He slipped his arms around Stephanie's waist as she stood at the sink. She purred when he nuzzled her neck. She rubbed her panty-clad ass against his crotch, turned and kissed him.

He led her out the back door across the yard and into the barn where he stripped her. Not much to strip, really, just a t-shirt and panties.

He pulled her hands behind her back, had her grip her elbows, wound duct tape over her forearms and around her hands. He peeled another strip from the roll and pressed it across her mouth. Added a second under her chin. And a third over the first. He eased her down onto the dirt floor.

He taped her ankles to her thighs, picked her up, and hefted her into the bucket. He climbed onto the seat and hit the ignition. As he rolled the tractor out of the barn he raised and tilted the bucket. Stephanie's tits jiggled nicely as he bumped his way to the pumpkin patch.

It had been a good year for pumpkins. The shortage had raised prices and he'd sold every one. Every one except his prize, show pumpkin: a monster nearly four feet wide. That and the two perfect ones he'd selected for the front porch.

He pulled up to the monster, tipped the bucket down a bit, and pulled out his tools. Stephanie watched him work.

He sliced a lid from the top and scraped and cut much of the bottom of it. Then he picked up a shovel and began hollowing the gourd. He shoveled piles of slimy, orange pumpkin guts onto Stephanie. She didn't fuss much at first, but as the mass increased she began protesting in earnest.

He had been running Jeb a few months back. He didn't hunt, but Jeb was bred for it, so he took him out to do what dogs do. Down in the back corner of Parker's land he found the marijuana - a lot of it. And in an instant he had both a recollection and a realization.

Stephanie worked at a scotch and cigar bar in a hotel in the city. In spite of the high-tech scrubbers, he often caught the scent of smoke on her clothes when he did the wash. And in that instant out in the field he realized one of those odors was pot.

Stephanie had been a regular little pot head when he met her. She used to joke that she would fuck for pot - except it wasn't a joke really. If a guy would share his weed, he could do just about anything to her, short of violence, but, then again, pot doesn't lend itself to violent behavior.

But when they'd become a couple she swore off marijuana. Apparently she wanted him more than wanting to be stoned.

Junior is Parker, Jr. Which is why he's called Junior. Parker and Trish owned the farm across and up the road a bit. Like himself, they didn't farm much. No money in it. He kept a couple of acres under cultivation. Grew artisan veggies and sold them to some of the upscale restaurants. He also had a good stock of heirloom plants and sold some of those seeds on-line. And he had his pumpkins. Both families were counting on developers to buy their land. The city was growing, spreading. The suburbs were moving north. There was a new shopping center a few miles down the road and already there were three developments. Any day now someone would come by, offer him a ton of money, and they could retire.

It didn't work out that way for his neighbors.

They were killed by a drunk driving the wrong way on the interstate. Junior inherited the farm and a multi-million dollar insurance payout. A week after the funeral the shiny, black Corvette showed up in the driveway.

And now there was that distinctive smell on Stephanie's clothes and Junior is growing the stuff. Didn't take a rocket scientist to connect the dots.

Had a wife and couldn't keep her,

When he couldn't reach with the shovel any more, he grabbed the edge of the bucket and vaulted into the pumpkin to finish the job.

Soon the cavity was clean and void. Stephanie had gone quiet. He climbed out, grabbed her arm, and slid her into the pumpkin. She slipped from his grip and landed with a thump. He righted her. He scraped the remaining innards into the hole, filling it to just over Stephanie's tits. She knelt quietly radiating anger.

He cleaned the other two pumpkins, big as beach balls, dumped the innards in with Stephanie, brought the level up near her chin, and put them in the bucket along with his tools.

He picked up the lid, cut a couple of notches in the edge, rested it on the lip.

"I know about Junior."

In an instant the anger vanished. She looked up at him. Eyes pleading. He pushed the lid into place.

He put her in a pumpkin shell,

Back at the barn he carried the two pumpkins through the house to the front porch. He went back inside, cracked a beer, drank half of it, picked up the cell.

Back out on the porch he could see Junior's Vette in the driveway. He dialed the number.

"Can I speak to Deputy Walsh please? ... Dave, Pete, listen I think you need to take a look at something ... Junior is growing pot ... Yeah, I was running Jeb when I stumbled across it ... Not just growing, but dealing ... He has a whole setup in an upstairs room ... Trespassing? No. Parker gave me a key, asked me to keep an eye on the place ... Just being a good neighbor is all ... Yeah, you can't miss it, just follow the track next to the shed, it's in the southwest corner ... Yeah ... Okay, give my love to Elsie."

He broke the connection and dialed another number.

"Sherrie? It's Pete Watkins ... Listen, something's come up, a family emergency of sorts, Stephanie won't be in today, probably not for a few days, maybe a week ... No, nothing overly serious, just a little family matter that needs her attention ... Yeah, sorry about the short notice."

And there he kept her very well.

He pulled out his pocket knife and proceeded to carve the Jack O'lanterns.