Lilibeth the Candy MILF

Carrying the grocery bags into the house, I stopped just inside the door, smiled, and took a deep breath. The whole house smelled of my handiwork.

I wanted to just stand there and savor it, but I had so much to do. Only half my party decorations were up, and while yes the house was taking on a wonderfully creepy feeling of macabre, the end result would be so much better. I needed to finish pulling the cotton cob webbing across the door frame corners, I had light bulbs to change out in half my lamps and the dry-ice fog machine was not working right yet.

At least I had the graveyard in place. The PVC iron fence was freshly painted flat-black, and I had gotten it placed around the two sides of my front yard. All the Styrofoam tombstones were in their normal spots, I had touched up the stone gray paint on them as well.

Now. Back to work in here.

Sitting down the bags on the counter, I saw my sons "crap" all over my island. And, of course, I could see where inroads had been made into my finished boxes of candy.

"ROY!"

I was answered by a distant "Yeah, Mom?"

"GET YOUR BUTT DOWN HERE!"

I tried to make a guess at what all had been plundered while I waited for him to show up. There were a half-dozen chocolate-covered cherry mice gone. My Pop Rock acid pops were also showing signs of candy snatching.

The pumpkin fudge!

The boy was lucky as hell that there was a knock on the back door just as he arrived. Not that seeing the pimply- faces of his friends Zane and Jeffery, standing there when I opened my door, was any better. Jeffery showing up was guaranteed to cost the party a handful of white chocolate pretzel haystacks and Zane ....

Zane, I just didn't like.

While it was nothing new for a guy to be looking at my boobs when he talked to me, it really creeped me out when it was a teenager ... a punk, greasy-haired, smelling like he bathed in AXE, teenager. He wasn't three feet in the door when his eyes took up permanent residence on my breasts. Like the horny little fucker had never seen anything bigger than a c-cup before. I eyed both boys, and my son too for that matter, with mild disgust when they looked at the dozens of boxes of candy sitting around the kitchen and dining room. If it wasn't sex it was food. Teen fucking boys!

I gave Roy a look while his friends piled their own "junk" on the island next to my son's "crap" making an even bigger pile of "stuff" in my way. Enough is enough.

"Mom can we ...?"

"No. Not a chance. Don't even ask, I'm already mad at you." I pointed the finger-of-death at my son and then turned to the other. "And you two, even more so, no. Enough already. I have twenty-five guests coming here tomorrow night, the house isn't half-finished and I am going to need all that I have made so far, and then some, for the Treat bags I make for my guests. No more candy till after the party." I picked up an armload of my candy making ingredient, (various tools, and boxes of confectioners' sugar, chocolate bark, edible glitter, caramel cubes, and powdered ready-to-mix colored icings) and all but pushed their mess off my counter. "I want all of you out of my kitchen, and certainly out of my candy boxes, for the rest of the night."

"That's what I was just about to ask about," said Roy defensibly. "I wanted to see if I could go hang at Zane's tonight ...."

"Get! I don't care, so long as you're out of my hair." With a final look at him, I went past the other two other teen boys in my kitchen, avoiding Zane's attempt to be enough in the way so that my boobs might brush him in passing. Fuckin' scummy-smelling, hormone-driven, little toad. His trying to get either a peek or a "brush-feel" of my breasts at least once per visit was getting so damn old, so damn fast. As I went out the door, to retrieve the rest of my supplies from the car, I knew the horny perv's eyes were on my ass.

Out at the car, I stopped and took a deep breath. "Rick, you fucking prick I need you." I cussed my ex-husband, Roy's father. Leave it to him to decide to have a midlife crises--and run off with a twenty-year-old convenience store clerk who smiled at him--just as his son hit the difficult mid-teens. In the three years since the divorce my son, my once so loving son was getting out of my control so quickly. He wouldn't listen to me anymore, talked back more often than he listened, and to make matters worse was more and more often hanging out with little punks like Zane.

As I watched the three of them, laughing and pushing each other, walk out to that battered up old Mustang--with it's too big wheels and crappy as hell flat black paint job--I wished I hadn't snapped at Roy back there. Telling him I didn't care what he did was worse than anything I could do but I was just so frustrated with him. Half the time he didn't even seem like the same kid I raised.

I sighed and shook my head when the garage door twenty feet from me started to open and I saw my neighbor, Gabriel Cooper, standing there with his weed eater. Suburban warrior ready to tackle his lawn, yet again. For at least the next four, un-muffled-gas-powered-yard-tool-after-yard-tool, hours. I looked to the trees, mentally wishing for all the golden and red leaves to suddenly drop at once, so that maybe ... please maybe, this would be the last time I would have to hear his fanatical levels of yard clean up for the year.

He smiled and lifted a hand in greeting when he saw me.

I nodded, smiled back and waved. Why had I invited him to the party tomorrow?

Yeah, he was cute, in a salt and pepper gray goatee way. Yeah, he was single, a not too unattractive fact that I noticed more and more often of late. But he was also nutty as a squirrel turd! Since he had moved in last fall he had done more yard work that three landscaping companies combined. Every day, three to four hours per day, he would be doing ... something! ... a loud, noisy, or simply uber-obnoxious as hell at ungodly hours ... something.

"Hey, Lilibeth." His smile was an ear to ear grin. I saw his eyes dart from my nose to my toes and back quickly, he was one of those kinds of guys. Wanted to look, was going to look, but didn't want to look like he was looking. Men! "Or should I call you Mrs. Wonka? I've been smelling candy for days now. Any samples?"

His grin was infectious, and if I hadn't been dealing with teen thieves for days I might have been more susceptible. I shook my head. "I'm already behind in what I need to make. I'll have you a goody bag tomorrow night, don't worry."

He gave me a nod. "I'll be looking forwards to it. I think I put on twenty pounds last year because of your holiday candy. I'm going to need to do more yard-aerobics to keep in shape this season."

Oh, Joy.

With a nod that I had heard him, I took the last of my groceries out the trunk, shut it with a magical combination of elbow and hip, and headed inside ... to find they had raided my damn pumpkin fudge again!

Grabbing my phone, my thumbs flew as I texted an angry message, but then didn't send it. I sighed. Candy was meant to be eaten and they are just boys.

I looked around at the raided boxes, made a mental count of what I needed to make more of and went to work. As I heated the sugar I realized that was the problem, what had once been fun now felt like work.

Every year, year after year from the earliest days of my marriage to Rick, I had taken such pleasure in making candy for all of our friends and relatives. Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas was the times of year I had looked forwards too. Now with him gone off to fuck a younger, skinnier, woman and me alone, with friends who seemed more and more to come more for the free treats than for my company, I wanted to throw all this out. But I couldn't. It was almost like an addiction by now. My eyes started going to recipe websites, my fingers started to ache when I walked down the baking aisles at the store, and I would smile when I thought about what new confections I was going to try to make this year.

I got a pot of coffee going; it was going to be a long day.

To cheer me up I spooned some of my purple decorative sugar into the coffee when it was ready, just to be more in the spooky season mood. I cranked up some "Ghostly" music and got to some serious candy making.

** ** ** ** ** ** **

~ "... bubble, bubble, boil and trouble. Something wicked this way comes!" ~

With my kitchen resembling an Oompa-Loompa wet dream, I sang along with one of my favorite songs off the Harry Potter soundtrack as I made magic. Letting all the stress of the morning slide, I suddenly found myself with more energy than I had ever known. In bursts and spurts I shot around the kitchen, going from one candy station to another, then to the stove and back. Making magic. Sugar boiled, chocolate melted and powdered sugar and shaved coconut got everywhere. And I mean everywhere.

All my worry and depressions over who was coming to see me and who just came to the parties for the candy faded. This was my meditation. My Zen. I wished I could just hover here in this single second forever. Let the world slip away, let time stop and let me make candy, a confectioners heaven of sinfully caloric delights.

This was me. I was, in an odd way that made such sudden sense to me, candy. I was sweet, no other word for it. I was a bit bad for you and, as my ex had showed me, you could get to the point where you've had too much of me and just can't take me anymore.

Looking over at the stacked boxes, I smiled. And then, after you dump me like I'm trash, I can still cost you a leg.

Giggling at my own humor, I poured melted colored sugar into cold water and laughed my delight at seeing the little hard ball forming as I pushed it around in the bowl. Taking the syrup to the counter I poured it over the popcorn, peanuts, and marshmallows. Working quickly, I got it mixed with my wooden spoons, and then hand rolling golf ball size popcorn balls, I shook them in orange sugar and set them aside to finish up with jack-o-lantern icing smiles ... later.

Ding!

Out the oven came my Dia de Muertos skull cookies. Setting those aside to cool. I filled a piping bag with the fancy icing ... also later.

Going to the dining room, I looked over the dozens of colorful clear plastic cups. I pulled out one of my rock candy suckers and mischievously stuck it into my mouth. Two weeks old and the vanilla rum taste, and the super sweetness of the rock candy, simply flooded my mouth.

Oh, they were so very ready.

Mouthing my creation, I spent the next thirty minutes hanging all my rock candy pops so they could dry.

Back into the kitchen, I flew about my candy land. Taking boiling water, I mixed up green Jell-O, and then went about making my gummy worms. I grinned as I poured the mix into a worm-mold, I got from a website that let fishermen make their own fishing worms. Then, giggling, I tipped the last of it into a brain mold I found ... oh, I don't know where I found it. It was perfect!

"If you want to view paradise ...," Singing to myself, I stopped by the sink to get more sanitized spoons from the pot of water I had boiled. Looking out the window, I saw Gabriel working in his yard. "... pure imagination. Damn he has a nice ass."

Biting my bottom lip, I chuckled at the wicked thoughts running through my head. "I've got a golden ticket..." Turning my head a bit, to get a better angle of that view, I suddenly jumped at the face in the window glass. I panted for a half second at my own stupidity. My own damn reflection scared me.

Leaving the weed-eating lunatic, with the nice ass, to his normal insanity, I went back to my own.

My own? Was that what this is? A form of insanity, one that has me trapped in a perpetual candy making loop.? Year after year of this, decade after decade, century after century of making candy. How many millennium will I be bound, no chained to this stove? Boiling sugar, adding colorings? Watching the mixtures making sure they boil only to the proper point and never beyond that.

Never.

How many times have I made a mess of something? How many times has something I've done, dozens of times over and over, and over and over, gone to hell at the last moment? How much sugar have I wasted?

How many cups?

Losing track of time for a moment looking at all my various size measuring cups, I jumped when the cooking timer behind me went off.

"Damn it!"

Taking the pumpkin fudge off the stove, I poured it into the dozens of shot glasses. I quickly stuck cut bamboo skewers into them and popped them into the refrigerator to quick set. I put the cream cheese for the icing to slowly heating up in some hot water so that by the time they were set I would have the glaze.

What next?

Ah ... decorating the house? Yes?

Everything either needed time to set or was cooling off. Good enough. As I stepped into the hallway, I screamed as a spider the size of a Yorkie terrier moved across the back of the couch in the living room. Clutching the door frame, I stopped cold in my tracks and then laughed. The huge, dollar-tree-bought, plastic spider hadn't moved. Of course not, silly me. Candy making fumes getting to me.

Fanning my heated face, I moved into the living room and walked over to the spider. I absently scratched at the fake fun ruff behind its plastic head.

"Don't scare me anymore. You're supposed to scare my arachnophobic guests, not me. Understand, Skippy?"

I chucked at its soft purr and went back to changing out the normal fluorescent spiral bulbs for the black-light ones I bought yesterday. As the room took on more of an ethereal glow from everything white now shining, I would pause and stare at the oddest things. Old family memorabilia, all the decorations still to hang, one of Roy's socks that he had left under the coffee table!

"Damn it. I told him to pick that up yesterday. And now I have to touch it. Yuck! That boy! His damn socks can walk off on their own."

Having just said that, I really shouldn't have been surprised when the glowing white sock began to inchworm across the hardwood floor headed towards the laundry room. Standing there with my jaw open, I watched the glowing white sock leaving the living room.

"Wait, what ... the fuck?" Backing away from that, I stretched out to catch my balance on the wall and my hand became tangled in the cobwebs. Looking at my enmeshed fingers, I screamed as all those tiny glowing, clear-plastic, spiders went running up my arm. Brushing them away, I fled in a panic to the haven that is my kitchen.

I stopped in the doorway and screamed again. The walls were melting chocolate! Running my hands down both sides of the hallway I shook my head, denying what I had just seen. That's when I tasted the papery color of my gray-dotted wallpaper.

With my fingertips?

Looking at my hands, I brought them to my face and smelled the years of sugar built up on them. Decades after decades, centuries after centuries of candy making. Chained to that damn stove. Working till the skin slumped off the bones. Like it was doing now.

Not able to understand, I tried to push my flesh back up onto my hands, it molded like putty them slumped like wax. I moved by instinct towards ... any place but here. When I hit the dining room table and bumped it, all those little cups of sugar syrup I hadn't dealt with yet, they tipped over and spilled and I stood transfixed. Trapped, caught like a fly in one of the draped webs, looking at all the spreading colors. How beautiful. They ran in flowing circles towards the corners of the table and dropped like colored stars to the floor.

How long I stood there I have no idea but I didn't leave that color swirl till the smelly demon showed up.

"Ms. Foster?"

I looked at the demon with his face covered in boils. That terrible reek from his skin blistered my nose and I cried out covering my mouth, least I vomit out fountains of candy tastings.

"You alright?" it asked.

Shaking my head, I tried to get away from him but crashed into the china hutch. I cringed myself down into the corner between the side of it and the wall.

"No, you're not alright. Hey, did you take some of this?" I flinched back from the glowing bag of purple stars he held out towards me. "It was on the kitchen table. Did you? Some of its missing."

Not knowing why this demon wanted to know if I took his stars I tried to move but found myself unable to make my legs work.

"You did, didn't you? Oh, how fucked up is that." He smiled a hideous mouthful of golden fangs then laughed in a way that hurt my hair. "Well, well, well."

I gave a scream when his hand darted out and his claw ripped one of my nipples off my breast. Trying to push him away, I tried again to run, but I tripped over something and splashed into the floor of the hallway. The blue carpet runner had turned into a deep pond of icy water.

His foot was suddenly on the small of my back, holding me under the water. I tried to scream and got a throat full of thick brackish sludge.

"Oh, this is just too good." The demon grabbed my hair and pulled my head from the water. "I've wanted to have you since I met your son. And now look what I've got. His mom fucked out her head and no one here to keep me from this ass."

A fish bit my butt!

I tried to swim down the hall to get away from him, and biting fish, as he grabbed at my sweat pants. He laughed at me all the harder and pulled them down off my struggling legs. Then I was again held under the water by his foot on my back.

"You're going nowhere, bitch. Not till my cums leaking out of you somewhere at least. Come on, let's see those tits."

I was grateful that the demon pulled my face out the water, but then the smell of him hit me again. I retched then gasped for breath when he turned me over and punched me in the stomach. I screamed or tried to when his hand went all the way through me. I cried as his fingers caressed my spine.

"Lie still you cunt. And .. oh damn, look at those."

I felt cold air then hot, scorching hot hands on my breasts. The one with the nipple torn away still hurt like madness. I tried to struggle to keep my shirt on but he was so strong and I was in the dining room sitting in a chair while he was taking my shirt off in the hall. I couldn't reach him. Moving my hand to the table top, I absently swirled colors while out in the hall he finished undressing me, ripping my white panties in his hurry to see my pussy.

I can understand that, sitting here swirling colors, looking at myself lying there in the hall, I have to admit I have a beautiful pussy. All nice and trimmed up, as trimmed as the hedges next door. Thinking of those beautifully manicured shrubs I opened my legs a bit thinking of the manicurist.

"Getting hot for this cock, huh? Well, Lilibeth, don't worry, you're about to get all you could ever take of my snake. In every hole." He pulled at the patch of blonde pubic hairs making them stretch out like taffy. Then he patted my pussy. "But I'm putting it right here first."

I squirmed my ass on the hard dining room chair, I don't like snakes. I've never put them up as decorations. I tried to leave the chair, to walk out the dining room when he stood up and began to unzip his pants. I didn't want to see any snakes.

"Lie still!"

Then it was there ... oh god no! Uncoiling bigger than ten pythons it wrapped its way out of his pants impossible long, running down the hall, through the living room. Then the head whipped into the dining room and appeared right before my eyes, hissing at me.

Then the demon screamed!

Part of smelly demons penis coils had crossed the webbing of Skippy, my spider friend, and the huge, annoyed arachnid did what all spiders do. Plastic or not.

It bit the snake.

With that massive worm thrashing from one side of the hallway to the other, I crawled down the last few yards of water. My arms stretching out to grab at the kitchen island to help pull me free of the grasping hands of flesh colored tentacles. Pulling myself to my feet, I ran out the back door screaming with the demon right behind me. He was howling and coils of bloody, spider venom swollen penis whipped around trying to grab at me, to pull me back to him. Back to where the smell of him would drive me to my knees.