(Continued from Chelsea – 6)
He didn’t know how they would react to being invited to the Barton’s Halloween party. He and Linda had been there since the beginning and there was of course some concern about how his new budding harem might mix. It wasn’t a concern shared by the group; Beth and Duke wanted them there and they were like fifth graders-excited at the prospect of getting out with others. He made a note to himself: they are young vibrant women for whom a comfortable existence, no matter how well-spiced, could slip into boredom now and again.
“It will be outside-around the fire and the mantle we delivered. There will be tents if it rains, but strange as the weather’s been….”
“Will be any singles there?” asked Chelsea. “My flavor?”
“That won’t be a problem. They typically draw an interesting mix.”
“I want to be a nurse!” Gennie piped up. “Maybe a vampire nurse but sexy.”
“That would work, but you realize,” he drawled, “that any nurse showing up at this party better have an ample supply of latex gloves and thermometers. Not the ones that go under your tongue, either.”
“Really?” said Gennie, the enthusiasm dipping a tad.
“Dude, even I figured that out”, Chelsea deadpanned.
“How about a vampire witch then? A sexy vampire witch?”
“You don’t need to be a vampire witch” said Chelsea. “Either one works. How ‘bout you be a witch, I’ll be a vamp…or a zombie. A zombie. Yeah, that’s it.”
“You”, Gen looked at him. What will you be?”
“No costume?” they both said, sounding disappointed.
“You will be my costume. Once you settle on what you’re going as, I’ll fit you into harnesses…or choke collars and leashes. I’ll have each of you on an arm.”
“Oooo…” said Chelsea getting it. “Like Michonne.”
“Michonne?” Gen asked.
“Walking Dead. In season two when we first meet Michonne she has these two walkers on leashes as camouflage. Real bad ass! That’s it. We’ll be walkers. I got this idea…kind of wooden leashes-nooses at the end of poles…so we can’t turn on him. I can make those!”
“Sexy walkers!” yapped Gennie.
“Again with the sexy. I’m the one looking for someone, not you…And you” she pointed at him, “can be Michonne.”
“Sure, why not? Other than the woman/man thing, the black/white thing, the badass…not, thing, the dreads…I’m a spitting image.”
“I can’t even believe you know who Michonne is.”
“You brats. I’m older than you but not by THAT much.”
“Come on”, Chelsea enthused “….let’s work on these.”
“Hey girls, I gotta warn you though.”
Pulling up short, “What?”
“You’ll be rookies at this party.”
“There will be games.”
“What kind of games?”
“Where the losers get spanked.”
“Jeeze…”, said Gennie.
“And you will lose.”
“Public spankings huh?”, asked Chelsea. “How many people?”
“No more than thirty. Unless there’s forty. Mixed bag-all genders, flavors, dispositions and predilections.
“Hmmm…” Chelsea said obviously more comfortable with the possibility than Gennie, then, “Hey is my butt still bruised?”
“I’m sure I don’t know.”
Quickly, she turned and unzipped her pants. “Chelsea!”, Gennie cried knowing what was coming. She pushed her pants and underwear down at once-further than she really needed to.
It hadn’t taken long for him and Chelsea to understand where they were coming from. Intellectually he knew there would be nothing between them physically even if Gennie wasn’t in the picture. Unfortunately, his cock wasn’t an intellectual and strained-just that quickly-against his own fly.
“That might be a bruise,” he said. “It’s hard to tell. Come back here and let me see if I can rub it off…”
“Put that thing away Chelsea. Dad’s getting all hard and bothered.”
Her pants were already up and she was tucking her shirt in. “I think the phrase is ‘hot and bothered.’”
“Not if you’re looking from this angle.”
Chelsea grabbed the wine. “We’re taking this out to the shop.”
“That’s fine. Leave the table, leave me with the mess as long as someone gets me a cognac.” He left it open to see who would. Gennie, suddenly excited about the Halloween party was sketching on a napkin and he wasn’t sure she’d heard him. Chelsea glided to the sideboard and poured.
He followed them as far as the porch and watched them almost skipping across the yard to the work shop. He sat and kicked his feet up.
In his life he’d made four fortunes and lost three, glided through some misspent summers in a misspent youth backpacking through Europe, been married for two weeks in France and for a decade for real, but had never had a time like this last few weeks. His level of happiness-which he hid as completely as he would any other emotion-made him nervous somehow. The cognac warmed him and, as he watched their shadows through the windows, he really cared not a whit about the mess in the kitchen.
(To be continued…)