Trick or Treat: The Night of Five Costumes

I'm at a hotel, staying alone.

I slide my key card into the door but it doesn't open. I try again. Nothing.

To my surprise, a stranger opens it. Oh, how embarrassing. I got the wrong door entirely. What a dope. Mine is down the hall.

"Sorry, wrong door," I say, and proceed to go. He says, "No problem. Happy Halloween." For some reason he's holding an orange wicker basket, propped on top of his arm, and it's filled with candy (for trick-or-treating kids in the hotel?). For some reason -- I can never miss an opportunity to make a lame joke, I guess -- I say, "Trick or treat?"

From the basket he produces a lollipop, and gives it to me. I take it. I unwrap it as I go the next few steps down the hallway to my actual room.

I'm back in my room, watching TV. I'm enjoying the lollipop. It's strawberry and gives the slightest sensation of heat, as from cinnamon. Soon I'm overtaken by strange, sudden sensation -- a certain restlessness.

I notice an itching sensation in my skin, going down my sides, up my thighs, over my shoulders and down my stomach. And the weirdest thing: I start to get a little turned on. I think back to the man down the hall.

I go to the bathroom and douse my face in cold water. When I look up, the world is swimming. I'm dizzy. Something's seriously wrong. The taste of the lollipop's in my mouth. Sweet strawberry, and a tingling sensation. Pins and needles in my mouth.

I stumble out of my room, down the hall, past the ice machine ... and I knock on the man's door. Totally nonsensical, totally compulsive. He answers right away.

His room is dimly lit. The light is warm and yellow, but dim. He asks me if I'm OK and I say "I don't know ..." I'm feverish, hot. I step into his bathroom -- cold floor tiling on my bare feet -- and look in the mirror. Something's not right. I could swear my hair's gotten longer. My eyebrows arching, my lips slightly swollen, red. The dizziness comes back in a swell.

"You've got a fever. You're sick," his voice says. He's standing right next to me, I realize. "Why don't you get out of those clothes?" Suddenly the bathroom door is closed, and I'm inside the room by myself. I'm taking off my clothes, one piece at a time, just staring at myself in the mirror.

I don't seem to remember my skin ever being this smooth, or my wrists being this thin. On the door's coat-hanger there's hanging what looks like a small shirt. That will work. I pick it up and put it on.

Oops. Not a shirt. It's black plastic -- a "Sexy Witch" dress that clings tight to my hips, riding up my thighs. I run my hands up it -- that strange compulsion again -- up my legs, up my hips, my waist, on up on to the unexpected presence of breasts.

I get light headed. I feel hot. I feel turned on. All the blood's going to my head. I'm shocked at myself as I open the bathroom door and walk calmly out into the room where the man is waiting. The carpet is soft as clouds. The curtains are open on the city, the yellow moon, on Halloween night.

He's ready, hard and big. I take him into my mouth. I work it. My jaw aches to open around it. But I work it harder. He's got my hair in his fist. He moves me up and down the shaft. I'm his toy, his doll. I moan. I'm all wet.

I can hardly take it anymore.

I pull free and hear myself say, "Please -- fuck me."

On my back on the floor. He's pounding me deep. I can feel myself stretching out. The skirt is hiked up to my stomach. "Oh God. Fuck me," I say. My breasts spill out of the skirt and then they're in his hands. He squeezes. I moan. "God. Give it to me. Harder. Fuck me. Fuck me."

He pushes my legs over my head.

Goose bumps all over my body. A surge as I remember who I am -- who I used to be, only an hour ago.

I love the way he's fucking me. No. More than that. I've never wanted anything more. Nothing to say but "Fuck me," if only it means he'll fill me up with his cock, stretch me out, use me. The louder I moan the more he gives it. "Don't stop," I say. Harder. Harder. "Do you like it?" he says. "Oh, God," is all I can say. "Please, don't stop." "You like it, don't you?" "Yes." "You like it?" "Yes." "Tell me you want it." "God, I want it. Harder. Please, harder. Fuck me. Deeper. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me." Soon I'm screaming. I'm screaming as the pleasure swells up. I scream as he fills me deep. I'm coming. My cunt tightens around him and I scream as he pounds.

Then he's outside of me, I'm still tightening, panting, coming hard, and he's coming all over me. He shoves his cock in my mouth and spurts again, filling my mouth with it, pulls out and covers my face with it too. I lick his cock and take it in, deep, for a last swallow as he ejaculates again.

I lick it up, swallow it, rub what's left on tits.

Oh my God, what did I just do?

I scramble off the bed in a panic, kicking the sheets away. I dart to the bathroom where I left my clothes. Oh my god. Oh my god. What did I do, what did I do?

I got fucked and loved it. I begged for more. My heart drops to my stomach. It wasn't me. It's all a dream. I would never.

I look in the mirror. Curvaceous, skin flushed pink, heaving breasts, wet thighs, glistening with sweat. My hair is sticking to my cheeks. It's a soft face that looks back at me. A girl's face. Narrow, sloping shoulders, collarbones like the bow of an instrument.

I press my knees together, and the smoothness of my thighs sends a wave of blood into my face. What happened to my body? How will I get back? I look at my jeans and button-up shirt lying in a pile on the floor.

He's standing at the door. I look at him, furious. "You drugged me. You drugged me and turned me into ..." I can't finish.

"Whore?"

I blush. I cover myself with my arms. I feel dirty. The plastic dress is a crumple around my hips. I want to hate him, but the word sends a rush of pleasure up my legs. "Change me back, now."

"I can't." He repeats it.

I have a job. "You can't?" I ask, meekly.

"I can't -- not until ..."

I step toward him.

"Until you try on the other costumes."

In the closet there are four, each on a hanger. I run my finger across each of them.

"Trick or treat?" he says.