The annual Halloween party at the Miller residence was less a party and more a full-blown spectacle. Derek, my dad, always went all out. This year, our suburban mansion was transformed into a haunted carnival. Cobweb cannons laced every corner, professional actors dressed as creepy clowns roamed the grounds, and the entire backyard was a glowing, fog-filled graveyard with animatronic zombies groaning from beneath fake tombstones. I, Alex, usually loved it, helping with the setup, enjoying the chaos. But tonight, a strange tension hung in the air, at least for me.
Dad, a strapping man with a booming laugh and an even louder personality, was dressed as a surprisingly convincing Bigfoot – a full-body fur suit, complete with a massive, grotesque mask that obscured every inch of his face. Mom, meanwhile, was a dazzling, slightly tipsy witch, her long, flowing gown shimmering under the strobe lights, her cackles echoing across the dance floor.
As the night wore on, the thumping bass of the DJ’s speakers vibrated through the floorboards. Around midnight, when the party was still in full swing but some of the older guests were starting to drift off, Dad pulled me aside. He led me into his study, a room usually off-limits. The door clicked shut, muffling the party sounds.
“Alex, son, I need a massive favor,” he began, his voice surprisingly strained behind the Bigfoot mask. He tugged off the mask, revealing his flushed face, eyes darting nervously. “A huge one. And you can’t tell your mother, ever.”
A familiar knot of dread tightened in my stomach. This never boded well. “What’s up, Dad?”
“Look,” he whispered, leaning in, the rank smell of stale beer and synthetic fur tickling my nose. “Karen just called. Remember Karen from work? She’s had a bit of a crisis, and she needs me. Like, right now.” Karen was one of his younger administrative assistants, a name that always seemed to crop up a little too often in his casual conversations. My mind immediately connected the dots to the quiet, late-night phone calls I sometimes heard him take.
“You mean… you’re going to leave the party?” I asked, incredulous. “Mom will kill you. And everyone will notice.”
“Exactly!” he hissed, his eyes wide. “That’s why I need you. Look at my costume. It’s perfect. No one can tell it’s me. I need you to put it on. Just for an hour, maybe two. Mingle, dance, just be seen. Mom’s had a few cocktails, she won’t notice the difference. Not with this mask.” He gestured wildly at the furry suit hanging on his desk chair. “Just until things wind down a bit. Please, Alex. This is really important. Family crisis level.”
I stared at him, my mind reeling. Impersonate my own father? In front of hundreds of people? It felt wrong, but there was a desperate urgency in his eyes, a strange mix of panic and manipulation that always got me to agree. Plus, I was curious. The anonymity of the costume was tempting. “But… where are you going?” I asked, even though I already knew.
He just gave me a look, a ‘don’t ask’ expression. “Just do this for me, son. I owe you big.” He quickly stripped off the heavy Bigfoot suit, revealing his boxers. “Get in. Quickly.”
Hesitantly, I pulled off my own worn-out zombie costume. The Bigfoot suit was still warm from his body, the synthetic fur slightly damp. The mask was heavy, smelled faintly of old sweat and plastic. As I pulled it over my head, the world instantly narrowed to two small eyeholes. My breathing immediately became labored. I was completely unrecognizable. I attempted a lumbering walk, mimicking my dad’s slightly exaggerated movements.
“Perfect!” Dad beamed, already pulling on jeans and a t-shirt he’d stashed in the study. “Just keep moving, blend in. If Mom comes up to dance, just dance with her. No talking, remember. Keep the mask on. Don’t worry about the zipper on the costume if you need to piss.” He clapped me on the shoulder, grabbed his car keys, and slipped out the back door.
I was Bigfoot. And I was terrified.
Stepping back into the main party, the noise seemed even more overwhelming from behind the mask. I tried to act like Dad, mimicking his swagger, his occasional thumbs-up to guests. It was surprisingly easy. People waved, some even tried to pull ‘Bigfoot’ into a dance. I even managed a couple of awkward high-fives. The anonymity was powerful, liberating even.
An hour must have passed, maybe more. The crowd was thinning. Most of the younger guests had left, and only a dedicated few remained, including Mom, who was now laughing a little too loudly with Mrs. Henderson on the patio. She looked tired, her witch’s hat slightly askew, but still radiant.
Then, she spotted me. Or rather, Bigfoot.
“Derek!” she slurred, stumbling slightly as she made her way over, her eyes sparkling. “There you are, you big hairy beast!” She wrapped her arms around my torso, pulling me close. “God, you’re heavy. Had enough of this shindig?”
I grunted, trying to sound deep, like Dad. My heart was pounding.
“Good,” she whispered, her voice surprisingly husky, her body pressing against mine. “Let’s get out of here. My feet are killing me, and I want to disappear with my handsome Bigfoot.” She tugged on my hand, pulling me towards the back of the house, away from the lingering guests, towards the master bathroom.
My mind screamed. This wasn’t part of the plan! But I couldn’t speak, couldn’t reveal myself. What if I ruined everything? What if I exposed Dad? What if…? My thoughts raced, but my legs followed, heavy under the fur suit.
She led me into the large, opulent bathroom, dimly lit by a single vanity light. The door clicked shut behind us, the party noise vanishing. She giggled, turning to face me. “Come here, you.” She reached for the mask.
Panic surged through me. “No!” I grunted, pushing her hand away gently, hoping she’d think I was just being playful. “Keep it on,” I managed, my voice a muffled growl. She paused, then laughed, a low, throaty sound.
“Oh, kinky tonight, are we, Bigfoot?” she purred, her eyes shining with desire. She reached up, pulling my head down, and kissed the hairy snout of the mask. “I like it. You’re awfully quiet tonight, my hairy beast. Not complaining, though.”
Then, before I could react, she pressed herself against the toilet wall, hiking her long witch’s skirt up and tugging her lace knickers to the side, revealing her swollen, glistening vulva. “Come on, Derek, screw me against this wall.”
My erection pulsed. This was wrong. So, utterly wrong. She pulled me close and raised her leg up to my hip. She pulled down the fly on the costume and took out my dick as she guided it to her pussy. “That’s it, honey, push it inside… ahhh yes.”
I thrust deep into her core. What was I doing?
My face was slick with sweat inside the Halloween mask as I continued to hold Mom’s leg high against my hip. Her back pressed firmly against the toilet wall, my other hand squeezing the soft fullness of her buttock as I pumped my erection in and out of her swollen pussy. My shaft rubbed against the side of her lace knickers. I shouldn’t be doing this; she thinks I’m Dad.
“Ahhh, Derek… ahhh, your dick feels different tonight,” she moaned. “Ahh, my pussy, fuck it harder.”
I grunted, trying to sound like Dad, but my body betrayed me, my thrusts growing more forceful, more urgent. I couldn’t help it. The forbidden nature of the situation, the anonymity of the costume, and the thrill of the deception all combined to push me over the edge. I felt Mom’s body tighten around me, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She clutched at my back, her nails digging into the fur of the costume.
“Oh, God, Derek! Yes, yes, yes!” she cried out, her voice echoing off the tiled walls of the bathroom.
I pulled out and bent her over the toilet and entered her from behind. Her pussy felt so good. My hands found her hips, gripping them tightly as she braced herself, her fingers digging into the cold porcelain rim of the toilet bowl. The scent of her perfume, mixed with the faint tang of witch hazel and something musky and primal, filled the small space. The mask, hot and suffocating, amplified every sound: her ragged breaths, the wet, slapping sounds of skin against skin, the frantic thump of my own heart against the thick synthetic fur.
I leaned into her, the furry bulk of the Bigfoot costume pressing against her back. As I began to thrust, a distinct, rhythmic slap-slap-slap echoed in my ears. It was the sound of her plump, fleshy butt cheeks hitting against my lower abdomen. The Bigfoot suit, designed with a discreet, accessible fly for my dad’s ‘pissing’ convenience, allowed enough exposure. My skin, slick with sweat on my stomach, met the warm, soft flesh of her backside with each powerful surge. Her skin, surprisingly soft despite the late hour and the party’s toll, was heated by the friction, and the rhythmic impact against my abs sent a jolt of perverse thrill through me.
“Oh, God, Derek… harder!” she gasped, her voice raw with desire, utterly devoid of the usual maternal lilt. Her hips bucked back against mine, meeting my thrusts with an eagerness that both horrified and intoxicated me. Each time her cheeks slapped against my belly, a wave of forbidden pleasure washed over me, mingling with a crushing wave of guilt. This was Mom. My Mom. And she thought I was Dad. The thoughts spun like a dizzying vortex in my head, yet my body, driven by an instinct far older and more powerful than reason, continued its relentless rhythm.
The mask, typically an encumbrance, now felt like a shield, a complete detachment from the reality of the situation. I was not Alex. I was Bigfoot. A faceless, nameless entity fulfilling a primal need. The muffled sounds of the distant party, the occasional burst of laughter or a soaring bassline, seemed to underscore the bizarre, isolated bubble we were in.
“Yes, right there!” she cried, a low growl escaping her throat as my hips slammed against hers. Her back arched, her head falling back, exposing the pale skin of her neck, glistening with a fine sheen of sweat. I could see the subtle tremble in her arms as she clung to the toilet, her knuckles white. My own movements grew more frantic, desperate. I was lost in the sensation, a prisoner of my own lust and the shocking intimacy of the moment. My dick, stretched and engorged, felt glorious, buried deep inside her, slick with her wetness. The angle was perfect, hitting something deep inside her that made her whimper and writhe.
The temperature inside the costume was rising, the synthetic fur sticking to my skin. My breath hitched in my throat, hot and uneven. I could feel the tension building in her body, her muscles coiling tighter around me with each thrust. Her moans escalated, becoming more breathless, more urgent.
“I’m… ahhh… I’m almost there, Derek!” she whimpered, her voice cracking. “Don’t stop! Fuck me, Derek, fuck me until I shatter!”
Her words, intended for my father, felt like a direct command to me, Alex, her son. The irony was a bitter taste in my mouth, yet it fueled the fire, pushing me to the brink. I pounded into her, fast and hard, the slapping sound of her flesh against my torso becoming a frantic drumbeat in my ears. My vision through the mask’s eyeholes seemed to blur, focusing only on the rise and fall of her back, the rhythmic sway of her hips.
Then, with a sudden, full-body shudder, Mom cried out, a guttural moan that was half sob, half ecstasy. Her body went rigid beneath me, her internal muscles clenching tightly around my shaft. She pushed back with one last, desperate surge, her nails scraping softly against the toilet’s porcelain. Her butt cheeks slapped against my abs one final, powerful time, leaving a lingering imprint of heat and pressure.
A moment later, a raw, primal groan tore from my own throat, a sound I barely recognized as my own. My body convulsed, and I flooded her with my semen, hot and thick. The release was overwhelming, a wave of intense pleasure coupled with an immediate, crushing wave of shame and horror.
I stayed buried inside her for a few more heartbeats, my body trembling, my breath ragged. The silence that followed was deafening, save for our heavy, gasping breaths. The air in the mask felt even heavier now, suffocating me.
Slowly, I pulled out of her, the wet, sucking sound echoing in the small room. Mom remained bent over, her body slightly slumped, her head still thrown back, her hair a wild tangle around her face. She let out a soft, contented sigh, a sound that pierced me to my core.
“Oh, Derek,” she whispered, her voice soft and sated, as she slowly straightened up, turning her head to look at me through the dim light. Her eyes, still heavy-lidded with post-coital bliss, met the blank, hairy stare of the Bigfoot mask. “That was… incredible. You were amazing tonight, my hairy beast.”
She reached up, her fingers brushing against the rough fur of the mask, and then traced a line down my chest, over where my heart still hammered like a trapped bird. “I always knew there was a wild side under all that quiet strength,” she purred, pulling her witch’s skirt down, not bothering to adjust her lace knickers. “Good thing you decided to keep the mask on. Made it all the more… primal.”
I grunted, a noncommittal sound, trying to convey a sense of satisfaction without giving myself away. The lie tasted like ash in my mouth. My erection was quickly fading, replaced by a cold dread that began to spread through my limbs. What had I done? This was beyond any “family crisis level” Dad could have imagined. This was a nightmare.
Mom leaned in, resting her head against the Bigfoot costume’s chest, completely oblivious. “Let’s just stay in here for a while, hmm? Away from the noise. I’m exhausted.”
I stood frozen, the weight of the suit, the secret, and the enormity of my actions pressing down on me. I couldn’t just stand here. Dad would be back soon. The thought of him walking in, of Mom still thinking I was him, of him discovering what had just transpired… The scenario was too horrific to contemplate. I had to get out, and I had to get out now. But how could I leave without raising suspicion? How could I explain Bigfoot’s sudden disappearance to a woman basking in the afterglow, believing she was with her husband?
My mind raced, frantically searching for an escape plan that wouldn’t shatter her world, or mine. The silence of the bathroom was no longer comforting; it was a ticking time bomb. Every second felt like an eternity, bringing me closer to an inevitable, catastrophic revelation. I was Bigfoot, the hairy beast, and I had just committed the most unspeakable act of my life.