Feature Writer: ppr128
Feature Title: SUBURBAN SUCCUBUS 5
Published: 30.07.2009
Story Codes: Erotic Horror, Magic, Paranormal, Incest
Synopsis: A son with a succubus fetish gets his hands on a tome that actually works, leading to some unintended results with his mother.
Author’s Notes: Hello, all. I am a big believer in the Tags system for stories, finding them to be of great assistance in locating stories relevant to my interests. Although I have done my best to apply them correctly to this story, there are some odd elements to it that made it difficult to correctly categorize. As such, the reader should be warned to expect the following: Mother/Son incest and Demonic Possession. I toyed with filing it under the Non-Consent/Reluctance tag (the mother is possessed and the son isn’t really into it) but was unsure of how well that would fit. In any case, I hope you enjoy…
About the story: We live in a world that is pretty strictly defined by scientific laws and rationalism, with the old notions of spirituality ignored at best and mocked openly at worst. But imagine, for a second, if magic were real. What if you could hypnotize your boss at will, making them give you a pay rise and requiring you to only work a fraction of the hours you usually did? What if you could give the jerk on the other end of the customer service line for your utilities a migraine for screwing up your account? Best of all, what if you could summon up a succubus, the very personification of lust and feminine sexuality, for a romp in the hay? That’d be pretty awesome, right? Yeah, well. I used to think that, too. I couldn’t have been more wrong if I tried. So what went wrong? Well, here’s the story…
Suburban Succubus
Chapter 5: Out of the Frying Pan
In accordance with the agreement I’d struck with Liira, tonight would be “date night.” In part we were doing it to re-kindle the bond between my mother and I as we’d drifted apart, but part of it was to suit my growing interest in my mother’s sexuality. Ordinarily, I would have simply done a casserole or some spaghetti, but I wanted tonight to be special. I messed around in my room for a while after I heard my mother leave for work, waiting until I was sure had gone and not forgotten anything before I went down into the kitchen and pored through our cookbooks. I idly wondered about attempting a supposed aphrodisiac like oysters, but I was on a budget and unsure of my culinary skills; the last thing I needed to do whilst attempting to turn my mother on was give her a severe case of food poisoning.
Eventually I settled on a French chicken dish, one that looked like it was going to be appropriate for a romantic dinner without looking as though too little effort had been put into its preparation. Scribbling the recipe down on some scrap paper kept around for note-taking purposes, I snagged my keys and wallet, heading off down to the local food store. While I was there, I picked up a dozen red roses and some candles, figuring that a little over-the-top cheese could hardly spoil things, especially since I was attempting to get back into my mother’s good books, not just her pants.
I started cooking at around five, giving myself time to make some errors in the preparation of the food whilst lining the meal up to be served around seven. At five-thirty, the phone rang; it was my mother, telling me she’d be working back late that night and would be home closer to seven than the usual six o’clock. I put the extra time to good use, breaking out the good wineglasses and silverware, heading upstairs for a shower and a shave once I was done. Having cleaned and groomed myself, I decided to complete the picture by putting on a blue business shirt, a pair of black slacks, and my formal, leather boots; as I combed my hair into place, I heard my mother’s car swing into the driveway. I hastened downstairs, grabbing the roses from the stand of water I had stored them in, waiting at the door to ambush my mother.
Hearing her keys clink against the deadlock, I made my move, opening the door and sweeping into an extravagant bow before presenting her with the flowers. My mother eyed me suspiciously, dropping her handbag on the hallway cabinet. “I know I haven’t been to easy to get along with lately, so I wanted to make it up to you. Starting now, I’ll cook dinner and we’ll eat together every Friday.” Mollified, she took the peace offering of my flowers; I helped her out of her coat, taking advantage of the opportunity to peer down her shirt as it rumpled, marvelling at the creamy flesh of her cleavage. So far, Liira was true to her word; just yesterday, merely standing so close to my mother- to say nothing of leering at her breasts- would have been enough to set me to hardening, but my loins finally remained quiescent.
Escorting my mother into the dining room, I held her chair out for her; she sat down graciously, and I uncorked the wine and poured it for her before vanishing into the kitchen, emerging with a tray of thick-crusted bread I had heated in the oven. Whilst my mother sipped at her wine, I slipped back into the kitchen and returned with my gourmet meal. My mother’s eyebrows rose; she was impressed. Having organised the table, I killed the lights and lit the candles, their soft glow providing enough illumination for our purposes; outside, it had started to rain, a steady drumming against the roof and walls. It was as though my mother and I were the only ones in the world; suits me, I thought.
I muddled along through the meal, staring intently at my mother as we ate. She probably took it as me trying to make up for all the times in recent history that I had brushed her off with a single grunt, but I was mesmerised by the shifting shadows across her face and bust. We chatted about what had happened during the week, and I listened to her stories about idiot clients at work, along with how she’d had to fend off some unwanted advances from her younger male colleagues of late. I seized the opportunity, telling my mother that I thought she was beautiful, too; she blushed, lowering her gaze demurely to her plate and stirring the remnants of her meal. It broke the spell; she made as if to rise, announcing that she would do the washing. I forestalled her with an outstretched hand, saying that I’d already stored the leftovers and had the dishwasher all set up; it was waiting only for our plates and utensils. Gratefully, she sank back into her chair, slipping her high heels off and stretching her tired feet. I saw another opening, and rushed off to attend to the dishwasher.
When I got back into the dining room, my mother was sitting sideways in her chair, one leg crossed over the other whilst she rubbed at the sole of her foot. I dropped to my knees in front of her, orffering to give her a foot massage. She acquiesced. I’m not a foot man, but a woman’s legs always appeal to me. On that day, my mother had worn a pencil skirt with a seam split mid-thigh on one side, enough to allow her freedom of movement but not too risque for a work environment. The way she was sitting, however, caused it to fall open, revealing an expanse of silky thigh I was all too familiar with. I set to with gusto, stopping to stand a few times to refill my mother’s wine glass. By the end of the massage, she was wearing the lopsided smile of a happy drunk. Although it was not part of the plan, it was a happy development; as my mother wobbled to her feet, she stumbled forwards into me. She laughed, slurring only slightly as she asked me to “be a gentleman and help her to her room.” It was a task I was more than happy to assist with. As I slipped my arm beneath her shoulder to help support her weight, I chanced a sneak fondle of her breast. She either did not notice or was too drunk to care, as we weaved over to the staircase.
Once we got there, my mother halted. “Carry me,” she demanded, gesturing at the impediment to our prospects. “What, like a piggy back?” I asked, dubious at the prospect. “Nooo,” she said, shaking her head. I understood what she had in mind, scooping her up so that her head would hang out safely over the banister, one arm beneath her knees and one hand around her torso. This time, my grab at her boob was entirely unintentional, but this time my mother noticed. She giggled, using her hands to bat my fingers away from her bust. Undeterred, I mounted the stairs. Once I reached the top, I did not set her down, instead carrying her into her bedroom. I hovered expectantly for a while, but evidently Liira had decided not to arouse my mother’s lusts this night- or I hadn’t worked hard enough to do so on my own. Sighing, I turned to walk away.
“Where are you going?” came a voice from behind me. “Can’t sleep like this.” I turned around; my mother had sat up on the side of her bed. My hopes rising, I approached her again; she held her arms up over her head, waiting for me to lift the blouse away. I complied, eager to drink in the sight of my mother’s breasts, largely hidden beneath an accursed bra though they may be. Free of her blouse, she lay back on the bed, lifting her hips so I could slide her skirt off. I stood up, gazing down at my mother; today, she was wearing black satin bra, the upper half of each cup a gauzy lace that was enough to make her aureole indistinct beneath. Her bikini-style briefs matched, high-cut around her hips and inset with black lace panels that revealed slashes of creamy skin, untouched by the sun- or by anyone other than me or her.
She smiled up at me, propping herself up on one elbow so that one breast, pushed down and to the side, threatened to escape from its prison. “Well?” she challenged me. I attempted my most dazzling smile. “Like I said before, mum. You’re beautiful. Add some white robes and we could call you Aphrodite.” She laughed, her breasts rippling hypnotically in the bra that restrained them. Not for the first time that night I was glad for my compact with Liira to prevent my penis from rising without my consent; although we were in dangerous territory, at least in the morning my mother- if the wine did not rob her of all her memories- would not be dealing with the mental image of her son towering over her with a massive erection whilst she lay bare before him in her lingerie.
“Not that, silly. But thanks, any way. What I meant was, I’ve shown you mine. You show me yours.” YES! I thought triumphantly. I hated you at first, Liira, but you’re making it all worth it. I took my time, unbuttoning my shirt and folding it carefully before sitting down to unlace my boots and roll my socks together into a bundle. My mother watched on, intrigued. As I rose, I unclasped my belt; undoing the last few buttons of my slacks, I allowed them to fall to the floor, stepping out in only my own black briefs. My mother’s smile deepened. “Great minds think alike, eh? And now look at us. We’re almost naked. In my bedroom. Whatever could we do next?” she teased, tapping her chin thoughtfully. My brow furrowed. “I guess,” I ventured “we could talk about the weather.”
“Mmm,” my mother said, her gaze wandering away from the bulge at the front of my briefs, staring up at the ceiling as though she could see through it and the roof. “It’s raining.” She lanced me with her gaze, sultry expression at odds with the demure positioning of her body, like something out of a s glamour shot. “That would seem to take care of that. It’s boring. What about something a little more… interesting? She asked, cupped her chin in one hand, used her forearm to push her breasts into further prominence. Figuring that Liira had kicked in, I gave my groin permission to roam free; I began to stiffen up, my bulge visibly increasing in size.
My mother’s eyes opened wider, in appreciation or feigned shock at my forwardness. She sat up, swung her long, lean legs over the side of the bed, and slid the tips of her fingers under the elastic of my briefs. Licking her upper lip, she winked at me, pulled back slightly on my briefs, and said “Let’s see what we can see here.” Freed from the clinging material, my penis lurched, standing at attention and escaping over the top of my briefs. She let go of one side of my briefs, covering her mouth, pretending surprise. Then again, I suppose it was the first time my mother had seen me, as opposed to my mother’s eyes seeing me for Liira. Now, I’m not some nine-inch behemoth; quite the opposite, in fact. I’m not large by any stretch of the imagination, but as the old adage went, it wasn’t the size of the boat that mattered, but the motion of the ocean. And I knew, that with Liira’s expert tutelage and my extant knowledge of my mother’s body, that I’d be more than capable of living up to her expectations. She pulled my briefs down, exposing me completely. I stood there before her, my cock slowly bobbing up and down, throbbing with arousal. I quirked an eyebrow, mimicking my other’s earlier expression. “Well?” I challenged her. “You’ve seen mine, now show me yours.”
“Hmmm…” she said, contemplating my demand. “No. You’ll have to earn it. You want to see your mother’s tits and cunt, you’ll have to earn it.” “Mother!” I gasped. “Such language! And in front of your child, too!” She smirked. “What’s the matter, son? Didn’t know your old lady was a woman, too?” I shook my head, baffled. Be careful of what wish for, I suppose; my mother was a lot more into this than I had dared to imagine; I made a mental note to thank Liira for this tomorrow night. My mother leaned back onto her elbows, again looking up at me expectantly.
I decided to go for broke, launching myself at her and crushing my mother against the bed under my weight. She squealed with pleasure, giggling wildly as I ticked to soften her up for my assault. As she writhed about underneath me, I waited for her to roll and expose one shoulder; when the moment came, I struck like a cobra, reaching around behind her as Liira had taught me and un-snapping the hooks that held my mother’s bra closed. Victorious, I sat up, using my leverage to drag the bra off my mother and settling my weight on her hips to pin her in place. Leaning back down, I grasped her wrists, forcing her arms out wide and holding them against the bed. The motion pressed my rigid cock against her belly, and I took advantage of the situation to deliver a kiss. This time, my mother was the one to go open-mouthed first. After a few moments, I re-settled my mass, supporting my own weight and letting go of first one wrist and then the other. My hands free, I cupped her breasts, working at them as her nipples pebbled into hardness beneath my fingers. For her part, my mother was running her hands over my back, along my chest, and even fluttering briefly at my length, jutting into her stomach and leaving clear traces of pre-come wherever it came into contact with her deliciously forbidden skin.
She pushed up at me, broke the passionate kiss we’d been sharing, and gasped for breath. I moved up to peck at the soft skin beneath one ear, kissing my way down her jaw-line and throat, licking at one breast whilst I groped the other before kissing a trail down her ribcage, onto her belly- carefully avoiding those places my penis had marked before- and halting at her panty-line. As I travelled downwards to her most sacred sanctum, her hands tangled themselves in my hair and she moaned, shifting her hips in eagerness. I looked up at her, meeting her gaze as though asking for permission for what I intended to do any way. She bit her lip, pleading at me to continue bringing her pleasure with her eyes. Still I waited; with a sigh of resignation, she lifted her hips away from the bed, abandoned my head, and slid her panties down, exposing the landing strip of pubic hair above her mons. I went back to work, kissing at her flesh, taking a hold of my mother’s panties when she could reach no further. Sitting up, I pulled them away from her completely, then took one ankle in each hand and placed one either side of me, opening her legs. I drank in the sight of my mother’s bare lips, slightly ajar with the positioning of her legs and her arousal, beginning to dew over with excitement. It was a sight that never failed to bedazzle me, no matter how frequently I beheld its glory.
I leaned back in, laving at her opening; she tasted spicy, exotic, and sweet. Working away at her as Liira had instructed me, I bought her flowering open to a full, needy arousal before taking the edge of her desire with a quickly delivered orgasm. My objective achieved, I kissed my way up my mother’s sweat-drenched body, meeting her lips for quick, darting kisses as she came down from her orgasm. She could feel the hardness of my tip against her gates, and in one swift, fluid motion I buried myself in her. She groaned in pleasure, sinuously arching her back. I slipped my arms under her back, and in one practice motion flipped both of us over, putting my mother on top. We lay entwined like that for a moment, enjoying our incestuous joining, before she kissed me quickly and reared up, moving atop me.
One of her hands came up to run through her hair; the other grasped her breast and stimulated its nipple. I reached for her other breast and her clitoris, flicking my fingers across it with each of her downward strokes. She gasped, her eyes fluttering open. A crafty look in her eyes, she abandoned her breasts and slapped my hand away from her soaking gash, taking over the stimulation of her sex. Pretending chagrin, I caught her bouncing breast in my free hand, kneading at it, compressing both tightly and viciously twisting them. She mewled in pleasure, redoubling her efforts on my shaft; our climax, when it came, was shared. She continued to ride me, milking each drop of semen I had to offer her, before sinking slowly down for a post-coital cuddle. Our hands roamed across each other’s bodies; I deliberately held my cock deflated, despite the somewhat disappointed look in my mother’s eyes. One arm around her back, I pressed the other to her weeping slit, fingering her to a third orgasm.
I slid my hand, covered in our shared juices, up her body, as though the heady mixture of semen and lubricant would brand my mother as belonging to me for all time. She sighed softly as my hand caressed her breast, then with a wicked gleam in her eyes caught my hand, brought it to her lips, and languidly sucked it clean. With the sopophoric aftermath of sex tugging at us both, it did not take long for us to fall into an exhausted sleep…
THE END OF CHAPTER FIVE