The Tale of Patricia Royson

I chose to tell this tale is because it has holds a special place in my heart. There is just something special about a female who is no longer a girl but not yet a woman. She was at that glorious stage of life where she didn't know a thing about life but thought she knew it all. Patricia was perfect; if she hadn't been I wouldn't have come to her.

Patricia Royson was twenty years old and still at that precarious portal to womanhood. It had been nearly a year since her last (her first) boyfriend had dumped her. She'd spent most of the year drowning in her studies, she'd been accepted into MIT and dreamt one day of being a Web Designer. She was still a virgin, unfamiliar with her own body and pleasures of the flesh. (Something I would change soon enough.) It wasn't entirely her fault; she'd been brought up in a repressed Christian house. Patricia had been taught that sex was the devil's tool since she was old enough to know that the stork didn't bring babies. (Which wasn't really that long ago since her mother didn't allow her to attend sex ed in school. How dare the government teach such a delicate subject to impressionable children through pornography.)

Patricia's mother was a frigid woman who was born Victoria Blackman and kept that name, her virginity and her first copy of the St. James Bible until she was twenty-three. At forty-nine it was rumored that the Bible, now confined to a space on the wall might not be the only thing she'd kept all her life. It was well known amongst her friends, and her frustrated husband (His story will be told later) that she had not had sex since September of 1979. She'd only lost her virginity six months earlier and she only wanted one child. Sex was about procreation not recreation she often preached.

Patricia's father was a frustrated man of fifty suffering through an enforced abstinence for over twenty years. Victoria was queen in the house and while Benjamin may have worn the pants it was only the literal sense that he could be considered the man of the house. Victoria controlled his finances; she controlled when he was allowed to leave the house and what could come into the house. She didn't allow sex magazines in her house. Sex magazines didn't only cover pornography and Playboy but also extended to include men's magazines like Maxim or FHM. Once a year Sports Illustrated was banned from her house.

Victoria had more bans on her house than just no explicit material. She had a ban on anything she thought would offend the Lord God. Harry Potter books were banned for encouraging witchcraft. Shows like Law and Order or NYPD Blue were banned for romanticizing violence. Video games were banned almost universally for the before mentioned reasons. She even banned Pokemon from her home because evolution was against Christianity, an insult to the Lord.

Both parents shared their love of religion and from the time Patricia was able to walk she was being taught the ways of the church. Her first book was The Christmas Donkey, a tale of how Joseph had bought a donkey so Mary wouldn't have to walk to Bethlehem. She was enlisted in St. Clarence Catholic School at age six where she remembered nothing so much as the disapproving scowls of the nuns.

Like all people on that cusp between being a woman and being a girl she had a sense of what the world had in store for her. She was naïve but she was far from stupid. Even in St. Clarence girls talked and she had heard stories about girls "giving head." Patricia found it secretly exciting, the idea of sucking a boy's penis until he ejaculated. She still couldn't bring herself to say cock or cum not even in her mind but the idea still set a warm glow in her belly. Patricia had heard other things too but the rest were to embarrassing even to think of, but those things warmed her too.

The night it happened was like any other. Patricia had barely finished reading her nightly verses from the Bible, Psalm 33, when her mother called up the stairs. "Are you still up Trish?"

"Yeah mom." Patricia yelled back.

"Well hurry up and go to sleep, you know Daddy is taking you to work for a job interview tomorrow. We want you all bright eyed and bushy tailed when you go don't we?" The voice called back.

"Yes Mommie, I'll be in bed in a few minutes, I just finished my nightly reading!" Patricia put her Bible aside. "Good night mommie."

"Good night Trish. Sleep tight." Her mother shouted back and then went silent. Part of Patricia despised that she was still being treated like a child even though she was going on twenty-one. The rest of her loved the secure feeling that it gave her.

Despite her Mother's rules Patricia had snuck a few things over the years. A peck on Tony Maken's cheek in the seventh grade that still sent pleasant shivers up her spine. Later that same year she had seen Tony again and wished he'd hold her in his strong arms (he was on the wrestling team and the football team.) And once in tenth grade she'd spent the night at her friend Stephanie's house and they'd watched Friday the 13th Jason Goes to Hell. The title enough would have gotten Patricia a sound spanking from her father.

Not that she would have minded. She was two weeks away from Graduation when she'd been caught stealing Oreos (she was only allowed two of the cookies for desert, any more and she'd go to Hell for gluttony but she'd wanted a third cookie so badly) her father had pulled her over his knee (she'd been seventeen at the time) and spanked. Ten swats he given her pert bottom with his leather belt and the warm singe of it against her upturned behind had brought an unfamiliar warmth between her thighs. It was a warmth that she wanted again.

Tonight though, tonight was special she was going to do something very bad. Patricia couldn't even imagine what her mother would do if she caught her in the act. If it was a spanking it would be more than ten. This was so much worse than stealing a third Oreo after dinner.

Patricia crept to her from her bed and pressed her ear against her door listening. In her blue nightie she resembled nothing so much as a tiny fairy, she was petite 5'3 and if she weighed one hundred pounds it was only because her school books weighed twenty. Her breasts were smallish, not even a full handful like her behind and even at twenty she didn't look legal. She hardly looked old enough to drive. Right now, this fairy was perched against her door listening to her mother walk up the stairs and down the hall. . Then she heard what she'd been waiting for. . Two clicks: the first of the hallway and a second of her mother's room. . Her parents didn't sleep together; it might arouse lustful thoughts and condemn the innocent girl's parents to an eternity in The Pit.

It was this innocent girl who waited by the door a little longer before she cracked it open to peer into the darkness, ensuring that she was indeed the only person awake. Her father was away on some project that would keep him away for most of the night. He hadn't wanted to go, he would have enjoyed some time to relax but you know what they say about idle hands. Well Victoria Laura Blackman Royson said it whenever she thought one of her flock might be slipping into that simple snug irreconcilable sin named sloth. . That left only Victoria, Patricia and Buttercup, an albino dwarf bunny. Patricia was less than concerned about the bunny as she crept on silent tiptoe to the door of her mother's room and listened for any movement. When Patricia heard nothing, she gently lowered herself to the floor and peered under the door. . No feet. No nothing actually it was pure black inside the room and after a steady count of ten, Patricia moved first to her knees then to her feet and finally back to her toes.

A slight rustle froze her in place but she convinced herself it was just her mother rolling over in the bed. It was nothing to be concerned with, but just to be sure, Patricia leaned her ear against the doorway again and waited. She had to be sure her Mother was asleep, what she was going to do was so bad that she couldn't get caught. This was even worse than January of that same year when she'd discovered that if she turned the shower water on her vagina (she couldn't think of it as a pussy, that sounded so vulgar) that it would send shivers and chills that made her knees shake. This was much much worse than just playing with the water in the shower Patricia thought as she crept back into her room.

Once inside she gently shut the door behind her and dimmed all of her own lights. Once inside, she burrowed under her Pumbaa and Timon blanket. Victoria had approved of the warthog and meerkat duo and their catch phrase of Hakuna Matata. She believed it was a subtle message to accept Christ into your life. After all Hakuna Matata meant no worries and that was what accepting Jesus was about. Those who accepted him had nothing to worry about ever for he was their Rock their strength and support. She hadn't approved of the rest of the movie, however, maintaining that Scar was a representation of Adolph Hitler. Her daughter had only been allowed to watch the movie after she turned thirteen; at that age Victoria felt it was necessary to show her that the world did have bad people in it and that the Lion King was an excellent representation.

One hand slid out from beneath the blankets to grope around until it found her lamp. It was shaped like some obscure cartoon character but Victoria couldn't remember what cartoon the jovial looking tiger creature was from. She clicked it on and its orange and black body responded by filling their confinement with a warm glow. She froze in place suddenly sure that her mother was standing in her room only seconds away from screaming angrily. Disrespecting your mother or father was another quick way to get to Hell. It seemed to Patricia that most things in life were either a quick way to get to Hell or was at least part of the way.

If stealing cookies, relaxing or letting the shower run over her vagina paved the way into Hell, then Patricia was certain that what she was going to do that night would surely be like building an airport. It would only have one port; the planes leaving this station would never stop at little places like New York, Las Vegas or San Diego. It wouldn't land at the Pearly Gates or spend a three-hour layaway in Purgatory. No, this plane would go fly on past these locales until it descended in the third pit of the Inferno.

Patricia reached beneath her bed to pull out the inconspicuous cardboard box and pull it beneath the blanket with her. Carefully she opened the lid and set that aside, certain that any noise would bring her mother in here to catch her. A soft sound of movement froze Patricia in place. But when she realized it was just her bunny Buttercup, she lifted the "toy" out of its box. It was the object of her damnation but she handled it with the kind of revere usually reserved for holy artifacts.

She ran her fingers over its smooth surface for a moment, taking in a deep breath as she questioned her desire one last time. Her mother would never understand and would never forgive her if she caught her. She wouldn't understand that Patricia was just experimenting, and that it was just a game. That it is just a harmless game really, nobody would get hurt. That wasn't entirely true. People could get hurt messing with these things. That was why her mother forbade them in her home. There were stories and movies about people who played with these things. The Exorcist, Poltergeist and The Amityville Horror were all about people playing with things that they shouldn't. That she shouldn't, she thought as she placed the pointer on the board.

"Its just a stupid game." She whispered to herself trying to keep from frightening herself. Her mother was hysterically afraid of conjuring in her home. Tarot Cards and crystal balls were not allowed in her house under any circumstances. She had once banned Kimberly (then Kimmy) from entering the house because she had a tiny 8-ball hanging from her key chain (there had been no keys on the chain actually.) Anything that let man know the future was blasphemy of the purest kind, communing with the devil. Victoria Laura Blackman Royson would have no communing with the devil in her home. As much as she hated Tarot cards, crystal balls and the laughably benign Magic 8-Ball (she still glared at Kimberly some decade and a half later for that incident), the worst of them all was the Ouija board. That was the devil's private phone. That night, her daughter Patricia sat staring at one in the light of her jovial tiger creature lamp, beneath her blanket bearing the repeated image of the Jesus preaching African Wildlife.

Gently she pressed her fingers to the pointer and felt the tingle of energy flow through her. This was a wicked thing she thought with a shiver. Then, she thought of a question. Will I ever get married? Gently but swiftly she guided the pointer to the bubble marked with a green "Y" and smiled. Will he be cute? Again she forced it to the green "Y", feeling bold, rebellious and naughty. Naughty was the world that best summed up the feeling this act was giving her. Will I ever have sex? That time there really was a tug at it, she thought for a moment. Impossible, she thought as she continued its intended path toward the green "Y" and found that when her hand got close, the pointer rolled around the letter. Not over it like a bubble and it didn't stop either as if it hit a wall; rather it moved abruptly around it like two magnets a person tried to force together. When she tried harder the board moved, exactly like a magnet.

The color in her face just dropped clear away for a moment. This is really freaking me out. She thought in panicky way. Then, the pointer just slid to the green letter. Patricia remained still for a moment staring at the board as if it were the most dangerous thing she had ever beheld. Just my imagination running away with me. I'm so stupid. She thought. Will I have kids? Under the expert "spiritual" guidance of a twenty year old virgin the pointer arrived at the green letter once more. How many? This time it hesitated because the girl wasn't certain what answer she wanted. After a good fifteen seconds of thought she and the pointer arrived simultaneously at the number three.

Again the pointer pulled toward the letters of the alphabet slowly. W-O-U-L-D-Y-O-U-L-I-K-E-T-O-K-N-O-W-H-E-N? Patricia had to slowly repeat each letter in her mind several times before the stubborn stream of letters conceded to form words. Would I like to know when what? She thought, before the thought was complete it had started to answer her, this time without her fingers even touching the pointer. It was moving so swiftly that she couldn't have kept up if she tried but the letters this time just entered her mind to form rules. Had she been thinking more than just to put the words together she might have screamed. W-H-E-N-Y-O-U-W-I-L-L-H-A-V-E-S-E-X. No YES! Her mind answered twice but only the second more insistent answer was replied to.

The reply didn't come through the board though; it came from beneath the bed in the form of a pink tentacle with an eye. An eyestalk, Patricia thought wildly as it slipped beneath the covers to look at her. Now she did scream. If I'd had ears at the time, it would have hurt but I only felt the sound that was already blocked from the rest of her home. Another tentacle curled out from the opposite side of her bed, slithering around her left ankle nearly yanking her from beneath the covers. In that instant she knew that the monster beneath her bed was real, and it was going to eat her. I, of course had no interest in eating her.

Two more tentacles snaked out to grip her around the waist and her right wrist, lifting her slight form up off the bed. Patricia screamed more, her entire body shuddering with the effort of sound being forced through those tiny lungs. I laughed but I'm certain it sounded more like a dog choking to human ears. A tentacle made its way beneath her nightie, cool almost slimy skin gliding against warm supple flesh. It circled her breast grinding against them until it managed to slip beneath the modestly cut bra; then it started its way back down.

For a moment Patricia stopped screaming, she couldn't keep it up any longer. Then she felt another tentacle slip beneath the elastic band of her panties, just the slightest clammy touch against her-pus-her vagina was enough to grant her enough strength for a new chorus of screams that only she could hear. Suddenly pulling away from her body the tentacle ripped all of her clothing off leaving only shreds of cloth that offered her modesty no quarter.

The pink eyestalk hovered near her face now occasionally wandering the rest of her body but mostly it was interested in her face. I wanted to see her expression, see the exquisite horror become an excruciating pain and even that would melt away to reveal an unparalleled pleasure her body would ache for forever after. I watched her screams stop abruptly when the first stalk of my body forced its way into her dry cu- vagina and hit against her hymen. Her screams had stopped again, instead she was babbling softly trying desperately to convince her it was little more than a dream. In my mind I was smiling, in that form I didn't have lips to smile with. If I had she would have seen it broaden when I forced my way past her flimsy resistance bathing my flesh in her blood and making her a woman in the same magic moment.

She whimpered at that, her body seized both reactions of the body. Her mind had fled deep inside its on flimsy barriers hoping that somehow it this couldn't be happening to her. The tentacle worked deeper into her sex steadily pumping in and out of her till she was loosened to its no more than average girth. Then it flexed and as she screamed, the first of her mental barriers shattered. It had to be real because she couldn't dream up anything as horrible as what was happening. It only lasted a moment before she fled whimpering behind the next barrier.

Her body's reactions were incredible, without Patricia even noticing she began to moisten, letting me slip back and forth in her tunnel. I continued working her until I felt her body begin to shiver, not with orgasm; she was far too terrified for that yet, but with shame. Her body arched and thrashed trying to tear the tentacles from her body anyway she could as her second and third barriers were shattered in the same instant. The second was God wouldn't allow this to happen to one of his followers. The third was that she was a good person. I called this thing! Her panicked mind instantly made the association between the Ouija board, now overturned on her floor, and the monstrous thing taking her innocence. In that same thought she realized that she had turned her back on her Lord not the other way around. She wanted to pray but her mind was already slipping.

The tentacle pulsed slightly inside her thrusting forward until it lay against her cervix and then she felt herself flooded with its warm fluids. It was a wonderful feeling that relaxed and excited at the same time. In her case it also terrified as she was instantly certain she would be giving birth to Satan's spawn. It was an absurd thought, humans and incubi don't breed (accept under special conditions) normally an incubi's fluids will only have an intense aphrodisiac like effect.

That effect she felt settled on her only seconds after the tentacle filled her. Her nipples hardened till they ached and her puss-her vagina was suddenly sopping wet. The wet sloshing noise of my tentacle in her crotch was instantly loud enough to drown out the newly made woman's cries. Her skin flushed and the next sound to slip through her lips was a steady moan of pleasure that echoed around her room.

When Patricia recognized the delighted moans were coming from her she bit her lower lip stifling any more cries she may have intended. What if mom hears me? The thought raced instantly through her mind and brought a red-faced shame to her cheeks. When she'd screamed earlier it was a reaction, fear she hadn't really expected anybody to hear her, hadn't even really considered the possibility but now it was suddenly important to remain quiet.