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A Halloween House Party Horror Story

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It had been a good night and, despite the odds, Seth had managed to lock down some action. Maybe it was his decision to go with the classic jersey and paper bag costume that both highlighted another disappointing season for his team and hid his deplorably ugly mug, or maybe it was the three vodka cranberries he’d sprung for at the bar that had gotten him to this point. It didn’t really matter to Seth, because no matter what series of events had led to it, he was currently shaft deep in a very loud Tinkerbell.

He knew she was probably just calling out for the hell of it and not because of his rather weak strokes (these were guttural, almost masculine sounds, too; not what you’d expect from a tiny little pixie), but her performance was only making him feel better about this stellar end to a great weekend. Indeed, the moaning was sending his train down the tracks at near light speed, and the time had come for him to shoot the goo.

As he prepared to bleat like a newborn lamb and relieve himself on the pert young lady, something clicked across the room. Then he heard a knob turn. A small beam of light quickly crept across his dim residence just as he entered the process of climaxing, and as his seed erupted, a look of pure terror was locked on his bag-clad face. Instead of the pure ecstasy that should have accompanied his rather pedestrian load, he was shocked and frozen, as he was locked in direct eye contact with his buddy Chris. The woman, whose eyes had been shut as she vigorously thought of 2001 George Clooney, lifted her head to the sound of Chris gasping in fear and stammering through apologies. “Get out!” she and Seth called in unison, but Chris was frozen. Finally, at their continued assurance that he should leave, and as Seth’s dick’s face time with Chris continued to pile up to a point where an image of it will definitely appear in a nightmare of his at some point, feeling returned to the young man’s legs and he sprung from the room.

Chris stumbled down the stairs, shaken at the image of a man in a bag unleashing jizz on a fairy princess. His initial pursuit of a quick bong rip just didn’t seem worth it at this point, so he hustled to his own room for another whiskey and coke. He burst in without knocking, his hands nearly losing grip on the tumbler he had clenched in ghost white knuckles, and blindly shuffled toward his fridge for some calming nectar. That’s when he saw his bed move, and the shock that had previously consumed him was replaced with rage. He flung the comforter across the room and was met with two familiar faces.

Locked in a sloppy embrace were a woman dressed as Daenerys Targaryen and who he could only assume was his housemate, Rich, wearing only the top half of a poorly-constructed beer box gladiator. The two had already finished their foray into carnal bliss and appeared to be returning to consciousness. As Rich started at the shock of being exposed to the cold, he felt a hand make firm contact with his jaw. The small bit of sobriety that still occupied his mind was suddenly on full alert, and the effort to put up his dukes caused the Mother of Dragons to be thrown violently from the bed. She scrambled towards the door nuder than Lena Headey’s body double, and Rich’s theory that this might not be his room was confirmed by Chris fuming above him.

“Not again, you fucking ingrate! Three times you’ve fucked some skank in my bed! Three! Just because your room looks like Nagasaki circa 1945 doesn’t mean you can find somewhere less shitty to get your dick wet!”

Rich explained, as best he could with a swelling mouth, that this room was across the hall and how he was terribly sorry. A defeated Chris only slumped his shoulders.

“It’s just… I walked in on Seth nailing that Casey broad. It was… it was bad, man. I saw him pop his shot.”

Rich nodded as he slowly crept toward the exit. Chris didn’t stop him, he just slumped into his sullied bed and attempted to fight off the penis nightmares that were soon to come.

Upstairs, Seth was helping his female guest gather her things.

“You’re great. That was great. Let’s do it again some time, Kara.”

“Actually, it’s Mary. But thanks for the sex, Sean. Don’t ever speak to me again.”

It was another Halloween gone right, and Seth returned to the party to tell tales of his conquest. He wasn’t sure who Sean was, but he probably owed him a thank you or an explanation. As he made his way past the rows of doors, cracking wise and telling people how it totally lasted for fifteen minutes, festivity consumed the house. All except for one room from which soft sobbing couldn’t be heard over blaring music and the sounds of other people fucking.

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Karl Karlson

Karl Karlson is TFM's self-proclaimed cartoon expert and your best buddy. He resides in Eastern NC where he spends his time roasting pigs and attempting to grow a beard. Karl enjoys drinking on elevated surfaces and rapping on podcasts.

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