Halloween Hell: Mister Smith

"Think you can handle that?" the thirty-something year old Isabella asks with a great deal of snark. She asks this while taking a sip of wine, a hand on her hip showing just how curvy her body happens to be. Especially as what she is wearing can barely be called a dress.

The thirty-something year old mercenary looks at Isabella with a look that conveys no emotion as he has learned to do. As he looks at her, it is clear that her body or sexiness doesn't affect him like it may others. His eyes remain focused on hers with the most serious of expressions.

"Allow me to get this straight," the man known as Mister Smith finally says.

"Your job, as you call it, is for me to sit around all day long and protect you. On Halloween," he then states, his voice unable to hide his distain.

"Yes," Isabella replies, seeing no issue with her request. She then takes a sip of the wine she is holding, her eyes looking back at the man in almost the same manner as he looks at her.

Mister Smith is known as a "contractor," in his industry but polite society would call him a mercenary. Normal people would call him a hitman, as well as a psychopath. He performs jobs that are against the law which contain acts 95 percent of people are unable to perform. Unlike many others in his line of work, he has never failed any of his paid tasks and has close to twenty years' experience.

"What you need is called a bodyguard, and they are a dime a dozen. Even the good ones," Mister Smith states, starting to turn to leave. Having all the money he could ever spend, Smith only picks jobs that are interesting to him. Sitting around and protecting a middle aged widow, even one that looks as good as Isabella isn't what he would call interesting.

Isabella laughs at Mister Smith's response. It's a wild sort of laugh telling Mister Smith that it's a real laugh, not a pretend one. This causes him to pause and look at the widow, wondering why that would cause such a reaction.

"Let me tell you an unbelievable story then," Isabella says, flashing a rather flirty smile.

Mister Smith gives Isabella a strange look at this, showing he doesn't know if he wants to hear anything more. But her reaction has caught him off guard, with him wanting to know more about the situation.

"Come on now. This is my consultation after all. For what I'm paying, I should make you get on your knees and eat Mommy out until I say stop, but all I'm asking is for you to listen," Isabella says with the trademark attitude that only comes with the rich.

"Fine. You have five minutes left in your consultation anyway," Mister Smith states, turning back to the widow.

"I got married the day I turned 18 to a very, very rich man," Isabella starts.

"I know, hard to believe," she immediately says, laughing and raising her drink knowing how stereotypical it is. Mister Smith doesn't react to this but keeps listening.

"We had an agreement, that old bastard and me. A signed agreement. I would supply sex and other wifey duties, and he would supply me with everything I wanted. Where he wanted the nastiest and dirtiest of sex, I demanded the nicest clothes, vacations, cars and life," Isabella continues and Mister Smith clearly notes there no shame in her voice.

"That creepy, dirty old man knew I hated him, and would taunt me with it when he fucked me," Isabella says and for a moment her eyes flicker with fire.

"Oh, how that bastard could make me orgasm, even if I hated him," Isabella adds wistfully.

"He made a serious misjudgment about me though. He never thought I could actually do away with him," Isabella says with a great deal of pride.

"Oh he knew I would kill him if I ever got the chance but he was always on guard. He loved it. It was a game for him. Would have me eat any food I prepared before he did. Would have days where I wasn't allowed clothes so not to hide weapons, no matter if people were over or not," Isabella keeps explaining.

"That's why I find it so hilarious that what did him in was when I pushed his frail, stupid ass down the stairs," she states, laughing a true laugh.

"Since his dumb ass would often fall, no one suspected anything," she continues, very proud of herself.

"You now have two minutes," Mister Smith states without emotion, reminding the forty something woman that he isn't a shrink. That he doesn't care what she's done or who she has done it to.

"Of course," Isabella says, saluting Smith with her drink. This surprises Smith as he thought for sure this would bring out the Karen in her, but no.

"As the dirty old fuck laid there dying of a broken neck or whatever, the little asshole told me he would have his revenge on me. Cursed me and everything. Oh, I didn't think much of it at the time as, I mean, the asshole was dying. Sure he was raised in Louisiana and at times talked about HooDoo or VooDoo or whatever the fuck it was, but it was bullshit," Isabella exclaims.

"I just didn't consider the fucker had already set something up," Isabella says much slower, brief rage starting to show.

"Set something up?" Mister Smith asks, not understanding what she means.

"Yes. Asshole was always planning. Planned out his entire day, every day. Hell, probably planned out his own shits in advance and how much toilet paper he would use," Isabella says, her anger no longer hidden.

"I should have known he planned some way to torture me after he was gone," Isabella hisses to herself after, taking a long sip of her drink.

"Must have taken him a lot of planning, not to mention money. You see, every year since his death, on Halloween, I get fucked. Only this isn't consensual fucking. Hell, most of it isn't even enjoyable. Some years it is only one asshole who finds me, hits it and leave. Other years it is one asshole but he stays the entire fucking day using me on the hour, every hour. Other years it is multiple assholes. Sometime all at once, other times spread out during the day. Fuck, once in my twenties, it was ten men and five women that worked at Walmart!" Isabella says with passion and anger.

"No matter where I go, if I lock myself away or have protection, it still happens," Isabella reveals, calming down.

An uncomfortable silence begins now where neither of them speak. Isabella stares at nothing, reliving years of her husband's torment while Mister Smith studies her face for any hint of a lie.

"That would take a tremendous amount of planning. Only way it would be possible is if he pays a yearly fee to some underground organization that can provide people to do the deed. Even then, not sure how a bank account belonging to him with enough money to do that would go unnoticed for that long," Mister Smith comments.

"The job is rather simple. On Halloween you stick near me. If anyone, and I mean anyone shows up, you kill them. You don't allow anyone to fuck me, even if it seems like I want it," Isabella says as serious as a heart attack.

"It will not make any sense to you, but this year I know it will be the worst of them all. That's why I need the best," Isabella states, her cold eyes staring into Smiths.

Mister Smith returns the cold stare. In his stare he ponders about the job and if he wants to do it. On the surface it seems dull and boring. It is a job for an armed security guard that likes to murder people. But a part of him finds the job interesting. What Isabella says is impossible, which is why he wants to see if it really happens.

"Fine. I accept. You know the terms. Half wired before the day, the other half the day after," Mister Smith states before, turning and walking away.

"Hey, where are you going? We need to talk about how we are going to handle this," Isabella says, surprised by Smith's causal exit. She isn't surprised that he accepted the job as she always knew he would, just that he isn't going to plan it all out with her.

"I'll find you," is all Smith says before exiting out of Isabella's house. Right after the door closes behind him, Isabella finishes all of her drink, feeling that maybe this year will be different and wondering if she should have told him everything.

On the night before Halloween, just a half-hour before the new days hits, Isabella walks around her house, checking each door and window again. Over the years she spent a fortune on making her house impregnable. Where the only way to get in should be a dump truck driving though an entire wall. Yet, no matter how much she spends, each Halloween, people still manage to break in using some creative method. So days after, she spends even more to try and secure her house.

There's a drink in Isabella's hand as she walks around, checking and double checking each entryway, her nerves on high alert. She knows the moment the clock hits midnight, it will begin. The year that someone grabbed her at 12:01 a. m. is proof of this.

But what concerns Isabella most is she hasn't heard anything from Smith, even if she's reached out several times. He's sent no message, tweet, email or anything. No plan of what they are going to do or how they will do it. If she hadn't received confirmation that he accepted the wire, then she would assume he's ghosted her.

Isabella then walks into the security center. It is a room off the living room, down a hallway. In the main room is where the bank of monitors live and across from this room is the locker room/bathroom for all the security guards.

From the bank of monitors, you can see every inch of the house, even the bedrooms. There Isabella's eyes go from screen to screen, looking at all aspects of her property. She looks again and again, trying to spot any movement at all, not knowing what she is going to do without Smith.

"I would have thought you would be locked up in your panic room," Mister Smith says from behind Isabella, causing her to shriek and drop her drink.

"You fucking dickhead prick!" Isabella screams as she whips around, showing just how on edge she happens to be.

The forty-something year old woman then puts a hand on her chest and leans back against the security table. There Smith is able to see that unlike the expensive outfit she wore at their first meeting, she is now wearing a pair of old sweats and a t-shirt. Smith doesn't need her to explain why as he knows it is because she doesn't want her expensive clothes to be damaged if things go bad.

"Made me drop my fucking drink, you asshole," Isabella grumbles, looking at the remains of her glass and drink across the floor.

"And to answer you, I've tried hiding in the panic room before. Didn't help," Isabella answers, sounding calmer now since Smith has arrived.

Smith watches the woman open the bottom drawer of the security desk where she pulls out a bottle of whiskey and a paper cup from a sleeve of them. There she pours a healthy dose into the cup and turns to look at him.

"How did you get..." Isabella begins to ask but stops herself. She wants to know how he got in without the alarms going off, but knows it doesn't matter.

"Shit," Isabella hisses as the gongs of the grandfather clock in the living room ring out, showing it is now Halloween.

Calmly Smith walks to the bank of monitors. He does this not to check for intruders but to get a closer look at the anomaly he just witnessed. At the last gong of the clock, a wave of static moved from monitor to monitor, as if it was doing the wave at a baseball stadium. Started on the far left screen and moved to the right until it reached the last monitor.

After reviewing each screen, Smith files the anomaly away in his head as a glitch. Something to remember in case it is important later. He then looks around the security room they are in.

Smith considers how well prepared Isabella is from the state of her security. Most rich people have all the high tech fancy gadgets and toys that money can buy for security but no clue how to use them. Even the security team they hire are idiots with no idea what they are doing. But what he sees in her security room shows that someone did their research and purchased not the fanciest tools, but the ones that work the best. Even the fact she knows where they hide their whiskey shows how close she is with her team.

"Gave the security team the night off for obvious reasons," Isabella chimes in even if Smith didn't ask. From the way she says this, Smith figures a member of her security team must have been one of the people that fucked her one year.

"Did you take it?" Isabella asks after a long moment. It comes out desperate, as if this is the most important question ever.

"I mean, from what I read, all true professionals take it before doing a job," Isabella then says, trying not to look so desperate.

"I did," Smith answers in his emotionless tone, knowing she is referring to the medication. To avoid distractions and anything that may complicate this job, Smith takes medication to prevent arousal. It prevents him not just from getting an erection, but from any excessive hormones that may affect his emotions or sex drive, allowing him to stay focused.

"Good," Isabella states and it occurs to Smith that Isabella was worried that he may fuck her. That she considered he was part of whatever group is supposedly doing this to her.

"There is one other thing," Isabella says in a timid voice after another pause.

"This... this is the twenty fifth year," Isabella reveals.

Smith turns to look at Isabella after she says this, not understanding. So he gives her his full attention so she can get to the point.

"That old fucker said... that on our 'twenty-fifth' anniversary, it would end," Isabella reveals.

"I know that old asshole. I know what that means. It means something bad is coming. Like, it'll kill me or maim me or something," Isabella says, a thin layer of panic creeping in her voice.

"Just... that can't happen. Whatever is coming this year I know it'll be the worst of all. And you have to prevent it," Isabella says passionately. To this Smith doesn't respond except to nod.

"Oh hell. It's starting," Isabella says, her voice filled with dread as an alarm starts to go off.

Smith looks at the monitor the alarm is coming from to see the front gate. On the other side of the iron gate is a slender woman who looks to be in her early twenties. She is just standing outside the gate, staring at the house.

"I... I... I... I have to clean my hand," Isabella then announces, her voice quivering as her nerves overwhelm her. This causes Smith to look at her where he sees that there's a cut on her hand, no doubt from her dropped glass.

"The bathroom is right here, relax," Isabella says in response to the look Smith gives her. He then follows where she points and sees the security guard locker-room across the hall.

Not saying anything, Smith gives the monitors one last look before walking out of the room. As he opens the door to the locker-room, he pulls out his handgun. There he carefully walks in, scanning everything as she does his search.

"It's clear," Smith tells Isabella after he checks the entire room. Isabella rushes in, holding her hand out as if in desperate need. Smith then walks back to the security room, making sure to holster his gun.

On the monitor, the slender woman is still beyond the gate, looking at the house. Smith then checks all the other monitors for anything out of the ordinary. To confirm there is nothing, he checks all again. When nothing stands out, he focuses back on the woman.

This gives Smith a strange feeling. For one, the woman looks to be small enough that she could slip through the gate's bars. So why is she just standing there? What is she trying to do?

One thing that Smith has learned in his years of service, is to never wave off one of his feelings. Even when they do not seem logical, he has learned to trust them. So when this feeling comes to him now, he knows something is off.

"A distraction," Smith says, figuring it out.

With the legendary quickness he has become known for, Smith is back at the locker-room door in a matter of seconds. Bursting in with his gun drawn, he sees the sight that he knows shouldn't be possible, but is happening.

Pinned in the corner is Isabella, her sweat pants around her ankles, held by her attacker, a hand pressed over her mouth to silence her. Isabella's eyes are rolling back and faded moans can be heard as her attacker rubs her crotch frantically. There's no doubt that at the moment Isabella is having an orgasm if it is invited or not.

The attacker, who is a built twenty something woman, hisses when Smith enters. She lets go of Isabella and rushes at Smith, abandoning her victim completely. Like a wild animal she lunges for him, clearly meaning to take him out and go back to Isabella.

Only the attacking woman receives the butt of Smith's handgun directly to the face, knocking her out cold. Her body does a sort of half flip before landing on the ground from the force of the blow.

With the gun aimed at the attacker, Smith checks to make sure she is indeed knocked out and not pretending. He knows that Isabella wanted him to shoot anything that attacked her, but he knows you can't question dead people. And the best way to find out what is going on is to question one of the attackers.

"What... what happened?" Isabella asks as if coming out of a trance.

"Oh god," She exclaims in horror, pulling her sweatpants up, embarrassed as her freshly waxed womanhood was on display.

Within seconds Smith has the attacker's arms and feet zip tied and is in a prone position. For good measure he gags her with one of her own socks so she can't call out their position.

With the woman neutralized, Smith looks at the ceiling, thinking that had to have been how she got into the restroom as she wasn't in here when he checked it. This is then negated as he sees a chunk of the drywall pushed out on the wall. That the woman literally burst though the wall.

"Believe me now?" Isabella pants, both embarrassed and overwhelmed. Her face is still red as the last traces of her orgasm flutter over her.

Strange sounds start up to which Smith knows they are coming from behind the wall, causing him to move over to Isabella and grab her. He then scans the room while backing up, deciding they need to exit before more come in. If he had a count of how many there are, he would stand his ground, but in these close quarters, having to reload could be fatal.

Smith gets Isabella back into the security room, knowing it is the safest place in this moment. From what he can tell by the design, the room is isolated and insulated, meaning it was meant to take gunshots, so there's no way for anyone to come through like they did the locker-room.

"I need a drink," Isabella stammers, rushing over to the bottle. She no longer bothers with the cup but drinks directly out of it.

As she drinks, Smith does scan the room, checking again there is no one hiding in the corners. There he catches sight of the weapons secured on the wall, which includes several batons.

A loud noise echoes out, but not from the bathroom. This came from the living room, or in that direction. Wanting to know what is happening, Smith backs up enough to look at the monitors, where he sees two figures in the living room. He can't tell how they got in, but much like the woman in the locker-room, they move as if wild animals.

"Don't move and stand out of sight of the door," Smith tells Isabella, knowing that the room is secure. With only the hallway as the entrance, he knows he can leave her for a short burst as he gets a better look into the living room.

Before darting into the hallway, Smith picks up one of the extendable batons from the rack on the wall. There are a number of them and other security items making it seem like the security team here are prepared for a riot.

Moving as quick as a cat, Smith slides the baton through the push door handle of the locker-room. Doing this makes the extended baton reach either side of the door frame, making it impossible for the door to be opened. So even if there are more people inside, they can't open the door.

With the locker-room handled, Smith inches down the hallway, wanting to see the two invaders. He moves quiet and slow, making sure they will not see nor hear him. And if he is able, he plans to deliver two headshots to make the problem disappear.

The two invaders don't speak but run around the living room as they search. Smith catches glimpses of them as they run around frantic, making him think of "fast zombies," from various movies. This is odd to him as they seem rabid instead of trained. If this really is from an organization, wouldn't they send trained operatives?

Smith then notes a tapping sound. It's a rhythmic sound, almost sounding like thudding. It's from a distance, but does seem to get louder and faster. At first Smith considers it is another of the invaders hammering at something in the floor above, but the sound doesn't seem to match it.

The sound begins to bother Smith as he can't place what it is or what it means but he gets a bad feeling. Also, the two invaders running around in the living room don't seem to care about the sound even if they should be able to hear it now.

"Son of a bitch," Smith hisses and spins around. In his mind he counts back how long it has been since he left Isabella, to which he estimates it has been about two minutes.

Upon entering the security room, he sees what he knew the sound to be. This time they managed to get Isabella completely naked as she is bent over the desk with all the monitors. Her shirt is rolled up and wrapped around her face to act like a gag, and both arms are held behind her as a man roughly fucks her from behind.

The sight of what Smith is seeing takes him off guard, as Isabella isn't fighting her attacker at all. From the look of her, she is enjoying the manhandling she is receiving as she literally bounces off the man's hips as he fucks her. She is aggressively ramming her ass backwards while he thrusts, increasing the force of what's being done to her. And in some sort of mocking gesture, her attacker makes her face hits a monitor each time he thrusts.

Smith only has a fraction of a second to view the man fucking Isabella to make his assessment. To Smith, he uses the word "fucking," instead of "raping," because Isabella is participating. She is actively engaged in what is happening and looks to be fully consenting.

In his fraction of a second assessment, Smith notes that the man doesn't look like a man enjoying himself having sex. Instead he looks like a predator attacking prey, where the only method is by sex. Like he can defeat Isabella by the act of sex if he is able to give it hard or wild enough.

The man fucking Isabella then sees Smith, and all of his attention is brought to the hitman. The man lets go of Isabella mid-thrust, causing her to be pushed forward onto the desk, while he shrieks towards Smith.

At that exact moment, the shirt-gag that was in Isabella's mouth falls out and she screams, "I'M CUMMING," in a loud, orgasmic yell. Her moans then echo around the room, making it sound like multiple women are cumming while the man rushes at Smith like a wild animal.

Smith could shoot the man dead, even in the couple of seconds until he would be able to touch the hitman, but he decides not to. Actually, he realizes he doesn't need to. The naked man attacking acts like the others, as if he is some sort of wild animal that isn't thinking but reacting. This makes it easy for Smith to take a single step to the side to prepare. Then at the last moment before the man reaches him, Smith darts to the side causing his foe to go head first into the wall.

The naked man crashes hard into the wall, braining himself badly. As the wall is reenforced, there is no give at all. The man collapses to the floor in a limp manner, to which Smith finds himself surprised that the man is still breathing.

Smith then turns to look at Isabella, who is squirming and wiggling across the table with the monitors. Her hands have moved between her legs where she frantically rubs as she continues to moan like a whore. Smith does find it curious that much like the man who acted like a wild animal, Isabella too acts possessed.

Normally Smith would let a person finish in this situation, as to break them out of an orgasmic trance this hard could make them violent, but he needs to know what is going on. He already knew that Isabella wasn't telling him everything, so now he needs to get her to a safe spot and get the truth.

Right before Smith is about to backhand Isabella to knock her out of her orgasm, he notices dark clothes on the ground that must belong to the man. He has to do a double take, but Smith can clearly see the white collar on the black dress shirt marking the clothes as what a priest would wear.

Smith files this piece of info into his memory as it again doesn't feel right. Sure anyone can dress like a priest, but in what way would that help the attacker? Did dressing as a priest make it easier to break in? Of course not. Judging by the debris on the priest's clothes, he rammed through drywall like the woman did in the guard's locker-room.

Isabella then seems to come out of whatever trance she was in. Her fierce rubbing of her clit slows down and the moans stop. There she seems to regain conscious thought as her unfocused eyes start to look around.

The following erotic story has themes of humiliation, control and other darker themes. If such content offends you, please do not read. This is an erotic FICTION story not meant as any sort of gender, political or societal protest. This is purely for entertainment and never meant to happen in reality. If you have issues with such kinks, please do not read.

"What... what happened?" Isabella asks, sitting upright on top of the desk, having no clue her legs are spread, giving Smith the chance to see her freshly used womanhood.

Then the widow looks down at herself and is flooded with shock. She instantly screams and uses her hands to cover herself as she leaps off the desk. There she keeps screaming with intelligible sounds as she frantically looks for her clothes.

"Shit! Shit! It's happening. It's really fucking happening!" Isabella cries out as she searches for her clothes. She finds her sweats first, pulling them up so hard she gives herself a wedgie. The way she does it is that she believes if she pulls them up hard enough, they can never come back down but all she really does is give a hard case of camel toe.

She then sees her shirt on the other side of the room where she runs towards it. She does this so frantic that Smith fears she may ram into the wall like his attacker did. For the briefest of moments Smith nearly smiles as Isabella's overly large tits bounce upward and slap her in the chin, pausing her for a moment.

"What's happening?" Smith asks Isabella as she yanks her shirt on, damn near tearing it. He says this in a hard manner, showing that he knows she isn't telling him everything.

"I fucking told you! It's the end! Twenty-five fucking years!" Isabella nearly shrieks.

"They mean to fuck me stupid. Where my brain will leak out from my fucking ears and I won't even be able to think anymore!" Isabella hisses, almost like this is Smith's fault.

Smith cocks his head as he has never heard anyone say such a strange statement. And he's heard the craziest of the crazy. But he writes it off to mean she is trying to say that the trauma of having to go through tonight may cause some sort of mind-break.

"It's like... a spell or something. When they grab me, I can't fight it," Isabella reveals, then puts her hands to her face. She then takes several deep breaths.

"I become enraptured. Where all I want is to be fucked. To be used. And each time I feel a part of me... losing it," she explains.

Just then one of the men from the living room bursts into the room, having run down the hallway. Only Smith heard him coming and already picked up a baton off the floor. When the man enters the room he was greeted with the baton, knocking him out cold. Roughly two seconds after, the second man from the living room enters to the same fate.

"Follow me, and stay close," Smith states, turning around and walking to the door. Just then someone tries to open the locker-room door, but the baton prevents them from opening. Whomever it is then struggles with it, causing the door to rattle.

Smith walks down the hallway, his gun extended. He is in full attack-mode, ready to kill whoever may pop up by any means. This is when he is at his best, as all the banging and destructive sounds do not distract him at all, but rather make the job easier as he is able to pinpoint where they are. Isabella trails behind Smith, constantly looking and turning as if some unseen attacker will pop out to rape her.

"What are we going to do? Where are we going?" Isabella asks in a whisper, not knowing where they are going but recognizing that Smith is heading towards the stairs.

Isabella then shrieks as a bell rings out, but it isn't from an alarm or any weapon. It's the front doorbell. The sound seems very foreign due to how little it is used, as most people use the intercom at the gate and never ring the doorbell. But the doorbell rings out, revealing someone at the front door in the middle of the large room.

Smith stops and looks at Isabella though his gun is aimed at the door, his look seemingly asking her who it could be. Isabella shrugs with a scared look, answering that she wasn't expecting anyone.

"Ahhhh Sugar-Pumpkin, don't you want to play with your daddy tonight?" a voice calls out from the other side of the door, then laughs. The voice is brash and confident, filled with a strong southern drawl. It sounds like the voice that would come from a Southern Gentleman from a long ago time, only the voice is that of a young woman.

"P-P-Paul?" Isabella stammers at hearing the voice, her look going to the door as if she could see through it.

Seeing this ruse as what it is, Smith grabs Isabella's arm and pulls her along as he resumes walking. There he forces her up the stairs with him, knowing whatever is at the door is a trap. Isabella goes along, but keeps looking at the door, clearly rattled.

"Where ya going Sugar-Pumpkin? You can't escape this. Remember, that pussy belong to me," the woman on the other side of the front door taunts, laughing a laugh after.

"It can't be! It can't be Paul!" Isabella stammers, becoming more and more panicked.

"You're right. It isn't," Smith states as a voice of reason, wrapping one arm around Isabella's waist and lifting her due to her not moving fast enough.

Moving as if he isn't carrying a full grown adult, Smith moves up the stairs carrying her, his gun still out in his other hand, ready for any surprises. Thanks to his training regimen, he quickly moves to the second floor, then starts on the stairs for the third floor.

"You don't understand! Only Paul would-" Isabella tries to tell Smith, wanting him to understand why she is so rattled.

"I understand. He is the only one that called you Sugar Tits or whatever. I don't care," Smith states honestly, understanding how a simple pet name can rattle someone like it's rattled Isabella. It's a trick he has used before and is an easy way to prey on emotions.

As Smith studied the house plans, Smith knows exactly where he is and where he wants to go, which is the master bedroom. Not because he believes it will be safe, but because he knows of the fire escape.

Having prepared for multiple types of escapes from the house, Smith knows the best option at the moment is the fire escape plan for the master bedroom. Where they can go out on the patio, then climb the rail to the roof, then climb down on the other side of the house and onto the car that Smith has parked on the side of the gate.

"Sugar-Pumpkin, you knew this day would come," a muffled voice says, but not from the front door. This came from the hallway they are on.

Looking down the third floor hallway, Smith doesn't know which door the voice came from. With his mind scanning the scene, he knows that the doors appear to be made of solid wood. That combined with the distance from them means that if he fired at any of them, the bullet isn't likely to break through.

"I bound that pussy to me. I own it. Same like those milk jugs of yours. And I've come to take what's mine," the muffled voice declares and what Smith finds odd is it has the same twang and cadence as the voice from the front door, only this voice is a man's.

"And nothing, nit even your little friend is going to stop that," the muffled voice continues.

"Why don't you come out and we can discuss it?" Smith replies after a moment of brief contemplation. Smith had been refraining from speaking too loud because he wasn't sure if "they," knew he was here. That sort of knowledge is very powerful. But now he knows they are very much aware of him.

"Mister Williams, do yourself a favor and leave," the muffled voice says in that heavy twang.

The use of his real name does cause Smith a moment of confusion. No one knows his real name. No one alive anyway. From this, he doesn't understand how anyone related to this situation could know. Not even his bank accounts use his real name.

"This isn't your fight. Not really. If you stay, it will end badly for ya. Always does for those that don't truly believe in the HooDoo," the voice says, but instead of being taunting or threatening, it also sounds compassionate.

At the end of his sentence, Smith raises his gun as he's finally figured the door the voice is behind. He then takes several quick steps towards it, knowing if he is close enough a bullet will go through the door.

Right before he fires, Smith hears something. It sounds like rumbling from down the hallway, as if someone has jumped in one of the rooms. The same sound happens again, but further down.

Smith looks inside his head to pull the floor plan of the house. There he is unable to find a way that anyone could get inside the rooms, unless they broke through roof. But even that would be impossible as there's no way to climb up this high. The first couple of floors, sure. A tall ladder or a hook and rope could go it. But not this high. And not from the sort of people he knocked out on the first floor.

But Smith cannot deny that what he is hearing is the sound of bodies dropping from the ceiling into the rooms. That multiple more people are in the house.

Instead of firing at the door with the voice behind it, Smith backs up. He walks past the stairs and to the door on the other side of the stairway.

"Open the door," Smith tells Isabella, pointing at the door. Isabella looks at the door, then at Smith as the room is one of the many guest bedrooms. Confused, she goes to the door, turns the knob and flings it open.

With the door open, Smith darts into the room, gun drawn. He sweeps the room to find it is completely empty. No one under the bed, in the bathroom or hiding under the desk. Then he shuts and locks the door, jamming the locking mechanism with a paperclip so it will be impossible to open if they have a key.

"Sit," Smith orders as if Isabella is a hostage, pointing to the small table in the corner.

Still panicked, Isabella sits at the table, white faced and clutching herself. Smith considers telling Isabella what the new plan is, but stops himself. As she isn't telling him everything, he doesn't think it is wise to let her know what he is doing. There's no way of knowing if they can hear what he says when he talks to her.

Smith's new plan is to do the opposite of what the attackers are doing. Which is to burst a hole through the ceiling, then make their way to the roof from it. Only Smith knows he has a limited time frame before "they," break in using that same method.

Moving with his trademark speed, Smith turns off the light for the room, then climbs on top of the oak dresser that is against the wall. There Smith stands tall and starts to stab the roof with his knife to see the condition of the drywall. He does this with only the moonlight coming in from the window as he doesn't want anyone to be to see what he is doing in case they are able to see into the room.

A rather polite sounding knock is heard on the door. It knocks a soft but strong knock, then pauses as if someone is really going to open the door. Smith doesn't bother with the knock as he continues with cutting at the drywall.

"It doesn't need to be like this Mister Williams," the Southern Drawl says.

"I truly don't want to have to hurt you," the voice continues, where Smith decides he's grown tired of the southern twang. To this Smith fires a single shot at the door, aiming at the level of the voice.

To his surprise, Smith doesn't hear any panicked yells or shouts from the other side of the door. Nor does he hear anyone run off even if he knows there are more than one person out there due to the shadows coming from under the door.

"The whore bound herself to me, Mister Williams. Why do you think it's so easy for me to find her?" A new voice says, this time a female voice but in the same southern drawl.

"Bound her pussy, tits and ass to me on our wedding day, where she willingly said the vows I made for us," the voice continues.

"Because of that. Those tiddies, that ass, her cunt and her mind belong to me. And I have come to take them all. And nothing you can do will stop that," the woman explains.

Being as quiet as he can, Smith yanks on the large square piece of drywall that he's cut out with his knife. He then lowers down, placing the drywall next to him on the dresser. With the hole cut, Smith pulls out his small flashlight, preparing to examine what is in the roof.

Once again, Smith's internal warning system tells him that something's off. At this he does a quick scan of the room but doesn't notice anything standing out. No one has managed to get in, nor does he notice anything off, like something coming in under the door.

Then Smith sees Isabella's face as she sits at the small table. Her eyes are rolling back and her mouth has dropped open. She doesn't make any noise, but it's clear she is experiencing pleasure. Smith then notices that she's tugging on her nipples underneath her shirt.

Smith's eyes then spot the window behind Isabella. It is open a crack of maybe three inches, when it wasn't before. When they entered the room, the window was closed as Smith had checked that it was locked.

Rushing over, Smith grabs the bottom of the table and pulls it upward with all his might. This makes the table to flip over and go flying, revealing exactly what is happening.

There is a slender black woman who looks to be twenty years old, crouched between Isabella's legs. She was under the table, where the black woman has her face pressed against Isabella's pussy, her tongue flicking and rubbing not just on her clit but all over. And Isabella's sweats are once again gone as her legs are spread wide.

Unlike the others, the black woman doesn't attack at being found. Instead she grabs hold of Isabella's hips and presses her face into her crotch more. At this Isabella throws her head back while yanking her top up to expose her tits again, pulling so hard on her nipples that her tits stretch out.

In a scene he doesn't believe he is seeing, Isabella starts to roll her ass up to press her crotch harder against the woman's face. There she lets out an even louder moan, showing that she is about to orgasm, again.

Tired of this, Smith reaches down to grab the black woman by the hair, intending on a solid punch to knock her out. Right before his hand grabs the woman, Isabella hisses and pokes him in the eye, stunning him.

Isabella inserted a finger right into his eye while hissing like an animal. As Smith wasn't expecting her to do this, the blow is hard, causing him to back up and clutch at his eye.

"NO!" Isabella hisses as if possessed, standing up. For a moment Smith thinks Isabella is about to attack him like the others did, but she doesn't. Instead she grabs the black woman's head and presses her face into her crotch, hard. Doing this causes both women to moan as if it is the most arousing act ever for the two of them.

This confirms to Smith that the black woman didn't sneak in. Isabella opened the window for her. That somehow Isabella sank into whatever trance this is.

Isabella begins to orgasm as the black woman licks at her womanhood. As Isabella cums, the black woman begins to moan as if orgasming too. The two combined moans echo around the room, making Smith pause as it is such an unusual sight.

After checking that his eye is fine, Smith walks back over to the two women, but stays out of Isabella's reach. He then reaches down to grab the back of the black woman's hair. With a handful of hair, he easily rips her back from Isabella's grasp and forces the woman to stand. As Isabella screams at the source of her pleasure being taken from her, Smith shoves the black woman forward, causing the two women to knock heads.

"NOOOOOO!" is yelled in rage, but not from Isabella or the black woman. The two women both fall to the floor, knocked out. The scream came from the outside of the door, from the woman that was speaking before.

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!" The female voice outside the door howls, furious.

Smith knows the voice isn't upset about the black woman because it didn't care about any of the others he subdued. Because of this, Smith knows the voice has to be upset because of what he did to Isabella.

"You need her conscious," Smith then tells the door, smirking as he's figured it out.

"Can't break her if she isn't awake to break," Smith states plainly.

Smith waits for the voice to say something. To come back with a threat or a witty response at what he's said, but there is none.

Before Smith's plan was to get Isabella out of danger. But know he knows he can just keep her sedated and then take all of them out if needed. That even if they broke the door down and came in via the window, he would have no issue killing them all. Especially as a single gunshot would probably go through multiple people.

"Leave, now," Smith states as a clear warning.

"Leave or this ends badly for you," Smith says a moment after, using the voice's own words.

Smith thought this would get a response of some sort, or at least a threat, but no. The voice is quiet. Smith knows she is still outside the door, but she hasn't said anything more.

"She will not be waking until tomorrow as I do have plenty of sedative on me, and I am giving you two minutes to leave this property before I come out there," Smith states, not as a threat but saying what is about to happen.

"Fellas like you think that since you don't believe in the HooDoo, it makes you safe," the woman's voice says, completely calm.

"You fail to realize, it makes it much easier because you don't know how to protect yourself," the woman states, to which Smith nearly rolls his eyes.

"Like how I protected myself from your idiots downstairs?" Smith asks, not to brag but because he knows people like this woman. They have fragile egos and can't help but boast about how great they are and what they have planned. When you knock them or their plan, they loose control as they try to defend it any way they can.

"Oh dearie me no. Those are just a bit of fun. Pumping the nearby weak-minded with some increased hormones," the woman says and laughs an honest laugh.

This makes Smith pause as it isn't what he was expecting as a response.

"You be surprised how easy it is to trick the weak-minded. Where you get them all amped up to the point they want to fuck the hell out of a big titty bimbo like you have on the floor in there," the woman boasts.

As much as Smith doesn't want to admit it, what the woman said makes sense. The ones that attacked earlier were not trained soldiers or anything like it. They seemed like average people you would find walking a city sidewalk, if they were pumped full of hormones or some drug.

"I know you can defend against the weak-minded. In fact, for a man like you, I bet it is quite fun!" the woman boasts.

"What you can't defend against... is me," the woman says her voice dropping into a much lower register.

"W-W-What... happened?" Isabella asks right after the woman says this, holding her head. She clutches her head with both hands as if having a huge headache.

Confused and dizzy Isabella looks around to see she is still in the guestroom. Then she sees that she is naked from the waist down. This makes her start to panic, but when she sees a naked black woman passed out on the floor, it causes her panic to get worse.

"Oh fuck. Fuck me. They almost got me!" Isabella stammers in fear as she can fear with pussy still tingling from her last orgasm. Where it doesn't take her any time to realize that the woman must have been eating her out.

Isabella backs up to the wall, panicking worse. She is only able to calm down as she sees Smith is in the room. He's still on top of the dresser, facing the door, his gun drawn. She then sees the ceiling and how he's cut a huge part out. It doesn't take her long to figure he means to escape out of it, which she is in favor of.

"Let's get the fuck out of here," Isabella says as she frantically tries to pull her sweatpants back on. Smith then hops down off the dresser where Isabella knows he is wanting her to climb up the dresser to get out of here.

"HEY!" Isabella shouts as Smith grabs her by the neck. His huge hand finds her tender throat, squeezing hard and instantly subduing her.

In slow motion, Isabella sees Smith's other hand, now no longer holding the gun reach for the collar of her shirt. With ease, he tears down on it, ripping her shirt open. With the shirt ripped open, Isabella's large breasts come bouncing out. They bounce free where Isabella feels insanely lewd. That she is little more than an object instead of a human being.

The feeling of her tits bouncing free takes her back to all the times her late husband did the same thing, especially in front of others. Where he would force her to stand against the wall where he literally ripped her clothes off of her for his entertainment, as well as his friends' entertainment.

"Pull them down. Get that pussy out... Sugar-Pumpkin," Smith tells Isabella, his voice now carrying a southern drawl.

Isabella stares at Smith, but due to how dark the room is and that he's out of the line of the window, his face is mostly in shadow. But she feels the fingers closing in on her throat, sending a very real message that he isn't playing.

With shaking hands, Isabella grabs the waistband of her sweatpants and tugs them down. The causal piece of clothing then falls down, pooling around her ankles. This causes her freshly shaved and used womanhood to become exposed again.

"No! Smith. You can't!" Isabella begs as Smith pulls her across the room. He practically drags her where she can't even struggle as he is so much stronger.

Like before, the same sexual daze starts to move over Isabella, but this time she fights it hard. She's able to fight it this time because it is Smith. The one person that shouldn't be able to do anything to her.

"Smith!" Isabella begs as she is forcefully turned to face away from Smith. For a moment Isabella was sure he was taking her to the door to give to the invaders, but no. Instead Smith dug her to confront her with her own naked image in the mirror on the wall.

"You... can't.... medication," Isabella croaks out as Smith still squeezes her throat. He doesn't squeeze hard enough to make her pass out, but hard enough to block some of the air, leading to her feeling weak.

"Don't you be worrying about that darling," Smith tells Isabella in an emotion filled voice, totally unlike his normal stoic manner.

Then Isabella sees Smith's eyes in the mirror. Instead of the cold and focused eyes that she had come to recognize as Smith's, the eyes that look back at her are now light brown. Light brown and full of a playfulness which she recognizes all too quickly as her late husband's.

"NO!" Isabella screams as Smith forces the naked Isabella to bend over. He overpower her easily, making her bend until her face is inches from the mirror. Bent like that means she can only see her face staring back at her, pale.

Frantically, Isabella begs Smith to stop as he undoes his pants. Tells him not to do this. That doing this will literally ruin her life. Reason after reason comes out as she hears the sounds of his pants dropping, then his underwear coming down.

Isabella then sees her eyes start to roll back as Smith slides his very hard cock inside of her. It slides in without any issue as she is already very wet from all that has happened this evening.

The feeling of the cock makes her relax and her body untenses. This allows Smith to grab her in a much better position for him, where he pulls her arms behind her in an painful, arched position. Upon doing this, he laughs as he forces her to stick her tits out.

There's a soft tapping sound as Isabella's large swinging tits start to hit the mirror as Smith starts to fuck her. With one hand pinning her arched wrists behind her back, Smith uses his other hand to hold Isabella's hair as he wants this to be as humiliating as possible. As holding her hair means he can make sure she has to watch herself in the mirror as he violates her.

Moans come out of Isabella after half a minute as the feeling of the large, hard cock pressing against her insides overwhelms the widow. She feels the cock pressing against all of her insides, making her feel stretched out in a way that's never happened before. Sure she's had all manner of cock inside of her, including super huge ones, but this feels different.

It doesn't take long before Isabella's tits are not the only thing slamming against the mirror as her face joins. With each hard thrust from Smith, Isabella's entire body is jerked forward to smack the mirror, only to be pulled back where Smith thrusts hard again, repeating the process as she bounces off his hips.

"I. Told. You. This. Would. Happen," Smith tells Isabella, sounding like her late husband.

Isabella has an orgasm very quickly after Smith picks up the pace of fucking her. Her moans become crazed as her body is overwhelmed by how she is feeling. To Isabella, it feels like she's been pumped full of some drug, as she can't move, can't think nor defend herself. All she can do is cum like a whore as she gives in.

Despite cumming and feeling how sore her pussy is, Isabella doesn't try to stop Smith as he keeps fucking her. All she can do is moan softer as she feels another orgasm start to build deep in her soul. Where she now notices that her feet aren't even on the ground as Smith is holding her up as he continues to fuck her much smaller frame.

"Who's pussy is this?" Smith demands of Isabella in a question she had to answer hundreds if not thousands of times when she was married.

"It's Sugar-Daddy's. It belongs to you. I'm your dirty whore and my pussy is yours," Isabella replies in reaction. She says the words that her late husband taught her to say when he asked. Where he would ask nearly each time he fucked her when she didn't want it.

Upon saying these words, Isabella orgasms again. Then again. Like a boxer that's been knocked silly, each thrust from Smith sends a powerful blow to Isabella, making it feel like she orgasms with each thrust.

The overwhelming pleasure is far too much for Isabella. Her body feels like it physically ripples as the waves of pleasure move over her. This makes her jerk, struggle, wiggle and more, but it's no use as Smith holds her. She can't escape.

Isabella's moans grow very quiet as she feels herself drop into a white dimension of pleasure. Where it feels like she no longer has a physical body but merges into some other world of pleasure. Like her being is dripping out of her ears and into pleasure.

In the background Isabella hears Smith fucking her. Where the thudding combines with the wet sound of his cock inside her pussy to make the clear sounds of sex. It's the sound she never wants to stop, just as she knows she needs to feel like this forever. And then she hears her husband laughing his trademark evil laugh, causing her to scream.

"Wow. So it's true. It's really true," the young female doctor exclaims upon entering the private hospital room. She walks into the room that contains Isabella, roughly a month after Halloween.

"That it is," the much older male doctor that brought her into the room says, figuring his colleague would react like this.

The older male doctor reviews Isabella's daily status form on his tablet. On purpose he ignores the bewilderment of the other doctor as she stares wide eyed at Isabella. He understands she needs to get it out of her system.

"Undefined nervous systemic anomaly," the male doctor says, telling the young female doctor Isabella's official diagnosis. He again ignores the female's doctor look of shock.

"She is unresponsive to most types of communication. And a dozen different doctors attempted different treatments, which were met with aggression, even violence. In short, she becomes a wild animal if you dare to change anything," the male doctor explains, warning his fellow doctor on how to handle the widow.

"So we leave her like this as it keeps her calm and content. And since she has the money to stay here for five lifetimes, we check on her each day and notate any changes," he finishes, tapping the "Save," button at the bottom of the tablet to finish his report on her for today.

The female doctor continues to stare at the Isabella who is tied spread eagle on the hospital bed, completely naked. In all of her life, the doctor has never seen anything like what she is seeing now, as there is a large vibrator strapped to the patient's leg where the head of the vibrator presses right on the woman's clit. And the doctor can hear how powerful the sex toy is even from feet away.

"You... you can't be serious. She's left like this all day?!" The female doctor exclaims.

"All day. All night. All the time. If you turn it off, she will get violent. Just like she will get so violent she'll break free of those bonds if you dare try to cover her nudity," the doctor warns.

At that the male doctor turns and heads for the door. Before opening it, he tells his much younger colleague that she still has several more patients to meet on the long term stay center of the hospital.

As the female doctor leaves, she takes one more look at Isabella who stares up at the ceiling, her eyes unfocused but her face in the forever expression of someone who is orgasming.