A Halloween To Remember

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I want to tell you about how things changed for me and mom the other day on Halloween, but let me tell you a little bit about our family first.

My name is Scott Thomas. I’m 18, a senior in high school. I have a sister, Anna, who is away at college. I live at home with my mom, Judith, and my father, Frank. He’s a businessman who works for Boeing as a sales representative. He flies around the world selling planes and making large lease arrangements with foreign carriers. That keeps him overseas a lot, sometimes for weeks at a time.

We live in a middle-class suburban neighborhood and have a quiet life. Our house is like the others on the block–mid-sized, newer homes. Lawn in front. Fenced back yard. Some landscaping. Like everyone else we make sure the lawn is mowed and the property looks nice, sort of keeping up our end on the appearance front.

Mom is active locally with various groups and our neighborhood association board and seems happy. Maybe contented is a better word. It’s a secure life. With prudence and frugality they have managed to save a lot. That caution and foresight served them so well that the recent economic downturn has had little or no effect on us. For example, for years they made double mortgage payments with the second payment going totally to principal. The result was a paid-off mortgage in less than half the time and a savings of thousands of dollars in interest. Not many families own their homes free and clear as we do. And they set up annuities for Anna and me when we were born so our college education and a start in our careers is already in the bank. I have much to be grateful for.

Even so, I’m bored. I know that lots of guys my age are bored , too, and just go through high school like they’re in some kind of a trance. I’m not like that, making sure I study hard and get good grades. I have taken the SAT test and done well enough to get into a good school, and I play sports–football and track–and work out a lot. I’ve even taken some boxing lessons, against my mom’s wishes, but encouraged by my dad. They were very useful. I learned a lot and the headgear protected me from any heavy blows. I liked it and got to be pretty good at avoiding being hit while doing better than average on the attack. It gave me a lot of self-confidence. We don’t have a lot of bullies around but I know I can take care of myself in almost any situation. All in all I don’t have much to complain about. But I wonder, sometimes, if there is something wrong with me. I feel like I’m marking time. I ask myself, “Is this it? Life does not get any more exciting than this?” There is a kind of flatness to my existence that I am not sure how to get over. It seems I should be more alive.

I have had a few girlfriends, but no one serious, and beyond some petting sessions with one or two, nothing more. It’s frustrating for me to hear the guys talking about “fucking” and getting “blow jobs.” Those are just words to me. I have to relieve myself just to stop from going crazy and that’s at least a daily occurrence, but it is also the extent of my sex life.

Dad and I get along fine, though, as I’ve mentioned, he is gone a lot. And mom, she and I have always been close. I have her looks mostly and she has always doted on me and encouraged me to do well and made me buckle down when I slipped up. That’s probably why I work so hard at school. I don’t want to disappoint her. I also have tried to be more mature than other guys, I guess, because dad is gone so much and that makes me sort of the man of the house. It made me a little more protective of her, though she lives a safe life and doesn’t need looking after.

She is very pretty, in my opinion. Not drop-dead gorgeous but lovely to look at, with her brown, sort of short hair and gray eyes, eyes that let you see into her, into her generous, gentle and loving soul, it seems to me. Sometimes I catch myself looking at her when she wears something that accents her figure. She has full breasts but most of the time she dresses to de-emphasize them, and she has very good legs. I can’t help but look and sometimes think of her when I am relieving myself in my room, just because I like her so much more than any other girl I have ever met and that is only partly because she is my mother.

I wonder, sometimes, if I should feel guilty thinking of her when I’m jacking but I figure it’s just my imagination and it’s OK. Just thoughts. Still, the images of her under me, legs open, her soft body moving with me as I stroke her, whispering to me how good it feels, kissing her full lips, open for my tongue, meeting it, seeing her tits jiggle when I thrust really hard into her; or coming up behind her in the kitchen and feeling her up from behind, bending her over, lifting her skirt and pushing her panties to the side, then sliding into her welcoming wet, tight pussy, holding halkalı escort her hips while she’s pushing back to meet me and moving with me– and I cum in no time. Maybe I should feel guilty about not feeling guilty about my feelings for her but I don’t. And it’s not competition with my father. He is her husband and he gets to fuck her. Well, I’m like him. I want to fuck her too.

It was Halloween that night and mom and I had just finished dinner. I was helping her in the kitchen, washing up. It was a little after 6:00.

“It’ll be dark soon,” she said. “I got some candy. Three types. Would you put it out for me, honey?” She was wearing a red sweater and matching short skirt. She looked very sexy, more than usual as if she had prepared for tonight and I wondered why but decided she was just dressing for the evening, even though only kids would show up and would not come in. But, I figured, often the parents were in the street, discreetly watching, and I suppose she wanted to be presentable if she happened to be the one opening the door.”I got some wine, Scott. You feel like having a glass and watching TV while we wait for our little gremlins?”

“Sounds good, mom.” I was putting the candy in a large bowl and took it out to the hallway and set it down on the bench by the front door that we sit on to take our shoes off when we come in the house. There are two hallways, one that leads straight to the back door. The other is at a right angle to it, to the right, just past the entryway and leads to the other baths and bedrooms. There is a laundry area and half-bath off the hallway by the back door and an open doorway by the back door to the kitchen. The living room opens to the left from the hall with the kitchen and eating area next to it.

“Have you heard from dad?”

“He called today about 11:00,” she called out. “Very late there. From Shanghai and he has a couple of other cities to visit. He won’t be home until next week sometime.”

“Might be fun for you to go with him,” I said.

“Well, it’s just business and meetings and conferences and stuff like that.” I could hear cupboard doors closing in the kitchen. “Maybe I will next time. He’ll be going to China again. I’d like to see it. And if he goes to Bali count me in.”

Mom brought in glasses and wine and we sat down on the couch. She switched on the TV and clicked around, settling for one of the local stations that show re-runs. This time, old Seinfeld episodes that we both still enjoy. I sat down next to her and poured the wine. The west side of the living room was a bank of windows and a french door that let out to the patio and the fenced yard beyond. The setting sun was too bright, making it hard to see the screen, so I got up to pull the curtains, locking the french door while I was at it, creating our own little island of privacy. Then I switched on the propane fireplace and settled back on the couch. On impulse I put my arm around her. She shifted a little closer to my side, tucking her legs up under her. We grabbed our glasses and clicked them in a toast. “Boo,” she said. “This is nice, Scott.”

“Boo,” I answered. “It sure is.” Her body felt really good against mine. I couldn’t remember sitting this close to her before. Around the house we looked at each other with open affection but there wasn’t much touching. Just a hug now and then. A very proper mom/son relationship but the very lack of contact seemed exaggerated to me and made my awareness of her even more intense and I was wondering if she was conscious of it too. Like if we were standing close to each other, if I turned toward her she would take a step away, or lean away. Almost like a magnetic field with the like poles keeping us apart. Just a switch would have the opposite effect and I wondered if that was why she was so skittish. As if she was afraid of what might happen. But for now, at least for a while, the magnetic effect had been canceled.

The Seinfeld episode was an especially good one and we watched, laughing and sipping our wine. Then came a knock at the door and I got up to open it.

“Trick or Treat!” came the cry from about five little kids in colorful costumes. I could see the parents lurking in the background. One little girl dressed like a she-devil had a sack and I piled some candy in for her and then for the others who held out their sacks, giggling, chattering, excited, jittering around like little kids.

I shut the door and went back to the couch. Mom sat up until I got settled, then relaxed again at my side, my arm back around her shoulders, pulling her a little closer this time.

“This is fun, isn’t it?” she said.

“Yes…I like being with you like this, mom. You feel good.”

“Glad you like… I do too.”

This was repeated several times more , the kids in their cute costumes having a wonderful time. One kid was noteworthy. He was about seven and someone had fashioned a torso to rest on his shoulders. It was taksim escort draped with a long shirt and had what looked like blood all over the top where the head should have been. The torso’s right arm was crooked around the kid’s head like it was holding it. I called mom and we took a picture. It was quite a sight.

Back on the couch mom said, “We should be almost through. I doubt if anyone will come after 9. We had killed the first bottle and were working on a second. She’d bought several bottles so we would not have to keep shopping. We were well into it when the doorbell rang again.

A short figure in a clown’s suit–really a coat, sweater and pants of the same loud colors– in white-face and covered in large red dots with a yellow mop wig and very red lipstick said “Trick or Treat.”

Her voice sounded a little low and as I turned to pick up the candy bowl she pushed inside, followed by three men behind her who had been standing to the side. One closed the door and locked it, then shut off the porch and hall lights.

“Hey,” I said, alarmed. “What do you think you’re doing?”

One of the men said, “Shut up,” and pulled out a pistol.

“Let’s go inside,” the man with the gun said, and we went into the living room. Mom had heard the commotion and was standing, her hand open, palm against her chest. She said, her voice trembling, “Who are you and what do you want?”

“Relax, lady,” the man with the gun said . “That your mom?” he asked me.

I told him she was. “Go stand by her,” he said. I went over to mom and stood beside her, my arm around her.

“Now just relax. We just want to look around and see if you got anything we want.” He turned to the girl. “Take a look around,” and she disappeared down the hall to the bedrooms.

The man was holding the gun on us with the second man standing next to him. The third came around behind us, then I felt him take hold of my arm. “Put your hands behind you,” he said.

“Like hell I will,” I said.

The guy with the gun said, “Now look, your mom already thinks you’re a hero.” My anger seemed to bore him. “Trying to prove it again will get you hurt. Don’t be stupid.”

Mom looked at me, her face etched with anxiety. “Scott, honey, do as he says.”

Reluctantly I did, then felt the cool metal of hand cuffs slipped on my wrists and locked before I could react.

“Awright, just the way we want it,” he said. I noticed he was chewing gum. He was smiling, chewing loudly, smacking his lips and looking at mom. They seemed to be waiting for the girl to come back.

I knew they wouldn’t find anything. Mom was not into jewelry at all. She had a gold wedding band and that was it. And we didn’t carry cash. We had the standard stuff everyone has and none of it was new. It was not worth stealing.

“You boys want some wine?” The girl had returned through the hall kitchen door. She had opened a bottle for each. She passed them around. “They got nothin’. No jewelry, no money in her purse, no fucking credit cards! These people don’t live fancy,” she said.

“Well, shit,” the man with the gun said, “that really pisses me off. I guess we picked the wrong house.” He looked at us. “We choose pretty carefully. No old people. No kids.” He took his gum out and put it in his pocket, then tipped his bottle up, taking a long drink, slurping the wine down. I was watching his adam’s apple go up and down as he was swallowing. He stopped drinking and looked at us. “It’s a good wine,” he said with what he seemed to think was an appraising tone, “but not a great wine.” He set the bottle down on the coffee table. He was smiling at us. He had about a three-day beard growth and blotches of make- up on his face, fake glasses and a stocking cap. The other two had similar get-ups. I didn’t recognize any of them and don’t know if I could have if they were cleaned up.

“So now that there’s nothing worth stealing, what are we gonna do to make this interesting? We’re a group. We only do this once a year, on Halloween for obvious reasons, and always in different cities. We’re involved in the legitimate sex business but that’s all I’ll say about that.” He took another swig of his wine. “The robbery’s not so important as the action, but it helps pay expenses. So we just take stuff that gets us quick cash.” He waved the gun toward the couch. “Why don’t you two sit down and make yourselves comfortable while we figure this out,” he said.

Mom and I sat down. The cuffs made it uncomfortable and I had to sit forward on the couch. Mom was a close to me as she could get, her arm in mine, pulling me against her. I could feel her shivering. “Just hold on,” I whispered to her. “We’ll get through this.”

“Sugar,” the man with the gun said, “Why don’t you suck my cock while I think about this.”

The not-so-little girl with the yellow wig said, “Sure, honey.” She went up to him, then got down on her knees, undid his belt and pulled his pants and underwear down in one motion. He had şişli escort a big cock that drooped down over his balls. She inched closer, then propped his cock up with her fingertips and took it in her mouth.

“How dare you!” my mother said. She was trembling, but not in fear, in rage. “How dare you!”

He ignored her, putting a hand on the girl’s head., guiding it as she sucked as much as she could. He was hard now, stroking her mouth in and out. “You boys get ready if you want some,” he said.

Mom and I were both staring at this display not ten feet in front of us. The other two men had pushed their pants and underwear down and were standing, drinking their wine, watching, stroking their cocks, waiting…

“Nothin’ like a good cocksucker like I got here in Sugar to get the old brain cells working,” he said, while the girl’s head bobbed faster and faster on his thick cock.

The third man stepped behind Sugar and began feeling her up as she was sucking. She groaned and freed her mouth so he could pull her coat and sweater off. She wasn’t wearing a bra and her medium-sized tits fell free. She went back to her cock without looking back at him and resumed sucking in earnest.

Just then the doorbell rang again. The man with the gun looked at my mom. “Go answer it. Give them candy. Get rid of them. Act nice,” he said. He motioned to the second man to follow her. “He’ll be just out of sight, listening, honey.”

Mom got up and went to the front door, turning on the hall and porch lights.

“Trick or Treat!” two voices cried in unison.

I heard mom say something about their costumes, how scary they were. There was a pause while she put candy in their bags, then, “there you go, kids…have fun.”

“Hi Judith, you shut down so soon? Everything all right?” I recognized the voice, though it was fainter and sounded like it was coming from the street. It was Carol Nelson, a friend who lived down the block.

Mom said, “Hi Carol, just a headache I guess. I’ll be fine.”

“OK, then, goodnight. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Carol, goodnight,” mom said, and shut the door. The man who had been listening came up and locked the door and shut the lights back off. “You did good, honey,” I heard him say. “Now back to the living room.” Carol’s concerned voice from the safe street made me feel all the more isolated. There was nothing we could do.

I had been watching the girl sucking the guy with the gun. He hadn’t cum but the third man was still feeling her up. He had pulled her pants and panties down to her knees and was humping her butt. He was hard and ready. “Wanna fuck her?” the man with the gun asked.


He pulled his cock out of the girls mouth. “On your back, honey,” he said. She got on her back and the third man pulled her pants and panties down further, enough for her to open her legs. Mom and the second man walked back in as the third man pushed into the girl’s hairy pussy and began fucking her in hard short strokes, each stroke accompanied by a gasp from the girl.

“You are disgusting… this is outrageous,” my mother said in a strained voice, her expression a mix of stress, dread and anxiety. “You will be arrested and sent to prison.” She stood, shaking, looking at the man with the gun with his erect cock sticking straight out, at the couple fucking, and at me.

“Sit down, honey,” he said to her, and she sat down again with me. “What is going to happen to us, Scottie. I’m scared,” she whispered.

I leaned close to her ear. “Just try to be calm, mom. Try,” I said, inwardly giving the same advice to myself.

“Hold on a sec,” the man with the gun said. They stopped. “Lift up some, Sugar,” he said, and she arched her back. He got down and put her coat under her butt. “Don’t want cum on their pretty carpet,” he said. “OK, let `er rip,” and the third man started stroking again.

“When he’s done Jake here will take his turn,” he said, indicating the second man, “and then I’ll finish up.” He looked at me and mom. “We like to entertain the people we rob. Sort of like, I don’t know, surprise performance art, or something to make up for the stuff we take. A kind of sex participation show for our mutual viewing enjoyment. But it looks like the only two left out are you guys, our hosts. Doesn’t seem quite right. Like we’re being rude or something.”

“You are evil, horrible people,” mom said, her voice shaking with anger.

He looked at mom and then at me. “She sure is a pretty little thing, isn’t she? Bet you’d like to fuck her. Ever thought about it?”


“Let that thought enter your mind, sonny,” he said.

Just then we heard the groan of the third man as he came, groaning and moaning and Sugar was moaning too though it was hard to tell if her’s were real. He pulled out and stood up, his cock still wet and semi-hard.

“Let’s see what he’s got,” he said to the third man, waving the gun toward me. “Stand him up.”

He came up to the couch and pulled me to my feet. Sugar moved over and unbuckled my belt.

“Stop it, goddamn you. This is my mother!”

She pulled my pants and underwear down to my knees, freeing my cock. “Lift your foot,” she said and I did and she pulled off my sock and then my pants and underwear from one leg. She did the same with the other leg.

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