“Hey, have you seen a Sarah Conner come through here?” I asked the cute little goblin woman minding the entrance of the Ms. Monster Maze.

“Why, are you here to kill her?” the goblin answered playfully.

I glanced down at the black leather jacket and t-shirt of my Terminator costume and put on my best Arnold voice.

“Oh, no, we are fighting fate together now, haven’t you heard?” I hefted my orange-tipped shotgun over my shoulder. “Seriously, did she come through here? Sunglasses, black tank top, ponytail, a little blonder than the version you might be familiar with?”

The goblin attendant smirked and stepped away from the line, motioning for me to follow her. One of her coworkers smoothly took over managing the flow of traffic.

“Yeah, your girlfriend’s in there,” the first goblin whispered to me. “But she signed up for the full contact experience. Adults only, you know?”

The cryptic flavor of mischief in her voice gave me little information about what kind of full contact experience she was talking about. I knew there were “extreme” haunts out there where the monsters were allowed to waterboard you, zap you with stun guns, and do all sorts of other nasty things for real, and while I wasn’t fully opposed to the idea of a little pain and honest fear with my Halloween fun, I preferred to have some idea what I was getting into.

“Is it scary?” I asked.

“That depends on what scares you,” she answered, with the cadence of someone who had answered the same question a hundred times this week.

I re-checked the last text Siobhan had sent me, telling me she’d gone ahead to Ms. Monster, and that I should meet her there.

The timestamp was about ten minutes old.

“Can I still catch her, you think?” I asked.

The Halloween Hodgepodge Carnival was packed to the gills this year, and it was my own fault I was late. I didn’t want Siobhan and me to keep missing each other and having to do everything separately. Maybe it was better to just skip to the exit of this one and wait for her.

“Oh, she’ll be in there for a while yet,” the goblin assured me. “But I’ll need to see your ID, and get your signature here.”

She pushed a tablet in front of me, with a waiver on the screen.

I opened my wallet for her perusal while I skimmed my way through the terms, on the lookout for anything too brutal.

It all looked fine to me, pretty typical of some of the more dramatic immersive haunts I’d been to or read about. The kind that were more about involving you in a story than physically breaking you.

I understand that I may be touched.

I may be physically restrained.

I may be exposed to sexual themes, nudity, and other adult content.

I may be temporarily separated from my possessions and other party members.

My safeword is, “There’s no place like home.”

I signed my name.

“What was that safeword again?” the goblin checked, trading me back my wallet for the tablet and fitting me with a white wristband with three Xs on the side.

“There’s no place like home.”

“Good boy. Go through the first curtain on your left. Have fun!”

With that, the goblin gave me a guiding push toward the archway of giant fangs and orange balloons that marked the doorway to the house

I blended in for a moment at the back of a huddle of college guys, adjusting my eyes to the dark, and then took that left toward the first curtained-off passage.

The security guard standing in front of the curtain stayed put for just long enough that I almost backed off and went looking for a different “first curtain on the left.” Then her eyes finished taking in my glowing wrist band, and she took a silent step to the side to let me pass.

I pushed through the curtain, into a brilliant, blinding white hall.

Hands clamped immediately onto both my arms, and a pair of actresses in the naughtiest naughty nurse uniforms I’d ever seen dragged me forward.

About ten more in the same uniform were waiting ahead, paging through magazines in a receptionist booth, lounging around a medical waiting room, puffing on unlit cigarettes and leaning close to whisper amongst themselves.

Bland, official-looking lettering along the wall read, “St. Clemmons Asylum for Hopeless Cases.”

“New patient, checking in!” the blonde nurse holding my right arm announced in a syrupy sweet chirp.

I turned my head and found her nametag. Bubbles.

The other nurses responded to her call and gathered in around me.

“Easy, honey,” said one at the back of the crowd, in a husky, gravelly voice.

She looked to be the oldest of the bunch, though she couldn’t have been more than thirty. I got the sense that she probably liked burning through those cigarettes for real when breaktime rolled around. She had a slightly bigger hat than the rest, with a stripe of red that probably denoted authority. Portia, her name tag said.

“You won’t be needing this.” She reached past her colleagues and eased the toy shotgun off my shoulder. “There, that’s much better.”

“I dunno,” said Bubbles, “He might have more weapons on him.”

She held my arm like a vice under one of hers, and ran her other hand searchingly over my chest, exploring the inside of my jacket. Her fingers ran curiously, insistently, over lines and ridges she probably wasn’t expecting to find in my clothes.

“You’re right,” said Portia. “We should get this one stripped down as quickly as possible, for everyone’s safety.”

More hands descended on me from all sides, first taking my jacket, then my sunglasses.

Well, this maze was off to an intriguing start. Of course, there was one thing that could make it better.

“You didn’t happen to take another pair of sunglasses from a patient named Sarah Conner any time recently, did you?” I asked.

“Don’t you worry about that woman’s talk,” said a nurse called Sparkler with long, curly red hair. “Focus on yourself.”

She ran her fingers admiringly over the metallic prosthetic eyepiece I’d used to simulate torn-away Terminator skin, and then went to get a clear plastic bag to hold my confiscated belongings.

In the midst of this blend of dirty fantasy and historical anachronisms, that bag was oddly the thing that felt most unsettlingly real. If I were checked into a real hospital today, the physical traces of my personality would probably go in a bag just like that.

More hands found the hem of my t-shirt, and a tingle went through me as I anticipated the reaction. The light cotton slipped up and off over my head, prompting a second of silence, followed by a chorus of delighted giggles.

“What’s this now?” the statuesque brunette on my left released my arm to put both her hands over the cups of the lacy red bra I’d borrowed from Siobhan for the day. It wasn’t a perfect fit — Siobhan’s bras needed plenty of room — but I had enough muscle there to fill it out a little bit. The effect was rather fetching if I did say so myself.

“Did he coordinate?” another nurse shrieked with laughter, unfastening my belt and pulling my thick, heavy, dark jeans to the floor.

The lacy thong I’d also borrowed from Siobhan was indeed an identical shade of red.

“Under a costume that macho,” Portia gestured thoughtfully with her unlit cigarette. “Who’d have thought it?”

“That’s what makes it so much fun,” I said honestly, getting another round of giggles. I waited for it to die down before asking, with flirty little shuffle of my hips, “So, nurse, what do you think, am I mad?”

“Stark raving,” said Portia. “And normally, we’d get you stark naked to match, before setting you up with a nice hospital gown, but under the circumstances….”

“Ooh, can we leave these on him, pretty please?” asked Bubbles, as Sparkler forcefully relieved me of my boots and socks, leaving my body undisguised and unprotected by anything but the lace, and that one stick-on costume prosthetic.

“Yes, I should say so,” said Portia, with a faint smile. “Might be an emotional crutch. Best we not disturb it until we understand his pathology better.”

“I’ll get the gown,” said a nurse whose name I hadn’t caught, but who had just snapped the elastic of my thong against my hip.

“Thank you, Rosie,” said Portia. “No need to hurry. We’ll be in exam room one.”

Rosie broke off, Portia led the way, and the other ten spirited me swiftly and efficiently down the only hallway onward.

With a thrill, it finally hit home how outnumbered I really was here. I had no interest whatsoever in escaping, wasn’t even pretending to struggle, but the combined force of all those hands pressing on me felt satisfyingly irresistible. None of these women were physically imposing on their own. Portia was the closest, being just a little shorter and less broad than myself. And I was no Terminator, really. When they were all working together, though, even these ten could have fully and easily pinned me, or carried me over their heads.

It felt as if my feet were only touching the ground now because they were allowing it, and because I was still bothering to go through the motions of taking my own steps.

The next room on this adult course of the house had a small wheeled hospital bed at the ready, cabinets and racks of gleaming medical instruments, and an unsettling drain in the floor.

The nurses sat me on the bed, with my legs hanging over the side.

“Say ah,” said Bubbles, brandishing a tongue depressor.

“Ahhhh,” I obeyed.

She bent over at the hips when she stuck the wooden tool into me, arching her back so that, even from this angle, I could see her short, short skirt ride up over her own white thong and the bare curves of her ass. Unsure how much staring was welcome, I looked down, and found myself gazing all the way down the front of her uniform, between her breasts, down her powerful abs, all the way to the front of that thong and the fluorescent light shining in behind it.

“Louder,” she directed, her voice still high and perky yet commanding.

“Ahhh— Ah! Ahhhh,” I choked on her shockingly forceful probing but recovered myself, determined to show off my oral self-control. I finally settled on looking her right in her focused blue eyes, which actually felt like the most intimate option of all.

“Hmm,” she said, removing the depressor and letting me catch my breath. “I’m gonna have to check your reflexes.”

She arranged a real-looking stethoscope in her ears and pressed the cold metal sensor to my chest, over my heart.

“How does it feel when I do this?” she asked, putting her hand on my thigh and squeezing, right above my kneecap.

My pulse accelerated, and I felt more than physically naked, knowing that the rhythm change was pounding in her ears.

“Exciting,” I answered honestly.

“I see. How about this?” She took my hand in hers and guided it to her breast.

After a moment of surprise, which no doubt caused another crescendo in my pulse, I relaxed enough to pay attention and enjoy it. I felt her nipple pressing through her bra and costume into my palm, and the soft smoothness of her pale skin where my fingers crossed over her low collar.

“Like a special treat,” I said.

“Hmm. Do you find yourself affected by visual images alone?”

Several of the nurses struck suggestive poses that similarly showed off their short skirts and low tops.

One fully flashed me her small, high breasts, and one slapped another nurse’s ass to make it jiggle.

“Definitely affected,” I said.

“Oh dear,” said Bubbles. “How about—”

“Has anyone taken his temperature?” Portia demanded, catching up with a flimsy blue gown over her arm and Rosie following close behind her.

“Not yet,” said Bubbles, lacing her fingers guiltily behind her back.

“Look at you girls,” Portia tutted, shaking her head, “getting him all worked up without taking his temperature first, skewing the data. Well, better late than never.”

She took a thermometer from a drawer, gave it a shake, glanced at it, and approached.

I opened my mouth again, lifting my tongue as I would for a real nurse doing her job.

“That’s cute,” said Portia, squeezing a line of lubricant onto the thermometer. “Knees down, head down, ass up.”

I did as she said, but kept my eyes on her until the last possible moment, assessing.

Was she really going to take it that far? I’d been to haunts that might playact something like this, but without any real penetration.

She pulled on a pair of plastic gloves, letting them snap against her wrists, and then tugged the string of my thong to the side.

I assumed her deliberate pace was just to build suspense, until I felt a cold trickle of lube between my cheeks and recognized the possibility that she might be giving me time to object.

On the contrary, I lifted my ass toward her even more, daring her as much as I possibly could.

I still gasped with a little bit of surprise when I felt the cold, unyielding pressure of metal and glass push their way inside, right in the middle of this room full of gorgeous women. I shivered pleasantly and felt my face warm against the thin, paper-covered cot.

“As I suspected,” said Portia. “He’s hot.”

I snickered a little.

She cleaned me up with something papery and disposable and sat me back upright.

“One more thing to check. Nurse Bubbles, if you think you can manage….”

“Of course, I can manage, thank you very much!”

Bubbles leaned over me, moving her hand slowly toward me, once again leaving plenty of space for even this event’s ungainly safeword.

And once again, I was more incredulous than worried. The bounds of what I wanted out of this experience were far more risqué than the bounds of what I expected.

Portia really sticking me with that thermometer had to be the high point of what they’d be willing to do to me for real. There was no way Bubbles was really going to—

Her hand closed around my bulge. She squeezed, testing its considerable firmness, and confidently took stock of its shape, separating out my balls for their own squeeze and guiding my cock upright under the fabric.

“Oh, he’s worse than we thought, Nurse Portia!” Bubbles exclaimed.

“How much worse could he be?” Portia prompted her.

Bubbles hooked her fingers slowly under the upper front edge of my thong and pulled it down, exposing me completely.

The nurses gasped and looked scandalized, each in her own way. Some clapped their hands over their hearts, some crossed themselves. Some looked away, some stared with tantalizingly open mouths.

Not a one of them managed to conceal a small smile at the silliness of her own act, and her coworkers’.

“The surest sign of madness!” Portia declared.

“It’s stiff as a board!” said Bubbles, wrapping her bare hand right around me. “All angried up and overexcited, over nothing but basic medical procedures!”

“Not a sign of shame or temperance in him,” said Portia.

Bubbles gave me two quick strokes and then pulled her hand away to show the others.

“Leaking with lust!” she said.

“Well, he certainly can’t be trusted with himself,” said Portia. “Apply the restraints.”

Sparkler grabbed me from behind, and pulled me flat onto my back, with the help of three or four others.

Happily helpless to stop them, I let them stretch me out and buckle me into heavy leather wrist cuffs. One of them pulled my thong off entirely before adding the ankle cuffs as well.

Bubbles climbed onto the bed and straddled me for extra security.

“Don’t you worry, sweetums,” she cooed softly in my ear, stroking my hair away from my face, as if there was nothing suggestive at all about the way my still naked erection was pressing right against the thin, warm crotch of her thong. “You’re in just the right place. We take good care of hopeless cases.”

She kissed me on the cheek, hopped down, and tossed the hospital gown over my lap. The thin, stiff material tented up over my erection, more emphasizing than hiding it, as the other nurses wheeled me, bed and all, down the next hallway.

#

That bed-gurney served as my ride car for several more rooms. The nurses peeled off a few at a time, entrusting my prone and restrained body to the denizens of these other environments.

There were rooms of flashing lights, swirling colors, and disembodied tentacles, probably intended to simulate my supposed descent into madness, followed by more literal monster women. There were pumpkin people and fish people, and a family of vampire women who had lots more to say about the hotness and excitability of my blood.

Finally, those vampires delivered me into a large, very dimly lit room, decorated to look like a forest clearing.

I say “finally” not because I was feeling at all impatient, but because there was a definite note of finality to the way they parked me there and retreated back the way we’d come from.

This was the place where the grand finale was to happen. I could feel it.

“Siobhan?” I called out hopefully, craning my neck to see what I could make out from my current position.

A high, hair-raising cackle — not Siobhan’s — answered me from the darkness. “We didn’t save any for you, deary. She was just too delicious.”

Long-nailed fingers unfastened my restraints, handled the still-prominent tent of my gown like a piece of produce to be scrutinized for freshness, and pulled me to my feet.

The grass that slipped between my bare toes felt impressively real, and a draft like a cool autumn breeze swept over my back, making me feel quite transported to this dark forest.

I caught the gown before it could fall and put it on, backwards, like a jacket. Even when I crossed my arms to close it, my erection poked determinedly out through the gap.

The cackling woman who had freed me grabbed it, skin to skin, still with that same appraising touch, and I looked up to appraise her back.

She was in her mid-forties or thereabouts, with a striking face that moved smoothly between stern and amused with her thoughts. Her figure was a generous hourglass, accentuated by an embroidered green corset. The felt hat she wore was cutely, subtly pointed, in a way that still screamed the intent of her costume:

Witch.

I loved witches.

She brought her hand up, still sticky from touching me, to pinch my nipple through my bra, and then my cheek.

“He’s here!” she crowed, tossing her head back. “The secret ingredient has arrived!”

A chemical reaction went off somewhere behind her, releasing a spray of sparks, a cloud of fog, and the celebratory fireworks smell of wet black powder.

A cauldron came into view in the dark, lit by its own newly glowing contents, and flanked by two more witches.

Like the first, they were both striking and about twice my age, powerfully and curvily built, at once whimsical and intimidating. Their costumes were pure fantasy, not of the present, but too brightly colored to be from far in the past. Splashes of green and purple and orange accessories brightened up the black of their dresses.

“Bring him closer, Hecacia!” one of them cried.

“What are you waiting for?” added the third. “While he’s fresh!”

“Are you going to eat me?” I joked as Hecacia steered me toward the pot.

“Oh, just a little bit of you,” she answered, giving me a little pinch on the arm. “You’ll never miss it.”

She maneuvered me right to the edge of the cauldron, so that my hips were almost touching it, and my erection bobbed vulnerably over the glowing, smoky interior. I could feel the brush of thick, warm air rising and swirling around it.

When she let me go, I wobbled a little on my feet, only to find a sturdy stake fixed in the ground right behind me, almost invisible in the dark. Hecacia pulled my hands behind it and bound them in place.

“Hestral! Hathorium!” she clapped her hands. “Make ready the brew!”

Both of them tossed their hands in the air and began to dance. Wild, discordant folk music rose in the background, as if the rhythms of their bodies determined its pace, rather than the other way around. Hestral jerked around and stomped her feet like a woman possessed, while Hathorium twirled and floated with languid grace, trailing her hands down her neck and over her own large bosom.

“Fill the cauldron, fill it right,” she suddenly sang out in a delicate warble, “wanton as the restless night.”

“Spirits rise from stone and tree,” Hestral joined in, in a chanting staccato, “that we so may ever be!”

“Prick of needle, pinch of salt,” sang Hecacia, her authoritative tone growing round and resonant, as she pulled a long, thick embroidery needle from one of the pouches tied around her waist. “Lest we sweetness o’er exalt.”

Behind my back, she pressed the point of the needle to the pad of my index finger, not hard enough to actually draw blood, but enough to provoke a hint of pain and a flash of adrenaline at the possibility.

“Laughter loosed without a care!” the three of them sang together and then broke into a long, riotous cackle, and began to undo the clasps of their corsets, as if they were on fire.

“Stirred by women free as air!”

The corsets came off and hit the ground, and the loose, untied peasant necklines of their dresses fell wide open in the absence of that structure. Full, heavy, natural breasts hung and jiggled with joyful abandon all around me. The witches all plunged their hands into the cauldron together, whipping up the smoke with bare fingers.

“Evidence of carnal bliss.”

Hecacia wrapped her hand around my cock again with such purpose that I was sure she was going to make me spill that ingredient on the spot. In my present condition, it seemed thoroughly reasonable that she had the magic to make that happen without even two seconds’ work.

But when her hand pulled up far enough to hold the head in her palm, she kept it there, unmoving. This couplet wasn’t finished yet.

“Consent all sealed up with a kiss.”

She hovered her face near mine for a moment, just out of reach, then stood a little taller and used her other hand to lift one of her vast breasts toward my mouth.

I took the hint, opened up, and slowly took her nipple between my lips. When she leaned closer instead of further away, I licked and sucked and pressed my face happily deeper into the surrounding softness, while the little nub within my mouth turned hard.

Still, she held her hand tight around me and did not move it. The contact was maddeningly, tauntingly sweet.

After a moment, she lifted the other breast, prompting me to switch, and when I had hardened that nipple too, I found the other two witches also waiting their turns, not patiently, jostling against each other to get to me first.

Servicing all that gorgeous flesh was no chore, nothing could turn it into one, but it was daunting, seeing even these quick, delicious tasks stacked up between me and the impending release this scenario promised. What if they wanted to pass me around more than once?

“Ooh, what would she say if she could see this?” Hestral cried to the sky as I flicked my tongue back and forth over her nipple with my head pressed back against the stake, gasping for each breath through the valley of her sternum. “Your Sarah? Your Siobhan?”

“Why not ask her?” I suggested hopefully, the words muffled but audible against her chest.

The witches exchanged glances and shrugs, and Hathorium stepped away to what I slowly realized was a second stake on the opposite side of the cauldron. She unhooked a rope attached at the base and slowly began feeding it upward into some workings in the darkness above.

“She’s all wrung out,” Hecacia sighed. “But it could be amusing.”

While I sucked and lapped and nuzzled, a harness slowly lowered from the imitation night sky, with my beautiful girlfriend suspended in it, right over the cauldron, naked and upside-down. Her arms were behind her, and her legs were bent double and secured in a wide upside-down squat, so that she looked almost like a spider caught in her own web. Copious fluid, probably multiple finished orgasms’ worth, had run down from her splayed pussy, leaving glimmering streaks on her abs.

Hathorium turned her and held her still so that we could look each other in the eye, albeit upside-down.

Siobhan smiled at me, exhausted but pleased.

“Hey,” she said. “Amazing event, right?”

I agreed in an earnest grunt, through the next breast stuffed into my mouth.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Great,” I managed. “You?”

“Great,” she said.

“Are you okay with this, specifically?” I double-checked, nodding at Hecacia’s breasts as she swooped back in to re-envelop me next.

Her hand was still around my cock.

“Of course,” said Siobhan. “I love watching your tongue get a workout.”

“Aww,” Hecacia put her free hand over her heart. “Aren’t they just precious?”

The other witches mirrored her gesture and sentiment.

“Maybe this one has a little use left in her after all,” said Hecacia, shaking Siobhan by the harness. Then she whispered something to Hathorium, who nodded and went to work on the harness.

With a few quick adjustments, Siobhan half-tumbled in the air. She landed, still hanging from the rig, still in the same position, but now upright, with her hips exactly at the level of the cauldron’s rim. The level of my hips.

Hathorium untied her arms. “Go get us that magic ingredient, deary,” she directed, and sent Siobhan swinging with a light slap on the ass.

Siobhan laughed, but then set seriously about her task. She grabbed me around the shoulders to steady herself and tried to fit herself onto me.

Hecacia helped a little with that part, lowering her hand to hold my shaft steady from the base until Siobhan could slide herself down onto it.

Siobhan gasped and groaned with sensitivity when her pussy took me in, and gave my neck a tired but passionate kiss.

Hecacia retreated to dance around us with the rest of her coven. They spun and circled, reaching out often to the sides, as if they wanted to hold hands but couldn’t quite reach without crushing us against the cauldron in the middle.

With only Siobhan’s arms and my legs functioning between us, she rode me like some wild flying creature of myth.

It was all I could do to hold still and steady, and occasionally sneak in a quick upward thrust in the moments when she slowed.

In truth, it didn’t take much for me. I had been dripping since almost the beginning of the experience, and there was no way I was going to be able to last long enough to give Siobhan another orgasm this way, after however many other she’d had. I’d make it up to her later, when we’d both had time to rest.

I lay back against the stake, embracing the music, the glow of the cauldron, the brush of the witches’ hands along the back of my neck as they circled, Siobhan’s hands and teeth gripping my shoulders, and her pussy gripping and rocking effortfully on my cock.

The charge built up inside me set off at last, sending more than enough of that magic ingredient overflowing down between us, into the lights and smoke.

***

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