Hallowpeen

by Holly Wilde

If I were in charge of story time, everyone would be sharing adventures with masked men who give out hand necklaces and call you Princess. Unfortunately, I’m not, so it’s a night of fright and chills.

His engorged gourdhood’s orange surface is slicked with froth, like a whipped topping on a pumpkin spice latte. Inch by inch, I stare in awe at his immeasurable length that dangles in front of me. The fluted base curves away from his body, jutting out like a butternut squash. Under a layer of pumpkin foreskin I can see the tip of the stem wanting to poke out.

Rubbing my aching wrist gingerly, he notices me wince and asks, “Are you hurt, Pumpkin?” The nickname makes me laugh, being called a pumpkin by an actual pumpkin is pretty amusing.

“Just because my guts have been ripped out doesn’t mean I can’t rearrange yours.”

But all I want to do is get back in the middle of their pumpkin patch and have them plow my field deep into the night.

In record time, my three monsters have peeled every layer of clothing off of me like I’m a sweet potato.

Perched over Jax's pumpkin pleasure pole, my pussy drips, coating the tip like butter so my body can be stuffed like a turkey.

An explosion of frothy sweetness, hints of nutmeg and cinnamon mixed with toasted pumpkin, pours from his cock as I’m filled with his pumpkin seed. Literally, I realize. As I drink down every drop, I notice that his cum is made of pumpkin seeds the size of mini chocolate chips. They are easy to swallow down by the mouthful, thanks to the pool of spiced milk, like a pumpkin latte, that they swim in.

It’s just me, my torn fishnets, and candied rope, laid bare before my sugar daddy.