Natasha weaved her way up her garden path, past the knee-high vampires, superheroes and Freddie Kreugers, all of whom had stopped chanting, “Trick or Treat!” and were instead industriously sifting through their buckets.

“Sophie must have emptied the whole cupboard for them,” she thought, smiling. She began to fumble in her handbag for her keys.

Her mind shifted back to Sophie – the way she tossed her long raven hair as she laughed. Her confidence, so complete that you believed she could accomplish anything. Her long, elegant legs and the black, punkish trousers she liked to wear, the soft leather clinging to her thighs-

Natasha became gradually aware that she was standing frozen in front of her front door, the key poised just before the keyhole.

“You mustn’t be so stupid,” she told herself, shaking her head as if to rid herself of a troublesome thought. “You know she’d never...Sophie’s not like you. Get a grip on yourself.”

She turned the key, pushed the door open, and stepped into the darkness of the house.

“Hello?” she called, dropping her handbag and kicking off her shoes. The door swung shut behind her, as it always did, making her start – one of these days she’d really have to fix the latch. “Sophie? You home?”

Silence. Faintly, through the walls, she could hear the Trick-or-Treaters knocking on next door’s house. The hallway was, she began to realise, pitch black.

A little chill spread through her.

“Sophie?” she repeated. Her hand fumbled for the light-switch. And someone else’s fingers pressed into hers.

Natasha almost screamed. Then, catching hold of herself, she whispered,

“Sophie?”

Because that was Sophie’s touch; the slim silver ring on her index finger, turning against Natasha’s skin. Exploring her.

And Natasha shivered.

“Sophie?” she repeated.

Soft lips, pressing down into her neck. Teeth nipping gently, intimately into the flesh. A gathering, close aroma of perfume. And Sophie’s hair, slipping over her shoulder, as if to envelop her.

“I found your magazines,” Sophie said, in Natasha’s ear. “They were...interesting.”

Natasha’s heart began to thud.

“Oh, God,” she thought, stupidly. “This isn’t real. I’m dreaming. This can’t be happening to me.”

Sophie’s fingers, toying through the curls of her strawberry hair. Sophie’s body, pressing against her body.

“You should have told me,” Sophie whispered. “You should have told me before, what you were like. How...kinky you were.”

The palm of her hand smacked into Natasha’s butt. A surge of pleasure and excitement. And Sophie hissed,

“Wait for me upstairs.”

Natasha stumbled up the stairs as if lost in a maze.

“Where should I go?” she thought. “Her bedroom? My bedroom?”

In the end, she went into her own, and stared at herself in panic and anticipation in her wall-length mirror. She was still dressed in her business suit – blouse, skirt, and tights. Her red hair was a mess.

Suddenly inspired, she dashed to her bedside drawer, took out her stiff black choker, and slipped it around her neck.

“Undress.”

Natasha turned. Sophie was standing in the doorway. Naked, apart from a red lace bra, showing off her breasts, red lace panties, and a pair of high-heeled shoes. A pair of plastic devil’s horns poking out through her flowing black hair. Smiling, through scarlet lipstick.

“Undress,” she repeated, sternly.

Natasha undid her blouse; slid off the starchy skirt, and slipped the tights off and away. She kept the choker on. Her dull grey work underpants she tossed away to the furthest corner of the room.

And then she was wearing nothing at all.

Sophie took a step forward. From behind her back, she produced something. A glistening red apple.

“Tonight, Tash,” she said, “we’re going to play apple bobbing. Open your mouth.”

Natasha opened her lips wide, obediently, and was rewarded with the sweet flesh pressing into her mouth. Her teeth champed in, a little way.

“All right,” Sophie said. “Now turn around, and place your hands behind your back.”

Natasha turned. She slipped her arms behind her, one wrist over the other, knowing what would come next.

A rough, hairy sensation. Rope, being wound across her skin, over her wrists, binding one to the other. Natasha almost gasped when the knot was pulled tight.

A second length of rope was passed over her head, and secured across her breasts. A third tugged her elbows tightly together.

“She knows her ropes,” Natasha told herself, with a sudden thrill. “She’s done this before. How could I have been so afraid, not to bring it up before? She’s like me.”

Her tongue played across the slick surface of the apple. Drool rose, and broke, over her bottom lip, slinking over her chin, and down through her cleavage. A river, running between the erect peaks of her nipples.

Sophie swung her around, roughly.

“Drooling already,” she said, smiling at Natasha. “Well, that won’t do at all.”

She leant in, pressing her own lips into the apple’s flesh. Natasha could feel the pressure of her tongue, working towards Natasha’s own mouth.

Then the pressure was lifted, and the apple slipped out of Natasha’s mouth.

Sophie grinned at her, turned it to find the slick surface where Natasha’s drool had run, and bit down.

“Delicious,” she said.

Natasha felt a sudden yearning. An incompleteness; a feeling that the important part of the ritual had been disturbed.

“Please,” she said. “Put the apple back in. Please, Soph.”

“How can I ever say no to you?” Sophie replied. She leant in, and kissed Natasha, lingering over it, her tongue slipping into the other girl’s mouth and taking control.

“Don’t worry your pretty head,” she said at last, pulling away. “We’ve only just started.”

In one dextrous movement, she slipped out of her scarlet panties, and crumbled them up into a ball that was just large enough for Natasha’s mouth.

“Open wide,” she said.

Natasha opened; and the panties were stuffed, gently but firmly, between her lips.

Sophie leant down, and produced a silk scarlet handkerchief. Passing her arms around her damsel’s head, she pressed the handkerchief into Natasha’s mouth and knotted it tightly around the back.

Natasha moaned.

Sophie smiled, letting Natasha’s red hair out to either side over the gag. Then she pushed the other girl back onto the bed.

Natasha fell, with a muffled squeal of protest. Sophie climbed over her victim, straddling her.

She could feel Natasha’s unbound thighs trembling beneath her. Slowly, carefully, with both hands, she explored her way across her housemate’s breasts – tweaking at the hard nipples – across her belly, and down, to the delicate line of pubic hair that branded her pussy.

Already wet.

Sophie gazed down at Natasha. A wicked grin spread over her face.

“Right,” she said. “First came the trick. Now it’s time for the treat.”

She fetched more rope from the bottom compartment of her bedroom cupboard. In the past, she considered, she’d always been the one to get tied up, by boyfriends – occasionally girlfriends. But this felt good. This felt, in fact, fantastic.

She picked out a length of silver duct tape and a red rubber ball gag as well.

When she came back to the bedroom, Natasha was still lying on the bed, squirming quietly. Sophie caught her by the leg.

“Quiet,” she said, and rolled her over onto her back. With the palm of her hand, she spanked Natasha on the backside, three times in sharp succession. The flesh ripened, to the colour of the skin of an apple.

Then she got to work; binding up the girl’s none-too-convincingly kicking legs, pulling them back up towards her spine. A second length of rope, connecting her legs to the rope around her tender breasts. And a third, the rough material sliding up between her backside and over her pussy, rubbing, very gently, against her clitoris.

Sophie made the finishing touches to the crotchrope and sat back. Natasha, hogtied, rocked backwards and forwards over the duvet. Her eyes gazed, wild and yearning, at her tormentor.

“There,” Sophie said, with some satisfaction. “All it needs is a finishing touch...”

She unknotted the cleave-gag, and pulled the panties out. A thin line of drool came with them. Natasha licked her lips, coughing a little, as if glad to be free of them.

Sophie gave her a sympathetic look.

“You okay?” she asked.

A quiet smile spread across the bound girl’s face. She whispered, very faintly,

“Please don’t stop.”

Sophie leant down, and planted a kiss on Natasha’s forehead that left a scarlet lipstick mark. Then she picked up the ball-gag.

“Now,” she said. “Try and get free, beautiful. And think of me while you’re waiting for me to come back.”

She popped it in between Natasha’s lips, and tied it tight around the back. A moan of utter delight from the hogtied girl. The crotchrope shifted.

*

In the kitchen, Sophie made herself a quiet cup of coffee and went to lie, naked, across their living room couch.

She savoured it, drinking it slowly, thinking about the gorgeous girl pleasuring herself in the bedroom upstairs. Her fingers worked downwards, and began to toy, gently rubbing, at her clitoris, then working them in deeper into the vagina. She couldn’t remember when she’d last been so excited.

“Oh, God, Tasha,” she whispered. “Why didn’t I meet you before?”

*

Natasha rolled, wriggling her arms, flexing her restrained feet outwards, unable to move – and with every movement, every tiny jolt her mistress had allowed her limbs, the pleasure increased. The rough hairs of the crotchrope stiffened against her.

“Yes,” she thought. “This is what I’ve dreamed of- oh, yes , thank you, yes-”

She strained, deliberately, pressing the crotchrope harder against her clit, working it back and forth, feeling the tension through her, rising, tautening, - god, yes- until surely she wouldn’t be able to maintain that tension for much longer-

Her entire body convulsed outwards, in a ragged, expansive movement, and it kept expanding, in every direction. Every muscle stretched; her teeth bit into the ballgag and saliva came seeping out, dampening the mattress, as she climbed ever higher. Her mind itself seemed to go clear, and numb, for a single second-

Natasha moaned, muffled through the gag, as she came.

*

Sophie undid the ballgag. Natasha stared up at her with a longing expression.

“Oh, no,” Sophie said, shaking a finger at her. “You’ve had your fun. Now it’s my turn.”

She slipped the devil horns off her head, and placed them gently onto Natasha’s. They suited her perfectly; scarlet mischief dancing in the scarlet hair.

She finished untying Natasha, then dropped the duct tape onto the bed beside her, and held out her wrists in readiness.

*

Morning broke. Sophie opened her eyes, forgetting for a second the events of the night before her wrists strained against the silver tape binding them to the bedposts. Her legs, too, were apart, both of them handcuffed to one of the posts at the foot of the bed.

Natasha lay over her.

“Happy Hallowe’en,” she said, and, with a gentle, practised hand, she peeled back the tape from Sophie’s mouth. Not all of the way, Sophie noticed, and she knew with a sudden thrill that their bondage weekend was far from over.

Her throat was a little dry. Natasha went downstairs, and fetched her a glass of water, and some toast. She fed them to Sophie, and then replaced the gag.

“Well,” she said, and her fingers played downwards towards Sophie’s pussy. “Whatever shall we do with our Sunday?”

Sophie closed her eyes. And, the tape clinging to her lips, she smiled.