Idle Hands Ch. 03

Warning for people who are new to this series:

Firstly, despite the Literotica title, this is book four in this series, which tells the story of Althea, a succubus who is unwillingly transferred to the mind and body of Rachel Wainwright, a successful attorney with two children and an estranged husband. When posting the first part, I forgot about the rule that a multi-part series had to have the same main title and be divided into chapters. So you can find the first three parts under Idle Hands, Idle Hands, Chapter 1, and Idle Hands, Chapter 2. I apologize for the confusion.

Secondly, this series is hard to categorize. All eight chapters, conceivably, could go into the "Sci-Fi and Fantasy" category. But since I want to be honest and not disturb people who are turned off by the taboo nature of the later chapters, parts four through eight will posted in the incest/taboo category.

Thirdly, this book is not for those who desire a quick spank. There is sex in every chapter. In fact, there's quite a bit of sex. But there is a plot and there is character building and there is quite a bit of romance. My best advice, if you want to understand the story (especially if you are new to it, since this is the first chapter posted in the taboo category) is to read the story from the beginning. It is one of the best things I have done, and I think reading the whole story will make the taboo bits burn even hotter when you get to them.

*****

"Well, Mr. Fontein, what do you have for me today?"

Lloyd Fontein swallowed nervously, the stink of his own terrified sweat surrounding him in a fetid reek.

What happened to me? he thought miserably. I was a man once. Maybe not a good man. But still a man. Now I'm working for a damned monster.

"Mr. Fontein?" The voice was lower, coated with honeyed menace.

"Yes, Mr. Kincaid," he said, the necessity of keeping his body and soul together outweighing his terror. He had only needed one example of what Kincaid did to those who displeased him. Only one example of what happened when he let his inner demon loose, an unholy terror which was only matched by his outer hideousness.

Sometimes, he managed not to scream when he thought about that night.

"I'll e-mail you the transcripts of the conversations my devices have recorded in the Wainwright household, sir," he said, covering his fear in a thin veneer of professionalism. "But there have been several changes in the last several days."

"Go on."

"First of all, it seems that Rachel Wainwright has reconciled with her husband. Joshua Sunderman arrived at the residence Friday afternoon. He brought a trailer with him, so it appears he is preparing to stay for several days at least, perhaps longer. Audio pickups around the house indicate a great deal of affection between Mr. Sunderman and Ms. Wainwright."

"So." The word came out in a sibilant hiss, and Lloyd shuddered. "The she-bitch has her mate back, and is spreading her legs for him. What else?"

"The younger children have received their parents' permission to pursue new academic careers. The boy will be attending drama school. The daughter, culinary school."

A hand, the nails black and clawlike, made a dismissive gesture. "Uninteresting."

"Due to her husband's return, it seems Ms. Wainwright has extended an offer of full-time employment to her maid, Maria Ochoa," he said, thumbing through his notepad. "There are also indications that Ms. Wainwright and Ms. Ochoa may be romantically involved, although the evidence is largely circumstantial. It is certain, however, that Ms. Wainwright has ordered Maria to wear attractive clothes around the house. This may be a personal request, or the result of a fetish of some sort."

A low growl broke from the fanged mouth of the creature behind the desk, and Lloyd locked his knees, trying to control his terror. "Damn her," the demon hissed. "I bugged her house for six months, waiting for an opportunity like this. A chance to blackmail the lily-pure cunt and make her blow the lawsuit on purpose. And now when I have the evidence which could ruin her, the case is settled. Damn her and damn Hardin, too. That senile old fuck will pay, you can be certain of that. And Wainwright and her precious family as well."

"Yes, sir," Lloyd quavered. He wiped a sweating palm against the fabric of his cheap trousers.

Just get me out of here alive, he thought. Fired from the Chicago Police Department for brutal misconduct his superiors couldn't ignore, he had been reduced to earning a meager living as an unlicensed private investigator, tailing unfaithful husbands and cheating wives. It had been that which brought him to Mort Kincaid's notice. Needing someone with Lloyd's contacts and knowledge of police procedure, he had been brought in, first as a consultant, then as a full-time employee. No means of gathering dirt were out of bounds. Extortion, bribery, breaking into houses to plant listening devices, they were all fair game. But the job and money had been a trap. The being which called itself Mortimer Kincaid was not a human, but a demon-spawn. The hellish offspring of a female demon and a mortal man.

Lloyd Fontein was no choir-boy. Twenty years on the force had beaten all the starry-eyed innocence out of him. But even a man as devoid of empathy as he was had a soul, scabby and corroded though it might be. And when he saw Mortimer Kincaid in his true form, undisguised by the spells he used to hide among humans, he believed, truly believed, for the first time, in the existence of evil and of Hell.

Because Kincaid could only have emerged from the depths of the Pit itself. He stood now, looming over Lloyd like a vulture over a particularly tasty piece of carrion. His huge, grotesque body was a mottled mockery of a human's form, the skin the greenish-yellow color of a livid bruise, with a strange oily sheen. Black claws gouged runnels in the wood of the desk. Poison dripped from the fangs which jutted from each corner of his mouth, sizzling like acid where they fell. Horns, curved like a goat's, erupted from his scowling forehead and ended in wickedly sharp tines near his jaw. His eyes were black and utterly without humanity.

He hunched in rage, and for a bowel-loosening moment, Lloyd was sure Kincaid was going to kill him. Jump on him like a wolf on his prey and gut him on the spot. Then he stepped back, his pose relaxing slightly.

"Well," he said, the cultured tones of his voice at odds with his misshapen mouth. "Too late now, I suppose. There will be other times. And this case is over. I won't be needing any more information about Rachel Wainwright and her darling little family for now." He grinned menacingly. "But there's no telling what might be useful in the future. Do you have anything else for me before we wrap this up? Or would you like to join me for lunch?" He gestured to a cardboard box near his desk, from which scraping noises and a few pitiful mews could be heard.

Lloyd closed his eyes and swallowed, forcing down bile. Just for an instant, he considered sharing the salacious details he had gleaned on Saturday afternoon. The conversation between Rachel and her daughter about Joshua Sunderman could wreck the woman's career. But some fleeting spark of humanity kept his mouth closed. Instead, he chose to divulge what he considered to be an insignificant detail.

"Just one more. Apparently a friend of Ms. Wainwright was missing. She and her daughter spent a good deal of time yesterday afternoon calling police departments and hospitals, looking for a woman named Althea Carpenter. They finally located her in a hospital, but the woman is in a coma. Or at least, severely ill."

"What?"

The voice was quiet, but with an intensity that jerked his head up from his scribbled notes. Kincaid was staring at him. The expression of joyous hope on his face was almost obscene.

"Carpenter? Althea Carpenter? You are sure of this?"

"Yes, sir," Lloyd said. He scrolled through his iPad until he found the audio file he needed. In moments, Sarah Sunderman's clear young voice could be heard, asking for information about Althea Carpenter. As the file played, they could both hear the switchboard operator confirm her name and the news she was in a coma.

"A coma," Kincaid gloated. "By the Lord of Darkness himself! Althea Carpenter has fallen into my grasp." Before Lloyd could react, he found himself lifted and shaken like a rat, Kincaid's terrible hands bunched in the jacket of his cheap suit. "Where is she?" he roared. "Where is she?"

"I don't know!" he squeaked. In his terror, his bladder cut loose, a thin stream of urine soaking his pants. "Listen to the file. No one says the name of the hospital. It could be any of the ones on the north side."

"You find it," Kincaid growled. His breath, stinking of blood and death, wafted over Lloyd's face. "Do you hear me? You find out where she is. Hardin can wait. Wainwright and her family can wait. You find Althea Carpenter for me. And I will make her a gift to the Dark Lord himself.

"If you don't," he said, "Your death will be one that she-demons use to terrify their imps until the end of time. You will curse the day your father met your mother. I will destroy you so utterly that the Almighty will look for eternity and never even find your soul."

*****

Oh my fucking Christ he's gorgeous.

Sarah stood stock-still at the counter island in the middle of the kitchen, her hands wrist-deep in a bowl of hamburger, staring at the man her mother had just introduced as Jeremy Edwards, a law student who had been working as her intern for the past few months.

Is love at first sight possible? Or am I so fucking horny any man will do?

But no. Despite the desperate itch in her lady-parts, which had been driving her to more and more intense sessions of self-pleasure over the past week, she knew what she was feeling for Jeremy was more than simple randiness. She drank him in like he was a glass of clear water on a hot day. He was taller than average, topping her by an inch or two, which was a relief, since she was tired of dating men shorter than she was. He was dressed in tan cargo shorts, loafers, and an dark blue polo shirt, untucked at the waist. His hair was a nondescript brown, and his eyes were an unusual shade of greenish hazel.

But it was his face that drew her. Clear, open, and alive with intelligence, she felt she could watch it all day and not grow tired of the sight. His mouth was mobile, his lips quirked in an easy smile, and his nose clean and straight, unlike the jutting beak her brother and father shared. The Naismith Nose, it was called, and she thanked God she had managed to avoid it.

With a start, she realized she was staring, and that her parents were looking at her expectantly.

"Sorry," she said with a shake of her head. "I guess my mind was somewhere else."

Like his pants. She fought to keep her eyes from dropping to Jeremy's crotch, not wanting to be caught checking out his package.

She wiped off her hands with a dishtowel, trying to scrub as much raw hamburger and egg yolk from herself as possible. "Hi," she said, advancing with her hand outstretched. "I'm Sarah."

"Jeremy," he replied, shaking it firmly and meeting her eyes. "Pleased to meet you."

"Sarah's the cook in the family," Alex put in from his spot near the dining room table, one arm around his girlfriend Maria's waist. "There isn't much she doesn't know how to make."

"So did I make a mistake?" Jeremy asked, still holding her hand. She fought an urge to caress his knuckles suggestively. He cocked his head toward the counter, where a tub of potato salad and a blackberry pie was sitting. "I'd hate to take this back home and eat it all myself," he said sadly, but she caught a gleam of mischief in his eyes.

"No," Sarah smiled. She swooped in and put the items in question into the fridge. "There," she said with a grin. "Now they have a happy home. At least until we eat."

"Terrible girl you have there, Miss Wainwright," Jeremy said mournfully, looking at his former boss. "A man goes to the trouble to bring in food for everyone, and she hides it away."

"You'll get your chance later," she said with a twinkle. God, she hadn't had a man flirt with her in weeks. "Dad, let me know when you and Alex are ready to fire up the grill. Jeremy, can I get you something to drink?"

"Soda would be okay, as long as it's diet," he said, slapping his middle. Despite his words, his stomach was flat as a washboard. "Beer would be better."

She pulled three Amstels out of the fridge, handing one to her brother and one to Jeremy. "One for you, Dad?"

"Alcohol and propane don't mix, Pumpkin," her father said with a smile. "I'll wait until we eat." He picked up the tray with the brats and hot dogs and walked out of the kitchen with his wife. "Bring me the burgers when they're ready, okay?" he called.

"Maria?"

"No, thank you, Sarah," said her brother's...what? She knew Alex had gone to bed with Maria the day before. It was difficult, though, to think of the maid as her brother's girlfriend. She held herself back, her pose strangely deferential. Sarah's lips tightened in disapproval as she took in the clothes she was wearing; shorts barely long enough to cover her ass-cheeks and a t-shirt cut so low over her chest it was a wonder her tits didn't fall right out.

Don't be jealous, she told herself. You should be happy for Alex. Happy for them both, really. Look at him. He's actually smiling. And he looks so relaxed. He's been so tense the last few months. And Maria's practically glowing.

She popped the top of her beer and handed the opener to Jeremy. "Cheers," she said, when his bottle was uncapped, clinking hers against it with a muted chime. She took a healthy swig, the beer pleasantly cold in the warm kitchen.

"So," Jeremy said, his eyes crinkling with mischief. "I hear you're a cook." He leaned against the counter island and looked her over, his face openly appreciative. "My dad told me you should never trust a skinny chef."

She raised her eyebrows, taking the bait. "Your father is wrong," she grinned. "To the contrary, you should never trust a fat chef."

"Why's that?"

"Because a fat chef obviously doesn't trust his own skill. He is always tasting his dishes, to make sure he has the recipe right, and gains weight." She made a dismissive gesture. "Not me. I know my food is awesome. So I wait until the meal is served before I eat."

"And it is wrong to say Sarah is skinny," Maria put in. "She is just tall. Her breasts are very nice. Just as big as Senora Wainwright's. Well, almost," she amended, an attractive blush darkening her Honduran skin.

"And how would you know?" Alex teased. He cocked an eyebrow at her. "Have you seen my mother or sister with their shirts off?"

"Not yet," she said, laughing throatily. Alex smiled and brushed his lips over her temple, drawing her even closer.

"Jesus, get a room," Sarah muttered, as Alex fell into a chair, drawing Maria down onto his lap. She bent her attention to the hamburger, slapping out patties with practiced motions and placing them on a cutting board. "So where do you go to school?" she asked Jeremy, hating the asinine question, but unable to think of a better conversational gambit.

"I'm at UIC for law school. One more year and I'm out," he said, smiling easily. "Then the bar exam, and hopefully a good job."

"Do you want to stay local?"

Jeremy nodded. "Ideally, yeah. Someplace like Chihiro would be great. I want to be in environmental law, like your mom. She's been a heck of an inspiration for me."

Sarah paused, a hamburger patty still in one hand. "Really?" she asked, unable to keep the surprise out of her voice.

"Hell, yes," he replied. "She's a freaking legend with the enviros over at UIC. Do you have any interest in the law?" he asked. His voice wasn't condescending, simply curious. When she shook her head, he continued. "She's done more for environmental law in fifteen years than most other people do in a lifetime. The amicus brief she wrote for the Illinois Supreme Court in the Coke Iron and Steel case is a damn masterpiece. They teach it in class as an example of an ideal brief. Soundly grounded, legally airtight, no extraneous information or wandering into side issues..." He caught himself and grinned ruefully. "Sorry. Didn't mean to carry on like that." He gestured at her bowl. "Anything I can do to help out?"

"All done here," she said, wiping off her hands and lifting the tray of burgers. "But if you could grab the barbeque sauce and the cooking things, that would help."

Jeremy quickly complied, juggling sauce, spatula, brush, and other utensils. Her hands full, Sarah nodded him in the proper direction. As they went through the dining room, they passed Maria and Alex, who were enthusiastically making out in a chair, Maria straddling Alex's legs. Maria gave Sarah a lazy smile and a wink as she passed, her hand softly stroking the bulge in Alex's pants. She couldn't help but notice its impressive size, and the fact that Alex's hand was enthusiastically exploring the inside of Maria's t-shirt. Her pussy gave a frustrated spasm in response.

I've got to get laid. I'm going crazy with all these pheromones floating around. With Mom and Dad back together, and Alex and Maria acting like a couple of cats in heat, I'm the only one who doesn't have a love life.

"Don't mind them," she said, trying to keep her voice nonchalant. "Maria and my brother just got together, so they're not being very..."

"Discreet?"

"Right."

*****

They joined her parents on the back deck. Her father had the grill going and was industriously scraping years of coated-on gunk off the surface.

"I know you didn't do this, Pumpkin," he remarked, as they opened the sliding door and walked out onto the wooden surface of the deck. "But remind me to have a talk with you kids about proper grill maintenance."

"That was Alex," she protested. "I told him to clean the grill every time he used it, but he said that burned-on barbeque sauce made the food taste better."

Rachel made gagging noises, and even Jeremy looked a bit green. She handed the tray of burgers to her father, and sat down in one of the chairs, looking out over the back yard and towards the forest preserve. Swallows and finches flitted through the air, chirping merrily, and squirrels scampered up the tree trunks, intent on their own mysterious tasks. "I'm so glad spring is here," she said. "This winter seemed to last forever. We had snow in April, for God's sake. Now the flowers are up, the trees have their leaves out, and the grass is actually green, instead of brown." She lifted her face up to the sun, slowly sinking beyond the maple trees her parents had planted when they moved in.

"I know what you mean," Jeremy said. He sat down beside her, his long legs stretching out underneath the glass-topped patio table. "My dad runs a landscaping business. I've helped him put in flowers and trees and bushes for years. I always feel better when the weather warms up."

"I think we're tuned into it," her mother said. "Humans, I mean," she continued, looking at them. "We're hard-wired into the turn of the seasons. For thousands of years we literally depended on reading the weather right. When to sow, when to harvest, when to hunt. When to send your animals into the fields, and when to bring them back."

Her father started humming an old sixties song, and Rachel wadded up a paper napkin and threw it at him. "Cut out that hippie crap, Josh," she said, but her lips curved in a smile. "You know what I'm talking about."