5 comments/ 34671 views/ 36 favorites Neighbourhood Mom By: g00db0i A brief tale of erotic horror. It doesn't end well for Our Hero, so if that's not your schtick, read elsewhere. --- "You *do* have the key." It was a statement, not a question. "Yes, Jan. I've got the damn key. Hang on." I dug around in my pants pockets, then my jacket, then inside my jacket, then: "aHA!" I crowed as I produced a single bronze key from my shirt pocket. Grinning at my wife, Janice, I slid it into the deadbolt, and unlocked the door. "Milady," I said mockingly as the door swung open. Within, the hardwood floors gleamed as we stepped inside. "Jesus," Janice breathed as we walked through the empty house. "I still can't believe it, really. What a deal!" I shrugged as we went from room to room. "Look at that counter - do you think it's real marble?" "That's what the agent said." I slid my hand down the slick polished surface of the island in the middle of the kitchen. Stainless steel appliances gleamed in every corner while our shoes tapped on the tiled floor. "There's gotta be something wrong with it," she said, shaking her head. "Like it's built over an indian burial ground or someth- wow!" We passed through the sunroom, where an infinity pool lay silent and empty and the floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over an expansive yard. "The agent said that the lady had to get rid of it fast, and I guess she did." "At that price, we were lucky to get it at all." "No kidding. We got twice the house for half the price." I ribbed Jan in the side. "How's about we go on up to the bedrooms and see-" *DINGDONGDINGDONGDINGDONGADINGDONG* "-if we can change that doorbell." I pulled a face. The bell sang its song again, and we looked at each other. "After you," I gestured towards the front of the house. "Welcome to the neighbourhood!" Enthused the woman on the other side of the door as we opened it. She was short, no taller than 5"3, at least half a foot shorter than my willowy wife, and wore a bright red, flared sundress with white polka dots. Her frosted hair, so bright in the direct sunlight that I couldn't tell if it was white or merely platinum blonde, tumbled down over her shoulder in light waves. She reminded me strongly of Morgan Fairchild, only her face didn't seem frozen with botox as she smiled. Vivid green eyes smiled with her. "Hello!" She said, proffering a large Tupperware container with a tan lid. "Hi," we said in unison, then gave each other a look. "I'm Regina. Regina Matronalis. I'm your next door neighbour, but you can call me Gina." She gestured with her head at a bright-yellow bungalow on the next lot over. "I saw the moving truck and I thought I'd come right over and drop off a little housewarming treat. I hope I'm not interrupting anything?" "No! No, come right in," Jan said, waving on our neighbour, and we parted to let her in. Regina passed between us; a narrow white belt was wrapped around her, emphasizing her wasp-waist. The flared skirt of her dress *swished* as she walked, the hem skirting below her knees, but revealing a set of surprisingly firm calves perched atop a pair of gleaming white pumps with stiletto heels. Not bad for a woman who looked like she might be on the wrong side of 55. "Right through here. It can be the first thing in our kitchen!" "Oh I know where the kitchen is, sweetheart." Regina said, mildly. "I was good friends with the previous owners, Nicholas and Holly." "Really?" We said in unison, suddenly intrigued as we followed this stranger into our own kitchen. "Do you know what happened? Why they had to sell the place?" "Tragic, really." The platinum curls shook as she shook her head. "Nicholas simply up and vanished one day. No note, no trace. As if the air swallowed him up. Holly was devastated; she held on for a year, but I guess she just couldn't keep the place with all the memories." Gina placed the tupperware on the kitchen island. "I'm sorry dears, I didn't catch your names?" "Oh, shit. I'm Marcus, and this is my wife Janice. I write, she has a real job pushing papers. We're the MacNichols." "Lovely to meet you, Marcus," Gina held out a hand, and I shook it. Her fingers were warm, and lingered in my palm a few moments longer than they had to. Those kelly-green stared straight into mine, and I felt as though I were being appraised. "And you Janice," they shook hands. "And these," she pried open the lid of the container, which popped and suddenly a warm, cinnamony scent filled the kitchen. "Are my one-of-a-kind, secret recipe, life-changing, Housewarming Cookies. I'm the neighbourhood mom, and it's my job to keep the treats flowing." I peered inside, where a couple dozen cookies lay neatly stacked. They didn't appear particularly life changing, though the chocolate chips looked good. The smell, however, made my mouth water. "Well, who could resist a pitch like that?" We reached in and each pulled one out. I bit into it and my mouth came to life with taste, the warm sweet cinnamon laid over something else my tongue couldn't identify but filled it. My face felt flushed as I chewed and swallowed. I took another, bigger, bite, eating the rest of the cookie. "Oh my gofsh!" I ejaculated, crumbs spraying. "Gina, thefshe are fantashtic!" Somehow, I felt more awake, more excited. It was like the spice in the cookie had cleared out the front end of my consciousness. "Yeah, they're pretty good," Jan said without much enthusiasm as she swallowed her first bite, laying the cookie on the counter. My hand snapped out and snatched it up. Gina laid her hand, soft and warm, atop mine. "Enjoy the cookies, dears." She said, quietly. "I'll leave you to it. I'm sure you two have a lot of work to get to." "These are amazing!" I said, shoving Jan's discarded cookie in my mouth. "You don't like fthem?" "No," she said, emphatically. "I'm going to go wash my mouth out, then we're going to unload the truck." "More for me!" I shouted after her as she retreated to the bathroom. I snatched another cookie. How could she not *like* these? --- All told, there were thirty-six cookies in the box. They didn't quite last through the week, even with just me eating them. The first half were gone in a day or so, and once I realized how quickly they were vanishing, I started to ration them. Somehow, waiting a couple of hours between cookies made them taste even *better*, and I found myself spending a *lot* of time thinking about the next opportunity I'd have to get a cookie, and since I was home by myself almost every day, that added up to a lot of thinking. Nonetheless, they couldn't last forever, and by the end of the week I found myself standing in the kitchen, looking forlornly at the empty container, and running my finger around the sides to catch any stray crumbs that remained. Idly, I wondered what would happen if I licked it; would there be any traces to pick up or- *DINGDONGDINGDONGDINGDONGADINGDONG* "Good morning, Marcus honey!" Gina said as I opened the door. "You don't mind if I come in, do you?" She was wearing a knee-length, sleeveless pencil dress in a green floral print that matched her eyes with a similarly-coloured kerchief keeping her hair back. The dress fabric skimmed closely over her curves, which were surprisingly trim for a woman her age, exaggerating and showing off that spectacularly slender waist again. Although it was buttoned up to her neck, her bust swelled the front of the dress impressively. Opaque black hose hissed as she strode past me into the house, mirror-black pumps clicking on the hardwood. I thought for a moment about protesting the damage to our new floors, but then I saw the plastic container she held cradled in her arms. "Not at all!" I said, suddenly excited. Like a puppy, I followed Gina into the kitchen. I could smell that subtle, under-the-cinnamon aroma as I trailed after her, and my mouth started to water. "I thought perhaps you two were finished with the cookies, and I could get my container back," she said as she walked into the kitchen. "Ah! There it is!" Gina laid down the new box and peered into the old. "I see you two sweethearts enjoyed them?" "Um, well-" I began. "*I* did, anyway. I don't think Jan liked them very much." "Oh what a shame," Gina said, clucking her tongue. "I suppose that means you won't want-" "More cookies?" I asked eagerly. She laughed, and I could see her breasts shift slightly in her dress. "Don't be greedy," she said, gently remonstrating me. "These are muffins. My Settle-In muffins." "Oh," I was suddenly downcast. "But they're made with my special secret ingredient," Gina's nose wrinkled as she gave me a conspiratorial wink. "But I'd hate to think they're not welcome here. If Janice doesn't like them, then maybe I should-" "No!" I said, more emphatically than I'd intended. "They're welcome, they're welcome. *I* want them!" Gina chewed one surprisingly plump lip thoughtfully. "I *could*," she began, "but I really don't want your wife to think I'm dumping all this terrible food off at her house." Her tongue traced a circuit around her lips and I found myself watching it, slightly dazed and wanting only to rip open the container she'd brought in. "But I *hate* to disappoint such a nice young man as yourself. I'll tell you what -- if you can keep it our little secret, if you can make sure to hide them from Janice, then I'll keep you supplied with treats for as long as you like." "Uh," I began. "I'm not really sure how comfortable I am with-" "Oh it'll be easy!" Gina suggested, cracking open the top of the container and letting out more of that heady, spicy aroma. "A young, *modern* woman like Janice probably doesn't even know her way around the kitchen, does she? Not like some old fashioned homebody like myself. I bet you could stash these here easy and she'll never know!" "You're not wrong," I said, uncertainly. I peered into the container, where a dozen (a *dozen*!) muffins waited, with the promise of more (as many as I wanted!). "Okay, you've got a deal." "A secret, you mean," she giggled. "We've got a secret. Just a little white one." "Right, right we've got a secret," I agreed. Gina reached into the tupperware and pulled out one of the muffins. Her fingernails were long but well-kept, and painted kelly green. I plucked it from her fingers and bit into it; I stifled a tiny moan as the flavour flooded my mouth, waking up heretofore dead tastebuds. "Mmmmm," I said, closing my eyes. "Just a little white one," Gina repeated. Standing on her tiptoes, she kissed my cheek. "After all, the neighbourhood mom has to take care of her special boys, doesn't she?" That sounded a bit odd, but I could get weird about it later. Right now, I was too busy overwhelming my senses with flavour. "Same time next week?" She asked, picking up the empty box. "Itsh a date!" I said, mouth full of muffin. "Good boy," the neighbour said, a warm smile crossing her features. Had her mouth always looked so luscious? I swallowed my mouthful and took another bite, feeling my cheeks getting flushed. "Eat up, honey." She patted my cheek. "There's more where that came from." And then she was gone, stalking out the front door on her heels. I polished off the muffin, and reached in for a second. I wasn't until I bit into the second that I noticed I was sporting a semi-hardon. --- Time passed, and with it a steady flow of baked goods through our kitchen. Gina was right; it was easy to keep them a secret from Jan. I kept the containers tucked away in the back of the cupboard where the pots lived; she never found them, and every Thursday morning like clockwork, our neighbour appeared with another. Cupcakes, cookies, muffins -- even a pie, once. "How *are* things, Marcus?" Gina asked as I cut myself a slice. "Is Janice well? I see her so rarely." A tall cork-heeled wedge sandal dangled from one foot as she sat on one of the stools around the kitchen island; a red gingham strap arched across her toes, matching the sleeveless blouse she was wearing -- she'd left a couple of buttons open to reveal a surprisingly deep cleavage in the summer heat. Her capris were a dark indigo and appeared to be painted on, showing off the finely-turned curves of her calves and ankles, as well as the broad sweep of her hips. It was the most skin I'd ever seen her showing off, and it marked first time I noticed just how pale she was; not merely white but a porcelain pale that was practically translucent. At the same time, it appeared shockingly smooth, devoid of varicose veins or the usual spotting I would have expected from a woman of her apparent age: somehow it was like undisturbed milk. "Things are okay, I guess." I said, lifting the slice out onto a plate. It was still warm and steaming, as if it had just come off Gina's windowsill. "Just okay?" She pouted, her bottom lip looking surprisingly full this morning. Probably just the pink lipgloss she'd applied earlier. "Don't forget the cream, dear." I spooned a dollop of her homemade cream on to the plate. It was slightly runny in the heat, but somehow looked divine. "Yeah, well." I took up a forkful. "Everybody's got problems, you know?" I slid the fork into my mouth; the cream as cool and slightly viscous and set off the warmth of the pie wonderfully, and I closed my eyes to better savour the it. When I opened them again after swallowing, I found Gina staring at me intently. I felt the colour rising in my face as the taste of the pie filling lingered on my tongue for a moment, making it tingle. "Are you sure you don't want any? I feel like a pig, eating it all by myself." "Oh no, honey. I have to watch my figure, you know." She ran a hand down her side, resting on her rounded hip. Her figure didn't seem to need any watching, but I had to drag my eyes up out of the depths of her cleavage. I shifted uncomfortably and looked down at my pie. "What kind of problems? You can tell me, Marcus." She laid one warm hand on top of mine and squeezed, reassuringly. "Well," I said, taking another bite. "Just, um, bedroom stuff. You know, nothing serious. Just, things have been slowing down a bit lately." Which was true, as far as it went. If anything, I'd been super-eager of late, waking up each morning with a huge hard-on that didn't seem to go down appreciably for hours, but Jan kept begging off. "She says my breath is foul," I complained. "That makes it hard to, you know-" I made a helpless gesture with the fork, then took another bite. "I don't know what it is, I'm brushing my teeth three-four times a day." I licked my fork clean. Gina's kelly-green eyes sparked in the sun as it streamed in through the kitchen window. "You have a little something, dear. Right here." Her tongue peeked out of her mouth to swipe at the corner; I followed suit. "Whatever it is, I'm sure it'll sort itself out, dear." "I hope so," I said, through a full mouth. "We're not even in our thirties yet. It's way too soon to stop having sex, you know?" "I understand," she said. "Everybody has needs." Gina patted my free hand as I swallowed the last bite of the slice I'd cut. "Anyway, I must be getting back. Same time next week?" Her breasts jiggled underneath her blouse as she jumped down from the stool. "Hell-" "Language, Marcus." She admonished with a finger. Suddenly cowed, I shrank a little. "Heck yeah," I enthused. "Good," Gina scooped her empty container up under her arm, and strode towards the kitchen door. As she retreated, I took the time to unabashedly watch the syncopated motion of her hips and rounded behind as they sashayed out of my kitchen in her skintight pants; at the door, she paused, and turned. "Don't forget to eat up all that cream," she instructed. "Marcus, is there something on my pants?" She reached down to brush one prominent globe. Suddenly embarrassed at being caught out staring at my neighbour, I stammered out a reply. "N-no. Nothing. I thought there was, but it must have been a trick of the light." Underneath the counter, I slid my hand away from my needy cock, suddenly rock hard in my pants. "Of course," Gina said, smiling. "Same time next week?" "I wouldn't miss it for the world," I said, red in the face. "I know you wouldn't, darling." Then she was gone. --- It was around that time the dreams started. Not always the same dream, but close enough that the differences got blurry when I tried to recall them. They always started at my house. Not the new one I bought with Jan, but my childhood home, my parents' house. I know because they began with me staring at the cracked chrome bumper that rimmed our kitchen table, a relic from one grandparent or another. But my parents' house never smelled so good. My own mother, no deft hand in the kitchen herself, had never been much of a baker, and only did so for birthdays, usually to disastrous results. As such, the kind of warm, delicious, comforting aroma that filled and surrounded me was alien to my childhood, but not to my dreams. So I sat there, inhaling and relishing it and letting the warmth suffuse through my body. I felt hands on my shoulders, and then nails scratching down over my chest -- had I been wearing shirt before? I couldn't remember. "*Breathe*," a familiar female voice whispered in my ear. "It feels so good to just relax and *breathe*, doesn't it?" "Mhm," I agreed, a beatific smile spreading across my face while I filled my lungs. "Let it fill you," the voice breathed. "Let the bad air out...let the good air in. It feels so good to just let everything go and let the smells of mother's kitchen fill you, doesn't it?" "Yeah," I said, relaxing in my chair as the perfumed air filled me up with warmth. Soft fingers stroked down. "Bad air out." Hard nails scored tingling trails upwards. "Good air in." Fingertips traced across my stomach. "Out." Scratching across the trail of pubic hair leading downwards into my pants. "In." Skin sliding over my bare thighs (had I been wearing pants before?). "Out." Nails tickled up the length of my hardening length. "In." Fingers wrapped around my shaft and stroked downwards, slowly. "Out." Then up. "In." I looked down in my lap as ghostly-pale hands worked my manhood, which had swollen to a size I'd never seen before. "It feels so good to let out all the bad," the voice whispered. "And let in all the good." "So good," I agreed, happy to let the hands take control of my member. "Would you like a treat, Marcus honey?" The hands on my shaft felt like a continuous warm tube, gently massaging and pulling on my meat. "Yes please." A plate, piled high with steaming cookies appeared on the table. "Now be careful dear, they're hot." Looking over my left shoulder, I saw Gina standing there, wearing a crisp white apron; crimson lettering across the front read 'MOTHER KNOWS BEST.' Her stiletto heels were the same colour, as were her lips and fingernails -- and they all glistened wetly in the light. She smiled at me, and the hands wrapped around my shaft squeezed and corkscrewed around. "Go ahead," she said. "Try them. They're baked fresh, just for you." I watched as she turned around to close the oven; her back was bare, nothing but an expanse of creamery-smooth, white skin, broken only by the apron's ties, knotted in twin bows at the nape of her neck and above the firm, muscular globes of her ass. One of the hands on my cock began rubbing furiously at the head as I stared at her, reaching blindly for a cookie. She bent at the waist to shut the oven door, and I watched as all the muscles in her legs bunched and sculpted themselves and if I craned my neck *just* so, I could almost see... "What about me?" Jan whined. Reluctantly, I tore my eyes away from Gina to look over my right shoulder, where my wife was standing, holding a plate similar to the one on the table. She was also wearing an apron, stained and dingy grey and bearing the legend 'WHAT ABOUT WIFEY'? The ghostly hands slid away from my cock, and I was suddenly aware of a different smell. Jan laid her plate on the table in front of me, and I could see that the cookies on it had succumbed to mold and corruption. Instinctively, my nose wrinkled. "I'm your wife, Marcus. Try one of mine, first." I could feel my cock shrinking, shrivelling up. Neighbourhood Mom The oven door slammed, and I could hear Gina's heels make sharp reports on the linoleum as she walked over. As our neighbour stood next to my wife, who towered over her by almost a foot, I noticed for the first time just how *thin* Janice was. They both appeared to be wearing nothing but aprons, and I could see the stark difference between Gina's luscious curves and my wife's lean bony-ness. Jan's legs looked like sticks compared to Gina's sculpted muscle, and there was simply no contest between the slice of half-moon peeking out behind the curtain of our neighbour's apron and Jan's skinny little butt. I watched as Gina raised a finger to admonish Janice, looking up into my wife's peevish expression, and my mouth watered as a wealth milky sideboob came spilling out of her the apron as she did so. "Don't you pressure him, young lady." The platinum blonde cautioned. "Marcus is free to choose whichever cookies he wants. Yours or mine," the ghostly hand brushed against my cock. "In fact," she said, "I bet what he could really use right now is some milk to wash those cookies down. Here, sweetheart." Gina turned to face me, and reached behind her neck. The apron ties fell slack, and the front of her apron began to gracefully droop, then descend and- I woke up. Sweating and short of breath and hard as a rock I sat ramrod-straight up in bed. "Jesus, are you alright?" Jan's said, in a sleepy, pillow-muffled voice. "Yeah, just- just a dream." She raised her head from the pillow, and regarded the huge tent I was pitching in the sheets. It had been a couple of weeks now since we'd last had sex. "Must have been some dream," she said with a lazy smile. Under the sheets, her hand snaked over my thigh and wrapped around my cock. Unbidden, the thought of those moldy cookies, lying rotten on the plate filled my head, and my dick began to rapidly soften. She made a disgusted noise, and rolled over. "'S what I get for trying to be nice, I guess." Soon the soft noise of her snoring filled the room. Still awash in sweat, I peeled myself out of the bed and padded downstairs to the kitchen, where I poured up a glass of milk, and retrieved a cupcake from the secret stash in the pots and pans cupboard. Chewing thoughtfully, I gazed out the kitchen window at the bright yellow bungalow next door; there was a light on in the back, and I could see a shadow moving behind a drawn shade. "Wow, up and baking already?" I said, softly. I took another bite, letting the tingly warmth overwhelm my tongue. I knew I should be worried about Jan's reaction, about the way my cock reacted, about my dream, but it all seemed so distant, somehow. It was easier to just let go of the worry and eat my cupcake. Sitting at the island, watching the shadow pass back and forth, I let my mind conjure up the image of our neighbour, wondering if she was baking naked in heels, bending over her oven, pushing that cushioned behind out, licking batter from those long, slim fingers, getting frosting on her wet, crimson lips, so pouty and achingly kissable and- I bit my lip and grunted, hunching over the countertop as I fisted my cock. I stuffed the last of the cupcake into my mouth, wondering what her nipples looked like, whether those milky, pendant, mature tits were still brimming with milk and if she'd let me drink from her to wash down whatever she happened to be baking for me over there, all luscious curves and silkysmooth skin and subtly spicy aroma and- "Fffuck," I bit back a moan as a tidal wave of pleasure washed through me. Thick gouts of my own cum splattered noisily against the underside of the countertop as I milked it out, sucking the last of the cupcake frosting from my own fingers. I panted and shook and grunted as my orgasm swept through, eventually coming down to a kind of sober clarity as I felt my semen dripping back down onto my thighs, cold and spent. "What the hell am I doing?" I stood up, and grabbed a fistful of paper towels. "Jesus, I need to get laid." --- Not long after, Thursday morning found me seated in the kitchen, fingers idly drumming against the empty plastic container that had held Gina's cupcakes, watching the door with steadily growing anxiety. Our usual time -- ten o'clock -- came and went and nothing happened. By Noon, I was pacing the floor, wondering if I had done something wrong, if I had said something wrong. The notion was ridiculous, of course. Gina had been nothing but gentle and kind and sweet to me. I wondered if something had happened to her. Glancing out the kitchen window, I saw her shadow passing back and forth behind the shade. My nameless fear somewhat assuaged, I sat back down on the stool and kept an eye on the door. My stomach started growling around two, and I realized I hadn't eaten anything all day. Standing up, I stretched, popping aching joints in my knees and hips and began poking through the cupboards. Hunger gnawed at me but nothing in the pantry caught my eye, nor did anything in the refrigerator. I slammed it shut and opened the tupperware, turning it upside down. A few crumbs sprinkled across the countertop, and I picked them up with a moistened fingertip. I sat down again, suddenly embarrassed for getting all worked up over, what? cookies? I shook my head, stood up, opened all the cupboards, then closed them again. I played with my phone. I washed down the counters. I swept the floors and scrubbed the sink and God help me I scraped the burned-on food from the glass surface of our stove. "Holy shit what happened here?" Jan asked when she came home from the office at 5:30. "Nothing," I said curtly. "I just cleaned. I do do that, you know." "Alright, calm down." She raised her eyebrows. "What's for supper, anyway?" "Fuck I don't know, but I'm so hungry." "Did you eat at all today?" "I don't remember." I said, sullen. "Well, how about we go out somewhere for dinner?" Jan looked at her watch. "We can make a date of it, go to that Korean place you like." I made a face. "I'm not really feeling up for going out. How about we order in and have a date night at home?" "Sure!" Her features brightened immediately, as she walked over to the island and pulled open the drawer to fish out the phonebook. "Hey, where'd the tupperware come from?" "Oh," I said. "Uh, I think it's Gi- whatshername's? The neighbour's?" "Oh right," it was Jan's turn to pull a face. "The cookies. Well if she's not going to come back for it, I guess I'll walk it over." She picked up the container and a sudden wave of jealousy swept over me. "NO!" I said, louder than I'd intended, but feeling suddenly very stupid about not having thought of that before. "I mean- I'll bring it back tomorrow, babe. How about we just get dinner?" "Okay, okay Romeo," Jan said, smiling. She gave me a peck on the cheek. "That prescription toothpaste we got for you is finally kicking in, I think." Flipping open the phonebook, we picked a Chinese place more or less at random and phoned in a selection of our usual favourites. "I'll be back in twenty, twenty-five minutes. Tops." Jan said. "Unless you want to come with?" "No I'm good," I said. "Maybe I'll crack a bottle of wine while you're gone." "Great idea!" She enthused. "Don't get into trouble while I'm out." I laughed. A minute later, she was gone. As soon as I heard our car pull out of the driveway, my eyes drifted over to the tupperware. In my head, I quickly did the math on how long it would take to dart next door, see Gina, and swap the empty for another selection of goodies. Before Jan had turned off of our street, I was quietly slipping out the front door, container tucked under my arm. As I crossed her lawn, for the first time, I noticed how long the grass in front of Gina's house seemed to be, and realized I'd never seen anybody out there mowing it. Maybe I'd offer to do it for her later, in exchange for an extra dozen cookies or something. Standing on her front step, I tapped my foot while the doorbell rang out a single, sonorous *BONG* after I pressed the button. Listening to the reverberations as they died away, I impatiently glanced around, looking for motion through gauzy curtains in her front window. Her doorframe and window trim looked like they were going rotten as well, flaking away under a thin veneer of whitewash. Up-close, the bright yellow siding appeared to be clapboard as well and- "Marcus, *darling*! Hello!" Gina enthused as her door swung open, releasing a cloud of spicy warmth; a sudden relief washed through me. Her dress was black with white polka-dots and fell to knee-length; bright, pearlescent buttons traced down the front of it while a satin ribbon encircled her waist. A string of pearls lay in the deep V exposed by three undone buttons, and fell over the upper slopes of her cleavage. "What brings you over this lovely evening?" "I-uh," I began, suddenly feeling like a 15 year old boy asking a girl to the spring formal. "I just wanted to-uh, I mean, I'm returning this, um-" I raised the empty container. "Oh no!" She said, raising one delicate hand to her brightly-painted mouth. "Did I forget? Is today Thursday?" I nodded. "Well, luckily for you young man, I was *just* finishing a whole tray of cookies. Won't you come in?" Gina stood to one side, and waved me in. Grinning, I stepped inside her house. The front hall was dark - poorly-lit and papered in a dismal green print. "Straight on down to the kitchen, Marcus." Gina said behind me as she shut the door. I followed her directions, but couldn't help peeking in on the rooms as they opened up off the hallway; there was a sitting room and a small study, both very dim and apparently very dusty. Motes of it hung thickly in the air as I passed by. The sound of my footsteps and Gina's tall black heels was swallowed up in the silence of the place even as we walked on the hardwood floors. "There's no, uh, *Mister* Matronalis?" I asked. The sofa in the living room was buried under a thick plastic cover that looked as though it could withstand a nuclear blast. "Oh no," she said, coming up behind me. "Not for many, many years. Which is not to say that I don't have my gentleman callers." A hand pressed into the small of my back and pushed me along with surprising strength. The kitchen, at least, was bright and polished, under the glare of the lights; every surface appeared to be immaculate: countertops, stovetop, refrigerator. A lime-green table ran the length of one wall. Its chrome bumper -- so much like my parents' that a chill ran down my spine -- shone. Laid out on the table were a couple of thick ceramic bowls, freshly-cleaned and spotless, a single glass bowl with a wet-looking pastry brush and (most importantly) a wire rack full of cookies, glistening in the light. My mouth flooded with saliva instantly and I felt my heart-rate pick up. I looked back at Gina; a sly smile was creeping over those pillowy red lips. "Can I...?" I said, gesturing at the table. "Of course, dear." She waved me on. "Be careful. They're a still little sticky. I *just* finished glazing them." "Glazing them?" I asked, picking one up and shoving it in my mouth. It was gooey and warm and I couldn't suppress a satisfied moan as that deliciousness, so much more intense than before, filled me up with warmth. My fingertips were slightly sticky with that gooey glaze, and I licked them clean after swallowing my cookie, savouring the spicy sweetness and feeling a new thrill between my legs. "Mmmmmm." She laughed and strode past me to pick up the pastry brush. "That's my secret ingredient," Gina said. "Do you want to lick it clean?" I took the proffered brush and jammed it in my mouth, noisily slurping at it like a child, tongue searching the bristles for each particle. My neighbour watched as I did, idly fingering her pearl necklace while her gaze raked over me. "It's good, isn't it?" She asked in a slightly husky tone. "Yeah," I agreed. "It's amazing. What is it?" "Do you really want to know?" Gina bit a lip. "God, yes." I enthused. "Tell me." "It's an old family secret," she said. "But you have to promise me you won't tell anybody." "I promise!" I said, without hesitation. "It's no joke," Gina warned. "Do you swear on your life?" I licked my lips, searching for a taste of her glaze. "Yes! I swear on my life, on whatever you want. Anything! Just tell me." "I take promises *very* seriously, Marcus." She said. "There's no backing out of it. Give me your hand and swear." Gina extended one delicate hand. "I swear, I promise, I solemnly give my oath I will not tell a soul." I took her hand. Gina's skin was warm but silky smooth, like nothing I'd felt before. Her hand slid from mine after a moment, and there was a sudden sharp pinch. "Ow! Shit." Looking down, there was a tiny streak of blood in my palm, and a pinhead bead of it welled out of a scratch. "Oh I'm so sorry," she apologized, raising one long fingernail to her mouth. I watched as her tongue flickered out to touch it. "They're so sharp, sometimes I forget myself." Her fingernails traced down from her mouth over her pearls and the smooth skin of her cleavage. They drifted down past the ribbon cinching her waist. "Now, are you ready to learn my little secret?" Her fingers dropped to the hem of her skirt, where they toyed with one of the little pearl buttons, popping it open. "There's so much more where that came from." Another button popped open, exposing thighs as smooth and pale as porcelain. I licked my lips again, suddenly uncertain but powerfully aroused. "Yes?" I said, as a third button came undone. The upper reaches of Gina's thighs were coming into view, and I tried not to stare at the widening gap appearing in her skirt. "What- what are you-" "What does it look like, silly?" Gina laughed, and popped three more buttons. "Look, this is not what I was-" she parted the sides of her dress, and I stared, agog. Ironically, there was nothing to see; between her thighs was a smooth, featureless mound without crevice or crack, like a doll's. "Oh I'm sorry, hon. I have to keep things closed up, otherwise it can get a little too intense, even for me." As I watched, Gina spread her legs wider, and suddenly a dark seam appeared at the apex of her thighs, splitting then running back between her legs; it was a long, narrow strip of the purest white that suddenly fell back and away from her in a loose, eight-inch paper-thin ribbon that hung down from between her buttocks and revealed a long, narrow slit of the lightest rose-pink. Liquid dripped from the chiselled chevron point of her new appendage, splattering on the floor. The room was suddenly full of the scent, *that* scent; I could taste it in the back of my throat. "Oohhh, Marcus you have no idea how *good* this feels!" The skin along either side of that paper-cut-slim slit between her legs rippled and swelled up, then split like a time-lapse photograph of a crocus opening in the spring; six, thick, scarlet petals burst forth in a mesmerizing spiral, undulating gently around the oozing circular orifice in the middle. The sweet spiciness of her glaze hit me like a fist to the brain and I was suddenly overcome, senses reeling and overloaded; nausea and shock flooded through my body and I staggered backwards, away from her. That petite porcelain body, fully a foot shorter than my own, was somehow now radiant with power and imposing in that otherwise immaculate kitchen as that thick, sweet goo drooled from between her legs to pool between those mirror-black heels. "Oh my God, what is- what are-" I fumbled for words as I stumbled over my own feet, crashing down on my behind; Gina towered over me, and ran a hand between her legs. Those petals there moved to grip and caress her fingers, which came away sticky with viscous fluid; her heels clicked loudly against the tiled floor as she stepped towards me, fingers outstretched. "Does it matter?" She said, softly. My eyes locked on her fingers, on the goo cobwebbing between them, clear and sweet and spicy and so mouthwatering that I was drooling despite myself, even as I tried to scramble away. "It's so cute when you try to resist," Gina said with a giggle. "Marcus honey, we're bonded now. I've been feeding myself into you for *weeks*; I'm *inside* you, coiled around your heart and soul. That's what the dreams are about, sweetheart. And now, you're inside of me. You couldn't escape even if you wanted to. Even if you could run out of this kitchen and into the next county, you'd still be bound to me." She dragged a cold finger over the bridge of my nose, then across my mouth. "Without me to feed you, you'll wither away and die in abject misery." My tongue flickered across my lips, and a momentary, heated bliss filled my head. "See how happy I can make you? It's even better straight from the source." Fingertips pushed past my lips and into my mouth, where I began suckling like a baby. Between her thighs, I could see those thick petals writhing like the arms of a starfish, viscous fluid pouring forth in thick gouts while the narrow ribbon between her legs lashed back and forth. "Here. Try it." She yanked the fingers from my slack, anesthetized lips, and suddenly I was staring up at a pulsating, pouting mouth; cold hands slid through my hair and pushed my head forward. The undulating petals surrounding her orifice gently palpated my cheeks, forehead, chin, then grabbed my face with surprising force and dragged it inwards, creating a tight seal around my features. As my world became reduced to nothing but Gina's smell and taste, lips found mine, worked them open, and began to kiss with a will as her juices started to flow into my mouth. At first I struggled, desperate for air, pulling against her legs and thighs, but they were like columns of marble -- chilly and hard and immovable -- and I soon forgot about them anyway as gobbets of that sweet, spicy deliciousness filled my mouth and I had to swallow to keep from choking. Warmth filled my body as Gina's juices ran down into my gullet, her spice seeking out and finding a home in every nook and cranny, every inch of skin, every last corner of my extremities. Hands were pulling her away started to push her in, and my tongue darted in and out of her hole, drawing out more and more of her deliciousness. Everything was my tongue and mouth and cock, all hot as a furnace and hungry for more. I don't know how I long I was held there, how long I held myself there, and I didn't seem to need (or want) to breathe anymore. All sustenance and succor came dripping out of the singularity at Gina's core. Sometime later, she pulled my face from her molten self, and I blinked blearily upwards at her, as she smiled down upon me. I grinned back up at her beatifically, suffused with a heady satisfaction like I'd never known; pleasure thrilled throughout my body and brain. "More...?" I gurgled, my face and throat thick with her secretions. "Gina, more?" "I think it's more appropriate if you call me *Re*gina from now on, Marcus." She caressed my face with a cool hand, fingers dragging through the thick goo left plastered there. "I am your Queen now, after all." "Sure, yes, of course." I said. "Regina. My Queen." "I own you now, don't I my sweet?" "Yes, whatever you say, Regina. You own me." "Good boy," she said. "Did you know I had a servant named Marcus once before? Another lovely, good boy. Ah, Rome." She patted my cheek. "He was shorter than you, but broader. I wonder if that's the case all over?" Without warning, she dropped to her knees, legs athwart my prone body. There was a quiet, whispering noise as fabric tore under her fingernails, and suddenly my cock sprang free as she shredded my pants and underwear with a calculated swipe of her hand. "Oh that *is* lovely," she said in a quiet voice. Regina pressed my rampant cock, swollen and leaking beyond all belief, against her belly, her skin like ice compared to my heated flesh, but her coolness had no effect on my erection. "I think you've fed enough, don't you? It's my turn." Neighbourhood Mom Before I could say a word, Regina lifted her hips and fed the tip of my shaft into the sucking, slurping mouth between her legs. My eyes rolled back in my head as those undulating petals caressed and pulled at my member, feeding it deeper and deeper within her, into her cold, coiling, slick depths. "That's it, my little sweetmeat." Soon, her buttocks were resting atop my thighs as her insides corkscrewed and massaged my cock, while those thick, tonguelike petals began massaging my pendant sack. Plainly mortal, it was too much for me to bear for long; within seconds, I made a strangled noise deep in my throat. My toes curled and my balls jumped and suddenly the cum was rocketing out of me as one of my legs kicked underneath her. "Fffuck!" I grunted. "Fuck no fuck I'm sorry, I didn't mean to- it was so fast- fuck!" "Shh shh shh," she said, soothingly. "That's okay, sweetheart. Let it all out. Feed it all to me." Her body slurped and sucked and vacuumed up every drop of cum I had to give, leaving me exhausted and spent, body slack on her kitchen floor. Lying back on the tile, I watched as color blossomed beneath her skin, a rosy glow sparked from her abdomen and rapidly radiating outwards; chilly porcelain quickly warmed to a sunkissed tan while golden streaks bled into her platinum hair. "Oooh my," Regina's voice took on a rich purr. "That is just *so* good, honey. I want more." "Regina, I'm sorry, I can't just-" the floor was cold underneath me, and I could feel my shaft beginning to deflate inside of her. "I mean, I need a minute or two." "Silly boy," she laughed. "What makes you think you get to decide that?" Something cold and wet slithered up my outstretched thigh and between my legs; I tried to press them shut, but it was paper-thin and slick and suddenly lapping at my asshole. "You're finished when I *say* you're finished, not a moment before." Regina leaned in close, filling up my vision with her predatory grin and kelly-green eyes. "And believe me, sweetmeat. You're not even close to being finished." The chisel-tip of her appendage slid easily through my clenched hole, and slithered inside while my leg kicked in protest of the invasion. It felt like a cold stream of water had been poured inside of me and I shivered. "What *is* that?" I asked in a hushed voice. "Just my stinger, love. Just my stinger." "What?" "Here." I gasped in shock as her appendage swelled up inside of me, and she took the opportunity to lean in and kiss me, lips pressed against mine as her member grew inside my rectum, stretching it out. Regina's tongue forced its way into my mouth as she began to pump her engorged tail into my ass; I could feel a sick heat forming between my legs, beginning down deep in the core of my body. "It's very simple," she said. "I feed you." Her hips slammed down, forcing her appendage deeper inside of me. "So that you can feed me." She laughed as my cock began to swell again, rising up as I felt a furnace, fuelled by her secretions, building inside. "Ungh!" I grunted, and thrust my hips up into her coiling, corkscrewing hole as I felt my balls begin to fill and a familiar warmth spreading throughout my body. "That's it, honey." Regina said. "Enjoy it. It feels good, I promise." Her tail wriggled even deeper inside of me and I could feel the gooey liquid sluicing out of my asshole as she did. I groaned. "You're going to cum," she said. "And then you're going to cum. And cum. And cum. And cum until I'm full and your legs don't work anymore. Doesn't that sound like fun?" Her sucking hole bore down on me, practically slurping my swollen sac up inside of her. "And then, I'm going to carry you downstairs, and we'll begin again tomorrow." Her grin spread wider, manic, revealing what seemed to be each and every perfectly-polished white tooth. "You're going to *love* it. Each and every minute left to you will be filled with me and the bliss that I feed you, and the cream that you feed me." She kissed me again, deep, tongue sliding further down my throat than humanly possible. "It won't be a long life, but it'll be an enjoyable one, I promise." I started cumming again, legs kicking as cum shot from my balls like hot fire, wriggling and writhing on her swollen tail as her hole slurped up as much cream as it could. Heat blossomed throughout Regina's body as her temperature rose, her skin warmed, her hair became more golden. "So much energy!" She exclaimed. "When I'm done with you I won't have to feed for a year!" More thick goo coursed through my asshole, and I could feel my balls begin to fill again. I came. And came. And came until my tendons felt as though they would snap and my legs stopped flailing uselessly underneath her; until fireworks exploded in my peripheral vision and Regina's voice seemed to come from miles away; until my breathing came in hiccupy, ragged gasps and the floor beneath me was nothing but a puddle of her fragrant, spicy cream. She dismounted, and I felt warm arms slide underneath me as my asshole twitched and spasmed and released a torrent of juice. Head lolling to one side, I could see nothing but night beyond the kitchen window. I wondered if Jan would get a good price for the house, then unconsciousness took me. FIN