tagErotic HorrorIn The Library Ch. 07

In The Library Ch. 07


I was now totally spooked by what I was finding out about Grace, also myself, in particular the version of myself from the past, the me that was on the run. I was getting a bad bad feeling that my involvement with the living girl was not a good one, and there were the increasingly scary things that the reincarnated girl was doing to me. Clearly we were linked in some terrible way, that she at least knew about, even if I didn't.

And the sex, the pure hot, pounding, erotic sex, the sensual jism inspiring cuntdom sex, the cock raising ball tightening ass clenching fucking astonishing sex, the dripping, hot, red, tight, wet sex, the ecstatic twisted sex; the sex was like a drug. A drug that I couldn't get enough of, that I couldn't escape from, that I couldn't hide from, that I wanted more than I was prepared to admit. Her shape shifting attacks, her feeding, her gentleness, her strength, her corruption, her mind numbing fucking magnificence, these were my sickness and my fascination.

Even if I could run a thousand miles to get away from her, I would also run a thousand miles to get between her legs one more time, to get my tongue in her ass one more time, to get her tongue inside my prick one more time, to feast on her cunt one more time. Fuck, I would crawl over barbed wire to get to her, but I would also surround myself with barbed wire, a moat, and tall walls just to keep her away.

And my mind kept reeling with her last words, "we are blood, brother, we are blood together...." The most disturbing words of all.

But it was late now, the moon risen, tall trees casting long shadows, and a cold blue mist rising from the creek bed. I made my way back across town to my parent's house, a twenty minute walk. As I walked I pulled the black panties from my pocket. Something at least was real - although I realised that they had either been dropped by B when she left town three months ago, or were part of Grace's cruel mimicry. But they were real, soft cloth, and an ever so faint scent of pussy, lingering. I could make myself believe it was B, even though I knew any scent would be long gone after months on the floor of a cold house.

As I neared my house, I heard in the small copse of trees close by the "kerkroo, kerkroo" of a native cuckoo, stealing a nest; or the call of a young bird living in a nest already stolen. I made my way to the front door and let myself in. The front rooms of the house were dark, which was a bit odd, since my parents usually stayed up watching the late movie, or old BBC repeats. But in the family room looking over the back lawn I could see there was a light on. As I walked on down the hall I could hear movement, and a slow panting.

And just before I walked through the door, a sound that was without doubt sexual made me stop. Something was going on in the room - oh shit, had I just stopped myself walking in on my parents? Fuck, I hope so, I did not want to see that. But curiosity took hold, and I carefully peered around the corner of the door. What the fuck? For I could see the shapes of three figures, there on the couch, shadowed in the moonlight and a single soft lamp.

As my eyes adjusted to the low light, I could make out the shape of a woman reclining on the couch, her head thrown back in pleasure, long dark hair falling about her face and over the edge of the couch, one hand grabbing her full tit, the other grabbing the red hair of the woman between her legs. The red head's pale long body was crouching, arms wrapped up and around the legs of the sprawled woman, her face buried in cunt, her ass raised high; and she in turn was being fucked hard by the man kneeling behind her. Three sets of urging moans and grunts, rhythmic and rutting, played off each other, the deep male grunt uhh uhh uhh, nnnhh; higher pitched nnh nnh nnh; and a low repeating moan. And then the woman sprawled on her back flicked her head from side to side so that her hair flung away from her face, and I saw her face.

On no, oh no, oh no, fuck no. Not my mother, surely not my mother, cunting wet black dark haired primal mother, her tits big and swollen, full on her chest, soft belly silver scarred with the legacy of me, ripe belly, softing thighs pushed back so that her knees clenched her breasts, one big brown puckered nipple fingered erect with her own fingers, the other full tit squeezed hard by the girl's long hands. My mother's plump dark haired cunt, lips rich dark purple brown, glistening, tight black curls being swept forth and back by a long red tongue coiling around her clit, huge and high in the cleft of her mound. The pale cheeks of the cunt hungry girl were wet, her lips luscious and tugging, nose buried deep in my mother's stretched cunt, wet cunt, deep seething pleasure cunt.

And despite myself, despite my coherent backing away from the door I do not want see this self, I do not want to see my mother like this self, my cock tightened in my pants and I was spellbound. Her rich full sex, wet and ripe, swollen and darkly haired, brown chocolate ass hole hidden, was splayed in front of me, her son. Her son whose only memory of that place should be some primal dark tunnel into squalling light, her son wanted to see more, smell more, even forbidden taste more. God forbid, there was my mother's cunt, tongued and dark, spread wanton in front of me, my cock hard but still (some last sense of sanity?) trapped in my jeans.

And then, as I knew she would, the redhead reared her head up away from my mother's ripened sex, and turned her pale face towards me, and flicked out her long tongue in my direction. And her dark whiteless eyes, as I knew they would be, blinked twice at me, and her full red lips curved into a lazy sensual leer. A string of spittle and vaginal wetness was flicked apart by her flickering tongue. Grace slowly turned her head back to the spread-eagled snatch of my birthing mother, and continued her erotic, elemental, excruciating torture of my mother's pearlescent clitoris - for I knew Grace would not peak my mother until she too was peaked.

And her long red hair cascaded around her pale white body, her breasts pressed to the cloth of the couch, but her ripe belly was swollen full below her raised hips, full and round and white. Grace too was full and fecund and ripe, her body an echo of my mother's. It was as if they were both capable of birthing, stretching their canals, swelling their bellies. But Grace was eating out my dark luscious mother, and her pale whiteness was shifting as the man behind her pounded into her haunches high, tight clenching sex drenched vagina. Fucked hard, her body rippled with movement, regular and powerful.

And with a stunned sense of inevitability, for I knew it could be no other, I watched my father fucking into that long pale body. I knew that he was fucking his wife through Grace; that every thrust into that plump red haired cunt was a thrust into his wife's babing cunt; that every tight squeeze of her clenching sex was an echo of his son's mother's womb. And then he too slowly turned his head towards mine, and his long tongue flickered in my direction, and his dark whiteless eyes blinked twice. And despite myself, despite my coherent backing away from the door I do not want to see this self, I do not want see my father like this self, my cock was tighter tighter trapped in my jeans, and I had to free it, release it to snap hard against my gut.

I was drawn into the room by the fecund scent of sex in the air, the ripe, sweet cunt smell, the scent of hair and crotch and crease, the scent of hot breath panting. The vision of them also, the familiar faces of my mother and my father, the long new body of Grace, the unfamiliar groin of my dark-haired mother and her pale lush belly, the unfamiliar cheeks of my father's taut ass, their limbs, their hands, familiar yet strange, imprinted but now so wrong. And the sounds of grunting, sliding, lunging pleasure, the keen of my mother's throat arching back, the bird mewl from Grace's impossible throat, the thick moan from my father's gut, deep and primal. The slap of his thighs against that full, ripe, pale ass; the slip and slide of her long tongue along the slick lips of my mother's labia, her full thighs shimmering in the low light.

All three heads again turned towards me, my mother with a leer of recognition as she saw me for the first time, and her thick red tongue licked her lips, slowly. And my fingers were now stumbling in the buttons of my shirt as I tore it from my back. My feet fumbling from my shoes as I stripped socks and jeans and jocks from my legs until I too was naked like the three of them. I became aware of some horrified silent scream from deep in my throat, as the inevitable heat came upon me.

"Go to the kitchen, son, you will need to grease me up." Ah fuck, my father spoke, knowing exactly what long thickened prick thought had flashed through my mind. Here was Oedipus, cock risen, but not come home to claim the mother, but to fuck the father. To match my cock against his cock, my thick prick against his thick long prick, to prove the seed of the son was more potent than the seed of the father. Lurching back to the other room, I threw open cupboards and the fridge to find a lubricant, some thick lubricant, some slick lubricant. A slab of butter? No, too cold and hard, leave that for a tango in Paris. There, thick yellow tub of margarine, that will do it.

And I kneeled behind him, his taut cheeks clenching with each long thrust into the pale body crouching, her ass raised high before him. With a convulsive lurch I reached around my father's torso and pressed the palms of my hands to his chest, his erect nipples tight. But when I pinched them (and they felt just like mine), the connecting nerve didn't thread a jolt to the top of my prick, but to the tip of his. And Grace's deep cunt felt that lurch, and in turn the clit under the mound of my mother felt that lurch. And so we became connected in some powerful, horrible, sensual, cunt dreaming place, some strange, forbidden familial place, a circle broken but a circle beginning.

My father shifted apart his thighs so that the crease of his ass opened up and his long heavy balls swung below. I took the weight of his ball sac into my hands and caressed them, one full testicle hanging long and lower, the other tight and higher. The seam of the pouch was ridged and rippled, hair sparse on the soft bag of flesh, but thicker into the tight pucker of his ass. I took first one ball into my hot mouth and then the other, each part of him full and round, rising and falling with each clench of his ass muscles and each suck from my mouth and swirl of my tongue.

I suckled on those places for many seconds, as if I was trying to draw up the essential family seed from deep in his body, to pull up to the surface some rich vital fluid, from the same source that had risen as I was conceived, from that same place of nurture that Grace needed, to feed upon and to grow upon. And I remembered the cuckoo, that bird that convinces another family that it too is family, and that the food for the family's young is food for it. In some horrible way, she was becoming family.

And then my father reached back and pulled his ass cheeks apart, exposing his dark pulsing hole to my eyes, a thick swirl of dark hair spiralling to that dark centre of him. I lowered my face to the long crease, and my hands pulled his muscled cheeks further apart, opening him. My tongue pushed into his dark tight hole, a rich musky taste, his hole opening and pushing back onto my thrusting tongue. And each push of my tongue into that chocolate place would pulse through him into Grace, and through her to my mother's red slitting place and quivering bud. So I knew that each familial, oedipal, anal pushing pulse was echoed by a clitoral purple twitch, and we were all joined together by that long red haired pale body, suckling and feeding and cunting her way into my family. The bitch, the fucking succubitic bitch, what evil fucking family had she come from, that she could do this to us, to pervert us this way?

"We are blood, brother, together we are blood." The cursed mantra echoed in my head, and with no clear, rational thought, for coherence was no longer possible now, the rational part of me began to watch, and the primal, instinctive part of me started to act. Like a pride of lions, the young male had to take on the alpha male. I had to measure my eight inch son's cock up against the eight inch father's cock (for the son inherits the genes of his father), and I had to win the women in this impossible family.

So I dug my fingers deep into the tub of yellow margarine and gathered a great lump of the slick stuff in my hand, and swathed my long hard penis with it. With my greased slick fingers I pressed more of the lubricant into the pulsing ass hole in front of me, and he lurched back, hard. I pressed the big mushroom head of my shaft hard up against my father's opening hole and pressed my weight onto his body, opening up the tight sphincter, pulsing and gripping the glans of my cock. And the tableau of bodies in front of me, my dark slut mother, the demon witch Grace, red-haired and pale, my tall father, they all froze.

And they each felt, each one of them through the other, they each felt the slow throbbing urge of my shaft as it slowly entered, one tight inch at a time, one dark thrust at a time, one slow inch at a time, the long ass tunnel of my father. And I the son slowly sank my shaft into his body, and he the father opened and took it all in, inch by inexorable inch, until my cock, my youthful forceful cock was fully sheathed inside him. Hot, full and held, his body gripped me and held me in the strangest paternal embrace I could ever imagine. And sunk to the base of my belly against his firm muscled globes, my balls pressed to the ridged perineum of him and brushed the top of his tightened testes. Our fast pulses beat against each other and our breath panted in swooning gulps. And the two women held cock fixed and tongue fixed beneath us, the two women took on a new urgency of their own.

Grace lurched higher onto my mother, her long tongue sliding up the centre of her ripe body, pressing into her navel like a small fuck hole as she mouthed her way to my mother's full big breasts. In fascinated terror, I realised that those big maternal globes were full of brimming milk, just as Grace herself had filled with sweet white cream and suckled me in the library. Each big nipple, brown and puffy, was now seeping a slick thread of whiteness, sweet nectar. How long had Grace been suckling on my mother's teats, that she had made milk come? The last time those full, lush breasts had swollen with milk would have been with me as a child, twenty years before this time.

So I knew that Grace must have been suckling on my mother for weeks or months, and in those same weeks and months, must have sucked the come from my father, wrapped her pussy around his shaft, squeezed her tight ass tunnel along his prick, and milked him of his seed. No wonder she was growing so strong, so quickly - not only was she feeding from me, she was feeding from my family also.

But the dripping milk and father's clutching ass and Grace' s long back and high haunches, quivering with each thrust of my father's rigidity, and mother's grasping hands reaching for her husband's face and for her son's face as they leaned over her lover's back, this mix of impossible sight and sound and taste and smell, these things all took hold of my fevered brain and body. And now my own tight ass cheeks firmed and began a rhythm of my own making, and my own finger snaked behind me to my own hole. And I finger fucked my own sweet hole, rich yellow cream from the tub for lubrication, my finger as deep inside me as I could get it. And my ass tightly gripped my thrusting finger.

And in time I built up a rhythm, my finger pulsing and twisting behind that small rim of muscle, the circular bud in the crease of my tight clenching cheeks holding my finger firm, sucking it into my rectal heat. My other hand now gripping and twisting the nipple of my father's chest, his nipples hard and pointed, standing tightly erect from the thick hair on his chest. And he reared his head back and around so that our lips could meet. And the returning son deeply kissed the father, eight inches buried deep in his hot centre. And my father tongued his wandering son's hot mouth, like lips upon blood lips. And I the son fucked my own father who had given me life those two decades ago, and my father took me deep in his ass, deep into his heat. And our tongues met in a soul deep kiss as only blood heat can.

My thrusts were deeper and longer now, the yellow fat absorbing the heat of his channel and the long thick heat of my swollen shaft, thickening under the grip of him, and the hot slickness allowed me to take exquisitely long strokes, almost to the rim of my cock's round head. And my straight long length pushed past his prostrate and the pressure on it starting a long milking of father's fluid, pulsing and flowing thorough his long shaft into the heat and depths of Grace's womb. As he began to pulse, the ripples of his muscles began to pull on my engorged rod, clenching me tight into him and milking me in turn. And I felt my own seed start to churn and rise in the depths of me, my shafting faster now, my tongue pushed into his mouth, and my father sucked on my tongue just as his ass sucked on my rod, deep into him.

We moaned and grunted into each other's mouths, and our cocks swelled, mine into his dark thick musk thick tunnel and his into Grace's long deep cunt, pressure and pleasure now building building, our tongues rigid, our hands now holding her full pale hips for our own balance, my balls tightening my seed rising, last long thrusts fucking hard and deep into his being. My come pulsed and burst from the hard length of me and the deep depths of me, flowering into the hot core of his deepest place, and I shuddered with the ecstasy and pain of it, coming deep into my father's darkest channel. I fucked my father and his ass sucked up my come. And I fucked my father and the throb of my cock, driven deep, pushed him to his own orgasm, and his long milking now ended with an exquisite arch of his back, and his balls gave up their fluid to her. His long cock pierced to her core, and she, like some grasping swollen thing, milked the life fluid from him and into her. Our muscles trembling, our bodies milked the fluids from one to the other, Grace swelling with the potency of our seed.

We three remained locked to each other, my father's cock to her cunt, his asshole fleshed onto my shaft. And now she looked to her own pleasure. Her cunt filled with seed and shaft, she now flicked one hand to her long clitoris, two fingers rising the bud of it from between her labia. Her other hand remained tight around a swollen nipple on my mother's full dripping breasts, and her mouth descended to that feeding place, suckling on my mother's sweet white milk, first one full breast and then the other. I could hear below me Grace's fevered panting and slurping as she drank down my mother's hot sweet fluid, live giving and abundant, her mouth hot and suckling on mother's huge puffed nipples, hard tight breasts mauled and pinched by the hungry girl.

And Grace throbbed and pulled on her demon clitoris, bringing herself up to a huge brimming climax. Her succulent cuntic passage gripped my father's penis, milking the last drop of seed from him; and his pulsating grip squeezed the last drop of seed from me. Grace's peak was now approaching as a storm sweeps up a valley, her legs quivering with the power of it, her long pinching fingers swirling and snapping her red bright clitoral bud, her ecstasy sending a long low keening into her throat. Red hair thrashing across my mother's face, Grace's pale white skin was threaded with a deep red blush as her orgasm raced in on her, convulsing her pale long body into a rictus of pleasure. Her lips suckled on those hard full breasts of my mother, milk spurting now in a hot sticky mess and dribbling from the corners of Grace' s engorged mouth, too full with greed.

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