So there I was, in a fourteenth-floor apartment that belonged to what's-his-name, surrounded by the winking lights of sprawling New York City. I’d been having nonstop encounters with famous characters from Wonder Woman to Elton John and, my god, that was a convincing Edward Scissorhands. I pitied his trips to the bathroom.

It was Halloween and I had just finished off my sixth beer, my buzz hitting me like a leather strap to the ass.

"Ellie, why aren't you wearing a costume?" Adrienne asked me with sloppy sarcasm.

She had a nearly empty drink in her hand, giving my outfit a once-over through glazed corneas. I was dressed like a witch. I know, not entirely divergent from my usual state, but I digress. A dark, curvy silhouette from my heels to the point of my hat, my corset was tight, skirt full, cleavage so deep people’s eyes had been getting lost in there all night.

More original than her slutty doctor get-up of one tiny white spandex dress and a stethoscope draped around her neck.

I replied with my own thinly veiled contempt, "Didn't anyone tell you? You're supposed to come as something actually achievable."

The smile dropped from her face, her friends – a mermaid and Daisy Duke – glancing between us. As I smirked and turned on my heel, she came up with; "Well… good thing being a witch is easily achievable. For you."

I weaved through the crowd, sensing her pestering presence following me as she began, "And I could totally be a doctor…"

Taking the handle of the nearest door, I slipped inside a dark room. The cacophony of music and voices instantly quelled. When I heard her walk past, listing the reasons she went into marketing, I was more relieved than taking a long awaited cinema piss after sitting through a good movie. I had never liked Adrienne. And she'd never liked me. And we'd been friends since we were twelve. Perhaps the greatest frenemies who ever lived.

Turning, I found I was in a bedroom. The aesthetic was sleek and dark, the bed large. The photos atop the long dresser captured my attention. Escapades of snowboarding and surfing, hiking adventures and endless smiles. He was good looking; what’s-his-name. I wondered where Adrienne met him. I came to this party because, duh, free beer, but also because she invited me, and of course I couldn't let her level of attention surpass mine. Now I was hoping I'd get to meet the host.

A door different from the one I came through opened and someone stepped into the room with me. He was casually dressed, tall and fit, his muscular forearm on display as he held a Solo cup to his chest. And atop his broad shoulders was a full size horse head. He stopped when he saw me. Staring at me with his horse face.

“Hi,” I said.

The horse-man nodded.

“Why the long face?” I couldn’t resist.

His chest shook as he laughed.

“Is it because you’re alone?” I peeked into what I assumed was the bathroom behind him, wondering if someone was going to come out. A sexy, disheveled mare, perhaps.

He nodded again.

Fuck, this Bo-Jack look alike was hot.

“Does your cock match your face?” My intoxicated brashness was emphasized with a long look at his zipper.

He laughed again. Taking a few steps more, he lingered at the far end of the dresser, staring at me, and I wondered who was behind the equestrian mask.

The bump of the music pulsed beyond the threshold of the silent room we shared, and I couldn’t help it; my hips started to sway. The bug-eyed horse-man watched me with what I chose to perceive as intensity while I rolled my body, lifting the fluff of my skirt as I turned, giving him a view of my nylon-clad ass. He set his glossy red cup on the dresser.

“You didn’t answer my question.” I looked at his zipper again as I spoke, swinging my hips.

He lifted a hand and curled a finger in invitation.

Moving so close my chest pressed to his, I danced with a horse while Kid Rock sang about riding all night and sleeping all day. He slipped a hand up my neck, ran a thumb across my bottom lip as I felt him growing against my pelvis, and my curiosity piqued.

“Do I need to make it hard to find out?” I seduced, reaching down and wrapping a hand around the growing bulge through his jeans.

The cockeyed horse nodded.

I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing, but the alcohol in me was telling me to go for it! so I tugged down the lace sleeves of my pagan-midnight dress and let my big tits pop out. The horse-man reached for them, and I was glad he had fingers instead of hooves. He kneaded my breasts, and as he did, brushed my hair, my neck, my lips, always coming back to my nipples. When he pinched them at last, I gasped.

Taking my wrist, he guided my hand back to his crotch, and he didn’t need to tell me twice.

Dropping to my knees, it felt like Christmas as I unwrapped him, dying to know what he was going to give me. His inanimate horse face looked down at me as I finally tugged his boxers low enough to let him spring free, and…

Well. Call me an abomination and burn me at the stake. It did match his face.

I gasped aloud, looking down the length of it, up, down again. This anthropomorphic stud had the largest cock I'd ever seen in person. It was the doppelganger to my forearm. But veinier. And with a head instead of a hand. Fuck Christmas, this was like winning the lottery.

“That’s… ahem,” I cleared my throat, swallowing to fight my sudden dry mouth. “Pretty fucking big.”

The horse-man laughed once more. He must get that a lot.

Reaching up, I used two hands to lift his dick – like aiming a footlong sub at my face. I heard him sigh at my touch, imagining how smug he must have felt while putting on his costume for the night. Seriously though, the guy's dick was so big he could hurt a girl, easily. He could hurt anyone just by swinging it and knocking them out. Like a real-life Bad Dragon, this was meant for something entirely separate from procreating.

How on God's green Earth did he hide an erection if the situation demanded? Was I being Punk'd?

"My god," I breathed, reeling by the feel of it.

His hands hung at his sides while I stroked him. When I guided the eye of his snake to my tongue, his horse head tipped back in ecstasy. He quickly filled my mouth with a lot left to go, and I was stumped. How did my predecessors pull it off? It sure as hell didn't fit in my regular person sized mouth.

I started to feel like winning the lottery wasn't always the best thing to happen to someone.

Determined not to look like a clueless hamster nibbling on a banana, I went to work. I knew what constituted a good blow job: Enthusiasm. I mean, I'd rather someone eat my pussy with gusto than act like it's a chore. You gotta want that dick, treat it like it's the finest cock you've ever touched, like you’d die for it. Or at least fight a bitch over it.

My tongue became acquainted with the silken skin of his shaft, the softness of his head and the ridge of his crown, even his balls. The horse-man liked it, moans of pleasure slipping from beneath his mask as it occurred to me I was sucking the dick of a guy whose face I'd never seen, and name I didn't know. Or what his political stance was. I felt like I should be ashamed, I mean, what if he was a republican? But my pussy just grew wetter, so I went with it, deepthroating the tip of his cock like a pornstar, tits out. The horse-man reached down, removed my pointy hat, and cradled my nape, guiding me, encouraging every lick, kiss, slurp of my mouth. The sloppier I got, the more he liked it.

When I gagged and he moaned, he suddenly pulled me off his dick, off the floor, and onto the bed. Reaching between my thighs with all the might he had the audacity to conjure, he ripped the crotch of my black nylons and shoved two fingers into my pussy.

I wanted to be upset (these things were $22!) but he distracted me faster than a goldfish under a disco ball.

Knees apart, propped on my elbows, I watched his hand fuck me, and wow, was it good. He was proving a real show pony. The sound of my wet pussy as he incessantly played with my g-spot filled our private slice of existence, pairing nicely with my whimpers and his occasional grunts.

"Ohh yes, you gonna fuck me with that horsecock?"

I thought he’d laugh, but it was obvious he took me seriously when he fisted said cock and guided it to my excited apex. The engorged, reddened tip felt sublime in rhythm against my clit. Using it to rub my inner labia out of the way, he lined himself up with my pussy’s entrance and began pushing his way in.

I wasn’t aware I could lose track of myself, but as he moved slowly, so slowly I thought I would implode with impatience that forced me to focus on every single millimeter of his endless length, I forgot everything, including how to breathe and who I was. When he bottomed out, unable to coerce my kitty into swallowing any more of his sausage, I swear the meaning of life came to me for a moment before slipping away like a dream.

Then, he held my full hips and began thrusting his massive member into me.

Eyes stuck in the back of my head, I felt like I was short circuiting, my essence being stretched between here and heaven. When I finally reabsorbed with my physical self, I looked down between my spread thighs, watching him fuck me through the hole he tore in my nylons, the first several inches of his length glistening every time he pulled out of my wet pussy.

Salem's whiskers, he was so fucking big. There was no way he'd fit completely inside me, but he didn't dwell. The horse-man fucked me with knowledge only a hung specimen would be capable of grasping. He moved with confidence, but didn't go too deep, was rough without taking, reached down to play with my clit and, “Oh my fucking god, I’m cumming already!” I mewled.

"Oh fuck," the horse-man’s operator groaned under the mask, moving faster to meet my needs as I gasped for breath and humped him frantically.

In the realm of reality, I was dressed up like a witch while getting railed by a guy dressed as a horse, his ensemble complete with oversized genitalia. I wanted to laugh but I couldn't stop cumming.

“Shit, that’s hot,” he commented as he faithfully continued his rhythm in my pussy. It squeezed him in return, drenching his cock with my pleasure while he gave me constant, perfect friction on my clit.

“Mmhmm,” I whimpered, my muscles sporadically nursing his dick as, finally, the contractions slowed. A post orgasmic mess, I shivered as he continued slow and deep.

“Is it weird that I want you to mount me?" I asked, not taking my eyes from where we were conjoined.

The horse-man changed that when he pulled out of me, and I'd never felt more empty. He turned me onto my hands and knees, pushed the fluff of my skirt up over my ass, and slipped his wet dick into my still throbbing pussy from behind, pressing my face to the bed and riding me just as I asked. Better, in fact. Geezus fuck, he knew how to handle that third leg of his.

I cried out, arching my back and twerking my hips in time with his.

"God damn," I heard a masculine, clear voice moan behind me as something that sounded suspiciously like a horse mask hit the floor. "If you're gonna do that, I need an unobstructed view."

Finally hearing the unfettered voice of the well-endowed stranger that just brought me to orgasm was a mind-fuck, the post-nut clarity allowing me to fully register that I had no idea who this guy was. Not that I really knew the horse that well, but we definitely bonded. Like sleeping with Dr. Jekel and Mr. Horse.

Whimpering, I moved myself on his cock.

"Fuck yeah, ride that dick, sweetheart."

I resented the butterflies in my stomach from his term of endearment.

Hands on my corseted waist, he spurred me further (no pun intended) my control allowing me to take him even deeper, and we both groaned. We stayed this way for minutes I lost track of, the steady rhythm of his hips like a ticking clock, hypnotizing me. When he pulled me up, I was momentarily disoriented. Both on our knees, my back to his chest, his lips touched my shoulder, my ear, and I shivered.

“You’re beautiful when you cum. I damn near joined you.”

"Call me the horse whisperer," I jested, earning a quiet laugh he buried in my hair. "Seriously, your dick is fucking huge."

"Mmm and you seem to know just what to do with it."

He pulled out of me – the agony from full to empty never seeming to wane – bent me over again, and buried his face between my ass cheeks, licking my pussy via the rip in my stockings. I didn't even need to fake the uninhibited noises I made; a nice change compared to some men. On my hands and knees, I pushed back on his face, smothering him with my curves. He ate me like I was a hunny pot and he was Winnie the Pooh with the munchies. It was some of the best head I’d ever had.

“Yes, oh fuck, yes!” I moaned, and suddenly, he pulled away. "Hey," I protested. "Who said you could stop?"

"You think you're in charge. That's cute."

He was sliding into me before he finished speaking, filling me so completely, so quickly air screeched through my lungs as if I’d been reset.

“Fucking fuck!” I squealed into the mattress, hoping the owner of said mattress – what’s-his-name – wouldn't be too upset I was getting fucked on it.

Leaning the length of his chest along my back, my mystery partner molded himself to me as he pumped into me, kissing my neck. His face remained unseen behind me. I could've looked if I wanted to. Turned my head and introduced myself. But I didn't. Part of me wondered why he didn’t either. Were his reasons the same? Honestly, my reasons weren’t profound. I just felt like seeing his face would ruin things somehow. Like I shouldn’t be fucking whoever I was fucking, and knowing would mean we’d have to stop, and that just wouldn’t do. At the moment, I totally still had plausible deniability. “What do you mean? I never even saw his face.” Nevermind that I could pick his dick out of a line-up…

I surrendered to the moment; his labored breaths and subtle moans in my ear, impaling me with pleasure that had great potential for pain. I'd never shoved a Coke bottle up my hoo-ha, but the juxtaposition between that and what was currently penetrating me had to have been similar. He made it feel good, though, stretching me impossibly before easing away, using my moans as indication, adopting a gentle demeanor between each intense stroke. A real gentleman.

His next words had an interesting effect on me.

“Fuck, Ellie, you are so fucking incredible.”

And just like that, I wasn’t merely a sexy witch anymore. I had a name. And he knew it. That meant he had a name. And I didn’t know it. Up until then, he was a sexy stranger come to fuck me into nirvana. Now, he was a whole real person who existed. Who was I fucking?

I pulled away from him.

"Wha-where are you going?" the mystery man asked, wildly out of the loop while I slid off the bed, fixed my outfit, and bent to get my pointy hat off the floor.

“You know who I am?” I clarified over my shoulder.

“… Yes,” he said it like a question, and then it registered; “You don’t know who I am?” His subtly incredulous words came out saturated with amusement as he processed my response.

“Maybe we should keep it that way.”

“Wait-” he called, but I was already out the door and quietly shutting it behind me. I melded seamlessly back into the party, each event-goer I passed unaware that, beneath my skirt, my tights were ripped at the crotch, my inner thighs coated with wetness from my just-fucked pussy.

An invisible walk of shame? I wiggled my nose, pretending I was Bewitched and my luck was orchestrated. When I reached the far end of the room, I looked back. Music and voices drowning out her actions like a silent movie, I watched Adrienne grab the door handle and march straight into the room I just came out of.

____

I wasn’t sure if I was being dramatic, but I felt like I was losing my mind. During those first weeks of November, my paranoia compounded like the interest on a payday loan. I didn’t stick around after watching Adrienne disappear through that doorway, and part of me regretted it. The horse-man’s social group and mine were spheres that evidently crossed. If he was standing right in front of me, would I recognize his voice? Had I already passed him on the street? Looked him in the eye?

When I wasn’t worrying over the mystery man’s identity, memories would slip through my mind’s defenses like a bar of soap in a prison. How he licked me, touched me, the ridiculous size of his dick and my apparent willingness to turn into a total slut to get the chance with something so epic.

I was staring out the foggy, drizzly window, tapping a pencil against my neglected homework as I stood behind the counter of the coffee shop. Lost in my reverie, I didn’t realize a customer was waiting.

“Why the long face?”

His deep voice crept up behind me, tapping my shoulder. The familiarity made me wet. Turns out I was capable of recognizing his voice.

Slowly, I turned, half-expecting him to still look like a horse. He did not. His dark eyes were piercing, black hair short, dressed for the chilly weather. He was as good looking as he was in the photos atop his dresser. What’s-his-name.

This must have been how Belle felt at the end of Beauty and the Beast.

“So it was your bed we fucked on?” I greeted him quietly, out of earshot of the other customers. A wolfish smile stretched his lips. “I was wondering who to send a check to for drycleaning.”

“Well, you left so abruptly, I didn’t get the chance to tell you I only take cash.”

"You did rip my stockings."

"At least you got to cum," he countered.

I tried not to smile, failing, obviously.

“So, you found me. How do you know me?”

“Adrienne has talked about you,” he confessed.

“Are you and Adrienne-”

“Just friends,” he interrupted.

“Does she know that?”

His own smile turned a little sideways. “I didn’t particularly enjoy letting her down. I mean, she chose one minute after my dick had been inside you to make her move. I was lucky I pulled my pants up in time.”

The mental image made me giggle. A guy this good looking, I knew there was no doubt Adrienne would have her sights on him.

“I’m Anthony, by the way.”

“I know.”

“Do you, now?” Anthony’s hooded eyes didn’t deviate from my form. His undivided attention made me hot.

“Why are you here?”

“I think we have unfinished business.”

“Do you, now?” I threw his words back at him.

The bell on the door interrupted our intensity, a new pair of customers chatting behind him.

“What can I get you?” I asked Anthony aloud, pretending he was just another customer.

“Large coffee with your number on the side.”

I blushed while I rung him up, made his drink, and etched ten digits onto the side of his cup. He took it, smiling. And later that week when we met up during a social gathering, the look on Adrienne’s face when she saw Anthony and I together almost felt as good as the sex we had on Halloween.