Chapter 1 Rain, Porn, and Lockdown
The sky over Doreway looked like a bruise that had decided to rain. Thick black clouds pressed down on the old Victorian house at the end of Hollow Lane until the gingerbread trim seemed to sag. Thunder rolled. Wind slapped wet leaves against the tall windows. Inside, the only light came from a seventy-inch flat-screen mounted on the far wall of the master bedroom.
Michelle Frankenstein lay on the four-poster bed with her sweatpants shoved down around her ankles, knees spread wide, two fingers working slow circles over her smooth-shaven cunt. On the screen a ridiculously endowed man was rearranging a blonde’s internal organs. The camera angle made his cock look like a firehose. Michelle’s B-cup tits rose and fell with every shaky breath. Petite. Five-eight. One-ten soaking wet—literally, at the moment. Pale vampire skin glowed blue in the television light. Fangs pricked her lower lip as she edged herself closer.
“Fuck… look at that thing,” she whispered, dipping two fingers knuckle-deep and curling. Slick sounds filled the room under the rain.
The door creaked. Winslow filled the frame—six-four of werewolf husband in human skin, dark hair already half-shifted into a mane, golden eyes glowing. He sniffed the air and grinned, showing too many teeth.
“Smells like my wife’s been starting without me.”
“Lock the door and get over here,” Michelle panted. “Town just issued full lockdown. Serial killer broke out of Blackridge. No trick-or-treating. No one outside after sunset. We’re stuck in this house all night.”
Winslow’s cock was already tenting his sweatpants. He shoved them down. Thick, veiny, already leaking. “Then we’d better make the most of it.”
He climbed onto the bed, yanked her sweatpants the rest of the way off, and buried his face between her thighs. His tongue was rough, almost sandpaper, lapping from asshole to clit in long, greedy strokes. Michelle’s back arched. She grabbed his hair and ground against his mouth.
“Eat it—fuck—just like that—”
He growled into her cunt, the vibration shooting straight up her spine. Two thick fingers shoved inside her while his tongue lashed her clit. Michelle came hard, thighs clamping around his head, a broken moan turning into a hiss as her fangs fully extended. Winslow didn’t stop. He kept licking her through it until she was twitching and oversensitive, then rose up, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and slammed his cock into her in one brutal thrust.
The bedframe screamed. Michelle’s eyes rolled. He fucked her like the storm outside—deep, relentless, hips snapping. Every thrust punched a wet slap into the room. Her tits bounced. She raked claws down his back hard enough to draw blood; he only snarled and fucked harder.
Downstairs, the zombie butler—Reginald—polished silver with dead gray hands and sighed theatrically at the news on the kitchen radio. “Another lockdown. And I still can’t die. At least the twelve-incher between my legs still works. Small mercies.” He glanced down at the impressive bulge in his pressed trousers and gave it an affectionate pat. “Lucky bastard indeed.”
Upstairs, Winslow flipped Michelle onto her stomach, yanked her hips up, and buried himself to the hilt again. He reached under, found her clit, and rubbed in tight circles while he railed her. Michelle’s face was mashed into the pillow, ass up, vampire pussy stretched obscenely around werewolf cock. She came a second time with a muffled scream. Winslow followed, flooding her with thick ropes of cum until it leaked out around his shaft and down her thighs in sticky white rivulets.
They collapsed in a sweaty heap just as the house lights flickered and the lockdown siren wailed across Doreway.
Halloween night had officially begun.
