Table of Contents
Book Description
Chapter One:
The Belle of Westmoreland
Take me straight to the cunnilingus
Take me straight to the sex
Chapter Two:
A Sleek, Black Wasp
Chapter Three:
The Lady Olofsdotter
Chapter Four:
His Reluctant Highness
Chapter Five:
Fuck, Fight, or Get Out of the Shot
Chapter Six:
Like a Blessing
Chapter Seven:
The Unfortunate Princess
Chapter Eight:
An Opportunistic Familial Atavus
Chapter Nine:
Perspiration Slicked My Skin
Take me straight to the blowjob
Take me straight to anal
Chapter Ten:
A Small Break
Chapter Eleven:
Her Slender Neck
Chapter Twelve:
The Demon’s Name
Take me straight to the cunnilingus
Take me straight to the sex
Chapter Thirteen:
A Hero, A Whore
Copyright Information
Acknowledgements
Author’s Note
The Sexorcism of Miriam Flack © 2013 by L.M. Martin.
All Rights Reserved
Publisher: Phasmophobia Press
Cover design © L.M. Martin
Cover photos:
Rusty Chain © Anders Lundstedt | Dreamstime.com
Latin Text Grunge © Rolffimages | Dreamstime.com
Fire © Almir1968 | Dreamstime.com
Sexy Muscular Naked Man and Female Hands © Martin Valigursky | Dreamstime.com
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and geographical locations are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.
Edition: August 2013 e-book
The Sexorcism of Miriam Flack
By Violet Graves
This book is intended for sale to adult audiences only. This work contains sexually explicit scenes and graphic language. All sexually active characters in this work are of legal age. Over 25,000 words.
This work contains role-play, dubious consent, and paranormal possession.
To my friends whose eyes lit up when I said “paranormal erotica”
BOOK DESCRIPTION
Verily Grange is an uncommon whore by day and an illegal exorcist by night.
He builds and sustains his massive sexual power through Tantric interactions with his paying clients so that he can use sexual alchemy to vanquish spirits that afflict the innocent.
During a dalliance with the Belle of Westmoreland, Verily is sent a royal summons. An unfortunate princess is deep in the throes of possession.
Sexorcism is her last hope.
Chapter One
The Belle of Westmoreland
There was nary a soul, living or otherwise, to witness our liaison. The palatial estate had been cleared of ghosts in consideration of the guests attending the charitable function in the ballroom, and even the White Lady—every proper estate has a White Lady—was caged until the sensitive VIPs had left the building. Thus, we were alone on the balcony and the game was afoot. The Belle of Westmoreland moved from shadow to shadow. Unlike the dangerous character she portrayed, her shoes tapped the stones like the hooves of a doe—like prey.
“You cannot escape me,” I called out. My false and archaic British accent was sharp and crisp on my tongue.
The night was cold and the steamed puff of her gasp betrayed her hiding place behind a marble pillar. I moved to the next shadow, my boots silent. The acoustics of the balcony and the courtyard below threw my voice from stone to stone.
“I will free the Belle of your dreadful clutch, demon.”
Her frightened whimper was the cry of a mourning dove. I waited. I knew that she was planning to bolt for the doors that led back to the temporary gambling hall in the main ballroom of the palatial estate. My night’s work would be for naught and my client would expect a full refund; I had promised she would not escape.
I was faster than the Belle and I knew that I could outpace her but I did not want to risk being seen by other guests if we ran into the light. I removed a cufflink and weighed the silver in my hand for a moment before I tossed it. The link tapped the stones on the other side of her shadow. She yelped and lifted her skirts as she bolted towards me. I stepped out of the dark and into her path.
Her eyes widened with surprised as she stumbled to a halt.
I stopped her arm mid-strike. “Did you really think you could run away from me?”
“Let go my hand, demon hunter.” The Belle tugged her offended appendage from my grasp and then slapped me with it. The touch was feather-light but I made a show of reeling back as though struck hard. She smiled and bared her teeth to reveal porcelain fangs. An involuntary shudder ran down the length of my body when I saw the glistening props but I quickly recovered. My skin flushed with anticipation. The Belle was bending the rules of reality because she wasn’t as well versed in phasmology as she liked to think. The producers of the erotic film that had inspired this particular scenario had taken some artistic liberties. The only way to rid the world of a vampire was to kill it and that certainly wasn’t appropriate in this case.
She licked her lips, stepped closer, and sniffed the air. “I can smell your blood,” she hissed.
“It’s not my blood you want.” I stayed in character but hoped to remind the Belle that biting hard enough to make me bleed was not on the table.
She wound back her arm to slap me again. I snatched her hand and turned her wrist. She spun, at first with the force of my twist and then, like a dancer, she bent her back and slipped under our joined arms, righting herself in a split second. I saw the flash of her white palm and dodged the blow that would have broken the bridge of my nose had I hesitated to move.
“Vampire,” I crowed with surprise and a touch of delight. I was always pleased when a client committed to a role. “How you fight!”
“I knew you would never give up hunting me, slayer,” she snapped. “I’ve learned to defend myself.”
Her foot lifted and flew towards my knee. I threw her hand to the side and stepped away from the attack. Harming the Belle was not an option. Light welts and bruising were acceptable—she had paid for rough sex in a standard hunter/prey scenario with a demonic twist—but her violent response meant she was taking the game up a level. I needed a moment to reassess my strategy. She took this moment to turn and run. I laughed, loud and long; the sound skipped along the stones and surrounded her.
The chase was on again.
She made for the edge of the balcony. There was only one escape in that direction. I knew the Belle well enough to believe that she would not throw herself over the edge to be broken on the flagstones below but I followed in great haste, in case she should lose herself in the spirit of the game. I watched her skirts and petticoats lift as she threw one long leg up and over the cold marble railing. She was bare of any undergarments that might otherwise obscure my view of her delicious nether region.
“Belle” I shouted and then flinched at the desperate volume of my voice. I sprinted the last few meters and wrapped my arms around her waist, pulling her back from certain death. I held her tight. Her back pressed to my chest and her ample buttocks ground against my groin.
I returned to the script of preferred responses that she had emailed to me earlier in the day. “You are mine now, devilish creature. I shall fuck the evil out of my belove
d.”
“No, not here, not here,” she wailed. “Not bent over the cold stone with my skirts lifted for the entire world to see. Please, please, no. Not that.”
I improvised. “You have no say in the matter, devil,” I breathed into the back of her ear. “I will fuck you right here, right now.”
I curled one arm around her abdomen. I moved my other hand up the front of her bodice and roughly kneaded the mound of her left breast where it rose above the corset. Her heartbeat fluttered within the flesh cupped in the palm of my hand. My own heart pounded with such force that I could feel my pulse through her body. I freed her breast from the cage of silk and whalebone. Her nipple hardened against the chill and under the stroke of my thumb.
“Please, please, don’t take me from behind like an animal.”
While the Belle relished our games of hunter/prey, she could never fully submit to her chosen role as victim; even as she screamed for help, she would guide my prick into her body and bark instructions. While I did sometimes lament the fact that she would never understand true, blissful submission—an experience I could provide as master or slave—this did not mean I was unwilling to work within her limited scope. While the nuances of my profession were beyond her shallow reckoning of sex and power, her credit transferred accounts as well as any other client.
I bent my knees and curled my hips to dry-thrust against her ass. My cock throbbed within the confines of my pants. I knew that she could feel the heat of him against the alabaster skin of her thigh above her gartered stockings. “I will take you as I please. And it pleases me to take you like this.”
I pushed her forward, using enough force to make her grab the railing for balance. I was cautious of spinning kicks this time and moved fast. Her skirts fell back into place and covered the length of her legs but I could see the heels of her shoes. I kicked her feet apart. She staggered against the stone. With one hand, she began pulling up her skirts.
“Nooo,” she moaned. “Not like an animal. Not like a beast, like a bull.”
I considered the sounds a bull might make during coitus and immediately dismissed them. I settled for a low wolfish growl as I stepped between her legs and assisted with the lifting of her dress.
“You are worse than an animal,” I said. “You have stolen the body of my beloved Belle.” My tongue neatly tripped over the scripted alliteration.
A tsunami of crinoline and lace rose between our bodies. The head of my manhood nudged against the seam of my fly. Had he a thumb, my cock would have unzipped the pants himself. The aroma of the Belle’s sex was a heady mix of natural musk and bottled strawberries that traced the air with licks of light when I breathed in her scent. I reached around and took hold of both her slender wrists. I brought them behind her back and clamped the delicate joints together in one hand. I leaned forward, trapping her arms between us.
“First, I will taste you,” I whispered. I licked the pink shell of her ear. Then I lifted the mass of golden coils and kissed the back of her neck with open lips, my tongue wet against her skin. I angled my head and softly nibbled her shoulder. I felt a slight give within the depths of her body and I knew then that she would not fight, at least not with as much heart as she would have moments before.
I pressed her against the sturdy stone as I slid down her soft curves. The wayward skirts were held up by the arm that secured her wrists and, on my knees, I had a wonderful view of her glistening sex. I took a moment to appreciate the tableau. She kept her hair trimmed and the color matched the golden locks on her head, albeit a shade or two darker. I knew this hue to be a ruse. The skin around her petite asshole was bleached to a pale shade of pink that was warmed by the light of a nearby torch.
Her nethers were, as always, clean to the point of obsessive.
I leaned forward and licked her taint. She whined deep in her throat, trapping the moan behind closed lips. The tips of my tongue traced her anus, one on each side. I smelled the cloying strawberries and detected the slight taste of antiseptic. I pulled aside the flesh of her right cheek with my thumb and dipped my tongue into the puckered divot of her exit. Her buttocks clenched. Then she moaned and her ass became as soft as dough.
“Please don’t eat my pussy,” she begged. She had given up the power of her chosen character and the fight had completely left her. I supposed this decision was to expedite the promised sex; she was always one for instant gratification. I would have preferred more of a battle, myself.
I exchanged the placement of my tongue with my thumb and pressed against, but did not push past, the tight sphincter. “I will do what needs to be done to save my beloved Belle.”
I had to adjust my angle somewhat, scooting farther forward between her legs and leaning back on my heels, to find the perfect position. I licked the length of her sex, slipping my tongue deep into the folds of her labia. Her honey coated my lips. The natural lubricant was laced with something else—a synthetic sweetness that tingled the tips of my tongue. Steam rose into the air between us.
My lips started to burn. I recognized the sensation. At some point in the evening, The Belle of Westmoreland had slipped a dissolving capsule of berry-flavored Heat into her vagina. The gel was designed to increase blood flow during sexual encounters to maximize the potential of orgasm. I was surprised and a little offended; since when were my attentions not enough to satisfy?
The Belle moaned with displeasure at the absence of my tongue. I lightly slapped her thigh. The skin flushed. “Open your legs for me, vampire. Let me taste you.”
She pushed her ass into the air and scooted her feet farther apart.
“That’s a good vampire,” I murmured and put my face between her cheeks again. I would never eat out a vampire. Vampires were a nasty lot. But this was fantasy and the Belle preferred the romanticized version made popular by those who could not see past the beauty of the undead.
My nose pressed her taint while I diligently explored and cleaned the already fastidious folds with my tongue. Her hips rolled and her spine undulated, urging my tongue into a deep rhythm. More honey and Heat seeped from her. I focused my attention on the area despite the burning sensation. Several times, I licked her inner thigh to wipe the offensive sting from my tongue. The hood of her clitoris pulsed beneath my lower lip. I turned my attention to the nub and pinched the throbbing flesh between the tips of my tongue. I planned to bring her external clitoris to orgasm in an efficient manner before fucking her senseless. The Belle was not one for edging.
“Mother fucker,” she gasped. “Mother-fucking fucker…” her words trailed off into muttered curses that would have made a sailor think twice about engaging in conversation.
I closed my lips around her clit and pushed back the hood with my tongue. The tiny pulse fluttered like the heart of a hummingbird. I suckled.
“Ah, sweet mother of all saints, you goddamned bastard,” she moaned. She wrenched one of her hands free and awkwardly slapped the side of my head. “Stop it.”
The tone of her voice meant business. I sat back on my heels and looked up to regard her corseted back. She pulled her other hand free from my loosened grasp and whirled around to face me. She bent forward, grabbed her skirts at the knee, and lifted them until the bottom hems brushed her belly.
“What is your trick, vampire?” I readied myself to follow her lead.
“Oh, skip the vampire bullshit and just fuck me.” She backed away with a small hop that perched her ass on the cold railing. She slipped one hand between her legs and furiously rubbed her slick mound to keep up the momentum of her impending orgasm. Her knees opened wide. I stood and stepped forward to assist in the maintenance of her precarious position because she seemed oblivious to the distance of the courtyard below. I slipped both arms around her body. She grappled at the iron buckle of my belt with one hand while the other fingered her cleft.
“Fuck. You’re like Fort fucking Knox,” she griped, unwilling to give up one task for the other.
“Just unzip me,” I said.
&nbs
p; “Shut up,” she snapped but then did as I advised. My cock pushed free and nuzzled his head into her warm palm. “There you go, big guy,” she crooned. “That’s what I need.” She ran her fingers up my length and lifted her eyes to watch my expression. I obliged with a moan and the lowering of my lids.
“You want this?” She lightly stroked the underside of my balls with her fingernails.
“Yes,” I answered in a ragged whisper.
“You want to fuck my pussy—my hot, wet pussy?”
“Yes, Belle, I do.” Your excessively hot pussy, I wanted to add.
“Say it.”
I slipped my hand up her back and fisted my fingers in her hair. “I want to fuck your hot, wet pussy.”
“With your cock,” she prompted.
“I want to fuck your hot, wet pussy with my cock,” I obediently replied.
One of her fangs had lost its mooring and dangled from her tooth. I hoped she would not choke on it. She lifted her legs and hooked her feet at the small of my back, urging me closer. Her hand guided me to the steaming entrance of her body but she did not release her soft grip on my cock nor stop massaging her mound with the other hand.
“Tell me how much you want me,” she said. With a wink and a whisper, as though we might be overheard, she added, “Feel free to ad lib.”
I chose my words carefully. “Belle, in these moments, I belong to you.” I leaned forward and spoke softly into her ear. “My body is yours to command. My cock wants no other woman.” I risked moving one arm, doubling the supportive effort of the other, to slip my hand between our bodies and cup her right breast. I bent my neck to kiss the rise of soft flesh. “You empower me, woman. You provide me the strength I need.”
This was the truth and nothing but the truth. In my role as a professional lover, I take great pride. I spend the hours before my liaisons preparing for the intimate interactions; I tune my body to the specific client until my cock rises at the mere scent of their perfume or cologne. In return for this intense personal attention, they pay me in far more than credit. Every tantric encounter I have builds my own internal power; I need this power for my true vocation. Little did the Belle know—the imaginary hero of her fantasy had a real-life counterpart—sans vampires.
The Sexorcism of Miriam Flack (The Reluctant Exorcist) Page 1
