I Dislike Halloween Parties Usually

I have not usually been a big Halloween person. This year, I had no plan to dress up, and when my roommate convinced me to go to a party at Sigma Iota Pi, commonly called "sip," with the ironic knowledge that it was *not* how they drank. I wore, well, what I was wearing: jeans, a ripped T-shirt, and a flannel shirt unbuttoned over it. And I grabbed work gloves out of my toolbox and put them on. I was now a utility worker. Possibly the lamest costume ever, but at least I had a costume story. My roomie thought he would pledge sip, so he asked me to be good and perhaps to not hang out with him in case I failed at that attempt. "It's safer that way," he offered as he ditched me at the front door. He was wearing a real costume, dressing as a hockey goalie. Hard core. Real gloves, worn skates hanging over his right shoulder, and a mask painted with fish honoring the fish we would be throwing on the ice when the season started.

I wound up in the basement watching people play air hockey and playing a couple games, which I lost badly, before I lurked over to the wall and leaned back to watch. The air hockey room had these odd "semi" seats on the wall. The seats were tilted a little forward and were short with not really enough room for your butt. I could kind of perch on the seat, taking a little load off my feet, but still needing to balance. It was an easier thing than a wall squat since I had the support of the seat. The brothers had designed the room so the audience would be more engaged, and it worked.

I was a few beers in when a young lady came over and asked, "I'm Amanda. Can I join you?" She was dressed as a black cat in a skin-tight body suit, face paint, fake whiskers, and a cute winter "cat hat" that was black and had kitty ears.

I nodded and said, "Dave. Nice costume." Then, completely to my surprise, she turned around and sat in my lap, pinning me to the wall under her warm behind.

After a minute of me desperately trying not to get hard and mostly failing, she turned and whispered, "It's a little bumpy, but I like it." She turned her head and leaned it against my shoulder while letting out a contented sigh. I bent my head to her cheek and gently kissed her. She turned her head up and offered her open mouth. We spent the next several minutes exploring each others' mouths, checking tongue dexterity (which was excellent!), and counting teeth. She had all of hers, and I was short four wisdom teeth from extraction the previous summer.

She tasted of lime from the margaritas she had been drinking. Oh dear, that meant she was tasting the crappy Bud I had been drinking. "Sorry about the beer breath," I apologized when we separated briefly to breathe.

"No problem," she replied. "All I can taste is the marg." She giggled, eliminating all of my breath concerns with a gasp of amusement. She stood and turned to face me, taking my face in her hands, and delivered a kiss that assured me there was, in fact, no problem. She removed her right hand from my left cheek and dragged it slowly down the front of my chest, stopping to tweak my left nipple, rubbing my belly enough to know I am an innie, and then pausing at the fly of my 501s, which she unbuttoned one at a time. I started feeling her cheeks, then her breasts, and settled on cupping her other cheeks in my hands, gripping them firmly and caressing them lightly. She turned away from me again, scanned the mostly dark room, and noted everyone was obsessed with the air hockey. then reached back and pulled down her bottoms just enough to expose her ass.

It was becoming clear she had a goal and a plan. She reached into her purse for a tube of gel and deftly reached behind her to apply some to my cock and some to her ass. She reached her hands back to spread her cheeks and asked, "Push it in slowly. Stop for a moment if I yelp, but **do not stop.**" I was rock hard. The skin on my cock was stretched tight by my erection, which I swear was half an inch longer than it usually was. Amanda had diverted a shocking amount of blood flow to my dick, and it was seriously ready for action.

She started pushing back, and my glans slowly spread her sphincter around me. "Oh fuck," she sighed as she paused for a moment and relaxed her ass so I could penetrate better. I slid the last two inches slowly into her. She leaned her head back and yelled "yes!" just as one of the players scored, so nobody noticed us. She relaxed her ass and leaned forward, sliding me almost all the way out before a pause, a tightening, and a slow push those few inches back. I was in a lubricated, velvet soft vice.

Her timing was impeccable. Every time someone scored, or almost scored, she would give a yelp, and nobody assumed anything odd was happening. As she slid her ass up and down my penis, my testicles began to tingle and then retract into me before I shot a huge load into her. She grabbed a pen from her purse and wrote a phone number on my hand. I memorized it immediately to ensure I would not lose it. She slid her ass off of my cock, pulled up her bodysuit, gave me a deep kiss, and said, "Call me," before she walked away with a bit of a hitch in her step.