Locke glanced around one last time before whipping out his dick. The jack-o-lantern looked up at him, its expression pure spooky lust.
"Yeah you want this spicy grilled sausage, don't you," said Locke, thrusting his pelvis wantonly near the pumpkin's toothy grin. "Uhyea," he whispered. The sight of the juicy, round, smoothly bulbous squash looking up at him made his cock ache with the urge to jizz all over its sexy face. They were alone for the moment, and he knew that fucker wanted it so bad. It was written in the pumpkin's eyes... It was horny as hell.
Locke sensually caressed the pumpkin's ridges with the stiff acorn head of his rod, preparing to seal the spooky deal. He gripped the pumpkin's grinning cheeks with both hands and pushed forward...
Locke was then startled by a very strange sound coming from the ground behind him. He turned his head to investigate, just in time to see a bony hand burst up from the ground!
A jaunty tune began to trill from behind the teeth of a spooky, scary skeleton as it birthed forth from a nearby grave. It stared at Locke, a hellish bedevilment gleaming within its empty eye sockets, and at once Locke's twig n' berries made a swift retreat into his pubal region.
But after a tense moment, the skeleton flung its arm into the air as it spun into a graceful arabesque. "Let's fling sum shit!" It cried, twirling and whirling and writhing and diving madly. Locke watched the dance, enthralled by the skeleton's bone-ticklin' rhythm, and was surprised as his boner made a gradual but curious return to his tingling nether regions.
He reaffirmed his grip on that sassy pumpkin, but before he could thrust his healthy hard-on into that grinning mouth, something cold and smooth and clinking like bones suddenly wrapped itself around his member!
"Oooh~~~!" Locke cried in fright, letting the pumpkin slip from his shocked hands with a cry. The crisply plump gourd shattered into countless bits, having been irreparably chunked by its collision with the spooky graveyard ground. Before Locke could even mourn the accidental slaughter of his intimate companion, he was distracted once more by the bony bad touch on his dick.
The skeleton began to pump his junk like a pro, massaging his taint and cradling the balls. Locke grew weak at the knees, unable to contain his voluptuousness for much longer. He stamped his feet wildly, dancing a little jig along to the spoopy tune that still trembled in the air. "You sound like two horses," the skeleton murmured lustily into Locke's ear and Locke nearly blew his wad right then and there.
"Gorsh," Locke grunted in response, his nuts quivering.
"Wait," the skeleton croaked and twittered, and then suddenly instead of a dry bony hand there was a dry bony mouth with cracked teeth lustfully working Locke's cock. The skeleton continued to hum its delicious tune and Locke had a long moment deciding whether he wanted to fling his hands in the air and dance, or spew a long hard stream of come all down that skeleton's throat and spine...
...but the choice was made for him, as he opened his eyes to see a veritable feast of lusty bones dancing in unison. A line of skeletons twerked before him, assbones jangling with such ferocity that the pelvis of one bony temptress flew clean off!
At the sight of those pube bones fluttering seductively off into the air, Locke could hold it no longer. He blew a massive load, painting the already-bleached skull of his undead partner a thicker, gooeyer white.
The skeleton froze, its expression twisted into a wicked, multi-chinned grin as though gazing upon a backwards-running clock. Locke hovered awkwardly, wondering if he should offer to take it to dinner, but then a tapping at his shoulder turned his attention away from the slutty poltergeist.
"Hey kid," came a raspy voice near his ear. Another skeleton, this one tiny and somewhat poop-colored, perched itself onto Locke's shoulder and waggled a crackly finger. "You wanna buy some drugs?"
Locke struggled to form words in the hot and somewhat smelly aftermath of his orgasm. "Not to be rude," he finally managed to say, "but you're interrupting a, um, delicate situation."
"Some people just don't know how to act," said the spooge-painted skeleton on its bony knees before him.
"Seriously," Locke grunted, rolling his eyes. With a flourish, he flicked the poop skeleton off of his shoulder. "Besides," he sneered, turning his chin up, "drugs are for LOSERS."
The poop skeleton tumbled to the ground in a jumble of bones. For a moment, Locke thought he caused a second casualty of the evening, but breathed a sigh of relief when the little skeleton jumped up and pranced away on its toe-bones.
"Now you done did it," the skeleton kneeling before Locke said, a hint of warning in its voice.
"What do you mean?" Locke asked. And then, it hit him-- a sharp, churning pain deep in his gut.
The skeleton looked up at him, flashing a sinister grin.
"Welcome to the jam," it whispered.
And in a gratuitous gastrointestinal flourish, a juicy fart exploded from the depths of Locke's boy pussy, tearing the stitching of the denim and blasting a vacuous hole into the seat of his pants.
At this, the crowd of backup dancer skeletons cheered heartily and began to twerk anew as a funky space beat reverberated throughout the desecrated graveyard. The bukkake'd skeleton's bones rattled with excitement as the earthy baritone of a string of farts slid readily from betwixt Locke's asscheeks.
"COME ON AND SLAM," the chorus howled as one ambitious skeleton pulled off a bony pussy-poppin' handstand, while in the background to the deep and rhythmic ejaculation of Locke's farts one lonely voice was still singing, "Spooky scary skeletons..." to the same gassy pulsation.
Locke tried to clench together his ass-cheeks to stop the consistent flow of intestinal gas and sometimes fluid, but his attempt was hopeless: gale after gale ripped its stank way out of his innards to sweet freedom.
"Good," said Locke's sexual encounter partner, tearing the shredded wreck of Locke's pants off of his no-no area with its teeth. "Now you are truly prepared... To feel the wrath... of my BONEr."
"Nooo!" Locke screamed, trying to tear away from the bony-fingered grasp. He was beginning to fear something gruesome; rectal prolapse was not the way in which he had envisioned his death, and self-preservation instinct kicked in, even as a trumpeting blast of windy stench ripped itself from his asshole. The blast almost burned; Locke recoiled at the sheer enjoyment plainly painted on the apparent-fart-fetishist-skeleton's face as he winced in ass-tearing pain.
"Noooooo!" He screamed again, and tried in vain to cast a Life spell upon the lecherous, scat-hungry undead steadily surrounding him. "Help!!" He screamed, and shat himself.
And then, as though a merciful God heard his desperate cries from the depths of his own personal wretched hell, a flash of golden light streaked across his field of vision and the encroaching skeleton mob began to collapse and crumble. Locke rubbed his tear-filled eyes to get a better look and found a handsome golden retriever in a basketball jersey standing majestically before him like an ancient deity.
"My name is Air Bud," said the dog, and then belched. He dribbled a basket ball and sent it flying into one of the last remaining skeletons. "Let's take this party to outer space, sweet cheeks."
Locke dazedly gathered the remains of his pants and climbed onto Air Bud's back. The dog whipped out a Rat Fink skateboard and the two young lovers ollied outie into the Milky Way, where they jammed to fresh beats until the end of time.