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We both did, and they waved back, and clearly were both very giggly.“I bet they never did that before,” I said.“Oh, shush, you will make me horny again,” you said.“Oh good,” I said. “Let's go home, and fuck ourselves silly.”“Good plan,” you said as we adjusted our costumes and picked up our things.Back at the car, we noticed our watchers were leaning on the car next to ours, talking and kissing. As I unlocked the car door, you greeted them.“Hi, did you like watching us?” you asked.I never saw two people break down into giggles like that. Suddenly, the woman stopped giggling, and looked you right in the eye.“Erm, we thought you could teach us,” she said. “Like, we could, erm...”She broke off and looked at her partner.“Teach us to fuck like you do,” he said.“Yea,” said the woman. “You like being watched, we could see.:“That is true,” you replied. “We do a lot.”“We never saw that before,” said the woman. “It's kind of, well, it's, like...I dunno.”“Like spice with food,” I said.“Something. She started to giggle at the state her body was in.The Perv had to snap his fingers in front of her face to bring Veronica back to reality. God was she horny.“Let’s talk about the rest of your body now, what are you thinking?” Asked the Perv.Veronica loved Spanish belly dancers. The exotic movements of their tiddies, hips, and ass mesmerized audiences.“Shorten my calves so I always wear heels, expand my hips so I wiggle them, please weaken the muscles in them so I can swing them easily, make my waist impossibly small, I want a large ass that doesn’t stop jiggling EVER when I move. I want my back altered so my tiddies always stick out far.”Veronica couldn’t believe it. She just turned herself into a pornstar belly dancer. Her guilt was melting away with each change she chose. She was already down this path, might as well embrace it.“Genie does as you wish señorita!” The Perv exclaimed.Veronica’s toes raised and she was standing on her tip-toes permanently. Her hips shifted and buckled.
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The leaves would be collected, raked into a big pile and then the treasure hunt began. Anything that could or would burn was added to the pile — a fallen limb or tree was gold, but old fences, broken furniture, one year even an old tumbledown shed. And the higher the pile grew the more excited she became, counting down the days to Burn Night. There was always a second pile too, but this was different. It wasn’t the steepled stack of the bonfire, no. It was carefully arranged, sorted and stacked according to size and weight. This was the fuel pile, each piece to be added manually to the bonfire through the evening. I never did figure out why it was necessary. Finally, it would arrive: Burn Night. Torches made out of rags tied onto sticks were slopped with kerosene and set alight. The bonfire itself was slopped with diesel or kerosene and then the moment arrived. Some years the torches were thrown at the bonfire, other years carefully poked into it. There didn’t seem to be a.

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