Reign of the Demon Queen

Chapter One Not a year out of college and new in town, new at my job too, I jumped at the invitation. One of the junior partners at the accounting firm where I’d finally caught on announced he was throwing a Halloween party for anyone who wished to attend. As well as providing the address and time the email he sent around indicated that costumes were pretty much mandatory. Not only that, but the cleverest would find themselves reaping unspecified rewards. I could use any advantage either socially or professionally. Lamentably shy, alone on the West Coast and low man on the totem pole I considered this first step on the road to damnation a godsend. Isn’t that the way hell usually presents itself? I wracked my brain trying to come up with a costume idea: one that would amuse my co-workers and break the ice with any available ladies in attendance. Unfortunately inspiration eluded me. At last I settled on the best of the poor lot of ‘clever’ ideas I could come up with. After a trip to a secondhand clothes store I dressed entirely in white: sneakers, socks, slacks, dress shirt, tie and a painter’s cap. Then I carefully glued garbage all over me: crumpled papers and plastic cups, battered beer and soda cans, fast food wrappers, bits of foil, cellophane, orange peel and empty cigarette packages, et cetera. Last I pasted an empty condom wrapper to the bill of my cap and took a taxi to the party. Given the tenuous state of my employment I wasn’t going to risk a DWI or even a parking ticket. The festivities were well underway by the time I arrived. The front door stood open to the balmy night and creepy music boomed out: Jim Morrison at his most dark and twisted. I recognized “The Celebration of the Lizard” from some bootleg recording. Opening the screen and slipping inside I was hailed right away by the host, a black fellow about six or eight years my senior wearing a decidedly unoriginal and un-clever pirate costume. “Gerald! Glad you could make it! What are you supposed to be?” “Can’t you tell, Dwayne? Haven’t you known all along? I’m w*********h!” This earned me a guffaw and a slap on the back. “That’s good brother! Grab yourself a drink and introduce yourself around. There are plenty of fine women here already. Maybe I should have dressed as a pimp!” Dwayne hustled off with a wink and another laugh. So far so good: I did as he invited and helped myself to a beer from the keg. Unfortunately I found myself unable to follow his other suggestion. There were indeed quite a few good-looking women present. As usual though I felt too intimidated to approach them or indeed anyone else that I didn’t already know from the office. Instead I moved meekly around the room, lurking on the periphery of one group after another, waiting to be included or slipping quietly away when I wasn’t. My costume earned me a number of laughs and introductions, but I never got close to the epicenter where the most outgoing and attractive people gathered. That didn’t keep me from constantly eying one lady in particular however, who was undoubtedly the life of the party. Loud and boisterous, hailed as Reyna by the others, she was stunningly beautiful and sexily costumed as a biker. About my height her long legs, curvy hips and spectacular ass were exquisitely molded by low-riding black leather pants. Alternating spikes and studs gleamed along the seams of these and rows of silvery chain hung in twinkling parabolas down the front of each thigh. Another heavier chain was slung rakishly about her waist. Square-toed motorcycle boots decorated with spurs, straps, connecting rings and multiple steel buckles rose to just below her knees and her military-style officer’s cap was of black leather as well. Both the SS insignia on the front and the plastic bill beneath were polished to a killing gloss. Between cap and pants she wore only jewelry and a matching half-vest that left her arms, shoulders and neck, trim midriff and tantalizing cleavage bare. Speaking of tantalizing, while not enormous or anything her breasts were certainly larger than average and as beautifully molded by tightly stretched leather as her hips, legs and butt. Even better their exposed upper slopes jiggled readily with her laughter, clearly advertizing the lack of any surgical enhancement. She was all-natural and a hundred percent hot. Studded leather armbands circled biceps that boasted of uncounted hours of work in a gym without being unfeminine and the fingerless biker’s gloves she wore also glittered with spikes sprouting from each punching knuckle. Yet as incredible as that tall and fit but beautifully curvy body was however – and as erotically accentuated by that intimidating outfit – it was Reyna’s face that held me captivated. A lustrous flood of chestnut hair fell thickly from beneath that cap in cascading waves that reached the small of her back. Peeking out from this, inch-long silver pitchforks dangled from her mostly concealed ears. From a distance her eyes looked an ordinary brown. But the infectious vitality flashing in them as she laughed and jabbered, cried out with passion and glee and pulled an endless repertoire of facial expressions was unmatched. As for the rest of that stunning face it was so flawlessly aristocratic with its high cheekbones and angular nose that only the large and mobile mouth (lushly full red lips constantly flashing gleaming teeth as she vivaciously carried on) kept Reyna’s regal beauty from being even more intimidating than her costume. She was clearly out of my league, and in another strike against my chances she was obviously older than me – though even her approximate age was impossible to pin down. She could have been anywhere from her late twenties to a well-preserved forty. Truly I couldn’t keep my eyes off her. I’ve always been attracted to and yet hopelessly daunted by strong women. And this was the most striking one I’d ever encountered. So naturally I hadn’t dredged up the guts to approach her even after I’d downed half a dozen beers. Not even draining the keg could have lowered my inhibitions that far. Eventually I was reduced to the definitive wallflower, abstaining from circulating completely in favor of ceaselessly ogling her from a distance – and practically spilling my drink every time her gaze crossed mine. As midnight finally approached with the party really getting up steam I could stand it no longer. I had to get home, there to fantasize and masturbate and bitterly berate myself for being too chicken-s**t to even talk to the most desirable woman I’d ever seen. I just had to urinate first. My bladder was so swollen I knew I’d never make it back to my place. Unfortunately the hallway outside the bathroom was crowded with others awaiting a turn. There was no way I was going to slip outside the back and piss against the side of the house. Being caught at that would not enhance my career prospects. Seeing Dwayne – my immediate superior at the firm – approaching me I quietly buttonholed him on his way past. “Hey, boss, is there anywhere else to go to the bathroom around here? I’m going to either soil myself or die of uremic poisoning in about a minute.” Dwayne laughed, looked around and then spoke low into my ear. “Take the other hallway out of here toward the rear of the house. Between the kids’ playroom and the garage is the utility room. You can piss in the sink. Just rinse it out good afterward. And don’t tell anyone else. I’d rather not have a whole crowd back there.” “Thanks man! I owe you one!” “Don’t sweat it.” With that Dwayne passed on. Trying to move unobtrusively I made my way across the living room. Intending to slip out the back afterwards I couldn’t help casting one last glance at the lovely Reyna as I went. For once she happened to be looking straight at me rather than the other way around. Blushing, I quickly turned my head and eased the rest of the way across the room. Finding the indicated hallway barred with a rope I ducked under this and hurried silently down it. This part of the house seemed deserted. Amazing: for perhaps the first time in history a party had stayed confined to its intended environ. The music faded as I moved away from it. I felt a stab of regret for Shivaree’s “Goodnight Moon”, one of the creepiest songs ever written but sweeter and more wholesome than the Doors, which had been playing almost nonstop. Speaking of doors, I found the one between the playroom and utility room, eased through this and left it just a crack ajar behind me. A scattering of boots and sneakers marked another door, this one obviously leading to the garage. The light of the full moon coming through the only window revealed a pair of simple wooden chairs, a washer and dryer glowing with indicator lights and a large utilitarian sink. Stepping up to this last I opened my pants, pushed down my briefs and tipsily fumbled out my c**k. Considerately I turned on the water first and then pissed for what seemed like an age. I shook off the last few drops, swung the adjustable faucet back and forth to thoroughly rinse out the sink and then shut it off. Silence descended as I went to tuck myself away, a silence that was suddenly broken by an authoritative voice speaking sharply to me from right beside my ear. “Don’t do that, boy!”