Restored to Love (5 page)

‘God forgive me.' He whispers the words as his eyelids fall shut. He throws his head back and a deep groan fills the night air as he fills my mouth with his seed. I swallow it greedily and as I do I feel my own orgasm build. And there on my knees, on a rooftop with a stranger, without a touch but for his hands upon my head, I experience the most exquisite orgasm I have ever known. It isn't just in my cunt. It is everywhere. It is everywhere inside of me, filling my body and my soul. I scream in abandon as I wrap my arms around his waist and fall against his legs.

‘Thank you,' I whisper breathlessly.

Strong arms pull me up and once again he studies my face in the same manner he had earlier that night – carefully, intently, as if memorising every contour and every freckle. It is almost imperceptible, but I see it – a pained sadness flashing in his emerald eyes. He touches his fingertips to my lips then steps back. A part of me wants to grab him, to pull him back to me, but I know that he must go, that the brief time he spent with me was a gift in and of itself. Just like everything else this night, I don't understand it, but I know I cannot ask for more.

‘Remember, Julia, I'm always watching.' He winks, turns away, and disappears down the shadowy stairs.

For a few moments I stand alone on the roof, gazing out over the expanse of the city, trying to make sense of all that had just occurred. I feel lighter than I have ever felt in my life. I feel as if all the pain and all the weight that I have struggled with for so long has been lifted. With a deep breath I place my hands over my heart. I touch warm metal, look down, and gasp to see Gabriel's talisman hanging around my neck. I hold it up in the moonlight and explore its delicate beauty. My fingertips glide over what feels like writing. I flip it over and read the engraving aloud.

No evil shall befall you, nor shall affliction come near your tent, for to His angels God has given command about you, that they guard you in all your ways.

I never returned to that club. I knew he wouldn't be there. And I knew I wouldn't find myself there either.

Awakening
by Beverly Langland

When I awake, the moon is descending in the pitch-black sky, signalling the darkest hour that comes before the dawn. The night is not eerily still as I expect. There is music (of sorts) coming from the old building next to the church and yes, the sound of laughter. What's this? Gaiety on such a bleak night. The music draws me closer. Even in my misery, life beckons me each year on this night of witches. As the decades pass, my search for fulfilment, which once excited me so, grows less thrilling each time. Appeasing my longing has become more difficult as the centuries unfold. I have spent years without proper nourishment, grabbing a morsel whenever the opportunity arises. Stealing souls is wrong, I know, but then, I am already damned.

As always, my craving for young company drags me from my place of rest. I come with an open mind. I am more tolerant of the young girls who remind me of what I have lost. There is less resentment now when I see them happy. I should let them be, yet I cannot break my ritual of corruption. Compelled to wander, I follow the music and once more enter the land of the living.

As soon as I spot the girl, I know my resurrection has not been in vain. I am hungry, so completely hungry for love – and much more besides. She is a remarkable sight, and my pussy begins to juice as I imagine touching her, making her hunger for me in return. She has tumbling brown hair much like Anna's, and her skin is so fair I could be looking upon my beloved. Yet, she is not Anna. I study the girl for some time, taking in what others cannot see. There is natural beauty beneath the heavy veil of black make-up she wears. The girl has deliberately tried to make herself look older than her 18 years. Yet, her actions give her immaturity away. The constant twiddling of her thin fingers, the furtive glances at every girl who passes, and the mistaken admiration she shows the corn-haired wanton standing by the bar, tell me all I need to know.

I briefly consider the wanton. There is always at least one like her at every gathering. Her costume is daringly whorish, outrageously short and low cut, clinging to her every curve. This woman drips desirability, drawing men and boys to her like bears to honey. Yet, this golden honey pot is not for me. I am more interested in the shy girl. She has neither the courage nor the life skills to mix with the other partygoers. She sits forlornly alone on a chair in the dark corner of the room, waiting for someone to offer her the hand of friendship, blissfully unaware that her air of vulnerability has made me wet with anticipation.

The girl watches me as I stride across the makeshift dance floor, trying to avert my gaze – for my focus is on her and her alone. I sit close, moving even closer to whisper my ‘hello' into her ear. As I do, I catch the scent of her freshly washed hair. I linger within her fine curls longer than I should. Much longer, for there is no greater aphrodisiac than the fragrance of youth. She turns her head away slightly, unintentionally presenting me with the pale flesh of her neck. The fine line of her throat draws me, and I cannot help noticing the nervous twitching of her pulse. My mouth hovers in readiness, so close that warning bells start to ring in my head. I don't care. This innocent already intoxicates me.

Despite my desire, I somehow show restraint, though I place a hand high on the girl's thigh. I feel her tense, but still she does not speak. She scoots her bottom away from me. Undeterred, I scoot closer. I feel her indignation. ‘What do you want?' she snaps.

‘I'd like to get inside your knickers.' I want so much more, but I cannot tell her of my true motive. Her face, already pink starts to turn red. I want to soak up her embarrassment. I have found something rare. Here is a true innocent and she is seemingly mine for the taking.

I look around the room and she joins me in my surveillance. No one is coming to her rescue. ‘That is, unless you've had a better offer?' The girl's head drops. This soul is troubled. I wait, watching her nervously play with her fingers. This is not the time to harass. This is the start of what I call the long wait. The innocent has to come to her own decision. Her answer is some time coming, but this time her answer is worth my patience. ‘Can we go somewhere less noisy?' she whispers, still staring into her lap. I cup her chin in my hand and turn her head so that she faces me. ‘Is that a yes?' I ask.

The girl looks around the room, trying, I suppose, to see if anyone is watching. No one is. They are too wrapped in their own affairs. ‘Yes.'

‘Don't you want to know more about me first?'

‘Well, I …'

‘Never mind.' I lean closer, pressing my face close to hers. ‘Kiss me.'

The girl's eyes grow wide and she scans the room again. ‘What, here?'

‘We'll go someplace quiet, petal, I promise, but an occasion such as this needs to be sealed with a kiss.' I want to draw as much embarrassment from the girl as possible. I get my kiss – a peck so quick I barely feel the tingle of her lips, though it is enough to keep my juices flowing, the anticipation of events to follow exciting me as much as they no doubt frighten the girl. I take hold of her trembling hand and together we slink into the semi-darkness. I have no idea why this forlorn child accepted my outrageous offer so quickly. I decide not to dwell on her motives. She has her own reasons just as I have mine.

I can't wait to touch her. In the dimly lit stairwell, I grab a hold of her shoulders and push her flat against the cold stone wall. She gasps, surprised by my sudden aggression. In truth, I am nothing in this world, but I draw with me a dark energy that crosses realms. A force I bring to bear to hold the girl in situ. Now that she can see me in a better light, she truly becomes frightened. I can see the uncertainty in her eyes. I am not fair as I once was. The years sadly have taken their inevitable toll. I can feel her chest rise and fall beneath my pseudo weight. The girl is uncertain now. She wishes to break free from me but I cannot allow her to escape so easily. As her struggles ebb, we remain in deadlock, face-to-face, our mouths almost touching. Almost. Her warm breath feels wonderful, as does the feel of life coursing through her body. I watch the pulse on her neck quicken with a morbid fascination. She has blue-green eyes. They widen as I start to nibble on her lips, then I press harder and harder still until we are kissing proper, my tongue quietly invading her mouth.

The girl starts to moan into my mouth as my nimble fingers trace a slow path to her centre. She is tense, but I will soon remedy that. No doubt, she wonders why she cannot move. Why she cannot resist. The reaction is always the same. Wonder. Shock. Fear. Yet, this beautiful creature has nothing to fear from me. Though I cannot promise the same of others who search as I do. Her nipples have grown hard beneath my weight. I can feel them pressing into my breasts. The girl's confusion grows. I have perhaps come on a little strong, yet her anxiety has made her excited, made her wet. I snake my hand beneath the hem of her short skirt, my fingers quickly delving inside her panties until I reach her hot wetness. She is soft, this girl. Despite her leather clothes, she is soft. Vulnerable. So dangerously vulnerable! I can feel her heat flowing into me. I curl my fingers until her bloated pussy lips part and my fingers slip inside.

Her eyes grow wide as I start my thrusting, making her bite her lip so hard she makes the plump flesh bleed. To see the bright red liquid is heart-warming. This child-woman has the most expressive face, her hypnotic eyes almost mesmerising as I quickly make her come on my fingers, pumping into her with the fervour of someone starved of affection and greedy for the girl's groans of adulation. My sudden assault leaves her quietly gasping for breath. For the moment satisfied, I release my weight leaving her to stand shivering in the cold corridor. Perhaps she is shaking from the force of her orgasm. The latter I believe, for she stares at me with a sense of wonder on her innocent face. ‘There, that was nice wasn't it?' I say. She nods. In truth, I have barely touched her yet. There will be more to follow. Much more.

I sense that fingering is the limit of her experience. She wonders what I intend next. I ease her concern when we move through the arched doorway. ‘Don't worry,' I whisper, ‘there's more to come.'

‘There is?'

‘I've paid for you, remember, with that kiss, but before I can claim my prize we must make a detour.' I take the girl's hand and we head out into the night. We walk arm-in-arm to the nearby cemetery. Her brow wrinkles when she realises I mean to go inside, mean to venture into the darkness. During my brief absence the wind has picked up and the autumn leaves swirl throughout the cemetery, seemingly reluctant to land on the cold ground. The girl shivers. I do not feel the elements. Wind or rain, draught or snow do not affect me, but this does not mean that I do not feel. I feel what matters.

Away from the church and the village green, the cemetery is at its darkest. The girl and I wind our way through the picturesque headstones, before climbing a ruined stone wall. The piled stones are hardly a wall at all but the graves in this part of the cemetery are set aside for a reason. The headstones here are much less pleasing to look at and most are crudely fashioned. They exude an air of decay and corruption impossible to miss. The girl feels the underlying menace. ‘Where are you taking me?' she says, pulling back.

‘Quiet,' I say, and just like an obedient child she follows me silently, mistakenly trusting, and foolishly taking me at my word when I say she will be safe in my arms. ‘Don't be silly,' I reassure the girl when she continues to hesitate. ‘You wanted to go someplace quiet, didn't you?'

‘Yes … but I'm cold.'

I pull her closer to me, giving the impression that I mean to warm her, when in fact I am holding tight to my prey. Even in the darkness I know exactly where to go. I walk the increasingly reluctant girl through the haphazard rows into the oldest part of the cemetery, stopping beside a long-forgotten grave. The headstone is small, faded, lost among the weeds and brambles. We can discern no name, only a date: 1743. This, the last evidence of my existence, worn by the elements. I grieve as I always do when I realise they have not buried Anna next to me as she had promised. She is not in this graveyard. I have searched many, many times in vain. I hurt because I do not know what became of my beloved.

‘Whose grave is this?'

‘Does a name matter? She is long dead.'

‘She?'

‘A girl like you – full of wonder and longing.'

‘What became of her?'

‘She died of a broken heart.'

The girl looks at me, fully believing that such a thing is possible. She too has been hurt. ‘Remember this grave,' I say and the girl nods. ‘Now we can go.' Persuading the girl to take me to her home is easy. The house is not far. She opens the door and quietly hovers in the doorway, waiting for me to follow. ‘No, no.
You
must invite me in.'

As soon as we enter the house, my lips are on the girl's mouth. She pushes back against me, her breathing soft then growing hard. Her beautiful eyes again wide with fright, though this time not of me. ‘Shhss,' she whispers, ‘Mum and Dad are asleep upstairs.'

It is sweet, is it not, that this child-woman still lives under the protection of her parents. She takes me upstairs, and then leads me along the landing towards her bedroom at the far end. I know the room is hers, for a pink pony is stuck to the door. Sneaking past the girl's parents is thrilling, and I have to quell an impulse to make love to the girl out on the landing while her parents lie in innocent ignorance. Yet, this girl has more gumption than I have so far given her credit. To risk bringing me into her home at all reflects her determination to break from the nest, or maybe her driving force is lust. Pure, simple lust.

We sit on the edge of her bed, doing nothing. Shyness wells in the girl once she realises what she has done. Again, I revel in her anxiety, luxuriate in the way her fear accentuates the girl's ultimate surrender. Helping her dip into the deep well of desire is only fair. I lean close to kiss the girl's neck, my fingers pressed against her spine, drawing her close. Mustering all her courage, she whispers so quietly into my ear that even I have to strain. ‘I want you to make love to me.'

My mouth stills against her neck. ‘I know.'

I slip the strap of her dress off her shoulder; kiss the white line left in her flesh. Girls are not as pale as they once were. The sun has touched even shy girls like this one. Such a shame. I stroke her sides, and then gently, gently tug the top of her dress. She opens her eyes, looking deeply into mine as if I know all the World's secrets. I follow the handsome curve of her cheek with my mouth, and then lay her back onto the bed. I move to lie beside the girl, my thigh deliberately placed between hers. As I kiss her, I have to restrain myself, my lips drifting along her neck, to her exposed breast, but then always return to her mouth. My isolation has starved me of kisses. Soft, loving kisses like these.

As we kiss, I draw from her the life force I need to continue my search. This girl is a dream, but she is not Anna. I steal her soul one short breath at a time. She will not notice until her discovery is too late, and then as I draw the last of her essence, she will join me in my search.

I begin to ease her dress down further. My lips can't resist her bare stomach, then her hip, then her smooth calves. I follow a reverse path along her leg until I camp in the hollow of her belly button. I worm my hand between her thighs, gently pressing as I did before. The girl shivers, but she is ready to go further. As my fingers make contact with her inner heat, she sighs into my ear. She moves against my hand, aching for me, for my touch. My fingers slip inside the waistband of her wet panties, drawing them down over the girl's knees, and I watch as she kicks the unwanted garment to the floor. The girl has a matt of fine hair, in places covered in moisture.

I look into her eyes, and then slide my fingers inside her. She tenses and gasps, her breath fluttering. I capture these breaths as I have the others. I begin to move my hand strong and slow, my mouth on her breastbone. I touch her back, trace over her shoulder blade then down her upper arm. I slide my other arm beneath her back, cradling her neck in my hand, and lift my mouth to hers. She quakes as we kiss, squeezing my arm in time with the movements of my hand. All the while, I steal more of her soul. Her breaths quicken, and then she stops breathing altogether to grip my arm so tightly, I know she is coming. Afterwards she lies on the bed looking utterly helpless.