A swirling whirlwind of reds and oranges and yellows lifted into the air, propelled by a sudden gust of chilly wind and accompanied by the damp dusty odor of wet leaves. This smell, this fragrance of slowly rotting organic matter, surrounded the dusk-darkened path in the woods, but it was a latent smell, unrecognized until now as it was awoken by the wind to fill the nostrils of the two girls walking down the path, and suddenly, instantly, flooding their brains with evocation, memories only vaguely recalled more as emotion than as the recollection of fact: a father raking leaves while his daughter, a mere toddler, jumped and ran and the dog excitedly nipped at her heels; an initiate's unsteady bike ride over a sea of slippery sward; and above all, the sound, the ever-present sound of the steady crunch-swish-crunch of leaves under foot. A sound that sings out clearly, unmistakably, "Summer is over! Winter is coming!"

A sound that says: "Halloween is here!"

"Come on!" one girl hollered back to her companion, hiking up the wicker basket that she carried on her left wrist, up to her elbow, the stuffed dog inside careening from left to right and left again as the basket swung. The sudden gust of wind lifted her blue and white gingham dress, showing a flash of pale skin illuminated by a distant street light, showing knocking knees and skinny thighs above a pair of white knee-high stockings, and her patent leather mary janes made that sound, that crunch-swish-crunch, as the leaves settled again down onto the path around her. Dorothy, let's call her, reached out to the other girl, a little witch, holding out the hand of her basketed arm as her other hand carried a large grinning orange plastic pumpkin bucket rattling with the sounds of a half a load of candy jostling along with the girl's quickened step.

"Come on!"

The little witch couldn't take the offered hand because her arms, bare to the elbows where they met the frayed hem of her dress's sleeves, were wrapped around her shivering self. But she quickened her pace, stepping awkward on a pair of heeled boots that were on loan from her mother. Her own dress showed more bare skin above the boots than Dorothy's did above her stockings, and the chilly wind showed even more, and sent wisps of purple-colored hair dancing about her round blushing cheeks, straggling strands of hair that were freed by the wind from the strict confines of a pointed black hat pulled down tight over Little Witch's forehead, tight both against the wind, and against the chill itself.

When Little Witch caught up with Dorothy, reds and oranges and yellows settling about them both as the wind lessened for the moment, the latter threaded her basketed arm in between the former's elbow and ribs, and pulled the witch into her.

"I can't believe you've never been to the Pitchford Mansion for Halloween!" she said, walking quickly and dragging her companion along with her.

Little Witch managed an uncertain smile, letting her friend pull her in, even pressing against Dorothy herself in the hopes of stealing some warmth, and perhaps some comfort as well from the fright of the darkening night. Around them the sound of the wind, more steady in the tops of the trees than it was where they walked, and down the hill, back from where they had come, the sound of children, laughing and shrieking; the roars of monsters and the howls of ghosts. Little Witch managed a look over her shoulder; it's not that the sounds frightened her, no, they were clearly just kids, goofing off, playing. It's more that she willed herself to be frightened, she told herself against all logical disbelief that these really were the sounds of monsters and ghosts, that the lights she saw as she looked behind her were something other than flashlights carried by the neighborhood parents but were instead the bioluminescence of a swamp creature, or an invading force of extraterrestrial aliens bent upon the destruction of all humankind. Eyes wide now, big brown eyes, fully engrossed in the fantasy of Halloween, she turned back to look ahead at the path that she and Dorothy walked--crunch-swish-crunch--heading uphill, the tower of the big house appearing now above the tops of the trees.

"Wha... wha..." Little Witch stammered, looking up at the tower, dark against the night sky except for a solitary window in the highest room of the tower illuminated in a yellow glow. "What happens on Halloween at the Pitchford Mansion?" Her eyes still wide, she was certain now that the tower housed something frightening, and she knew that the man who lived there must be terrible: a murderer, a mad scientist, a pedophile who preys on young girls on Halloween!

"Oh," Dorothy said, "the guy who lives there gives the best candy!"

Little Witch laughed, at herself as much as at the answer that Dorothy gave. "Oh!" she said. "I thought... I thought he was an escaped convict, or a werewolf!"

Dorothy laughed, too. "No, my dad says he's a writer or something. But he says he's very eccentric."

"Eccentric?" That sounded scary to Little Witch!

"Yeah, he's like, a loner or something. That's why nobody in town knows him, because he just hangs out by himself, writing."

A loner? That's definitely scary! Mass murderers are loners! Little Witch looked up at the yellow-lit window of the tower again, and imagined the man sitting in there, furiously writing. "Maybe he writes horror stories!" she said, and she felt prickles run up her arms and the back of her neck. She hugged herself tight against the chill, glad to have recaptured at least a little bit of the thrill of Halloween again.

Dorothy laughed again. "Maybe! Maybe he tortures people in the tower to get ideas for his stories!"

"Maybe!" Little Witch said, not laughing herself now but acting all serious. "Maybe he tortures trick-or-treaters who come to his house!"

Dorothy giggled, tugging at the little witches arm. "Only the girls!" she said, laughing. "So he can rape them!"

Right then, another gust of wind awoke the colorful leaves on the path in front of them, another magical swirling whirlwind of orange and yellow and red, another pungent whiff of decaying organic matter, another rousing chorus of clatter as the dry leaves lifted, danced, dipped and spun, then settled at their feet. Little Witch half-expected a ghost or a goblin to materialize among the leaves, or a faerie who casts a spell on them and takes them, helpless and paralyzed, back to his lair to feed to his children.

"Come on!" Dorothy urged her on again, pulling the hesitating girl right into the swirling leaves, right into the faerie's lair. And at that moment, the path they were walking turned, and the woods opened, and there before them was the Pitchford Mansion: huge, dark even though a yellow glow emanated from every window. And, as if the two girls were living a scripted scene from a Halloween movie, at the very moment that the house appeared a crow cawed from the woods, its loud shrill call echoing through the night's gathering darkness. And then another crow answered with its own trilling caw, and a third, and a fourth, and suddenly the birds lifted from the trees, one, two, a dozen, a hundred, blotting out the stars with their large black wings.

"I..." Little Witch stammered. "I don't think..."

It was too late, though. Dorothy's enthusiasm was carrying them down last few feet of the path to the steps, up onto the front porch of the dark old frightening house. The hundred crows now alighted in the tops of the trees beyond the mansion and filled the night air with the sounds of their caterwauling--"brawk, brawk, braaawwwkkkk!" Little witch hesitated, resisting Dorothy's pull as she bounded up the steps.

"Come on!"

And they were there, Little Witch dragged by the arm up the stairs, to the landing, the front porch, the door. Dorothy stood for a moment, scanning, looking for a doorbell and finding none. With none of the hesitation of her more timid, or at least more Halloween-enraptured, companion, the braver girl reached out to large cast iron knocker in the center of the door, lifted it, and let it fall with a resounding "clank." After a brief pause, to see if the sound had attracted the attention of someone inside, she engaged the knocker twice more in rapid succession, "clank CLANG!" before they heard a stirring from the interior of the house, footsteps approaching the door. Little Witch hugged herself tightly, bare arms erupting in goosebumps from the briskness of the wind, and the chill of her Halloween-induced fear.

The footfalls arrived at the door, and they heard the handle click, and the door opened.

The man who appeared at the opened door certainly didn't look like a cannibal, nor a werewolf, nor a sex fiend. In fact, Little Witch thought that what he looked like the most was a college professor. He wore a pair of heavy, thick-lensed glasses that gave his face an intelligent look, complemented in that regard by a well-trimmed beard, reddish-blond and gentlemanly flecked with gray. Behind the glasses, blue eyes twinkled with inquisitiveness in a way that Little Witch found disarmingly pleasant. Behind the beard were thin pale lips, slightly open in a friendly smile.

The man held in one hand a plate of ten or twelve small candy boxes, which he seemed poised to extend to the girls, but had not done so yet. "Trick-or-treaters!" he intoned, with an enthusiastic laugh. "Finally, some kids willing to trek up the hill to my house!" He looked both of the girls over briefly, still not extending the plate of candy boxes. "What have we here, Dorothy?" He said, looking at the girl in the blue and white gingham dress. "From the Wizard of Oz?" Dorothy nodded with her own enthusiasm, a beaming smile. "What a delightful outfit!" the Professor said.

Dorothy curtsied, her cheeks blush. This annoyed Little Witch, who gave the girl a sideways glare. Was she flirting with the man? Just to get a little bit more candy?

"And here we have a little witch!" the Professor said, turning his attention to the Little Witch. "And a finely executed costume."

She just glared at him, wanting to make sure that he was completely aware that she wasn't going to flirt just to get a bit more candy.

"But you look cold," the Professor said. Defiantly, Little Witch lowered her arms, as if she was not actually cold. "You should have worn a sweater… Or, maybe a little witch can conjure up a warming spell?"

"Yeah Gweny!" Dorothy teased. "Can't you make a spell?"

Little Witch glared at Dorothy again, but in the meantime the Professor bowed elegantly, sweeping his arm in the direction of the interior of his house, which had the effect of moving the plate of candy boxes further away from the girls despite his apparent earlier desire to extend them. Only then did Little Witch realize, with a sense of dread, that the boxes were shaped like little coffins. "I have a fire lit in the parlor," he said, "and mulled wine warm on the stove. Come in, children, warm yourselves."

Even as he spoke these words, Little Witch became aware of the sound of crackling and hissing wood as it burned, and the orange glow of a warm and comforting fire. Her nostrils flared expectantly to the mellow fragrance of cinnamon and nutmeg wafting evocatively from inside the house. Were they there before? How had she not noticed them? It was as if his words willed these things, the fire and the mulled wine, into existence. It was as if this man was a wizard! Yes! An evil wizard, and this is his own warming spell, designed to entice young girls into his parlor, where he will trap them, hypnotize them, rape them, murder them!

"N... no..." she stammered, teeth chattering from cold and fear, her words barely audible. But it was too late. She reached out to grab Dorothy by the arm, but the other girl was already through the doorway, into the foyer.

"Oh! A fire!" Dorothy was saying, disappearing around the corner in the direction of the comforting orange glow.

"Wait, I d... don't think..." chattering teeth objected. But the Wizard stood in place, holding the door open for Little Witch, and he was the Professor again, a kindly smile behind his beard and bemused blue eyes twinkling through his glasses. He didn't speak, but merely stood and smiled and twinkled, and Little Witch's resistance faded, and she followed her friend into the house.

"Mulled wine for all?" the Professor queried from the room's entryway as Dorothy plopped herself, straightening her dress about her knees, into an overstuffed chair before the fire. "Yes, please!" she said, flashing a broad smile at the man.

"One moment, ladies," the man spoke as he turned and left. His voice was low, affirming, masculine. Little Witch found his voice as warming as the fire as she sat in a chair opposite Dorothy.

"We shouldn't be here," she said in a loud whisper. "This is dangerou..."

"Oh come on, you're such a worry wart! He's a perfect gentleman! I like him!"

That, Little Witch thought to herself, is very obvious. But she argued her case. "It's all weird here! Did you see how the fire, and the mulled wine, just appeared when he spoke? I think he's a wizard! And what's with the candy boxes shaped like coffins?"

"Oh god you're so silly!" Dorothy said dismissively. "Of course they're shaped like coffins! It's Halloween!"

"Well, something doesn't feel right," Little Witch said. "I think we should leave."

"I'm not leaving until I've had some mulled wine and a chance to talk with him some more. I think he's fantastic, don't you? Such a gentleman! And those eyes! Did you see how dreamy his eyes are?"

Little Witch did have to admit that the man had very pretty eyes. Too pretty. Everything about him was too charming by half. But she had no choice now but to be resigned to whatever horrible thing fate had in store for them, an evil wizard rapist was about to calm them with mulled wine, pacify their minds with a charming spell, and drag them off to the tower of his mansion and have his way with them. Or maybe he was a cannibal! Maybe he was planning to fry them, boil them, roast them on a spit over the fire!

Resigned to being roasted and eaten by a charming man on Halloween, she sat back and looked around the room. A grandfather clock stood against the nearby wall, loudly ticking away the last seconds of Little Witch's all-too-short life, the swinging pendulum flashing with brilliant brass as it reflected licks of flame, like bolts of lightning. On the walls, dark mahogany paneling glowed orange from the fire, adding a chillingly comforting warmth to the room. Above the paneling were ancient portrait paintings of people from centuries gone by, the fire lighting the brushstrokes of the oil paint with tiny glimmering sparkles. Situated with intentional haphazard around the portraits were old photographs, faded and gray with time, of people, of buildings and animals. Little Witch wondered who these people were. The cannibal's relatives? A long lineage of human-eating horror?

As this thought passed through her mind the man returned to the parlor, three stemmed goblets and a plate of cookie cutouts on a silver tray. He set a small side table between the two girls, pulled a chair up behind it for himself, and sat down.

"This should help with the chill," he said, handing a goblet each to the girls. Dorothy reach down for a cookie, and Little Witch realized with gathering horror that it was a cutout of a... oh my God is it a severed human hand? What sort of madman serves young girls cookie cutouts of severed human hands?

"Oh look!" Dorothy said. "It's a little bat!"

Okay, Little Witch was forced to admit to herself, the cookie was not a cutout of a severed hand. It was a bat. She picked one up herself and took a bite, and then a deep drink of the mulled wine. It did warm her, almost magically, the powerful smells and tastes of cinnamon and cloves mixed with a subtlety of orange and a deep undertone of fermented grapes. But, she thought, as she looked down into the goblet, it's very red. Dark red. Blood red.

And now she looked at the bat cookies, and then back to the blood wine, and remembered the coffin-shaped candy boxes. A vampire. Oh my god he's a vampire! A chill tingled through her body at the horror of her realization.

"But you're still cold," the Vampire said, looking at Little Witch with a voice full of concern. "Let me get you something to cover your bare arms."

"I'm fine," she chattered in response, simultaneously wrapping her arms around herself to prove that despite her denial, he was right.

"I'm still cold too!" Dorothy announced, eager to attract the man's attention to her.

"One moment," the Vampire said. "I'll get cloaks for you both." He left the room again.

"He's a vampire!" Little Witch whisper-shouted to Dorothy. "We have to leave!"

Dorothy just laughed. "He's the kindest handsomest man in the world," she answered. "And you're being ridiculous."

Before Little Witch could lay out her evidence, the man returned, two cloaks hung over his arm. One was old and gray and musty, the other a long fabulous black wool with a shocking dark purple velvet collar. It was the prettiest cloak that Little Witch had ever seen, and her heart surged as the man draped it over her shoulders and pulled it around her arms, reaching to the front of the neck to fasten its silver broach. Little Witch was immediately warmed, ensconced in such a regal costume. It was then that she realized that this was exactly the sort of cloak that a vampire would have, and another tingling chill waved through her.

With much less ceremony, he draped the old gray musty cloak over Dorothy, and sat down himself. He lifted his goblet from the little table, and with his eyes sparking with the reflection of lapping tongues of flame, he raised the wine and said, "To remarkable company, on a remarkable Halloween!"

Dorothy giggled her pathetic flirtatious giggle and lifted her goblet as well, and Little Witch felt compelled to join the toast. The wine warmed her again, dispelling the chill.

"So," the Vampire said, with a polite and kind casualness that only a vampire trying to conceal his demonic blood sucking ways could produce, "tell me, ladies, what are your names?"

Don't tell him, Dorothy! "I'm Lindsey," Dorothy said, "and she's Gwen. But I call her Gweny."

"Gwen?" the Vampire said in his disarmingly charming way. "I've always liked that name. Is it short for Gwendolyn?"

"It's not short for anything," Dorothy answered before Little Witch could, if Little Witch were indeed planning to answer at all. "Just Gwen. Mine isn't short for anything either. What's yours?"

"Thomas," the Vampire, or was he actually a cannibal? Little Witch was vacillating between the two now. Maybe he's both! "Thomas Longtooth, at your service." He nodded his head in a bow, which caused an exaggerated giggle to erupt from Dorothy. God, Little Witch thought, he's three times your age, stop being such a flirt. It's revolting.

"Longtooth is a funny name," Dorothy giggled.

"It's a Native American name," the Cannibal said.

Native American? Little Witch thought. Maybe he's a shaman! That would explain the magic! She liked the idea that he might be an Indian shaman, at least so long as he doesn't conjure up any evil spirits. But... he doesn't look like a Native American. He has blue eyes, and blond hair!

As if he could read her thoughts, the Shaman explained: "Much of it is lost in family lore, but apparently I had an ancestor with particularly long teeth." With this, he turned to Little Witch and gave a private toothy grin. Indeed, she could see that he had particularly long teeth, and her eyes went wide with horror as she realized that the surname of "Longtooth" would be quite apropos for a vampire, as much as for an Indian shaman. He closed his mouth, and his pretty eyes glittered with their mutual and secret understanding.

"Now I'm getting hot!" Dorothy suddenly exclaimed, completely ignorant of what had just transpired between the two other occupants of the room. She fumbled at the clasp of her cloak, loosed it, and then unbuttoned the top buttons of her blue gingham dress. Little Witch felt a flash of anger--she knew the bitch wasn't actually feeling hot, but was using this as an excuse to show the man her cleavage, of which she had a decent amount for a girl of twelve. Little Witch, in contrast, had none whatsoever, a fact that Dorothy often liked to point out to Little Witch and to anyone who might be in the least bit interested. And here she was now, the bitch, the whore, showing the tops of her tits to this kind and beautiful man!

Little Witch's heart sank in disappointment as the Vampire stood, a kindly smile showing no teeth at all, and took a step to stand behind Dorothy's chair. He reached over and pulled the musty old cloak off of her shoulders, then put his hands on her neck. Dorothy's eyes went wide as he slid his hands down to her chest, in the same motion pulling the sleeves of the dress, and her bra straps, down over her shoulders and onto her upper arms. Dorothy was looking at Little Witch now, greatly concerned by this sudden development, but her companion was unable or unwilling to move. Perhaps she was paralyzed with fear. Perhaps she thought the bitch was getting what she deserved. The man's hands continued their path down Dorothy's chest, under her dress and her bra.

Then he leaned down, and kissed Dorothy's neck.

The girl gave a painful yelp, and a sudden shudder shook through her body. Then she went glassy-eyed and slumped in the chair, her eyelids fluttering, then closed entirely. The man--the Vampire!--continued the kiss for another few seconds, until he raised his head and looked directly at Little Witch, his eyes mesmerizingly alive with fire. Though she could not look away from his eyes, she could see in her peripheral vision that two little trickles of blood dripped from pinprick holes on Dorothy's neck.

He stood, a broad and frightening and satisfied smile on his face. "Do not fret, little one," the Vampire said. "She will be fine, she's merely asleep, and will remember none of this when she awakes."

Little Witch nodded in understanding, and in fear, as the man now walked towards her. "Are you gonna... Are you going to bite me, too?"

"No, my dear," the man said in his soothing voice. "Your friend's blood has quite invigorated me now, and there is something even more satisfying that I'd like to do with you."

"Are you going to..." Her voice quaked with fear. "...rape me?"

"I will not rape you." He stood in front of her now and extended his hand to her. "I hope, and trust, that you will come with me quite willingly."

Against her own intentions, her heart exploding with terror, Little Witch reached a hand out to his.

In a moment, as if with the strength of a thousand men, he lifted the girl from her chair and she seemed to glide through the air as together they left the parlor, Dorothy still slouched asleep in her chair. He led Little Witch up a flowing flight of stairs, covered in blood-red carpeting, and into a bedroom on the second floor. The Vampire turned her to face him as they stood together in the room and reached his strong hands out to her neck. For a moment she thought he was going to bite her, or choke the life out of her, but he only unclasped the silver brooch of the magnificent cloak she wore around her shoulders, and the cloak fell to the ground and he stepped back.

"Take off your dress, Little Witch."

Still, again, against all her intentions, her hands began pulling the dress up and over her head, and now she stood before him wearing only a white cotton undershirt and a pair of matching panties. She felt terribly embarrassed as she watched the man's fiery eyes and she knew he wanted her to take her undershirt off. A moment later those eyes passed critically, or perhaps approvingly, over her naked chest, and she couldn't help feeling that he was making an unflattering comparison to the much larger breasts he had felt just a few minutes earlier in his parlor.

"Drop your panties, too," he said in a calm and authoritative voice. Her hands, seemingly moving with their own volition, did exactly as instructed, and as they did, the Vampire began removing his own clothing, until the two of them were naked. She saw his eyes staring now at the pale hairless cleft between her legs, and her eyes were compelled seemingly by some exterior force to do the same, staring at his member protruding menacingly from between his legs, an enormous steel pole of flesh. He stepped to her and took her hands in his and directed them down until she was holding, griping tight to his cock, and then he slipped his hands between her legs and she should have been terrified and embarrassed by how sopping wet she was down there. But now her mind was otherwise occupied, focused on the warmth and thickness of her first cock hard between her hands.

And then his hands moved up, up her stomach to her chest, gracing over her unerupted nipples and settling at her sides, holding her powerfully as he lifted her with unearthly strength, turning her in the air with one quick motion and setting her on her belly on his bed. His bed was soft, and filled her nose with the smell of earth and sky and male, and she felt instantly comforted. She knew he was going to fuck her with that thick hard pole of his, and she was not worried about it at all. She was ready to become a woman in his hands, to be his plaything, to be his mate.

His strong large hands were on her hips now, lifting them into the air so that she was on her knees, and then she felt his member pushing into the slit between her legs. A moment later, she was filled with him, and he was rocking his hips, sliding his enormous cock deep into her, and back, her pussy gushing, and in again. Little Witch was transformed in these moments from an uncertain child into an unabashed slut, a vampire's whore, and she couldn't help herself as her voice rang out, so loud it caused her throat to sting, "Fuck me, Daddy! Fuck me hard!"

The vampire growled his approval, and did just as she asked, slamming his hips against her, his cock driving into her like a jackhammer. Her pussy was a fountain now, flowing wetness onto both of them and dripping onto the bedsheets below. "Oh Mister! Mister Vampire! I want you to fuck me forever!"

To Little Witch's surprise, there was another voice in the room. "What are you two doing?" she heard Dorothy say in a sleep-confused voice. Little Witch lifted her head and looked behind her to see Dorothy standing in the doorway, eyes half-lidded, dress top and bra pulled down over her breasts, staring at the man and girl copulating on the bed.

"We're fucking!" Little Witch said with great enthusiasm in answer to Dorothy's question. "He's fucking me!"

With this, the Vampire reached out and wrapped his hands around Little Witch's neck. Her heart raced, both with the joy of the feeling of his thick hard member violating her so deep, and with the terror of his strong and solid hands poised to choke the life out of her entirely. She heard his breath come raspy and quick, she felt his fingers tighten. She gasped, barely able to breathe, and he groaned, loud and strong and deep and passion-filled, and Vampire cock slammed hard into Little Witch cunt and he held himself there, deep inside, his fingers tightening even further around her neck until she could not breathe at all, and she felt herself suddenly get warm inside her, and her head swooned, from the lack of oxygen and the explosion of hormones filling her bloodstream and flooding her brain. A moment later the man was slamming again, the room filled with the sounds of his moans, and of her gasping ineffectual breaths, and of the slick sloshing of his cock driving in and out of her sopping sex and filling her with cum.

And then, it was over. The Vampire stopped his slamming with his cock impaling her fully, held himself there for a moment, then pulled out and stepped back.

Little Witch collapsed onto the bed, taking in gasping, life-sustaining breaths, while her body continued to quake with surges of hormones flowing through her bloodstream. When she'd finally caught her breath again, she rolled over onto her back with her legs spread open, and she felt a sticky glob of the Vampire's emission ooze from her distended lips and slowly slip down to her anus.

The Vampire's cock was hanging down now, long but satisfiedly flaccid, and swinging from side to side as he walked to Dorothy, who still stood in the doorway to the bedroom. He took her by the arm and led her to the bed in front of Little Witch. He pushed Dorothy down, so that she was kneeling between Little Witch's open legs.

"Clean her," he commanded. "With your tongue." As if in a trance, Dorothy did as he instructed: leaned her head in and began to lick Little Witch's pussy clean. The girl moaned and arched her back at the wonderful feelings of her friend's warm tongue on her aching sex. After standing next to the two and watching Dorothy licking Little Witch, the Vampire grabbed a fist-full of Dorothy's hair and spoke another command: "Now lick her clit," pulling her head up so that her tongue was positioned on the girl's stiff and needy bulb.

Almost immediately, Little Witch's legs began to shake, and then her whole body, as her sex-inflamed bloodstream pumped into overdrive, flooding her brain with hormones. The Vampire, meanwhile, knelt behind Dorothy and wrapped his hands around her chest, squeezing her bare breasts with his powerful long fingers. And as Little Witch began to cum, the Vampire leaned his head down to Dorothy neck.

Fireworks were exploding before Little Witch's eyes, reds, blues, brilliant whites. She knew the Vampire was going to bite her friend again, and this thought sent her tumbling over the edge to orgasm. She wanted nothing more in the world right then, than for him to suck more of Dorothy's blood, and then to fuck Little Witch again! She lifted her ass in the air and pressed her pussy hard against Dorothy's lapping tongue, moaning and shouting as she came, "Oh, fuck me again, Mister Daddy Vampire! Please, please, fuck me again!"

At that very moment, she heard Dorothy yelp, and felt her go limp between her legs, and she knew her lover was feasting on virgin blood once more. Then he stood, and Dorothy collapsed unconscious to the floor, and Little Witch saw that the Vampire's cock was a solid pole again; it seemed even longer and thicker and redder than it had before. His beautiful blue eyes gleaming, he stepped over the motionless body of Dorothy on the floor and climbed onto the bed, onto Little Witch. As his cock slipped effortlessly into her needy, waiting cunt, he kissed her, and her heart thrilled at the taste of her friend's blood on his tongue. And then his hips began driving, his long stiff cockpole ramming deep inside her.

He broke their kiss and lifted his face above hers, and she smiled up at him, a smile filled with the pure joy of the feeling of his huge and glorious member stretching her open and filling her full. Looking down at her with those eyes focused directly into hers, he spoke with his commanding voice.

"Whenever I want you, Little Witch, you will come to me."

She nodded. "I will," she said, "but how will I know when you want me?"

"I will let you know," he said, and she nodded again, before realizing that the Vampire had not spoken these words, his lips had not moved at all. She simply heard them, in her brain.

"Whenever you want to fuck me," Little Witch answered, "I will let you." But she did not speak these words, either, merely thought them. And suddenly her mind was filled with strange and wonderful thoughts and feelings, not merely her own experience of their sex, of being full and stretched wide by glorious cock, but also something new, the feeling of slick wet skin tight and warm, sliding effortlessly along throbbing flesh. She felt building tension, a climbing, rising need, the pressure in aching balls demanding release. And then she felt another thought, a desire to stop, and she understood why he wanted to stop. He didn't want to cum in her this time.

And with complete understanding, Little Witch looked up at the Vampire above her, and opened her mouth. As wide as she could.

"Yes," she said with her thoughts as her mouth gaped open, "Yes! Cum in my mouth, Daddy. I want to taste it, I want to feel it slide down my throat!"

Instantly he was out of her, and then above her, pushing his cockhead into her waiting mouth and stroking himself. And she felt the tension in his balls, rising, rising, rising! "Oh Master! Cum for me! Release all that tension into my mouth!"

And then it happened, and she felt it, an amazing feeling of cum building to explosion and firing down the length of his cock, and at that moment she also felt it slam against the back of her mouth and down her throat and she was filled, her mouth was filled with the pungent taste of him, and he wasn't done, more explosions, more release, pumping cum into her. She gulped and gulped it down as more and more cum fired out of him, until finally she felt a feeling of absolute satisfaction, and he was done.

With his cockhead still twitching against her tongue, she swallowed the last of what was in her mouth, the best Halloween treat she'd ever had.

He helped her dress, when they were done, and dressed himself. Then he picked up the beautiful black wool and purple velvet cloak and wrapped it around her shoulders and fastened the silver clasp.

"You'll need this," he said, "so that you don't get cold as you walk home."

"I promise I'll bring it back," she said, looking down admiringly at it.

"It's yours now," the Vampire said. "It looks so lovely on you, I could never take it back."

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "Can I really have it?"

"Of course," the Vampire said. "It is a proper thing, for a vampire's lover, to have a splendid cloak."

Little Witch grinned broadly up at him, agreeing completely.

The Vampire walked over to Dorothy, limp and lifeless on the floor, and snapped his fingers, and she awoke.

"I told you the Pitchford Mansion has the best Halloween treats ever!" Dorothy announced with surprisingly loud self-assurance, as she and Little Witch made their way back down the path through the woods. Her blue and white gingham dress was buttoned tight against her neck, her long white stockings showing only the slightest hint of skin below the dress's bottom hem. She was pulling treat upon treat out of a small coffin-shaped candy box, popping each one into her mouth before she had even finished with the previous.

Little Witch looked at her, incredulous. "Don't you remember anything that happened back there?"

Dorothy munched, her mouth completely full. "Ob courb I remeber," she said, trails of caramel spittle drooling from her mouth. "That kind handsome man gabe us a bunch of canby!"

For a moment, Little Witch's own memory faltered. Is it possible that it was all a dream? Just a Halloween-fueled fantasy? As she herself pulled a bloody eyeball truffle from her coffin candy box, she remembered the warmth of the fire, as if she were still sitting in the parlor of the big old house right now; she could hear the solid tick-tick-tick of the grandfather clock, the taste of the mulled wine...

She licked her lips, and smiled. She tasted him on her lips. The sharp sweetness of his kiss, the salty tang of his manhood, the thick bitterness as he filled her mouth. And she felt him between her legs; she felt how he had stretched her, forced her open, twice!, and how he had filled her there, too. And she could sense that he was now sitting before the fire, listening to the ticking clock, his thoughts mingling with hers. He was smiling. His cock was limp though long and thick, and, she knew, quite pleased with itself for its conquest that night. Which made the Little Witch smile even more.

She pulled the purple velvet collar of her royal cloak tight around her neck, smelling him--smelling the fragrance of the Vampire --in the soft, warm, comforting cloth. Her smile turned into a laugh, a laugh that rang through the nighttime woods. It was true! It wasn't a dream! He gave me his cloak! I am his lover, his... the thought came to her instantly, floating down on the wind from the great old dark house: You are the child bride of the great Vampire Regalus, the King of the Undead. You are his, and his forever!

At the sound of her companion's laugh, Dorothy's attention was momentarily attracted away from her box of candy, and she looked at Little Witch clutching the purple velvet collar about her neck. "Oh," she said, sounding confused. "Yeab, I remeber." She swallowed her mouthful of candy. "He lent you his cloak, because you were cold."

No! Little Witch wanted to shout. He didn't lend it to me, he gave it to me! We made love, we fucked, I am his child bride!

"Eat some of the candy!" Dorothy said, pulling more treats from the coffin shaped candy box and completely oblivious to the thoughts ringing through Little Witch's brain. "It's so good!"

But Little Witch didn't want any candy right then. She licked her lips again to savor the lingering taste of their encounter, of the wonderful Halloween treat her master, her sire, her lover, had given her. And she would savor it for as long as she possibly could. And she knew that soon, he'd call her back, and she would be his child bride again.

So she just smiled at her friend. "I'm not hungry. I'm okay for now."

Chipmunk-cheeked, Dorothy smiled back, a smile of pure Halloween happiness. "This ibs the best Hallobeen eber!" she exclaimed, the woods ringing with her own laugh now.

"It is! It's the best Halloween ever!" Little Witch said aloud, as much to the stars as to her friend; to the crows, to the wind, the leaves and the trees, and to her Vampire lover. To the King of the Undead!