The Sexy Librarian's Big Book of Erotica

by Rose Caraway

  She set the cube in the center of the circle. Her voice echoed among graves outside as she spoke at the top of her lungs. “Alexandre Malveaux, I command you to stop hiding behind the shelter of Death’s veil, and enter into this circle where I may worship your beloved body once more.”

  Silence befell the sacred place, save for the humming cube, and the beating of Adora’s heart. Beneath the volume of her pulse she detected a second rhythm. Anxiety burning in her gut urged her to open her eyes; the fear of failing again taunted her to keep them shut. Unhurriedly, she raised her eyelids. Her throat clamped shut at once.

  A phantom darker than pitch hovered mere inches from her. Gossamer shadows crafted a hooded cloak about its figure, a veil blacker than night hid its face. Aether burned sliver about it, symbolic of pure energy awaiting potential.

  Excitement severed her words with a blunt edge. A squeak crawled through the stricture in her throat and dragged its sound from the tip of her tongue. “Alexandre?”

  The spirit nodded. An arm formed from black mist, then reached up to press its slender hand against her shoulder. Uncontrolled shivering shook her body. Its freezing touch burned through her flesh. Alexandre’s face materialized inside the cowl with two shiny pence hovering in his sunken eye sockets.

  “Thank you!” Adora cried up at the heavens. She threw her arms around him—her expression echoing surprise as they passed through him as if nothing were there at all. “Alexandre, you are the only man for whom my heart has ever beaten. If only I could touch you once more, my love.”

  Darkness melted away to reveal his naked form. Beads of ectoplasm dripped down his flesh. A ragged bullet hole pierced his chest, offering a glimpse of his bloodless heart beating inside.

  Excited thoughts boiled through her brain. The strange cube was working exactly as she’d hoped for.

  “My beautiful Adora,” his words resonated between her ears though his lips never parted. “When Death raptured my soul beneath his outstretched wings I never thought I would see you again.”

  She kissed him, bearing past the searing cold so her tongue could explore his mouth. Spectral energy crackled over her lips. Absinthe flavors flowed down her throat. His muscular arms encircled her, raising denser layers of gooseflesh wherever they touched.

  “I don’t want to waste a moment of our time.” Adora’s heart lurched inside her chest. Heat dripped along her inner thighs. “Make love to me, as amazingly as the last time we lay beneath the stars.”

  Alexandre said everything she needed to hear with his smile. The warmth of his soul burned through death’s chilling veil, their mouths came together and their passion combusted. His touch transitioned to warmth while his hands explored her flesh, seemingly in multiple locations at once. His fingers slipped between her thighs, the sudden rush of pleasure buckled her knees. He swooped her against his chest and lowered her onto the floor.

  Adora gently slid the cube beside their entwined bodies, making certain it didn’t break the circle. Its vibrations transmitted through the floor, up through her ass, and teased her throbbing clit. Her pussy became increasingly sensitive with every passing moment. Anticipation glistened over its supple lips.

  Alexandre feasted on her mouth, consumed her neck, drifted to devour her breasts. Adora clawed at the floor as his mouth glided down between her legs. His tongue bathed her slit with spectral warmth, and a jolt rippled through her clit. Lengthy digits slipped inside her next. Electricity from his touch tormented and excited her all at once. A finger wormed its way inside her ass, pressing the inner walls of her cunt against his tongue. She ground her pelvis against his face, further fueling the ecstasy coursing through her senses.

  Adora came hard. All the tense years, all her grief, the absence of affection callousing her heart—it all splintered apart from her soul. Orgasm stole her breath, bathed sweat over her flesh. Ecstasy trembled through every nerve.

  Her lover rose, easily pressing his cock through her slick pussy lips. Slow pops of static danced through her cunt, immediately refueling her climax. Unbearable bliss advanced until his cock swelled to fill every available inch of her depths. His hips rested against her, his taut scrotum nudged her ass.

  Arms drew bodies close. Passion flowed freely between their lips, nerve endings savored the euphoria of their skin again connecting. Two lost souls finally joined as one.

  Adora’s hips slowly rocked against his. Their eyes locked on to each other’s smiles. Alexandre’s pace quickened, and though the stone flooring chafed her asscheeks, no other sensation existed at that moment than their fucking.

  His delight melted into a concentrated stare. She sensed from the frenzy of his thrusts that his culmination loomed close. Her cunt clenched around his girth. Every voltaic thrust pounded her harder against the floor. She reached her arms up and grabbed his ass, pulling him deeper inside her body.

  Lightning storms rolled through Adora’s vision. She writhed about, her two-tone hair splayed over her face. Her quivering thighs clenched his hips against her body. Bliss stole away her gasps. Climax tore through her crux with all the ferocity of rabid wolves. Sweet juices oozed from her pussy, and smeared the pentacle drawn beneath her.

  Ectoplasm beaded across Alexandre’s brow. “Oh, my love, I’m going to come.”

  “Yes, my love!” She squeezed her body against his, softly chewed perspiration from his neck.

  Warmth spilled through her cunt. A surge of voltage cramped her breasts. A coppery taste singed the back of her tongue. His body fell upon hers, his hips pumping every last drop of spectral seed inside her.

  Tendrils of energy danced along their intertwined forms. Adora beheld a glimpse of the heavens, and for a rare instant, all time halted around her.

  “I love you Alexandre,” she whispered. Joyful tears trickled from the corners of her eyes.

  He gazed at her; the intensity of his emotion pierced her flesh, and fluttered her heart. His lips parted, words of affection poised on the tip of his tongue. A metallic PING shook the cube; its vibrations ceased at once.

  Every muscle in her body tensed. Abruptly she was aware of countless spiders watching their frolic from webs lacing above. Icy cold gnashed her fingertips as they sank through Alexandre’s flesh without warning. His figure faded into shadowy mist flowing about her body.

  “I won’t let you go again!” Adora concentrated on her lover, straining every ounce of energy manifested by their union.

  His face materialized once more with the coins still covering his eyes. She clawed at the mist to draw it closer against her. Their lips touched with a chill, then during the stillness between racing heartbeats her lover vanished.

  “Alexandre?” She bolted upright, searching the candlelight for his presence. “My love?”

  She dashed for the cube. Frantic fingers struggled for a secure grip. Metal clattered inside. Fingernails cracked away leaving bloody smears as she tore the lid open. Wide eyes scanned its contents.

  A snapped spring lay on the bottom. Delicate gears appeared dislocated from their reels. Shimmering light faded from a white crystal suspended in the center.

  “No.” Adora whispered, attempting to shake away the disbelief setting into her bones. “Please, no.”

  She coaxed a gear back into position with the tip of a bloodied finger. A rod running through its center bent, and the crystal tilted out of alignment. “Oh, Sweet Mother Goddess. No!”

  She rose quickly to her feet. Ghostly cum glowed down the insides of her thighs. All of her rage spewed forth with a bloodcurdling shriek as she hurled the cube against the far wall of the crypt. Delicate gears and shattered crystal showered the dark with their melody.

  Blackness churned within Adora’s tears. Aether steamed about her naked flesh. Catastrophe smoldered in her glare. She screamed out again, struck the nearest wall and shattered every bone in her fist.

  Temperature shifts permitted slivers of morning sunlight to peer beneath the haunted sky. Many of Barton Hill’s residents took to parks and
markets to delight in the rare occurrence. Forecasts for the following days warned that nobody should venture outside without a respirator as the Great Black loomed close to the shore.

  Adora walked through the crowd, her arm suspended with a scarf she’d fashioned as a makeshift sling. Several more days would need to pass before her healing potion took full effect. For the time being, agony throbbed though the fractures with every step. In her good hand she clutched a cloth sack containing remnants of the cube. Every jingling piece reminded her of great failure.

  She strolled through the market center where she last saw the doctor’s wagon parked. Perplexity gripped her when she happened up to his empty stall. Her panicked glances fell on every passerby. Her silent prayers hoped she’d simply overlooked his move to another location in the market.

  A young market hand sauntered by with a broom in his grip. His duties required that he smile at every customer, but he quickly looked away when he noticed the air shimmering around her.

  “Excuse me, young man.” She chased after him, her voice frantic. “I need to ask you a question.”

  “Be quick about it, toffer.” He spun sneering, prepared to swing his broom as a bat.

  “Did you work here yesterday?”

  “Maybe. What about it?”

  “I’m looking for the man who was peddling the boxes from his steam-powered wagon. The one who made the old lady walk again.”

  “No idea, ma’am.” He shook his head slowly, almost nodded as if he knew.

  “Would this stir your memory?” A shilling gleamed between bruised fingers in her sling.

  His eyes widened in his dirt-smeared face. He pocketed the coin with a flash and a grin. “Oh, yeah, that man. He left just after the market closed yesterday.”

  “Do you have any idea where he may have headed off to?”

  “I overheard him say something about a telegram, and how it was utmost necessary that he board the first ship bound for America this morning.”

  “Thanks, kid.”

  Adora rushed down to the docks. Panic propelled her every heartbeat. The silhouette of a steamship shrank toward the horizon. Tugs towed other ships into port. Crewmen bustled about loading and unloading cargo with mechanical lifts.

  She scanned the aether for any hint of his direction, but the commotion around her clouded her efforts. Weeks would pass before she could afford the fare to America. Hell, she didn’t even know which port the doctor had headed toward. He could have been sitting behind her sipping a whiskey for all she knew.

  Angst paralyzed her until a bellowing foghorn shook her back to her senses. Adora stared out to sea, where whitecaps dotted swelling waves. Her mangled hand clutched her chest.

  Surrounding clamor drowned out the whisper carried from her lips. “My dearest Alexandre, I swear to you that I will find the doctor, and I will learn the secrets behind his mysterious, mechanical cubes. And when we finally meet again, I will slash my throat so that we may spend the rest of eternity slumbering within each other’s arms.”

  Moonshine Ballad

  Salome Wilde

  for Carson McCullers

  Gotta laugh at them uppity bottles there, showin’ off labels like the cover’s all you need to know about a book. They just stand there on the shelf, proud as peacocks, tall an’ clean an’ shinin’. Then, snap! They in a fella’s hand an’ he’s puttin’ up all he done earned in a week’s hard labor for fool’s gold. High-class hooch don’t care what it costs a fella. Them bottles just waitin’ to be pulled down. They listenin’ for the sound of crisp dollar bills an’ clankity change, spillin’ sweet an’ loud. Fella spills all he’s worth on the General Store countertop, just like he’s gonna spill his seed when he’s bottle-drunk later on.

  It ain’t that I’m jealous—nary a bit. Yeah, I see what they got. Fancy paper ’round the neck, waitin’ to be torn by greedy fingers. Or a ’luminum crimp that makes a real nice crackle when you twist it, tellin’ the world they’s important bottles, worldly-wise whiskey. Makes the fellas feel worldly, too, I ’spect. That potion they carry in those pretty glass bellies melts a man’s insides smoother’n butter on a biscuit. Them bottles gets waved in the air an’ then poured into shiny little glasses, sometimes mixed with Coca-Cola for the girls faint at heart or aimin’ to act that way to keep control over mischievous boyfriends.

  Fancy bottles fulla fancy liquor, they so pretty. Smooth, that’s the word. Many a man an’ plenty women swear they take a body on a mighty fine ride. (Depends on how you figure “fine,” don’t it?) Drink enough an’ you don’t rightly remember what you done come mornin’. An’ that’s prob’ly for the best. Ain’t nice when you know what high-priced spirits done to you. Give you a good, hard fuck, that’s what they done. An’ I suppose that’s what some folks want, even if they say otherwise. Still, ain’t hard to be smarter.

  Take Miss Mary Mae Murphy. Lots of folks call her smart. Pretty as a peach an’ got her high school diploma, too. Everyone thought she’d find a good man an’ settle down. Maybe even land a city fella. But she didn’t show no such interest. Ended up movin’ in with the seamstress, Miss Annie Bugg, takin’ in laundry an’ learnin’ how to sew.

  But if you wanna see stupid, take a gander at ol’ Lou Abney, settin’ yonder in the shade. Lyin’ back against that big oak, snorin’ like thunder, an empty bottle still in his hand. He’s dreamin’ high, just like he was doin’ last night when he latched onto Miss Mary Mae. He didn’t recognize her first off when he saw her at the barn dance. The girl had grown so much since she’d moved to the edge of town. Fine-lookin’ woman she was now, he was thinkin’ as he brought the half-empty bottle to his lips. He’d promised Sue-Beth, his plump spitfire of a wife, he wouldn’t drink no more after she went home, complainin’ that the hay was makin’ her sneeze. But Lou Abney was a liar through and through. Most folks said he an’ the truth ain’t never even met.

  Miss Mary Mae stepped out for some air ’round the same time, wonderin’ why she’d let Annie talk her into goin’ the dance on her own. Later, she couldn’t rightly say why she’d let ol’ Lou convince her to take a swig from his fancy bottle, but she did. An’ a little while after that, she stopped wonderin’ why she was doin’ anything she was doin’.

  ’Course, while Lou moans in his sleep under that tree, Miss Mary Mae is long gone. She cain’t recall much as she wakes beside Miss Annie. Not when nor how she got home or what she done to make her ache below. How was it that only a few sips from that bottle an’ Lou didn’t look so terrible bad to her, she wondered. Bulb of a nose didn’t seem so big an’ red. Bulgin’ gut seemed smaller an’ right soft to lean on as they sat together, listenin’ to the fiddle playin’ in the barn, far off. Miss Mary Mae was light-headed, watchin’ the stars wink at her in the cool night sky. When Lou bent over to kiss her, it was like bein’ kissed by the sky—dark an’ soft an’ distant. Nothin’ seemed real.

  Now, though, she’s rubbin’ perfume at her temples to chase away the head pain, knowin’ she’ll be late to church if she don’t hurry. Miss Annie’s already waitin’ by the door, tryin’ to convince herself she did the right thing in sending Mary Mae to that dance in the dress she made for her. Their bed was cold an’ lonely until Mary Mae came back. Annie hid her face when the gal stumbled in, smellin’ of whiskey an’ sawdust.

  If Miss Annie kept her peace, askin’ not a single question of her lodger, Mary Mae had trouble just puttin’ two words together. All she can manage is to wash up an’ fix her hair. Her church-goin’ hat with the veil hides her red, bleary eyes—another gift of that pretty bottle, the one that’s helpin’ Lou wake slowly to his own hurtin’ as the hot, summer sun rises. Why’d he spend the night outdoors, anyhow? Was it a dream, or did he really bend that pretty slip of a girl Miss Mary Mae over the workbench in the shop where he makes porch swings an’ rockin’ chairs? An’ did she truly say he was the first man she’d ever had?

  While neither’s quite sure yet of what all they done, their questions will have answers right
soon. Lou, he’ll groan with regret as he soaks his head in a horse trough an’ fights away pictures in his mind of how he untied the rope that held up his pants with drunken, clumsy fingers an’ pulled out his prick to stuff beneath Mary Mae’s fresh-smellin’ skirts. How he didn’t even look, just felt his way until he pushed it in. Tight, it was, that’s sure. Made him spill sooner’n he meant to.

  His wife won’t be told such details, though she’s bound to find out he done her wrong. She always does. She’ll regret havin’ left the dance with just Lou’s promise to behave. “Sow the wind an’ reap the whirlwind,” is what she’ll say, in the end, pointin’ an accusin’ finger. Then she’ll throw the “no-good, low-down, cheatin’ skunk” out…again…until maybe she takes him back come Christmastime, forgives him when he brings ’round a fresh ham an’ a hand-carved vanity he worked on all season, every chance he got, just for her.

  Miss Annie, she won’t be thinkin’ on forgiveness, nor vengeance neither. Or, if she does, it’ll be on the Lord’s vengeance on her, not on poor, sweet Mary Mae. Annie loves that girl with all her heart an’ soul—but it don’t stop there, an’ that’s the trouble. Her love touches places she don’t even let herself touch. So, it cain’t be betrayal when Annie’s always known that Mary Mae’d have to leave sooner or later, when the right man came a-callin’. Only, did it have to be that dreadful Abney fella? Man’s uglier than the south end of a north-bound cat, Annie thinks, an’ just as sneaky.

  As the church bells chime their Sunday welcome, Lou an’ Mary Mae are both rememberin’ Lou puffin’ away an’ the rustle of Mary Mae’s crinoline. But as Lou ambles home an’ Mary Mae raises her voice to praise Jesus, they both find the same truth: Lou only tried an’ Mary Mae only let him ’cause that costly liquor was doin’ the drivin’. He was takin’ all he had for granted, an’ she was sure she couldn’t have what she wanted. They twined together, stuck by glue poured straight from that bottle. Shame is its lastin’ gift.