The Incubus' Wife
Chapter 1: Pleasured at Dinner
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Romantic, Heterosexual, Fiction, Paranormal, Furry, Cheating, Revenge, BDSM, DomSub, MaleDom, Snuff, Safe Sex, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Sex Toys, Spitting, Tit-Fucking, Size, Hairy, Slow, Nudism, Royalty,
Desc: Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 1: Pleasured at Dinner - Sweet, young Emma Jenkins is the wife of an Incubus who feeds on sex solely.
Mason's eyes are the most dazzling green that I have ever glimpsed; green as the bottomless sea on a lukewarm and sunlit day; green as the leaves of a tree in an unbounded and never-ending forest. As I stare into his eyes, gradually and with deep infatuation, he strolls towards me, throwing his brief case—which he has brought with him from work—farther away. While he draws closer to me, I feel my breath weaken and die away from my reach. What is he going to do to me precisely?
The desire in his touch is too extreme to put up in words. He tweaks my hair, hauling me towards himself, and when he is gripping me by both sides of my waist, he gazes down into my eyes and breathes delicately, "I am starving for you, Emma, this very night."
I am Emma Jenkins. I wedded to this Incubus of a man known as Mason Cox. He is different from commonplace, fashionable human beings like me found out there. As a substitute, he is both paranormal and inborn to nature, having in his possession both human elements and features, as well as those of the ghostly or unearthly ones. The only thing that he feeds on is lust and sex, and thus it is my responsibility as his wife to satisfy this of him.
I set my hands on his behind—or buttocks. These buttocks may be his. But they are mine to embrace and stroke unreservedly; mine to love and rejoice in. I don't lay my hands on his stark-naked buttocks. He is clad in a pitch-black suit, and it is on the haunches of his slacks that I settle my hands on; we are both un-stirring here inside the well-lit dining room where we are taking our stand, gawping and gazing open-mouthed at each other. I think he should have his dinner now—or must not he?
"Don't we have to proceed to our bedroom, Mason? You can have your dinner there." I question in a relaxed and polite voice, trusting that he is going to pick up some bit of sensibility in my decent proposal. He doesn't, but instead nestles—or stands firm—on what he wants to get see agreed to and executed.
"We are not going anywhere, Emma. We shall have sex here in our dining." After he is done stating this to me, he snatches me by my throat and thrusts me down to the dinner table erect just four feet away from us. I can't breathe for a split second. But then I finally pull in air into my lungs as he slopes and tilts himself down towards me, snogging my lips inch by inch and progressively, grasping me more firmly and securely.
I swallow saliva down my throat. I can't accept that this is at last happening. Right here inside our dining room? Where I am meant to have my dinner in noiselessness and isolation from the public world? I love him; with all my heart and soul assuredly. And I am going to fully surrender and yield myself entirely to him. This is precisely what I am doing right now. The Incubus is all mine, for tonight at least.
His hands reach for the buttons of my blouse and starts to work them free. I feel this immense sexual-stirring emotion race and shoot its way speedily in my blood. I can notice my body itch and tickle from deep craving of him. I want to seize him to myself right this very moment, then kiss him like nobody's business and also make love to him furiously and energetically until there is no more strength and willpower left in me.
Once my breasts are stripped nude, and both my bra and blouse are tossed away by him neglectfully, as if I am not ever going to need them once again, I let him finger and graze my boobies as he feels like carrying out. He smiles gladly at me, pressing on to lay one hand into my skirt underneath so that he can touch my bare buttocks. The sensation of libido that is getting bigger and sprouting up inside me keeps on swelling and surging highly. I feel like I am at long last going to blow up from it. I cannot get to have power over myself anymore. I cannot!
"Mason," I murmur his name softly, moaning to myself silently as he winds me farther down against the table and in addition to this unfasten the zip of his fly so that he hurriedly yanks out his dick and furthermore wrench my panties down to stick his thing inside my vagina. This all feels so incredibly sugar and honey melded together. I like it. I feel like I am somewhere in heaven already.
In no time, he has begun to tap in and out of me, banging me gently at first, and strengthening up his pace and vigor as he carries on with the labor. I slant myself down on the table, checking myself from groaning out the more louder. He tugs my hair to himself and winds and snuffs it. I love that he is bearing this on himself. He consistently tells me that I have got the most sweetened smell in the entire world—and I believe him!
My hands rush their way to his behind and grips on to it firmly and doggedly. Why is that ladies' and guys' buttocks are the softest stuff on their bodies? I love bashing my hands on my own butts and also playing carelessly with my anus. I what's more love to play smoothly with Mason's fantastically made and fashioned ass. This is an obsession which I think has to have no any possible healing or remedy. Maybe I am mistaken. But I am just so insanely possessed and perpetually teased in a sexual way by eyeballing guys' butts. How come?
He braces me harder, wresting and pulling me sharply to himself. I am just peaceful and reserved in stillness. What have I got to say in any case? What certainly? I must let him take charge of the situation and do what he feels like executing. He pecks me swiftly on the lips and then switches his tongue up and down my neck. I am un-stirring and soundless, staying my eyes close and allowing tears to spew out lavishly, just like a faucet does with water.
Sex does not hurt or pain. It is one of the most beautiful and delectable things around which we come to experience in life. Then why am I weeping silently here—you may be wondering? It is just that I can't stand it anymore. I can't put up with too much of this sugar and sweetness. Enough is enough already! When I am getting aroused, I feel so starved and deprived of sex that by the minute that Mason is already knocking his dick inside me, I am genuinely weary and sick and tired with everything. Maybe I am suffering some form of sexual break down. I don't know really. What matters most is that I nourish him with his meal for now until his hungriness gets quenched and satisfied.
We are still inside the dining room; slumped and sprawled down on grassy green carpet that is fanned out and stretched all across the entire floor. I have got my bra and blouse flung away a bit far from where I am lying. Underneath there, I am just putting on a skirt and some pink-colored panties that are stained and dripping freely with Mason's cum. My breasts are nude-stripped and uncovered to the cold air breezing its way inside the room. It has been twenty minutes now since Mason and I began kissing and spanking each other.
Is he fully satisfied? I can't exactly tell. I look at him. He is lolling down here besides me, still dressed up in his pitch-black working suit. His penis is calmed now and gradually shrinking back to its original greatness. It is still pulled out of his slacks and underwear, noiselessly falling back into slumber as it scatters out an outpouring or two of dense white semen. How come he and his dick are both handsome?
I grin at him lovingly. He smirks back at me, happy and pleased with himself.
"Are you content now?" I ask him serenely.
He can't quit smiling at me. "Beyond what I was even expecting, Emma! I am ashamed and sorry that I didn't make you hit an orgasm. But we still do have loads of time to finish this business up in our bed. I am going to make all your sexual dreams and fantasies become a reality there. Do you understand me, my sweetest love?"
I switch my hand to his face and slickly caress his skin and facial stubble. He is so good-looking; I cannot believe that I married him. Did I really? He is the most beautiful and intelligent thing that has ever come to happen in my life. "I want a baby with you, Mason, my darling," I say self-possessedly.
I have wrecked his mood already. I don't get it. Is what I said that upsetting and unpleasant? I am taking observation of every little happening as his face changes from blissful to miserable—from a glad whitish to a heartbroken and dismal scarlet. Oh, oh! It seems I am in big trouble for asking him to fill me with his child.
"Mason, are you alright?" I query with swelling anxiety and fear. I just want to have a baby with him. Nothing more and nothing less! Well, if this doesn't seem like a cleverly brilliant idea to him, he should let me know so that I know what else to do.
"You have petitioned for too much than I can offer you, Emma," he declares with a provoked and afraid face. I cannot expressly pinpoint it. It seems that he is seriously scared of something; something which he is concealing and keeping out of sight from my learning. I become desirous to know what it precisely is.
"What do you mean by saying that I have asked for too much than you can offer me? Is making me pregnant too much of work and a liability for you, Mason?"
He glances at me ragingly, but then he in the end comes out clean, "If I make you pregnant, Emma, they are definitely going to kill that child of ours, do you hear me? He will unquestionably become a sacrifice to the Deity of the Incubus. I don't want that to take place. Do you yourself?"
Mason has got a very influential status in the society of the Incubus. He is a prince and successor to the throne. His father is the Majesty of the Scarab Empire. All of Las Vegas falls under his dominion. He doesn't govern human beings specifically, but those of his kind and family.
"That is what my tradition calls for, Emma. As I am the heir to the throne, I shall offer up my first child ten days after he or she is born to the Deity. Only then am I approved to have as many children as I want. How would you react to this kind of situation yourself? Seeing our first and only child get seized away from us, and then get placed on that venerable altar where they will cook and roast him alive as a banquet to the Gods? How are you going to feel seeing that, my love?"
I don't think that I can withstand hearing more of this story. Enough of it please! I am not going to let them do that to me, or to my baby either. I am shuddering and trembling right now. From deep and heavy horror that is. Mason takes me in his arms affectionately and makes known to me, "I am not going to add another word to that, my love. I will take you to our bed now. We have not completed making love, you remember?"
I only nod my head in stillness. He first picks himself up to his feet, then hauls me after me, and at the last bear me into his doting arms so that he can easily wander his way to our exclusive bedroom.
By the moment that Mason lights up the dim room, I have wholly unclothed naked. As he shifts closer to me on the bed, I stir after him as well and go on to knock and bash my lips on his. He sighs and gasps out excitedly, pushing on to tilt himself against me and brace on to my back behind with his hands. I continue on tasting and brushing his lips with my tongue. I reach for the belt strapped on his slacks, and at a snail's pace work it loose so as to finally remove it and launch it away.
He scales and clambers up on top of me, settling and laying me down warily on the mattress beneath. I breathe out here and then. I am dying to have him pick out his dick from his underwear and fix it inside my starving vagina. I can't wait any longer for this to actually happen. I what's more want to snatch those mouthwatering and beautiful buttocks of his, and then caress them bountifully as I feel like doing. He is my husband after all, or is not he?
He reaches down for my simple legs and wrests them up. I am left out of breath and I am even on the point of falling into a faint the minute he accomplishes this. Mason; my one and only Mason! With his hand, he suspiciously makes it as far as my clitoris is and starts to smooth and massage it. I incline down on the bed in leisure and enjoyment, letting him do his manly business and I myself solely relax to enjoy and find pleasure in this feat.
He pulls himself down to where I am lying and goes on to peck and kiss my breasts. I am about to have another black-out. He sucks and nibbles at my nipples with his teeth while his hand beneath me rubs and caresses my clit. When I look up at the imposing and grandiose ceiling above us, I notice it drop out of sight so that divine and dazzling stars are seen in the infinite sky farther above.
I press and force my hand to his bottom behind. I am melted and dissolved in massive pleasure almost immediately. These huge buttocks of his! They are so smooth and silky just like a baby's bottom. I could squeeze and grip and caress them all day long. I cannot believe that I am about to orgasm this too soon just from feeling and touching them contentedly. My brain is certainly going to blow up from failing to handle and manage all this extreme sweetness on my part.
Mason has got no slight idea how his butts delight and tickle me. I can't pass a day without feeling or stroking them. I cannot have sex with him without grazing or laying a finger on them. Asides from his massive dick, they are the sweetest thing ever that he holds in his possession. My vagina habitually swings and rocks happily in my panties whenever I see him standing nearly naked before our tall, giant mirror—clad in nothing but that arousing class-style brand of underwear that cuddles and squeezes on to his attractive butts behind.