This is just the first chapter of the novel I wrote provided as a sample for potentially interested readers. Posting it mostly to see how Steemit handles long, long posts and various formatting. I'll post more if there is an interest shown down the road, but it would be after I start releasing the next novel as I'd have to remove this story from various archives to meet their TOS requirements.

A few warnings for this story: this story is pornographic. You must be at least 18 or of legal age to for your country to read such material. The story focuses on extreme themes that I, the author, do not condone nor encourage in real life and includes only fictional characters having no intended resemblance to anyone living or dead. If you would like to read the rest, you can find me at Adult-fanficiton.org, Asstr, and Archive Of Our Own. And do mind their tags, they are there to help you.

(Fun fact, all really permissive story archives are fan fiction sites and start with A apparently.)

Chapter 1: Sharon Snared

Mrs. Merral opened the front door to her country home and carried in her groceries into her spacious living room. Placing them on the entry table, she extracted her mail from one to sort in the warm sunlight coming from the door's little window. Many were bills. A few were junk.

One was not. There was no stamp nor any addresses written. Her own name was the sole writing upon the white envelope, in a fine cursive pen. Staring at her own name sent a hand unconsciously to the knot in her stomach. Just what she needed, she grumbled to herself, another letter from the nut-job. Opening a drawer in the entryway table, she filed her latest letter evidence into the secret box for them. The junk went in the trash.

Taking up her bags once again, she deposited the bills on the coffee table for later woeful enjoyment on her way into the kitchen. The big glass doors that made up one of the kitchens walls faced the same way as the front door, the same light brightening the white tile. Releasing the last of her burden on the table, she stretched. Something caught her eye, a shadow on the table.

Taped on the glass doors was a letter. A closer look revealed a little unassuming box on the ground below the intruding letter. Sighing, she put away her groceries while ignoring the furthering invasion of her life by some horny punk. Food found its temporary home and Sharon had to turn around to face the latest intrusion. She walked over to retrieve it.

She paused. The letter was inside the glass, as was the box. The freak had gotten inside? She listened hard to the silence inside her home. She almost smiled when it became clear she wasn't about to be jumped. Home invasion was something the cops had to take seriously.

Ripping the letter from the glass, she looked for her name again. The writing was different, blocky and hard pressed into the paper. The wiggling letters reminded her of her children learning to write. That wasn't a pleasant thought, as there was only one word on the letter.

 

Death

Frost crept up Sharon's spine. Every single letter so far had been weird, but in a horny teenager's prank way. Complementary jest on her body, rosy prose about her smell, and other nonsense a boy who hasn't learned to properly flirt might try. This wasn't bad flirting, this was a threat. Her eyes kept reading on their own, finding the rest in the usual fine cursive.

Hopefully I have your attention now. I am quite hurt such a luscious woman as yourself has been ignoring me and tossing my letters in the bin. I have put a lot of effort to find the words to capture your most desired attention.

Well, maybe more than just attention. Surely some bedroom companionship would be welcome. Your husband spends so much time away. I would be delighted to entertain you in his absence.

Oh, my condolences for the health of you and your children as well. I left you some medicine. I'm sure you are distrustful of my gift but please take it, for your family's health. At the very least, do not toss the box out just yet. After all, your family's stomach cramps and lightheadedness are a mystery from what I hear.

Antibiotics not working, I'm informed. In fact, Sherry should have collapsed at her school by the time you read this. No, no my sweet. Don't run away just yet. She will be fine, for now. My medicine will bring her back to you.

Now, I'm sure you wish to move your heavenly ass out the door, so one last piece of advice from your 'admirer'. I wouldn't mention any of this again. The poor officer before was so terribly heartbroken when his mother almost passed on so ... tragically. In fact, I implore you to mention this to no one. Not yet. Affairs are after all the most fun under the cover of "darkness".

With admiration.

The letter hit the floor and Sharon broke into a run. Her children were in danger from some crazy stalker!

The drive to the school was a blur, full of crazy driving and hasty phone calls. The more she thought about it, the more she was certain that sleazy letter-writer was leaving stalking far into the dust. Her phone calls did not go well.

The school nurse was surprised when Sharon burst into her office not twenty minutes after making her own call, but Sharon explained it away as best she could. The homemaker was sweating bullets and not just from fear. She was becoming shaky and weak, her body some terrible mix of dry and slimy.

There was still plenty of fear seeping from Sharon. Sherry had collapsed at lunch.

Fighting down her terror and speculation over what could be happening to them, Sharon began to coax her groggy daughter out the office. Catching the nurse's gaze, Sharon forced words out of her parched throat, "Can I take my other children home with me?"

The nurse glanced at the clock before nodding, "Not much time left anyway. Mike and Mia was in here earlier looking pretty sick. This is one nasty stomach virus going around."

Sharon blinked dumbly for a second before nodding. Maybe that was it, just a simple bug going around. A sleazy stalker would take advantage of that, right? Some prank to make themselves feel all powerful at her expense?

Laboriously, Sharon got her family gathered in her van with the help of the school nurse. Driving with extra care, Sharon worried more. She was seeing spots, the veins in her hands were visible, her head didn't want to hold a thought, and now, somehow, she was feeling strange urges to drive her van into random people. She was getting aroused imagining them breaking on her bumper!

All her life, Sharon had never thought of herself as a violent person. Stomach bugs don't put thoughts in your head, she knew, as she contemplated the implications. This had to be poison. Or a drug! Her children lolling in the back, she pulled the box out and made out the writing on it.

The illness will spread to your son and oldest daughter, but the taint will stay clear of the youngest and purest, for that flower will wither quickest of all.

In the rear view mirror, Sharon glanced at her Sherry, with her twin tails of red hair coming undone and her father's leaf green eyes fluttering. The girl looked to be perspiring in buckets, worse than her older siblings.

Paranoia gripped her. The last few days had been sniffles, bellyaches, some puking. The doctor had said they would be fine. Sharon hadn't even been sick until that letter showed up. That letter had done this. Letters were not something doctors could cure.

There was her pleading phone call, Sharon remembered as she tried to keep the van on the road. Her family's welfare may very well be in the hands of a poisoning stalker and now she couldn't risk looking for help. Officer Duncan, the policeman who said he couldn't help her without more evidence, had indeed nearly lost his mother last night. Nearly lost her because Emily Duncan had been mysteriously mugged on a well lit evening on the right side of town.

Poison in our veins and death threats against anyone who helps us, Sharon's aching mind chided as Sharon tried to think of another way out of this. There was only one way forward and she got her family home in hopes it would work.

After a dreadful evening of caring for her children while keeping herself upright, she prepared the bottle in the box as instructed. One bottle for one pot of stew. She fed it to her family, minus one and hoped she wasn't making a dreadful mistake.

Her son Mike, the spitting image of his father with brown hair but darker green eyes, had seemed to be the sickest by dinner time, but he managed to keep it down as his head hovered directly over the bowl. Sharon could have sworn she could see every beat of his heart in his neck.

Mia, her oldest daughter, had seemed almost fine but Sharon knew the teenager too well. She was like her stubborn father; too proud to admit she was anything but fine. Behind her great length of red hair, however, she kept closing her eyes as if to save energy. When her blue eyes made a rare appearance, they were blood shot. Her freckles were almost indiscernible on her flushed face, which normally were as pale as Sherry was now.

Her sweet Sherry. Any other day the girl was so tanned from all of her running around outside. Tonight, her head was on the table and she tried to feed herself without shifting. She was white as a ghost.

Her only remaining child was not there. Sharon had to find an excuse not to have little Sue around for dinner, so she sent her to a friend's house. Convincing the other mother that Sue would be fine had taken some doing, but the woman relented when Sharon told her that food poisoning wasn't contagious.

The fact, unfortunately, was that Dr. Callean didn't have any new answers when Sharon called. More antibiotics was the best the overpaid bitch could do. Sharon had chosen her last option then. Insanity.

After dinner laced with the dubious medicine, she shepherded her children upstairs and to bed. Nauseated herself, she sought out her own rest. She was too tired for much else.

Head pounding, she saw herself in her big bedroom mirror. At the moment, she didn't wish to be the woman looking back at her. Her brown, nearing black, hair didn't have the normal waviness but hung slack past her slender shoulders. Arms wrapped around herself and lifted up her breasts, still firm after breastfeeding four children. She smiled at that. Further down was a narrow waist, a pleasingly round hip, and curving long legs.

The other her smiled back and agreed that she had been lucky. At thirty-eight, she still remained beautiful. It was hard work, but between the struggle with kids and daily training, she had managed.

Her blouse and bra fell next to her feet. The Sharon in the mirror puffed out her proud and firm chest. She couldn't even make out the scars anymore, her 'enhancements' a rousing success. Except with her husband, mirror Sharon argued, whom it was she had her double-d breasts enlarged for. Mick was still gone most of the time. Gone and Sharon was sure screwing other women.

The Sharon in the mirror grew redder in the face. Her jeans and panties joined the rest of her clothes on the floor. Sharon looked for her nightgown. She wanted to retain her firmness, even if her husband didn't seem to care.

Her friend shook her head 'no' and Sharon's mind drifted off. The image of her husband with some hussy left her clouded mind, replaced with him as he was on their wedding night, clear as the other Sharon licking her lips. Her hand went down to her crotch, cupping herself firmly.

The queasiness seemed to disappear, but the fever grew and spread everywhere. Rubbing slowly, she remembered the cruise, her husband, and that sleepless night. She spread her lips and inserted her middle finger.

She sighed deeply. Her insides churned and she rubbed her clit, trying to keep pace with her husband, trying to recreate his crotch motions with her hand. Her finger gained speed like his impatient screwing had. Another hand was churning her left tit too, a poor replacement for his mouth.

Her hips began to sway back and forth. She inserted another finger as he shot his first load and kept pumping until he softened. Her friend in the mirror smiled back, now in Sharon's bed. She was licking her lips. Both of them were too hungry for the memory of soft kisses and playful flirtation. They needed him back inside. The two Sharon's lifted themselves onto all fours as they relived his renewed vigor. Her tits swayed with her as she struggled to keep him from making the bed squeak.

Sharon's body was on fire from lust and illness. Her fevered mind was back on that ship and rejoiced at both remembering and experiencing her bridal release. Her friend enjoyed it too, her tongue visible as it writhed around her wet mouth.

They had not cried out and Sharon was relieved she hadn't woken the kids. Too tired to fetch a nightgown, Sharon slumped down into her blankets and slept.

Two days passed before they were better. Her husband was home for one of those nights and he spent it caring for all of them along with their youngest, Sue. Monday came and he was off again, to Mexico this time. Sharon's children returned to school.

The homemaker stood in the front doorway with another load of groceries, sorting her mail. She was relieved that there had been no more letters from her stalker. Maybe he had gotten bored, she hoped. Maybe it had really been just food poisoning.

There was a shadow in her kitchen, the shadow forming a man sitting calmly at her table. He was sitting at her kitchen table sipping coffee from her husband's mug while scanning their magazines. She was indigent. Angry. She dropped her bags and went for her phone.

She was afraid. Was it poison that had made them ill, ferreted into them somehow? Was a policeman's mother hospitalized because Sharon had opened her mouth? Her musing broke when she saw her finger on the phone's one button. She dropped it. She couldn't risk the police here. Who knew what he might do? What he had done already?

The phone did nothing. She picked it up. The signal indicator showed her as out of range. Looking at the alarm system, she saw it was off as well. No, not just off but as if it was getting no power.

Sharon slowly returned her gaze to the kitchen. He was still there, seeming to be cloaked in his own shadow in a brightly lit kitchen. The only thing she could clearly make out was a narrow line of white, revealing a toothy smile.

A deep voice escaped the smile, "Come over here, dear , and let us talk. Of the present, past and future."

Would the security people send someone when she didn't pick up her phone? Did he poison them again? Could she still make it to her van? If she screamed really loud, would she be heard? What if they were poisoned again, would rescue just mean death? Would 'poison' be enough for the doctor to treat them this time?

Sharon didn't know what she should do. The right answer slipped away from her every time she tried to grasp it, a wrong answer gladly letting her take hold every time.

If she played along, she would learn of that right thing she should do. She'd find out his plan, no matter the price, and save her kids. Her groceries dropped to the floor, all but one savage hope left in her heart. The voice beckoned again and her feet began to move her forward on their own, taking her to a fate she couldn't get around.

Passing the coffee table, she noticed the dark, earth coloring of his hair. Skirting the chair, the shadows brightened to reveal not red clothing as the homemaker had guessed but worn-looking metal plates tinted the color of dried blood. In the light upon the tile, she saw past the plates to rough undyed wool clothes underneath and the huge frame of his body. Placing a hand on the chair, she made herself look toward his face. His skin was callused and tanned dark, like he rarely spent any time indoors. His nails were black, she saw as she sat down as far away as she could. Black, curved, and cut to be imitation claws.

A bellow-like throat clearing made her raise her eyes to his. Her last savage hope wavered as his eyes seemed to assure her that she was not seeing things. Narrowed as they were in glee, his impossibly sky blue eyes had a light; a light from a candle's flame.

Sharon wasn't too religious, but she knew this was a monster. More importantly, she feared he might actually be a devil, sent to punish her family.

Her eyes began to dart about, taking him in. Very real claws instead of nails and a cruelly built face. Tall frame, huge muscles under hard-used armor, inhuman eyes. He was watching her, her scrutiny making him happy. He was smiling, enjoying this.

"Such pretty eyes," he said, a huge voice whispering across the table, "I like the way they dance. Trying to ... understand."

She gave a low yelp, as if he had slapped her. His voice had a low growl like a hungry beast. Sharon felt herself tighten all over, readying to flee, "What do you want?" She had to stay, it was probably the right answer.

The stalker looked away to ponder her question. His eyes scanned to the front door over her shoulder. "For today, I would like you to go over there and pick up those foodstuffs. Cook me something. A lot of something. Do not worry about any of it going to waste, I am a very hungry ... man."

She forced herself up and back into the living room. His gaze was on her, her fear whispered, boring into her nether regions. Bags in hand, she returned and began to cook.

As she did, he talked behind her in his too big whisper, "It is regrettable that I have made you and your litter ill recently. You had to understand me, my sweet, so I have given all but the man and runt among you a little poison."

That loud whisper wasn't anything coy, Sharon realized, but his way of being threatening. Looking back, she saw his toothy smile. He had to keep talking. Her remaining little hope needed her to say something, to learn how to get her family away, "Thank you, mister, for giving us the antidote."

Chuckling lightly, the stalker made a face at her, like he was trying to look amused, "You misunderstand, luscious. That was no curative, that was another poison. It nullifies the other before taking up its own work. You shall receive the original again; very soon in fact. They both work the same way and they both ... linger. The more you take, the more of the counter you need. Each growing stronger in your blood each time."

The little hope in her chest flickered and he laughed loudly at whatever expression she must have made. "Do not worry, my pet. You will be fine. I would not waste my newly claimed properties by letting them die. I am not that ... wasteful."

"What you've ..." Sharon began, having to swallow bile to finish, "What you've claimed?"

He looked her dead in the eye, the light in his eyes glowing brighter, "Yes my pet, you and yours are mine. I do not care what title you address me as, so long as you do so properly as my ... thing. Lord, Master, Duke, does not matter, as long as you understand that you are mine. I claim more than just you and your litter, but others. Soon, this whole valley will be mine."

He raised a hand to stay what she was about to scream, "I know you do not understand. Know that you have no need to. I am the owner of this place now. That is final ."

Turning back to her absent minded stirring, she tried to ignore the whispers that his eyes had returned to her groin and rear. She prayed that the nut wouldn't rape her. She corrected herself, the devil. Even if he was human, there was no trace of humanity in him. If he beat up that old lady, poisoned a family, and intends to take up a lordship by such brutality, then he had to be inhuman.

Sharon tried not to get too close as she set his food in front of him, but her bending was obviously giving him plenty to see. She regretted her sundress then and wished he wouldn't stare down her top like that.

He waved her back to her seat as he moved the bowl and spoon aside. Picking up the pot with his bare hands, he drank from the pot directly. Stalker or not, Sharon wanted to call out to stop him, but the cry died in her throat as she watched. Neither the burning hot pot or scolding stew seemed to bother him.

She thought it barbaric till he removed the pot from his mouth, giving her another creepy grin. He put the pot down hard which rang empty. Sharon wrestled her fear as she listened to the metal clang. The heat would be a problem for anyone, but maybe a nut wouldn't care if they cooked their own throat, being deranged and all. That wasn't the case; seemingly unharmed, he didn't even appear to have gas after chugging down four gallons worth of stew.

The creepy smile lessened as he turned his attention outside. "I will like it here, but we have reached the last of your amusements for me today. I must tend to other new holdings."

He stood up but paused when Sharon cleared her throat, "Why would you do this? Even if you somehow took over the town, the outside world will find out. They'll come to rescue us. They'll send the army if they have to!"

Her words didn't seem to move him at all. He smiled his creepy smile again, but his teeth seemed sharper this time, like a wild animal. "I know, and I have planned. Understand this, my luscious, that I have no need of fear. The only thing I need to do, is make the time to handle it."

Striding over to the glass door, he paused after thrusting a door open hard. His voice had a growl again, a hungry one, "I will be here, at the time you call noon. My food is to be ready when I arrive. When needed, a new 'curative' will be your reward."

He glanced back at her with his evil eyes, "Always give the runt the least amount, for she will now need it. Also, I would like something sweet, my sweet, after my meal. Make sure that, whatever you prepare, it includes your own ... honey." His leer showed his meaning as he smirked. "But if I should find something displeasing, you will regret."

The stalker left her home and Sharon wept. She pulled out her phone, to call a doctor, anyone, for some other hope. Remembering she didn't have a signal, she moved to her purse. Her phone beeped, as did the alarm system in the living room. She examined them as she held back tears. They were working fine. Perfect even. Her phone hadn't missed one call, no one noticing her house had been broken into. She texted her doctor's office. When they didn't respond, she wept harder.

Pudding. Strawberry shortcake. Glazed donuts. The next three days went by with him strolling into her kitchen from seemingly nowhere at exactly noon. He would sit at the table and wordlessly dig into her food. Finished, his frightening grin pointed right at Sharon, he ate his sweets.

The pudding got compliments, but he said that the 'ingredients' weren't at all fresh. He told her to make fresh honey for him from then on, offering to watch if she found it convenient. She got the message.

The next two days he watched with delight as she raised her skirt and added his fresh honey. Sharon's blush lasted for hours after. Both times he gave her even more compliments before relishing his treats. Finishing his dessert, he would simply stroll off with a simple thanks.

For a blackmailing devil, Sharon conceded, he was at least polite. The police were still useless note takers and the doctor still overpaid proscription writer. Both days the cops parked outside her house didn't even see a thing while their doctor merely adjusted Sharon's medicine. Again.

An Internet search revealed the new pill was an anti-psychotic.

The fourth day, her husband had been home the previous night and almost gotten a wild time. He listened to her plight and angrily promised to make his own calls, stroking her hair and comforting her. She didn't need comforting, she needed him. Sharon needed to be intimate in front of him instead of that devil. He was exhausted and only lasted the opening round.

Instead of Mick's calls summoning help, she sat alone with the devil as he enjoyed two turkeys. Sharon had quickly learned to provide enough food for a small regiment for the devil. The meal also had various vegetables, soups, and a few types of sandwiches, but the greens were ignored. In the center was a small pound cake fresh from the oven. She licked her lips.

Without a nighttime release, she knew she wouldn't need long to add the 'honey'. That, however, was a horror in itself. She knew that damn creepy grin would be all the wider.

Her eyes rose from the cake. He had finished and was using a small bone to clean his teeth. A grin and nod told her it was time. Pulling up her skirt and biting the hem to hold the fabric up, she rose up from her chair and braced herself on the back the best she could. A clawed hand put the cake in the seat.

Sharon hadn't bothered with panties. Later she would slip some on, but for now they would only hinder. Her finger found her lips easily and for a moment brushed along them, enjoying the difference between smooth skin and pubic hair. Arranging herself directly over the cake, she gritted her teeth and tried not to dwell on her embarrassment.

Her fingers spread her lips and began to rub the sensitive flesh underneath. She was already wet and itching to be done so she slipped a finger inside to fuck herself. A few strokes later, as her fingers moistened, she inserted another finger. Sliding deep and fast, Sharon hoped to be done soon. Her thumb flicked at her clit.

Hips swaying to her finger's rhythm, her large breasts bounced along in time. Sharon regretted her surgery right then. Her blackmailing stalker was grinning as he stared at them. Something cold hit her face. Opening her eyes, but not staying her fingers, Sharon looked down to see another button from her shirt pop off; then another and another.

Her massive artificially endowed breasts were flopping outside her shirt, the bra covering only their lower half as her soft chest sought freedom with every upward bounce. She adjusted herself over the cake, intending to cover herself. Her hand instead pulled the bra down.

She hadn't realized just how steamed her loins were, she realized, as she began to pinch and rub her breasts. She really needed this, she confessed to herself. Between her breasts she could see her juices dripping from her soaked hand onto the plate.

Her ears were full of her loud gasps and her cheeks burned, but she couldn't stop. Even though the cake had what the devil wanted, she still couldn't stop. Not till she got what she wanted.

The vague replay of her and her husband's vacation drifted away from her, replaced by a simple need to get off. She knew the devil would come for her eventually. Her mind was full of that future. Her vagina gave a sudden, powerful squeeze on her fingers and pleasure racked her whole body. Looking down, she could see the stream of her cum pour over her hand to fall on the plate below her.

Something in her demanded more but her body couldn't go on.

Just enough sense remained with Sharon to grab the plate before her legs gave out. Her breath was ragged and she felt the guilt worm into her. She had accepted this for a moment. She looked at the plate and the drying 'honey' she had put there herself. The whole plate was thickly covered. Her seat was slick.

The devil rumbled his throat. On rubber legs Sharon stood and carried the plate over.

Wide sharp teeth filled the devil's smile as he praised her, "Very nicely done, my luscious pet. I am certain this will be the best sweet yet."

She handed over the cake and he tore into it with his bare fingers. His eyes rolled back in delight as he finished it in a few bites. Watching, Sharon still had no sense of how he ate so much. He even licked the plate clean, to her surprise.

Contented sigh escaping his frightful visage, he stood and stepped toward her. Patting her shoulders, the devil rumbled, "A very scrumptious lunch, my sweet, and a sweet to kill for."

Before she could react, his hand was up her skirt and a finger dragged the length of her lips. He plopped the finger in his mouth and sucked on it for a moment. With that toothy grin and a rumble, he whispered in her ear, "Sweetest sweet yet, my sweet pet. My gratitude."

A toothy grin later, he was out the glass door. Sharon stood there looking out into her front yard, where useless police eyes didn't see him or her breasts now fully exposed to the sunlight, her thighs sticky with her cum. If prompted, she was sure they would give her more pitying looks reserved for the insane. Not even her husband had seemed to really believe her, she thought.

The world was blind to her plight and to whether she hated or loved it.

"Forgive me god, but if he is our punishment, then I'm beginning to like what your punishment is doing to me." For the first time since she was fifteen, she prayed for guidance.

On the table waiting for her was her family's curse sitting in a bottle. Her second reward."