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17.10.08

Dressing Up


I've always loved Halloween. When I was a kid, I would count the days until October 31st. It wasn't the candy that I craved; it was the costumes. I adored dressing up and becoming somebody else. As soon as the magical night was over, I'd already be planning what I'd be the next Halloween. A princess? A pirate? A wicked witch cooking up evil spells? Or maybe Cleopatra - though costumes that involved showing much skin were not really practical in the New England climate of my childhood!

In more than half a century, I haven't changed. I'm still excited by the opportunity to discard my rather ordinary self for one night and become someone else: someone exotic and beautiful, seductive and powerful, maybe a bit dangerous. As an adult, I've always loved to create costumes that were a bit risqué. The irresistible and insatiable black widow spider. The kinky demoness. The naughty harem girl. On All Hallows Eve, the inhibitions come down when the pumpkins light up.

In preparation for this October 31st, I thought I'd exhume some of my old costume photos from the crypt and share them with you. I have to admit that I rarely looked as ravishing and sexy as I felt, but who cares? On Halloween, it's imagination that counts.

I also want to share an excerpt from my Halloween short, Rendezvous. Rebecca, the heroine, is a lot like me. She views Halloween as a chance to escape, to dress up and magically transform herself into someone else. She's heartbroken when Halloween finds her stranded by a breakdown at a seedy motel a hundred miles from her best friend's party. Little does she know that she's about to be seduced by some genuine magic - someone more powerful, and perhaps more dangerous, then she'd ever dreamed.

Wishing all of you a sensational, sexy All Hallows Eve - whoever you decide to be.


From Rendezvous, by Lisabet Sarai


The costume worked its magic. I was astonished at how regal I looked, and how desirable. The bodice pinched my waist to tiny dimensions, and forced my breasts upwards. The square-cut neckline drew attention to my swelling flesh, barely hiding my nipples. In fact, they were not hidden at all. Though I'd lined the top with muslin as the pattern specified, the tight nubs were clearly visible through several layers of fabric.

I cradled my breasts and used my thumbs to trace circles around those sensitive buds. With each cycle, the spring of tension in my cunt wound tighter. A light flick of my thumbnail sent electricity down my spine and triggered spasms of pleasure. I worried briefly that the juices trickling out of my cunt would spoil the satin. But after all, what did it matter? There was no one to see me tonight, no one to please but myself.

“You certainly do look sexy. Like something right out of de Sade.”

“What? Who...?” I whirled around in confusion, my heart slamming against my ribs. The voice had been close, right next to my ear. Yet the room was empty, unchanged. The same rippling walls, the same thread-bare carpet, the same rusty stains on the ceiling. The rumpled bed where I'd had my tantrum. The almost-empty glass on the dresser.

Ah, the liquor. I must be more drunk than I thought. I turned back to the mirror, searching my face for signs of intoxication, and yelped as something, someone, pinched my nipples.

“Hey! That hurts.” Indignation overwhelmed fear.

“It does, at first. But afterwards, it changes, doesn't it? Afterwards, it feels quite delicious.” I stared at my image, mouth hanging stupidly open, as invisible hands caressed my breasts. Strong hands, gentle hands, hands that seemed to know exactly how to make me shiver with delight. “That's what most people don't understand about pain. It's the gateway to the most exquisite pleasure.”

The voice was a melodious baritone, rich, deep, almost hypnotic. “You fear the pain, but that's foolish. You must surrender to the pain. Let it move through you. Let it wash away your doubts and your inhibitions. Let it open you to ecstasy.”

Firm, unseen lips nibbled at my neck. A warm, wet tongue traced the curve from below my ear to my exposed shoulder, then down to the hollow at my throat. With each touch, extravagant new species of pleasure bloomed in my sex. I closed my eyes and let my head fall back, savouring the delicate caresses and the amazing sensations that they triggered in my cunt.

Then suddenly, something sharp pierced the rounded flesh of my shoulder. I screamed, surprise heightening the agony that gripped me, and tore myself away from the grasp of the unseen intruder.

My reflection made me gasp in horror and wonder. Droplets of blood oozed from several wounds on my shoulder, wounds arranged in the distinctive semi-circular shape of a bite.

I felt an arm around my waist, pulling me backwards against the unmistakable bulk of a male body. I struggled against his seemingly supernatural strength.

“Let me go!” There were fingers at my back, unlacing and loosening the bodice, working their way into my top.

“Is that really what you want?” A hand snaked into the opening I had left in the voluminous skirts—a slight modification I had made to the pattern. After all, what was the point of wearing a sexy costume if it made you inaccessible?

Cool fingertips wandered up the inside of my thigh, smearing the damp of my secretions into my bare skin. My clit ached in anticipation. A fresh flow of lubrication made my thighs damper still. “I think that you actually want something else.” He found his way into my folds and began massaging the swollen bud at my centre.

I moaned and arched backward, my body taking over while my mind whirled in confusion and disbelief.

“Who—what—are you?” He slid two fingers deep into my sopping cunt, making me writhe.

“Does it matter?” Now his thumb beat rapidly against my clit, while his fingers stroked my depths. His other hand pumped my breast in the same rhythm. I felt the first shimmers of orgasm, far away like heat lightning on the prairie horizon.

“I am who I am, and I know what you want. What you need.” He captured one swollen nipple and squeezed, waking echoes of his previous assault. I yelped and twisted, trying to get away but succeeding only in impaling myself more completely on the hand in my cunt. “Let yourself go, Rebecca,” he murmured close to my ear. Lost in a fog of arousal and terror, I hardly wondered that he should know my name.

4 comments:

ddurance said...

I love it! I'm a dresser-upper too. I go all out from head to toe. My false eyelashes seem to get the most comments though.

Deidre

Kim Dare said...

Great extract, Lisabet. I love your costumes too.

I've always loved dressing up, although since Halloween isn't such a big holiday in the UK, I think that give me a licence to dress up all the way through the year as well as on Oct 31st.

Word Actress said...

Lisabet - you are a hoot. I love your energy and enthusiasm for whatever you do. I tend to run from Halloween. I wonder why that is, although last year I got one of those stripper little girl skirts, a short white top, the white fishnet stockings and stripper shoes, got all dolled up, and then my husband cam home early from a trip and asked: 'Uh, where do you think you're going dressed like that?' I wanna live in your world, Lisabet!!!! Mary Kennedy Eastham, Author, 'The Shadow of a Dog I Can't Forget' and the novel-in-progress 'Night Surfing - A Story of Love & Wonder in the Waves of Malibu'

Lisabet Sarai said...

Mary, you should have gone out without him!!

Happy Halloween, all!