Warning for people who are new to this series:
Firstly, despite the Literotica title, this is book four in this series, which tells the story of Althea, a succubus who is unwillingly transferred to the mind and body of Rachel Wainwright, a successful attorney with two children and an estranged husband. When posting the first part, I forgot about the rule that a multi-part series had to have the same main title and be divided into chapters. So you can find the first three parts under Idle Hands, Idle Hands, Chapter 1, and Idle Hands, Chapter 2. I apologize for the confusion.
Secondly, this series is hard to categorize. All eight chapters, conceivably, could go into the "Sci-Fi and Fantasy" category. But since I want to be honest and not disturb people who are turned off by the taboo nature of the later chapters, parts four through eight will posted in the incest/taboo category.
Thirdly, this book is not for those who desire a quick spank. There is sex in every chapter. In fact, there's quite a bit of sex. But there is a plot and there is character building and there is quite a bit of romance. My best advice, if you want to understand the story (especially if you are new to it, since this is the first chapter posted in the taboo category) is to read the story from the beginning. It is one of the best things I have done, and I think reading the whole story will make the taboo bits burn even hotter when you get to them.
*****
"Well, Mr. Fontein, what do you have for me today?"
Lloyd Fontein swallowed nervously, the stink of his own terrified sweat surrounding him in a fetid reek.
What happened to me?
he thought miserably.
I was a man once. Maybe not a good man. But still a man. Now I'm working for a damned monster.
"Mr. Fontein?" The voice was lower, coated with honeyed menace.
"Yes, Mr. Kincaid," he said, the necessity of keeping his body and soul together outweighing his terror. He had only needed one example of what Kincaid did to those who displeased him. Only one example of what happened when he let his inner demon loose, an unholy terror which was only matched by his outer hideousness.
Sometimes, he managed not to scream when he thought about that night.
"I'll e-mail you the transcripts of the conversations my devices have recorded in the Wainwright household, sir," he said, covering his fear in a thin veneer of professionalism. "But there have been several changes in the last several days."
"Go on."
"First of all, it seems that Rachel Wainwright has reconciled with her husband. Joshua Sunderman arrived at the residence Friday afternoon. He brought a trailer with him, so it appears he is preparing to stay for several days at least, perhaps longer. Audio pickups around the house indicate a great deal of affection between Mr. Sunderman and Ms. Wainwright."
"So." The word came out in a sibilant hiss, and Lloyd shuddered. "The she-bitch has her mate back, and is spreading her legs for him. What else?"
"The younger children have received their parents' permission to pursue new academic careers. The boy will be attending drama school. The daughter, culinary school."
A hand, the nails black and clawlike, made a dismissive gesture. "Uninteresting."
"Due to her husband's return, it seems Ms. Wainwright has extended an offer of full-time employment to her maid, Maria Ochoa," he said, thumbing through his notepad. "There are also indications that Ms. Wainwright and Ms. Ochoa may be romantically involved, although the evidence is largely circumstantial. It is certain, however, that Ms. Wainwright has ordered Maria to wear attractive clothes around the house. This may be a personal request, or the result of a fetish of some sort."
A low growl broke from the fanged mouth of the creature behind the desk, and Lloyd locked his knees, trying to control his terror. "Damn her," the demon hissed. "I bugged her house for six months, waiting for an opportunity like this. A chance to blackmail the lily-pure cunt and make her blow the lawsuit on purpose. And now when I have the evidence which could ruin her, the case is settled. Damn her and damn Hardin, too. That senile old fuck will pay, you can be certain of that. And Wainwright and her precious family as well."
"Yes, sir," Lloyd quavered. He wiped a sweating palm against the fabric of his cheap trousers.
Just get me out of here alive,
he thought. Fired from the Chicago Police Department for brutal misconduct his superiors couldn't ignore, he had been reduced to earning a meager living as an unlicensed private investigator, tailing unfaithful husbands and cheating wives. It had been that which brought him to Mort Kincaid's notice. Needing someone with Lloyd's contacts and knowledge of police procedure, he had been brought in, first as a consultant, then as a full-time employee. No means of gathering dirt were out of bounds. Extortion, bribery, breaking into houses to plant listening devices, they were all fair game. But the job and money had been a trap. The being which called itself Mortimer Kincaid was not a human, but a demon-spawn. The hellish offspring of a female demon and a mortal man.
Lloyd Fontein was no choir-boy. Twenty years on the force had beaten all the starry-eyed innocence out of him. But even a man as devoid of empathy as he was had a soul, scabby and corroded though it might be. And when he saw Mortimer Kincaid in his true form, undisguised by the spells he used to hide among humans, he believed, truly
believed
, for the first time, in the existence of evil and of Hell.
Because Kincaid could only have emerged from the depths of the Pit itself. He stood now, looming over Lloyd like a vulture over a particularly tasty piece of carrion. His huge, grotesque body was a mottled mockery of a human's form, the skin the greenish-yellow color of a livid bruise, with a strange oily sheen. Black claws gouged runnels in the wood of the desk. Poison dripped from the fangs which jutted from each corner of his mouth, sizzling like acid where they fell. Horns, curved like a goat's, erupted from his scowling forehead and ended in wickedly sharp tines near his jaw. His eyes were black and utterly without humanity.
He hunched in rage, and for a bowel-loosening moment, Lloyd was sure Kincaid was going to kill him. Jump on him like a wolf on his prey and gut him on the spot. Then he stepped back, his pose relaxing slightly.
"Well," he said, the cultured tones of his voice at odds with his misshapen mouth. "Too late now, I suppose. There will be other times. And this case is over. I won't be needing any more information about Rachel Wainwright and her darling little family for now." He grinned menacingly. "But there's no telling what might be useful in the future. Do you have anything else for me before we wrap this up? Or would you like to join me for lunch?" He gestured to a cardboard box near his desk, from which scraping noises and a few pitiful
mews
could be heard.
Lloyd closed his eyes and swallowed, forcing down bile. Just for an instant, he considered sharing the salacious details he had gleaned on Saturday afternoon. The conversation between Rachel and her daughter about Joshua Sunderman could wreck the woman's career. But some fleeting spark of humanity kept his mouth closed. Instead, he chose to divulge what he considered to be an insignificant detail.
"Just one more. Apparently a friend of Ms. Wainwright was missing. She and her daughter spent a good deal of time yesterday afternoon calling police departments and hospitals, looking for a woman named Althea Carpenter. They finally located her in a hospital, but the woman is in a coma. Or at least, severely ill."
"What?"
The voice was quiet, but with an intensity that jerked his head up from his scribbled notes. Kincaid was staring at him. The expression of joyous hope on his face was almost obscene.
"Carpenter?
