About the book
The moment she starts her doctorate in Oxford, Sarah is
beset with mysteries. An old portrait in her rented house
bears an uncanny resemblance to her. A new lover insists he's
a ghost. Her attractive, sinister supervisor obstructs her
research at every turn. An ordinary hill on the meadow fills
her with fear - and not just her, but also the man with whom
she falls in love. And every time she has sex, she hallucinates
strange places and other times.
With her own life and soul at risk, Sarah
uses sex-magic and a sequence of visions to travel between
different times, worlds and places. On an epic journey, she
battles an ancient evil to solve a mystery dating back centuries
- a mystery that holds the truth of her origins and purpose.
About the scene
After a Halloween drinking party in St
Mary's churchyard, Sarah's new friend Jo appears and demands
she leave - instantly, at speed.
Now read on...
He kept her running all the way up Broad Street
and St Giles', her legs flying in long strides beneath the
ball gown. At the fork of Banbury and Woodstock, he dragged
her headlong across the road, forcing a car to swerve and
hoot, and finally he stopped, panting, in the graveyard.
'This will do for now,' he said. 'We can't stay here long,
She stood in her ball gown, gasping for breath, her stockinged
feet wet and the gravel of the path sharp beneath them. Wild
shadows scissored across his face against white and gold,
car light and lamplight, as he paced anxiously. In the sudden
quiet of after the furious dash, with the cars swishing past
on wet roads on either side, she felt a bitter sense of anticlimax.
'What's going on, Jo?' She meant the question to sound brave,
or at least belligerent, but it came out in a feeble quaver;
she hadn't yet caught her breath.
He stopped in front of her, caught her hands in his. 'Sarah,
listen to me carefully. Can you get us to your house?'
She stared at him, her chin jutting forwards in bemusement.
'I can - shit, I mean, I can call a cab, what do you mean?'
'I don't mean a cab, a bus, anything like that; can you
get us back?'
'What - you mean walking?'
His hands dropped to his sides, his shoulders slumped. 'No,
not walking,' he muttered wearily. He rubbed his face with
his hands, then thrust them through his hair in frustration.
'Damnation, Sarah,' he snapped suddenly, 'you do not have
the least idea, do you!' As the words were spoken,
he slapped his hand over his mouth to trap them in, and his
bewildering anxiety redoubled. 'That's it, Jesus, that's
it, that's done it. We can't hide here now. Are you ready
to run, again?' He said it bitterly, but earnestly.
'Not until you tell me what we're running from.' This time
she succeeded in sounding belligerent, but it was too late.
He had grabbed her hand, and was already hastening towards
'I will explain everything, trust me, but for now, know only
that whatever your worst and most hideous fear is, that
is what you are running from.' The light was weird enough,
his eyes were desperate enough, that her most chilling nightmares
flickered through her mind - those nightmares that even as
an adult, she could not dispel with good sense, and that lingered
throughout the day. Those were the waking nightmares, her
bedroom visible around her although blurred, in which she
was conscious but paralysed, unable to defend herself and
prey to… She flew again alongside him on her already-stinging
feet, up the Banbury Road.
'No lights,' he hissed, as he slammed the
door behind them. 'Close the curtains - quick - all of them!'
His panic infected her as she dashed around the lounge, yanking
the heavy velvet over the cold glass. The black lawn outside,
thickly fringed with bushes, suddenly seemed ominous, as if
a ghostly face might appear on the other side before she had
time to shut it out. As she hurried into the corridor, he
yelled 'Be careful - don't run in the corridor,' from the
dining room. She heard the hiss of the dining room curtain
rails as she ran up the stairs, three at a time, to the upstairs
'What about the studio?' she called down. 'There's no curtains
'Keep the door closed then.'
The dark rooms scared her as they hadn't since childhood;
adrenaline was feeding her fear. She finished as quickly as
she could, eager to return to the lounge, to company. Jo was
leaning with his forearm on the mantelpiece, in the dark,
one hand covering his brow. Sarah stood just inside the door,
fumbling in the drawer for a candle. Her uncertain fingers
found a nightlight, and a box of matches. 'What was all that
about, then?' The house was suddenly still, as she struck
the match and the wick flickered to life and sank down. 'You've
frightened me,' she added nervously.
He turned around; to her surprise, his face relaxed in a smile.
'Don't be frightened - we're safe here. You're safe here.
I didn't want anyone to see us.'
She clutched her elbows tightly, her cleavage deepening. His
face softened in the low light as he glanced down, and stepping
closer he put his cool hands on the curve of her waist, leaning
back a little to admire her. She wrenched out of his grasp.
'What's going on, Jo? You've just yanked me all the way across
town telling me my worst nightmare is somewhere out there,
and now everything's fine?'
'It's fine for now, you're safe now.' He was in front of her
again, one hand sliding against the back of her dress, the
other tilting her chin up. 'Kiss me again…' His eyes, huge
and black, barely visible, seemed once again that strange
mixture of anxious need and liquid suavity. Her heart, still
pounding from their wild flight, beat faster as his mouth
closed on her lower lip. He sucked on it slowly, hungrily,
his arm sliding further around her and imprisoning her against
his chest. She felt his fingers reach the side of her breast
and rub it softly through the fine material.
'Jo, don't,' she said half-heartedly; her lips brushed
his as she spoke. 'I want to know what's going on…'
'I'll tell you,' said his lips on hers, 'but let me - ah,'
he shuddered, 'kiss you… more…'
His hips pressed tighter against hers as he whispered 'more'
, and the earlier desire she had felt in the graveyard of
University Church came flaming back to life.
'This is madness, madness, why am I letting you do this -
how do I want you so much, it's unholy -' I'll stop in
a moment, she told herself, just a moment then I'll
push him away and demand an explanation.
His narrow fingers were dancing nimbly down the complicated
little fastenings that held her bodice closed over her breasts.
The material strained against the remaining hooks as the generous
mounds of soft flesh were revealed, heaving a little as her
breath came faster. The sleeves' falling off her shoulders
made her feel more erotically exposed than she'd ever felt
simply naked. The hardening tips of her nipples were almost
visible now; Jo's eyes were blurred with lust, sharp with
fascination, as he watched them emerge. His mouth had parted
involuntarily. As he accepted them into the sharp-edged heat
of his mouth, she felt a rush of blind lust and her panties
were suddenly damp against her tingling lips.
'You've bewitched me,' she gasped. He bit down harder on her
nipple, making her yelp, and lifted his head.
'Au contraire,' he said, staring her straight in the eye.
His eyes were dark hollows. 'You're the witch.' He licked
his lips slowly. 'And a more tempting one than you never walked
the earth… Seeing you like that,' - his eyes raked over her
- 'I could almost forgive your choice of dress.'
'You don't like it?' she whispered, her hands running over
the folds of material covering her thighs.
'I love it,' he said hoarsely. 'Especially with your bodice
pulled open. But I'd like it even more like this…'
He pulled her by the hand to the sofa, and gently pushed her
to her knees before it. She leant forward obediently, her
sensitive tips brushing the velvet upholstery. In the dark,
its pale green ground and cream flora had turned to silver,
with streaks of gold where the tentative candlelight fell
over it. She felt him lift up the full skirt, pushing it above
her waist, so that the full orbs of her buttocks glowed pale
'No undergarments?' he murmured in a strangled voice.
'They didn't seem - appropriate - to the dress,' she said
softly. His hand was clasping the taut flesh of her curved
'I wonder if you're familiar with the works of the Marquis
de Sade?' he murmured, and as the words fell from his lips
his hand smacked down in a stinging slap. She jerked forward,
squealing. His finger ran swiftly through the slick valley
between her lips. 'Are you?' he said in a firmer tone.
'I -' Her reply was cut short by another smack, sharper this
'Only a wanton wench,' he said, punctuating his words with
expert slaps across her generous cheeks, 'would read that
It hurts, she thought. Each time she spasmed forward,
away from the pain, her breasts rubbed harder against the
'Jo!' she stammered, 'what - are - you - doing?' She panted
Another spank caught the edges of her pussy and she shrieked.
To her horror, she could feel her thighs tightening with pleasure,
her bowels hot with glee. His fingers slid between her legs
and the blood rushed to her face with shame. He would feel
it, she could not hide how this humiliating treatment thrilled
'Apparently,' he said dryly, 'I'm making you very happy. Well?
' His tone changed abruptly to severity. 'Have you?' The
flat of his hand fell hard again on her skin, rippling it,
again and again. 'Tell me!'
'Yes!' she howled, 'Yes!' How could it sting so much, and
yet, she knew from the clutching contracting glow of her body,
bring her closer and closer to the gleaming edge, until she
almost wanted it? His free hand took a handful of her breast,
kneading it painfully as her voice wailed on, saying yes
and yes. She was yearning now, pressing her bosom against
his hand, the tip like a coal against his palm, lifting her
bottom higher to meet the crisp blows he rained on her. She
arched, spreading her thighs. Occasionally his fingers flicked
smartly between her legs and her cries would fly up in pitch.
The more it hurt, the closer her body surged to orgasm, so
that at last she was begging him shamelessly to smack her
harder. She felt the smooth, blunt tip of his penis between
her open legs. With each shudder of pain, her hips jerked
backwards, and he was lodged a little deeper inside her, thick
and uncompromising against the straining narrow passageway.
'Yes,' he said throatily, 'I know you, I know you.' His nails
dug into her breast, his hand grinding hard against it. 'I
know you want this.' His palm hit her buttocks harder and
harder, skirting the line where the pain became unbearable,
and with renewed cries she felt herself falling into a wild
spasming orgasm. He thrust hard as she came, forcing his way
deep into her, prolonging her frenzy on and on as his hips
slammed against her bum. Pinned down on the sofa, helpless
under the waves of ecstasy, she yowled like a cat for him
with every fierce stroke.
Sitting on the sofa, her hands still trembling
around a glass of wine, Sarah watched Jo lacing and unlacing
his fingers. The glow of passion still shone in his otherwise
pale cheeks, but his brow was reluctantly furrowed.
'If I tell you,' he began; 'No - I will tell you, I must,
for your own well-being, but I fear that - Sarah,' he clasped
his hands and looked anxiously into her eyes. 'I cannot pretend
I have much to offer you, but just to be with you - you can't
imagine the joy - the warmth and life of you…' He trailed
off, gazing at her longingly. The room sparkled now with dozens
of small flames. The small, round white and silver sides of
nightlights were clustered thickly on the coffee table and
all over the mantelpieces, each with its flickering glow.
Sarah had insisted that the heavy drapes would not let the
least glimmer of light escape, and emptied her whole bag of
candles. Flushed with brilliance, her bodice still hanging
from her waist, her heavy breasts swaying, and her full skirt
swishing, she took pleasure from moving around the room under
Jo's eyes, perversely lighting candle after candle.
She stayed silent, waiting for him to speak again. Her wine
shone ruby and black through the glass.
'I fear that I might lose you, that you might not understand.'
'I have nothing yet to try to understand,' she said. The mellow
satedness that still persisted in her lent softness to her
'I know there cannot be - much - between us, less than you
may want, but just to see you from time to time, to hold you
in my arms!' His voice subsided, and he twisted the stem of
his own glass unhappily. 'But who can say what may happen
to you if I don't tell you; I haven't any idea what
means they use, these days -'
'Jo, just tell me!' she exclaimed. 'What may happen
to me, means for what?'
more about The Ten Visions on Lust Bites