpled, too), "Nice boy with a nice car like that," she lied, "I'd want to ride along, at least for a bit, back when I was a girl." Her voice was strangely accented, but still somehow seductive.

He glowed with pride, patted his fender as he eyed her chest. Even through her blouse and bra (she might not need panties, but she needed the support of a substantial bra: gravity having worked its evil over the years, she would hang down and swing uncomfortably without one) her nipples showed proud and erect. "But you're still a girl, aren't you?" he asked.

"Absolutely," she wiggled her hips, which also sent those breasts bobbing. "And you are still a boy," she looked down at his erection, clearly outlined against his jeans, "Even if you've lost your date for the evening."

Embarrassed at being looked at, rather than embarrassed for looking, he involuntarily moved his hand down to his crotch, then opened his mouth. But couldn't think of anything to say.

"How bout this," she said, taking a step towards him, "Maybe it's only your first date that was anticlimactic?" You can look that word up later, she thought as she stepped up to the passenger door, which was still open. "May I?" she asked sweetly, pointing to the shotgun seat.

"Of course," he stammered, trying to recover from this relationship whiplash.

"I'm Cintra," she said, giving him another glance up her skirt as she sat down, "by the way!"

"Tyler," he replied, closing the door for her, trying to be a gentleman, then scooting around and getting in the driver's seat.

"There's no hurry," she said as he sped up, "I overheard you telling that girl your parents are away, so we've got all night. You weren't lying to her, were you?"

"No, of course not!" He slowed to the legal limit, but that just seemed to make him nervous.

"You've got to relax," she finally said, "Find a quiet place to pull over and I'll tell you about the Meghan Markle video."

Puzzled, he drove another half-kilometer, then turned into a vast, dark asphalt lot of one of those ubiquitous shopping malls and parked behind an ancient rusted billboard with a newly affixed -- and deliciously garish -- Haunted House advert.

"Nobody knows exactly what sank her marriage, but when that video surfaced of the 90210 pilot, it was the beginning of the end, some said." Cintra put one hand on the boy's thigh and unbuckled her shoulder belt with the other.

"I never saw the -- " Cintra tugged at the boy's belt and pulled down his zipper. Before he knew it, she had bent over and swallowed his cock.

"OhhhhHHHH!" he moaned as she pushed down until her lips formed a tight ring at the base of his shaft and the sensitive skin of his cockhead rubbed the back of her throat. "I'm -- " he gasped as he grasped the steering wheel and struggled to hold on, "I'm going to cum in your -- ", his voice strained, broke, "In your -- Is that O-o-k-kay?"

"Mmm-hmMMM!" she said, it being the best she could do, talking around his very erect penis. Anyway, she knew whatever polite nonsense he was spouting about courteously not shooting off down her throat was useless: she would drain him no matter what he wanted, even if a cop was knocking on his window shining a flashlight in his eyes.

His hips tried to thrust up, but that didn't work so well sitting in a bucket seat. Still, he fountained several healthy loads into her waiting mouth, the powerful orgasm curling his toes and knocking his head back.

When he opened his eyes again, she had coaxed out the last few drops and zippered him up again. Opened her lips, she showed him the puddle she'd gathered on her tongue. Then, with a wicked wink, puckered her lips closed and swallowed, opening up again with an "aaahhh!" to prove she really had eaten his entire load. "It's like I'm drinking you, your body's essence," she laughed, "Like in the movie Doctor Strangelove"! He hadn't seen it. Anyway, the name "Meghan Markle" was now forever linked in his brain with the phrase "complete blowjob"!

It reminded him of a girlfriend who had a fetish for the fairytale kings and queens. She'd made him watch the whole ceremony when Princess Di and Charles got married. She (the girlfriend, not the princess) had given him a nice blowjob sometimes, but he always resented the running to the bathroom to spit afterwards instead of swallowing for him.

She buckled up her seat belt and pointed to the old-fashioned key in the ignition, "Now you should be relaxed enough to drive responsibly."

"That was wonderful," he said as they left the parking lot, "When we get to my place would you like me to go down on you?"

"Such a gentleman!" she laughed, "If you can't get it up again soon enough, maybe you will have to use that dutiful tongue of yours!"

He laughed too.

"Anyway," she continued, "There are a lot of positions we'll have time to practice, since we'll have the whole night. Every try it Greek Style? Oops! I should have waited until we were at a stop sign to mention that!"

He had, actually. About a year after the Soviet Union broke up he'd met a woman, dark-haired, dark-eyed, big-titted Alexie, who'd paid a lot of money to get a visa by marrying an American national. Trouble was, she and the paper husband had no intention of cohabiting, so she found Tyler. He had no idea how. She would suck him off and swallow, even suck him, then give him a snowball -- it was the first time he'd tasted his own semen. But she didn't want him in her pussy, even with a condom.

Or maybe she just liked taking it up the ass. It certainly didn't feel like she was faking her orgasms. She had screamed and squirted all over the sheets when he fingered her clit and slammed himself into her meaty buttocks, pumping load after load into the grip of her painfully tight backdoor.

His own grip on the steering wheel tightened as they turned into his driveway and he saw a light. Then he realized it was one he'd left on in his own room. But he was vaguely disturbed when he tried to relax and noticed the backs of his hands. Cintra reached over and ran a finger over one of the veins that were standing out like the veins in his cock she'd tickled with her tongue. "I'm hot blooded," she said, "I make the blood in your heart pound too!"

Startled by her touch, he looked up at her face. Her hair looked richer and redder than when he'd first seen her. Maybe a trick of the light? Those streetlamps in the mall parking lot with their ghastly yellowish Xenon vapor flame could make anyone look washed-out.

When he got out to pull open the garage door she laughed, "Still living in the twentieth century? No remote-control?" He got back in the car and pulled it forward, shrugging. "Anyway," she continued, "Why bother, you're just going to give me a ride home later tonight, or" she winked, "Maybe tomorrow morning?" He nodded, blushing. "Or maybe you don't want anyone to see me going in your front door?" He blushed redder. "Don't worry, honey," she put her hand on his thigh and ran it up to his crotch to see if he'd recovered, "I understand. Now let's sneak up to your bedroom!"

His bedroom was much tidier than she'd expected. He'd had girls up here before, or at least had planned to.

"Reach under and unhook my bra in the back," she said, turning around and raising her arms, "I'll show you how a girl takes off her bra without taking off her shirt."

He took his time, caressing her skin as he lifted the back of the bra away from her skin and carefully unhooked it, then watched as she turned around and showed him how she could pull straps first out of one sleeve, then the other until it dangled from one finger and she flicked it over the back of a chair. Her breasts sagged a little, but now the nipples showed even more prominently, covered only by a thin layer of white cotton. She opened her arms wide and motioned for him to unbutton her.

He hurried, so of course he struggled more than he should have. "Relax. They aren't going anywhere!" she purred, "You want to kiss them, don't you?"

"Oh yes!" he said, finally getting the last button unbuttoned. She let her blouse slide off her shoulders as he bent to take her nipples in his mouth.

"Run your tongue around them just like that," she coaxed, "Suck on them gently. Some girls like it hard, some even like their nipples to be squeezed or bitten, but mine stand up just for you to make love to them with your lips." He'd actually been about to sink his teeth in, thinking of Zena -- he never knew her last name -- that he'd played with at Studio 54 several memorable times during his years living in New York. She enjoyed all kinds of nipple torture: squeezing, clamping, biting. He always wondered why she never got them pierced. Cintra's nipples he treated delicately, worshipping the delicate nubbly flesh with his lips and tongue as she moaned and sighed and unzipped her skirt and let it fall to her ankles.

"Help me off with my shoes," she said. He knelt down, stroking her legs, fingertips tracing the delicate spiderweb of blue veins in the skin of her thighs and calves. He took off her shoes as she stepped out of her skirt.

"You're seeing mine," she stepped back to let him see her standing naked and proud, "Now let me watch you undress!" He did, all boyish and eager, in such a hurry that he was even a little out of breath from bending over and untying his shoes and standing up again to present himself, proud of his cock already stiffening again at the sight of her running a middle finger suggestively along her crotch. "These," she smiled, teasing the few grey hairs that interrupted the red of her luxurious bush, "I earned with experience." She back-flopped on the bed, spreading her legs to give him a glimpse of her warm, wet cunt, "Want to experience some more?" She smiled, and the laugh-lines around her eyes laughed.

Seeing her exuberantly splayed out took him back to his first time. Kathleen had opened herself up to him just like that. Her name wasn't really Kathleen, but she'd taken him to see the movie Kathleen Mavourneen two days before when it first came out and put together a costume to dress up as the title character for him to rip off and "ravish" her. It scared him a bit, but a little fear just helped him last longer. He'd taken her just like he took Cintra, kneeling between her legs and letting her guide him in with impatient fingers, hissing, "Do me hard, Tyler, I'm so hot for you!" exactly the same words Cintra was using on him now.

He rode Cintra hard, just the way he'd ridden Kathleen, and was surprised to feel himself lasting longer and longer, despite the exquisite grip of Cintra's tight pussy and the way her tits bounced so deliciously with each thrust.

"Come in me," she demanded, again and again, faster and faster, "Give it to me, give me your heart, your sperm, your soul, boy, and make me come for you!"

"For you!" he shouted, and they screamed together, thrashing and shaking and finally collapsing.

When he woke he felt tired and sore, but so happy to see her sitting beside him, stroking his chest, looking out the window. "There's a pool out back," she said, "Is there a nice tall privacy fence around it?"

"Of course!" he sat up, "You want to go skinny-dipping?" He tried to get to his feet, but felt suddenly dizzy.

"I'll help you," she said, taking him by the hand. They walked downstairs, Cintra steadying him as they went. She felt remarkably strong next to him, or maybe he just felt a bit weak.

She licked her lips as they took a seat on one of the padded beach loungers, "You promised me you'd try your tongue on me, didn't you?" She looked down at his limp penis, "While you slept I went in and washed up everything, you got me so sticky! Now I'm all fresh and ready. Ever gone down on a genuine ginger before?"

"N-no," he said shakily as she leaned back and opened her legs, fiery red pubic hair splitting to reveal her inner hot pink. He'd been with an African girl, once, but never a ginger. Her pink had been even hotter, though maybe that was just because it was surrounded by gloriously smooth mahogany skin.

He touched his tongue-tip to her clitoris, urging it out of its hood, and she gasped in delight. "Just like that, baby," she moaned, just like Alyssa had. He tried to remember what turned her on. Rule and rules: kiss and suck on the sensitive little love-button, but not too roughly, run your tongue in and out of her pussy like a little cock, stroke a finger between her buttcheeks and tickle her backdoor hole, but don't push in unless she asks for it. Memories flooded back, but he felt disoriented, concentrated on licking her faster, as she was urging him. Her juices were flowing, her strong hips were bucking up against him, it was all he could do to hang on to her, hoping her screams of pleasure didn't bring the neighbors over.

Then, at last, with one last incredibly tight squeeze of her pussy muscles around his fully extended tongue, she sagged back. "That was the best, honey," she stroked his hair just like Alyssa had.

He only had enough energy to lie down next to her, couldn't keep his eyelids open.

She kept stroking his salt-and-pepper hair a few more minutes, then gave him a last kiss on his wrinkled cheek and stood up.

Up in his room, she carefully made the bed and gathered up all his clothes in a bundle. From her purse she took a pair of clean panties and pulled them on, silk fabric slipping up past calves and thighs no longer marked with spider veins or age spots. She found the rest of her clothes scattered around his room and put them back on, except for the bra. She touched her chest, feeling round, firm teenage breasts, nipples pointing straight out, even unsupported.

"I don't need it," she laughed, and went out to the pool, draped it over his left foot. He hadn't moved. The bundle of his clothes she carried to the car. Driving off, she giggled girlishly at the thought of the bra just hanging there, mysteriously, like the eyeglasses in the Dorothy Sayers mystery Whose Body?

It didn't take long to get to the hotel. Daisy was already waiting for her with the suitcases and the train tickets. She'd changed out of the tight T-shirt and short-shorts into clothes more appropriate for traveling, but her jet-black hair still flew free.

Cintra helped her load the luggage in the trunk, then they shared a long embrace. "You're so beautiful," she said, slipping a hand under Cintra's dress and into her panties, exploring. Cintra yelped as a finger probed her taut hymen and pushed away, opening the passenger door.

"You drive," Cintra said, "Your face matches your license."

"Wish we could keep the car," she replied as they headed for the airport. Cintra shook her head. She hated the car. "But I guess we have to leave it in the parking lot and make them think he flew off into the great beyond."

"Stop somewhere first, so we can ditch his clothes. We want him to disappear happy."

"Oh, right." She thought a minute, "There's a thrift store down by the Daybozar Museum that has a donation bin."

"Me, I wish we could fly," Cintra laughed, "Today, all we'll get is a good view of the city from the monorail on the way to the train station. I remember when we didn't have all this nuisance with photo IDs! Plus, remember when they called them stewardesses? If you asked them about their layovers half of them gave you a look that told you they were lesbians and you could invite them to stay with you and society was so repressed the girl probably hadn't had any in months and you could do every position in the book, plus fingering them in the shower afterward!" She stroked her left breast, enjoying the taut, supple feel of the braless skin.

"Huh. I'm 200 years older than you. I remember back in the day we'd give a boy a good time, a night to remember, maybe even a whole debauched weekend on the beach, but not 90 years of fucking memories. That's just too much emotional energy expended!"

"Steady on, girl, we don't want to be monsters."

"Did he at least appreciate the blowjob?"

"He was so nice, his essence was so potent and tasty."

They took a short detour to the museum and got rid of the bundle, then accelerated like two teenagers in a hot car.