Trick and Treat 2: Milk of Amnesia

By Lyka Bloom

Two friends discover the cost of trespassing on Dorothea Wyrmwood's home on Halloween. When a charm is stolen, hidden desires will be revealed and two girls will find their minds and bodies twisted into sex-starved human cows, desperate to escape the curse of being forever trapped in their milk-filled new forms!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lyka Bloom
• Release date: Oct 31, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310949715

Lyka Bloom

Lyka Bloom writes various forms of fiction, but erotica has become a new passion. She preferstransformations and games of control, and enjoys exploring all the perverse kinks bubbling beneath the surface of sexuality.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Chapter

Brightmoor enjoyed Halloween. All over town, porches were lit by flickering jack o' lanterns and warm porch lights, invitations to the trick-or-treaters that roamed the sidewalks. Fall came with leaf-littered streets and lawns, the crackle of dried leaves underfoot as common as the high laughter of children and teens.

Amid the celebrations and mischief, one house stood dark, shunned by the rest of the town. House Wyrmwood sat on Drury Lane, a Victorian manor whose disrepair had famously been addressed by a city council meeting. The tilting shutters and flaking paint gave the impression of a home that was uninhabitable, yet its resident remained. Dorothea Wyrmwood did not attend the meeting, in which a group of three was designated to raise concerns with Dorothea herself, even if it meant camping on her doorstep. By all accounts, the civic-minded group met with Dorothea, were invited into her home, and emerged satisfied that the house was, perhaps, not in such a bad state after all. In fact, none of them remembered much beyond their host's beauty (even the elderly and prudish Mrs. Lyle noted Dorothea's allure), and that the house was fine. Eventually, the subject was dropped, which only fueled the rumors that swirled around Dorothea Wyrmwood. Some said she was a witch or worse, while others claimed she operated an illegal business (Probably porn, Greta Allen at the Good Enough Cafe suggested with a nod) and used the profits to pay off the city's most powerful.

Regardless, Dorothea kept to herself and most were content to leave well enough alone. That is, until Halloween. For no child can resist the forbidden, and there was no more a forbidden place in Brightmoor than Wyrmwood House. Young boys and girls dared each other to run to the fence and slap chubby hands against the rough wood, rattling the rotting slats like the sound of dry bones clattering together.

Even a few of the older teenagers and young adults played their pranks, hiding outside as they passed a flask, looking for signs of Dorothea within. Dorothea saw and she allowed the townspeople their fun, sometimes relishing the shadow she cast over the town, especially on Halloween. Just the year before, Dorothea had taken in two such trespassers and made them her own, and she supposed it would be enough to keep to herself this year, to let the whispering accusations fade. She admired the life-like doll frozen in its pose within the display case in the richly decorated den, the firelight dancing off the glass. She nodded, resolved to content herself with her newly acquired pets and sipped from a particularly fine glass of cabernet.

No! Absolutely not. Nyet. No, thank you, Dana said, waving her arms and stalking away from her best friend. What you are talking about is against the law, and that's leaving out the fact that it's dumb, too.

"But it would be so epic."

Sara knew she would win, because that's the way this game was played. Dana would play the role of the responsible one, and Sara would poke and prod at her defenses until she agreed, because, despite her best efforts, Dana was loyal to her friend to a fault. No matter what ridiculous notion Sara presented, eventually Dana would tag along to keep her friend out of trouble.

It's breaking and entering is what it is.

Dana sat down hard in the recliner, folding her arms over her chest. Her brow was lowered, a look of obstinate determination on