Trick or Treat: A Frightful Menage Tale

$2.99

On this night, the division between this world and the next is at its thinnest

A widow, a young stud, and a longed-for guest create magic

When Death leaves this young widow alone, why does she have to take it lying down — unless she wants to?

Through fair means or foul, she decides that she must have her beloved once more, and enlists the help of a very living, very virile young man to bring her desires to life. After all, if you’ve got the choice between trick or treat, why not have both?

From the wonderful twisted mind of Miss Mary Cyn, a frightful menage to give you goosebumps all the year ’round!

(Paranormal romance, MMF menage)

Description

On this night, the division between this world and the next is at its thinnest

A widow, a young stud, and a longed-for guest create magic

When Death leaves this young widow bereft and alone, why should she have to take it lying down — unless she wants to?

Through fair means or foul, she decides that she must have her beloved once more, and enlists the help of a very living, very virile young man to bring her desires to life.

From the wonderful twisted mind of Miss Mary Cyn, a frightful menage to give you goosebumps all the year ’round!

(Paranormal romance, MMF menage)

Extract:

I open the window to let the autumn in. The air is spiced with burning wood, dried leaves, moist earth, the dying summer’s last gasp of life. Outside I hear the night’s revelers; the shrieks of excitement and loss of inhibitions that only a mask can lend.

I open the window and I can almost taste the candy and liquor, the mischief and intrigues, the quiet collective hope that something exciting, something magical, something the slightest bit chilling will happen tonight.

Only on Halloween. It has to be on Halloween.

Tonight is the night where we finally admit that the world is dying around us and it’s time to come together to drink the death away. It’s the time when the veil between life and death is so thin that it can almost be pierced. That’s what everyone knows and no one admits to believing. But they do believe it. At least a little. Some more than others.

This is how it works: I set up the mirror. I surround it with roses. I light all the candles I can find. I anoint the candles with oil, drip their wax on the mirror, prick my fingers with thorns and smear the wax with blood. I spray the sheets with your cologne and write your name on the mirror: James.

I wear the stockings that you gave me, the garter belt, the bra, all appropriately black, and the necklace made with your ashes. No reason to wear the panties though. Why let them slow me down?

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