Chapter 8: Expanding control
The stale tang of urine still clung to Betty’s nostrils as Mri adjusted the thin white bedsheet over her head. Maplewood’s crisp October air bit her completely bare skin beneath the shroud. "Perfect," Mri murmured, his fingers lingering near the ragged holes he'd cut, her stiff nipples poking obscenely through the fabric. "Our little neighborhood ghost. Now, be a good specter and collect your treats." He shoved her gently towards the door.
Roger watched from the darkened living room window, his gut churning. The faint, blurred outline of "ROGER'S" written in marker was still visible beneath the sheet, a phantom brand on his wife’s forehead. Outside, children’s laughter echoed, grotesquely cheerful. Betty hesitated on the porch, the sheet fluttering dangerously high on her thighs.
Her first stop was the Henderson’s porch. The bright security light flooded her as Mr. Henderson opened the door, candy bowl in hand. His jovial smile froze, eyes widening as they locked onto the dark circles of her exposed nipples clearly visible through the thin cotton. "Trick or..." Betty’s voice was muffled by the sheet, trembling.
"Jesus Christ," Henderson breathed, his gaze raking down her almost transparent cover. He fumbled with the candy bowl. "What... what the hell are you wearing, Betty?" A bead of sweat trickled down her spine as she stood exposed.
"Just... a ghost," she whispered, acutely aware of the cool air swirling around her exposed sex as the sheet shifted. Henderson stepped closer, not offering candy. He reached out, not touching her, but tracing the air near her breast hole. "Not much of a costume, is it?" he leered, his voice dropping. "More like an invitation." She could smell his cheap aftershave. "Get inside," he growled, grabbing her wrist, yanking her roughly into the dim foyer. Roger saw it happen, his knuckles white on the windowsill.
Henderson slammed the door shut. Betty stumbled, the sheet tangling around her legs. "On your knees, ghost," he ordered, already unbuckling his belt. The rough carpet scraped her knees as she knelt. He freed his thick, half-hard cock, pushing it brusquely towards the sheet’s mouth hole. "Open wide, you fucking slut-ghost." The musky scent of him filled the hole. Betty parted her lips beneath the fabric, the coarse cotton scraping her chin. He shoved his cockhead past her teeth hard, making her gag. "Suck it, you filthy Halloween whore," Henderson grunted, grabbing the back of her sheet-covered head, thrusting deep down her throat. Roger saw the sheet jerk violently with each thrust, heard the muffled choking sounds from across the lawn as he bit his own fist, his cock throbbing against his zipper. Mri appeared silently beside him, watching the Henderson’s door with cold amusement. "See how much fun she’s having?" he whispered. "Imagine Christmas."