They Always Wait

My cock was rock hard as she rubbed those massive, firm tits across it and any self-control I thought I had went right out the window. I came and I came hard! I slathered her chest with my jism, and there was gallons of it. Or at least it felt that way.

Awww... I heard in my head. A bit quick on the draw, hmmm? Haven't been getting any? Too bad... but there's always more where that came from...

She slithered back down to where she could take my shrinking cock in her mouth. Who am I kidding? There wasn't any shrinking involved. She sucked me in deep and I was hard again, instantly. I was already dizzy from the first spending. She upped the ante when her long, snakelike forked tongue wrapped itself around my member and began massaging him. Her long, thin fingers, topped by talons I hadn't noticed before, began tickling my ball sack and poking at my roundeye. The combination of fear and excitement was becoming too much. She teased me up until she had me almost ready to go over again, then paused.

Eyeing me with a broad smile and bared fangs, she started slithering her way back up towards my chest. Except, she didn't stop there. She kept going until her hot breath was taking mine away and she leaned down to kiss me. I'll admit I didn't kiss back very well -- I was terrified of those twin ivory daggers poking out at me. Thank goodness, I think, she didn't stay there long. She kept moving up my body.

Moving up until her twin red beauties were bracketing my face, begging me to lick them, and no matter how much she frightened me, I couldn't refuse. I could not not respond. Her skin was hot to the touch, as if feverish, but her black nipples were cool, like icy diamonds. I was getting lost in the sensations when another appeared. She began leaking milk into my mouth as I suckled her.

I suppose I shouldn't call it milk. Whatever it was, it bore as much resemblance to mother's milk as soda pop does to unaged whiskey. It was thick and sweet like a milkshake, but potent as one of those coconut milk and rum drinks. A mostly rum drink. I was drunk before I knew it. And even more horny, if that were possible. My cock felt like he was going to explode, but she didn't stop there. She pulled her tit out of my mouth and kept moving up, until she was straddling my head and her hot quim-oil was dripping on my face.

My confusion grew even greater at the contrast between her hot essence feeling like acid and the extreme excitement the feeling engendered. I wanted her to hurt me, if it meant I could feel this kind of pure ecstasy. Then she lowered her cunt to my mouth and rubbed on me, forcing me to lick and suck her. I was compelled to cunnilingate her and found that her taste, one of honey laced with absinthe, just drove me on. I was having trouble breathing and thought I might pass out from her pressing down into me in such a fashion, but I was wrong. She suddenly pulled up, slid down my body and impaled herself on my very turgid erection. I thought I'd stuck my cock in a blast furnance.

"Oh, my God!" I cried out... or, I think I cried out. I was instantly ready to kick the beam deep in her twitchet and it felt like she was drawing in far more than my jerry. It felt like she was drawing in the whole bellows. I was damn near fainting... which should be hard to do in a dream...

Yahweh has nothing to do with this, her voice told me. Now cum for my, my little Vesuvius. You have so much sweet libido to give me...

I could not have resisted to save my life. I could not have resisted for any reason. I swelled up and burst, my blood pounding in my ears as I shot the bishop in rope after rope, every muscle in my body coiled like an over-wound spring...

I did, it appears, pass out.

When I finally awoke, it was with a start, as waking from a nightmare which I suppose it was. The bed linens were all asunder and sticky with my oyster-soup. I was dripping sweat and my heart was still pounding. Everything else seemed normal, until I looked at the table. The demonology book was open and that's not how I'd left it. I was shaking when I reached for it.

The book was open to a page about a succubus named Agrat bat Mahlat. I slammed the book closed, but the name stuck in my mind and I couldn't shake it. Finally, in desperation, I sought out the medicine chest and found some sleeping pills, barbiturates I think. Three of those and the rest of the Scotch and I was down for the count. Nothing woke me until the ringing of the bells.

* * * * *

[Thursday]

My head felt as if it were encased in the bell tower of the church down the lane. On Sunday morning.

I struggled out of the chemically induced fog and began to return to the land of the living. And yet, there were those incessant bells... Riiiiinng! Riiiiinng! Riiiiing! Suddenly it dawned on me. It was the telephone. Another thing that hadn't been there when I'd left for America. I looked blearily around for the source of my torment.

It was sitting on a small table, next to a chair, across the room. It was one of those GPO candlesticks you had to hold up to your mouth and hold the earpiece to your ear, with no dial and a wall-mounted ringer. That meant crawling out of bed and across the floor to get it. Damn!...

I made it to the telephone and picked it up, mumbling something like "hello?" into the mouthpiece.

"Are you there???" a voice blasted into my ear, jarring everything inside.

God, that's old-fashioned, I thought as I realized the voice was most likely Mr. Phelps, the solicitor. Most likely because the quality wasn't all that great.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm here, I'm here," I managed to get out. "Mr. Fitzgerald speaking. And when the hell did the Manor get a damned telephone?" On the other end, Mr. Phelps harrumphed.

"In Nineteen Hundred Fifteen, sir," he answered. "As part of a general upgrade under your father's direction. He ordered a set for every living space. Is there a problem, sir?" Whatever the adjective is for no sense of humor, that was him.

"I don't know," I told him. "You tell me. You called me, remember?"

"Ah, yes," he answered, reverting to business. "Mademoiselle Renault claims to have left some personal property at the manor and would like to come by, at your convenience, to retrieve it."

"Did she say what it was that she left?" I asked, the world starting to come back into focus.

"No, sir. Just that she'd left some personal property behind upon her abrupt departure and would like to meet with you to reclaim it. She has stated that she can identify it to your satisfaction."

"Did she say when she wanted to come get it?" I was looking around at the unkempt room and deciding a housekeeper had just made it to the top of my list.

"No, sir. Only that sooner would be better."

"Okay, have her call this... hey, what the heck is the number for this place?"

"Number, sir?"

"Yeah, the phone number. The number you dial to reach this... wait a second! This phone doesn't have a dial! How did you call here?"

"One simply asks the Exchange for the Fitzgerald Manor, sir," he explained. "It's not terribly complicated." Now I was being insulted by a lawyer... This was getting out of control.

"Look, just tell Mme. Renault any time after noon. I'll have the kettle on if she wants to bring pastries."

"Very good, sir," he told me. "I bid you good morning."

"It's still morning?" I asked the room as I fumbled to hang up the telephone. I managed to stand up and make my way to the bath, where I took a colder than intended shower, found some clothes and got dressed. Then I headed to the kitchen to put on said kettle. I glanced at the Grandfather clock in the Entry Hall on my way and realized it was only around ten. That damn bird had managed not to wake me.

I was on my fourth cup of tea, laced with most of the sugar output of the West Indies, when there was a loud Gong! sound from the front of the house. One hell of a doorbell. I went to open the door to find Mme. Renault standing there in a bright red dress, low cut and very daring for the time, and light overcoat, holding some sort of brown paper wrapped parcel. I looked over my shoulder at the clock and realized her version of noon wasn't the same as mine.

"C'mon in," I motioned to her, standing aside. She gave me about a thrice-over before moving past me into the foyer.

"La cuisine?" she asked as she turned to partially face me.

"Down there," I pointed down the hall. "I'm sure you know where it is."

"I meant, M'sieur," she answered a bit irritated, "would you care to conduct our business in the kitchen?"

"I'd rather conduct it in the bedroom," I told her before realizing what I was saying. "Oh, sorry! No idea where that came from..." I quickly apologized.

"Truly?" she asked with a raised eyebrow, then swished her way down the hall towards the kitchen.

Where the hell is your mind, you idiot? I chastised myself as I followed her. Damn sexy, though...

When we got to the kitchen, she unwrapped her parcel and it turned out to be a dozen sweet rolls from the bakery in town.

"Petit pain?" she asked, offering me the box. "I hope this is a sufficient bribe."

"Probably. Can I get you some tea?"

"Please."

I turned to fixing a cup for her and another for me. I decided a little probing would not be out of line, so while thus engaged, I asked, "is there something in particular you are looking for? Mr. Phelps indicated you'd left something behind and wanted it back."

"A couple of somethings," she smiled slightly. "It will not take long to retrieve them, once we are finished here. They are each marked in a specific way, so that I can show you they are mine."

"Why not just describe what and where they are and I can go get them for you?" I asked as I poured our tea.

"It will be easier to show you," she informed me. I decided to let it go at that and actually enjoy the pastries. It was the first real breakfast I'd had since waking.

"If you don't mind my asking," I told her, knowing she probably would, "what was it that made you decide to leave the manor in the first place? I thought you and my father got along well." It was a stretch, but I wanted to be a little bit circumspect.

"Your father was not the problem," she told me. "And again, it will be easier to show you."

I decided to let it drop until we went to find whatever it was she was looking for. She was being mysterious. But then again, isn't that what women did? I didn't really know much about the gender, socially. Only a few short liaisons.

We finished our tea and Danish and we set off through the house. According to her, what she wanted was in the South Tower loft. When we got there and I unlocked it, she stepped in... and abruptly halted.

"Oh, my..." she breathed. "This is such a mess! I had heard the testimony at the Coroner's Inquest, but I had no idea it was this bad!"

"It's this bad," I offered, wondering if I should pull the boards off the balcony doors and let in some daylight. Then I realized I'd probably just be inviting the weather in, so I decided against it. In the meantime, Mme. Renault picked her way around the rubble of the bed to a space that used to have artwork hanging there. She reached out and touched several spots on the wall and suddenly a loud click! was accompanied by a panel opening. She had my undivided attention.

She ducked into the hidden room as I worked my way over there and by the time I reached the panel, she was coming back out, holding several items and pushing the panel closed behind her.

"Hey!" I objected as it latched shut. "What are you doing? Open that up again!"

"You will need to figure it out on your own," she told me coldly. "In the meantime, these are mine."

She held out several strange items. One was sort of recognizable. It was made out of some kind of pink stone -- rose quartz, maybe? -- and was shaped like a dog's erect penis, knot and all. A very large dog. There were also some silver rings and rods with strange symbols on them. With a sickening feeling, I realized what the symbols were.

"Ah," she smirked. "You recognize the symbols..." She set the crystal penis down next to her and opened the top of her dress, revealing a perfect set of breasts. Truly, perfect. I was getting hard just looking at them when she confounded me. She took one of the silver rings with the symbol dangling from it, pulled her nipple out and slipped the ring into a piercing there. She closed the ring and repeated the process with her other nipple as I stood there flabbergasted. And straining my trousers.

She followed that by hiking up her dress to reveal no underthings. I was staring even harder as she spread her vulva and inserted one of the rods through a piercing in what I suppose was her clitoris. I was working off high school anatomy and bull session knowledge. There was a tattoo of the same symbol above her sex. Then she turned her perfect ass to me and I damn near fainted.

On each perfect cheek, the same symbol was branded. Two serpents rising from an inverted crescent, a blaze of fire between their undulating bodies.

"As you can see, M'sieur," she smiled, turning back to me, dropping her skirt and closing up her dress, "I am the owner of these items."

"That... that symbol," I stuttered. "The demon... the book..."

"Agrat bat Mahlat," she smiled. "My patron demon. Or should I say matron?" She picked up the penis. "I have been missing these so. Shall we leave?"

"Wait a minute!" I managed to get out. "Just hold on! You... you've got a lot of information I want and I want it before you leave this house!"

"Perhaps," she answered and her smile was becoming seductive. "It would depend on what you want to know, M'sieur."

"Well, to start, how do I open that door?" I demanded.

"That you must work out for yourself, M'sieur Fitzgerald," she told me. "That is one I am not allowed to tell you."

"Okay, fine. I'll just bash it in. Then second, what do you know about my parents' disappearance? I'm willing to bet this whole damn place that you know a lot more that you told the authorities. But I want to know it. Especially if my father isn't dead!"

She looked surprised at that, asking, "who told you that?" before squinting in suspicion. "You've had a visitation, haven't you?" she demanded in turn.

"Uh, well, uh..." I stumbled. "Uh, if you mean a nightmare involving a sexy demon raping me, then yeah, I've had a 'visitation'..." That's when she broke out into a huge grin.

"Then you have caught her eye, and soon you will know more than you ever wanted," she informed me. "Your father and I were lovers, brought together by many factors, not the least of which was your mother's frigidity. She may have been a great helpmate and companion, but how is it you Americans say? She sucked at sex."

"I'm not American!" I protested. "I just sound like it. You're saying my mother -- the one who got pregnant and birthed me -- was frigid?"

"Ice Queen would be more like it," she answered, smirking. "Until the day she met Ardat and began to change. I was content to watch poor Charles squirm at Elizabeth's advances. In fact, I was hoping they would rekindle their relationship. Charles was a good paramour, but not someone I would want as a permanent lover. I drew the line when Elizabeth turned her attentions to me."

"To you? To a woman???" I was dumbfounded. My mother was not some sort of perverted lesbian.

"Oui, to me," she shrugged. "C'est la vie. She was transforming and I was in her path. As much as I like the taste and feel of another woman, doing anything with Elizabeth would have been a turn down the wrong road. So I confronted her, we fought and I left. After that, I do not know what happened."

I stood there speechless. This woman had just told me that because my mother was frigid, she had become my father's lover, until this demon succubus had turned my mother into some form of demon herself, a lesbian at that, and that the innocent Mme. Renault had made an expeditious exit. Just in time to avoid whatever unpleasantries threw blood all over the room where we were having this conversation.

I wondered if lying was a normal part of her secretarial skills.

"Do you think, M'sieur, that we might leave?" she asked, interrupting my train-wreck of thought. "I have what I came for, I have told you what I can, and I would like to return home before evening."

"Sure," I acknowledged. "Just one more question," I added as her eyebrows went up in anticipation. "Would you like to fuck?"

Her laugh would have melted me into a pool of embarrassment if I hadn't been so serious about the question. I didn't even know why the question was important to me. Or even where it had come from.

"Not at the moment, M'sieur Fitzgerald," she chuckled as she calmed her mirth. "Not at the moment. I have it on good authority that young men can be quite entertaining, but today I wish to return home."

"Sorry," I apologized. "I have no idea where such a rude thought came from, much less the boorishness required to actually ask."

"I do," she told me. "Let us leave before something else arises." She gave my groin a pointed look.

In short, I took her excellent suggestion. We returned to the kitchen, she packaged up her things... well, actually, her thing... the rest she was still wearing... and I escorted her out. The hack she had hired was still waiting patiently and she climbed in and they were off. I returned to the kitchen, put ice in a tumbler and filled it with Scotch. There was still a lot of day left.

I spent it trying to open that damned secret door.

I knew right where it was. I'd seen, although casually, where she had touched the wall. I spent hours looking for whatever little trip buttons or pressure points there might be. In the end I gave up, went to the basement and got a sledgehammer from the handyman's workshop and went back upstairs to bash it open.

That didn't work, either.

Every time I hit the panel with the sledge, it bounced off. Seriously. Bounced. As if some kind of magic shield was protecting it. I couldn't even mar the surface of the wall. Anywhere. I could bash the remains of the bed and dresser, but I couldn't touch the walls. After working up a sweat and realizing it had to be well into evening, I left off trying to breach the secret room and returned to the kitchen, very confused, very angry and honestly, quite a bit frightened. The strangeness of the manor and its secrets was eating at me.

As I made up a light dinner of stottie cake and sausages, I turned over in my mind the fact that there were two different demons' names that had been mentioned -- Ardat Lili in my father's journal and referred to by Mme. Renault, and Agrat bat Mahlat, the one she claimed was her patron. I decided I needed to know more, and realizing it might be a bad idea just before retiring, I determined to read up on both of them in the demonology book, plus anything I could find in my father's notes.

It did, in fact, turn out to be a bad idea and to some degree, it increased my hopelessness.

According to my father's notes, knowing a demon's common name didn't amount to a hill of beans. Only knowing their real name, their secret progenitor name, could give you control over them. Otherwise, you were screwed, in more ways than one. Any hope of banishing them lay in a series of complex rituals, more complicated than just the inverse of summoning them. Without a means to control them, they would essentially haunt you, draining your libido along with your spunk and using it to create more demons. Eventually you would wither but not necessarily die. They had a way of using the life energy they gleaned to keep their victims from expiring.