My skin was smooth and glowing; one of the benefits of being covered in cum is that it’s good for the skin. I had a massive to-do list—party preparations—and the young men from Top Cuts Landscaping ultimately had to spend the entire day at my house getting things ready. Dressed in nothing fancy, just a regular housedress, I supplied sandwiches, snacks, cool beverages, and a hot pussy along with my eager, greedy mouth. I reverse the traditional meaning of “customer service;” the customer services their cocks.

Privacy screens needed to be set up along the fence line. They extended three feet above the wooden fence and kept prying eyes away. Both the front and back yards needed to be cleared of fallen leaves, the grass immaculately trimmed, the shrubberies pruned and decorated, and I had three truckloads of Autumnal and Halloween decorations that needed to be precisely placed. While the men were proficient at following my detailed directions, I had some last-minute alterations and took command. As a show of gratitude, I shimmied out of my dress and took on all four of them, getting them off with my mouth, hands, and volcanic cunt. Two of them were virile enough for a second or third go at my horny flesh.

Other than on my back and knees, the rest of my time was spent cooking for the party, cleaning, and fretting over my costume. Thankful that several online stores had next-day delivery, it took me several purchases before I’d found the proper combination of makeup, clothing, and accessories. Pale green body makeup, some paste-on scars, and an extremely expensive “The Bride” wig were the bulk of my costume. The rest was a tattered pair of thigh-high stockings and a thin, white dress. I began with gray body makeup, attempting a vintage, black-and-white movie look, but I changed my mind and went with living color. After applying some heavy, black eyeliner and matching, Goth Dead lipstick, I was the Bride of Frankenstein.

Just to feel naughty, I left some of the landscapers’ dried cum on my skin. It made me feel like a horny slut to host a party while wearing multiple men’s spunk as my undergarments. Since the party would be streamed on Dream Cams and RubHub, as well as the footage for our sixth episode of Trad Wife, I knew what was going to happen.

Still, even though I was quickly becoming as equally famous as my friends, I had stage fright. Mike would have been proud to see that this wife was the wild, wanton whore he’d always wanted, but my wild side—Mary Jane—wouldn’t just emerge on command. She needed to be coaxed out of me. I had no qualms about being behind the camera or doing the marketing, but being the subject of the lens’ eye made me nervous. That required a bit of artificial lowering of my inhibitions. Mary Anne may not enjoy being the center of attention, but Mary Jane basked in the spotlight of horny attention.

With that in mind, I opened a fresh bag of edibles and downed four of them. Chasing the sweet watermelon candies down with a strong wine, I almost choked when I realized that I’d bought ones that were almost twice as potent as what I normally consume.

“Too late, now. I hope I don’t do anything stupid.”

Rather than dwell on the potential disaster of over-consumption, I busied myself with the presentation of the snacks for the costume party. Finger food had to be shaped like spooky fingers. The meat and cheese ball had to be sculpted into a skinned head, the artfully draped pieces of cold cuts being the muscle tissue, the perfectly prepared cheese spread being the rest—olives for eyes, and clumps of Baby Swiss cheese for the skeletal teeth. I also had to stock the fog chiller with dry ice to ensure that the smoky effect would hover near the ground, and the orange and black streamers weren’t perfectly symmetrical, so that had to be dealt with. By the time our guests began arriving, I was feeling no pain, absolutely giddy. I was also so horny that I was considering fucking a chair leg when the doorbell rang.

My friends arrived first. They trickled in, slowly. Allison, her red hair recolored and vibrant, was dressed as Maid Marion to Matt’s Robin Hood. Kat, her natural red hair up in a bun, dressed as a school teacher, and Kia adopted a goth, Catholic schoolgirl look. Kia also wore a thick, leather collar; Kat led her around by a leash. Susan wore a frilly, pink dress, looking like Prom Slut Barbie.

Matt, being his usual, horny self, greeted me with a dirty kiss. His hands roamed over my ass, then snaked up my dress.

”No panties, Mary Anne? Please make Ginger dress like that.”

Dangerous Cougar showed up. The quartet of rock musicians was already boisterous, and they’d dressed as skeletons, all black spandex bodysuits with skeletal bones in white. After that, the trickle of friends and guests became a deluge of arrivals. The camera crew, all of them dressed up in Ninja costumes, did double duties, shooting footage as well as ensuring that nobody gained entry without both an invitation and signing the release waivers to allow themselves to be recorded for the Trad Wife show.

“Announcing Mr. Jonathon Rock and Mr. Lancelot Artemis as the gallant and black knights,” one of the crewmen announced. Wearing matching, full-plate armor, the two entrepreneurs clanged through the door, waving and smiling.

“Miss Keaton Sinn as the sexy belly dancer, and her plus one, Naomi I. Moan, as the pants-snake charmer.”

“Oh, my fucking God! Naomi Moan is here! Can you autograph my ass?”

“Mary Anne,” Johnny said to me. “I need to talk to you about something important if I could just have a few moments…”

“Not right now, tiger. I’m in no shape to discuss business. The pumpkin pie is almost ready to take out of the oven, Kat already squirted all over the couch—I need to clean that up—and if I don’t get a tongue on my clit, soon, I’m going to explode. Later.”

I hadn’t gone two steps before my hostess duties were further delayed.

“Mary A, Huge Box Office just shot us a seven-figure buyout offer for the network, contingent on the Trad Wife series being renewed. This is huge, and I need to know…”

“Later, Lancelot! Party? Remember? I’ll put you on my to-do list… and our price just went up.”

“What?! You can’t do this to me! We’re under a contract.”

“Read it again. We signed on for six shows, and you’ve been in such a hurry to pound out the episodes that this makes our sixth. After this, we’re free agents unless you’re willing to renegotiate.”

“I haven’t even gotten out my armor, and I’m already getting fucked!”

“Later, Lance, later. Eat, drink, be merry. Party, party, party.”

“Tell me, Mary A, what does it feel like to be a household name?” Keaton ambushed me two steps later. I lost control of myself and could only laugh, hysterically, at her microphone. It was set into a very large, pink dildo.

“I see! It’s so they can hear me cumming!”

Rather than respond to her question, I grabbed her by her broad, sequined belt, pulled her sexy body against mine, and kissed her passionately. Cameras crowded us as we caressed each other. My hands found their way under her skirt of veils and my fingers thrust under her thong panties, finding heat and wetness beneath.

I broke off our kiss. “I don’t care about such things, but it’s great seeing you, again.” I sucked on my dew-covered fingers and went off to do my hostess chores.

“Kia! You got Tee-O’s cum on the table. Bad Girl! Lick it up.” Ac crowd of ghouls, monsters, slutty professionals, and whimsical icons cheered her on.

Hearing a commotion outside, I ran into my backyard. The band was playing, and Ginger was on her knees, blowing each one of them, in turn. Matt, her handsome, swarthy husband, was the cause of the ruckus. Luckily, he wasn’t jealous or upset, he was taking bets with Count Dracula, a State Highway Patrolman, and Cleopatra over which one would cum in her mouth, first. Matt loved to make wagers.

Susan was bent over the hot tub, loudly begging anyone and everyone to fuck her, so long as they told her how much they adored her.

“Looks like the party’s a hit,” Kat said to me. “Why don’t you go mingle for a minute or two and have some fun? You look like you’re about to go out of your gourd.”

“Gourds!” I shouted. “I forgot the dining room table centerpiece.” I shook my head in dismay. “What was I thinking? I’ll be right back.”

I went back inside, feeling as if I were in a dream. “Holy fucking fuck!”

The shindig had been going strong for barely an hour and had already devolved into an orgy. I guess that’s what happens when you work in the adult industry and your guest list is a who’s who of famous cam girls, porn actors, and producers.

“You!” I screamed to a woman I’d met once or twice in video chat on Dream Cams. She was an up-and-coming model, hoping to get into the Princes Conclave. She was dressed as a fairy, complete with a magic dildo wand. “Don’t hump your sexy, wet cunt on that chair, please. It was my late husband’s favorite”

“Sorry, Miss Mary A.”

“Use the couch arm instead. It feels better… or, so I’ve heard.” I’d humped myself to orgasm more than once on the plush, quilted couch arm.

Nearly tripping over two men involved in a sixty-nine in my dining room, I heard metallic clanging emanating from my kitchen. It sounded like somebody was vandalizing my appliances with a sledgehammer.

“Holy fucking fuck, Lance! If you get any of your flying cum on my freshly baked cookies, I swear I’ll make you eat every last one of them!”

Lance, the owner of Good Knight Productions, was leaning back against my refrigerator. He’d lost his gleaming, metal leg armor, and some lithe, slutty-looking vixen, dressed like the Grim Reaper, was humping away, impaled on his cock.

“And you owe me a new fridge. Your armor scratched mine all to Hell. Move, so I can get my pies out of the oven.”

“Ooohh… aaah…You’re Mary Fucking A! Big fan!”

I donned my oven mitts and pulled my pies out of the stove. Setting them on my counter, I had to bend forward a little. Then, I felt hands on my ass and thighs. It was the nameless woman. Her skeleton gloves explored my body, and I let her, my ass thrusting against her touch. The pies needed a few minutes to cool down, anyway.

“Eat my slutty, Frankenstein cunt. Lick my slutty, undead ass.”

Her gloved hands caressed my fiery flesh, and I tossed my head back and forth, helpless against her lusty, horny assault. Her tongue ran up my ass crack, then down, plunging into my soaked hole. I was so horny, buzzing so intensely, that just the thought of what I was doing got me off.

I was in my kitchen, hunched over my counter, while an unknown woman tongued my ass and cunt while she got fucked by my costumed business partner. Every grunting thrust of Lance’s caused the woman to rock forward, embedding her face in my cleft. I heard sex sounds all around me, and blood no longer pumped through my arteries, only pleasure.

“Mary A, your ass is perfect,” Lance moaned as he fucked his friend. “I’m going to cum!”

I turned my head and watched. Lancelot, quite the handsome man, pulled his cock away from its sodden pleasures, and he stroked it, wildly. He screamed and gasped, his body contorting as his stomach heaved in passion. As soon as the first spurt shot from his throbbing cock and landed on the woman’s ass, she moaned into my pussy and licked me hard and fast. Her nose pressed into my asshole, and her tongue thrilled my sensitive, horny cunt.

I was lost in a sexual trance for a moment, and, when I regathered my senses, Lancelot had left the kitchen, leaving just the stranger and me. She spun me around, trying to get at my clit. With my hands in her hair, I pulled her into my groin, then, I ran my hands over her body, enjoying the taut hardness of her curves.

“Lick me, you slut. Make me fucking cum.”

I sat atop the counter, spreading my legs, and the woman dove between my thighs, her fingers fucking my velvety tunnel, and her tongue was a whirlwind over my clit. A few people, including Matt, my cameraman, gathered at the doorway and watched.

“Fucking lick me; I’m cumming.”

By then, I had grown at least somewhat used to being seen nude by strangers and having sex in front of a camera. I didn’t bask in the horny spotlight like my friends did, but I could tolerate it.

“Arrgh, Nuhhng!” somebody growled from the doorway.

In post-orgasmic recovery, my passion-washed eyes saw a large man dressed as Frankenstein. He’d gone the Boris Karloff route: green makeup, neck bolts, and a flat head. My friends surrounded the man, and I couldn’t identify him. That’s part of the thrill about costume parties, especially when you don’t know everyone there, intimately; they could be anyone.

“Claims bride!” He smiled at me. Stiff-legged, he walked toward me. It was then that I noticed his cock was hanging out of his pants. It was huge!

“Let me bob up and down on your apple, my monster. Somebody get my pies off the counter, please, and set them on the dining room table. They’re ready.”

I spread my legs, drawing a larger crowd. I could hear the band playing outside, the moans and grunts of sex mingling with the overall din of partying.

“I want a camera on the guests as they watch, one on our faces, and one filming me getting pounded by that fucking monster cock.”

Lance and a destitute-looking Johnny emerged from the doorway.

“Hi, tiger,” I waved. “Want to see me give this creature life?”

Johnny smiled at me, looking less forlorn, but, somehow, still as if something weighed heavily on his mind. Luckily, Kia meandered onto the scene. Seeing my boyfriend, she looked at me, smiled, and then began removing his lower armor. While I quite liked his “Black Knight” look, the sight of my lithe, nubile, goth friend deep-throating him was too hot for words.

“Cum on your slut,” I urged the towering monster. “Give me your Franken-cum.”

I came on that huge cock, hard and fast. Still, all the while, he grunted and groaned like the monster he was dressed as, the man pounded his hard shaft deep into my pussy. Finally, as I dirty-talked to him and dug my stiletto heels into his ass, he pulled out and sprayed a huge volume of jizz all over me. The man’s spurts shot out far; some of it splashed my face, burning my eye. Other streams landed on the counter, my dress, and some even spurted onto my now-destroyed refrigerator.

When I finally got out of the kitchen, I saw a writhing sea of bodies, partially occluded by the layer of fog hugging the floor.

“Mary A! We have a problem at the door.” I heard one of the crew members shouting for me.

“Mary Anne,” Johnny chased after me, his freshly-sucked cock hanging limp. “We need to seriously talk.”

“Mary A! About renewing our contract. There are tens of millions of dollars to be had,” a half-armored Lancelot reminded.

Navigating the obstacle course of costumed guests in the throes of passion, I held up one finger—my index finger, not the more appropriate middle one—telling my partners to chill out and wait, and maneuvered toward the door.

“I demand entrance,” I heard somebody say. His voice was full of self-import, and it was obvious that he wasn’t used to being told, “No.”

I saw the designer-suited man, his entourage dressed, likewise, in jackets and ties, trying to push past the crew members.

“No entry without both a signed consent form and an invitation, Mate,” Matt was saying.

“And exactly who are these pond-scum-looking stuffed shirts trying to crash our company Halloween party? Unless you’re all dressed as Clark Kent, you boys aren’t even in costume.” My scathing tone caused all the action taking place in my home to stop.

“I’m Jeremiah McKesson, CEO of Huge Box Office. We’re here about the acquisition.” He paused, his acolytes glowering. “And you are Mary…”

“Shelley,” I smirked.

“Miss Shelley, we have the contract ready to go; all you need to do is sign.” 

The fact that none of them got the joke was hilarious to me. I laughed uproariously, unable to control myself. Tears streamed from my eyes, smearing my fright makeup.

“Lawyers! I fucking knew it. Let me see your contract.”

One very shyster-appearing individual opened a briefcase and handed me a thick ream of papers. “HuBO acquisition of GKP and the Princess Conclave,” was printed on the front in big, block lettering. Feeling uninhibited, I grabbed a nearby candle and held the flame to the bottom corner. The massive document charred, smoked, and then went up in flames. I handed the flaming manuscript back.

“As you were told, this is an invitation-only, private party. If you’re not on the guest list, then you’ll need to wait until Monday morning.

“You’re throwing away millions.”

“No, Mister big-mouth legal dude, you are. You obviously want my brand because everybody wants to cash in when something new hits the market. You can wait until the weekend is over. We’ll talk on our terms, not yours.”

“Our plane is wheels up in two hours, if I don’t have a signed contract by then…”

“Then you’ll come back another time or call before you stalk a single woman’s home, dropping by, unannounced. You may know how to buy out up-and-coming entertainment, but you boys need to learn your manners.” I paused, smiling at my pristine-painted front door. “Oh, look,” I pointed.

“Huh?” some of the legal-advising entourage said, befuddled.

“The door. I just showed it to you. Good night, gentleman. Call Lancelot on Monday morning, and we’ll set up a meeting if we feel like it. Until then, nothing personal; this is a private affair. Have a good evening.”

With a feeling of rebellious triumph, I slammed the door in the rich men’s faces and locked the deadbolt.

“Mary Shelly! That was great. I almost peed myself.”

“Thank you, Matt. Why is everyone so quiet?” I turned, and my jaw dropped.

Lancelot stood there, beaming proudly, still nude from the waist down. He was giving me the thumbs up. “All my legal advisors are fired! I want you to handle our negotiations in all future deals.”

“Oh… my… fucking… God!” My words showed my surprise.

Johnny was down on one knee, his costume armor fully back on. He held out one arm, and his hand held a black and orange, velvet ring box. The lid was open, and a beautiful ring with a diamond about as big as my first apartment was nestled inside. The light from the party refracted off the surface, nearly blinding me.

“Since you’re too busy to talk about it. Will you give me the honor of being my wife, Mary Anne?”

Time stood still, and a million-and-six thoughts ran through my head.

“Breaking news, RubHubians,” Keaton Sinn appeared, her dildo-mic in hand. “Jonathon Rock, the owner of Happy Good Times, has just proposed to Mary A, the star of Trad Wife, and a personal friend of mine… with benefits. So, Mary Anne,” she thrust the fake cock in front of my face. “Yeah or nay?”

I sighed. All eyes and cameras were on me. My stage fright turned to terror, then to quiet acceptance.

“Yes, Johnny, I’ll marry you, but I want a June wedding; it’s traditional, and I’m a traditional wife. I, however, refuse to change. I enjoy my promiscuity, and you’ll need to live with that. Plus, when you’re not away, working, you’ll be home by 6:30, every evening, so you can be treated as a husband should… provided you behave.”

I turned to Lancelot.

“Lance. I’ll discuss things with the conclave tomorrow, and, if they all want to continue with Trad Wife, we’ll enter negotiations with HuBO and nail them to the fucking wall.”

I face my four, close friends.

”As you know, Trad Wife is a hit. We’re currently more popular than several, long-standing sitcoms on network television. Huge Box Office wants to leverage a buyout of GKP to own our show. Do we feel like continuing this and getting filthy, fucking rich?”

“Fuck, yes!”

I turned to Keaton.

“I think that huge cock in your hands would be put to better use up my hot cunt.”

I faced the motley group of party-goers.

“It’s Halloween; let’s fucking party. I have skull cakes with weed-infused icing almost ready. Now, who has a pussy for me to lick and a cock for me to play with?”

It wasn’t the life I’d dreamed of in my youth; it was much better, much kinkier, and definitely more adventurous. I blew Mike’s picture a silent kiss. wherever he was, I was sure that he was looking down at me, smiling while he fucked the shit out of Stacey. The thought of ghostly voyeurs made my cunt drip.

“Johnny, why don’t come here and eat your betrothed’s ass while she strokes cocks and eats pussy?”

The End.