The demon has a plan for Alejandro. But is he worthy?
A/N: All characters are over 18. Things starts getting progressively more nasty from here. The parts about Babylonian/Akkadian fertility goddesses are adapted (badly) from Gwendolyn Leick’s Sex And Eroticism In Mesopotamian Literature (1994, Routledge). “Mušḫuššu” actually means “red serpent”. I changed it to mean “worm” to fit the story.
Dawn.
Ale lunged in the dark, his prick slicing through the sacred nihility of a cunt.
ga-SHHHHLURRRRRKKK!
His shaft burrowed into Mom’s fuckslot with a corrugated squelch of sound. She moaned and shuddered under him, thighs splayed, muscles braced, eyelashes quivering, ass humping off the floor, hips fucking back against him, twat gulping down his fast, piledriving rhythm as he jackhammered her gaping twat.
“Hatanoceo!” Sweat shined in the arch of her neck as she tossed her head back. A sweat-sodden braid flashed, going crack against the floor. “Acerbus-shatruex…rud’minuox!”
Ale’s cock throbbed inside his mother. A sea of hot dripping flesh swelled like tidewater around his thick pole, calling for him to cum. Her fuck-sleeve deformed and distorted to the negative space of her pubic bone, her anterior and posterior fornix, her pubococcygeus, and her iliococcygeus. He was She just as She was He; whole and integral. He pulled back. Those hot convulsing flesh-walls pulled back with him, clinging like a stench, begging him to stay and fill her. He relented, planting his shaft back down. SPLAT! A wet spray splattered from their slapping crotches.
Mother and son filled the house with the sick, disgusting cacophony of their rutting, scissoring hips.
SHLOOP-SHHHHLURRRRRKKK! GLORNCH-GLORNCH-SCLORP! SQUIRCHHHH-SPLORT!
Faster and faster, Ale fucked his erection through Mom’s gooey, sucking trench, going insane—completely insane—as sperm slithered through his duct like a white worm.
SPLAT! CRACK! SPLORK! GLORRCHHH!
“Uhh! MOM! Gonna cum! Gonna cum!”
Spine whiplashing, ass pumping, crotch smashing, he spiked his cock balls-deep inside her cunt. Living pools of meat quivered and dripped around him. Mind reeling, endorphins raging, lungs bursting, he slapped his hips against hers, punching his erection down to the balls.
Balls that began twitching and jerking, piled like living taffy upon her perineum.
Plap-plap-squorrshh!!! Sklunchhh-blloorpp-glarrrgghhh… Glorp-FLOSHHH-plap-schlkhhh!
His cock spewed out ribbons of sperm. Salma moaned whorishly as they ground their slippery, orgasming crotches together.
SPLUTT-squish-slurp-BLORRRRRT!
He kept humping Mom’s cunt throughout his ejaculation, whipping his cum into a frothing spray as it streamed out of his glans. Their genitals knotted together, becoming mindless fuck-storm of slapping squelching fuck-meat.
As Ale blasted cum into her, his phone lay dropped on the carpet. The screen had frozen in a white quadrangle of light, which was misted by the squirt and sweat flung from their humping bodies a few feet away. It was the only light source in the room.
The texts on the screen were ten hours old—and also from his mother. Which was strange, considering their contents.
I will be away all night, Ale. Work meeting with a producer.> The maid will stay with us tonight—please make chilaquiles for her.> Also, read ten chapters of Romans. Pay particular attention to 6:12-14 as it relates to sexual desire and Godliness. I will quiz you!> Do not play ANY computer games until you are done. I will know!> Lots of love, Salma
A few feet away, a fat mature cunt slobbered and gurgled around Ale’s prick, which stuffed it from vestibule to cervix. Its mouth sucked string after string of pulpous load from his balls until they were as empty as empty could be. Drained.
Shocked by his massive orgasm, Ale faceplanted atop her. He lay in open-mouthed silence on her mountainous breasts. They piled beneath his chin like two huge ballast balloons, rivers of sweat running through their folds and gulches. He floated upon Mom’s warm, bulging breastmeat. Her bulbous tit-sacks felt like hot air balloons, lifting him off into some hot, pink, dream-filled sky.
He existed like this for a long while.
Atop her. Inside her.
Limbs tangled, hair sweaty, stares making contact. Two eyes mad, two eyes dead and grave-owned, One mind reeling through heaven, the other consumed by perdition’s thoughts.
Ale had no fear of this lustrous, Mommy-shaped creature. Or at least no more capacity to feel it. As he lay atop her freshly-fucked and seeded body, he wondered if he was just as demonic as she was…
Ughhh…
Alejandro slid off her sweaty body, his cock unplugging from her depths.
spluuuuuuuuooooort He flopped to the carpet, watching three loads of sperm—or had it been four?—come splattering out of her in a thick river. She gushed like a tapped keg. Semen bubbled and farted out, pooling on the carpet between her shuddering thighs. Oh God, how can there be so much in her?
I’m not supposed to fuck my mother. An obvious thought. Nobody is supposed to fuck their mother.
But he’d done it. Many times.
And he wasn’t even going to pretend it mattered—even the slightest bit—that this wasn’t his mother, but a demon wearing her skin. That was cope. The one sin he would not partake in that night.
The demon had chosen his mother’s form for a reason: because that was exactly what would have broken him, debased him, made him cross the last line.
Every man has his price, his thirty pieces of silver. The demon had not even had to guess at his.
Shuddering with guilt, Ale turned away.
He sensed not-Salma’s eyes wandering across his back.
Now what do I do? He wondered, heart hummingbirding inside his ribcage. Maybe that was another meaningless question.
Maybe the only real moral choice already lay in his past—and it was one he had clearly and cleanly failed.
Ale lay sprawled on the carpet, cum-broken and sex-shattered. Mind torn open. Starlight streaming in.
He’d spent a summer’s night inside this creature. Matching his cock to her cunt, again and again.
Fucking too many times to remember. And in too many positions to list.
As the unseen moon swung a scytheblade across the sky, he’d fucked her—making her body buckle, twisting her hair in knots, penetrating her from above and below and sideways, feeling sweat stinging his eyes as he drilled her to climax after climax. Just plowing and plowing and plowing the body he’d lusted over for so long. Years of pent-up lust discharged at once. Pummeling her sloppy sperm-filled snatch. Making her scream. Flinging her across surfaces, and just breed-slamming her until they both came to pieces.
His quivering body was knotted through with pain. Each muscle fibre in his legs and thighs was a throat decanting silver agony. His tendons felt half-ripped from their sockets. His bones felt like they’d been crushed to marbles by the heavy, jolting slams of her bouncing hips from that time when they’d fucked atop the dresser. His lungs were hoarse from screaming. His flaccid cock lay like a salted slug on the meat of his thigh. It was so chafed from overuse that even the air seemed to scald it.
He hadn’t slept. This dybbuk from the earth had not allowed it. She seemed to want to kill him with sickening and grotesque pleasure, that he might join her in hell. Whenever he climaxed and slid off her, she was on top of him again, coaxing and cajoling, making him ready for the next slam-session in her infernal depths.
The first two or three times, kisses and touches had rouse him. The next two or three, she’d used her tits—his Mother’s tits. As the endless night wore on and his exhaustion mounted, the demon began shoving her hot dextrous fingers up his asshole—he still felt them there, slithering like snakes—grinding a fresh erection from the buzzing, numb pulp of his prostate. Anything to make him hard again.
Why is she fucking me like this?
Unable to move, unable to detect her plan, Ale just watched the sun rise. It shined through venetian blinds, sharpening each slat’s edge to a glowing swordblade.
The door to the drawing room hung open, giving a clear view to the front of the house. They’d fucked so hard against it that their pounding bodies had snapped the lock.
Mom’s gonna walk through that door any time, he thought without concern. The sun hurt his skull. Reality seemed a burden, a cross on his shoulders. He wished he’d taken AP English back when Dracula had been on the assigned reading.
Maybe this was how vampires were made.
Alejandro heard Salma Hayek sit upright.
Or heard the loud, resonant slither her huge breasts made when they slid down her body, lubricated by sweat, softly plopping to a halt in the space above her lap.
SPLATCH-PLOPP!
The noises her overfleshed señora’s body made were familiar to him.
He sensed Mom moving behind him. What’s the time? He lacked the energy to reach for his phone two feet away.
Two fingers touched his shoulders, then a third joined their company. Heat and scent and breath wreathed him in pulses and ebbs.
“En marana domus nava crunatus,” a bloodless and cold voice said.
She climbed atop him, straddling his body, gripping it with her thick hips, grasping and claiming him with voracious hands. Her black-maned head leaned down, peering down at her son through a thousand swaying strands of black—didn’t she have it in a braid a few minutes ago?.
The daemon smiled the way an alligator might, as her head descended on his.
Her lips kissed his cheek. Bright teeth nibbled at Ale’s earlobe. “Stop,” he said, shivering.
“Pretaanluxis?” she murmured in her strange demonic tongue as she chewed at him. “Cruensseasrjit pestis cruento maravita!”
God help him, he was starting to understand.
“You’re wrong. Can’t fuck again…” he breathed as her legs gripped his body, chewing like a vice of meat. “Need…sleep…”
“Cruensseasrjit pestis cruento invisuu!” she insisted.
There was no escape. She hissed and kissed, kissed and hissed, grinding her body atop his, her hips dragging snakelike swerves upon his body. Sweaty and hot, she seemed more liquid than solid, more heat than liquid. So incredibly heavy and voluptuous and meaty. She just surged back and forth deliciously, slathering and plastering utter depraved flesh upon him like living wallpaper. She was dripping-wet skin and pendulous breast-sacks and wet kisses and slippery eel shivers and he was helpless before her.
“Please…” he moaned, horrified by what he’d set in motion, and the idea that it now might not ever end. “My Mom is coming home soon! My real Mom. I have to clean the house, or…or she’ll kill me.”
He realized the impossibility of undoing what had been done, and started to cry.
Salma’s head roved above his face like a wandering moon. It did not care about his grief.
Her lips began sucking at his face. She swallowed her son’s pain, as if feeding on it.
“Cruensseasrjit pestis cruento invisuu. Acerbus-shatruex!”
She dragged her hips up higher on his body. A twist of sweat-lanked hair trailed wetly across his face, writing something in sweat, before sliding away.
Cupping her breasts, she reared like a snake, humped her throbbing cunt against his chest. Her aroused clit squirmed on his belly, hot and hard and throbbing.
“Can’t…” Alejandro babbled. “Can’t get hard…again…have to get up…Mom’s coming home…”
Then she released her tits over his face. They fell in curtains. Warm, face-smothering pillows smacked, bulging over his head, cutting him off from the world. A pungent earthy smell hit his lungs. A compelling, biological stink—rich in texture and implication—welled from the dark river rushing beneath Mom’s tits.
Buried in breast-flesh, Ale remembered that Mom had to slather deodorant under her soccer-ball gigantic tits, or they’d stink like unwashed armpits.
Musky tit-odor seemed to drug him. He fell into a trancelike state under her piles of flesh…or maybe just fell….
The most incredible miracle of the past three days took place.
He felt an erection rising from his hips.
“Cruento paashaeximus!” Salma sneered in victory as her hand gripped his cock, slapping it against his belly. It swelled, growing tumescent against her fingers.
She swung herself off him and lay beside him on the floor. She wriggled up close, letting his face rest on the hot nape of her neck. His hips were now touching her ass.
They lay sideways, folded against each other at knee and hip, their bodies perfectly curving to fit each other. He found his cock poking inside by the extravagant, excessive butt-cleavage of Salma’s ass.
Her thighs looked so much thicker than his own. Her ass dwarfed his. Big spoon, bigger spoon. Holy fuck, there’s so much meat on her body. Her butt felt like a hot jiggly ocean, plastered over his scrawny groin. Salma moaned, grinding her luscious, thick hips back against her son. His cock vanished into her asscrack—she yanked it left then right with jabs of her butt.
What happened next was entirely unplanned. Or so he told himself.
He slapped a palm onto the mountainous slab of her ass, grasped it, and lifted it off its twin.
His phone shed blue light over her asscrack’s slopes and crevices. Her asshole gleamed like an oyster at the bottom of all that meat—a jewel to be mined. Ale wondered if he had the nerve to try the thing he was thinking of trying.
I’ve done so much I shouldn’t have done with Mom’s body tonight. Enough. Time to stop.
But there’s one thing I’ve always thought about—
One thing he hadn’t yet done.
One hole he hadn’t done.
Grinding his crotch into her warm, smothering butt, his cock slid and wriggled a path to the bottom of her musky asscrack. Her asshole slithered like a mouth against his glans. Yes, it seemed to say.
Then her asscheek slipped from his hand and plapped down. Crack! Obscene quantities of buttflesh crashed and wobbled and trembled. Their sheer volume pushed his cock out of her crack. With a soft, guilty curse—Mom did not permit swearing, and habits died hard—he gripped and lifted again, prodding his cock back inside.
I’ll just put it in once, then take it out. Just so I can say I fucked Mom’s ass. (He had no idea who he’d ever say this to. Deacon Calabrese or whoever took his confession, probably.) Then I’ll start cleaning the mess we made.
Each buttock was immense. Handfuls of sweaty assmeat oozed between his fingers. He exposed her puckered anus, and began guiding his cock toward it.
His glans met her asshole. It stretched outward, expanding to match his width. He slid his prick between her cavernous ass-cheeks, then began fucking it into her hot, welcoming shit-tunnel.
SQUELLLCHHHHH
He slid in slow, burrowed in deep. He heard a soft rasping sound as her asshole took his prick. Her anal ring dilated before it, like a camera shutter widening for light.
Salma moaned as her son began screwing her up the ass. Her ass quaked. Her cat-twisting back became a continent of avulsed sweat.
Ale watched in disbelief as her ass greedily devoured inch after inch of his cock. It was just vanishing up her back door like a magician’s trick that needed no wires, no black velvet. His glans encountered token resistance against ribbed stripes of muscle—Mom’s internal anal sphincter, her levator ani, her rectal ampulla—but no more resistance than his own fingers provided, when he was fucking his own fist. He just pushed past.
Lonely, sick pleasure quivered through his nerve endings. He was sliding to depths that felt impossible. Mom’s rectal membranes felt so hot and itchy and dirty. His cock belonged in no part of her body, here least of all.
And yet.
Here he was.
Is it possible that all rules are just fake? He pondered this as he twisted and rotated his cock inside her butthole, relishing in the shifts of texture. It was like fucking a nest of slithering vipers. Her ass seemed to catch him, reeling him in deeper and deeper with each jerk. He stifled a cry as he hit bottom—Mom’s bottom—his glans jabbing like a blunt thumb down to the twist of her rectosigmoid colon, where his prick lodged in place, stuck.
Sweat beaded on his forehead. Her anorectal junction was almost pulling his cock off at the dentate line. He felt tightness that was pleasure just at the breaking edge of pain. But not too much tightness.
Her asshole is a bit looser than it should be… Ale thought. He began to rock and grind, driving his prick through her sweltering sheath of guts. He realized the implication—that strict, uptight, perfect Catholic Mom had likely had anal sex before—and the thought just destroyed him. She hadn’t always been a prude, it seemed. This was so, so, so bad. On every level.
Mom moaned. Her spine arched before his thrust—the world’s sweatiest question mark.
Ale squeezed deep handfuls of assmeat, and started rhythmically fucking Mom’s thick, wobbling shitmobile.
Glooppp sklichhh splorchhh!
His prick took deep, disgusting stabs through Mom’s asshole. Her asshole gulped him down, and spat back thick pulses of sound against his hammering crotch.
Sluppp schlurshhh squelchhhh! Splapppp sklorppp sklushhhh!
He rocked forward. Her ass-chute spasmed around him. This is the worst thing I’ve ever done. Having messy, sloppy anal sex with his prim and proper mother on the floor of their mansion. This is the best thing I’ve ever done. Both thoughts seemed somehow the right thought. Gasping, his hands shifted from her ass to her breasts. He pulled back out of her asshole. Then planted himself back in.
Splorrshhh sklopppp glurpppp! Splurrrshhh squelchhh splotch! Shloppppp squelkkkkk skluppp!
The noises his prick made were lewd and nasty and foul. Like a plunger cleaning a blocked toilet.
Tiring fast, he rolled Mom onto her stomach, watching her huge ass wobble like a mountain of jelly as it settled. Then he climbed atop her, and settled into a leisurely humping rhythm, sodomizing her with long, deep strokes, making her meaty dumper surge and ripple. She moaned her slut-in-heat moan, which was still Norteño-accented somehow. Wriggling eagerly, expressing little gasps of pleasure. Her slender hand dipped beneath her body and slid between her legs, jerking herself off.
He heard a wet shlicking sound as she pumped a rhythm onto her clit, masturbating in sync with the cock jamming against her inferior rectal valve.
Approaching climax, he heard an unmistakable sound.
A car pulling into the driveway.
Mom’s Acura. He gulped, cock planted inside the demon’s scalding asshole. Time’s up. I have to cum RIGHT NOW.
Picking up the pace, he drove his thick cock up her back door. The succubus was wriggling her thick hips, mewling and vocalizing pleasure. She seemed utterly rapt by the fat, incestuous prick pounding her hot, slurping shit-chute, gaping her asshole wide open.
She did not want the buttfucking to end. His prick, too, was unwilling to leave its hot earthy home in Mom’s shitter. Each plunge home was easy. Each pull out. It was like her rectum was a finger-trap—ribbed to allow access just one way.
There’s no time! We’re gonna get caught!
He could think of no way except forward, except through.
Gooseflesh pimpled over the back of the demoness’s neck she orgasmed. A gasp of air was sucked into her lungs. Her entire body jerked, straightening against his bends, and her rectal ampulla contracted against Ale’s prick with force that no teenager is built to survive.
“Ughh…”
He slammed down, filling her ass with his cock. A gray surge started in his balls. Was this an orgasm? Hard to say. It certainly brought no pleasure.
Outside, the engine was switched off.
She’ll walk through the door in seconds. Panic shrieked through him.
He willed the painful gray ache to leave his ballsack. It just hung like a Seattle stormcloud in his crotch as he fucked his mom’s ass.
Pressing her ass into the carpet, he fucked and fucked, gallons of assmeat wobbling back and forth as his hips slapped against it.
A domino of familiar—and horrifying—sounds reached his ears.
A car door popped open.
Tejano music stomp-kicked from the stereo speakers, stopping dead as the Bluetooth connection broke.
A car door slammed shut.
Then the percussive tiktiktik of a woman’s pumps on travertine. She was heading for the house.
Desperate, he humped the meaty rear plastered under him, sending meaty collisions through the demon’s obscene, wobbling dumper. Smashing her ass so hard that huge piles of Mommy-meat rippled and cascaded in sinusoidal ripples, juddering back against his sawing crotch as he pile-drived her against the floor.
Too slow.
He turned his head. Mom’s shadow filled the frosted glass of the door’s glazing and transoms.
He could not imagine what her reaction would be when she stepped through…and saw her son naked on the floor, fucking herself.
His orgasm fell on him then like a guillotine. Intense sensation shimmered and sawed, like atonal violin glissando. Overwhelming feeling engulfed the senses, as much pain as pleasure.
He bottomed out in her butthole, and began blasting. Bolts of teenage sperm splattered out inside her moist, dark ass. Ale’s orgasm almost stopped his heart as he fucked his spraying, squirting prick through her bowels.
The doorknob turned.
He yanked his spewing cock out of her ass just as the door opened.
Light flooded across the entryway.
It had cut-out of Salma Hayek’s curvaceous figure across it.
She stepped inside, eyes taking in the sureal scene.
Ale, lying naked on the floor with cum leaking from his prick, which had clearly just been up the ass of the woman on the floor. A woman who looked exactly like her.
“Buenos dias, Ale!” Mom’s smile was warm and congenial. “It’s a surprise to see you down here! In your Tony the Tiger pajamas, too! I thought you threw those out.”
My Tony the Tiger pajamas? He glanced down at his naked body.
“Uhm…” he gestured brokenly around him, deciding to play along. “Hey, Mom. What can I say? They’re nice pajamas.”
Then the naked demoness slid into a crouch, and then stood. She squared off against Mom.
Seeing them side by side…Alejandro felt a shatter-line fracture down his brain. He’d regarded them as twins. But that didn’t go far enough.
Every pair of twins he’d ever seen had been subtly, somewhat different. His brain had subconsciously picked up on the differences, had built these differences into his understanding of what a twin is.
He had no mental reference for these two women. They were exactly the same. Identical.
One wore makeup. The other had sweated it away in streams. But they were the same height to the millimeter. They had the same facial structure, and the same huge breasts—one set strapped down in blouse and Goretex and the other dangling free, dark heavy nipples wobbling on her belly.
“How are you finding the housework, Liliana?” Mom smiled at the demon who’d stolen her body.
Liliana? Ale wondered if his mother was witnessing so many impossible things at once that they’d all cancelled each other out, Mr Burns style.
“Pretiacruento,” the succubus said in its hell-blackened voice. “Rud’minuox praaNsilenux hatanoceo acerbus-shatruex.”
“Hmm, I see,” Mom’s tone was casual, like they were discussing the weather—which they might have been, for all Ale knew. “He was down here helping you clean the house? My, that’s a surprise. He never does housework for me!”
She turned and regarded Ale again. Her smile put deep, warm dimples in her cheeks.
She seemed pleased…but Alejandro saw mascara streaked down her face, and lipstick smudged up on her cheek. The smell of tequila reached him through the dense fog of sloppy assfucking he’d conjured.
Had Mom been drinking?
“Ale’s what we call perezoso,” Mom giggled. “Nice, but lazy. Let’s see how clean this place is.”
Her bright, amused eyes swept around the sex-trashed room. Left. Right. Alejandro’s stomach did a sickening plunge as he realized how fucked he was.
Stains. Toppled furniture. Cum-ropes that he’d plastered over a expensive cabriole sofa while the Demon’s tongue excavated out his asshole. Cum-ropes discharged over a Saarinen tulip armchair’s headboard while he’d fucked her huge tits as she’d sat in it. Stains from when he’d eaten her out and made her squirt six times over a rare vintage Camaleonda sofa worth half a million dollars.
Mom’s face glowed in approval at this veritable biohazard zone.
“¡Dios mío! It’s perfectly clean! You two did a wonderful job. I am surprised and impressed, Ale. You can be a clean boy. Looks like Liliana has succeeded where I have failed.”
Perfectly clean? Alejandro looked at the debauchery written in sweat and cum over every surface, and wanted to pass out.
She can’t see this, can she? The succubus—Liliana or whatever Mom called her—is changing how she perceives reality. This brought a disturbing thought with it. What if she’s doing the same thing to me?
He glanced at the naked demon. Her beauty was ravishing: to look at her was to bleed. But it was clearly a manufactured beauty. Built to spec. Built to his spec.
A shudder coiled through him. I very much doubt Liliana looks like Mom. I wonder if I’ll ever see her real appearance, of if I’d want to…
Mom clapped a hand on the demon’s sweaty shoulder. “After so long looking for a maid, I think we’ve hit paydirt in Liliana here. Don’t you, Ale?”
Paydirt. Dirt. Soil. Statue. Alejandra nodded and said nothing—his usual tactic for keeping Mom happy, and getting out of tricky spots.
Salma stepped closer to the demon. She lifted up a lock of black hair, matted and lank from hours of sex, and sniffed. “And isn’t her hair nice, all blonde and permed? I haff vanted to dye mine blonde like this. Even if it’s a little…well…immodest!”
The demon smiled her sneering half-smile as Salma gushed over her locks.
“How was the producer’s meeting?” Ale asked Mom, who seemed to be in an usually good mood.
Disquiet entered her face and then left, as if through a side door. “It was…fine…” she said, suddenly far less happy. “I am tired. I will go to sleep straight away, if you and Liliana don’t mind.”
“Sure. Sounds good. We’ll just finish cleaning down here.”
Mom nodded and pecked him—smudged lips touching a hickey-covered face—then swanned away to the bedroom.
For once, he stared at her ticktocking ass in her dress and did not pop a boner.
She must have been pretty fucking tired. She’d forgotten to quiz him about the Bible verses.
“What are you…?” he whispered, turning to where the fake Salma stood.
The question was never completed.
He’d meant to ask what are you doing to my mother? And to me? And why?
But he’d be asking the question to an empty wall.
The demon had vanished.
Ale showered, and crawled upstairs to his bedroom. Uncharacteristically, he tiptoed past Mom’s bedroom without a single glance inside. He was exhausted. Drop-dead, drag-ass tired.
He tugged a single sock onto his left foot—he had no idea why he did this to his dying day—then drifted off into a sleep without a single dream to serve as signpost.
He slept for twelve straight hours and woke to an empty house.
Lifting his head from the pillow, he watched clouds roll in from the sea. The sun was setting. Wind sang in the gutters, stirring leaves, turning the metal into humming rust-punctured flutes. Everything felt queasy and out of kilter.
Alejandro glanced out at the driveway. He couldn’t see Mom’s Acura. Then he picked up his phone, and saw a text from her.
He read it in the kitchen while munching on a piece of toast.
Dear Ale,
I am sorry, but the producer wants me back for another reading. I expect to be gone all night again.
This is a big project, and there are so many things that must be done. Chemistry reads. Wardrobe fittings. My chest has gone up another size I fear!
I must be permanently on-call for the next few weeks. That, I regret but cannot help. >For your spiritual growth, I want you to memorize the below Bible verses, and write a 300 word essay on each one. Discuss how they relate to…
A door slammed at the back of the house.
He lowered his phone. Hairs itched a caterpillar-crawl across his neck. A twitch stirred in his beaten, abused cock.
He checked the back door. It was nothing. A screen door in the second laundry had gotten caught on the jamb, and was being blown by the wind, open and shut.
That was all.
He closed the door.
As he wedged it shut, he heard breath dissipate a funeral chant on the musty, dusty air. He felt it pour across his neck. He heard the slap of large bare breasts.
The demon had returned.
She slid behind him, in her jiggly, emphatic way. Little fawnlike steps that made her tits slap and shake. He felt her nipples pebbling against his back, slowly sliding over his shivering flesh. She humped her monstrously-thick hips on his back.
She stuck a finger into her pussy, and masturbating lasciviously. He couldn’t see this, but heard a slippery pumping rhythm as a finger worked in and out of a moist, dripping cunt.
Liliana…
A wave of fear-scented lust tore through the center of his stomach. But his cock began to harden as her lush, ripe body pillowed upon his. He was in the presence of something ancient. Something more akin to a mountain or a sea than a flesh and blood mortal. Thought vanished before the awe of what she was. Inhibitions fell.
He turned, faced her, and lunged like an attack dog. Almost snarling with lust, he took her to the ground. His lips kissed her, his hands groped her breasts. She was hot and ready. Through a million small gestures and muscular contractions, he felt her body open for him like a flower.
He struggled out of his jeans. His cock slapped forward, catching in the fork of her legs. He adjusted the angle, found her cunt, and then eagerly snapped his hips into her.
There was no foreplay. A single deep, cunt-plunging sweep put his erection back where it belonged. Inside his mother.
They fucked less than the night before. Only for about nine or ten hours. The windowpanes shook and rattled with cries, moans, grunts, and screams and then the real Salma Hayek returned to take her sister’s place.
She noticed nothing.
A pattern began over the next five days.
Salma Hayek—the real one—would depart from the mansion in the afternoon, while Alejandro was still sleeping off the debauchery of the night before. He’d wake to an empty house and an explanatory, exculpatory text. Here’s where I am. Here’s what I am doing. Make dinner for yourself and Liliana.
Film work. Preproduction, then production. They had her on set for twelve hours a day—some SAG union rule had been waived due to the unusual nature of the production, which required many night shoots.
Her texts were exhausted and exhausting. Always saturated with guilt. She seemed upset that she was not being a good mother to her son—or her image of a good mother, at least. Diligent. Always there. Hovering around corners, listening and watching. Alejandro had always preferred it when he was left alone. She told Ale to show “the new maid” the same respect he showed her, which he found funny when he thought of how his cock looked as it sat balls-deep inside her.
Once Ale had risen, he’d wait with suspense knotted tight through his chest as shadows lengthened, as the day ended.
He’d listen for sound. Maybe a creak, heralding slender feet falling on the stairs. Maybe a door’s sudden opening or closing.
Sometimes the maid arrived from hell with no perceptible noise at all.
Then they’d be busy together all night, in the dark. Ale fucked his mother in hundreds of positions. They had wild, monkeylike sex all over the house, marking expensive furniture with sweat and bodily fluids. Whatever Mom and Dad had paid for the Bel Air property before their divorce, it would certainly be worth less now.
To Ale’s mind, the Salma Show had undergone an exciting revamp. Before, it had lasted a few precious minutes. Now it occupied the entire graveyard shift. Eight or ten hours a night.
And he wasn’t just an observer, peering through a crack in a bedroom door. Now, he was Mom’s co-star.
In the kitchen.
In the back patio.
In the pool.
In the attic.
In the basement.
Alejandro had the sex drive of a spider monkey—one more shame for a boy made of nothing but shame. Even for a teenager his libido seemed abnormally intense. He remembered flop-sweating as Deacon Calabrese denounced the sin of masturbation from the pulpit, warning of a filthy habit that addicted boys, with the result that “…some of them self-abuse as often as once a day!
Mom had glanced sideways at him. Ale had nodded politely at the deacon’s words, as if to say wow, imagine fapping that often.
His own usual schedule was once (or twice) in the morning to Mom through the door, then twice (or once) at school, then between two to four times once he came home, depending on homework and how pent-up the car ride home with Mom had left him.
He knew he jerked off a ridiculous amount, but he wasn’t superhuman. Six times a day was where he usually stopped. Sometimes seven. Once, Mom had left him alone all day while she attended a Vanity Fair Oscar Party. He just sat with his phone in his lab, mad with desire for her, watching her body spilling out of a super hot red chiffon dress in hundreds of photos. He’d masturbated nine times before she came home. The last two hadn’t been that fun. He’d mostly done it to say he’d done it.
But now he was fucking all night long, night after night, cumming huge loads each time. And he wasn’t dying. He wasn’t exactly living, either. But this unclassified third state of mortal existence had pleasures to recommend it.
The house’s stone walls sang with the demon’s screamed orgasms for up to twelve to fourteen hours a day, as he slammed her against the mantlepiece, or over a barrel in the wine cellar, or against a bag of mulch in the garage—the same one the stone statue was hidden behind, while it watched like a metamorphic voyeur.
He had no idea where this sudden insane virility was coming from.
Maybe his mother’s ultra-thick, ultra-fuckable body was far more stimulating than his hand and imagination. Maybe the demon’s magic was helping.
But he no longer felt like a weak and powerless child anymore. This monster from hell was throwing down a challenge, and as the watches of the night rolled on with dreadful flesh-filled fury, he was proving equal to it.
He wasn’t a boy any longer. He was fuel. An endless reservoir of semen for this foul thing to feast on, draining and sucking and leeching.
But what for? What did it need so much of his sperm for?
And then his mother keened a lust-roughened imperative—“cruo stragarana malaxos!”—and his head filled with the scent of her cunt and asshole. Cock rising, legs stalking like a beast, he absconded to the bedroom, where he thought no more.
After ten days, Alejandro had forgotten that he’d asked Anthony’s father about the statue.
When texts arrived on his phone from an unknown number, they briefly hung in empty spaces in his mind, disconnected from any context.
Alejandro, my son showed me the photo of the statue. I am very curious as to where you actually found this object. This is either a brilliant forgery, or property stolen from a museum.
But please do not pretend that you found it buried underground. That is impossible.
You have no idea of what’s possible, Alejandro thought, reading the information Anthony’s father had sent.
It’s a rare ceremonial statue of Inanna, the Sumerian goddess of carnality and pleasure. This figure became the Babylonian Ishtar, and the Greek Aphrodite. She is recorded in the Bible as Ashtoreth. She might have also inspired the Christian figure of Lilith, although this is disputed.
After the fall of Babylon, she took on darker associations. Among the Akkadians, she became a sinister, demonic figure who sexually preyed upon mortal men. She was the goddess of prostitutes, but also of corruption, and deformity, and disguise. Where one thing pretended to be another, Inanna reigned. She controlled everything that was blighted and ruined and eaten out from the inside. Her symbol was the worm.
She embodied dark, profane lust. She seduced mortals, brought them pleasure, then led them to ruin. In one story, Inanna descended to the underworld, the domain of her stern and rigid sister, Ereshkigal. She painted her face with whorish makeup and wore ostentatious jewellery to provoke a reaction. Ereshkigal was grieving the loss of her husband, was not on her guard, and foolishly allowed her promiscuous sister inside.
Inside her sister’s house, Inanna stripped herself naked, and disported herself in disgusting fashion. Ereshkigal flew into a rage, killed her, then hung her corpse from a hook. Once Inanna died, sexlessness reigned over frigid Ereshkigal’s kingdom, and over the world of the living. But a servant of Inanna escaped the underworld, and pled her mistress’s case before the gods. Most refused to help, believing wicked, wanton Inanna deserving of her fate. But Enki, craftiest of the gods, scraped dirt from beneath his fingernails, and used it to make a fluid called “the drink of life”. He contrived for it to be poured over the goddess’s corpse, which restored her to life.
You can see fragments of the Inanna/Ereshkigal myth recounted in cuneiform upon that statue. On the statue’s forehead there is the sigil of Mušḫuššu—the red worm of Inanna. Once this act was complete, Inanna would come into her power and consummate her reign over the underworld and the earth. Also…
There was more.
Alejandro was distracted by the attractive female head plunging and twisting upon his cock.
He gripped Salma’s head, facefucking her throat with his fat teenaged cock. Mom was sucking him hard, swallowing his engorged erection like a pig. Her sculpture-beautiful face—fixed in a stormy pout on a thousand magazine covers——mashed shamelessly into the hot, musky flesh of her son’s genitals.
GLUCK! SLUCK! PLAPP!
Ale lowered his phone so he could steer her face with both hands.
He brutally plowed his cock into his busty mother’s throat.
Her mouth became a quivering, drooling hole, saliva strands spilling down the beautiful curve of her neck from her chin. His cock gurgled and squished inside her esophagus.
She kept sucking and sucking, smearing makeup against his scrotal sack. The sucks achieved nothing. He had no more inches to give.
PLAP PLAP PLAP! GLUK! GLUK! GLUK!
She sucked her cheeks hollow against the fat erection plunging and fucking its way to the bottom of her throat.
“Guhh!” he yelled, piledriving his shaft down Mom’s throat. “Gonna cum! Gonna cum! GONNA CUUUUMMM!”
He orgasmed in her mouth’s silken embrace. Ale grunted, grinding his hips into her face. Rope after rope of jizz rolled through his cock, firing down her throat. He expelled excessive amounts of sperm in her stomach, hearing them splatter and churn.
He pulled out the huge, softening stalk of his erection, and squeezed dregs of cum into each of Mom’s huge, beautiful, smoke-shadowed eyes.
Lilith? Inanna?
Oh my God… he thought as she began sucking him hard again. …Liliana!
After seven more days, Mom’s filming schedule flipped.
In the day, away. At night, at home.
The “maid” adjusted her Alejandro-screwing schedule to compensate. She seemed to want to avoid the presence of the real Salma. Perhaps whatever illusion she spun was imperfect, and she did not want to risk discovery. Alejandro didn’t know. He couldn’t tell them apart, not even remotely. But then, he’d never known his real mother as well as he knew the copy.
Daytime sex meant the house was brilliantly illuminated as they fucked. The California sun sheeted through every window, revealing things the night had hidden.
Things that were deeply strange.
Things that were better off ignored.
One day, he sat slumped against a doorframe in the hallway. His balls ached with a weary dull glow as he pressed an ice pack to them. He’d fucked six times and was trying to recover some function to his genitals. The demonic mother was waiting for him to get hard again. He sensed her patience burning like a fuse—a long fuse, but not an inexhaustible one.
He glanced up and down the hall. The house was filthy. Hard to tell where shadow became dirt or dirt became shadow.
No maid was cleaning the mansion. No maid existed.
There was a grandfather clock visible in the spare room. Its maddening tick ratcheted in Ale’s brain like a knife cleaving second from second.
He looked upon its face. Saw that it was keeping time backward. The minute and second hand were moving in reverse, sweeping counterclockwise revolutions across the dial.
Huh. That’s weird.
Blinking in confusion, he looked away.
He stared down to the end of the hallway into the kitchen. A spider was scuttling forward upon a web it had spun in the dark gap between the fridge and the cabinet. He shuddered in revulsion. It was bigger than any spider he’d seen in California—a heavy arachnid bulk that bent strands of silk like violin strings under its heaving, hairy bulk.
It had caught something. A cockroach.
Alejandro crept into the kitchen, peering closely. The spider was preparing its prey for death—mandibles glistened and palpitated, as if salivating over the meal it was wrapping in silk. It displayed neither awareness nor fear of Ale, three feet away.
He noticed three disturbing things about the spider.
First, it had twelve legs. He counted them again and again.
Second, the “cockroach” was actually a small, quivering mouse. He saw fur poking out through the wrapping of silk. It body was paralyzed by fear or toxins. A single eye swiveled onto him. Save me!
Third, it had a pattern on its back…one that was strangely familiar to him.
The spider’s twelve legs twisted inward, closing around the wrapped-up mouse. Its mandibles slobbered with a wet click—barely audible. Compound eyes spun in its back, watching him from across the room.
It began to inject venom into the mouse. Ale recoiled in horror. He turned away, leaving the freakish spider to its meal. He resolved not to look in that corner of the house again.
I didn’t see a spider. It wasn’t real.
He heard his mother calling out to him.
And even if it was real, it certainly didn’t have that Sumerian worm-symbol on its back.
Breathy, moaning, articulating need in her strange demon tongue. Calling him to her bedroom for more sex. He began to get hard.
As soon as he mounted his mother, sinking into the warm void between her thighs, he did what he needed to do.
Forgot. Again.
“You look like shit, bro,” Jake McManus stared at him in worry. “Where have you been? Haven’t seen you in two weeks.”
Pale-faced, Ale smoked a cigarette in the skatepark beside the school. The hand holding it shook. You look like shit. Yep. He felt like shit too. This was not false advertising.
Inside the mansion, he was power incarnate. A savage masculine force, bending the divine feminine into screaming, shuddering contortions beneath his cock.
But the second he stepped outside the front door, this supernatural sense of strength vanished. He was exhausted.
He’d just gone outside to buy some cigarettes. That was all. He hadn’t been ready for tiredness to abruptly fall on him like a cartoon anvil. When he leaned upright against a wall, he began to fall asleep—he hadn’t believed that was possible. His vision swam. He kept instinctively checking his teeth for braces—braces he hadn’t worn since sixth grade. Every noise set his teeth on edge. Even inside the mansion, king in command of a slowly rotting kingdom, he avoided mirrors. Didn’t much like what he saw in them: a pale, skinny, sleepless neurasthenic. He’d lost ten pounds in the last month. Had simply fucked them away.
He had energy to meet Salma’s sexual demands. Not a drop of energy left for anything more.
“Mike says you were at his place yesterday. You passed out and fell asleep on his couch. He thought you were nodding or something—was gonna call the cops or inject you with naloxone or some shit. What’s going on?”
“I’m not on drugs.” Ale wondered if this was true. “I’m just busy.”
Jake looked incredulous. “Busy? It’s the holidays.”
“Not when your Mom’s Salma Hayek.” Ale gave a flat shrug of his shoulders. “She keeps me busy.”
“Busy, huh?” Mischief came and went in the tension of Jake’s facial muscles. Ale saw the flicker, and knew his friend had been about to make a risque remark. Then he’d doubtless remembered the last conversation they’d had on the subject. “Um, yeah. I hear your Mom’s pretty strict. She still wanting you to become an altar boy again?”
Ale was too tired to lie, too tired to care.
“Nah. I’m fucking her.”
Eduardo’s cocky grin dropped off his face—first one side, then the other.
“…What?”
“We’re having sex, dude. Fucking. Know how it works? You didn’t come from no stork, bro. My Mom is making me fuck her. That’s why nobody’s seen me in weeks. Because I’m fucking my Mom.”
Jake politely stared—waiting for the joke’s punchline, waiting for the part where it got funny, waiting for the part where it made sense, waiting for anything.
Smirking, Ale gave him nothing but silence.
“…Be serious,” Jake said warily.
“Oh, I am serious,” Ale said. “I’ve started having sex with my Mom. My dick’s inside her more than outside her these days. We’ve done it a million times. No condoms, either. Shit’s pretty great, but it’s tiring.”
Jake’s confusion deepened, becoming disgust. Then disgusted. He neither understood nor liked the turn this conversation had gone down.
“I…don’t get it. What are you saying?”
He doesn’t get it. He still thinks I’m some boring goodie-two-shoes. He felt perverse rage wake inside him. He laughed so he wouldn’t cry. Years of repression burst through evey last Catholic dam Mom had built. Oh, bridges felt so warm when you burned them!
“…And I’m not just rawdogging her cunt, either. She lets me fuck her ass. And her tits. I’ve actually fucked her armpits and her toes. Name a square inch of skin, a place of her body. I’ve probably blown a load on it at some point.”
Jake looked green and ill. “Yo, cut that out.”
The cigarette touched fire on Alejandro’s fingers. He hadn’t noticed it burning down. His mouth just kept moving as he tossed it to the ground and stomped it out.
“This morning we did it in bed. I creampied her with the biggest load. Then we screwed in the shower. The hot water ran out before I came, so I dragged her into her bedroom She has all these Catholic saints up above her bed. When I busted, I flipped her on her stomach and tried to write my name on her back. I ran out of cum after the A.”
“…Dude, quit it. Fucking weirdo.” Jake’s lip turned in disgust. “Seriously, what’s fucking wrong with you?”
Ale knew he was crossing boundaries. They were boundaries he no longer cared about. “Then we went to the living room and sixty-nined for a while. First I was on top, then she was on top. I stuck fingers in Mom’s asshole. and pulled it open wide. Then I made her straddle the couch, and I put my head between her ass cheeks. It felt fantastic. I got my lips to her asshole and started tongue-fucking it. Stuck my tongue like five inches up there. Then I fucked her ass for about thirty minutes but didn’t cum. I made her swallow my load. We’ll probably bang another four or five times when I get back. Just trying to scrape together some cum.”
“Shut up!” Jake spat, drawing away from him. “I DON’T WANT TO HEAR THIS! SHUT UP! SHUT UP!”
Ale grinned. Waited a beat. Spoke.
“Relax. I’m fucking with you.”
Jake blinked. “Oh.”
“…You thought that was serious? Having sex with my mother? Just a joke, man. Chill out.”
Jake fake-laughed. “Yeah. Some joke. Goddamn, I wanna bleach my ears after hearing that shit. So much for being upset about us talking weird about your Mom!”
Ale kicked a rock.
“I’m dirt, Jake. The Bible says we were made in God’s image. I think we’re actually made in the image of mud. For years, I’ve pretended to be good, when actually, my head is so full of gross shit. I got mad at you because I was mad at myself.”
Jake raised a curious eyebrow.
“I tried to be good. For years and years I tried! But I never tried hard enough for Mom. I’m starting to think she didn’t want me to succeed.” He laughed bitterly. “She loved her purity, and the easiest way to be clean was for me to be dirty. She made me this way, Jake. I’m a guy who gets called horrible and disgusting no matter what I do, so what do I have to lose by actually being the thing she says I am?”
“Still…” Jake said. “Saying those things about your Mom, even as a joke. It’s pretty messed up.”
Ale sighed. You have no conception of what messed up is.
“Imagine bathing in water that’s ten percent elephant shit. Are you really much dirtier than if you bathed in one-hundred-percent elephant shit? Not really. Honestly, you might as well sign up for the full experience. Get some culture, you know?”
“Might as well not bathe in elephant shit, you freak.”
Ale felt sorta bad. “Wanna come around tomorrow? Play some Smash?”
Jake looked uneasy and uncertain. But Super Smash Bros is Super Smash Bros.
“Sure,” he said. “Whatever. I’ll invite the other guys, too. Just so long as you don’t air-cheese Jigglypuff like you always do. And please don’t talk about banging your Mom like that. That shit was really over the line.”
“Relax,” Ale said. “It was completely, totally a joke. Not real at all.”
Then he excused himself. He had an Uber booked. Time to go back to the mansion.
The succubus would demand four or five fuckings before he was allowed to sleep. He needed to start now.
9:00am.
Salma Hayek screamed as her son split her on the carpet. Her mouth gaped, her tongue fluttering around ululated syllables. He felt air from her lungs wash across his chest.
He was locked on top of her, mid-coitus. Her coffee-toned legs were thrown onto his shoulders, wet with sweat, plunging and kicking as he snapped his hips into her, churning her cunt. She was energetic and muscular and powerful, a horse that rode you. Her muscular body torqued under his piledriving hips as they crunched down, spraying out sweat and squirt.
SPLOTCH! SPLATCH! SKLOPP! KLUPPP! SHHBLOOORPPP!
He gazed down at her huge brown breasts. They piled in her armpits, jolting messily with each fuck-slam he punched into her. Her nipples swung and rolled with the wet, meaty, lewd slaps of his crotch. Whenever she had an orgasm—thus far, she was up to three—they vibrated like pagers.
Lunging down into dripping twat, Ale felt her hands wrap around his shoulder, fingers pulling tension against his skin. He roared as pleasure exploded in him. He was so close to an animal now. Never more than a single caress of his mother’s fingernails from just throwing humanity away.
SPLATT! ka-GLOPPP! BLOOP! SHPLICKKKUHH!!
He paused, adjusted his posture upon the cradle of her hips, and then resumed fucking and pumping and slamming her crotch. His breath panted, burning his lungs. His eyes stung with tears.
He was not terrified of the demon or Goddess or whatever she was. What was there to fear? She’d chosen him because he could handle her.
The house stank of sex. The air almost distorted with the stench generated by their raw, incestuous fucking.
But under it, another odor was rising—a sweetly nauseating aroma that Ale’s mind connected with rotting meat. As though the space behind the drywall was packed with severed limbs for insulation. Damn, that’s a thought.
The house was turning strange. Collapsing from the inside, like a Halloween pumpkin on November 10th. Once, weirdness had remained confined to corners and pools of darkness. Now, it was spilling out into the middle of every room of the house. He kept his eyes front and center now, trying to ignore things.
He didn’t want to see the shadows on the floor, cast by nothing.
Or the grimy handprints pressed on certain windows, as though things not quite visible were trying to push inward. Some of the hands had six or seven fingers.
Or the fact that sometimes he could glance through a doorway in a certain room—such as the upstairs bathroom—and see into the wrong part of the house. Like the kitchen, which was on the bottom floor. Or the garage, with the stone statue watching him Then he’d focus his eyes, and the upstairs hallway would snap into focus instead, like it always had.
There was a sense—intangible, but accelerating—that he’d unlocked the end. That everything was rotting now. Not the house. Not even himself.
Everything.
He grasped Mom’s shoulders and sheathed his thick veiny erection inside her squeezing cunt. Her cawed, broken shrieks hit his ears like a dull butcher’s cleaver.
Bullish and aggressive, Ale fucked Mom to her fourth orgasm.
To her fifth.
They switched positions. She got on her hands and knees, and he mounted and fucked her doggy-style. Salma’s meaty body wobbled with his brutal, slamming fuck-thrusts—her back arched, her pendulous tits jiggled obscenely. She grunted in lust. A deep, bloody sound. Sweat trickled from the depths of her cleavage. Pleasure twisted her face, reshaping it like a continent engulfed in prehistoric flame and water.
He reared back on her body like she was a horse, jackhammering her, triggering frantic screams. Under her torso, huge boobs slapped back and forth with vicious whiplike cracks.
Sixth orgasm.
Seventh orgasm.
They changed position again. This time, she was on top. She reached down and grabbed his tangled hair, pulling him into a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss. Wet and sticky and lewd. He felt her tongue explore his mouth while she pummeled her crotch into his with churning, squelching sounds.
Their hips twisted together, fucking together with driving speed and intensity, fucking their crotches into a constant churn of slathering flesh.
Lastly, he fucked on top again. His sexy, huge-breasted mother was spread out on the floor beneath him. He was balls deep inside her. All was right with the world.
Nevermind the strange stench of death registering in his nostrils. Or the voiceless whispers filling the house with pain and need and longing.
Or the nightmares, in the brief interludes when he was allowed to sleep.
Once he was breed-slamming the shit out of his mother, he forgot everything but the ecstatic, anguished feeling of cock splitting cunt, of wet fucking wet. Exultation raged through him as he clasped her scissoring thighs, feeling their sweaty dampness and heat. The gods themselves wished to be him. This day did not need one single addendum or addition to be perfect.
Eight orgasms.
Probably wouldn’t be nine.
His prostate began itching. He was about to cum.
This was Alejandro’s first load of the day. He’d been fucking her for over two hours, holding back his cum, letting it build and build. He felt his testicles sagging with excess semen—heavy and hot as molten pig-iron, and as difficult to hold.
Alejandro moaned atop his mother as his colossal cumload began to rise. This is gonna absolutely drown her.
Then the doorbell rang.
Oh fuck off. I’m about to cum. Ale lifted his face from his Mom’s tits, flushed and groggy. Just a few more thrusts…
Teeth gritted, eyes forward, he decided to ignore it and kept fucking. Maybe they’ll leave.
Then he glanced and saw his four friends outside the frosted glass.
“Fuck!” he whisper-yelled.
He’d forgotten the invitation he’d given Jake yesterday.
Grumbling irritably, he pulled out with a lewd slurping sound. Her slut-tunnel released its vacuum-like grip on his prick, spitting it out into the air. It swayed in the air, literally one more thrust from orgasming. Not even that. A single white strand of cum slid down his balls, plapping on the floor.
His boner thrashed and jerked, edged to the edge of the edge.
He flung a terrycloth bathrobe around himself, gingerly tucked his desperately throbbing erection down into it—was it just him, or did his cock seem a lot bigger than it had three weeks ago?—and answered the door.
“Hey,” Ale said, shirtless and sweaty, like a louche suburban pimp. “Come in.”
Michael, Anthony, Eduardo, and Jake looked visibly uncomfortable at the sight of him.
“Your house…” Jake McManus wrinkled his nose at the darkness over Alejandro’s back.
Ale glanced over his shoulder.
It had not been cleaned or vacuumed in weeks. Dust and dirt and grime lay thick enough to form tumbleweeds.
A dead spider lay on the floor. One with what seemed like twenty legs, all of them curled inward in death.
Mom can’t see the house as it is, Alejandro realized. But my friends can. The demon’s magic doesn’t work on them.
I wonder what they’d see if they saw Liliana. The so-called ‘maid’. Would they see Mom? Or the demon’s real aspect? Or something different?
Only one way to find out.
“Come in,” Ale said again, ushering them in with a sweep of his hand. As sweetly solicitous as a butler at Castle Alucard.
He was very curious about what would happen next.
Hopefully she doesn’t just kill them all.
They sat around the TV. The loading screen for Hyrule’s Castle was reflected in five sets of eyes.
Alejandro had entertained these guys dozens of times at Mom’s mansion over the years. Playing videogames in the living room, bopping each other with noodles in the pool, shushing them when they swore—which they frequently did—in case Mom was listening—which she always was.
None of them looked at ease as they sat on the floor, controllers in hand. The house lay around them like hauntology of a nightmare. The four walls loomed like four grasping claws. Strange scuttling noises came from the shadows.
And they kept a distance from the host, Jake in particular.
Ale felt smug and secretive as he shielded and returned fire with a smash attack. Edu’s Bayonetta was flung into a wall. He was in no great hurry to induct these boys into the mysteries afoot.
Things had changed. Oh, they had no idea how many things.
“Is…uh…everything going okay here?” Eduardo kept glancing around at the nightmarishly thick folds of spiderweb clinging in every corner, between every span of darkness.
“I guess.”
“It’s just…there’s a weird smell…”
Ale sniffed. “I don’t smell anything.”
There were many weird smells. Some were ones he’d personally contributed to. Others had appeared on their own. Rotting meat? Sulfur? Worse?
Anthony’s face was green. “Bro, it’s bad. Really bad. Smells like…”
…like what? Ale waited for him to say it.
Anthony struggled to get out the words. “…Like you’ve got a rotten body back there or something.”
“Drat.” Ale edgeguarded Anthony’s Fox until it fell off the ledge on the castle. “And I would have gotten away with it, if not for you meddling kids.”
Nobody laughed.
“Where’s your Mom?” Edu asked.
Alejandro glanced around. Yeah. Good question. Where was she?
He’d left her panting and quivering on the floor, squirt oozing from her cunt. She hadn’t been there when he’d retraced his steps with his friends.
They had seen or heard no sign of her since.
Then Ale heard a familiar clapping sound approach, and grinned a shark’s grin.
He knew the clapping her breasts made as they slapped against her belly.
“Ask her yourself.”
“Cruensseasrjit pestis cruento invisuu. Acerbus-shatruex!”
Salma Hayek stepped into the room.
She was naked and glorious and terrible.
The hallway’s shadows fell from her sleek brown body. They slid off her like chains.
Her hair had been fucked into a messy spray, but it didn’t look unkempt or dishevelled. It suited her. She looked primal, tribal. A jungle princess.
Michael, Jake, Anthony, and Eduardo all reacted to her huge tits with eye-popping shock. Ale did not react at all. While it was not possible to grow bored of Salma Hayek’s 34HH funbags, they had grown slightly familiar to him by this point.
She stepped closer to the five boys, her bare feet devouring space.
Four of the five began to panic. Sweaty-faced Anthony hyperventilated as a shadow fell on him. Michael’s controller fell with a clatter.
“What’s going on?” Eduardo babbled, the words slurring and losing articulation. “What’s going on? Ale, what’s happening?”
Ale alone was calm. He KO’d the other players, then gently laid the controller down, straightening it on the display countertop.
Then he sat crosslegged, picking at a thread on the carpet, and waited.
He did not know what was going to happen next. There was deep malice and rage within Liliana, or Lilith, or Inanna, or whoever. He’d been a loyal and satisfactory stud, servicing her cunt day and night, and for this reason her anger hadn’t fallen on him.
As Salma Hayek stalked toward them, he realized that these boys might not be so lucky.
I hope you survive. Giddy, malicious joy welled up in him. But it will be interesting if you don’t.
Salma Hayek descended in a storm of meat on Ale’s four friends.
She was sleek. Voluptuous. Terrible. Her body’s curves gave her the look of an apex predator—pure speed, pure killing power. Her beauty was like porcelain that has been sharpened to a vein-slitting edge.
She fucked them, one by one by one by one.
The teens had wide-open awake-but-dreaming faces as she pulled off their clothes and separated them from their semen. She engulfed their pricks, tore orgasms from them with a machine’s efficiency, then flung them aside, drained and empty. She screwed all four barely-legal boys, moving to the next before his cock had time to soften. Taking untested teenage erections, plunging them to the bottom of whatever horny, hungry fuck-chasm was most convenient, and testing them. All of them broke. All of them failed.
Despite their brags to the contrary—Michael in particular often claimed he got more ass than toilet paper—it was clear that these boys were virgins. They displayed no sign of confidence or competence. No sign that they knew how to handle this beautiful black-haired MILF slut who was slamming herself against them.
Ale yawned while his strict uptight mother savagely beastfucked his friends.
First, the bodacious middle-aged woman yanked down Jake McManus’s pants, and pounded her beautiful face against his crotch. SQUELCH! She swallowed his penis with one thrust, sucking it straight down like it was air.
“Ahhh!” Jake whined. “Easy!”
SHLACK! Saliva splattered from her lips as she pounded her mouth against his pubis. Jake’s own mouth open and closed like a koi’s. He’d made lewd remarks about Salma’s breasts too many times for Ale to count. Now that those same breasts were pinned between her arms and his thighs as she fellated him, he had nothing to say.
SLURRPP! SHUUULLLKK!
Jake made bewildered eye contact with Alejandro as her face tore at his crotch. After thirty seconds, he was ejaculating in Salma’s mouth.
“Uhh!’ He grabbed her shoulders for support.”Cumming!”
Salma pulled her lips off his cock and slid to the side. Her lips sneered as the cock thrashed in the air, spraying out strands. Four white ropes leaped from the boy’s cock onto the carpet. Alejandro waited for the rest of Jake’s cum, but as the ropes became a dribble, he realized this was Jake’s entire load.
He matched his mother’s look of contempt. My fifth cumshot of the day is bigger than that!
Jake’s scrawny, sweaty legs collapsed in shock, pitching him to the carpet. Salma had already moved on. She did not look back.
Anthony found himself gripped and flung onto his back. Her strength was astonishing. His immense belly wobbled as she straddled him, smoothly taking his prick inside her cunt and riding him cowgirl style.
SQUELCH! SPLACK! BLURRPP!
Her ass settled in yogi-like balance atop his crotch, two immense wobbling orbs of buttmeat quaking as she slam-fucked down on the fat boy. Anthony threw his hips up into her with shallow thrusts, as if trying to demonstrate that he was fucking her instead of the other way around. It wasn’t convincing. His fat hands reached up to grip the awesome, volleyball-sized tits bouncing on her chest. The sweat-slippery orbs were far too big to hold, and promptly began slipping out of his grasp.
“Oh! Ahh! Ughhh!”
The wet slap of flesh on flesh resounded against the four walls—the squelch of a cunt pillaging a cock to the bottom. Anthony writhed under the voracious, colossally jugged Mom as she rutted against him. One bulging breast escaped his grasp and flew up into her face, nearly hitting her chin. Crack! She humped and humped and humped until Anthony groaned in release.
“UHHHH!!!”
Smiling sadistically, she twisted her hips down on him. Her cunt ground and chewed at the eighteen year old’s orgasming prick. With a smooth lift of her hips, she pulled off the kid’s cock just as cum slid up his shaft.
He let loose with a cracked yell, shooting his cum across his belly. He blew his entire thick load into the air. Five spurts this time, as brief and percussive as bullets.
As Anthony wheezed pathetically, she lunged onto Eduardo, trapping him and pinning him under her lusty, dusky limbs. Alejandro was reminded uncomfortably of the spider wrapping up its prey.
The twelve-legged spider, with the Mušḫuššu symbol on its back.
Somehow, the mega-titted cougar got his cock inside her cunt, and began riding him from on top. Gallons of buttmeat crashed and shuddered as she writhed her fuck-sleeve upon his impaling prick.
“Woah, um, hi…” Eduardo said. “Ale, you didn’t tell us your Mom…”
Salma slapped his face, and spat harsh words whose meaning was evident from tone. Don’t talk to him, fool. Fuck me. But she swiftly rendered him unable to do that, either. She kegel-squeezed with crushing force on Eduardo’s battered glans, breaking him within seconds.
“Uhhhhhhh….” he shivered, crotch spasming and jerking. “I think I’m…no! Wait! Don’t leave! DON’T LEAVE!”
Salma tossed her head dismissively, twisted off his body, stood, and walked away. His wet shiny cock was suddenly fucking air instead of cunt.
Throbbing, it spat out three long cum-blasts. They splattered into his face, followed by three short ones that pooled on his chest. Morse code, written in spunk. A final slow trickle of cum oozed from his slit. By the time it plopped into his belly button, Salma’s fertility goddess body had dived onto Michael Lambright.
Michael was fucking buried beneath the awesome weight of her sweat-dripping tits. The monster globes pooled over his face in a jiggly mass as she humped her ravenous, drooling pussy over his hips, seeking his cock and finding it. She found it. It plunged inside, and she began wildly fucking it like a bucking bronco.
Salma’s pendulous tits spilled obscenely over his head, knocking his glasses off his face. She arched her back, and slammed back down. A loud CRACK! rang out. For a second, Ale thought she’d broken his pelvis. Then she jerked upright, her flying tits sailing back and clapping together on her chest, and he saw the shattered prescription frames, lenses cracked and popped out .Someone had finally managed to break the fucking things for Michael. Good.
Michael cried out and orgasmed beneath the weight of her heavy, pummeling cunt. His voice became a prepubescent babble as he blew his load.
“OHHH! AHH! CUMMING! ALE!”
What am I supposed say? Ale’s smile gained extra teeth. I’m not the one fucking you, though I might as well be, for all the pleasure you’re bringing my mother.
Then Salma Hayek stood. Straightening like a switchblade, her legs coming together in abrupt precision.
Jake’s shiny cock flopped out of her cunt, jerking out white blasts. His body jerked too—he looked helpless, like a landed fish. His orgasm was over in two seconds.
Salma cast her dispassionate gaze from left to right, taking in the toppled figures of the four boys she’d fucked.
They were strewn on the carpet, moaning and motionless, like survivors of a natural disaster.
Their cocks hung flaccid and dripping, from crotches splattered with saliva or vaginal fluid.
Her mascara slitted eyes…and they had such vicious, soul-withering disgust that even Alejandro was discomforted by it, although her glance stopped well short of him.
Four boys.
No, four teenagers.
Four eighteen-year-old young men whose virility and sexual potency was now at the absolute highest point it would be in their entire lives. They had surely dreamed of doing this to their friend’s mythologically hot Mom. In both a spiritual and Darwinian sense, this was what they were born to do.
Four utter failures.
Not one had made her cum. Not one had lasted more than a few minutes. Not one had been allowed to ejaculate his unworthy sperm into her pussy.
She planted her hands on her hips, sneering in disapproval. These are your friends, Ale? Tch tch…
Then the Salma succubus swung her body around to face her son. Her breasts slopped like balloons from her chest, still bearing fingerprints from Anthony’s chubby fingers.
Ale did not flinch as she approached.
He rose to meet her.
He reached down, and let the terrycloth bathrobe fall from his waist. It dropped with a flop. His anaconda-sized erection bobbed free.
The boys’ mouths fell open, aghast at the size of their friend’s penis. They looked ashamed and humiliated. His cock was half again the length and thickness of theirs.
How? Their stares said as his massive erection throbbed.
Ale did not look at them. He grasped his surging erection like a club, feeling its veins and contusions and brutal bloody heft pulsing in his hand. He struggled to fit his fingers around it. Had it always been this big? Was the demon changing his body? Changing his perception of his body? How much of this was happening? None of it?
Questions for another hour and another day and perhaps another never.
His mother kneeled submissively. He smiled as her breasts pooled on her knees like huge sandbags.
It was time.
A lesson would now be taught.
As his absurdly tit-heavy mother slunk around his ankles like a cat, power surged through him. He felt so good it hurt. He snapped his fingers in their direction.
“You failed. All of you. Now, you get to watch.”
A shift came over the naked woman.
From Kali, back to Durga.
Down on all fours, she paced before her son like an obedient dog. Her huge ass wobbled above her thighs like a sweat-dripping lotus bulb. Her colossal breasts hung so low that her nipples brushed the floor as they swung and jiggled.
Salma Hayek padded in a circle around her son, then knelt her ass down on her heels. Voluptuous meat pooled out behind her as she settled, wobbling in snowdrifts of assflesh. Her tits swayed and bulged between her clasped hands.
Tenderly, he cupped the side of her face with his palm. She rocked back, staring up at him with love. Her eyes were catlike and imploring. Begging him to do the necessary thing.
Begging him to do what these boys hadn’t and couldn’t.
He laughed, hearing wildness in the sound. Wickedness His hand strayed down, groping an overfed breast. Very well, Mom. I suppose I have no choice.
He jerked his erection back to full hardness.
I know what you want, Inanna. Maybe I always knew. You want my seed. The drink of life. The fluid that will kindle your rebirth.
She was the goddess of this house. He was her loyal servant.
She commanded him to fuck, so he fucked.
If she commanded him to kill—to rip apart all four of these worthless boys—he would kill. Without hesitation and without mercy. It would be easy. The pitiful wretches were barely alive in the first place.
And if she wanted a baby, she would get that, too. With particular pleasure.
Ale could imagine no higher honor than to impregnate Inanna’s goddess womb, and serve in her rebirth.
She turned around, presenting her swollen, lust-engorged Mommy-labia to him. She mewled on hands and knees, arching her back, horny and ready and eager. So, so, eager. She was dripping with it.
He stepped behind her. The heat of her asscheeks sweltered upon his thighs. Adrenaline crashed and chanted through his veins. He bared his teeth, let them fill with a murderous shine, then fixing that shine upon his four friends.
Friends who might now have just minutes to live.
He grinned wolfishly at their horrorstruck faces.
“Don’t run,” he warned them, running a tongue over teeth that felt…serrated. “And don’t look away.”
Alejandro parked his hips behind her ass. He wielded his cock like a club, slapping her cheeks.
Left. Right. WHAP! SLAP!
Then he notched his thick cock against the cleft of her pussy. She wriggled her hips, feeling his glans dribble precum against her horny slot.
Then he grasped Mom’s boulder-hefty ass cheeks, and—SQUEEELLLLPPPP!—shunted his muscular hips forward.
In. Side.
Their eyes filled with awestruck horror as he plowed his enormous cock into his mother like a riot baton, sinking nine thick inches into her cunt. His length twisted obscenely through her, curving through her flexing cuntal sheath. He smacked down to the bottom of her cervix, stretching out her out like a human fucksleeve.
He laughed cruelly. Contemptuously. Hot depths engulfed his shaft, a swirling violent volcano chiaroscuro. His balls pulled up, ready to disgorge their porridge-thick load into her receptive womb.
Bhuu desco vilo maxus! he thought, and the thought was not his own.
As his cock throbbed in her cunt, he sneered at their slack, gormless faces. A hunger for death was rising like the wind. Why not? Why not kill them? What good were they doing anyone? His head filled with thoughts of violence, his mind pounded with them. All she has to do is give the word, and I tear out every throat in this room. He hoped she would. Murder might prove even more fun than fucking. Couldn’t knock it until you’d tried it. He barked out a laugh, and tasted sulfur at the back of his mouth. They probably wouldn’t even fight back as his teeth opened their necks like tissue paper. So weak…so useless…he wanted to plaster the walls with their blood!
He pulled out. Squelched back in.
His eyes dared them to look away.
None of them did.
Darkness eddied out upon the air as he rowed his hips through his mother’s slithering, oozing cunt. The heavy, throbbing drumbeat of his crotch loudened, intensified. He pounded her bent-over ass, splattering out sound, lewd and obscene and filling everything—brutal motherfucking noise thundered off the walls, rang with gushing, visceral force inside his skull and theirs.
BLOOOORRRPPP-SCHLAAAPPPP-GLUUURURRRK-SQLLLLCHHHHH-DROOOOOLLL-SPLAAAAAT-GOOOOOPPPP!
A slurping, sucking pussy, gulping a huge teenaged shaft down to the balls. Again and again. Anthony, Eduardo, Michael, and Jake would watch. They’d watch every second of it. They’d watch or die. Maybe watch and die. Who could even fucking see that far into the future? Ale’s mind was consumed with planting a child in his mother’s womb, and if they wanted to live another moment, they’d watch him do it.
Pretia cruento crunatus! Kill kill kill!
On her hands and knees, Salma gasped as the thrusting gained speed.
The ritual had begun.
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