DISCLAIMER - This is not like my usual work. I've been reading a lot of Lovecraft, and have felt the urge to channel all the strangeness his work has filled me with. It shares some elements with my previous work, but contains non-consent and... well... cosmic horror. Please don't read if you're easily upset by those things.
Stay safe and stay horny <3
-Cleo
1
Arley was never close with his father. He was always distant and uninvolved, too concerned with his own wants and needs to ever care about Arley's. Everything had to be about him. Every conversation with him was hijacked by his own anecdotes and ideas, to the point that Arley simply quit attempting to maintain their relationship. By the time he was twenty four years of age, their relationship resembled that of roommates, rather than father and son.
Arley's parents split when he was nine years old, and it was certainly better this way. There were no more screaming matches deep into the night, with Arley tucked away in his room, reading by flashlight under his sheets, hoping for better days while his heart beat at an uncomfortable rate, and he struggled to catch his breath.
When they finally split, things were better. Arley's mother, Katherine, was a gentle, affectionate woman, and she showered Arley with all the love and support he needed to be whole. Arley loved her far more than his father, and always dreaded leaving to stay with his father and stepmother Morana every summer. It was never comfortable, and he always felt like an outsider.
Mostly, the issue was Morana. Arley was used to his father's distance, and while he didn't respect him, he certainly didn't hate him. Morana, on the other hand, was oppressive. She was always insisting on being called "Mom" or "Mommy", and it caused much conflict between the two, as Arley refused to speak the words to her, especially considering his love for his mother. It felt wrong to say, like it somehow diminished his own maternal relationship. Like it was cheapened.
The woman always clung to him, insisting on locking arms when they went out, which Arley was forced to reciprocate, due to the scene it would cause should he allow his repulsion to become apparent.
Not that Morana's appearance itself was repulsive. She was significantly taller than Arley at his full grown height, at least five or six inches so. This height difference often caused his eyes to make contact with her large breasts, which became more of a problem as he grew, especially since Morana often recognized the accidental stare, and began to wear more revealing clothing.
She was pale, with white skin and long black hair, a curvy build, and a frighteningly intriguing face. Her eyes were black, and they punctuated her visage that was both beautiful and predatory. Her eyes would asses every person she encountered with a cold, calculating gaze. Perhaps this was why her desired affection from Arley was so off-putting to him.
In contrast, Arley was slim, his skin just as pale as hers. His medium length hair was blonde, and his large doe eyes were rather round and brown. He had a youthful face that remained into his twenties, and always seemed to be a counter to the features of the strange, unwelcome woman clinging to his arm.
As Arley grew into his teens, Morana's touches lingered longer, especially on his thighs and face. Although he would tense at the briefest touch, she never shied away. He suspected she found him attractive, and took greater efforts to maintain his distance from her, which she certainly noticed, and responded to with even more reproachful demands for a maternal relationship.
There was one night where she took things too far, and Arley was too scared to speak of this to his mother, with whom he shared all of his disdainful thoughts of Morana and her actions. It was Arley's eighteenth birthday, which he was sad to be obliged to celebrate at his father's house. During the day, Morana couldn't keep her hands off him, caressing his shoulders, resting her palm on his thigh, and pressing her soft body against his, causing an unwelcome arousal to build in him.
He refused to act on this arousal. It carried into the night, where he was becoming desperate to touch himself and relieve the feelings. To combat this, he went to the kitchen to pour himself a glass of cold water. As he drank it, facing the sink, Morana approached him silently from behind, and slid her hand down his pants, roughly groping his burning cock, and whispering into his ear.
"Is mommy's big boy all hot and bothered on his special night?"
Then she sunk her fangs into his shoulder while simultaneously pumping his hardening shaft with her fist.
Arley moaned involuntarily, and the sound startled him enough to resist her. He whirled around and shoved her off him, feeling at the spot where she had bit him with his fingers. It wasn't bleeding, fortunately, but he was shaking. How dare this woman lay her hands on him.
"Don't... don't..." Arley trembled, pointing his shaky finger at her. "Do not touch me."
His declaration was met with a thin smile, and an evil twinkling in Morana's eyes. She licked her lips, and that was too much for him to bear. She frightened him, and he wanted nothing more than to just get away from her.
So Arley pushed past her, running to his bedroom and locking himself in, where he could still feel her touch on his achy cock. He could no longer restrain himself, and he dropped his pants to relieve his arousal, shame washing over him when his orgasm subsided. He panted until his breathing became steady, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He was done. There was nothing that could keep him here anymore. He would-
Someone shuffled away from the door. Arley's heart dropped into his stomach, overcome with mortification. Morana had been pressed against his door, listening to him surrender to the lust she had put inside him. She would be satisfied with the conclusion, of that there was no doubt. The idea of her climbing into bed, a smug, satisfied smile on her face, filled him with anger.
The next day, Arley called his mother to come pick him up. It was easy to hide his reason for fleeing, since his mother already knew of his disdain for Morana, and as he had just turned eighteen, assumed that it was simply the newfound free will of adulthood that motivated him to return to her.
Arley and his father, and by extension, Morana, would not see each other for another four years.
2
When Arley was twenty two, he decided to go to university. Unfortunately, it was in much closer proximity to his father's residence, than his mother's. The price tag of dormitory residence was too steep for him and his mother to pay, so the most fiscally responsible solution was to live with his father and... Morana.
It was his mother who convinced him to follow this course, telling him to set boundaries with Morana, in order to keep her at arms length. She didn't know about the incident on his birthday, so she couldn't know the extent of Morana's willingness to cross boundaries and taboos alike, but was insistent and reasonable enough to give Arley the courage to move in.
So he did, if only because he loved and respected his mother, though he felt the first semblance of regret when he once again locked his round, brown eyes with Morana's cold, unflinching, black eyes. The moment instantly filled him with dread and apprehension, but to his surprise, Morana never became as insistent on their closeness as she had previously.
For two years, the two of them lived in close proximity without incident, though he felt her eyes lock onto him every time they were near. It was difficult to ignore, but Arley kept their eyes from meeting as much as possible. He wished to not give her any impression that he was receptive to her.
Never was there a time when Arley felt truly at ease, but he could get by just fine, especially since he kept his door locked at all times, a reassuring barrier between him and the monster on the other side.
But all things must end, and on the summer of Arley's twenty fourth year, his father was killed in a workplace accident. Arley never wanted to hear the specifics, for a factory death would be nothing but horrific, and while he didn't hold negative emotions toward his father, his heart was still too soft to bear the thought of the man's final moments.
As it was summer, Arley was living with his mother, so journeyed to his father's house... actually Morana's house now, to attend the funeral and pay his tentative respects. He wasn't sure if he wanted to continue residing in that house, locked away with Morana, who would now no longer be bound by common decency to behave appropriately. He expressed to his mother his uncertainty, who assured him that he could take a break from university if he felt he needed time to recover, but that he would be better suited to making the decision when he was present at Morana's house.
"Just give it a few days and decide." Katherine had said. "Don't forget, despite your differences, she's grieving too."
Arley didn't have the heart to tell his mother how unaffected, for the most part, he was by his father's death, but decided to give it a try anyway. So he packed a bag, loaded it and himself into his car, and drove off to meet his fate.
He arrived at his destination the morning of the funeral, and Morana greeted him at the door. Arley was prepared to attempt to awkwardly comfort the woman, despite his understandable apprehension, but she was as even tempered as ever. It was disquieting, unnatural even, but nothing about her was normal anyway.
They drove to the funeral together, Morana sitting in the passenger seat. She was wearing all black, which wasn't an exception to her usual attire for the purpose of mourning, and a strange amulet hung from her neck. Arley only saw it briefly, before she tucked it away, but something about it drew his attention.
The amulet was on a silver chain, and the deep purple gem that was its centerpiece was set into a circular silver frame, which itself was engraved with odd, flowing black runes surrounding the gem. Despite it being tucked away beneath her clothing, Arley couldn't help but repeatedly glance over to the place he imagined it to be beneath her dress. Every time he looked, Morana was looking at him. They didn't make eye contact, mostly because Arley's focus was on the silver chain that he could see above the bodice of her dress, but he could feel her predatory gaze on him.
During the funeral, he continued to think about the amulet, much to his confusion. There was no reason to be so fixated, but there was no way for him to resist the thoughts. The pull of the amulet was so strong that Arley found himself comfortably pressed against Morana's side at one point, before remembering himself and pulling away. At this point, they made eye contact, and her face was entirely neutral, sending a shiver up his spine, and dread into his heart.
While Arley's focus was on fighting the urge to cling to his widowed stepmother, her eyes never left him. For the duration, Morana's eyes remained as fixated on him as his mind was on her amulet. It was extremely uncomfortable and disconcerting, but he endured, convincing himself that this would be over soon, and he could lock himself in his room, safe to ponder, logically, how the sudden death of his father could be causing him to think so strangely.
When the service was over, Arley stumbled to his car lightheadedly. He reached for the door handle, when Morana's fingers closed around his wrist. They met each other's gaze.
"Perhaps you would be better suited to the passenger seat, Arley." She said flatly. "You seem unwell."
Her eyes were so dark and unreadable, piercing him as if they saw and understood every thought that hid behind his own.
"I guess you're right Mo... Morana." He mumbled, his heart pounding in horror as he realized what he had almost called her. What was going on in his mind? Something was getting inside him, and sifting through his mind. But surely that was his imagination.
The drive home was indescribably uncomfortable. Arley's eyes were pointed out the window, every shred of willpower he had put to the test as... some... thing... was pulling at him, gripping his chin and exerting its growing strength to draw his gaze to the amulet.
All his hairs stood on end, and he struggled to hold in his tears. He wanted to scream, but couldn't permit himself the indulgence, lest the act open him to the whims of the... force? It was real, surely. His senses weren't fooling him. He could FEEL it on him.
When they arrived at the house, Arley all but ran to the door, ripping himself away from Morana's unprecedentedly unorthodox aura. It was as if he was yanking his body out of range of a powerful magnet that was pulling and pulling at him rhythmically and unrelentingly.
When he reached his bedroom, he stumbled through the door, slamming it behind him before throwing his body forward and coming to rest in his chair, breathing heavily. He was terrified now that he was outside of the range of her intoxicating influence and able to see it objectively. He didn't appreciate the distinct, otherworldly force that was attempting to influence him. Something about it set goosebumps loose upon his flesh, and his lip trembled, tears streaming down his cheeks.
For a time, he let them come. They were a welcome relief, which he desperately needed. But still, he didn't sob. Who knows what would happen if Morana heard him and used this moment of weakness to do strange things to him. In the night, he would sneak out with his belongings, climb into his car and drive away. He would never see Morana again, and never have to confront whatever unnatural strangeness was now hovering around her.
