There’s something delicious about Halloween—the way the air crackles with mischief, the darkness inviting you to give in to secret desires you’d never whisper in daylight. I’m Sierra— blonde, wickedly confident—and tonight I don’t crave candy. I crave control.
You see, Halloween isn’t just costumes and carved pumpkins for me. It’s the night when the veil between your restraint and your fantasies becomes paper-thin. When you knock on my door, you’re not asking for treats—you’re offering yourself as one.
Leather gloves, slow grin, and a whispered “Good boy… or girl… we’ll see.” I pull you inside. The only light comes from flickering candles and the orange glow of jack-o’-lanterns, casting shadows on the restraints laid neatly across silk sheets. My heels echo on the floor as I circle you like a hungry predator.
Every command is consensual. Every tremble, every breathy “yes, Sierra,” is my favorite kind of music. I love the moment your wrists rest in my grasp willingly—when trust binds tighter than any rope. Your pulse skips when I trace a fingernail down your neck and remind you, softly but firmly, that you belong to me tonight.
I don’t need monsters or ghosts to give you chills. The way I tilt your chin up, the soft bite of satin against your skin, the blindfold lowering over your eyes—that’s the kind of haunting that lingers.
So when the clock strikes midnight and others are chasing candy and costumes—you’ll be tied in my web of silk and desire… grateful you knocked on my door.
Happy Halloween, pet.