The Ultimate Erotic Short Story Collection 29 - Paranormal Edition: 11 Steamingly Hot Erotica Books for Women

by Susan Woodward

  As she sat faithfully in the pews, listening intently as he delivered his sermon, she mulled over the impossibility of their friendship evolving from the platonic innocence. Abigail did well to conceal her growing desire for the forbidden priest under the guise of friendship. Marcus beamed as he took Abigail under his wing, nourishing her mind with the tenets of the God he so faithfully served.

  In time, Abigail felt overwhelmed by the burden of her secret. She wanted desperately to confide in Marcus as her desire to increase their bond caused her heart to ache. If only she could heal his eyes, then he would see her and perhaps, just perhaps he would be as taken with her as she was with him and abandon the confines of the cloth. Her desire was a selfish one and she felt tortured. One night as she sat out on the vacant steps of the lonely cathedral, mulling miserably over her unfortunate feelings, she found herself in the company of the cause of her woes. Abigail sighed regretfully as Marcus sat beside her.

  “What seems to be the trouble, my child? Marcus pressed her.

  Abigail chuckled to herself at his innocent reference to her as his child, knowing full well that they were both around the same age. It was enough to lighten the mood.

  “I just could not burden you with my…” she paused, panting puffs of warm mist into the cold air.

  “With what my dear?” he encouraged her to finish her sentence.

  Abigail smiled as his endearing words melted like butter in her ears. A single tear clung to the corner of her eye as her heart pleaded with her to confess the truth. As if compelled by an unseen force, she turned to him, closing her eyes as tightly as she could and opened her mouth to let the healing begin. She took his hand into hers pressing gently to seal the grip. Marcus knew that he was taking a risk by allowing the intimate contact to happen, but he found himself unable to pull away. Suddenly as though his eye lids were burdened by weights tied to the ends, Marcus felt the urge to close his eyes.

  Drunk from the intoxicating lure of her enchanting voice as she sang to him, his face fell into the cradle of her lap. In an instant they had gone from the teasing contact of holding hands to his face teetering dangerously close to her hidden sex. Marcus felt conflicted. His faith had never been so strongly tested. Veering so closely to the edge of betraying his oath Marcus prayed within his heart for guidance. Abigail felt her sex awaken as the weight of his head pressed hard against her thighs. Marcus’s eyes filled with tears as the force which closed his lids wavered and they sprang open with the miracle of sight. Quite reluctantly, Marcus peeled his face off Abigail’s lap to anoint his virgin eyes with the view of her.

  “I can see you” his voice cracked.

  “I can see” he continued snatching his face and searching about her excitedly.

  His sex stirred restlessly as he gazed upon the vision he had chased in his mind ever since she tried to creep up on him in the cemetery. Devoid of the uncanny ability that his blindness afforded him to resist the lure of flesh, Marcus was suddenly overcome.

  “Forgive me” Abigail panted, gazing apologetically at him.

  “It was you!” he returned accusingly. “That song...you...you gave me my vision”.

  Abigail waited for the truth of the moment to sink into his soul until his mind became explicably aware of what she had done for him.

  “What are you?” he pressed, bemused by how she could perform a miracle that up until this moment he had thought only his God was capable.

  Abigail turned away shamefully, from all that he had told her of the tenets he held so dare, she surmised that she was nothing but an abomination. Marcus’s heart filled with gratitude and compassion towards her.

  “I don’t know what I am” she return, too embarrassed to turn to him.

  She reached her left arm across her chest to hold her right elbow crushing her enormous mounds as they pressed tightly together under the layered blouse of her dress. Marcus absorbed the view with reverence, remembering his oath, he did his best to fight the urge to reach out and touch them. Abigail wished that she had the ability to make herself disappear.

  “I like the sound of Angel” Marcus offered taking her by surprise with his shocking suggestion.

  It was the middle of the cold moonless night and the Harlow was as still as nothing stirred except for the hapless two on the steps of the proud parish. Abigail knew from the start as she sat close to the adoring priest that if he felt the same affection for her as she did for him, they would surely sin, yet she did nothing to prevent the situation from escalating. Marcus wrenched the stiff white material that sat caged his neck out of its catch, casting it to the floor beside him. Abigail turned at the sound of his collar crashing to the ground.

  It echoed in the stillness of the night. Walking her fingers across the small space that separated them, she caught his trembling hand into hers. Marcus leaned into her and tucking his index under her fine chin to draw her lips as close to his as possible without touching them. Her breath was a clean and fresh as mint and it tingled as it cooled on his lips. He sucked in a sample of her essence as it escaped her plump rosy lips and parted his to sweep over hers in the first of a series of passionate kisses.

  Marcus felt his sex jerk to an instant erection as he moved his lips along the side of her neck, just below her ear. She could hear the intensity of his long deliberate breaths as he paced his anxious body. Abigail moved her hand across his lap to perch atop his stiffened sex. Curving her fingers around the thickness of his shaft, she drew his loosened skin back and forth. Taking his attention briefly away from her neck he bit into the exposed portion of her shoulder causing her to coo as he did. Drawing her into a deep embrace, he pulled apart the delicate lace which held her corset affixed to her ribs.

  As he tore her corset from her, her breast bounced freely below the second layer of her blouse. Marcus felt as though he were slowly plucking the petals of a daisy as he peeled away the layers of heavy fabric that covered her silhouette. Undressed and exposed to the elements, Abigail felt the assault of the coldness against her sensitive skin. Her nipples hardened as Marcus engulfed them one at a time in his mouth. The warmth of his robe hanging over her like a blanket fueled the fire burning betwixt her thighs.

  Marcus arched his frame up into the air, pressing his sex as hard as he could against the mouth of her snatch. She culled fistfuls of his thick, dark brown locks, tugging at the end to hearten him as he suckled. Sweeping her hands down to catch the hem of his robe, she lifted the heavy fabric, drawing his covering up and over his head. She undressed him, so that they were equally exposed. Abigail felt the inner muscles of her sex ring out in a chorus of contractions as her mouth salivated in anticipation of his entry into her. Marcus moved his vigorous frame back and forth across her petite form like waves.

  Abigail drew her knees up so that he pressed firmly between her thighs. His sex throbbed eagerly knocking against the guarded entrance to hers. She purred as she stroked his sex into a perfect stance. Rubbing the head of his sex against the moistened entrance of her sex, she signaled her readiness. Marcus took her on the vacant steps of the parish, where he’d deliver his sermons to the parishioners every Saturday. And so his oath was broken as they both made love, unaware of the stranger looking on as they sinned.

  Sister Margaret watched in horror, enraged and full of envy at as the two lovers desecrated the sacred steps of the holy church. Margaret was on her way to pray at the sacred statue of the Virgin Mary within the church, when her eyes caught the two sinners engaging in their folly. She watched from the very beginning as what seemed like an innocent conversation between a priest and a young woman quickly escalate into the most reproachful act. Margaret felt the contents of her stomach turn violently within her as she witnessed the act. She waited unseen, until the two collected themselves and left.

  Marcus found himself lying in the warmth of Abigail’s chambers, as the golden rays of the rising sun, kissed him awake. Second to the vision of Abigail’s face resting peacefully on his chest, he watched in awe at the
magnificent sight of the dawn as it broke before him. The rude awakening of his transgression had not yet sunk into him as he embraced his love.

  Margaret spoke resentfully as she recounted the act to her mother superior.

  “Dear Mother, I fear that I have beheld a great wrong being committed on the grounds of the parish” she confessed.

  “Fr. Marcus and the peculiar young woman Abigail lay intertwined, naked on the steps in view of the world” she continued.

  Pausing briefly to catch her anxious breaths, Margret recounted the strange song that Abigail sang as she held Fr. Marcus’s hand close to her chest.

  “And then he saw mother!” Margret uttered as her eyes grew large

  “It was as if she had cast a spell over him and his eyes were opened” she croaked.

  “My child is this confession of yours the truth” the mother asked.

  Margaret nodded.

  “You have witnessed the work of the devil, my child” the mother cautioned.

  Deeply aggrieved by the young nun’s startling confession, the mother prayed for guidance. Like the rest of the town, she shared the belief that Harlow was finally free of witches. Wasting very little time except for the hours that led up to the following day, the mother confessed her findings to the Mayor. Swift to act on the word of the old nun, he ordered the immediate arrest of the two transgressors.

  The bliss of love was short lived because as soon as the morning broke, Abigail and the backslidden Marcus found themselves being hauled by strangers to a prison to stand trial for their crimes against God and the church. Marcus knew that they had committed a great offense by surrendering to the pleasures of the flesh on the parish steps. It was a great offense and crime punishable by life in prison, to desecrate the sacred grounds of the church. Torn apart and brought in separately to answer the charges against them, Abigail was aghast to learn of the single charge of witch craft laid against her.

  Locked inside the lonely prison and separated from the man she loved, Abigail began the slow decent into madness. Isolated from the world, she felt as though her sanity was being eroded. She missed Marcus terribly and feared that his heart would not be able to withstand her loss. Without any word of his condition, she feared the worst. In spite of her predicament, Abigail could not bring herself to regret using her gift to heal his sight or even allowing him to take her virtue. Her ability to heal and breathe life back into a cold dead frame was a gift as innocent and pure as the love she felt for Marcus.

  She never thought of herself as a witch, or that her unique abilities were the work of darkness. The first time she had ever heard of a witch or witchcraft was shortly after her father passed when she came across a group of old women recounting the intensity of the trials that had long been concluded by the time she moved into Harlow. She never cared to take the time to understand the rich history of the town and now that she was imprisoned for the very thing she cared little to know about, Abigail regretted her ignorance. There was no one to blame for her predicament but herself since her father had cautioned her before he died to never use her gifts in public the way she did.

  Time pressed on and the maddening silence drove her to believe that she would surely die before her trial started. Her mind was plagued with questions and the most burning of them was the identity of her accuser. Abigail was sure that the night she allowed Marcus to take her, they were completely alone. Marcus would have sensed the presence of a stranger, if there was in fact one to be found. But Abigail’s ignorance of the bitter history between Marcus and the woman he scorned made her oblivious to the hidden truth of the night they shared.

  With the memory of her love as her only comfort, Abigail chose life in the hope that she would be reunited with him. After three months of sharing her cell with a small family of rats, Abigail heard the rattling of keys quickly approaching. Her heart lightened, even if it meant that she was about to be taken to the court, she felt that it would be a better fate than to suffer another waking moment locked away and forgotten. The heavy guard strolled in jiggling the large ring of keys in his hand.

  “You have a visitor” he bellowed. His voice was thick and coarse, as though his chords had been washed with gravel.

  Abigail beamed, naively thinking that it had to be Marcus. Perhaps he had been acquitted of the charges laid against him for consorting with a witch. She knew nothing of his situation. Abigail gripped the cold metal bars of the gate, peering intently through the space large enough for her to wedge her head in anticipation of Marcus’s arrival. The room was dark, so dark that she could scarcely see the face of the figure that approached. Catching just a glimpse of her visitor’s dark hem, Abigail erred and called out to Marcus.

  “I’m afraid you have mistaken me for the dead!” Margaret cruelly uttered, knowing full well that her allusion was a lie.

  Abigail gasped, grasping at her chest to prevent her heart from bursting out of her chest.

  Margaret relished in the agony her lie caused. She wanted Abigail suffer as deeply as she did from the moment Marcus spurned her. Abigail felt the as though her world had been shattered. Robbed of her last shred of hope, she had nothing to live for.

  “How?” Abigail pressed a chuckling Margret, who seemed to be enjoying every minute of torturing her with silence.

  Margret paused long and hard before spitting at the floor beside Abigail.

  “To think he would choose you over me” she uttered in disgust.

  Abigail shifted away from the gate, puzzled at the nun’s inadvertent confession. Searching the cavities of her mind try and comprehend the nun’s unspoken accusation, Abigail reached a startling conclusion.

  “So you are the person responsible for my arrest”, she offered accusingly.

  Margret smiled confirming the truth.

  “So you would have me die because your heart was broken?”

  “Such is the fate of a witch!” Margaret cried.

  Abigail felt sickened to the core. Although she was the one accused, as she looked at Margaret cold eyes, she felt as though she were the true witch. Unable to understand how Margaret could be so vengeful that she would knowingly allow her to die just so her lust to exact revenge would be satisfied, Abigail screamed for the guard to have her tormentor removed. Even with the knowledge of the truth, Abigail still could not secure her freedom since the court would not accept the empty word of an accused witch over that of a nun.

  The verdict, Guilty!

  Sentenced to be burned to death, Abigail sang her final song. As the executioner prepared the stake on which Abigail was set to burn on, Margret took her place at the front of the small crowd that gathered to view the spectacle. But revenge for Margaret would not be as sweet as she had anticipated. Suddenly the crowd parted as the panicked guard ran through the street crying:

  “The witch has escaped”

  ***

  [Hope you liked the story and don't forget your 8 complimentary books, which you may find a download link to on the last page of this collection, just after the 11th story ends. Now, on to the next story!]

  A Woman Scorned -

  Summoned by the Dark

  by

  Molly Ellis

  One minute Abigail was sitting in her cell waiting to be taken down to the town square and be heckled by a group of people as she burned at the stake for a crime she was falsely accused of then next she is running through the woods.

  Abigail

  I was running as fast as my legs would carry me, through the dark woods, destined for home. Trees were parting before me, branches pulling up their arms just so my head could pass freely and not one twig broke beneath the thunder of my feet. I wasn’t flying, I was running and yet I could not feel the ground below me. I held in my mind the vision of home – the cabin I grew up in and all I wanted to do was go there and hide.

  As I ran, I tried to make sense of how I got to be running like this in the first place. I was singing of home and of my father as the guard shook the keys in his pocket and heckl
ed the other prisoner that had just been brought in when suddenly the prison wall behind me opened up and I heard an unfamiliar voice saying ‘run’. Don’t wait run, this time my own mind commanding me. Even though I could not immediately recognize the voice, my legs heeded the command and I ran without looking back.