Invisible Touch Part Two of Two
Angel didn’t sleep that night. She never did after a clandestine meeting with Darren. She stared into the depths of her wine glass and wondered what Eliza knew about her. She wondered what Eliza thought about her. She wondered what she would do if she were in Eliza’s position. Sighing, Angel got up from her chair and poured herself another drink.
Eliza and Darren had met at university, Angel knew that. The marriage had been a mundane one, until Eliza turned to a cocktail of drugs and drink. Angel wondered what had driven Eliza to drugs and drink. She could guess, but she didn’t want to dwell on the answer; despite his faults, Angel liked to cling on to an idealistic view of Darren.
In the early hours of the morning, her phone rang. Angel was grateful for the distraction, anything to lift her mind out of the pit of gloom and despondency into which it had sunk.
“Angel?” It was the voice.
“I’ve missed you.”
Angel paused, then she replied truthfully, “I’ve missed you to.”
“Why did you do it?”
“Do what?” Angel frowned.
“Have sex with him.”
Angel blushed. She felt agitated, confused. “Sex? With whom? What are you talking about…?”
“I’ll forgive you this time, but it’s got to stop. Do you understand?”
Angel stared at the phone. Who was this? How did he know about her and Darren? Had he watched them make love? Her body offered an involuntary shiver. There was something warm and appealing about the voice, something she was attracted to. However, the thought of him spying on her and prying into her private life appalled her; he seemed to know everything about her yet she knew nothing about him, and that unnerved her. Of course, he was right – the affair with Darren had to stop. But she didn’t want to be alone; she needed a man in a her life; she needed someone to love.
“I have your next task ready for you,” the voice continued. “I want you to drive the Aston Martin to the Lover’s Knot. Do it this evening at eleven o’clock. I want you to leave the keys in the car and the car open. Then I want you to return home.” The voice paused and Angel could sense that he was smiling. “From home drive your own car to Devil’s Point. You know where Devil’s Point is, don’t you, Angel?”
In the darkness, Angel nodded. Despite its name, Devil’s Point was a beauty spot, a place where she and Darren went for summer picnics.
“What happens when I get to Devil’s Point?” Angel asked.
“I’ll tell you when you get there.” There was a long pause and Angel sensed that the voice was reluctant to break the connection. To her consternation, Angel found herself unwilling to break the connection too. Eventually, the voice said, “Take care of yourself, Angel; I’ll be thinking about you.”
And I’ll be thinking about you too, Angel admitted to herself.
* * *
Angel couldn’t concentrate on her work that day. She tried to contact the voice, dialling his phone number several times, but there was no answer. Her shift at Lifeline was coming to a close when she received an unexpected phone call. It was Darren. He said, “Angelica, listen to me. I’m at the farmhouse.”
“Do you want me to come over?”
“No, just listen. I’ve been doing some checking on the history of this place. The previous owner was someone called Ben, Ben Moss.”
Angel frowned, “What has that got to do with me?”
“Ben Moss died a year ago, to this day.”
Realisation dawned and Angel felt her stomach muscles tighten. Fighting the nausea, she asked, “How did he die?”
“He was killed in a road accident, hit and run.”
Angel felt that she didn’t want to ask the next question, but she did so anyway, “Where did the accident take place?”
“Devil’s Point,” Darren replied.
* * *
Angel drove the Aston Martin to the Lover’s Knot. She had to admit to herself that she no longer knew what she was doing; the voice had taken over, assumed total control.
Angel stared out through the car windscreen to the pub. A face stared back. A man’s face. He had greasy black hair, dark beady eyes and a rat’s tail of a moustache. Angel shivered. The man had a satanic face, a face that spoke of evil. The more Angel stared at the pub the more the beady eyes stared back. It was like a game, a competition to see who would turn away first.
It was a relief to Angel when eleven o’clock came and she could abandon the car. Then she did as instructed by the voice – she returned home and drove her own car to Devil’s Point.
Devil’s Point was shrouded in mist when she arrived there. Squalls of cold rain blew in from the sea. Angel climbed out of her car and stood in the rain. Soon, that rain had soaked through to her skin, hugging her cotton dress to her petite body. She shuddered and looked around for cover. She spotted a phone booth across the road and decided to shelter there.
Angel was halfway across the road when the headlights hit her. She turned and stared at the headlights, feeling unable to move. Fear gripped her. Then that fear abated and she found that she could stare at the headlights with equanimity. Like the game outside the pub, it became a challenge to see who would look away first. Angel felt up to that challenge. The demon that had tormented her soul was fading by the second. Resolutely, she stood her ground.
The car was getting closer now, weaving over the white lines in the centre of the road. Angel smiled. She felt her body soften and relax. She knew that the solution to her problem was near.
There was a squeal of brakes and the air was filled with the stench of burnt rubber and blue language. Angel had closed her eyes as the car approached. Now she opened her eyes and saw the satanic man climbing out of the Aston Martin.
Angel blinked as the man glared at her, his face angry, enraged. He grabbed hold of Angel’s dress, below the neckline, and snarled, “What the hell have you been playing at?”
“What are you talking about?” Angel asked innocently.
“Someone’s been leaving phone messages, upsetting my wife. My wife thinks that I’m having an affair.” He waved his hands menacingly in front of Angel’s face and she turned away, not so much from the threat of his hands, but more from the stench of stale beer.
Submissively, Angel said, “I’m sorry if that’s what your wife thinks.”
The satanic man grabbed hold of Angel’s dress, tearing the bodice before pushing her up against the bonnet of her car. He leaned against her, his weight pinning her to the car. “It’s got to stop, you understand? It’s got to stop!”
“Is that what she told you?” Angel asked calmly, surprised at her level of composure. “Your drinking…is that what she told you, your drinking has got to stop.”
The man frowned. He leaned forward, pinning Angel’s hands to the windscreen of the car. “Did that bitch put you up to this?”
Despite her predicament, despite the fact that the man was clearly both angry and aroused, Angel felt her old confidence returning, and more. She said, “You’d been drinking on that night too, hadn’t you, a year ago.”
“It was an accident,” the man yelled. “He just stepped out into the road, how was I supposed to see him?”
“You killed him,” Angel said.
“It was an accident,” the man insisted.
“You killed him,” Angel repeated sadly, “you murdered Ben Moss.”
The man was shaking now. The rain had given his skin a translucent appearance. He drew his hand across his face, wiping the moisture away. Then he ground his groin between Angel’s legs. He was lost in rage and lust and despite her best efforts, she felt powerless to resist him. She moaned as his hands went under her dress, pulling at her panties. Her fists pounded his back, but he ignored her blows. He was reaching for his belt, about to unbuckle his trousers, when the phone rang across the road.
Angel didn’t understand exactly why, but she knew that he’d run across the road to answer the phone. After pushing her to the ground, he did just that. She also knew that he wouldn’t get there. She couldn’t see it, she couldn’t even hear it, but she knew that something was lurking in the mist. Angel guessed that the man hadn’t seen it either – he never heard the truck that killed him.
As the truck driver got out of his cab and stared blankly into the road, Angel started to cry. Her tears were partly for the man, for a life taken, despite its inherent evil, and partly for herself, for she knew what she had to do next.
The following morning Angel phoned the Lifeline offices. She told Darren that she was handing in her notice and that she didn’t want to see him anymore. Darren tried desperately to change her mind on both counts, but Angel remained resolute. This was the decision she should have reached months ago, a decision that was better for Darren, Eliza and herself. She was free, yet she felt sad for she sensed that the voice remained trapped and in need of her help.
* * *
Angel was lying on her bed, reading, the light from her bedside lamp casting spectral shadows on her bedroom wall. Leaning over, she was about to close her book and switch off her light when her phone rang. It was the voice.
“You used me,” she said accusingly, “you used me to get revenge.”
“I had to,” he apologised. “I couldn’t do it on my own.”
There was silence while she digested his words and accepted that fact.
“I still need you,” he said plaintively.
“To claim more life?”
“To restore life.”
Angel frowned, mystified. “How?”
“I needed revenge; I needed someone to take my place. He’s here now and so I can be with you. But it has to be tonight, a year since he killed me. Do you understand?”
Perplexed, Angel shook her head. “No.”
“You have the power to give life. Don’t you feel the mutual attraction between us?”
Angel nodded as she recalled her moments of intense desire while driving to the funfair and while soaping herself in the shower, and she realised that those moments had occurred after talking to the voice.
“Do you feel that attraction now?” the voice asked.
Again, Angel nodded, because she could feel her desire rising; through her nightdress she could see her nipples as they hardened and, in her panties, she could feel her clitoris as it pulsed sensually, insisting that she should part her legs.
“Take your nightdress off,” the voice said huskily.
Angel did as instructed, exposing her breasts.
“Lie back on the bed. Feel my lips on yours.”
Angel moaned softly as he kissed her.
“I’m kissing your ears.”
“The valley between your beautiful breasts.”
“I’m licking your nipples.”
Angel arched her back. “Lick them!”
“I’m sucking your nipples.”
“Now I’m kissing your lips again.”
“Kiss me!” Angel insisted. “Kiss me between my legs!”
“I’m kissing your inner-thighs.”
Angel cupped her breasts; she teased her nipples. “Oh yes! Kiss me! Lick me!”
“You want me, don’t you, Angel.”
“I want you!” she gasped.
“I’m kissing your labia.”
“You taste so sweet.”
“Shall I lick your clit?”
“I’m licking your clit.”
“Oh, fuck!” Angel was writhing now, her body responding to his words; he was licking her, his tongue circling her pearl, then entering deep into her vagina; his invisible touch was driving her mad with desire; she had never felt so horny, so in need of an orgasm. “Fuck me!” Angel cried. “Fuck me!”
“I’m lying between your legs. My hard shaft is parting your lower lips.”
“I’m slipping myself inside you.”
“Mmmmmmmmmmm. Oh, yeah!”
“I’m moving inside you.”
“Can you feel me inside you?”
“Fuck me!” Angel gasped. “Make me come!”
“You’re going to come for me, aren’t you, Angel…you’re going to give me new life.”
“Make me come!”
“Throw your arms back on your pillow. Open your legs wider.”
Lost in her desire, Angel did as instructed.
“I’m deep inside you now, moving inside you.”
“I’m moving faster now.”
“Don’t stop! Don’t stop!”
“Your clit is pulsing against my pubic bone.”
“Oh, god, yes…oh, god.”
“You’re nearly there, aren’t you, Angel.”
“I’m moving faster now, harder, deeper.”
“Now slower with just the tip of my head barely inside you.”
“You’re so wet for me.”
“And I’m so hard for you.”
“Feel my hardness filling you.”
“Feel my fingers circling your clit.”
“Oh sweet fuck! Keep your fingers there!”
“You’re going to come for me, aren’t you, Angel.”
“I’m coming,” Angel gasped.
“Come for me, Angel.”
“My hands are on your arse. I’m teasing your arse. I’m slipping a finger inside you…The head of my cock is caressing your lower lips, then inside you, stimulating your G-spot…you like it there, don’t you, Angel…”
“You look so beautiful when you make love, do you know that.”
“More. Give me more!”
“God, I love you.”
“I love you too.” Then she cried, “Oh, oh fuck…oh, oh, fuck…oh, oh fuck…I’m…I’m…I’m coming! Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.”
The orgasm was intense. It swept over Angel in a tidal wave that seemed to go on forever. She moaned and sighed and groaned and whimpered as each wave washed over her, flooding her chamber, scrambling her senses until she had nothing left, apart from a sense of satisfaction and the intense enjoyment of sexual release.
In a haze, as though drunk, Angel opened her eyes. She gazed into the darkness of her bedroom and there, moving through the curtains, she could see him, his hand outstretched as he approached her. Sitting up, she extended her arm too, her fingers feeling for him, longing for his touch…
Story Copyright © 2014 Gemma Morgan. All rights reserved.