Harem Scare 'Em

by Tripp Greyson

  Chapter 2

  "I know you're young, but how young are you really?" Slinky asked as we headed toward the Rio Trinidad, the same river that flowed past Hamiltown, over 60 miles away. Comforting might be fun, but it was also messy, and I stank from exertion and, um, other things.

  "I told you," I said, as I adjusted my jeans. They'd been tailored for the old me, and were rather uncomfortable now, even when I wasn't in comforting mode. I needed to get some new ones. Slinky wore next to nothing at the moment and was perfectly comfortable doing so, which made the fit of my pants worse when I thought too much about it. "I'm 25, as of 19 days ago."

  "Then that means a mix of both old-years and new, since we Stepped Through 24 new-years ago."

  "Sure. I was born about an old-year before the Day of Ruin."

  She was silent as she did some calculations in her head, then: "Oh my Goddess, you're barely 19! I have a daughter nearly that age! I'm going to hell for sure."

  "The age of majority is half-past 21," I corrected her, frowning.

  "In new-years?"

  "Of course."

  "Oh Goddess. That's just 16 in regular years. What did we do to you poor people?"

  I stopped and turned to look at S'linkitha. "Seriously? You've been here 24 years and you don't know anything about what's left of human society? After all these years of taking our men?"

  She had the good grace to blush before she admitted, "I… Well, I couldn't really think straight for the first ten years or so. It was all about survival, getting enough men so I could eat and make babies. It was pretty much the same for all of us who Stepped Through. And then your people started killing us on sight, and the only men we got were those who came to us willingly for a while, and all they wanted was sex. And when we got tired of them or wore them out…" her voice lowered almost to a whisper, "we passed them on to the Alfas."

  Thinking of my father, I shuddered and decided not to talk to the succubus for a while.

  Rewind:

  My parents had been part of a religious group called the Misha before the Ruin, and refused to have anything to do with what Slinky called "the technosphere." Our little family had been away visiting another Misha community when the world stopped for a moment, then lurched back into motion; and when we came home, our community of New Goliad was gone. Just gone, like it had never been there. Instead there was a towering forest comprised mostly of trees we didn't recognize, but later called gopherwood. We tried to return to the community we had been visiting, but bandits bearing clubs and stone axes took our horse and buggy.

  Misha, especially those with children, are earnestly non-violent. My parents did not fight them.

  In the days following the Ruin, my parents and I lived off the land until we found a surviving enclave in what had been a subdivision of the metroplex of Greater Palestina—rugged people who had refused to leave their homes when everyone else did, looking for the government to save them. Maybe it did, as they never came back. The people of Hamill took us in gladly, because my parents knew how to survive, even thrive, without automobiles or electric lights. "No phone, no lights, no motorcars, not a seen-gul lug-shoo-ree," Old-Father Trent used to sing sometimes. "Like Rob-in-son Ca-ru-so, as primitive as can be!"

  Young-Father Trent would just roll his eyes. As would I.

  After the thirty or so surviving families pooled their resources, we built a circular palisade around the central part of the "subdivision," as the elders called it. Do you know how many trees that takes, at a foot's width on average per tree? And how hard it is to cut down those trees with stone axes? Luckily, we had plenty of utility poles, which really helped. Even when I got old enough to start remembering things, around age four or five, we still weren't finished, and had what seemed like a lifetime supply of firewood to go through just from trimming and sharpening the trees. The utility poles were best, because they were treated with black goop to keep them from rotting and getting eaten by bugs. They lasted a long time.

  The utility lines themselves were almost useless. All that was left of them were saggy lengths of rubber, the copper gone with the bitty-swarms. Some of them we vulcanized in fires to help tie the logs together. Even though we buried the bottom end of each pole at least a yard deep, we still had to bind them together so they wouldn't pull apart. Vulcanizing was a nasty, smelly business that didn't always work well, so our foragers cleared hardware stores and Well-marts for a hundred miles around to get ropes to do the job. They were also able to liberate a few luminium chains sometimes. Over the years, five men and two women were killed by foragers from other communities trying to do something similar. In the end, we relearned the art of rope-making using hemp fiber, rags, and prairie grass.

  While most of the men and tougher women built the palisade, scout groups gathered up loose livestock from surrounding farms, as well as a bunch of the new animals that acted domesticated, like the crottles and greeps (Old-Father named them from an old book). Others fixed corrals and raided silos, and brought in more survivors. We soon merged with a group of a hundred or so Misha and Mennonish families, and had to embiggen our palisade several times. The town eventually formed an army of two hundred men, women, and older boys, a quarter of our population, and took over empty farms and protected them against the horde of oddly-deformed people who seemed to have literally come out of nowhere.

  It wasn't long before the more religious of us began calling them demons, and the name stuck.

  Most of the demons seemed very humanlike, if not entirely human. They even spoke a form of Anglic. Maybe they were other survivors, somehow transformed by the Day of Ruin? We never really knew. The only other truly odd thing was that they all seemed to be women. Some were even accompanied by girl children. When we realized that, we tried to approach them peacefully; what else would you expect of Misha and Mennonish, and Southrons who lacked their precious firearms? But the demons didn't want to talk or trade. They wanted to take our men, and they were hella strong, to quote Davin Quinn, who was just back from his Rumspring on the Day of Ruin and had already fathered two sons and five daughters on five different women when he told me that, more than 15 years ago. One of the boys was my little brother, Calvin.

  The demons took whoever they wanted. Eventually, they took Young-Father Davin.

  My biological father was one of the first taken, not long after the Day of Ruin. Mother told me more than once, tearfully, that his marriage beard hadn't even finished growing in fully. All these years later, she still missed Isaiah Fell. Ironically, he had been captured by a sweet-talking demon of the type Old-Father called a succubus.

  Like father, like son.

  Rebound:

  My decision not to talk to Slinky lasted no time at all. The pheromones she emitted aroused me too quickly. We hadn't even reached the river before I was on her again, shameless.

  Funny story: for the longest time, I thought she said "ferro-moans" when I asked why I wanted her so much and so often, and for a year, I couldn't help but think of the Dawn Sword moaning in pleasure whenever we comforted each other. Otherwise, the intent of the weapon was to protect me from being overexploited, which was the Lady Goddess's whole idea when she gave it to me. Plus, she said that it emitted a field that drove away all cockroaches within 200 yards, which I also found desirable, because ugh, bugs.

  After we'd had our fun, S'linkitha said to me, "I have someone I want you to meet," and, putting her fingers to her mouth, emitted one of those sharp whistles that I'd never been able to figure out. I was still jealous of my buddy Clem Milford for being able to do that. And for being able to roll his tongue. I couldn't do it no matter how hard I tried; I still can't. He claimed that was quite useful for getting girls "in the mood" for comforting, which sounded silly back then but sounded very interesting after the Goddess fixed me.

  Not that I ever had to get Slinky "in the mood."

  Anyway, a moment later, another hot little number, as my Old-Father would say, stepped out of the bushes. I could tell she was a succ
ubus by her curves and the purple tiger stripes on her pale upper body, plus she looked exactly like a younger Slinky, except she wore more clothes at the moment and acted shy. Like her mother, she could only wear a halter top because of the wings, which I had to admit I found superbly appealing, but she also wore long pants like a man.

  And no, the halter top didn't "halt her top," ha-ha! She was as lush as Slinky, who confirmed my suspicions a second later when she said, "This is the daughter I told you about. My eldest, Jenna."

  My eyebrows shot up into my hairline. "That's a human name!"

  Slinky rolled her eyes and sighed. "Yes, I promised her father I would name her that."

  "It's also my mother's given name," I said breathlessly, as I looked her over.

  "Oh, really," Slinky said, glancing at me with a calculating expression that made me wonder what the devil was going on.

  "Yes! What a coincidence, am I right?"

  "Perhaps," she purred, as Jenna looked at me with wide eyes.

  "Hello, Jenna," I said happily. "You're very beautiful."

  Jenna crossed her arms in front of herself and scrunched down a bit, like she was hiding her exquisite bosoms. Why would she do that? She was a sex-demon, was she not?

  "I prefer Jenny," she muttered.

  "Okay. Hi, Jenny. Do you need to… feed?"

  Jenny looked at me, then at Slinky, and said flatly, scowling, "Mother, he smells off somehow. Not wrong, precisely, but not right."

  "He just needs a bath."

  "No, I don't care about that. Something's different."

  I felt a spike of disappointment, and almost something else a little like... relief? I had no idea why. She was seriously desirable, and any red-blooded het male would have gladly bedded her, ferro-moans or not, given a sliver of a chance.

  "It's your first time, darling. You haven't quite shaken off your childhood aversion to males. Let's just say it's an acquired taste."

  I grinned. "Ha! I thought it was a required taste for you ladies!"

  "That too," Slinky said with a half-smile. "You're too old for me to keep transferring the energy to you—what is it, Tobias?"

  I had raised my hand, like I was still in school. Licking my lips, nerves humming, I asked, "You transfer sexual energy to her? Umm, how does that even work?"

  Slinky sat down on a stump and put her hands primly in her lap. "We call it the Mother's Kiss."

  "Really? Just a regular kiss? I'd like to see that!" I said excitedly, my jeans getting uncomfortably tight at the thought of Jenny and her Mom kissing passionately.

  "It is a private thing," said Slinky icily, "not to be shared."

  "But it's just a kiss, right?"

  Jenna rolled her eyes. "Got yourself a real perv this time, Mother." She faced me, hands on hips. She looked insanely sexy. "Look, buddy, we're succubi. So no, it's not just a kiss on the lips. There are three other sexual chakra points involved. You can guess where they are."

  "Oh, wow!" I replied enthusiastically, so hard it hurt.

  Jenny's mother glanced at her, left eyebrow arched. "Goodbye, kiddies. Have fun." She glided off into the woods. Before she moved out of view, she called back, "Beware, little Jenny: when the Goddess fixed him, he became hyperspermic. Had something to do with what was wrong with him in the first place. He's more than even I can handle!" Her laughter faded off into the distance.

  I had never heard the word "hyperspermic" before, so I looked at it in my mind. "Hyper" meant something like "super," except even more so. "Spermic" had something to do with my male seed. So apparently, I had gone from producing no seed at all to producing far more than normal? Huh, I had not realized that. No wonder I was ready whenever milady was. Just to be sure, I said, "Hyperspermic. Does that mean I produce a lot more of... what you feed on than normal men?"

  Jenny giggled. "By far. Your kind are rare. It's almost unheard of for a succubus to share her man with anyone, and when it happens, she forms a stable coven and helps fight off anyone who tries to take him." Hands still on her hips, she said, "If you weren't hyperspermic, Mom would have drained you by now. You've been together what, two days?"

  "Yes," I said. "The day after I left the Goddess's temple with my gifts." I turned bright red. "You mother, um, caught me because I had stopped to, er, comfort myself. I was, erm, overwhelmed by sensation."

  She smirked and laughed. "Hyperspermia, all right. When you gotta come, you gotta come."

  "Uh, yes, I suppose. Maybe that's why I seem a little off to you."

  "No, I've met hyperspermic men before. They smelled normal. You don't. I still say something doesn't seem right," Jenny said sulkily. She looked at my lap. "But I can also sense that you've got what I need... and if the size of the tent pitched in your draws is anything to go by, we're going to have some good fun."

  Suddenly I felt like I was in a dream, enveloped by a fragrant mist, and there was only one other person in the universe: my beautiful Jenny. She was radiant, more goddess-like than the Goddess, and I had to have her. Right now.

  I just about attacked her, finding myself somehow suddenly naked and rampant. She stiff-armed me and I sat down abruptly, astonished by her strength and incredibleness. "No," she said in a soft, sultry voice, from luscious lips I could not wait to feel exploring every inch of my body. She followed up with a whisper: "Watch me." And she slowly began to peel herself out of her clothes.

  And I do mean peel. Her outfit was so tight it was like it was glued on, and from the second she slipped the first strap off her cute, freckled left shoulder, my bollocks tightened up and began to throb painfully. Ah. So that's what all the other boys meant by "blue balls," I thought. At least I knew there would be a positive outcome this time.

  As she revealed her breasts to me, I caught my breath. They were the size of softballs, high and perky, with passion-pink nipples that stood out proudly. When she let her pale hair down to curl over her shoulders and chest to frame those breasts, I almost ejaculated prematurely. I had to unbutton my fly and release my privy member from its constraints to avoid embarrassing myself.

  When she looked down, her eyes widened. "Oh my gosh. Mom said you were above average, and she's right. So, you like my boobs that much?"

  I had heard the naughty word before, but had never said it. I rolled it around in my thoughts, then tried it in my mouth: "No, I love your boobs." I liked the taste of that. "Your boobs are the most beautiful I've ever seen, and I've seen a Goddess's."

  "Maybe we should start with a tit-job, then."

  "I don't even know what that is, but okay."

  She told me, and I perked up, wide-eyed. "Yes—but no! I haven't seen you completely naked yet! Show me bottom half, sweet Jenny!"

  "You mean my ass?" she asked playfully, index finger on her chin.

  "Yes! Yes! Oh my Goddess, please yes! And the front parts, too!"

  She finished undressing, and showed me all the rest of her. In graphic detail. I felt like my whole body was going to explode, not just my privy member. I already knew I was going to enjoy this experience, even if it killed me.

  ❖

  It damn near killed me.

  The last thing I remember clearly was Jenny pressing my manhood between her breasts, as I started to thrust helplessly...

  Two hours later I woke up, and we were both covered with streams and splashes of my male essence, which were concentrated on and in her most womanly aspects. And on her face, for some reason. My privy member was aching, my testicles hurt, and I was so exhausted I could barely stand. When I did, I saw that my lover's eyes had fluttered open. I reached down and helped her up, whereupon her lady mother emerged from the forest. After watching us for a moment, she tapped her foot on the ground and said, "Young lady, we need to have a talk."

  They headed off into the thicket, and Slinky yelled at her for "dialing it up too high." Meanwhile, I just sat on the ground and tried to wipe my precious bodily fluids off my skin with leaves and grass. I smelled like a whorehouse. Or at least, how I thought one mus
t smell, never having actually been to one. I definitely smelt like Bundling Day.

  Rewind:

  As I grew out of infancy, the people of Hamiltown began to realize there were several things that were different about me.

  That I had an excellent memory was useful. Old-Father said it was near-photographic, which meant I could recall almost anything I saw, heard, read, or otherwise learned whenever I wanted. That didn't mean I couldn't forget about Mother's birthday or let time fly until it was well past dinnertime, but when I cared to, I could recall with exacting precision what someone had said, anything I had seen or heard, and all that I had read in our tiny library.

  Useful in some ways, but not so much in others, was the fact that I had no tact. I still have problems with that now. Lying is hard; even keeping secrets is hard. As a youngster I was unable to shade the truth, even when it would have been best to do so. If a girl asked me if her new dress made her look fat, I told her the truth, especially when it wasn't the dress. That got me punched in the nose more than once. When Clem tried to claim we hadn't seen any game when he and I went hunting with our new gear at age 16, I told the elders not only that I had shot at a deer and missed, but that Clem had too, and his arrow had fallen into the river and floated away. Clem didn't talk to me for two weeks. When Farah Stoltzfus claimed her sister Chloe slipped and fell in the duck pond all by herself, I testified that Farah had pushed her because Chloe had dared look longingly at Darren Mead, whom Farah had staked out as her own because she loved his dreamy muscles. Her words, not mine.