On The Night of the Harvest

(*)Author's Notes: This story has been posted to Literotica. Com with the full knowledge of the original author, JimBob44. No part or whole of this story may be reprinted in any other format or on any other web site without the express written consent of the original author.

Any and all persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.

This story has been edited by myself, using Microsoft Spell-Check. You have been forewarned; expect to find mistakes.

This short tale is an entry for the Literotica Halloween 2026 Contest. Please take a moment to leave a rating for this and for the other fine stories being submitted for this contest. Thank you.

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George Bordelon pushed the grocery cart along the aisles of the Burns & Burns Grocers grocery store, looking for the items on the list his mother had given to him. He was irritated; she'd waited until he was almost ready to leave the house to go to Mark's Halloween Party before asking him to go to the store for her. To make matters worse, she had written the list in her usual haphazard manner. Instead of following the pattern of the grocery store aisles, she'd written items as they came into her consciousness. So George was constantly having to skim the list before leaving an aisle, checking to see if there was anything else on the aisle before moving on to the next one.

"Be a hell of a lot easier if you'd just oh I don't know, put all the lettuce and apples and other stuff together, then put all the canned stuff together," George grumbled after the third time he'd had to double back for an item on the list.

Finally, after nearly an hour in the store, George turned the corner and froze. There, in front of him, peeking out from her extremely short cutoff shorts were two perfectly shaped creamy brown buttocks perched on top of two creamy brown, perfectly scultpted legs. George watched as the beautiful young woman grabbed a bottle from the bottom shelf, straightened, allowing a curtain of dark dreadlocks to cascade down, covering her beautiful buttocks. She apparently sensed eyes on her; she turned and gave George a brilliant smile.

Her eyes were almond shaped, golden brown, almost yellow, underneath a pair of meticulously shaped eyebrows of black. Her lashes were long; George wondered if they were perhaps false eyelashes. Courtney, his former girlfriend had worn false eyelashes; they'd looked ridiculous on her. These did not look ridiculous as she held his stupefied gaze, held her smile.

Her nose was slim, especially on her round brown face. Her lips were plump, a rich brown in color; George could tell that she was not wearing lipstick; it looked as if she wore no makeup at all. Her teeth were brilliant, white and straight as she smiled at him.

"Bon jour," her soft voice crooned.

Even though they were at least twenty feet apart, George heard her soft greeting as if she were standing right next to him.

"H-h-h..." George attempted, rooted to the spot.

Her long sleeve tee shirt was snug across her braless breasts; he could just make out her large areolae through the material. Her nipples were apparently hard; they poked against the material of her tee shirt, announcing themselves. A glimpse of her creamy brown belly peeked out; the hem of her tee shirt did not reach the waistband of her cutoffs.

"It is time for our harvest," she said, holding up the half-gallon bottle of Iron Barrel Cinnamon Whiskey.

"Yeah I uh, yeah, yeah it is," George agreed even though he had no real comprehension of her words.

Her smile grew wider, eyes locked on his eyes. She placed the heavy bottle into the plastic Burns & Burns Grocers basket she held in her left arm.

She then picked up a large bottle of Cire's Apple Brandy. A quart bottle of Mark's Brown Sugar Liqueur joined the other bottles in her basket. After careful selection, she picked up a quart bottle of Mark's Maple Syrup Liqueur.

"It is time for our harvest," she repeated, walking toward him, never breaking eye contact.

"I uh, yeah, yeah it is," George again agreed with the exotic beauty.

"Come," she demanded, linking her arm with his.

George abandoned the half-filled grocery cart in the middle of the Beer & Spirits aisle. Numbly, the chubby eighteen year old boy allowed himself to be pulled to a battered old nondescript pickup truck. The metal paint had worn off long ago; the metal was completely rusted through in places. The truck did not look road-worthy and the doors creaked loudly in protest as they opened driver and passenger doors. The engine groaned and misfired as she started the aged truck.

Her shanty was perched on crumbling, rotted wooden stilts high above the dark water. The dilapidated shack was accessible by a wooden walkway that extended from the well-trodden dirt pathway over the brackish waters of the Atchafalaya Basin to the weathered boards of the shanty's porch. George followed her, her beautiful brown buttocks beckoning to him as she walked up the rickety, swaying wooden walkway that seemed as if it would collapse under a gentle breeze. The walkway extended from dry earth to the wooden porch that strained and groaned as she put her weight on the boards. She pushed the door open and he mutely followed her into the pitch black depths of the wooden shanty.

"My mother was a Mambo," he heard her soft voice state as a wooden match was struck.

"Huh?" George asked as she lighted a kerosene lamp.

"And she joined with a Shaman from the Far East; he was a follower of the Shinto god Ame-no-Kagaseo," she continued. "Their power was great. Some even said they were evil."

"E-evil?" George asked, brown eyes opening wide at her words.

"Darkness, much darkness. They came together, they joined in a spiritual celebration," she continued to share. "Each, each was determined that they would possess the other, dominate the other, claim the other as their own as they joined in lust."

"What, what happened," George asked.

"They did not triumph; they consumed one another," she stated, voice flat, devoid of emotion.

"Con, consumed?" George quavered; why was he here? Why had he come; followed her when she told him to come with her?

"Celeste," she said, the lamp illuminating her beautiful face as she smiled at him. "Celeste LaDiable."

"I, hi, I, I'm George," he said, watching as she hung the kerosene lamp from a hook on the wall of the shanty.

"George Bordelon," she agreed, using the same match to light a burner on her propane stove.

He watched as she grabbed a battered tin pot that looked to be many, many decades old; the old wooden handle wobbled as she put the pot over the flame. Then, she poured some whiskey, some brandy, some brown sugar liqueur and maple syrup liqueur into the pot. She did not measure each portion of the alcoholic beverages, simply poured from bottle to hissing, sizzling pot. Reaching up, she grabbed a handful of some powder from a shelf and threw the powder into the pot.

"I call this a Harvest,'" she said, pouring the steaming liquid into a chipped, heavily stained mug.

"It, its harvest time," George agreed, accepting the fragrant liquor from her slender hand.

The mug was hard to handle; the heat scalded his pudgy hand. George was sure the aged cup had not been washed in many days, possibly years. Wincing from the heat, he raised the mug to his lips, blowing on the contents as he did so.

The smells, the aroma wafting from the mug did indeed remind him of the smells, the aroma of autumn as he breathed in the steam. Her beautiful yellow eyes watched him intently as he took a cautious sip of the hot beverage.

"Drink, drink my little marionette," she cooed, pouring the remaining alcohol from the pot into a second heavily stained and chipped mug.

George shuddered as the strong alcohol burned down, down along his esophagus, coming to rest very heavily in his belly. A second sip of the aromatic but harsh beverage burned, burned down, down until that warmth radiated from his belly outward.

"Yes?" she asked, swallowing heartily from her own mug of the harsh, cloying liquor.

"Yes," George agreed, feeling quite thick, sluggish in his thoughts and words and movements.

She stood naked in front of him. He found that he too was naked. Her breasts were little more than a handful, dreamy brown with dark brown areolae and hard nipples. Her belly was concave, tapering into lush hips. Her pubic mound was bald and her coral pink inner lips protruded, slick with her excitement.

She pushed him to lie on a pallet on the floor. The boards sagged and groaned underneath their combined weight as she straddled his hips, guiding his throbbing erection to her sex. He was terrified; it truly felt and sounded as if the very floor underneath them would give way; they would plunge into the dark, brackish waters underneath the rotted old shanty.

"Now," she whispered as he was fully imbedded within the furnace between her muscled legs. "Now, the harvest begins."

Leaning forward, she kissed him. Suddenly, she bit his bottom lip. He groaned as his blood dripped from his lip. Her kiss grew in intensity as she ground her sex against him. Rising once more, she let out a scream of pure pleasure, his blood dripping from her mouth.

George lay motionless; his limbs too heavy, too weak to move. He could feel his warm blood, dripping, drooling from his lip, down over his chin. The floorboards creaked and protested loudly as she ground herself vigorously against his flesh.

All around him, small flashes of light blinked. But when he attempted to look, to see into the darkness, the flashes were not there. He had the distinct feeling that they were being watched; someone or someones were in the dark, watching, observing with keen interest as they joined together in a carnal dance.

"Aaieegh!" she howled, head thrown back in pleasure.

"I, oh, oh, oh, augh!" George groaned; his sperm pumping forcefully into her womb.

"Oui, oh, oh oui!" she panted, milking his cock with her vaginal muscles. "Yes, yes, the harvest, the seed..."

Leaning forward again as his spurts ceased, she used her teeth to tear his lips from his face. He attempted to scream as her next kiss ripped his tongue from his mouth. Now, the flashes of light all about them laughed, demonic laughter as she savagely ate his flesh, tearing more and more of his flesh from his bones with her sharp teeth. Still, they joined together, their sexual frenzy building higher and higher, louder and louder.

Pain, shards of blinding pain from every extremity filled his fevered mind as he watched the consummation taking place on the blood soaked pallet, heard the boards groaning underneath him. He was powerless to protest, powerless to stop her as she ate greedily of his body.

With an orgiastic howl, she once more sat up, grinding her fiery hot sex against his erection. With little more than a gurgle, he too reached a violent, painful climax. The flashes of light laughed, cheered, cried out for more as he slowly faded, the darkness enveloping his bloody carcass. The last thing he saw was Celeste tearing his still quite hard cock from his body and bringing the stump of his manhood to her bloodied mouth.

The sudden burst of the fluorescent lighting of the Burns & Burns Grocers grocery store made George grunt out loud and he closed his eyes against the searing, blinding light. He staggered, almost sending his grocery cart caroming into a display of Gratchley's Beer in the center of the aisle. Shielding his eyes against the blinding light, George looked around, disoriented. There was no sign of Celeste, no sign of a half-dressed mixed race beauty in the Beer & Spirits aisle.

"Here you go Sweetie; dropped your list," an elderly black woman smiled, bending and retrieving his shopping list from the floor.

"Thank, thank you," George stammered, taking the crisp, clean sheet of white paper from her gnarled hands.

"Ain't nothing," she smiled, grabbing a six pack of beer from the display.

George looked; his hands were not bloody stumps. His skin was unbroken, he could not see his bones, see his muscles and sinew. But the pain; there were memories of the agonizing, horrific pain just underneath the pale skin of his arms, chest, legs.

Checking the paper, he did not see anything he needed from this aisle. Numbly, still searching his flesh for any signs of the trauma, he completed his shopping.

Once more checking the list, he made his way to the cashier's station. Chatting with the cashier; she did most of the talking, George paid, thanked the woman and left the store.

He drove home, head still quite fuzzy from his temporary vision, dream, experience, whatever. Pulling under the carport, George grabbed six of the plastic grocery bags, three on each arm and carried them into the home. He returned and grabbed six more bags; why did they feel it necessary to use up as many bags as they could? George was sure he could have put most of these items into one, possibly two bags instead of six bags.

"Coming, I'm coming; you get everything?" George heard his mother's voice calling from the hallway outside of her bedroom.

"Yeah, George said, dropping the bags onto the counter and slipping out of the house to retrieve the last of the groceries from the trunk of the car.

Entering the kitchen, George used the heel of his shoe to kick the old wood and glass door shut. Turning to put everything onto the counter, George saw his mother's slightly wide haunches peering out of the pantry as she put groceries onto the appropriate shelves. Her pajamas were a too tight, too short tee shirt and her usual nylon running shorts; she had not run in years. He could see that she wore no panties underneath the shorts; her dark brown bush was visible as he continued to ogle her pasty white flesh. His cock reacted to the sight of a plump pussy, dark pink lips peeking through the brown curls.

It, it is time for the harvest," George muttered, grabbing the elastic band of her shorts.

"What?" his mother shrilled, startled. "George, what, what are you doing?"

"Let the harvest begin," George groaned, jerking her loose shorts down, baring her pasty white, pale haunches to his lecherous gaze.

She let out a loud, low groan as his throbbing cock slid into her wet, fiery pussy. She gripped the edge of the shelf for balance as his cock entered her, thrusting forcefully into her from behind.

"Oooooohh!" she moaned as her first orgasm rippled through her long-neglected flesh.

"Let the harvest begin," George bellowed, filling his mother's womb with the seed.

"Yes!" she shrieked in agreement.

==.==

Noir LaDiable was a devoted student, learning the potions, the incantations from her mother. She was a beautiful girl; skin creamy brown, eyes dark and mysterious, long black hair twisted into dreadlocks. As she matured, her beauty and her strength and power grew.

"You are a mambo," Celeste declared one Halloween; the day was slowly slipping into night.

"Is it time?" Noir deduced, almond eyes searching her mother's face.

"It is time; you are eighteen years of age," Celeste agreed, almost sadly.

"His name is Emmanuel," Noir said, repeating what her mother had told her often.

"Emmanuel Bordelon," Celeste agreed. "His mother died in childbirth; she cannot protect him."

"And the father?" Noir asked, feeling the hunger begin to form in her belly and lower.

"George. I chose him; he was weak but his hunger was strong. He is without power; I consumed him, consumed his soul," celeste smiled, teeth sharp, white in the fading light of the day.

"Thank you," Noir said, then plunged her sharp claws into her mother's chest, seeking the still beating heart of the powerful mambo.

Eating the heart of the dying mambo Celeste LaDiable, noir felt the power surge within her slim frame. Tilting the chair back, Noir dumped her rapidly decaying mother's flesh into the dark waters beneath their shanty. With a hiss and a gurgle, the waters accepted the putrid flesh. Then with sure-footed steps, Noir made her way down the rickety, swaying bridge from shanty to shore.

"Emmanuel, son of George, son of incest, my despised brother, my betrothed, it is time for the harvest," Noir said, starting the engine of the rusted old pickup truck.

The End

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***Author's Note: I write these stories for my pleasure; I post them here for your enjoyment.

I thank you sincerely for reading my stories.

Likewise, I also thank those that take the time to leave comments, good and bad. I also thank those that take the time to rate my words, those that take the time to 'Favorite' my works.

This is an entry for the Literotica Halloween 2026 Story Contest. Please take a moment to vote for this and the other fine stories being submitted for this year's contest. Thank you.

This is an anomaly; there are no characters from any other JimBob44 story making an appearance in this tale.

Have a swell day. And some of you, have a swollen day. Happy Halloween; it is time for the harvest.