Butterfly Love – A Halloween Story

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WARNING! All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18 ONLY. Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content. All people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real life.

All characters involved in sexual activity in this story are over the age of 18. If you are under the age of 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century.

Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if acknowledgment of copyright and statement of limitation of use is included with the article. This story is copyright (c) 2022 by The Technician.

Individual readers may archive and/or print single copies of this story for personal, non-commercial use. Production of multiple copies of this story on paper, disk, or other fixed format is expressly forbidden.

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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 yavuzeli escort 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 yavuzeli escort bayan 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.

She screamed and clawed at his sides as he erupted into her. Luckily she wasn’t clawing at his back as she often did. That would have damaged his wings. He, as he always did, put his hands on her round, perfect ass and pulled her very tight against himself as he came down from his intense orgasm.

“Mmmmmm” she murmured as she felt her feet touch the ground. “I feel so alive,” she said almost in a sigh. Then she asked playfully, “How long will this last?”

“I really don’t know,” he replied. “Jenny and I never tried anything like this.” He huffed and added, “It’s been a long time since she made me feel alive. In fact in our last argument, just before she left for her lab, I told her that all she ever did was to suck the life out of me.”

“If you are going to mope about your wife,” Marcie said almost angrily, “I’m going to fly away.”

She then jumped into the air and began flittering about above and between the trees.

“I’m sorry,” Roger called out as he, too, took to the air.

“I know,” Marcie said with a giggle and turned toward the mansion. “We could get in through the upper windows,” she called back to him as she rose up to the top floor. The windows on the first floor were heavily boarded. The second floor windows were also boarded, but not as securely. The third floor windows, however, were unprotected. Most had been broken out by vandals who regularly sneaked onto the ground to throw rocks.

Marcie landed on a balcony and reached through the broken glass to open the French doors. Inside was what was once a lavishly decorated bedroom. She lifted the satin sheets and they disintegrated in her hands. A soft flutter told her that Roger had joined her.

“We wouldn’t be able to use it anyway,” he said softly. When she looked confused, he added, “We can’t lie down with these wings.” He stroked her breasts and said, “But we don’t have to. The wings allow us to make love in the sky.”

He started to pull her back towards the balcony, but she said, “Later. First let’s make love in here and then explore the mansion.”

He tried to say, “No,” but she was already flying into escort yavuzeli the hallway. By the time he caught up with her, she was circling around the inside of the huge dome over what had once been the pride of Flowerhaven, the grand staircase of Wentworth mansion.

“We have to leave,” Roger said, but as he approached Marcie, her scent once again became overpowering.

“Come,” she said simply, opening her hands… and her legs to him.

He fluttered up to where she was hovering. Only this time, rather than clinging to each other, he pushed himself forward in an exaggerated pelvic thrust.

She did the same and they connected in midair. In his mind, Roger could see the many lovebugs he had seen as a youth fluttering through the summer sky, bound together at their back ends by their sexual organs.

Their mutual orgasm was explosive and seemed to fill the dome with a blinding flash of light. They continued fluttering together until both had regained their breath. Once again, they were floating in the air face to face.

“I wonder what’s down there,” Marcie said and dove toward the lower floors.

“No!” Roger called out. “We need to leave.”

Marcie’s response was a frightened scream. Then she called out, “Roger! Roger! I’m stuck in something.”

“I’m coming darling,” Roger called back and sped down toward her voice.

He tried to stop when he first saw her. She was fighting and kicking, but her wings were spread out wide in the air behind her almost as if they were pinned in a butterfly collection. He didn’t see what was holding her until it was too late. Invisible strands of steel snagged his wings and his arms and his legs. They didn’t seem to be tied around him and yet he couldn’t break free.

“I thought you had ruined everything like you always do,” a familiar voice said from the darkness below them. It was Julia’s voice.

“When I come here to father’s secret laboratory to brew the yearly batch,” she continued, “I use the spells father taught me to transform myself. As I transform, I think of beautiful things and I become a nightingale… or a honey bee… or a hummingbird. I spend the evening collecting beautiful sweet things from throughout the lush grounds of Flowerhaven. Then I transform back above the cauldron and all the beauty and taste and smell of what I have collected goes into the brew.”

There was a slight skittering and something climbed up the empty space beneath the two lovers.

“But this year,” Julia said angrily, “the only thing I could think of as I transformed was you telling me that all I did was suck the life out of you.”

A giant spider now stood on its web between the two human butterflies. It was black and had eight legs, but somehow it still looked like Julia… a very angry Julia.

The spider cast several long threads of silk over Marcie’s wings and began pulling them closed around her body. She was sobbing and weakly saying, “No, no, no,” but the spider kept pulling her wings tighter and tighter around her body. Soon there was nothing but a spider silk cocoon hanging from the web.

“I WILL suck the life out of you both,” Julia, the spider, said harshly. “It will take a few more spells, but then when I transform back, only the sweetness of your love for each other and the delight you felt in flying through the sky will drop down into the cauldron.”

She laughed. It was a high-pitched, rather squeaky laugh. “But don’t worry,” she said almost sweetly. “Nothing will be wasted. The bitterness and anger will be drained out for my other special potions.” She huffed and added, “And the husks will be cast into the fire to keep the cauldron boiling.”


On December first, one month later, Julia Wentworth Winslow announced her latest scent to a packed crowd. “This year’s scent will be called ‘Butterfly Love,’” she said enthusiastically as she held up one of the tiny bottles of perfume. “I am sure that you will find this batch is especially powerful. It combines the strength of a spider with the beauty of a butterfly.”

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