Susie Darlin'
Chapter 1
Incest Sex Story: Chapter 1 - A young man named Richard is thrust into a world of supernatural intrigue where magic, witches, and ghosts are the norm. To overcome a new and dangerous adversary, he'll have to rely on the perky, alluring, and oddly youthful spirit of his grandmother, a feisty witch lost in the 1950s who has more on her mind than Ricky's magic training. Along the way he'll discover not only a new side of himself, but also that nothing, not ties of blood nor even death itself, can deny the heart what it wants.
Caution: This Incest Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Age Gap Consensual Reluctant Romantic Heterosexual Fiction Paranormal Ghost Magic Incest Grand Parent Cream Pie Oral Sex Squirting Tit-Fucking Big Breasts Halloween
You have arrived at your destination. Goodbye,” the feminine, monotone voice of my GPS app announced before going quiet on that crisp evening in early October.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered as I switched off my car, looking around at the ‘destination’ it had led me to—an old, dilapidated, and apparently abandoned house in the middle of nowhere. Seriously, I hadn’t seen another sign of human habitation for at least the last three or four miles of my approach. If the middle of nowhere was an actual place, this would be it.
The house itself was what looked to have been, at one time, a rather impressive two-story structure with large windows and a wrap-around porch. It sat in the middle of a small clearing which was itself in the middle of dense woodland, the only access point a long and winding gravel road overgrown with underbrush.
But now, the house looked old and tired with its white exterior paint mostly peeled away, the shingles of the roof loose and slipping, many of the windows cracked or broken. And the grounds weren’t in much better shape—the hedges around the house were rampant and overgrown, what looked to have once been neat garden beds dotted with benches and statuary were now filled with weeds and brambles, tall, thick grass growing out of the cobblestone paths.
I sighed, taking out the letter that had led me here, reading it one more time:
My Dearest Richard,
First of all, I am very sorry to hear about your father. I wish I could’ve been there with him in his last days, but it just wasn’t possible. I know I’m probably the last person you want to hear from given what I’ve done, or rather what I haven’t done. But I had good reasons which, now that you’re of age, I can now make clear to you. Come to the address I’ve listed below, and we can talk. There is more in play here than you realize, so I beg you to at least give me this one chance to explain things, for your own sake. And if afterward you never want to see me again, I’ll understand.
All my love,
Mom
P.S. – Please don’t share the address below with anyone.
I glanced at the date on the letter, nearly three years ago. Due to some sort of snafu at the post office, I’d only received it a few days ago when collecting my mail one last time before leaving the university campus for good. This may have been a blessing in disguise, because given my state of mind three years ago, my mind still raw and bleeding from what had happened with dad, I might have simply tossed it unopened into the trash. As it was, I’d barely mustered the will to open it now, following it here more out of morbid curiosity and a desire to vent my pent-up anger than anything else. Besides, it’s not like I had anything better to do at the moment.
But it was all in vain, or so it seemed as I looked out over the derelict property. There were no cars, no trash, no anything that indicated anyone had been here, let alone lived here, in years. I double-checked the address against what I’d punched into the GPS, verifying that this was indeed the correct location.
I grunted, reaching for the ignition. It was obvious no one was here, and given that late evening was settling in, I really should just head to that motel I’d passed several miles back. After all, braving back country roads in the darkness wasn’t my idea of fun.
But then, out of the corner of my eye, I thought I caught a flicker of movement, something pink, in one of the upstairs windows. But when I looked full-on, there was nothing. I frowned. Maybe a stray breeze had gotten in through a broken window and ruffled a curtain. But there’s no wind today, I pondered, noting the completely still trees and grass around me. And it couldn’t have been a trick of the sun, because it was completely overcast today. Was someone actually living here? Was it mom?
My curiosity piqued, I took my hand off the ignition and stepped out of the car. Fumbling around, I found my cannister of mace, holding it ready in my hand as I approached the porch. I didn’t want to spray anyone by accident, but I didn’t want to take the chance on being attacked by what could be some dangerous squatter either. I also had a little karate under my belt if I needed it, but I hoped I wouldn’t.
I stepped up on the rickety front porch, heading toward the closed front door and, not seeing a doorbell, knocked on it. “Hello? Is anyone here?” I called out in a loud but what I tried to make a friendly voice. I waited several moments, but there was no answer.
I knocked again, more forcefully this time. “Hello, mom, are you here? It’s me, Richard. I got your letter, a little late unfortunately. But if you’re still willing, I’d like to talk.” Again, no one answered, but there was a response of sorts as with a groan, the front door creaked open on noisy, unoiled hinges, as if inviting me inside.
I just stood there for a second, staring at the way now open before me. That door looked to be quite heavy, and I was sure it’d been firmly closed, so how had it just opened like that? It must’ve not been all the way shut, and your knocking forced it open, I told myself as I stepped through the portal and into the house. As I did so, a sudden gust of unseasonably warm air swept over me, and I could’ve sword I heard the sound of bells somewhere in the distance.
But then both were gone as fast as they’d arrived, and I was left standing dumbly in the doorway. “I’ve been on the road too long,” I muttered, stepping into the house and shutting the door behind me.
And blinked. I’d expected to find myself in some old, musty living room, filled with moth-eaten furniture covered in sheets. But even with the low level of light from the large windows, I could tell that wasn’t the case. All the furniture, which was uncovered by the way, looked relatively modern and fresh, the wood surfaces of the coffee and end tables clean and polished. Why, there was even a rather large flat-screen tv on the wall opposite the plush sofa.
And there wasn’t the slightest dinginess or staleness to the air. Instead, it was fresh and clean with a subtle, pleasing aroma wafting through it. The smell reminded me of the maple spice cake my mom used to make, although with a slight, pleasingly tangy scent that I couldn’t identify tacked onto it. It was also remarkably warm in the house, despite the autumn chill outside and the many damaged windows I’d seen that should have allowed the cold ample entry to the interior.
I wandered over to the couch and slumped down onto it, stupefied at the startling contrast between the outside of the house and the inside. How is this possible? I wondered, shaking my head. It was like someone went to a lot of trouble to convince anyone looking from the outside that it was abandoned and falling apart, which couldn’t be further from the truth. “Is anyone here?” I called out once more. Silence.
It was then that I noticed the paper on the coffee table. I picked it up and scanned the note, realizing it was another letter from mom, addressed to me. Even with the large window right behind the couch, I found it difficult to read in the low, fading light. “I need a lamp or something,” I mumbled to myself.
Just then, all the lamps in the room flicked on at the same time, causing me to start as my gaze darted around the room, but I was still alone. Must be on a timer, I decided, as I turned my attention back to the letter:
My Dearest Richard,
It pains me greatly that you chose not to meet with me, but I suppose I can’t blame you. I leave this letter in the hopes that you will one day find your way here, if for no other reason than to discover the truth of things. However, I cannot stay. If I do, I risk compromising this place, which thus far has remained out of the sight of unfriendly eyes. In my stead I leave another to look after you, although given her flighty nature I am dubious of how helpful she will be. In any case, this house is yours to stay in as long as you like, you will be safe here. Consider it a gift from me to you, since I was unable to give you any of the other things you desperately needed.
All my love,
Mom
P.S. – I know I said it before, but don’t tell anyone else about this place.
I studied the paper, noting there were several dark splotches on it, like raindrops. But then I realized raindrops hadn’t made them, those were from tears. Mom must have been crying when she wrote this, no doubt because she thought I’d spurned her invitation. For a moment I felt bad. Then I remembered what she’d done, and put the letter down, steeling myself as I stood.
After all, I had more important things to consider at the moment than her hurt feelings, if she even had feelings. First of all, she said she’d left another to look after me, whatever that meant. So where was she, and who was she? Was she still here, or had she split after I hadn’t shown up after all this time? Only one way to find out, I concluded. I had to explore the house, top to bottom.
And so, that’s what I did. I started on the ground floor, discovering each of the rooms to be just as clean and well-maintained as the living room. What was most surprising was the kitchen, the fridge and pantries fully stocked with food and drink, many of them my favorites. I continued calling out my name and why I was there in case whoever my mom had left behind thought I was a burglar, to no avail.
Scratching my head, I continued my search upstairs. This level consisted mostly of bedrooms, nothing very noteworthy, with one exception. This was what I called the bubblegum room, one of the larger bedrooms, for everything in it was a soft shade of pastel pink. And when I say everything, I mean everything—the walls, the carpet, the curtains, the bedspreads, everything. I wasn’t an expert, but the furniture here looked vintage, maybe from the 50s or so.
This was backed up by the posters plastered all over the walls featuring all the classic teen idols from that decade including James Dean, Buddy Holly and, of course, Elvis. There was even what looked to be an authentic jukebox from that era in the corner, lit up with pink neon lighting. However, there was one thing that didn’t fit into the rest of the motif—the portraits.
They ran in a line along the wall opposite the king-size bed from one corner to the other. Most of them were paintings, but the last few on the end were black and white pictures. From the clothes and art style I judged the earliest to be from the early 1700s, while the latest photograph was from somewhere in the 1920s. All of them featured a single couple, engaged in various activities.
Nothing really odd in and of itself, but the more I studied them, the more I noticed something peculiar. You see, even though the clothing and appearance of the couple in each changed dramatically from one piece to the next, it seemed as if they were the same young man and woman. And call me crazy, but the woman seemed somehow familiar to me, even though I was certain I’d never seen a woman with unusual white hair like hers (outside of anime, anyway).
How is that possible? I asked myself, wondering at their apparent agelessness. At last, I concluded the couple must’ve commissioned works from special period artists and photographers to make a complete, historic set. But who were they, and why were these portraits here, in my mom’s house?
In any case, it was rather sweet, I decided, studying the first work in the series. In it the young woman, clad in a fancy dress, danced with her male partner in a large, open room, almost seeming to glide through the air. Bizarre, but touching.
Moving on, I began to sense there was something even more off about the whole setup. For one thing, that maple spice scent I’d picked up in the living room was here as well, just as it’d been in the entire house, although it was much stronger now. And looking out the window, I realized this was the same room where I thought I’d seen something, or someone, earlier.
Could this be my mysterious and unseen host’s room? I pondered. But how could it be, since like every other bedroom in the place there were no clothes in the closet, no personal items like shoes, jewelry, makeup, or any of the other knickknacks that indicated human habitation anywhere in sight. “What are you, some sort of nudist or something?” I muttered to myself as I shut the door to the empty closet.
“You wish, dreamboat.”
The woman’s voice was so sudden and unexpected that I nearly created a new exit through the ceiling. I spun around, looking for the source, seeing nothing but the empty room. “Look, I know you’re here,” I said, eyes still roving around the very pink space. “There’s no need to hide, I’m the one you’ve been waiting for. You know, Richard Cummingham, Celeste’s son. She told me about you in her note, so please, just come on out. I don’t mean you any harm, I just want to talk.”
There was a screech, and suddenly the jukebox in the corner came to life, blaring out “Mr. Sandman” by The Chordettes. Some of the tension left my body as I realized that must’ve been the voice I heard, although how the jukebox started playing by itself remained a mystery. I walked over to it, intending to unplug the thing, only to discover no plug or even an outlet nearby. It must be battery operated, I assumed as I l began to leave the room, figuring it would stop soon on its own.
But then the old portrait of the couple dancing caught my eye again, and I stepped back over to it, something drawing me toward it. Almost as if an invisible hand was guiding me, I reached out, feeling compelled to touch it for some reason...
The next thing I knew I was listening to a woman moan, although I couldn’t see her through the mists that suddenly blurred my vision. My hands were cupping something warm, soft, and doughy, my thumbs rubbing across something hard and rough, with almost pointed tips that somehow felt very familiar...
Then the mists cleared to reveal a woman in front of me, the young woman dancing in the painting. But here she was a flesh and blood human being, one of the loveliest I’d ever seen. Her striking pure white hair was styled in an elegant updo over a small, oval-shaped face with a small nose, large eyes, and high cheekbones.
But what stood out most was the fact that the top half of her dress had been pulled down and was now hanging from her waist, and hands, my hands apparently, were massaging her breasts, thumbing her nipples in a circular motion. I tried to make myself stop, but I couldn’t, it was like my mind was just a spectator as my body did whatever the hell it wanted. And right now, it wanted to paw this woman’s tits.
Not that the woman seemed to mind, judging from the lustful glaze over her eyes and the wan smile on her lips as she leaned against a tree in what appeared to be some sort of garden. “We shouldn’t do this, Blaise,” she half said, half moaned, although there was no real force behind her words. “What will the rest of our family say?”
“They have no idea who I really am,” a man’s voice that sounded nothing like mine said, taking what I now realized were his hands off her exposed chest. “And even if they did, would it matter? All that matters is how you feel, my darling Susalindra. If you want me to leave, I will, without protest.”
“No, please stay,” she said. “I know we’ve just met, but I just feel in my heart that you’re the one for me. As long as you feel the same way, my dear Blaise, then to the darkness with what anyone else says.”
“You know I do, and always will,” the man called Blaise, whose head I was apparently in, answered. His hands again found his lover’s breasts, squeezing them affectionately. It was strange, even as a simple spectator I could feel their plump softness, smell the sweetness of the woman’s breath as Blaise kissed her.
And then the woman’s dress was off entirely, Blaise pumping his cock into Susalindra’s wet, eager pussy with wild abandon as she squealed and squirmed against the tree. It was so odd, it felt like it was my cock that was hard, pummeling into this strange woman with the hottest, tightest pussy I’d ever felt, forcing heated cries from her lips with each hard thrust. I suckled on her stunning, sweaty tits as I fucked her harder, faster, and deeper, both of us lost in our hungry lust for each other, feeling her teeth as she nibbled on my earlobe and urged me on.
“Yes, that’s it, fuck me!” Susalindra growled, her fingernails leaving claw marks across my back, so intense was our passion. “It’s so wrong, but so fucking right! Give it to me, give it to me, I want all your hot, sticky seed! Yes, yes, yes!”
And eventually, Blaise complied, and I felt his cock firing away as both he and Susalindra screamed in pure ecstasy...
And then I was back in the bedroom, gasping for air as my cock spasmed, soiling my pants and boxers with its messy load. I moved away from the painting, falling onto the foot of the bed. What the fuck just happened? I asked myself. I’d never had hallucinations like that before, even the few times I’d smoked pot. I was just tired and undersexed, I told myself as I rubbed at my head, deciding it was all the work of my overused mind and underused dick.
It was then that I heard the singing again, looking up at the jukebox which was now playing “Wake Up Little Susie” by the Everly Brothers.
I stood, heading for the exit. The jukebox must be malfunctioning or something, but I had no more desire to mess with it, now only wanting to get out of this room and change my pants. Not only that, but I felt like I was intruding on someone’s personal space, and that they were watching me as I did so.
And the slight girlish giggle I thought I heard but most certainly did not really hear on the way out didn’t help matters.
Not long after I was back downstairs, in a fresh pair of clothes I’d fetched from my luggage. It was now full-on dark outside, and I had no desire to try to find my way back down that twisting trail to the road and then all the way to the motel. And why should I, when I had a perfectly good house, which was apparently mine now, to stay in? Besides, there was a puzzle here to which I didn’t yet have all the pieces, and I couldn’t leave until I’d solved it.
It was then that my phone rang. I fished it out of my pocket, looking at the name on the screen:
CASSIDY
I swore to myself, having promised to call my girlfriend when I arrived, only to forget in my curiosity to explore the place. I accepted the call, holding the phone to my ear. But before I could even say a word, my anxious girlfriend spoke. “Where have you been?” she asked, the concern evident in her voice. “I’ve been so worried about you!”
“I’m sorry,” I said in a contrite tone. “I just got caught up with something. But I’m here, and I’m fine. Again, sorry.”
“Oh, okay,” she replied, sounding somewhat mollified. “So, you found your mother’s place? Did you talk to her?”
“Yes and no,” I said, quickly explaining the situation. I omitted the part where my mystery companion might be a woman as the letter stated, as well as the incident with the painting.
“That’s odd,” she said after a moment of silence. “So now you’re all alone in a strange house that may have some weirdo inside that refuses to show themselves?” She blew out a breath. “I knew I should’ve come with you. But oh no, you had to be Mr. Big Man and do this yourself.”
That hadn’t been my exact reasoning, but I didn’t want to start that argument again. “It’ll be fine,” I assured her. “But if you’re that worried about me, why not come up and keep me company while I sort all this out?”
“Sounds fun,” Cassidy said, her voice taking on a sultry quality. “And if you play your cards right, we might even take this opportunity to seal the deal, as I know you’ve been itching to do. And if I’m being honest, I’m pretty eager to have some fun myself.”
My heart leapt in my chest, pattering like a racehorse’s on the final lap. “Seriously?” I asked, my voice suddenly weak. I’d worked hard for this moment, been patient beyond my means, and now it was finally here.
“Sure thing, stud. Just give me the address,” Cassidy almost purred.
“Don’t trust her.”
The sudden woman’s voice came through on my phone, sounding just like the one I’d heard upstairs, the one I’d convinced myself had been the wonky jukebox. But that was impossible, wasn’t it? It’d been Cassidy; I was just letting my memories cloud my perceptions. “What did you say?”
“I said give me the address,” my girlfriend replied.
“No, after that,” I said. “You said something about not trusting her.”
“Not trust who?” she asked, voice growing suspicious. “Do you have another woman up there, is that why you’re acting so goofy?”
“No, of course not,” I replied, giving her the address. She then promised she’d leave first thing in the morning and be there tomorrow evening sometime. After saying goodnight, she ended the call.
As soon as I’d pocketed my phone, there was the sound of someone blowing a raspberry. “Men, always thinking with the wrong head,” the same unknown woman’s voice said, a distinct echo to it. “Besides, you can do a lot better than that dime store Barbie.”
“Okay,” I said, standing up, thinking I finally knew what was going on here. “Whoever you are, you must be watching me with hidden cameras, speaking through concealed intercoms, and tapping into my phone line, trying to freak me out and make me leave. But I’m not going anywhere. If you don’t show yourself, I’m gonna call the sheriff and have this house searched until you’re found and dragged away in handcuffs.”
The woman giggled. “Oohhh, handcuffs, how kinky. There may be hope for you yet. Alright, dreamboat, I was waiting for the right time to reveal myself, to prepare you a bit more for my grand entrance. I mean, haven’t you seen enough horror movies, read enough scary books to know how important buildup is for this kind of thing?” She sighed. “But I guess I’ll do it now, since I need to speed up my schedule after that boneheaded phone call of yours. Just keep in mind that old saying—be careful what you wish for.”
I frowned, wondering what she meant by that. “Are you the one my mom left to look after me?”
“That I am, you sweet cookie, although maybe not precisely in the way she intended.”
I let out a long breath. “Then just come on out. Whatever the truth is, I can handle it.”
She tittered. “We’ll see about that. Well, ready or not, here I come.”
I’m not sure what I was expecting, maybe to hear the sound of a door opening somewhere and the sound of downtrodden footsteps making their way to the living room after being busted. But that sure as hell wasn’t what I got, which was a young woman appearing right before my eyes in front of the tv. She didn’t walk into the room and take up that position—one minute I was alone in the room, and then she was just there.
She was rather tall without being overly so, slender without being too skinny, with intense blue, no, violet eyes that seemed to sparkle, as if filled with glitter. She was clad in a pink top and skirt, her platinum blonde hair done up in a high, wavy ponytail and fixed in place with a large ribbon, accented with long, wispy tendrils of hair framing her pale, pretty face. No, that was wrong, I realized, studying her hair more closely. It wasn’t blonde at all, but a sheer, dazzling white that was brighter and purer than fresh snow—just like the woman in the portraits upstairs. I swallowed, scrutinizing her youthful face. It was the woman in the portraits upstairs! What was going on here?
Seeing the way I was gawking bewilderedly at her, she smiled and advanced toward me, holding out her hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you face to face, Richard. May I call you Ricky?” she said, her voice echoing a bit as if it were passing through something hollow. Which wouldn’t have been a big deal in and of itself if she hadn’t walked through the coffee table to get to me, stopping in the middle of it, her legs and skirt now immersed within the dense wooden furnishing.
And to compound this startling event even further, her movement had brought her directly into the light cast from the bright lamps, and I could now see through her. And not in the usual way, like what she was up to. I mean I could literally see through her, like one might look through a thin piece of fabric held to a light, observing the fuzzy image of the tv through her chest against the opposite wall.
My rational side fought against all the pieces I’d gathered that evening as they assembled in my brain nonetheless, forming a picture that was nearly impossible to accept by any modern sane person. Cold ants danced down my spine, my blood turning to chilled slush as my jaw became lead and dropped wide open.
“What’s the matter, Ricky baby?” the young woman asked with a teasing smirk. “Why, you look like you’ve just seen a ghost!”
That’s exactly what I was looking at, I realized. Having come to this conclusion, I did the only thing any reasonable person could do in my position.
I fainted.
The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was an unfamiliar ceiling splashed with sunlight filtering in through an unfamiliar window. I heard some low noise in the background, maybe a tv or something. I glanced toward the window, seeing the backrest of a couch.
So I’m on a couch, I thought, and just like that everything came back to me—finding my mom’s not-so-dilapidated house, exploring the well-kept interior, and finally that startling but also disturbingly sexy hallucination right before I zonked out. Yes, that’s what it was, I convinced myself, nothing but a hallucination brought on by the stress of being in my mom’s home.
That finely-crafted delusion lasted for about five seconds, at which time a woman’s head, through which I could still see the ceiling, appeared over me. “‘Good morning, sleeping handsome, or should I say afternoon? You were really piling up some z’s there, sleeping through the night and all morning like that. Mr. Sandman must’ve blasted you good with that magic beam of his, I just wish he’d hit me like that once in a while!”
My hands seized at the couch, my world suddenly feeling very wobbly. “Fuck, you’re real!” I gasped, trying but failing to sink into the material of the couch. “You’re a ghost, and you’re real!”
The head laughed. “Well, I’ll say one thing about you, Ricky baby, your powers of observation are truly astounding.”
I shook my head back and forth so vigorously I expected it to fly off and hit the wall. “No, no, this can’t be,” I mumbled. “Ghosts don’t exist, especially during the day.”
A transparent hand appeared, and tapped her see-through lip. “Is that so? Hmm ... well, I guess I and all the other ghosts out there missed that memo, didn’t we? Good thing, or you could be in real trouble. Now, would you like to sit up and have a real conversation like adults, or do you want to continue cringing on the couch like a scared schoolboy about to wet himself?”
Thus challenged I took a deep breath, and with a monumental effort I forced myself into a sitting position. I was careful to avoid coming into contact with her head as she continued to hover over me, her slight smile indicating she found my efforts to avoid touching her amusing. Once I’d righted myself she drifted over to a nearby easy chair, sitting, or should I say floating, just above the seat. “Okay,” I said, willing myself to remain calm instead of running screaming for the door, “How about we begin by—”
“Shhh!” she said, putting a finger to her lips, her gaze fixed on the tv. “Victor’s on right now. Man, he’s so hot, he could jump my bones anytime. Assuming I knew where they were, that is.” Another laugh. “Anyhoo, wait until it goes to commercial. And in the meantime, be a pal and shut the curtains, would ya? I just had them open to help you out of your apparent coma. Contrary to your ghostist views I don’t mind the day shift, but too much sunlight is fucking irritating, and plays havoc with my materialization.”
I glanced at the tv, seeing that the soap opera The Young and the Restless was on, pondering on how strange and surreal my life had become in the span of a day. Here I was in an apparently haunted house, watching daytime soaps with a ghost. But in the plus column, she obviously didn’t intend to harm me, or she would have done so by now. I repeated this to myself for courage as I got up and closed the curtains.
Once the curtains were shut I looked back to the specter, who was still absorbed in her program. She seemed more solid now that the sunlight had been banished, more translucent than transparent, allowing me to make out her finer details. Her skin was pallid, of course, with a slight bluish tinge that gave it a bit of character. She was clad in a pink poodle skirt with cats embroidered along the hem, as well as a matching light form-fitting sweater top which did a fantastic job of accentuating what were, or used to be, a pair of the most impressive breasts I’d ever seen.
For the rest of this contest entry you need a
Registration + Paid Premier Membership
If you have an account, then please Log In
with a Free Account (Why register?)