Pete wanted the haunted trail we were setting up for our party to be the best one ever. We were walking down the path behind our house — the one that ran along the side of the old red barn that had seen better days.

I ducked beneath some dead hanging vines, while reaching up to keep them out of my face.

“Don’t pull those off!” he shouted. “They’re perfect for the trail!”

I rolled my eyes and answered, “I’m not pulling them off, goofball. I was pushing them out of my way.”

He interjected, “I think you could be a witch.”

I knew he was talking about my future costume, but I teased, “I can definitely be a witch. Just ask my handsome husband.”

It was Pete’s turn to roll his eyes.

“Hardly. Never a witch,” he insisted.

“What if I was?” I asked teasingly. “What if I was a wicked witch?”

“Then I’d be under your spell,” he admitted.

We carried on with our review of the landscape. I took notes in my phone for where he wanted to put this and that. It was an adults-only gathering, so we didn’t have to worry about traumatizing any kids.

At home, I thought more about what he’d said: “I’d be under your spell.”

I realized getting ready for the trail could be even more fun than experiencing the trail itself.

The next day, I shopped at some thrift stores while he was at work and got everything I needed for my magical plan.

I went with a gothic-spellcaster look. A long, dark dress with a buckle that fastened just below my breasts. Fishnets and ankle boots enhanced with lace that I’d had forever and a day. My hair long and wild. I’d also fashioned some dried flowers into a headdress.

When Pete pulled up to our home in his pickup, I was on the edge of the woods in the growing shadows. There were several spotlights which could be triggered along our rural property, so I wasn’t worried about getting lost in the dark.

When he got out of his truck, I called out his name. I made my voice sound as eerie as I could. I wouldn’t win any acting awards, but my spooky tone got his attention. I saw him perk up and look toward the trees.

“Pete, come to me!”

“Babe?”

I rustled in the dried leaves, so he could locate me by the sound.

The moment our eyes met, I ran toward the barn and into the woods, fleeing like a gothic heroine — or maybe a villainess.

“Hey!” he yelled, more out of instinct than anything else, I thought.

I slowed down so he could catch up with me, and when he grabbed my wrist, I realized under all the dark fabric of my costume — and my skimpy panties — my pussy was wet and ready for him.

“Let me go!” I yelped in fake protest.

“What’s going on?”

I didn’t break character and demanded, “Unhand me, or I’ll put a spell on you.”

That did it. All at once, he understood my scenario and smiled.

“You will?” he replied, sounding more intrigued than disturbed.

“I will,” I insisted.

“Do it.”

I tried not to smile, then I began mumbling something in Latin. It was an incantation I’d memorized after hearing it in a low-budget horror movie I’d probably watched a million times. I had no idea what I was really saying, but I thought it sounded witchy.

Pete stared at me as I rattled off the words. His free hand snagged my other wrist, and we stood there in the woods, breathing heavily and staring at one another like lovers in an old film.

“Get on your knees,” I said.

He did look like a man stunned. A man possessed. Or a man under the spell of a beguiling witch.

Pete sank to his knees, the leaves rustling noisily as he landed.

I lifted my dress slowly, letting him take in the tempting sight of me.

“Pull down my stockings and my britches.”

He did it, lowering my fishnets and my panties.

“Drink of me,” I said.

He gave a soft grunt, pushed his face between my thighs and licked my slit. His tongue ran along my outer lips and then flicked at my clitoris.

I hissed like he’d burned me and buried my hands in his hair. I cupped the back of his head, pulled him closer to my body and luxuriated in him eating my pussy.

He was eager and diligent. His tongue moved so fast it must’ve looked like a blur as he lapped at my tender skin. He sucked hard on my swollen clit, then swirled his tongue around my nub and lavished it with pleasurable flicks.

I climaxed, and my knees sagged. I collapsed on him, and we both went down. In the aftermath of my orgasm, I eventually caught my breath. When I did, I unfastened the button and zipper on his pants and freed his hard cock.

“Do you want it?” I asked him softly. “Do you want me to ride you?”

“More than anything.”

“Are you bewitched?” I asked, unable to suppress my smile.

“Always have been, always will be,” he confessed.

Heat flooded my cheeks. After so many years together, Pete could still make me blush.

I sank down on his rod, my flowing dress covering our bodies where they joined. I repeatedly raised and lowered myself. Our coupling was animalistic — more so than it had been during the past couple of years.

Pete put his hands on my breasts as I bounced on him, and near the very end, I put a hand on his throat. I didn’t press. I didn’t squeeze. I simply laid it there as I got closer and closer to climaxing.

That was enough for both of us. An implied darkness. A more sinister kind of fucking than the norm.

My cunt grew impossibly tight right before the orgasmic spasms set in. We came at nearly the same time. The warm wetness of his load filled me, mingling with my juices. We panted and moaned together in the near darkness.

Suddenly, we were laughing. My flower crown was crooked, and my makeup must’ve been smeared. Pete had dirt in his hair and leaves stuck to his clothes. We looked feral as we emerged from the woods hand in hand. Inside our home, I took a long, hot shower, and he joined me at the end.

“I told you I’d be under your spell,” he said, kissing the back of my neck under the steamy spray.

“Oh, I’m not done yet,” I promised.

The following night came and went without me pulling the trigger on my plan. I could sense his seething anticipation. I wanted to draw out the feeling and keep him off-kilter. Without discussing my spellbinding alter ego, we continued to focus on decorating the trail in the morning. We had fake body parts and alarming animatronics. I had to call around to find dry ice suppliers to ensure we’d have enough otherworldly fog and also had to dig up extra heavy-duty extensions cords. By the end of that night, I felt certain he’d forgotten about my witchy ways.

But I didn’t, and for our next encounter, I decided to mix things up.

I went with a good witch. A shiny flower child kind of witch. A flower witch.

I slipped into a flowing white dress and wore beads around my neck and a flower in my hair. My makeup was minimal, my undergarments nonexistent.

This witch was a nature girl all the way. No underwear was necessary.

Before Pete got home, I started a blaze in our fire pit. I sat in a lawn chair and listened for the rumble of his truck tires rolling up our ridiculously long driveway. When I heard the sound, I jumped up and waited to see just the slightest glimpse of his headlights coming my way.

Then I danced, prancing around the fire like a possessed woodland nymph. A fae witch.

I twirled and hummed. I knew if the firelight was doing its job, the barest hint of my nudity beneath my frock would be visible.

Pete cut the truck’s engine and got out. He stood there watching me. Part of me felt silly, but another part felt empowered.

The orange fire lit his face, and his expression of awe was genuine. He was watching his wife dance around the flames with her hair flying and her body gyrating.

When Pete came toward me, I didn’t try to evade him. I forgot the script in my own head. He looped an arm around my waist as I danced past, and I let out a cry.

“I’ve caught myself a witch,” he said in a self-satisfied tone.

“Please don’t hurt me,” I said, playing along.

He held my body flush against his. I pushed my ass back against him, feeling his erection nudge the crack of my ass.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said. “I want to make you feel good. Will you behave?”

I nodded demurely. I reached behind myself and jammed my hand against his crotch. I felt the hardness of his erection waiting there for me.

“Yes, I’ll behave,” I said in a breathless whisper.

He pushed me toward the gazebo. When we reached its railing, I planted my hands on it and braced myself. I wiggled my ass gently to show him that I wanted him.

Lifting my dress slowly, he let out a soft whistle.

“You’re naked under here,” he said.

“Yes, I am.”

He dropped his pants and stepped close to me. I reared back, offering my ass to him.

Pete slid his hard dick between my legs from behind. My cunt was slick and ready, and when he made contact with my wet flesh, he sighed.

“Spread your legs,” he instructed.

I obeyed, but not enough to his liking. He used his leg to kick my right foot out a little more.

“There,” he said. “Like that.”

As I leaned forward, the flower in my hair tumbled free and my tresses covered my face.

He slid his dick into me slowly. He breached me at first with just the tip of his cock. Then he slid deep, and I gasped.

I pushed back against him, moving to take him fully as he thrust forward. He wrapped my hair around his fist and held on to me as he fucked me.

I came with a violent grunt, my body seizing around him as he drove into me.

He stopped and savored my spasms. His hot breath rained down on the back of my neck as he withdrew from my body. I was confused until he turned me and leaned me up against the side of the gazebo.

“I want to see your face, temptress,” he said, maintaining his role.

Pete hiked up my dress, bunched it around my waist and instructed, “Hold it out of the way.”

As I did his bidding, he grabbed one of my legs and lifted it, hooking it around his waist. Then he plunged back inside me, taking me with rough, excited bursts of movement.

I bucked my body toward him, betraying my own voracious need. I slammed my hips forward to meet each of his thrusts. When he brought his teeth to the side of my neck and nipped me, I squeezed my cunt around him as tight as I could manage. The sensation shocked him but primed me for another orgasm. I felt my climax rapidly building within me. As he drove into me, his pelvis smacked my clit. I held my breath, focusing on my pleasure. I willed myself to come from the sensation, and just as I did, we both cried out.

Afterward, we stood there, disheveled and stunned. He eventually bent down and grabbed his pants, and I let my dress fall.

“You good, witchy-poo?” he asked while he zipped up.

“Yeah, but I think I have a splinter in my shoulder,” I joked.

“Let’s get inside, and I’ll check.” He glanced at me as we walked indoors and asked, “You done bewitching me?”

I shrugged and said, “Maybe. Maybe not.”

I let two more days pass without doing anything unusual. We ran the truck down the trail, hauling ghosts, goblins and ghouls. We set them up among the trees and tucked them back along spots where the forest grew thick.

We lit everything up and got it all synced, and then we walked the trail for a dry run as we sipped beers and experienced our own hard work.

The animatronic killer clowns always got me, and as we came down the path toward their hiding spot, my body went on high alert. The big bozo with the blue face paint always freaked me out the most. His teeth reminded me of a wolf’s, and they glistened with fake drool.

I squeezed Pete’s hand, and he laughed.

“Still scared of them?”

“Not scared of them,” I lied, shaking my head to back up my brave words.

“Oh, come now,” he teased. “You shouldn’t be scared of them. You’re a powerful witch. You can put a hex on them.”

“Whatever,” I said with a derisive laugh.

“No whatever,” he insisted.

When we hit the cluster of clowns, the medium-sized one with green hair and the one with the red mohawk and a zombie face activated, but the blue-faced guy did not. In fact, he was nowhere in sight.

My heart was still thumping, but I laughed because I’d gotten myself so worked up.

“What the hell?” Pete queried.

“Maybe he heard me. Maybe my hex worked,” I teased.

My husband looked a bit concerned, though, so I promptly quit with the jokes. We were very close to our party, and he wasn’t going to be happy with any broken clowns or funny glitches.

“I have to check this. Hold up,” he said.

While I waited, I plotted my next sorceress in my head. I’d go with a wicked witch. Really quite nasty. Maybe with a green mug like Margaret Hamilton’s Wizard of Oz villain.

I heard leaves rustling. Suddenly, the blue clown emerged — and he was rushing right toward me!

I froze, a scream trapped in my throat. I was so startled I couldn’t get it out.

“You better run, little witch,” the killer clown growled.

That was followed by a soft laugh, and I quickly realized it was Pete. He’d turned the tables on me!

He raised a faux meat cleaver. Even though I knew it was plastic, the baser part of me reacted to the sight. I turned tail and ran.

I followed the string of lights we’d set up to illuminate the path. I could hear Pete coming after me. Heavy footfalls beat behind me, and my panic was escalating — but so was my laughter.

Fear is a weird thing, and excitement is its brother. This I know intimately.

My nipples had grown erect like hard pebbles inside my cozy sweater. I’d dropped my beer somewhere. My hair flew out behind me. I glanced up to see a nearly full moon and the dark blue velvet sky.

“When I catch you, I can do whatever I want,” my sinister suitor called out.

I wanted to run away, but I also wanted him to catch me. The bizarre conflict of emotions stunned me, and my pussy was drenched from our game of cat and mouse.

Of course, I had the advantage of knowing my pursuer was my husband. That he’d simply played my own role-playing game. But damn, he had to pick the blue-faced clown!

The thought brought a wild scream from my throat that trailed off into hysterical laughter. Genuine laughter. It shook me so hard as I ran that my ribs ached.

“I’m coming to get you!” he bellowed.

Then I stumbled on a tree root and let out a shriek.

Pete’s hand, sheathed in a big white glove, managed to catch my wrist at the last moment and keep me from falling.

I turned to stare into his blue face with its fake leer and fully saw his outrageous outfit.

I pushed him. He looked startled, so I pushed him again.

“You scared me!” I roared.

He laughed but quickly swallowed the sound and said, “Honey, I was just — ”

I pushed him again, and he stumbled.

“You scared me, Pete! Jesus.”

His back hit a tree, and I pushed on his shoulders until he went down on his ass. Then I knocked his shoulder with my foot and pushed him over onto the ground.

He looked confused.

I ripped open his clown suit and found his jeans underneath. I pulled his button fly hard enough that it fully opened, and then I hastily stripped off my sneakers, leggings and panties.

My whole body beat with the adrenaline of a good scare.

I sank down on his cock without a word, enveloping his rod with my pussy. There was no preamble or foreplay aside from what we’d already experienced. I slammed down on him, filling my pussy with his erection. I rocked forward, getting the friction where I wanted it. Where it lit me up inside. The adrenaline had worked its magic on my arousal, making my entire body vibrate with desire.

It was exhilarating — like walking a tightrope with no net and not falling. Being chased by a killer clown and not dying was a feat.

Pete reached up and pushed his hands under my sweater. Finding my tits, he pinched my nipples hard enough to make me hiss.

My cunt flickered with arousal. I squeezed my internal muscles intentionally, and then did it again.

He grunted, thrusting up from under me with short, brutal jabs.

I grunted right back, riding him and pushing myself ever closer to release. Tracing my fingers over my clit, I rubbed it vigorously. I wanted to come hard, and come hard is exactly what I did. As I strummed my clitoris, my orgasm hit me and my cunt let loose a rush of honey. My release sparked a chain of intense spasms.

Crying out to the sky, I continued to writhe until the last little blip of pleasure faded. Pete seized my hips and held me steady as he fucked up from under me with staccato bursts of movement.

I watched his blue face as he climaxed and thought how odd it was. Scary but familiar.

“You’re such a shit,” I said, collapsing onto him.

“Hey, if you get to play dress-up, then I do, too,” he argued.

I tsked at him and added, “But did you have to scare the bejeezus out of me?”

“Did something good come of it?” he asked, brushing my hair out of my face.

I tsked at him again, but leaned in and kissed him.

“Yes,” I said. “But don’t be a jerk about it.”

“I’m not. I’m just asking a question.”

I rolled off him, found my leggings and said, “Just be careful, mister.”

He sat up with leaves in his hair and asked, “What? Why?”

“Because I might have another spell up my spooky sleeve.”