Scary Pumpkin Time

Editor's note: this fictional work contains scenes of completely fictional incest or fictional incest content.

*****

With deep regret, I bring this account to light, heavy resignation born of self preservation. No one was ever meant to endure such learning. Through some celestial farce, I was swept up in the purest forms of madness, and soon too, will you be made to bear the burden that is this accursed thing.

This joke, I must admit is quite amusing, in a way. At least, that is what I keep telling myself to prevent the brunt of it all fully hitting my fragile psyche.

I was just there. Just being. It was all I had ever wanted, and all I had ever needed. Yet, much too soon, I felt a distantly familiar drag, my vessel was on the move. Even after all this time, I possess no information on what it was that brought me to the inevitable. Perhaps the void was just hungry that day.

As the darkness swallowed me, I felt my coil hasten towards the gullet at improbable speeds. Until, deep in the bowels, a spark formed. I tightened in fear. Light means knowledge and knowledge means misery.

Spark turned into a growing light, hurtling toward it, with no way to stop. I was taken hostage, into what I can only describe as

Any other year and Franklin Ditch would have been having the time of his life. He had always loved the winding roads through the Adirondacks. He had also always loved doing so with his doting wife. This was not like other years.

Nothing that the vast beauty of the mountainside could do to heal the rift that was to haunt their union. The rickety roads doing all they could to help add to the tension. Twist it up and don't let go. Get ready to snap.

Far too long it took them to reach the cabin. Much too soon they arrived. The closing of the car door put an end to their silent conversation. He opened the trunk, and unloaded all his belongings before marching to the domicile.

"All this right before Halloween starts..." he mumbled to himself.

Trodded across the ancient wood. Could feel every creak and groan through his feet. 'Slow down, baby.' it was telling him. 'It's been so long, ease into it, we can go rough later.' His steps became dainty, and the cabin sighed in relief.

With haste, he took off all the covers, and unearthed plastic containers filled with linens and blankets and whatever other cloth needs. Thankfully the containers prevented any dust, but the fabrics had absorbed the stale air of apathy, and could use a good wash later in the week.

Chores done, and now nothing but time. Franklin began to think of Mindy, and became a little sad. He hoped she would make it down the mountain alright. You never knew out here. Then his thoughts turned to his son, and he became a bit more melancholic.

Scoot would likely have to be brought up in a broken home. Unfortunate as he was so young. The differences between himself and his wife were too great to be reconcilable, and would be an even greater detriment to his upbringing. At least he had someone to carry on his legacy.

Enough with the desolate deliberations, he had some other things to do. One of these things was the inspection of the rest of the property. This didn't take long as it was mostly dead leaves and naked trunks and branches.

Jiminy. He had forgotten about the outhouse no longer being much of a house. The southerlies had brought the walls to an abrupt end last year. This year was threatening to be worse. As it stood, he wouldn't be able to get it entirely ready to go until the next day at the very least.

Grunts and groans, much like the cabin itself, could be heard from the backyard. Franklin slowly unearthed the bench with the hole cut into it. Part of the frame was still attached to it. Well, at least there would be some level of decorum. He went back into the cabin, found a bucket, put it under the hole, and returned inside.

He settled into the couch. He had meant to start a fire already but everything felt so far away, the sensations only getting so far, so potent. A curious feeling, but strangely none too concerning. A heavy heart has a way of dulling the senses.

It occurred to him, many moments later, how much his body had sank into the couch. How tempting it was to not get up again, and wallow in the woes. If only there was something that could get him up.

Routine was on his side, for in idle moments, something would always stir. The breath would become haughty. His mighty cock would enlarge and soon he exited the sitting prison, lifted by his very own sexual instrument, into a confident standing position.

"I am a man! I have needs!" he declared to the air, his boner twitching in his shorts.

Methodically he made his way to an abnormally large suitcase. He ran his hands gently over the surface, caressing the burlap, feeling the bumps and protrusions beneath his longing hands. A soft moan escaped his lips as he gripped the zipper and slowly began to pull. Oh, what a pull. He could feel the metal teeth slowly separate. One tooth at a time. He gritted his teeth. The sensation went straight to his hard on. He could feel his undergarments getting moist from his excitement.

'You can't.' he said to himself. 'Not yet.' Just a little longer. Let me feel those curves, get a handful, before we begin. 'Be careful before you slip into the cracks. You know what this does to you. You'll end before you began.' He wrenched his hand away. The reveal would be too soon. It would lose its luster. Now take the dripping pleasure and temper it through industry and then revel in ultimate release.

Zealous fire burned behind his eyes. There was work to be done.

Brrrng brrrrng. Brrrng brrrng. Brrrng brrrng. Brrrng. Brnnng. Doot.

Franklin's face came into focus as his camera connected to the app. Soon, the other participant came through. It was a pumpkin.

"Oh hi there, VacuumCleaner07. Thanks for answering my call. This is HotCockInHardWife3, from The Patch. You gave me your info to call you."

Pumpkins can't speak but if they could, Franklin would have wanted it to say

"Hi there HotCockInHardWife3. Boy, that is a mouthful. What is your name? You can call me Mrs. Pumpkin."

"I'm Franklin and boy must I say that you are absolutely gourdgeous."

"Oh, you dirty dog." she said batting her eyelashes at him, or she would have, if she had eyelashes that could move.

"So, are we on then?"

"Yes, here is my address."

Franklin walked to the end of the path to the cabin. Then he turned around. Then he walked back to the cabin. He was pretending that this was the house of Mrs. Pumpkin.

As he walked up, he felt a shiver start to build up where one would put a tramp stamp. He had looked up at the two windows facing the path, and it must have been a trick of the light because it made the windows look like they were following his movements. Despite the misgivings he entered the house.

He was greeted by a litany of jack o'lanterns. Some had funny faces. Others had scary faces. They created a path to the backdoor, of which he entered.

There, in the yard, stood a black sheet. A smile crept across Franklin's face. He liked where this was going, and he knew it was going to lead to good times on the penis.

Unzipped and poked his flesh stick into the great unknown behind the curtain. Instantly he felt the welcoming of sinew and flesh, unlike he had never felt before. This whole not seeing thing really amped up the other senses.

He fiddled around with the curtain a bit and had found that Mrs. Pumpkin had cut handslits in the sheet. How thoughtful. He reached his hands through and placed his hands around her delicate curves as she ran her tongue up and down his shaft, bobbing up and down to make sure he stayed hard for her.

In reality, Franklin couldn't get over how good a pumpkin blowjob felt. There was just something about the slimy insides that really got him going. He could really get used to this.

Intrusive thoughts began to enter his mind. Sure, the thrill of not knowing who was behind the curtain (even though he knew it was Mrs. Pumpkin) was great but sometimes you just need to see the whole act to really appreciate it.

Gripped the curtain and yanked it down. His gaze was met by a penned in goatee.

"Wait, Mr. Pumpkin! What are you doing?"

He heard a crash, whipped around. First he saw boots. Then he saw another pumpkin.

"Oh no! It's Mrs. Pumpkin! I can tell this because of the circles with dots that I have drawn on her to signify boobs. What do we do?"

Mrs. Pumpkin ran away crying, by standing still and making no noise whatsoever because she is a pumpkin.

"Well, Mr. Pumpkin. I think it's only fair that you finish what you've started."

Franklin ripped the rest of his clothes off and stuck his throbbing shaft back into Mr. Pumpkin's mouth. Wait a minute, he didn't have boots on the stairs behind. He whipped the other half of his torso around, careful to keep his member inside the quivering gourd innards.

"Oh no! It's Mrs. Ditch! What do I do?"

Mindy had turned back because Franklin had accidentally taken one of her suitcases and she needed the contents inside. She had watched as he moved towards the backyard and had borne witness to the events unfolding. Dots began connecting.

She had always been suspicious of how many years her pumpkin pies had turned out... odd, to say the least. There were the cases a few years of some significant unknown gouging, and sometimes the gouges would be "repaired." Then there were also the times where that substance has formed on the top, and words began to echo in her mind. Words that her husband had said.

"Don't worry honey. It's only sugar bloom."

Lost in that thought, her focus resumed to her husband buried to the hilt in a pumpkin. Not just that, he had erected and entire scene so that he was cheating on her with a pumpkin, but also, he was partnered with someone else who also practiced infidelity. Without a word, she left.

It began to rain. The love of his life had just walked out on him. Some small part of him hoped against hope that they would be able to work this out but deep in his heart he knew that no marriage could survive a pumpkin fucking.

As the drops became heavier and heavier, and blanketed all around him, he took a look around. Was it worth it? If it wasn't before, it was about to be.

He plopped Mr. Pumpkin off of him and turned him around.

"I'm not going to be the only that's getting fucked around here."

Grabbed the knife, and cut a lower hole. Things were about to get dirty.

Put Mr. Pumpkin on the ground and lined up his thickened meat to the new aperture. He grabbed the peduncle roughly and with command. Slowly he plunged. He let the exocarp work smooth magic upon his head, going deeper, and deeper. Soon, he hit the mesocarp, softer, more forgiving walls, but letting him know that the hold was firm, and that it wouldn't be letting go without a fight. A bit longer, and he breached into the fibrous wonders inside.

"Hey, wait a minute. If there were jack o'lanterns inside, then that means you murdered your own kind and turned them into decorative lamps! How macabre!" Franklin said in disbelief, stuck between terror, and arousal. Then again, at least this soulless bastard was going to do some good in the world. It wouldn't make up for the innocent lives he had taken, but making a human ejaculate was a step in the right direction.

There were no words to describe it. Ultimate release felt like an insult. He was wreathed in pleasure, feeling the textures and sensations ripple across his cock. In and out he went, Mr. Pumpkin unable to withstand and the poor gourd collapsed into pieces beneath the fury.

Winds, tremendous winds soon joined the rain. They picked up stone and pebble and sticks alike and lashed Franklin Ditch. In defiance he yelled

"DO WHAT YOU WILL WITH ME NATURE BUT I WILL BE BLOWING MY THICK HOT LOAD INSIDE OF HIM!"

Rain mixed with dirt mixed with pumpkin flesh. The new pile added a slicker, easier surface with which to fuck into. And fuck into he did. A heat began to rise within him, spreading joy and hotly heated exhilaration through his loins and beyond. The rain that was pelting him was steaming off his back. The mixture gripped him ever so pleasantly and his huffs and moans stuttered and broke as pleasure took him over.

Beyond the brink. He hit a plane where the actions would be but a mouses breath in a wind storm, that minute, to force the impending eruption. His hips bucked erratically and with passion, and his vocalizations turned to haphazard squeaks. It was time.

His back arched and his body stiffened. The overwhelming sensations nesting within his core expanding and found their release through his cock, his semen spurting forth in gushes he had never experienced before. The squeaks turned into growls as his dick kept spurting spurts of cum over and over, joining the absolute mess beneath him.

During his ascension to planes no one had yet dared to feel, he could hear the chime of the grandfather clock carried by the vile winds. Midnight. Halloween had finally come round.

Every single hair of his stood up as if possessed. A flash of light enveloped him and his partner. Pain unlike anything he had ever felt coursed through his body. He was left with the faint impression of roasting pumpkin seeds.

Came to. It was a weird way of coming to. There was nothing but darkness. He was aware that he had a form but it felt alien and it was unmoving. The last thing he could remember was he had been in a blinding light after cumming profusely into a pile of mud and pumpkin flesh.

He could hear muffled voices. Could hear gravel. Felt bumps along the way. He must be in a car. Maybe it was an ambulance to take him to the hospital. They just didn't need the sirens on because there was no traffic.

Stopped. A rather bumpy journey and the sound of plastic rollers. So he was in some luggage. There went the ambulance theory. What on Earth was happening?

New sensation entered his form. He could tell that something was touching him but he could not tell what, but as that something continued, light began to enter, and soon, sight in his left eye was restored. Yet, he couldn't move his eye. How odd.

Then he took in the image before him. It was a hand with a knife, coming away from his eye. Back further, stood a young woman. He took in the surroundings. That ancient wood. The mantle. He was back in the cabin! He tried screaming for help but words wouldn't come out.

Again that sensation, and this time he paid a little more attention. He could see the knife poke through in a circular motion, before a chunk of something fell away and sight was restored in his right eye. Revealing another hand, before the figure came into view, a young man. An eerily familiar young man but he had never met him before in his life.

"Great job, Scoot!" said the woman.

"Thanks, Patricia." Scoot said.

"Now do the mouth!" Patricia squealed eagerly.

Scoot? That was his son's name. Oh no. And the dots began to connect for Franklin. His own father had disappeared in his youth, and the only detail he knew was that he had disappeared by the woods by the cabin. Had he fucked his own father, to a pulp?

Knife cut out the mouthhole and Scoot looked at his handiwork with glee. Franklin tried to speak but no words came out.

"Pumpkins can't talk." he mockingly said within his being. He tried to grip his head in his hands, but couldn't because he has no hands or arms to do so.

"Hope you like your thirtieth birthday celebration so far." Patricia said in a sexy voice.

"Oh, it has been wonderful, but I know we're about to carve out some even better memories. And to think Halloween hasn't even started yet." Scoot replied.

Events played out quite similarly to his own adventure. Once he gained vision of the bench, he grimaced. There was a new feature though, the wife was lovingly participating, and even had a camera, to make sure that the events that transpired here would not be forgotten and inspire lust for generations to come.

It was at the point where Franklin got a view of his son's mighty cock and belly button, that he came to a revelation. He was just a human consciousness supplanted into a gourded shell. The least he could do was accept his sons loving member, and be filled to the brim with not one but two kinds of seed.

This was his son. He had missed his son growing up. Instead of being a fool, he could embrace this as a moment of love, of getting to know his son, making up for lost time. He needed to be there for his son, and right now his son needed to fuck a pumpkin.

Like father. Like son. The penetration continued, vague sensations transmitting to Franklin. All the while, he could only help but thing supportive things. 'That's it, son. Show me the real meaning of Scoot. Keep going, son. I believe in you, son. That's my boy.' and so on and so forth, until the fated moment. He could faintly hear the same chime heralding midnight. The witching hour once more.

Didn't feel it this time but he knew his son was feeling excruciating pain. He tried to will his comforting thoughts into Scoot's head to no avail. Scoot spoke through the pain.

"If only I had a child, in which to carry on my legacy."

Franklin pretended to stiffen because he couldn't actually stiffen but if he could then he certainly would have. The suffocating insidiousness of apeirophobia had finally seeped into perception. There was the threat of the eternal, the threat of everlasting. Everything became light and roaring.

And then, silence.