Divine Intervention At A Supermarket Ch 02

In the Baking Needs aisle of an ordinary, mundane grocery store, an extraordinary exchange was taking place.

Although most mortals couldn't perceive it, two siblings were discussing the finer points of the human condition, and the debate would have been heated even if the siblings hadn't been beings of flame.

"A grateful gift from her masters?" the Red Flame said. "And a benevolent brother ... who also happens to experience success in the midst of a plague? You're far too generous with these humans! You can't just bury them in gold and — and ..." she looked around, "... icing sugar!"

"And how, exactly, does giving the girl a shameful craving to suck her brother's penis improve her fate or advance our goals?"

"Brother, you haven't studied humans like I have," the Red Flame said. "They were made in our image, but they were sculpted from dirt. They may look like gods, but they're really just beasts, ruled by their instincts and their urges."

"That's no reason for me to be callous," said the Blue Flame. "We have the ability to improve their lot and bring them a little piece of Heaven."

"If you intend to change the earth into the sky with the consent of the worms, then you're going to be here for a very long time."

"'Worms'? I didn't realize that you hated these creature so much."

"I don't hate them! In the time that it's taken for you to bargain with one human, I've saved the lives of two."

"More shameful desires, sister?" the Blue Flame said. "I hope not. You're far too creative to be so repetitive."

"Brother, listen to me: focus on the important ones, let them make their petitions, provide the fates that fulfill OUR needs and THEIR desires ... and move on!"

With that, she disappeared.

"'Saved the lives of two', you say?" the Blue Flame thought. He scanned the weave of the supermarket, followed the strands of fate into the recent past, and spotted the humans that his sister had altered. "Clara and Michael, eh? I believe I'll ask them whether they feel 'saved'."

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

MICHAEL

Michael slowly sauntered through the selection of salty snacks, his handbasket already stuffed with six liters of soft drink.

Which pairs better with a No Name cola, he thought — barbecue or sour cream and onion potato chips?

Suddenly, there was a redheaded girl standing right next to him — indeed, he'd never seen a girl with redder hair. She was brilliantly beautiful and probably right around his age, and he tried to discreetly assess her chest to see if she was the complete package.

She took a deep breath, making him wonder if he hadn't been discreet enough ... and then she actually spoke to him. "Introduce yourself and your plight," she said, waving her hand at him.

Ordinarily, he might have been shy around such a heavenly creature, but he found himself compelled to be honest with the Red Girl. "Oh, hi!" he said. "I've never seen you around here before. My name's Michael."

She snorted in either contempt, amusement, or both.

"Uh, what's funny?" he said.

"It's just comical to hear you say that name aloud," she said. "I know your namesake, and there's very little resemblance."

"Seriously — you know my grandpa?" he said. "Did you meet him before he moved to Phoenix, or ...?"

"Let's get back to talking about you," she said. "Why are you here?"

"Because I needed some things, and I have nowhere else to be," he said. "Don't get me wrong: I work at the warehouse that supplies this store, so it's not like I don't have a job or anything. Actually, we've been super busy lately. They even gave us an extra dollar per hour to account for the increased volume, and probably to thank us for just coming to work while there's this Chinese virus going around."

"Shouldn't you be concerned about contracting the disease and spreading it to others of your kind?"

What was she implying with the "your kind" comment? "Nah, I live alone, and I have a great constitution, so I probably won't catch it."

"Yes, I can see that your diet has shaped you into the healthiest of specimens," she said. She tipped her head as if gesturing at something, but he wasn't sure if it was his handbasket full of pop or his doughy physique. "What about your sister?"

"Madelyn? Oh, she lives alone too, and I guess her constitution is pretty good. Why — do you know her too? Did you go to school with her?" he said, producing his cellphone and searching for a picture of his sister to show to the Red Girl.

He found just one: a selfie of the two of them after Christmas dinner, wearing seasonal tuques and looking bored and stuffed. He held it up for the Red Girl to see. "She got a scholarship for women in STEM, so she's in Engineering at university, but they had to shut that down, and she's doing her classes from her apartment now."

"Do you mean to tell me that you allowed your beautiful sister to languish in loneliness when she needs you the most?" the Red Girl said.

"Hey, I wish that we got along better, but we mostly just annoy each other, and there's no reason for us to see each other much these days. Plus, it's better to have my apartment to myself, so I can invite hot girls over. Actually, I usually don't have girls over, but at least I can watch porn with the volume on. Madelyn found my video stash on the computer once, and she made fun of me for liking girls with huge boobs for, like, a year. She was all, like, 'Michael should be a farmer — he loves cow tits!'"

Again, he was troubled by the persistent sense that he might be telling this stranger more than he should be.

She rolled her eyes and waved her hand at him again. "Have you met any girls more attractive than your sister?"

He thought about it ... but he already knew the answer.

His sister had a cute face, a nice smile ... and the biggest, most succulent, most perfect pair of breasts he'd ever seen. He could stare at them for hours. Even better: when Madelyn was relaxing at home, she went braless and wore skimpy tops that showed a ridiculous amount of cleavage — like, regular cleavage from the top, but also from the bottom, and even the sides. Really, it was obscene.

That's why he'd invited her to stay at his apartment during the flu lockdown. Oh, he'd said that it was because he liked her cooking (and he really did), but it was mostly so that he'd have a 24-hour tit show. Luckily, she never seemed to notice that her choice of wardrobe made it very difficult for him to look at anything but her breasts whenever she was around.

Confusion intruded on his thoughts for a moment. He had a strange recollection of an empty apartment ... of squabbles with his sister ... of a Madelyn with smallish breasts that didn't warrant even a glance.

He shook those thoughts off. He much preferred to live in a world with Madelyn and her massive milkers.

"Nah, my sister is the hottest girl I've ever seen. Look at this!" Michael said proudly, swiping through all of the pictures of his sister on his phone. Some of them were stealthy shots taken when she was unaware, but most showed a young lady with an expression of patient amusement and incredibly pillowy breasts.

"Actually, I should probably get going — Madelyn can't start making supper without this stuff," he said, holding up his handbasket full of vegetables and spices. "I was just going to grab some chips for her. Her cooking keeps me pretty trim," he said, patting his tight, fit abdomen, "but I like to give her lots of junk food to graze on during the day. It keeps her happy and entertained ... but it also keeps her nice and curvy, you know what I'm saying?"

"Believe me, I comprehend the entirety of your being," the Red Girl said with a smile. "Be on your way."

"Okay, then," he said, snagging a bag of his sister's favorite ketchup chips from the shelf. "So long."

Michael hurried to the checkout with visions of Madelyn dancing in his head. He hoped that his sister was wearing that tight, pink tank top when he got home. Some day, her tits were going to rip that thing open like it was a New Orleans levee and she was Hurricane Katrina.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

CLARA

"There must be times when it's difficult to be the object of your son's sexual fixation," the Red Woman said.

"S-sexual fixation?" Clara said, her heart dropping into her stomach. The Red Woman couldn't know about what her son had done, could she? "What do you mean?"

All of the pride that Clara had felt a moment earlier evaporated in a flash, boiled away by a flood of shameful memories.

Clara remembered a day two months ago when she had arrived home from work early and was feeling particularly lonely. No, sexually frustrated. No, outright horny!

Fortunately, she was alone in the house, so she was able to retrieve her vibrator, recline in her bed, and relieve her needs in the absence of a partner. She knew that the neighbors couldn't hear, so she took advantage of her solitude to be as vocal as she wanted.

She wasn't as alone as she had thought however. Between the buzz of the vibrator and her own moans, she hadn't heard her son arrive home ... but she did notice him standing in her bedroom doorway.

John had just come back from the gym, and his sweaty muscles bulged beneath his tank top and shorts. His eyes smouldered intensely, and she initially thought that he was angry or with her, or disgusted.

His mother was completely exposed to him, with her breasts bare, her legs spread, and a sex toy nestled within her wet, unshaven sex. The vibrator buzzed obnoxiously as her mouth struggled to form the words to defuse the situation, but she could make no command, or apology, or justification. Neither could she find the wherewithal to conceal her nudity before John made his own move.

In an instant, he was at the foot of her bed. An instant later, he tore off his tank top, and then his shorts.

Clara's son climbed onto her bed, naked, sweaty, and hard, his cock completely erect. He took hold of her thighs and pulled her toward himself, and the helpless squeal that she made at that moment was the first sound that she had made since being discovered.

The vibrator tumbled to the floor as he pinned her arms down, and she whimpered. He lined his penis up to her already primed pussy ... and thrusted.

She cried out as her son filled her ... and gasped, grunted, and moaned as he fucked her with the tireless force of youth ... and she didn't stop crying out until an orgasm crashed through her like a tsunami. Moments later, John had his own orgasm, filling his mother with his seed.

Hunched over her, panting from the exertion (and the ejaculation), John stared at his mother, but she couldn't meet his eyes. Neither could she move, at least until John released her, climbed off of her bed, gathered his clothes, and left the room.

The vibrator buzzed on the floor as she watched her son's naked ass disappear into his own bedroom.

While her orgasm subsided, Clara tried to process what had happened. No one had seen what had happened but Clara and her son. She was fairly sure that she was too old to conceive another child, so she wasn't worried about becoming pregnant.

So, she rolled out of bed, got dressed, and went to the kitchen to cook supper. When it was ready, she called John, and he came to the table. They had a normal supper, and John didn't say a word about what he'd done, so Clara decided that it was easiest just to pretend that nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Her pretentions didn't last long. A few days later, she came home in the evening, and, when he hugged her from behind, his hands found her breasts. Her body must have remembered that overwhelming orgasm that he'd given her the first time, because it reacted immediately. Her nipples hardened between his fingers as she writhed in his embrace. Her bum brushed and rubbed against John's cock, and she felt it harden too.

"No, honey," she'd said, finding her voice this time, though it was breathy with arousal. "This isn't right — I'm your mother!!"

That time, he pulled her pants down to her knees and fucked her doggy style on the floor of the entryway. She could hear people on the other side of the door, walking their dogs and laughing. She was still telling him to stop when her orgasm hit.

The next time, she was watching TV when he sat down next to her and began to touch her. Against her weak protests, he had picked her up, carried her to her bedroom, dropped her onto her bed, and pulled off all of her clothes.

"No, honey," she had said as her underwear joined the rest of her outfit on the floor. "You don't want to do this." Her legs spread unconsciously, and she felt her wet sex open in invitation. "This is incest." In response, her son speared her with his cock and fucked her to climax in own her bed for a second time.

She wanted to be ashamed of John, but she was more ashamed of herself. Every time that he began to touch her, she told him "no", and reminded him that it was wrong, but that didn't even slow him down. The only thing that it seemed to do was make her hotter — more excited. She began wearing fewer and fewer clothes around the house, which provoked John to molest her more and more often.

John became fixated on his mother, no longer going out to get-togethers with friends or dates. When the pandemic hit and the government advised that its citizens shelter in place, Clara had no fear that her son would stay home ... and fuck her over and over again.

She'd never been fucked the way that her son fucked her. Without saying a word, he completely dominated her, and she could only submit in the face of his furious desire. It awakened a need in her that she'd always denied.

Even in the short time that she'd been at the grocery store, before the Red Woman raised the issue, Clara's body was beginning to long for her son's attentions. She knew that, as soon as she arrived home, John would molest her ... and she would love it.

But how could the Red Woman know any of that? Clara had barely admitted it to herself. Even with Clara's cheeks red and hot, the stranger couldn't have guessed at a secret so dark.

"My relationship with my son is normal — completely normal," Clara said. "W-what are you trying to imply?"

"Oh, nothing at all," the Red Woman said with a conspiratorial smile, "I suppose I should let you finish up here, so you can rush home and satisfy your son's teenage appetite. Farewell."

Clara didn't see the Red Woman leave — one moment, she was there; the next, she was gone — but the conversation had so disturbed Clara that she tried to put it, and the stranger, out of her mind.

For the next few minutes, she went up and down the aisles, and up and down her shopping list, trying to focus on the task at hand. Meanwhile, her lip trembled, and she felt tears gathering behind her eyes.

How could she have felt such pride a moment ago? It was as though the motherly, wholesome relationship that she described to the Red Woman was from a different life, a parallel world that she could no longer reach.

Now, it looked as though it was her son's fate to rape her for the rest of her life ... and she would never stop him because she loved it too much.

She slouched over her shopping cart and began to sob, the tears stinging her flushed cheeks.

"It looks as though you're having a difficult day," a gentle, male voice said. "What troubles you?"