This is a foray in to Erotic Horror. It has been stuck in my mind and I am finally letting the story loose. This part is the setup, not much in the way of sex until later. Any suggestions or critiques are always welcome. This is not a planned story, it is extremely off the cuff as they say. I do hope you enjoy,
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Prologue
April 1st 2014
Vatican City
Archives
Bishop Romero walks through the stacks of scrolls, books and relics. As he walks, he ponders the state of the world. Everything has led to this moment. He removes a gold key from inside his robes. The door he stopped in front of was very plain for the Vatican. He inserted the key into the lock and felt it click as he turned it.
He opened the door and entered the small room. It contained an altar, small prayer rug and on the altar a scroll. He stood before the altar, contemplating his next move. He removed a pair of calfskin gloves and slipped them on. To touch the scroll meant corruption of the soul and he could not let that happen.
The others were getting too close to discovering the location of the scroll. It had to be moved, somewhere they would not expect to find it. It could not be allowed to be used.
The Pope himself sanctioned the move and had set aside for his use, the Vatican jet. No one knew the flight plan, and would not know until he gave them their destination.
He grabbed the scroll with his gloved hands and still felt the heat of its sinful nature. He could also feel his skin crawl until he could put it in his satchel. He turned his back to the altar and exited the room.
The plane was ready for take-off and he strode up stairs the crew greeted him. He was escorted to luxurious seat; all the crew were male and members of the Swiss Guard. He handed the steward a note and pointed to the cockpit.
Soon they were taking off. The scroll would be protected and so would humanity.
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June 12th 2019
Cornerville Kansas
Church of the Holy Angel Giel
Father Romero sat at his desk, preparing his sermon for the coming Sunday. Every so often he would look at the bookcase to his left and stare at it. He could swear he heard a voice. There was nothing in there but the scroll, and it was covered in protective prayers.
Shaking his head he went back to writing and perusing the bible for topics. Not that he needed to. After 30 years in the church, he knew the bible well. He found turning the pages in his small leather-bound book a comfort though.
His hands hurt even after all these years. Turning the pages was a trial. The calfskin had seared into the palm of his hands when he first took up scroll. The pain was a reminder of the power of the scroll. He caught himself flexing his hands and his mind wandering.
This was a good community and really did not require a shepherd, which is why he chose to build the church here. There were only 800 families living in the town, mostly a farm community, there were small stores up and down main street, a lovely park in the center of town. A good American town. Nothing here to attract the attention of anyone and there was very little that he needed to do here but come up with a light sermon every week.
A bead of sweat started to trickle down his forehead. He wiped his brow and looked over at the AC unit. Yes, it was working, so why was it getting hot in here? He stood and looked at the thermostat, it was only 72 degrees. It felt so much hotter though
He heard something move, like wood scraping against wood. The only thing that would make that noise though, would be the... He felt a burning in his hands. The scroll! He was unrolling it! The glyphs wavered across the page. Blood red runes glowing on the parchment. Parchment said to be from the skin of a Saint Catherine of Alexandria. The runes inscribed into the parchment with her blood.
There was that voice again, chanting in Latin, it sounded so familiar. His throat started to become raw, then he realized that he was chanting in Latin.
*God protect thy servant. Help me resist the vile and corrupting influence of this diabolical relic. Our father, who art in heaven hallowed...*
"No, priest. God cannot save you now."
*Be thy name...*
"It is too late for prayer, now is the time for sacrifices."
*Lord help me...*
"God is dead, priest and you are mine."
Father Romero fell to the floor. He was breathing heavily, on his hands and knees when his office door opened. Looking up he saw young Maddy Berchand enter. She was 19 years old and lead Alto in the choir.
He looked at her long blonde hair, her supple lips, her ripe firm breasts. They looked like grapefruits pressing against her white blouse. Her long legs covered by her black and red skirt, looked like smooth porcelain.