Man, Halloween parties. Are they ever not a total madhouse? Ours certainly was. The house was practically bursting at the seams, crammed with grinning skeletons, fake spiderwebs draped over everything, and strobe lights flickering in every corner, making everyone look like they were dancing in a glitchy video game. The air hung thick with the smell of cheap fog machine smoke, stale beer, and whatever chemical concoction was in those store-bought blood packets. And the costumes! Oh, the costumes. We had everything from a guy dressed as a giant banana to a woman strutting around as Cleopatra, though she looked more like she’d just wrestled a cat.
Me? I went classic. A witch. Not one of those sexy, skimpy witches, mind you. No, I was a proper, old-school, slightly-glamorous witch. Long, flowing black skirt that swept the floor, a corset top that pulled everything in just right – a little cleavage, but not too much, you know? – and a pointy hat perched precariously on my head. I even managed a smoky eye that made my eyes pop, or so I hoped. My hair was down, wild and dark, like it already belonged to a witch. It felt good, actually. For one night, I wasn’t just Sarah, the mom pushing forty; I was Sarah, the mysterious enchantress. What was I enchanting? Mostly just the flow of traffic to the bathroom, it seemed.
The music was thumping. Seriously, the bass was vibrating through the floorboards, making my teeth rattle. People were shouting over it, laughing, spilling drinks. It was chaos, but like, good chaos. The kind that makes you feel alive, even if you’re secretly wishing for five minutes of silence.
My husband, Mark, was somewhere in the mix. He’d gone for something simple this year, which meant a full-body grim reaper costume. Black robes, hood, and one of those terrifying, featureless masks that just had hollowed-out eyes. He even carried a plastic scythe that he kept almost tripping people with, much to my annoyance. “Mark, honey, watch the scythe!” I’d yelled earlier, but he’d just grunted, probably already halfway through his third beer. Did he ever listen? Not really. It was one of our running gags, I guess. Or maybe it was just a thing that annoyed me. Hard to tell sometimes.
Our son, Danny, was circulating too, dressed as some kind of zombie pirate. Fake blood smeared on his face, ripped clothes, and a plastic cutlass that looked genuinely dangerous in his hands. He’s fifteen, almost sixteen, and still goes all out for Halloween. Bless his heart. He was mostly sticking with his friends, a gaggle of equally gruesome teenagers, who were all congregated around the snack table, inhaling chips like it was their last meal. Teenagers, right? Always hungry.
I’d been up since dawn getting everything ready. Decorations, food, drinks, making sure the house didn’t look like a scene from a frat party before the party even started. So, by about ten o’clock, I was feeling it. My feet ached, my head was starting to throb with the bass, and I was pretty sure I’d had at least three glasses of wine – maybe four? Who’s counting when you’re having fun? Or at least, pretending to be.
Mark had been a bit off all evening. Distant. He kept checking his phone, disappearing for stretches, coming back with that focused, almost worried look on his face. I’d tried to ask him about it, but he just waved me off. “Work stuff, babe. Don’t worry about it.” Work stuff on Halloween night? Sounded fishy, but then again, Mark was a workaholic. It was one of his less charming qualities. Did it always have to be about work? Couldn’t he just relax for one night?
Around midnight, a fresh wave of people arrived, and the noise level somehow managed to ratchet up another notch. I was getting a little overwhelmed, honestly. My witch hat felt like it was shrinking my head, and I just needed a minute to breathe. I decided to head upstairs, maybe splash some cold water on my face, or just grab a moment of peace in the relative quiet of our bedroom.
As I was navigating the throng, trying not to step on any stray zombie toes, I saw him. Mark. Or rather, the grim reaper. He was slipping away from a group of friends, heading towards the stairs, his dark robes swirling around him. He didn’t seem to notice me. Good. A little secret rendezvous. That’s what we needed. A spark. Lately, things had been… routine. You know how it is, right? Life gets in the way. Kids, jobs, bills. The spark dims a little. And tonight, with all the chaotic energy, it felt like the perfect opportunity to reignite it.
I smiled to myself, a little thrill running through me. This was it. A chance to be spontaneous. To remember what we had, just us. I followed him, my long skirt swishing, trying to be discreet. Not easy in a crowded house full of drunk people, but I managed. He was already halfway up the stairs by the time I started my ascent. I could hear the muffled thud-thud-thud of the bass still vibrating through the floorboards, even up here.
He went straight for the master bathroom. Perfect. I quickened my pace, my heart doing a little flutter-kick in my chest. What was he thinking? Was he going to surprise me? Or was he just hiding from the party? Either way, I was going to find out. I pushed the door open, slipping inside and quietly clicking the lock shut. The bathroom was dimly lit by a single, low-wattage bulb above the mirror, casting long, eerie shadows. The grim reaper was standing by the toilet, his back to me, head slightly bowed.
“Rough night, huh, honey?” I purred, my voice a little husky from the wine and the shouting. I walked up behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist. “Or just looking for a bit of quiet time?” I pressed myself against his back, feeling the rough fabric of his costume. He didn’t say anything, which I took as a good sign. Sometimes Mark was quiet when he was… in the mood. Or maybe he was just playing along with the whole mysterious reaper vibe. He definitely wasn’t pulling away, and that was all that mattered.
I ran my hands up his chest, feeling the firmness underneath the costume. He was solid. Always had been. I leaned my head against his shoulder, inhaling the faint scent of his cologne, mingled with something else… sweat? Cheap fabric? It was hard to tell with all the party smells clinging to us.
“You’ve been so busy tonight,” I whispered, pressing a kiss to the back of his masked head. “Running around, playing host. Now it’s my turn to take care of you.” I felt a shiver run through him, or maybe it was just me. My fingers went to the tie at the back of his costume, undoing the knot. The robe fell open slightly, revealing the dark clothing underneath. He still hadn’t said a word, just stood there, letting me undress him. A little too quiet, maybe, but I was too caught up in the moment. The thrill of it all. The secrecy.
I slid my hands under his shirt, feeling the familiar warmth of his skin, the tautness of his stomach muscles. He always kept himself in good shape. My fingers found the waistband of his jeans, and I started to work the button. “Come on, honey,” I murmured, my voice barely audible over the distant thud of the music. “Let’s unwind a little, shall we?”
He still hadn’t made a sound, which was a little odd, even for Mark. Usually, he’d at least grunt or sigh, or turn his head for a kiss. But tonight, he was just… there. Totally still. Was he testing me? Trying to make me work for it? Fine by me. The chase was half the fun, wasn’t it?
I managed to unbutton his jeans and started to pull the zipper down. The mask was still on, his face completely obscured. The hollowed eyes of the grim reaper seemed to stare blankly ahead. I leaned up and kissed the smooth plastic of the mask. “You’re so quiet tonight,” I whispered, then let out a little giggle. “Is that part of the act?” I pulled his pants down just enough to free him.
I put the toilet seat down and pushed him to sit down, he tried to stop me like he was trying to say something. But I straddled him I took his cock out, fuck it looked different and really hard. I lifted my witches skirt uniform and pulled my thong to the side and sank myself onto his cock.
I was bouncing up and down on his dick and riding him hard. “Ahh honey… yes… oh your dick feels… bigger than normal.”
I took my top off while not slowing down riding him and threw it followed by my bra. I slammed my ass down on him hard. I felt his hands on my ass as he started to get into it as I cowgirl fucked him.
His cock felt really good as I rode and twerked on his dick and then he moaned and I froze shocked, “Ahhh mom ah fuck.”
I sat still on his cock not moving, I reached for his Halloween mask and took it off. OMG it was Danny my son. I thought… I thought this was Mark… My husband, his dad. Why was he wearing his costume, and why wasn’t I climbing off of his dick.
“Don’t stop now mom I was enjoying that, nice tits by the way,” he said as he pulled me up and down as he started fucking me. The party was loud downstairs.
“Sw-sweetie you… ahhh honey, you can’t be fucking me,” I moaned as my tits bounced up and down as he pumped is dick up my hairy cunt.
“Well climb off me,” he said as he then held my curvy hips and pumped me up and down.
“Where… where’s your dad…” I panted struggling to talk as I took his cock.
“He had to go to work… he… ah fuck your pussy feels good. He knew you… be mad so asked me to wear his… costume. I can stop or I can keep fucking you.” He started sucking my tits as he still guided me up and down his dick.
“Ahhh fuck, baby,” I moaned, my head falling back as he pounded into my pussy. “This is wrong, we can’t… ungh!”
But I wasn’t stopping. I placed my hands on his shoulders, bracing myself as he fucked me harder. His hands squeezed my ass, spreading me open so he could drive into me deeper.
I was too far gone to stop now. The feeling of Danny’s thick cock stretching my pussy was overwhelming. I knew this was wrong, so very wrong. I shouldn’t be having sex with my own son. But the taboo thrill of it all was too much to resist.
“Mmm that’s it, take your son’s dick,” Danny groaned, his teeth grazing my neck. “You’re such a naughty mommy, aren’t you?”
I could only moan in response, drool dripping down my chin as I lost myself in pleasure. I’d never felt so full before. His cock seemed to be reaching new depths inside me.
Suddenly, Danny stood up, holding me easily in his strong arms. He turned and bent me over the sink. I stared at my reflection, eyes glazed and lips swollen. What was I doing?
He kicked my feet apart and positioned himself behind me. The head of his cock nudged against my slick entrance. Then with one powerful thrust, he hilts himself inside me.
“Oh fuck!” I cried out, unable to muffle the sound. My pussy clenched around him, trying to adjust to his girth.
Danny didn’t give me a chance to recover. He started slamming into me at a brutal pace. The obscene slap of skin on skin echoed through the bathroom. My tits bounced wildly with each thrust.
“You like that, mom? You like your son’s cock wrecking your slutty cunt?” Danny growled, gripping my hips hard enough to bruise.
“Yes! Yes, fuck me harder!” I screamed, too far gone to care about being quiet anymore. Let the whole party hear what a dirty whore I was, letting my own son fuck me.
He pounded into me mercilessly, grunting with the effort. I could feel my pussy starting to flutter around him, signaling my impending orgasm.
“I’m gonna cum!” Danny roared. “Fucking take it all, mom! Ahhh!”
His cock exploded inside me, painting my insides white with his seed. The sensation triggered my own climax. I convulsed around him, juices gushing out and splattering on the floor.
Danny collapsed against my back, both of us panting harshly. Our mixed fluids dripped down my thighs. I’d never come so hard in my life.
After a moment, he pulled out with a wet squelch. I could feel his cum starting to leak out of my raw, stretched hole.
“You’re a great fuck, mom,” Danny said, giving my ass a playful smack. “Don’t tell dad about this. Maybe we can do it again the next time he leaves me in charge of you.”
I just whimpered at his words, the reality of what we’d just done finally hitting me. What had I become? When had I turned into this wanton slut, ready to cheat on my husband with our own son?
Danny tucked himself away and zipped up. He gave me a final wink before putting the mask back on and leaving me there, cum dripping from my used cunt.
I slowly pulled up my skirt with shaking hands. I had to clean up before someone came looking for me. Had to act normal.
As I flushed the cum-soaked wipes and wiped myself down, my mind raced. Danny’s parting words replayed in my head.
Again? There couldn’t be an again. This was a one-time mistake, a horrible lapse in judgment. I couldn’t let it happen again.
Even if a dark, shameful part of me craved it. Craved my own son in a way no mother should.
I had to be strong. I had to resist the temptation.
But deep down, I knew it was already too late. The taboo had been unleashed and I didn’t know if I had the willpower to put it back.
As I fixed my hair and reapplied my lipstick, the mask of the perfect wife and mother firmly in place once more, I silently prayed for forgiveness.
For both the sin I’d already committed and the ones I yet to come.