Touched Again

Touched Again The Touch, volume two

a tale of paranormal erotica Polly J Adams

Copyright © 2011 Polly J Adams James Grieve Press This eBook is copyright material and no portion of it may be reproduced or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author's and publisher's rights and those responsible may be liable in law. http://pollyjadams.blogspot.com http://www.facebook.com/pollyjadamswriter Twitter: @PollyJAdams

Contents What went before Touched Again Afters

What went before Saul, a young labourer new to the village, finds himself drawn to Ruth, the mysterious girl who watches from the window of the Hall where she lives with the two sisters, Anna and Esme. After a brief encounter with Ruth after work one day Saul suffers a disturbed night, during which the two share an intense magical encounter: alone in his room he wakes to feel her phantom hands on him, then her mouth, her body... Meanwhile, back in her room at the Hall, Ruth makes desperate love to his magical form conjured up by the sisters' supernatural Charms. The first volume of this series is available as Touched.

Saul Saul woke late, exhausted. He felt as if he hadn't slept at all. He'd dreamed in the night, a broken, disturbed dream that fled from his memory even as he came fully awake. A dream of sex. But... there had been nobody there. The feel of hands on his dick. Stroking, pulling, rubbing. The feel of a mouth sliding down around his shaft until he hit tight, resistant throat; a slight scrape of teeth along his length. And then, later, a different warmth, a different wetness engulfing him. In his dream he had woken, although now he understood that he could not have actually woken and it had just been the dream taking a different turn. He had looked down his naked body, then, and seen his cock standing proud, pulsing and jerking to the invisible movements of his phantom lover. Finally: a hot jet of semen, spitting into the air and landing on his belly and ribs in a long, slick streak. A dream. A dream of sex. A dream unlike any he had known before. * He was late. He left his small room and went down to the kitchen of the village inn where he was staying. Rosie was there, scrubbing the surfaces, her sleeves rolled up and her breasts threatening to spill out of her top. She leaned towards him provocatively as he approached, smiling as his eyes were inevitably drawn to her cleavage. He had buried his face -- and more -- in that cleavage on more than one occasion. "Have something before you go, Saul?" she asked. He grinned and tore off a chunk of bread. "Got to dash," he said. Outside, he ran up the hill towards the church where he was apprentice on a gang of stonemasons repairing the east wall after a landslide. He couldn't afford to dally, he was late enough as it was. He'd only been given this job on the promise that he'd work his backside off. It was a family thing, the promise of a cousin's cousin; all the other labourers and masons were local. He didn't want to let anyone down when he was the one outsider, the one there on a promise and a favour. But when he reached the gateway to the Hall he slowed. Through the wrought-iron curls of the gate he could see glimpses of the building, its windows mirrored with the morning light. He wondered if she was there. The girl called Ruth. The one he'd seen before, the one he seemed drawn to like a moth to a flame. The girl who had come to him in his dream. *

"You don't want to mess with them," said Jasper, in between precise blows of hammer to chisel, paring a building block down to exactly the required shape and size. "You don't want to be messing with the sisters. Didn't I tell you that before?" The sisters. Ruth lived with two other women at the Hall. They weren't her real sisters. Saul knew that much. They weren't even each other's sisters. But still: the sisters. You don't want to be messing with the sisters. "I didn't," he said. "I didn't go messing with them." "You went looking, though." He had. He'd gone to the Hall the previous day. He'd loitered by the gate until he had seen Ruth. There had been a moment when he had seen her and thought she was waiting for him. But then the storm that had been threatening all day had whipped up, rain suddenly lashing down in wild torrents and a sharp wind whipping Ruth's night-dress around her. One moment, with her wet night-dress plastered to the contours of her body, she had looked more naked than if she had been without clothes. Thrown by his very physical response, Saul had looked down, then back up again, and in that moment she had turned and started to run back to the Hall. And then that night, the dream. "You give them the slightest encouragement, then they'll get their claws into you, boy. You hear me? There's no escaping the sisters once they've taken an interest in you." Pausing from his work, Saul peered through the trees towards the Hall. He didn't see her, out in the grounds or at the window where she sometimes stood. But he remembered her touch, and he knew that if what Jasper said was true then it was too late for him already.

Ruth She wanted him. Wanted him again. Wanted him for real. Ruth was special. She knew people. She saw into their hearts. And she had never known a heart as pure as that of the young labourer they called Saul. That morning the sisters were waiting. They knew that she had done something in the night, that she had used one of their Charms to reach out to him, to touch him, to let him touch her. "We can help you," Anna said with a smile, leaning close to Esme so that the two almost looked conjoined. "We can make him yours." That was what Ruth wanted. That was all she wanted. But... "No," she said. "I love you, but no." Anna and Esme stared, unaccustomed to being contradicted. "No tricks, no spells. Just me." And with that Ruth went out into the grounds, walked down the long drive and waited for him by the gate. He would pass soon; he always came this way. She would catch his eye, smile, find something to say, find some way to charm him without using the kind of Charm the sisters had taught her. This was real. She wanted it to be real. She waited for the longest time that morning but he didn't come. Eventually, she meandered back through the gardens with many wistful glances back along the drive. Then, just as she reached the house, she saw him hurrying up the lane. She stopped, but to catch him now she would have to run and how would she explain that to him? All she could do was stand there and watch him hurry past, her head full of memories of his body, his touch. She wondered then if she wanted him too much. She had seen something in him, something unique. She had never had a normal life, but she wanted that with him. The sisters had rescued her from a brutal up-bringing: there had been no normal in her childhood. They'd rescued her because they had seen a spark of something special in her, a talent for the Charm, a talent they had helped her refine. But normal... that was something she had never known. It would be so simple to use the Charm. She could summon him again tonight, make phantom love to his phantom, distant body. She could do that every night for ever more. Or she could Call him. Make him come to her. Have him for real. Make him crave her so that only her touch could satisfy him. So easy. But... No tricks, no spells. Just me. * She waited for him again. She knew he was there, still, at the church. During the day she had watched from her window, with its clear view through the gap in the trees. Watched him labouring, stripped to the

waist, watched his every movement and known what that hard, strong body would feel like against her own. She had seen him glancing in her direction regularly through the day. He knew. He knew it had been her, his phantom love. She hadn't expected him to be accompanied by Jasper and two of the other masons as they left the work-site that evening, though. Stupid. She should have expected that, of course! She stood in the shade of the gate-post and suddenly the four of them appeared at the bend in the lane and she had nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. They saw her and their conversation faltered. Jasper glanced at Saul, a warning look. As they reached the gateway, Saul turned to the older man, hands raised. He started to speak and then stopped. Jasper shrugged, shook his head, carried on walking, and the three left Saul standing in their wake, his hands still raised, his eyes flitting from his fellow workers to Ruth and back again. One of the men said something and another responded with a forced laugh. "They work you hard," Ruth said, impressed with herself for finding words when her head was so flustered. He glanced down, as if suddenly realising he was still shirtless. "Sorry," he said. "I..." "No, I saw. You've been fetching and carrying stone all day. I think Jasper's jealous of you being so young and..." She laughed to cover her embarrassment. What had she been going to say? "Yesterday," said Saul. His voice was perfect, just deep enough to resonate through her body. His accent was cultured, refined; he was a city man, not just another of the local boys. "You were in the grounds of the Hall. I thought... but then you ran away." She smirked. "There was a storm." She knew she must sound simple, rustic, to him, and wondered if that made him think of her as just another easy lay. She knew what they were like down in the village. "So tell me, city boy, what did you think? Before I ran away from the storm, what did you think?" She expected smooth lines, lies, flattery and insincerity. That was what men did: said what they thought you wanted to hear if there was even half a chance it would get them into your drawers. Instead, he hesitated, and she knew that he would tell her the truth, tell her what was in that wonderfully pure, untouched heart of his. "I saw you in the garden," he said, "and I knew that I had seen the most beautiful woman I would ever see. I wanted to talk to you. I wanted to understand you. I wanted to hear your story, a story that would get richer and more detailed every time you told it to me over the years ahead." She hadn't expected anything so intense. Even with his heart-melting voice and his cultured city tone she hadn't expected him to have words that would do to her what those words did. "And then when the wind pulled at your gown and the rain flattened it against you it was as if I saw you naked and then I wanted to take you in my arms... I wanted to throw you to the ground, to hold you, to spread your legs and bury myself deep inside you." She put a hand to her mouth as he spoke, again startled by his words. "I--"

She stopped him. She wanted him. Wanted him forever. She didn't need any Charms for this. She knew exactly what to do.

Saul The words spilled out, as if they were being drawn from him. Something about her compelled him to tell the truth, to lay his feelings out before her and let her judge him. "...I wanted to throw you to the ground, to hold you, to spread your legs and bury myself deep inside you." That was too much. The look on her face: shock, anger. She could never have been spoken to like this before. She would reject him, turn away. He had been so stupid, gone too far, blurted out when he should have chosen his words more carefully. "I--" Her hand on his cheek silenced him. Her lips on his mouth set his heart racing in his chest like a trapped animal. He didn't know what to do. He wasn't usually so uncertain, not since he was a schoolboy bunking off with Sally or Anne from the convent school, each time pushing further, taking another new step, a squeeze, a grind; a soft firm breast in the hand, a taste of the nipple; hands wandering, delving; warmth, wetness. All new. He had been nervous and uncertain, but years had passed since then. This... it was a first time, all over again. Her hands at his belt brought him back to his senses. Simultaneously loosening and leading him, step by stumbling step, into the bushes by the side of the drive. There in the shade she dropped to her knees, her gown bunched up around her thighs. His belt free, she undid his trousers and pulled them down to his ankles. Half-naked now, his dick stood proud, and for a moment she studied it, her face so close. Then she took him in her hands and started to pull and twist, sliding the skin over his shaft so that his foreskin rolled back and forth, the purple head of his dick shiny and wet already. The touch. It was the touch from his dream. The touch that had woken him. The touch of his invisible, phantom lover. He looked down and she was poised, her lips parted, so close. Her eyes were wide, looking up at him, and when she had made eye contact, locked him in her gaze, she pulled him closer until the tip of his cock pressed against her lips. Gazes still locked, she drew him deeper, soft and wet, her teeth raking his shaft. She took him in until he hit the back of her throat and she gagged just a little and the sudden contractions on his glans made him gasp and bury a hand in her hair. One hand still around the base of his shaft, she started to wank him, his cock deep in her mouth. Her grip was tight and hard, the length of her tongue along the underside of his dick deliciously soft. He shifted position, legs spreading, and her other hand stole up to cup him, squeeze. Long fingers pressed behind his balls, rubbing, nails scraping on that most sensitive of areas. Close his eyes and he could be in that dream again. Open them and... her eyes still locked on his as she sucked and wanked and squeezed and rubbed and then... From nowhere he was suddenly coming, filling her mouth so that she had to

swallow, keep swallowing, sucking him deep, sucking him dry, continuing to suck him as he softened. Breathless, he slumped back against a tree. Trousers still at his ankles, suddenly he felt exposed. Ruth remained on her knees, a little smile on her face and in her eyes. He didn't know how they had reached this point so soon. He had just come in her throat, filled her with his juices, and what did he know of her? He knew her name and that she lived with the strange sisters in the Hall. He knew she watched from windows. He knew she was the most beautiful woman he had ever encountered and that she had his heart. He knew nothing at all, but it was as if he knew everything. He dropped to his knees, and it was his turn to put a hand to her cheek, a thumb under her chin, tilting her face back for his kiss. He tasted himself on her, his salty juices mingling with her sweetness. Her gown buttoned down the front, the top two already undone. He found the third, released it. The fourth, and he was able to part the fabric, slide a hand in to cup a breast, his thumb on the nipple, stroking gently as it hardened. With his other hand he continued undoing her buttons until she kneeled before him, gown parted, her skin a ghostly white in the dim light beneath the trees. He put a hand on her shoulder, guiding her to tip back, lie, and he slid on top of her so that his soft, drained dick was against her mound and his head at her breasts. Grinding against her, he tongued a nipple, flicking steadily, then more rapidly as she groaned and he felt a tremor pass through her entire body. Her legs wrapped around him, and his softness was against her lips, sliding between them, his pubic bone grinding against the stiff bud of her clit. He moved down, teeth dragging across her ribs, her belly. His hand found her wetness now, and he slid a finger deep, feeling her push up against him, wanting more. His tongue found her pussy, the hair soft, scented with her juices. He drove his tongue further down until it found the soft hood covering her clit, and now he started to lick, dragging his tongue across her, occasionally dipping inside to flick at that bud, while all the time his fingers drove deep, and she ground against his hand, against his face, against the steady, rhythmic working of his tongue.

Ruth She lay back and it was as if her body was alive to every sensation. The hard dirt ground, a stone digging into her left shoulder-blade. The raucous cawing of crows high up in the trees. The shards of sunlight as they penetrated the shade. The smell of the earth, rich and raw. His hand on her hip, holding her in place. His other hand, his fingers buried deep in her cunt, thrusting into her and sliding back out, over and over and over. The pressure of his face against her pussy, the intense points of sensation as his tongue ran in circles around her clit and then he changed and was flicking at her with his tongue, a delicate, teasing touch. She pushed up against him, grinding against his face, and his tongue pressed harder in long, sweeping strokes. The stone in her shoulder-blade stabbed as she pushed up, her hips off the ground now. She felt a tightening in her belly, in her cunt, a sudden building of sensation, and then she came and he was pressing his tongue hard against her clit, his fingers deep inside her as she tightened around him. She buried both hands in his hair and pressed him hard against her as each wave of orgasm took her, wanting it to last forever. Afterwards, he moved up to lie beside her, an arm across her ribs and pressing gently against the swell of her breasts. "So tell me your story," he said. "Tell me who you are. Tell me why I was right to ignore what they say and come here to you." She looked at him, sharply. "What do they say?" she asked. He faltered and she stared, and hesitantly he answered. "They warned me off. The other men. The masons. They said I shouldn't come near the Hall. That I shouldn't have anything to do with the sisters. That once they take an interest there's no escaping." "And why would they say such a thing?" "I don't know," he said. "Nobody will say. I don't care anyway. I make my own choices." His hand on her ribs pressed, reassuring. She decided to make light of it. She couldn't do anything to risk what they had. "They're just scared," she said. "They're just scared that the sisters will Charm them." "'Charm them'...?" Suddenly she was wary. She didn't want this conversation. She only wanted to be lying there in his embrace, her head full of what they had just shared. Where before there had been heat in her belly now there was an icy chill. But she had to go on now. "The sisters," she said. "They scare people. They have... ways. People say the sisters can enchant a man with a glance, a thought." "And can they?" Again, she tried to make light of it. "No," she said. "It usually takes a little more than that." She felt him withdraw from her, felt a new tension in his arm across her ribs. "Is that what they do?" he asked. "Is that what you do?" He sat, pulled his knees to his chest.

"No," she said, turning onto her side, putting a hand on his thigh. "It's not what I do... not what I've done." "Is that what this is? Is that why I can't get you out of my thoughts, why I can't get you out of my dreams? It's a Charm? A spell?" He stood, clumsily pulled his trousers up, and started to back away. "What are you, Ruth? What have you done to me?" He turned, and strode away, and in an instant he was gone. She lay there on her side in the dirt, and tears burned tracks down her face. Was that it? Over so soon? Was this the price she must pay for having been rescued by the sisters? She stayed there until it was dark, going over and over what had happened. What could she do? What would a normal person do? And what would she be willing to do to get him back?

Saul He found Jasper in the bar, already on his second pint. The older man took one look at Saul and waved to get Rosie's attention. "One for Saul," he said. "They got to you, boy? They got their claws into you, have they?" Saul sat with Jasper. He shook his head. "What happened then? You didn't stay back with her to talk about the weather now, did you?" Saul took a long pull at his beer. "Nothing," he said, finally. "Nothing happened." Jasper stared at him over his tankard, clearly disbelieving. "You can go," he said after a long interval. "Go now. Just hit that road and keep walking and you might stand a chance. You hear me, boy? I know cousin Jude blagged you this job and you probably feel duty-bound not to let him down, and I respect that. But go, boy. You won't be letting anyone down." "Tell me about her," said Saul. "Tell me about Ruth. Is she... one of them? One of the sisters?" Jasper shook his head. "They rescued her. Family out Dillacombe way. Father hit the bottle. Hit the missus and the kids too. Went under a train at Masters Junction one night. Some say he fell, others say he jumped. Others say it was his wife pushed him." Jasper took another long swig of his beer. "Anyhow... She was left with the kids, getting her money by whoring herself out at the Junction. Kids had a rough time. Ruth was the youngest, the last to get out. I don't know how the sisters found her, but they have their ways. They took her in, raised her as their own." Jasper peered at him, and then added, finally, "No, she's not one of them. It's far worse than that. She's one of theirs..." * He didn't know. Didn't know what to think, what to do. In many ways Jasper's warnings were more disturbing than what Ruth had said to him. And earlier at the Hall... now he wasn't really sure what had happened, why they had argued. All he knew was that Ruth had lodged herself in his mind in ways no one ever had before. Had she bewitched him? Had she Charmed him? He didn't know. Didn't want to think about it. Rosie... Rosie distracted him with her chatter and her jokes, with the way she leaned towards him, her elbows on the bar and her breasts almost out of her top. She had a spark in her eyes. Laughter. Mischief. Something deliciously rude about her. She took his mind off things. Later, much later, as the bar spilled out into the night, Saul found himself gathering up the glasses and tankards from the tables, bringing them back to the bar for Rosie. Rosie.

Suddenly leaning right across the bar, hooking fingers into his shirt to pull him towards her, kissing him hard, her mouth soft and beery, her tongue finding his, her other hand curling behind his head, fingers tangling in his hair. Rosie, with her breasts and her fingers and her eager mouth. Rosie.

Ruth Ruth lay back on her bed. She still didn't understand why he had fled. She hadn't Charmed him. She'd done nothing wrong. She just wanted him. She just needed him. But now... now she had to know. She had to see where he was, what he was doing. * She felt the Charm starting to take hold and so she closed her eyes. She found herself in a wide room, tables and benches all about her. The interior of an inn. And there, at the bar: Saul. Saul and Rosie. Rosie's hands were twisted in his hair, pulling his head down. Her breasts were exposed, so much fuller than Ruth's, her nipples dark and erect. Saul took one in his mouth and sucked and Ruth remembered him doing the same to her earlier, remembered the flicking of his tongue, the sensations it had sent through her body. She realised she was breathing rapidly as Rosie came round the bar to Saul and dropped to a chair before him. She was getting horny, watching the two of them. Back in her room, Ruth hitched her night-dress up over her knees, her thighs, and started to knead her labia between thumb and fingers, pressing the heel of her hand against her clit. And she watched him. Watched him with another woman. Watched Rosie stroking his long, hard cock, pulling it, guiding it between her breasts so that he stood, knees bent, fucking her there, fucking her cleavage in long, brutal strokes. Ruth hated it. She loved it. She was incredibly turned on by it. He was hers. He had to be hers. Rosie dipped her head and took him in her mouth and Ruth slipped a finger inside herself and almost came at that deep touch, but she managed to hold herself there, right on the edge. Rosie turned then and leaned against the bar, her dress hitched up over her back, and Ruth watched as Saul, her man, positioned himself with his cock against Rosie's arse and then he pushed. Rosie gasped, and he slid deeper, penetrating her arse until he was up to his balls in her. "Gentle, gentle," Rosie said, as he started to move, started to thrust, and one of his hands moved down to work at her pussy. In her room, Ruth moved her other hand down, pushed further back, fingers pressing at the opening of her arse. Using her own juices to ease the entry, she slid a finger inside for the first time, and then she started to grind her hips, pressing against her hands as Saul thrust himself deep in Rosie's arse. She timed the pressing of her fingers to match his rhythm and she imagined his cock in her... in her cunt and then in her arse while he fingered her clit, and all the time watching him fuck Rosie's arse and finger her, thrusting harder and faster, harder and faster.

Finally, Ruth could hold it back no more and she was coming hard, crying out into the night, and the bar and Rosie and Saul faded, and she was in her room, in the Hall, alone and wet and working every last wave of orgasm. * The night was long, Ruth's sleep broken by fitful dreams and long periods of lying awake and reliving what she had seen. She felt angry and vengeful. She felt guilty that she had been turned on by watching another woman fucking the man who should be hers. Guilty that even in the middle of the night, when she remembered Rosie sucking him, Rosie taking him between her breasts, her own hand had stolen down beneath the covers to press and stroke. In the morning Anna and Esme were waiting in the kitchen, and they knew something had happened, something had changed. "You want him, don't you?" "You need him." "You can't get him out of your mind." "We can help you." "We can help you, darling Ruth." "There are ways." "Ways to make him yours." "All you have to do is say, Ruth." "All you have to do is say and we'll make him yours."

* [Ruth and Saul's story continues in The Touch, volume three: Coming Together, due from James Grieve Press in December 2011.] *

Afters Polly J Adams comes from a comfortably middle-class background, brought up in Surrey by a mother heavily involved in charity work and a father who was a high-flier in the financial world before he retired. Bit of a shame for them that she writes about sex, then! As well as writing scripts for adult movies, Polly is the author of a collection of erotic stories, You, the paranormal erotic story, Letting Go, the Girls' Club stories (including Easy as One, Two, Three) and a number of other erotic tales. You can find out more about Polly and her writing on her website, on Facebook and on Twitter as @PollyJAdams.