[This is a continuation of the Sabah series. I know it has been a long time and reading "Sabah," "Sabah and Rod," and "Sabah at the Ball" first will make this story more comprehensible, but all you absolutely NEED to know is that Sabah (and Mother) are slightly supernatural females who can control men and live by feeding on their sexual energy.]
Rod had floated happily off to town to buy supplies. "I hope I didn't fuck him so well he can't drive," Sabah thought to herself with a smirk, the young man's thick jism still leaking from her. Rod didn't get off to as early a start as Sabah at first intended, but it was her own fault. When she came back to the bedroom with breakfast for them, – she had made love to him until far into the night and decided he deserved the extra rest – he had just looked too good there in her bed, his hard young body exhausted after a night of pleasuring her. She couldn't pass him up. Breakfast grew cold while she awakened him, first tasting herself on his cock, and then making love to him again, riding him, doing all the work, letting the release of his seed into her warm depths and her soft words send him back to dreamy sleep for another hour as she cuddled with him, holding his soft cock in her drenched and temporarily sated pussy.
Showering with him later on had been another mistake if getting Rod on his way quickly were her object. But anyone hearing Sabah's cries as Rod cupped her large soapy breasts and took his older lover vigorously from behind would be persuaded that his speedy departure was not Sabah's primary intent. And letting Rod help her put on her stockings had been nice, although it did contribute to more delay. His firm hands on her thighs made her so wet, she could hardly deny her pussy to his hungry lips and lapping tongue. And when, after several orgasms, she wanted him in her again, well, she could hardly call that an error.
After Rod at last left, Sabah strolled down to the mailbox almost a quarter mile from the house, confident that no one would see her buxom form, wearing only a thin housecoat and the satisfied grin of a well-fucked woman. She was Feeding regularly now and the sex had never been better. Feeling in top of the world, she was back at the house now, mellow from sex and sipping her Irish coffee at the dining table as she opened her morning mail. Bills and such she put aside for Rod.
The envelope with a gothic script caught her eye. Mother! Sabah chuckled to herself. For all of making herself out to be a modern woman, a middle-aged playgirl, Mother had never caught on to email and didn't really like the telephone, either. Although she lived only 60 miles away in downtown Washington, Sabah and her mother communicated almost exclusively by old fashioned letter. Sabah opened it eagerly, since it was the first she had received since hesitantly telling her mother about Rod.
Please forgive me for not having written sooner. To tell the truth, I have delayed writing because I know you will not be happy with what I have to say. I have received all your letters about this new male, "Rod." He certainly sounds like a fine physical specimen and I congratulate you on having obtained him, even if your story of his "capture," as you put it, did sound like a B movie script. I suspect you may be romanticizing even then. Neither can I fault you for having decided to "keep" him, given your decision, which I do not understand, to live in that remote backwater. [Come on, Mother, Sabah thought, 15 miles in the hills above Winchester in the Washington exurbia is hardly the end of the earth!] It certainly cannot be a good place to meet men. [True, but now, happily, the least of my concerns, Sabah sighed.]
What I do not understand, and cannot approve of, is this romantic attachment that you claim to feel for this young man. "In love" you say? Darling, you have been reading too many Harlequin Romances. Our kind does not love men. We NEED men to Feed on and of course we enjoy them for the sex. Naturally, you will want to take a certain amount of care of this male since you intend to continue using him for some time, but "falling in love" with a mortal man is just ridiculous!
I blushed in shame for you when I read:
"I spiraled upward as his tongue brought me closer and closer to orgasm. The fire in my loins consumed me. And when I exploded. I fell, not downward to Earth, but was upward, buoyed through a crystalline dome as ecstasy overcame me."
Honey, you had an apparently very well-trained young man between your legs. That's what men do; they get us off. You came! What's love got to do with it?
I am sorry to say you are still acting like an adolescent, and a foolish one. This Charles that you kept before was another such mistake. I know you claimed he could satisfy you even in his 50's, but that's just silly. The ideal lover/prey is an experienced nineteen-year old, although I admit that's a bit of a contradiction. I've found the best combination of carnal skill and physical stamina is the mid twenties, like your Rod. By all means enjoy this male for a while, if he's as good as you say, but please stop talking nonsense about making him yours for life.
I do, however, have some more pleasant reasons for not having written; I've been busy, too; you may guess how. [Sabah rolled her eyes.] You know I bought this new condo down around 8th and F. It's close to the Metro, shops, and restaurants; it has a great view of the Capitol and is just steps away from the National Gallery. What I didn't realize is how close it is to the Capitol Center where the "Wizards" play. I have never been one to watch competitive athletic events, rather resenting the time men nowadays would spend watching television instead of attending to my carnal needs, if I would allow it.
Still, I was in a neighborhood bar a few weeks ago feeling both horny and in need of a Feeding. I "attracted" a hunky young man, intending to take him straight back to my apartment for a midnight snack of both kinds, but he had tickets to a basketball game at the Capitol Center and asked me to go with him. I could have made him forget everything, but on a lark I agreed. I thought it would be fun to let this twenty-year old stud walk in with a forty-something -- for all he knew -- woman on his arm.
I had on a short, tight red skirt, stockings and heels, a little trashy for a woman of my age and build, but you know what I was in the bar for. Of course our breasts have always been our biggest assets and I was showing off mine in a flimsy blouse. Believe me; I made sure the men in our immediate vicinity paid a lot more attention to your mother than to the game. I could sense their thoughts about the "hot old bitch with no panties." Their lust was so exciting I was tempted to take my stud back to the apartment immediately, but Sabah, those basketball players! I had never seen such males! So tall, so graceful, so BLACK! I was dripping.
You know, growing up back in Rome, I never saw many black men, just an Ethiopian slave now and then. All my girlfriends were into fucking gladiators, and it was nice to sample studs from all over the empire, even if they never performed very will in the ring after a night with me. But all my girlish fantasies were focused on Gauls. Ah, honey, if you've never been carried off by a band of marauding Gauls, taken back to their dirty little Breton village, and ravished for weeks and weeks by a whole tribe of smelly, virile barbarians, you don't know what sex IS! I can still remember the big one; Oblix, I think his name was. And they had some kind of "magic potion" that let them keep fucking me non stop, over and over. The little one with the big mustache was the best. He was the only one who knew how to eat pussy. I was almost sorry to be rescued by the Roman army, except – well, you know how many men make up a Legion ... but I digress.
I had to meet these men. I dumped the guy from the bar and made my way to the dressing room after the game. You wouldn't believe the number of women, tall and short, busty and flat, blondes, redheads, Latinas and Asians all trying to get close to these dark gods of masculinity. The aroma of several hundred aroused pussies was overpowering. When Jesse, the team captain emerged, I looked him straight in the eye. He started, flared his nostrils, and pushed his way straight toward me. I let him give me a sizzling kiss as he took me in his arms. I was the envy of scores of disappointed women as I walked away with the prize -- Jesse's arm tight around my waist, his hand already squeezing my ass. His teammates, on the other hand, looked worried by the slightly vacant look on Jesse's face.
Let me tell you, honey, this Jesse is big in EVERY way. I make no racial generalizations. Probably white basketball players who are 6'11" and weight 230 pounds have enormous cocks, too. Maybe someday I'll do a careful comparison. Right now I'm too busy enjoying having this black giant and his teammates fuck me silly every night they're in town. Teammates? Well, of course. When I found he alone could not satisfy me, I brought in reinforcements.
I quickly learned not to Feed, even a little, during these sessions, having caused the team a couple of disastrous – interesting word -- "blowouts." They just come over and take turns going at me; "pulling a train" I think they call it. Too-Tooooot! Even so there was still a fly in this ointment. The Wizards coach does not believe it's good for players to have sex for 48 hours before a game (even with their ordinary wives and girlfriends). Having sent five large men staggering out of my apartment with silly grins on their faces after a night of fun with me, I can see his point.
Now it's not that I can't go several days without a man in me, and I can always find a fan to feed on from time to time, but why deny myself? Especially since I discovered a way to have my fun AND help my new friends. Just before games, I fuck the opposing team. I saunter into the hotel where they are staying and saunter out the next morning leaving the starting – interesting word –"lineup" and coaching staff with a three day testosterone deficit. You probably don't follow such things, but the Wizards are on top of their division and sports commentators are talking about their incredible "home court advantage." C'est moi!
Which brings me back to the point of this letter. Jesse tells me that in a couple of weeks the "March Craziness," or something like that begins. They want me to go with them – Jesse knows what I do to the other teams -- but I refuse to go off to Utah or Kentucky or some such Goddess forsaken place out West. Consequently, I shall have some time on my hands. Perhaps this would be a good occasion for you to bring your young man to visit me.
Sabah shook her head. Mother was forever "discovering" new coteries of men, each one better than the last. Crusaders, Florentine artists, Cavaliers, Redcoats, the post-Terror Directory, Confederate officers, Doughboys, RAF pilots, French underground, Astronauts, Rock Bands! Sabah also knew her mother would not understand what she felt for Rod; she didn't understand it herself. Rod was so far beyond a delightful source of the sexual energy she needed to survive, so much more than a wonderful lover. She had felt the attraction the first night when he had struggled, with a will more fierce than any she had ever encountered, not to defend himself against the desire she forced into his mind, but to be a gentleman, to do the right thing. She had spent days of almost round the clock sex attempting to break that will. His body was hers, but his will had not broken.
And then, suddenly, he yielded. He obeyed at the hint of her desire, not a command even, at knowing what would please her. It was easy to forget that she had power over him because she never had occasion to use it. She supposed that she could still prove her control by making him do something foolish – bark like a dog, perhaps – but why do that? Slowly she realized there was only one explanation for his uncoerced devotion: he had fallen in love with her. And with that revelation came another and more shocking one: she might be falling in love with him.
Without her instructing him to do so, Rod gradually assumed management of her properties. The income from her assets – gifts and bequests from countless former lovers -- even poorly invested -- far surpassed her needs. Rod put them into a foundation that protected them from taxes and made them yield a market return, enabling Sabah to increase her giving to local causes. How could her mother understand a man like that?
Sabah didn't know if her mother had ever been in love. Her cynicism about men suggested she had been -- unhappily. Perhaps it had even been with her father. Sabah had never quite gotten a clear story about who he was: a general of the Golden Horde? A Saracen pirate? A wazir in Harun al-Rashid's court? A Mogul prince? He must have been swarthy; Sabah did not get her dark complexion and black eyes from her porcelain-skin mother. Mother had named her "Sabah," meaning "morning" in Arabic, suggesting a Middle Eastern conception. Sabah had given up trying to find out centuries ago.
As long as Sabah could remember, her mother had satisfied her needs by taking, draining, and discarding an endless succession of men. She never exactly mistreated them, but the tumultuous, submissive sex left some of them psychologically bruised, craving sexual domination few women are able to supply. Sabah was more than a little apprehensive about taking Rod to meet Mother. But there was little doubt that her mother's suggestion was a veiled command. And Mother was still Mother!
"I'm home sweetheart!" sang out Rod's lovely baritone. Sabah's heart skipped. For the moment her concerns evaporated. She heard the thud of heavy bundles. Rod came in smelling – to her heightened senses – of leather and burlap, animal feed, and his own sweaty masculine essence. His face broke into a broad contented smile when he saw her. She grinned as she saw his nostrils flare slightly when he noticed the way her flimsy garment half concealed, half displayed her ample hips and large round breasts. The strong, intelligent, handsome man before her was totally in love AND in lust with her. The latter she could create at will; the former was a blessing beyond her power to command.
She almost ran to his arms. No power of hers made him enfold her close against his hard young body and kiss her as he did. She felt his erection through the rough work clothes. She pressed herself against it and her breasts to his chest, letting her perfume fill his head, feeling his heartbeat accelerate. He would be hungry after a long morning's work. A hearty stew was simmering. It was a bit of an imposition not to give him lunch immediately, but she didn't think he'd really mind a delay. She felt both heat and wetness in her pussy. "I need you, my darling. Take me to bed," she whispered.
Only minutes later her joyous cries startled their nearest neighbors, a family of chipmunks in the woodpile.
Sabah tried to discourage Rod's enthusiasm at the prospect of meeting Mother, telling him Mother was "different." That didn't help. She didn't know how he would react to Mother and thought it best if he were subdued at their meeting. She made sure he was exhausted as well as sated the morning of their trip from near all night sex. The air was chilly but the sky was dark spring blue as Sabah bundled her sex-dazed man into her car for the drive into Washington. Traffic on I-66 was light enough to appreciate the redbud and dogwood, but the sights could not take the edge of nervousness from Saba as she approached the city. She knew what would. Gratefully she pulled up her skirt and allowed her aroused sex to draw his eyes and then his mouth to her temple, only occasionally bringing her to orgasm.
The lobby of Mother's building was impressive. A doorman tried to insist she announce herself, but Sabah just smiled and sent waves of lust splashing through his mind, erasing all other thoughts. Mother's apartment was the penthouse. Sabah didn't bother to ring; she sensed the code that sent the elevator to the top floor, the door opening directly into Mother's apartment.
"Deep Sleep" she ordered almost by reflex and all Rod's senses shut down. Sabah hoped he absorbed nothing of the scene unfolding before her shocked eyes.
Mother, who was still unaware of Sabah and Rod's arrival, was, giggling, being chased around and over the sofas and poofs of the enormous living room. She was dressed for the chase and even more for the eventual capture: a short wrapper that barely covered her large ass and mons, a translucent blouse, now fully unbuttoned, with no bra, high-top black stockings and matching six-inch heels.
Behind her, roaring with frustration were two burly red heads wearing kilts and nothing beneath them. "We'll hae ye yet, ye saucy lassie!" shouted one.
Grab 'er poonts! They're big enough!" grunted the other making a lunge for the elusive woman.
"Oh, you EVIL men," drawled Mother in a voice not at all her own. "Would you take adVANtage of a respectable LAdy?"
"Nay, but we'll take more than 'advantage' of a well used tart like ye!" growled the taller man.
Mother squealed in insincere fright as she maneuvered to be caught between the two of them. "No, no! You mustn't touch breasts like THAT, so familiar," she panted as the stocky one began pawing at her boobs. Sabah didn't realize Mother liked playing rough like this but she must, as there was no way a man could touch her in any way she did not desire. "You ANimal! Stop! Don't you dare put your filthy hand in my ..." Sabah winced but supposed Mother's gasps of pleasure as the second man rammed one then two, three and four fingers into her cunt, were real if perhaps exaggerated to egg them on.
"The bitch is randy as hell; her pussy's flowing down there like the Tay."
"Ay, she is. Her nips are s'hard ye could rip out an eyeball! Let's fuck 'er like the horny slut she is."
"Oh, no!" Mother gasped theatrically. "You're too big, and thick and long, and hard for my poor little ... Mmphg!"
"Just needed something to stop her lying mouth," said the first. "Ay but she's a natural; cocksucker."
"Ten inches of good Highland haggis'll teach the bitch to tease!" grunted the other as he rammed his prick without difficulty into Mother who was bending over accommodatingly. "Holy shit, the bitch's pussy grabbed me like a ... Oh, OH OHHHHHH." His roar of ecstasy joined the moans of his partner. Eyes glazed, he began thrusting frenetically into Mother who grunted encouragement as she returned thrust for thrust. A manicured hand gripped the ass of the man in her lipstick-lined mouth, subtly setting an accelerating rhythm, as the other man fucked her mindlessly. Sabah watched as the age-old story drew to its inevitable climax. Suddenly the men were shaking as both began spewing uncontrollably into the orgasming woman, their loins and brains on fire with an entirely supernatural lust! Both men went rigid except for a twitching in their hips that gradually slowed and stopped when they dropped to the floor unconscious.
Mother licked the last traces of semen from her lips and had dropped back onto a sofa, sighing contentedly, when she noticed Sabah scowling at her from the doorway with the immobilized Rod at her side. "Oh, hello, dear," she said a little breathlessly.
"Mother how could you ...?" Sabah gasped.
Mother smiled weakly. "Did I say Tuesday morning? Silly me. Sorry, darling I just lost track of the day. I ran into Duncan and Malcolm here last night at this marvelous new Scottish Pub over on Capitol Hill. Well, I hadn't Fed since the Pistons – what an appropriate name! -- were in town for their last series and with Jesse and the team away, I hadn't even had sex in two days! These out-of-town gentlemen were looking for some action -- and I provided it. You'll have to admit they did look scrumptious!" Mother grinned with satisfaction.