The Invitation

A devilish invitation awakens Mary's desires

The latest in my series of intensely erotic stories inspired by folklore tales. Traditionally these stories draw a discreet veil across the scene when the erotic action starts - mine plunge right in.

The Invitation is now expanding into an erotic supernatural serial so I have released this first episode as free to read. Still being a little devilish myself, the rest of the series is being released for paid subscribers.

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The Invitation

Mary watched as Isabella moved around the room. Her slinky dress, a dazzling pattern of turquoise and blues that clung around her slim figure and hung down to the floor made her resemble a peacock. The slash up the side almost to the top of her thigh revealed long, elegant legs as she glided between the groups of guests. At each gathering, the conversation stopped and all eyes turned to Isabella. She would exchange a few words, sometimes laugh at a response and place her hand conspiratorially on a man’s or woman’s upper arm and then move on.

The peacock approached her, dark eyes fixed on hers and Mary half expected a tail to suddenly fan out and hide the rest of the room.

“Mary, my dear.” Isabella took her hand and leaned in to kiss her on both cheeks. “And where is that darling husband of yours?”

“Away in London,” Mary looked down at the floor.

“He should not leave such a beautiful wife unattended, who knows what you might get up to whilst he is absent.”

“He does that quite a lot,” Mary said, still looking down and feeling like a dowdy sparrow next to Isabella, despite her lavish evening dress.

“We will talk,” Isabella laid her hand on Mary’s arm. “Stay behind after the party.”

Mary nodded.

Isabella smiled and moved on. Mary watched her. She was an enigma: stunningly beautiful with dark, fashionably bobbed hair. She appeared to be just a little older than Mary, maybe in her early thirties but, despite her age, she had the poise and presence of a dowager duchess. No one knew where her money came from but she threw lavish parties in one of the largest houses in this part of Wiltshire, the grounds of which were so expansive that they even contained a ruined chapel.

Mary had no idea how they had become friends or even if they were actually what you would class as friends. Isabella had simply taken her under her wing at their first meeting and maintained the contact after that.

The last of the guests had left and Isabella sat opposite Mary smoking a slim cigar. A glass of port rested on the side table next to her chair.

“I really don’t see why port and cigars should be the prerogative of men,” she said, lifting her chin as she took another puff. Her eyes locked onto Mary. “Now, my dear, what is ailing you?”

“Nothing,” Mary whispered.

“Rubbish,” Isabella sat forward. “Is it your husband? An affair?”

“Yes,” Mary looked up, tears welling in her eyes.”

“They do that,” Isabella scoffed. “Most men cannot resist another woman.”

“It’s not a woman,” Mary blurted out.

“Ah,” Isabella sat back. “Has he taken you at all?”

Mary jumped at the direct question. “Yes, early on in our marriage but…”

“So, he has given you a taste for it but is now leaving you unfulfilled.”

“I don’t know - some women say it is enjoyable…” Mary’s voice tailed off.

“It is, extremely, when it’s done well.” Isabella took another puff of her cigarillo and stubbed it out. “If you wish I could introduce you to a like minded group who explore the more,” she paused, “erotic side of life.”

“You mean…”

“If I have your assurance of absolute discretion and that you will never speak of this to another living soul, you may come and watch at first.”

Mary sat with her mouth open and her eyes wide. She was still not sure what Isabella had just invited her to view, or to do, but the offer was tempting. She wanted so much to know, maybe to experience what some women whispered about. “What do I have to do?”

“Come,” Isabella stood up and offered her hand. “We are meeting tonight.”

Mary looked at her watch; it was well past midnight. She stood and followed Isabella into the hallway. Two fur coats hung on hooks by the door. Isabella took one down and held it out to Mary. “Take off your dress and put this on, it can be muddy outside and we would not want to get that beautiful dress dirty.”

“Outside,” Mary gasped.

“It is only a short walk,” Isabella said.

Mary unhooked her dress and, feeling naked in just her chemise and French knickers, took the coat. As soon as she tried to put it on she realised that it was not a coat but a cloak. She wrapped it around herself.

“Unhook me please,” Isabella turned her back to her.

Mary undid her dress and Isabella slipped it off. Then, to Mary’s surprise, she also removed her underwear. Her naked figure was as elegant and stunning as her clothed one; round breasts, a flat stomach and beautifully curved hips. Mary turned her head away as she caught sight of neatly trimmed pubic hair with the hint of lips below.

“There is nothing to be ashamed of in the sight of a woman’s naked body,” Isabella draped the cloak over her shoulders leaving the front open. The dark framing of the fur only serving to emphasise her slender figure.

“Kick off your shoes and enjoy the sensation of walking barefoot.” Isabella opened the door and they stepped outside. The gravel of the drive bit at Mary’s bare feet but then they were on the soft grass and Isabella led her towards the ruins of the chapel.

Mary peered ahead, it looked as if there were lights moving between the stones. They walked through the arch at the end of the ruin and Mary froze, her mouth open and her eyes wide.

Three women illuminated by the light of lanterns were dancing slowly and rhythmically close to the altar at the far end of the chapel. All were naked and their cloaks, similar to the one she was wearing, lay discarded on the ground.

One of the women turned towards them. The shadows beneath her large breasts seemed to dance in the flickering lamplight. Her hips were wide and her sex was concealed by a jet black bush that matched her long flowing hair. “Mistress,” she bowed to Isabella before turning to Mary. “Welcome.”

“Are you witches?” Mary asked open mouthed.

Isabella shook her head. “Stand close to the wall in that corner,” she pointed to the back of the chapel. “And under no circumstances remove your cloak,” her eyes sparkled in the darkness. “Unless you want to join in.”

Mary retreated into the corner until she felt the hard flints of the wall pressing against her back. Isabella dropped her cloak and joined the women by the altar. She raised her arms and spoke some words that Mary could not hear clearly but seemed to be in a foreign language.

The woman who had greeted them advanced up to the altar and, spreading her legs, bent forward over it. Her breasts swelled out from her as they pressed against the stone and she reached forward to grasp the far edge of the top. The two other women moved to either side of the first and Mary watched as their hands played over the woman’s buttocks and then fingers slid down between her legs, teasing her sex and opening up her lips.

A tingle ran through Mary’s body as she watched the erotic tableau. Isabella repeated the incantation and, despite the warmth of the night a mist started to swirl through the chapel. Mary gasped. A figure had appeared where the mist was densest. The fog eddied around it, but Mary judged by the size and bulk that he must be male. The mist parted as if blown away by a non existent breeze and he moved towards Isabella and the altar.

As the man approached, Isabella stepped to one side and dropped to her knees. He turned to face her so he was now side on to Mary. She lifted her fingers to her mouth to stifle her gasp: his organ stood out erect and proud from his body. She had not seen her husband’s during their brief conjugations but she was sure it was not as thick and as stiff and certainly not as long as the one inches from Isabella’s mouth.

Isabella stroked the length of the shaft and Mary heard her say, “Welcome my Lord,” before she wrapped her lips around the bulbous head. Beyond her Mary could see the other women had turned to face her. Each had one hand moving between the prostrate woman’s legs whilst the fingers of their other hand delved between their own.

Mary felt the seconds ticking past as she watched and then Isabella released the man’s organ and he turned towards the woman on the altar. He stepped forward and plunged into her. The woman screamed and the upper half of her body rose up off the stone top. The man’s naked buttocks jerked as he thrust into the woman beneath him. She howled and bucked against the rod inside her. Freed from being pressed against the altar her breasts bounced from side to side as she thrust herself against his shaft. The rhythmic jerking of his hips increased in intensity and the woman began to wail like a she-wolf greeting the moon.

The woman grunted, her fingers scratching at the altar top and then flopped down onto the stone, apparently spent. One of the women at the side lifted herself until she was sitting on the altar with her legs spread wide. Mary could see her quim, wet and gaping like a crimson slash between her legs. The man withdrew from the first woman, stepped sideways and plunged into the second.

The woman gasped and put her hands back onto the stone top behind her so she could push herself onto her lover’s erection. She too began to grunt and moan until her noises built into a crescendo that echoed off the ruined walls of the chapel.

Despite their screams, it was evident that the women were enjoying this stranger thrusting into them and Mary felt a curious sensation flooding through her own sex. Without thinking she let her fingers roam down across the silk of her knickers until they pushed the flimsy material aside and touched her lips. The flesh felt wet and the sensations of her touch encouraged her to part her lips and push her fingers inside.

The second woman now lay exhausted on the altar and the man moved onto the third. Mary’s fingers were now moving in unison with his thrusts. She found there was a point where, if she pressed harder, spasms began to shoot through her body and something strange but terrifyingly addictive sparked through her mind.

She pressed her back against the hard wall. The feeling of the rugged stones digging into her back seemed only to enhance her pleasure. Her eyes flickered closed but anxious to keep watching she forced them open.

Isabella had moved around to the far side of the altar and was leaning forward in a similar position to the first woman. She had reared up, her breasts bouncing and swaying as the man thrust into her. Her rosette nipples had become hard peaks that jutted from her. She was gasping but her eyes were wide open and stared at Mary as she jolted back and forth with each thrust of his shaft.

Mary screamed, not just because waves of pleasure were now sweeping through her as her fingers moved at a frantic pace, but because, now that the man was facing her she could see he did not look human. The muscles of his arms stood out as if carved in stone but the hands that gripped Isabella’s waist, pulling her onto him had fingers that ended in long sharp talons. His face was an odd, long shape with a chin that was sharp, almost pointed, his eyes glowed red with lust and above them short horns rose from the front of his head.

Mary shuddered, her legs felt weak as her orgasm flooded through her. She pushed against the wall with her free hand, trying to keep her balance. The cloak slipped from her shoulders.

Something tells me, that is not quite the end of the story.

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