Trick or Treat!

1 First House, Breedmore Lane, at 8:12 PM on Friday October 31, 2024.

My knuckles rap against the door — three quick knocks that sound far too loud in the quiet street. I clutch my little purse strap and cross my free arm over my chest, suddenly hyper-aware of how much skin I'm showing. The cool October air has my nipples standing at rigid attention beneath the flimsy red fabric of my devil costume, and the tiny horned headband keeps slipping on my head.

The door swings open almost immediately, like someone was watching me through the peephole. A man fills the doorway — tall, broad-shouldered, maybe forty-five, with salt-and-pepper hair swept back from a handsome, angular face. He's wearing a white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, and an apron that says "KISS THE COOK" in dripping red letters. His eyes — warm brown, crinkled at the corners — drop immediately to my chest, then travel slowly down my body with undisguised appreciation.

"Well, well," he says, his voice a low rumble that makes my stomach flip. "Trick or treat, little devil?"

"T-trick or treat," I manage, my voice barely above a whisper.

"I'm Marco," he says, stepping aside and gesturing me in with one large hand. "And you must be cold out there. Come on in. I just made hot chocolate."

I step inside before I can think about it. The house smells like cinnamon and something deeper — muskier — that I can't quite place. The living room is dimly lit with orange string lights and candles, and a massive bowl of candy sits on the entryway table. But my eyes are drawn to the kitchen, where I can see two steaming mugs on the counter.

Marco closes the door behind me and I hear the lock click. My heart jumps.

"Don't worry, sweetheart," he says, reading my expression. "It's just — kids tend to just walk right in if I don't lock it. Can't have that on Halloween." He's behind me now, and I can feel the heat radiating off his body. He's so much taller than me — I barely reach his chest. "What's your name, pretty girl?"

"B-Bambi," I stammer.

"Bambi." He repeats it slowly, like he's tasting it. "That's adorable. Here —" He reaches around me to pick up one of the mugs, his chest pressing briefly against my back, and I feel a jolt of electricity shoot straight down to my pussy. "Hot chocolate. Extra marshmallows. You look like you could use something sweet."

I take the mug with trembling fingers. The chocolate is thick and rich, almost syrupy, and smells faintly of something I don't recognize — something warm and heady that makes my head swim slightly.

"Why don't you sit down?" Marco gestures to a plush velvet couch. "Get comfortable. You're shivering."

He's right — I am shivering, though I'm not sure it's entirely from the cold anymore. There's a heat building between my thighs that has nothing to do with temperature. I perch on the edge of the couch, knees pressed together, and take a sip of the hot chocolate. It coats my tongue — sweet, impossibly rich, with an undertone of something that makes my lips tingle and my belly warm.

Marco sits down beside me. Close. His thigh touches mine and I feel the solid muscle of it through his pants. He's watching me drink with those warm brown eyes, and there's something in his gaze — hunger, maybe. Patient hunger.

"So tell me, Bambi," he murmurs, his hand settling on my bare knee. His palm is hot — almost unnaturally so. "Is this your first time on Breedmore Lane?"

Your objective for this adventure is: Visit every house on Breedmore Lane and experience every trick or treat the neighborhood has to offer on Halloween night.