Practical Milf Keeping

She plunged in, sucked out Gragonog's spunk and spat it on the floor. "This to all the 'good times' darling." She went back in, slithering her tongue around the milf's wet walls.

"Aaahhh! Unnngh! Moan! Groan!" the milfs ululated, gyrating in carnal synchrony.

Gragonog, Krog, and Grak watched, cocks and tentacles erect and throbbing, the succubi work the milfs over. The succubi's hands slid over the milfs' sweat-slick bodies. The milfs' muscles flexed and rolled from top to bottom. Their bodies crunched, their breasts swayed and bounced.

Bev raised her head, licked the cum off her mouth, and smiled, "You're right, Mother. This one does taste very good."

"Of course dear. Only do be careful not to squeeze too much out of them."

Krog, with his dick-tacles so erect he looked like a cactus, asked, "Uh, Bev? I was just wondering . . .?"

"Oh, you want some more of her?"

"Well . . ."

Bev didn't hold Krog's friendship with her ex-husband against him. Besides, she'd had a bit of dick from him in the past; no reason not to let him indulge, other than a succubus' usual domination games.

"You can have her mouth but don't choke her this time."

Krog grinned, "Thanks," and stuffed a dick-tacle in the milf's mouth.

"Hey! What about me?!" Gragonog pissed off.

"You get to watch dick fuck. Stroke yourself in the corner there."

Gragonog cursed, ruing the day of their first rape. He was The Ravisher. Imasculation wasn't supposed to happen to him. If the language Infernal contained a word for it, he would say it wasn't fair.

Bev slurped on the milf's pussy for several more minutes. The milf moaned, grunted, and gulped, with some difficulty as her mouth contained a lot of Krog cock. Her arms flailed, her eyes rolled, her hands scrabbled around the floor.

The view was very frustrating for Gragonog. Grak wasn't happy either. The succubi were summoned for a party, yet the only beneficiaries were two milfs and a Krog.

Bev raised her head, receiving a splash of cum which she licked off, and turned to Grak.

"Grak, what's the time clock for these two?"

"Um, twenty-four hours, twenty-four mortal hours," he quickly corrected.

"Twenty-four mortal? Bless! These two will wither and die in a quarter of that time. Such a waste."

"There's always your manual dear," Bel suggested, "I'm sure it has instructions for this kind of thing."

"Hmmm . . . oh Graaak," Bev singsonged. "You still have our address. Do us a favor and port over and fetch the book? It's by the toilet. We'd really appreciate it. Mom especially."

"Mumble, 'pop!'" Grak vanished.

"That's right, dear. Push their buttons and they'll sell their souls for you."

"Oh Mother."

****

Grak apparated in Bev's apartment. He went to the bathroom. Pretty upscale, this place.

He didn't see the book at first, (Geez! Doesn't she ever clean her bathroom?) so he asked the toilet.

"Oh-er 'air," the toilet pointed.

The manual was under a pile of dildos on the sink. She really has to replace these more often. Ripped cocks never lasted very long without their owners, plus the rotted flesh smell put some people off.

"Thanks," Grak said, and ported back to the crib.

"'Elcom," the toilet answered, vowing for the ten-thousandth time to study extra hard on succubi binding glyphs in his next life.

The scene had changed little when Grak returned. Gragonog still in the corner, sulking; Bev and Bel noshing on the milfs' pussies. Krog had switched over to Bel's milf, however.

"I found it."

"Oh good!" Bev dropped her milf, who curled into a lump of twitching orgasmic flesh, and took the book from Grak's claws. "Thank you, Grak."

Grak smiled and blushed. Bev hid a snort of contempt. Grak's mannerisms were alike to mortal teenagers. He's almost too nice to be a proper demon.

The title of the book, translated from the language Infernal, was Practical Milf-Keeping. The book was bound in human flesh and sinew and written in blood. Suras was cheap, however. He scored a deal with a mortal secretary for the paper.

"Let's see, I think the chapter on care and feeding should suffice," Bev said.

Chapter Number Five: The Care and Preservation of Milfs.

("Care and Preservation I mean," said Bev.)

Since living Milfs are mortal, unless proper care is taken in their summoning, they will, in all likelihood, not last an Infernal hour. It is generally up to the summoner on the question whether to release the mortal within the proper time. It is advisable not to keep Milfs for more than ten Infernal years.

Ideally a Milf is best used when its physical age matches in range from mid-thirties to late forties mortal years, albeit proper care may extend such physicality to late fifties.

"He's kind of long-winded," noted Krog.

"But a good fuck. I put a tit in his mouth and he shuts up," smirked Bev.

As demons, we have very few reasons or interest in maintaining Milfs, as they are easily discarded and replaced. However, keeping a Milf can offer its own rewards: (1) Entertainment- a Milf's sexual experience can provide variety in ravishment and / or, if it is of athletic physicality, gladiatorial combat; (2) Breeding- a fertile Milf can be used to introduce new blood (albeit of inferior quality) into the demonic race for genetic diversity, as well to produce and maintain a constant supply of second-class citizenry on which to test and develop persecutory techniques and policies (plus the added benefit of demonic fetish satisfaction regarding pregnant mortals); (3) Food- Milfs, as with other mortals, are rare delicacies (see The Joy of Cooking, Infernal Edition ).

Bev paused and licked her lips, "They do look yummy, Mother."

"Mmm-hmm," Bel slurped and then raised her head, "But remember dear, we draw out torment, and we can always eat that serial rapist we're keeping in the freezer."

"Male mortals are tougher meat, I heard," Krog said, "Except the fat ones."

"The milfs look tough enough, except around the breasts," Grak added.

"There are many more uses for these mortals than just food dears," said Bel, "The manual doesn't list them all."

"They'll wear out before we can full use them, Mother."

"Well read on. I'm sure it says something about preservation."

Bev scrolled her eyes downward, "Hmmm, this looks promising."

If a demon is not so inclined to use his/her mortal as food, the first two options, however viable, may only serve to preserve the mortal for a decade or so, depending on stamina, resilience, and ability to heal from injuries. However, one must remember such entertainment options as gladiatorial combat, or demonic pregnancy and birth are ultimately fatal without proper preservation techniques.

Such techniques may include: (1) Preservation in amber- demonic resin is an excellent way to preserve mortals for the duration of their spell time. Suspension in an amber container will stop a Milf's physical aging, allowing for extended use by the summoner(s). A properly fashioned container must, however, include openings for waste evacuation and food consumption, as well as areas for insertion of reproductive / recreational appendages and / or other objects.

If used for breeding purposes, please allow room for belly and breast expansion. Drawbacks to such preservation techniques can include muscle atrophy and a fatal condition among mortals known as deep vein thrombosis. Amber preservation is generally recommended for demons with access to multiple mortals, who are easily switched out as one dies from the aforementioned conditions; (2)Petrification- Changing mortals to stone is an option only for those demons who wish to keep one for aesthetic or decorative purposes. Most petrification spells generally tend to kill the mortal, however some allow the mortal's soul to remain intact, and several are actually reversible.

Whereas mercy is unacceptable in demonic culture, it is advisable to take extra precautions in selecting the type of petrification spell used. Please consult Medusa Gorgon's List of Petrification Spells for further information; (3) Vampirization- vampirization is excellent for preservation, however the specialized diet required for feeding them is off-putting for some. Vampires require a steady stream of mortals for sustenance. As such, the costs of frequent summoning can impact personal finances.

Typically, as most demons know, the two ways to confer or impose vampirism upon a mortal is to either tempt or coerce the individual to a blood contract, or recruit a vampire to the conversion. Authors note: tempting a mortal to vampirism should be the preferred method, as many mortals have a certain romanticism toward such creatures, offering many opportunities for manipulation.

While vampirized Milfs are unsuitable for breeding, their resilience and ferocity make them excellent athletes for gladiatorial combat and / or sexual recreation.

Depending on the timing of the spell and location of the summoning, once said spell time's out, a vampirized Milf may burn to ash upon its return to the original location or, if at night, go on to wreak the type of mischief useful to demons. (4) Immortalization (or "Juicing")- while the best method of the four, conferring immortality upon a Milf is the least preferred option as [1] the materials required are prohibitively expensive for many except the most wealthy and powerful, and [2] such options are considered rewards, and demons rarely bestow anything without compensation.

Immortalization is useful as it allows for repeated use without the wear, tear, and fatalities associated with gladiatorial combat, sexual entertainment, or demonic breeding.

The various Fruits of Immortality, as mentioned, are extremely expensive. Please refer to Hebe's Cup of Fruits and Derived Juices for a complete list.

It is advised if one chooses the fourth option, to bind the Milf by standard blood contract, to allow for continuous service.

Bev stopped reading, her face pensive. Her mother noticed. "I do hope you're not thinking what I think, dear."

"Well, Daddy does have a stock, Mother."

"A stock of what?" Gragonog snarled.

"Why a stock of fruit juice, of course. Moron," Bev sneered back, "He owns the largest supermarket chain in the Nine Circles, remember?"

"Yeah, I worked at one. He didn't tell me about fruit juice."

"Of course he wouldn't. You think he'd trust you with expensive stuff like peach and apple juice?"

"Kunlun peaches and Asgardian apples?! He scored those?! A drop of juice alone s'worth 500,000 souls," Krog said.

"He hired Loki as a purchase and acquisition agent, dearie," Bel replied.

"Con artist! Scammer!" Gragonog snorted, "He's Loki; he's scammed your precious Daddy out a million by now."

"The juice was authenticated by several respectable," Bev spat, respectable was a gross profanity in Hell, "Aesir, including Baldr. He also tested them on a mortal, a very lucky mortal because the juice worked as supposed. Loki's a slick prick but a few spritzes of snake venom keeps him honest. You know his allergy to snake venom."

Gragonog snorted again. Bel slithered her tongue out of her milf's pussy and let her drop to a quivering heap. "It's still questionable why you would expend such expensive juice on two mere mortals, dear."

Bev picked Terri up. The milf looked back, fear and wonder (maybe just a little lust), mixed on her face.

"I like these two, Mother. I think they're cute. They'll make great pets. Plus, I've got an idea." She drew close to Bellora and whispered in her ear.

Bel listened. "Oh!" she chuckled, flashing sly smirks at Gragonog.

"What the fuck those two up too?" Gragonog fumed, straining to hear the giggling buzz.

The succubi whispered and chuckled for an infernal minute or so, casting occasional sneers Gragonog's way ("Grrrr"), and then Bel turned to Grak.

"Grak, dear, can you hand me the phone book? That's a bad demon."

"Mumble 'grin', sure Mrs. Soul-Fucker."

"Why do we need that, Mother? We can just port to the mansion."

"He's changed his address, dearie. We'll need to reconfigure some glyphs."

"Oh, I wish you'd told me earlier."

"We were going to send a message, dear. We have some problems with this new wire service. The CEO of Comcast set it up. Hubby's thinking of reviewing his contract."

"Hmmph! You'd think we had the monopoly on torment but mortals just seem to be more creative these days," Bev snorted.

"Quite right my dear. Hubby says he sees new potential with social networking. Ah! Here we are."

Bev cast a poison-honeyed look at Gragonog, "We're going to visit Daddy. Leave the milfs alone, that goes for you other two. If I see so much as a pulled fingernail, I'll rip your cocks and sell them in my sex shop."

Gragonog snarled, impotently, but Grak and Krog chorused, "Yes Ma'am!"

"Grak, be a dear and put those milfs in the corner, will you?"

"Yes, Mrs. Soul-Fucker."

"And 'Nog," Bev growled, "Stay in your fucking corner. I'll deal with you later."

She and Bel ported away, leaving three emasculated demons; one wondering if they should have gone for the Priapi sisters instead.

****

Lord Saragamas, Baron of the Black Circle, Keeper of the Obsidian Gate, Third Son and Fifth Child of Avarice, the Deadly Sin, official designated Demon of Capitalism, and founder and CEO of Saragamas Conglomerates, which included Saragamas Supermarkets among other businesses, was poring over the latest financial reports when his wife and daughter apparated into his office.

"Hi honey."

"Hi Daddy."

Had he eyebrows Saragamas would cock one. He turned five of his eyes to his wife and daughter, keeping the rest on his spread sheet. His amorphous, cloudy form rumbled irritably.

What is it this time?

"What makes you think we want something, honey? We could be just visiting."

You're both here. Alone or together, you never visit unless you want something. So out with it. I'm busy.

"Bev, you go. It's your request."

"Well, Daddy, you see. There's these two mortal milfs who've just came on the market, and they're really cute, and they'll make great pets, and I was wondering if I could have a couple bottles of fruit juice to preserve them?"

Fruit juice? The cloud rumbled, Two bottles? What did these . . . milfs you say, do to warrant such a reward?

"Nothing really. It's just there's this project I'm planning. It has lots of potential for fun and profit, and these milfs would be very useful to it."

They must be to warrant such an expense. You'll have to do better to convince me why I should part with two bottles.

"Well, it does involve 'Nog."

A rumble of thunder and a flash of lightning burst in the dark cloud. You mentioned my ex son-in-law's name in my presence. There's a penalty for that.

"Yes Daddy," said a demure Bev, licking her lips.

Rumble! One bottle. You fuck me three times a day for five mortal days. Plus the penalty.

"Let's split the debt, dearie. We'll give you two and a half days each."

Acceptable.

"Thanks Mother. What do I owe you?"

"Three cunnilingus sessions and a trib over two mortal days, dear."

The cloud rumbled and boiled black smoke. A metal object, a key of black iron, was tossed from its depths.

Take a bottle from the main store's vault. Don't forget to sign in. The pentagrams are in the middle of an upgrade so you'll have to go through the parking lot.

"Thanks Daddy," Bev smiled, taking the key.

Anything for my little girl, the cloud rumbled.

The succubi ported away. Saragamas pondered the latest proposal from a minion. Hmmm, box stores. Giant black holes which suck in all life, hope, and energy, leaving vast wastelands and despair. An excellent mortal idea. I'll have to call a board meeting.

****

The succubi ported into the parking lot of the main store. The Eurasian-sized lot was divided in half; one side in freezing blizzard Minnesota winter, the other in white-hot Arizona summer.

Tormented souls, struggling with overstuffed shopping carts, scraping along on broken wheels, forever wandered the concrete expanse, searching for THAT car they swore was parked in THAT spot. The despairing wails of those who finally found their cars, only to find they misplaced their keys, filled the air with dark music. Bev and Bel smiled; they loved shopping.

The store logo, blazoned with the name Saragamas Supermarkets was vertical, the names side by side. The lightning bolt styles of the esses in the title was Bel's idea, based on a gang of German degenerates she ran with back in the 30s and 40s. Bel sighed reminiscing, Those were good times. She still kept a few she-wolves as fuck pets. She might have gotten Himmler but Asmodeus snatched him up to be the official toilet bowl licker for his office complex.

The succubi entered the store, walking past the registers, which averaged one sale per year, mortal. Here, a grocer waved a loaf of bread over a scanner for the one-thousand and fifteenth time. There, an annoying demon argued with a clerk over the price of a box of macaroni. One clerk celebrated his tenth year of waiting on a price check for an orange.

Extending beyond the registers were thirty to forty mile long lines of wailing souls, many clutching screaming little imps in soiled diapers, averaging one-eighth an inch per year in movement.

The succubi weren't interested at present. In earlier years, they sometimes tormented unfortunate souls with promises of wild, mind-blowing sex, if they could just get them an (impossible to find or sold out) item within an (extremely limited) amount of time for (very specific, quickly unneeded) personal use. The despairing laments of unfulfilled hookups made them cum with glee.

The vault was located below the Customer Service department. The entrance bore an inscription, in Infernal script, "Abandon all hope, ye who ask, so don't even bother."

The clerk's face bore an apathetic, disinterested look until he saw the succubi approach. "Mrs. Bitch, Mrs. Soul-Fucker, very happy to see you, how may I be of service?"

"We're here to pick up a bottle of fruit juice, dear. I believe Asgardian apple juice should suffice. It goes down so much better than peach, don't you think dearie?"

"Yes Mother."

"A three ounce bottle costs 80 million souls Ma'am. Has Lord Saragamas authorized a purchase?"

Bellora help up the key.

"Of course Ma'am, follow me."

The vault used to be a deep, dank cave before Saragamas modernized it. It was still deep and dank but at least had electricity and refrigeration. Saragamas thought the cave ideal for the Lost and Never To Be Found Again vault, and main food storage. The trio walked down the levels of the vault, past the freezer level where the serial killers and hit men were stored, through the dry goods section, containing shelves of dehydrated abusive nuns and child-molesting priests, and the snack foods storage, with its boxes of wife-abusers, wife-killers, stalkers, trolls, anti-SJWs and other toxic varieties, ready-made. Bel made a note to buy a couple later; her supply was getting low.

The fruit juice was in a smaller vault, in a niche behind some sacks of composted toxic radio hosts.

"Shouldn't these be in garden supply?" Bel asked.

"The room's getting an expansion. We're storing these here for a few days."