Seduction

Mary is drawn back into Isabella's arms

This story follows on from The Invitation and Invitation Accepted. Isabella has introduced Mary to something dark and sinister with a ravenous sexual appetite that is lurking in a 1920s English village.

Now Isabella is playing her own games of seduction.

The latest in my series of intensely erotic supernatural stories. Traditionally these stories draw a discreet veil across the scene when the erotic action starts - mine plunge right in. Being a little devilish myself, this story hints at what took place in the previous stories, which are only available to paid subscribers.

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Seduction

Mary looked past Isabella as they sat together on a sofa in Isabella’s drawing room. Through the large windows, she could see the chapel ruins glowing orange in the setting sun. It had been a week since that night, now the stones looked so different in the evening light. She had tried to tell herself that it was just a dream, something her imagination had conjured up. But then there was that feeling inside her; it woke her in the night, made her squirm at the breakfast table, enticed her fingers to reach down there and feel the soft, pliable, wetness.

She had avoided Isabella until, as if drawn back to the heat of a flame, she had walked up the long drive to her house and knocked.

“Will you join us again this evening?” Isabella’s voice drew her back into the room.

Mary shook her head. “I cannot. I got so carried away last time… I shouldn’t have…”

“You enjoyed it?” Isabella shifted her position in her chair. Her indecently short dress rode up a little, exposing her stocking clad thigh.

Mary drank in the sight of Isabella’s long, elegant legs and felt a twinge in her core. “I did.” Images of the night in the chapel ruins swirled in her mind. The sensuous feel of the women’s fingers and then the contrasting aggression of the man’s thick shaft penetrating her, set up conflicting desires in her and turned the twinge into a tingle. She shook her head as if trying to dislodge the thoughts. “But it seems so…” she paused, “…so wrong. No, not wrong - naughty. Like playing truant at school. A release from all those rules for a few hours enjoyment.”

“What do you crave? Money, power, sex, men falling at your feet.” Isabella looked directly at her and, for a moment, Mary thought her eyes glowed. “He can give you all of those.”

Mary shook her head. “None of those really interest me. If I believed more in God, I would probably have become a nun. That sense of belonging, to be surrounded by sisters, must be so comforting.”

“No sex though,” Isabella said.

“I admit I had a thirst to find out what all the fuss was about.” Mary laughed. “Anyway, who knows what they get up to behind those convent walls?” Her face darkened into a frown. “Besides, I have been put off religion for life.”

“Why?” Isabella raised an eyebrow.

“Our new priest.” She looked at her hands, the fingers twisted together in her lap. “I went to him for some advice and he.” She paused. “He put his hand where no man should and offered to help me.” She shuddered at the thought and looked up at Isabella. “I know I have just been taken by some… thing; a man, demon, I’m not sure what, but that was my choice. Being groped by some grubby old pervert who is three times my age was not.”

She sat back and turned towards Isabella. “Maybe I should join a convent.”

Isabella laughed. “You are the last person who should be confined to a convent. All that energy, all that beauty hidden away beneath a habit.”

Mary smiled. “I have read books, some of the ones I am not supposed to read: some talked about men in opium dens. The cravings, that’s what it’s like. It took me to another place; somewhere I desperately want to go back to, even though I know it is wrong.”

“I know that my husband cannot take me there. I completely understand that he has needs and that his tastes are different from mine, but the church and our obnoxious vicar preach about damnation for what it considers a sin, and then looks away and ignores what my husband does, yet it would condemn me if I sought solace elsewhere.”

Isabella leaned forward and rested her hand on Mary’s knee. She felt the touch through the thin material of her dress, for a moment her mind wondered what the sensation of it against her skin would be like. She remembered the other evening in the ruins. Had one of those hands that glided over her body and then gently touched her most intimate folds been Isabella’s?

Mary bunched her dress between her fingers. The pressure of Isabella’s hand eased momentarily as the hem slid up, exposing Mary’s knee and a few inches of her thigh. The fingertips rested on her stocking clad skin. Mary felt a sweet pulse of energy run through her as if the touch on the silk had created a static charge.

“What did you enjoy most the other night?” Isabella leaned a little closer, her fingers moved up, just under the hem of Mary’s dress.

Mary thought for a moment. “The feeling of him inside me pushed me over the edge, but it was the touch of the fingers, the feelings of them gliding over my skin, the way they opened me like a flower that brought me to the edge of the precipice.

“Would you like to feel that again?”

Mary was intensely conscious that Isabella’s touch was now on the delicate skin of her inner thigh just above her stocking tops.”

“Yes,” she breathed the word almost as a silent gasp.

Isabella leaned in until her lips brushed against Mary’s, sending shivers through her. As they parted, her tongue pushed tenderly between them. Then the lips traced a line of soft kisses down her neck whilst the fingers continued to tease the skin of her thigh. Mary reached up behind her and struggled with the buttons of her dress. Finally, they split open and she shifted her weight so she could pull it over her head.

The sight of her breasts beneath her thin, white chemise seemed to light a fire in Isabella. She ripped it up over Mary’s head. The line of delicate kisses continued down from her neck onto softer, more malleable flesh until Mary’s body trembled at the feel of Isabella’s breath on her nipple.

Then her tongue touched the swelling bud, circled it, brushed across the sensitive skin on the underside of her breast before returning to the nipple. Isabella’s lips grasped it gently, almost reverentially. Mary’s body squirmed as the sensations poured down through her until she felt them deep in her sex. Isabella transferred the worship of her mouth to Mary’s other breast, her fingers toying with the nipple her lips had just released. Mary felt as if her body was melting.

Then Isabella was gone as she stood up, unhooked her own dress and let it slip from her to the floor. Mary looked at her naked body through misty eyes. She wore no underwear, just a lacy suspender belt that held up her sheer stockings. Isabella dropped to her knees between Mary’s parted legs and pulled at the soft silk of her panties.

For a moment, Mary was unsure what was about to happen, but then the soft kisses and warm breath began to work their way up the inside of her thighs. She spread her legs, inviting more. She could feel Isabella’s breath on her lips. Soft warm eddies of air passing over the folds, nothing more. Her mind,, her body ached for a touch, but none came. Then slowly, languidly, she felt the soft, almost indefinable pressure of just the tip of a tongue gliding over her sex.

She felt it slide between them, not forcing them apart but willing them to open like the petals of a blooming flower. Mary felt as if she was sinking into the sofa as she lay back and let the sensations slowly overwhelm her. The pressure became more intense, the tongue worked its way upward, homing in on the most sensitive spot that her own fingers had sought out as she pressed against the wall in the chapel ruins.

Lips encircled the bud, alternating between teasing it before releasing it to the attentions of the tongue. Mary felt that familiar feeling welling up inside her. The drug was pulsing through her veins again. Her hips rose up off the seat as she pushed harder against Isabella’s mouth. She let out a strangled cry as her head arched back and her mind became flooded with darkness and light at the same time.

Now something had entered her. Fingers were curving inside her. A thumb pressed against her bud and seemed to connect with the tips of the fingers deep within her until she bucked against them. Her body convulsed; she writhed against the sofa, gasping and bucking as if she had been electrocuted.

Slowly, she settled back down onto the seat and the swirling world around her condensed into Isabella’s drawing room. She became aware of a deep musky scent that pervaded the air and looked around, fearful that Isabella had summoned the beast again. Slowly, she realised that the scent was her and Isabella’s own arousal.

Mary flowed off the sofa, her legs felt weak and there was no strength in her arms. She kissed Isabella, sucking at her deeply, her fingertips brushing across nipples that felt like hard, unripe berries. The desire to bring Isabella to a similar state of passion as she had just felt welled up inside her.

Isabella leaned back. “There’s plenty of time.

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