Butterfly Love – A Halloween Story

Roger Winslow stopped his car at the massive iron gates and stood fumbling with a ring of keys, searching for the one that would give them entrance. His secretary, Marcie, sat waiting patiently in the car.

Beyond the gates, the Wentworth mansion looked exactly like you would expect a mad scientist’s lair to look in a grainy 1950’s horror movie. Maybe that was because it had been built near the end of the nineteenth century when Neo-gothic was the IN style for the nouveau-riche. Or maybe it was because no one had lived there since Hector Wentworth had passed away and the lower two floors were securely boarded up. Or maybe it was just because tonight was Halloween and everything looked decrepit and spooky in the light of a full Halloween moon shining through a slightly cloudy sky.

“Which one did she use?” Roger muttered to himself aloud trying to remember from the last time he was here.

The house belonged to his wife, Julia. She had always made that very clear. Flowerhaven was the Wentworth family home. It was from here that the Wentworth’s Custom Perfumes empire had been launched. Hector Wentworth, her father, had been a modern day alchemist who could somehow brew up a perfect potion of olfactory bliss for any person on earth… any person, that is, who could afford his very steep prices. He quickly restored the family fortunes. And as he grew older, he taught his daughter, Julia, his secrets. She very carefully kept those secrets. Since her father’s death, she– and she alone– prepared the yearly batches of Wentworth olfactory magic.

The perfumes were truly magical. There was only one batch created each year, but you never had to worry about someone else wearing your scent. A Wentworth’s Custom Perfume was magically adaptive. When you sprayed a short burst of mist behind your ear from the tiny bottle, you didn’t need to spray it anywhere else. The perfume scent would travel throughout your body. And as it traveled, the scent changed slightly. The result was that each scent was unique to the person using it and no two scents ever quite had the same exact exquisite bouquet.

More than that, the scent changed subtly depending on the mood or whim of the person wearing it. If a woman wanted to seduce a man, a Wentworth Custom Perfume would get the job done. If that same woman– or a man… yes, the perfume was used by men– wanted to project power and authority in a meeting, then the Wentworth’s Custom Perfume became a scent for that, too.

But there was an even more magical part. If you wanted to “release your inner self,” the perfume could also do that for you. Except then you didn’t just spray a little behind your ear. You sprayed a burst directly into your mouth. But you had to be very careful if you did that. Before you sprayed, you had to concentrate very hard on your vision of what you wanted your inner self to be. If you didn’t concentrate hard on what you wanted, you might have what old time hippies used to call “a bad trip,” perhaps even a VERY bad trip.

Even if you concentrated very carefully, however, it didn’t always work. In fact, it was only guaranteed to work on one certain evening of the year. The true release of inner self was guaranteed only on Halloween night, for that was the anniversary of the night in which the yearly batch of Wentworth’s Custom Perfume was created.

Every batch of Wentworth’s Custom Perfume was decanted at midnight on Halloween. So this Halloween night, as every Halloween night since they were married, Julia Wentworth Winslow was at her secret family lab brewing a new batch of Custom Perfume. That’s why Roger felt safe bringing his mistress up to Flowerhaven for some release-of-inner-self fun.

Marcie had said that when she had sex with Roger, she felt like she was a butterfly in flight. And that’s what they would both hopefully become tonight. At first, Roger had thought about going to a park somewhere, or perhaps out into the country. But he wasn’t sure what the butterfly transformation effect would be. Would they remain full-sized? Would they remain human-looking, but with wings? Or would they look like giant insects? There were too many variables and there was just too much chance of people seeing them. So, Roger decided that they would use the grounds of the now-abandoned Wentworth mansion for their special rendezvous.

The rusty hinges of the iron gates screeched and groaned as Roger pushed them open just wide enough so that he could drive through. As soon as he was inside, he stopped and again closed the gates. Then he drove around to the back of the building and parked just outside the old carriage house.

As he and Marcie stepped out of the car and stood on the weed-overgrown gravel path, she asked, “Do we need to get naked first?”

“I don’t know,” Roger said, “but we might as well. It will help with the mood.”

They stood next to the car and slowly disrobed each other. Surprisingly, Roger carefully placed each item of Marcie’s clothing on the still warm hood of the car while she haphazardly threw his clothes onto the top. One of his shoes missed and went in the open driver’s side window and landed on the seat.

Finally they were standing naked on the gravel. Marcie was rubbing her voluptuous body against the front of Roger’s, but he pushed her away gently and said, “No, we need to take the perfume first, while we still have a strong idea in our mind of what we want.”

“I want to be a butterfly,” Marcie said in a voice hoarse with passion.

“So do I, honeybunch,” he replied as he reached back into the car and grabbed the very small bottle which he had left on the dashboard just above the steering wheel.

He held it up in front of Marcie’s face and said, “Remember, you have to concentrate on becoming a butterfly… my butterfly.”

She opened her mouth and he sprayed a small amount of the perfume onto her tongue. She coughed slightly and then inhaled deeply. Roger did the same to himself.

The perfume tasted different than it had ever smelled. It was all flowery, but at the same time, more than flowery. At first it tasted like roses on a warm spring day, or perhaps like a field of wildflowers under a summer sun. Then it began to taste like honey, the sweetest honey that he had ever tasted.

The world began to shimmer and spin and Roger closed his eyes tightly trying not to be sick. He could feel Marcie’s hands rubbing up and down his body. He could feel his own hands lightly rubbing her breasts and between her legs. Then he felt the muscles of his wings begin to flap.

His eyes snapped back open in shock. Marcie was standing before him– no, standing wasn’t the right word. They were ten or twelve feet in the air. Her wings were bright crimson with deep purple– almost black– swirls running all through them. He looked over his shoulder. His own wings, which were flapping rapidly, were brilliant blue trimmed in black with teardrops of yellow at several points along the edges.

Marcie’s body reflected the pattern of her wings. Most of her body was a reddish pink but there were several lines of deep purple swirling across her skin. Each breast had a swirl of purple leading up to a bright purple nipple. And similar purple lines flowed up her legs into what was now a bright yellow patch of hair between her legs. A very pink… and very swollen… clit was at the top of an even more brilliant pink slit. The scent coming from her slit was overpowering. It was the smell of woman. It was the smell of passion. It was the smell of lust.

Roger reached for Marcie and pulled her close to himself. As soon as their bodies touched, they soared up into the moonlit sky. He had once made love to Marcie standing up with her against the door to his office. Just as she had done then, she raised her legs and wrapped them around his waist while straddling his cock. At that time, it had taken great effort on his part to plunge repeatedly upward into her. But now as they both flapped their wings, it was merely a matter of holding her tight while they fluttered up and down through the sky.