“I’m having a hard time believing you’re a skeleton with an ass like *that*.”
Ella was dressed in a black, skin tight bodysuit that featured the outlines of a skeleton on the front and back. I might call it a lazy costume if not for her elaborate face makeup, which–like the rest of her costume–glowed in the dark, giving her the luminescent appearance of the risen dead in a dark room. Her wavy, golden locks were pulled into ponytails, which didn’t *quite* nail the skeletal theme, but they sure were *cute*.
“Oh?” She pursed her lips at me while placing a grape “eyeball” between them. She sucked on it teasingly before popping it inside her cheek, “Are you trying to solve the mystery of the open grave in Hill Hollow Memorial Cemetery, detective? I promise you I’m not the undead woman you’re looking for.”
My costume really *was* lazy. I was a “70s private investigator.” An excuse I used to put together my outfit at a local thrift shop–and to carry handcuffs, of course. Ella rolled her eyes as soon as she saw my open-collared paisley shirt, but a sarcastic remark was cut off when I grabbed her ass and pointed her towards the narrow hall that led to the bathroom. We’d only been at Tim’s Halloween house party for an hour, but I was ready to get my dick *wet*.