Desire in the Isles

by Roland Graeme

“Such language! You are skeptical, young sir, and yet—”

  “Ah!”

  It was a loud, bloodcurdling scream, evidently coming from a man, and from upstairs.

  “What the fuck?” Stash asked.

  “My God,” Carter muttered.

  A moment later, there was the thump of bare feet on the staircase. It was the young husband. Wide-eyed, disheveled, and balls naked, he was running down the stairs.

  “He touched me!” he screamed. “The fucking ghost! He touched me!”

  “Shit,” Carter whispered. “I’d like to drink what he’s been drinking!”

  The wife appeared at the top of the stairs. She wore only a sheer, virtually transparent pink silk nightgown. Her nipples and her pubic bush were clearly visible through the thin, clinging fabric. Trembling, she grasped the bannister, and she stared down at her naked, shivering spouse.

  “Damn! I didn’t know there was going to be a floor show,” Carter said.

  “Will you shush?” Stash told him, angrily.

  “Well, excuse me!” Carter declared.

  “I was raped!” the naked husband shouted. “Raped, by the ghost!”

  “Man,” Carter muttered. “Maybe instead of the Red Room, they ought to call it the Back Room. And like I said, I’d sure like to know what he was drinking, or smoking, before he went to bed.”

  “Shush,” Stash urged, again. “Don’t let’s rush to judgment. Hear him out.”

  “Nice ass on the dude,” Carter whispered. “Nice dick, too.”

  “Cover yourself, my boy, for God’s sake.” The landlord produced an apron, which he wrapped around the naked young man’s waist. Then he found him an overcoat, which he made him put on as well. The wife, too, was provided with a blanket, in which to wrap herself. “Come down in front of the fire, both of you. What happened?” the landlord asked. “Wait. Maybe you’d each better have a brandy, to steady yourselves.”

  Trembling, gulping down the brandy, the husband told his story.

  “I was asleep. I woke up. The covers were all pulled off me, to the foot of the bed. I felt this hand on me. On my crotch. It wasn’t cold. It was warm, and alive. It touched me—you know, it touched my cock and my balls, the way a doctor does when he’s giving you an examination? I tried to roll onto my side, to get away from him. That’s when he touched my ass. He pinched my ass cheek. And then I felt his goddamn finger inside me. In my ass, like he was giving me a prostate exam! The son of a bitch was diddling me!”

  “Lucky him,” Carter muttered, under his breath.

  “Shush,” Stash once again admonished him.

  “Now, my boy,” the landlord said. “With all due respect—maybe you were still half asleep? And your missus, maybe she was just trying to wake you up, and interest you in a little slap and tickle?”

  “Don’t be disgusting!” the husband shouted. “It was nothing like that! My wife was fast asleep beside me. And I was wide awake—and I was being raped. Here in your filthy gay whorehouse.”

  “Sir!” the landlord blustered. “I must object to your characterization of my respectable establishment as a whorehouse, gay or otherwise!”

  “Fuck you! My wife and I. We’re getting the hell out of here. We’re leaving! Right now!” the husband insisted.

  “It’s after midnight,” the landlord pointed out. “Where can you go?”

  “Anywhere! I don’t care. We’ll sleep outside, if we have to,” the young husband declared. “And then take the ferry out of here in the morning. Oh, my God. This place is a hellhole! A hellhole, a haunted house, I tell you! Raped! I was raped! By a fucking ghost!”

  “Wait,” Stash said. “Calm down. I have a suggestion. Carter and I, here—we’ll change rooms with you. We’ll sleep in the Red Room, and you two can stay in ours. All we need to do is switch our things.”

  “You’d be willing to do that?” the landlord asked.

  “Of course. We’re not the least bit superstitious. Are we, Carter?” Stash asked.

  “Ah—not at all,” Carter mumbled, although in fact he was beginning to entertain some doubts.

  “Meanwhile—let’s get you back upstairs and put some clothes on you, shall we?” Stash suggested.

  Meekly, the barely decent husband went back upstairs, accompanied by his wife.

  Switching their belongings didn’t take long. The married couple retired, in their new room.

  “Lock the door,” Stash advised them. “You’ll be all right.”

  “Thank you, sir,” the wife said.

  “So, here we are in the infamous Red Room,” Carter remarked, when he and Stash were shut up inside the supposedly haunted room.

  “It doesn’t look all that sinister,” Stash said. “It’s sure as hell red, all right. It wouldn’t win any prizes for interior decoration, if you ask me.”

  “Kind of tacky, actually. All this red—it’s like sleeping inside a jewelry box. But you have to admit the landlord knows how to spin a good yarn for the benefit of the tourists. I wonder how you say blarney in Gaelic?”

  Stash laughed. “I think, the name place and the concept both being Irish in origin, it may in fact be a Gaelic word. Irish, though, not Scottish.”

  “Do you think that hottie hubby was the victim of the power of suggestion?”

  “No doubt.”

  “Think we’ll be raped by ectoplasm during the night?”

  “You don’t have to sound so fucking eager about it!”

  “I’m trying to keep an open mind. And an open mouth, and ass. To accept anything which the spirit world may care to thrust into my various orifices.”

  “You’re disgusting!” Stash said—although he had to laugh. “If Roderick were to appear, the two of you would probably get along just fine.”

  “I still don’t get it. The basic concept of ghosts, and haunting, I mean,” Carter insisted. “Okay, so let’s assume there’s life after death, and spirits can linger and move about here on earth. If Roderick’s horny ghost can wander about the island at will, why should he confine himself to this room, when he visits the pub? Why doesn’t he come right into the barroom and have a drink? Or—what’s to stop him from going down the hall, passing through the locked door of what used to be our room, and having his way with that stud muffin of a husband, again?”

  “Nothing, I suppose.”

  “And if I were Roderick, I wouldn’t waste my time hanging around here, not in the twenty-first century. I’d make my way to Edinburgh, or to London, at the very least, where there are presumably plenty of attractive men to assault in their sleep. Some of whom, far from resisting, might welcome his attentions.”

  “You’re thinking too logically. An appreciation of the supernatural requires a leap of faith,” Stash suggested.

  “A leap I’m not prepared to make.”

  They got undressed, and climbed into the bed together. It was a massive old four-poster affair, equipped with heavy bed curtains—crimson, of course—on all sides.

  “Wow. This is quite a bed. With the curtains closed, it’s like being shut up inside a tent. Makes me feel like a king—or rather a queen,” Carter quipped.

  “It’s actually quite comfortable, and the curtains keep out the draft,” Stash observed.

  “Are you tired?” Carter asked.

  “Not particularly. All that ghost business—I have to admit, I found it kind of stimulating,” Stash admitted. “I’ve got an idea. Why don’t we put on a show for Roderick?”

  “Are you suggesting—?”

  “That we fuck.”

  “You think he’ll appear? Applaud? Join in?”

  “Only one way to find out.”

  “Okay. But leave the light on,” Carter urged, indicating the low-wattage shaded bedside lamp, on a small table tucked in between the side of the bed and the curtain.

  “Why? Are you afraid of the dark, all of a sudden?”

  “No. So I can see you, and see what we’re doing—and so Roderick can get a good look, too.”

  “I’m
sure if such things as ghosts really exist, they’re perfectly capable of seeing in the dark,” Stash protested. “But, whatever! I have to admit, this is the first time anybody’s ever agreed to have sex with me as an experiment.”

  “Wish I could say the same,” Carter mumbled.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve run into quite a few guys who claimed they were straight, and they just wanted to experiment, or so they claimed.”

  “Oh, you filthy pig! Were these experiments successful? In persuading them they weren’t so straight, after all?”

  “Very,” Carter bragged. “They resulted in converts to the cause. But, getting back to the business at hand. This may give new meaning to the phrase to lay a ghost.” Carter was turned on by the prospect of having sex with Stash, and doing it in an allegedly haunted room only added a certain piquancy. “As a matter of fact, I already see one thing here that’s definitely of supernatural dimensions,” he joked.

  He reached over and seized Stash’s prick, squeezing its hardness. It felt hot against his palm, and as he massaged it, he could feel it throbbing heavily with pent-up lust.

  Stash groaned, took Carter’s cock in his hand, and stroked it, pulling the skin up and over the head, then releasing it and letting his hand gently caress the tool all the way down the base of its thick, turgid, veined shaft.

  They forgot about the story of Roderick as they both got excited at the feel of each other’s dicks. Carter quickly rolled over in the bed and straddled Stash, pinning him down with one thigh thrust on either side of his hips.

  He pressed his hard-on right down against Stash’s own erection. Stash leered up at him, and then he put his hands on Carter’s hairy thighs, rubbing them from crotch to knee and then back again.

  Carter spat into the palm of his hand several times, and proceeded to rub the saliva over his cockhead and Stash’s, letting the warm spittle lubricate and agitate both of them. Next, Carter gripped both fuck tools, held them together pointed at Stash’s chest, and began to jerk them off.

  The sensation of having a guy jack off his dick while it was pressed against his own meat was exactly the kind of kinky thing calculated to blow Stash’s mind. He could feel the bearded stud’s balls against his own nuts, and when he looked down, the sight of the two huge cockheads, crushed together in Carter’s strong grip, their tiny piss slits opening and closing and drooling jism next to each other, turned him on so much that he could hardly keep himself from jumping and squirming all over the bed.

  Carter held both cocks tightly, rubbing them hard together, letting the spit from his mouth lubricate his hand so that it slipped and slid easily over the pair of big erections. He then spat on the fingers of his other hand and put it down into his fuck buddy’s crack, his wet finger quickly finding Stash’s tight little blond-furred asshole.

  The other man grunted with pleasure when Carter inserted a finger as far as he could up his butch ass. When he felt the finger enter his asshole, Stash spread his thighs as wide as he could under Carter’s weight so that his bedmate could finger-fuck him as deeply as possible.

  Stash also spat on his fingers and he reached under Carter, who was already spread-thighed over him, his hot ass crack opened wide, his hole taut—and Stash touched Carter’s relaxed sphincter muscle.

  Carter was as eager, as receptive to anal stimulation, as Stash was, so Stash’s blunt, probing finger slipped in and up his asshole quite readily.

  Carter felt Stash’s stiff finger go into his anus, and he threw his head back and moaned with indecent pleasure. He kept his hand working steadily on the two dicks clasped inside his fist, but at the same time he rolled and gyrated his hips so that Stash could work his finger as far up into his own asshole as possible.

  And, all the while, Carter was jamming his own finger up Stash’s rectum. He pulled and jerked restlessly on the two solid ramrods he was holding, feeling them grow harder and hotter in his hand. When he felt them get very rigid, he relaxed his beating rhythm so that they wouldn’t come yet. Then, after a few seconds of suspense, he started up again, knowing that Stash was enjoying this agonizing pleasure as much as he was.

  Rain beat against the room’s windowpanes, and peals of thunder rumbled in the distance. The sounds supplied an accompaniment to the two men’s lust, augmenting their gasps and moans, the slaps made by their flesh impacting against flesh.

  Suddenly, though, Carter tensed.

  “What’s that?” he demanded, breathlessly.

  “Huh? What are you talking about?”

  “Is that your hand on my ass?”

  “No.”

  “I feel something—something hot, like a hand—grabbing me, squeezing me. Playing with my butt—!”

  “Oh, my God, Carter! You don’t really think it could be—?”

  “Roderick?”

  “Shit!”

  “Ah, he’s touching me!” Carter yelped. “He’s groping me—diddling me! Raping me! Holy fuck! I’m being raped by a ghost!”

  “I do have my finger in your butt,” Stash reminded Carter. “I don’t see anything,” he gasped.

  “But I can sure as hell feel something! Plenty! And it’s not just your finger, man. It’s much bigger—thicker—harder, like an invisible cock, sliding up into my ass! Fucking me! Christ!” Carter cried, quaking from head to foot, and staring, wide-eyed, down at his bedmate.

  But then he broke down, into helpless giggles.

  “You son of a bitch!” Stash fumed. “You’re faking it!”

  “Couldn’t help it. Had you going there for a moment, though, didn’t I?”

  “You prick. You deserve to be raped by a ghost. No—make that gangbanged, by a whole bunch of them, one after the other.”

  “Yeah. Looking forward to it!”

  Carter’s finger was still thrusting itself insistently up into Stash’s butt. Stash groaned when Carter shoved it in deeper than usual, and lay back on the bed, throwing his heavy legs wide apart so that they pressed hard against Carter’s own spread thighs.

  As Carter finger-fucked him harder and deeper, Stash kept his own finger plunging in and out of the cameraman’s taut, flexing asshole. Carter started panting for breath as he stared down into the other guy’s face.

  “I may be only human, but I seem to be doing a pretty good job of turning you on,” Stash suggested.

  “Fuck, yeah!”

  “This is really hot.”

  “Good sex, buddy. It’s always good, with you.”

  “Nice of you to say so,” Stash said. “How do I stack up as opposed to your other tricks?”

  “Uh—can we discuss that some other time? Right now, I’m about ready to shoot, Stash. How about you, man?” Carter gasped, deciding impulsively that it would be especially erotic if both of them could ejaculate together.

  “Me, too,” Stash groaned. “Don’t worry about me, fucker. The minute you start to shoot, that’ll start me creaming, too. I can’t take much more of this finger-fucking, buddy. It’s too much of a turn-on.”

  Carter jerked harder on their cocks, rammed his finger roughly into Stash’s ass. Under him, he could feel Stash doing the same thing, molesting his asshole. In less than a minute, Carter felt the hot ball of liquid fire well up inside his smoldering testicles, felt the boiling jism forcing its way down through his long, hard cock, felt his dickhead burn and tingle and pulse with uncontrollable excitement as the sperm gathered velocity.

  And then it shot free of his piss slit, the first volley of come flying across Stash’s heaving chest and smacking wetly against the carved headboard of the hotel’s bed. Carter’s cock then emptied itself in spurt upon spurt of thick jism, flying all over his bedmate’s face and chest, drenching him.

  Stash didn’t seem to mind. Obviously, he loved it! As soon as he saw the first wad of Carter’s sperm shoot over his head and strike the headboard above his face, his own cock spasmed violently, as though in envy, and ejected its load.

  All that Stash could see in the air between hi
s own body and Carter’s was jism. Blinded by one wad of come which hit him in the eyes, he opened his mouth and moaned with delight as several spurts—whether of Carter’s semen or his own, he had no way of knowing—shot directly into his waiting, eager mouth and seared his tongue.

  After both men’s virile cocks had finished spurting their juice all over, Carter’s taut body relaxed and he let go of both of their dicks, pressing his palm down over Stash’s chest and smearing the come with which his hand was soaked over the guy’s sweaty pecs and stiff, throbbing tits.

  Then Carter knelt down over his sex partner’s chest, and began licking at the layers of warm, white sperm, gathering it up with his tongue and sucking as much of it as he could into his mouth—licking it off Stash’s chest hair, his nipples, his armpits.

  Carter next lowered himself onto the guy’s wet, slippery chest again, and pressed his open, yearning mouth against Stash’s waiting lips. Carter’s hot mouth, filled with a mixture of both their come and his own saliva, opened wide over Stash’s mouth.

  He kissed Stash hard with his tongue thrust into the other man’s mouth, letting Stash taste their mingled jism. Stash opened his mouth wide to accept his buddy’s tongue, and then he put his hands roughly over the naked cheeks of Carter’s ass and pulled his body down hard on top of him.

  Although both men had just come, Stash could feel his prick hardening again when it pressed against Carter’s, and he could feel a similar telltale swelling beginning all over again in the core of the cameraman’s huge rod.

  After a long moment of hugging and tongue-kissing, Carter slowly rolled off Stash, then lay quietly next to him, his warm hand resting on Stash’s jism-streaked belly.

  “Hot sex, you sexy little motherfucker. Damn hot sex! I’m disappointed about one thing, though. I thought we’d hear from Rodrick by now,” Carter confessed, sheepishly.

  “Maybe he’s wandered down the hall to take another crack at the husband,” Stash joked.

  “His loss. With two hot gay men waiting for him right here in the Red Room, he’s still going after the breeder?”

  “No accounting for taste.” Stash sighed. “I haven’t met many guys lately who get me as hot as you do. Why don’t we take another shot at luring the ghost out of hiding?” he suggested, lewdly, taking Carter’s cock in his hand and stroking it quickly and expertly back into full erection, and reaching down between his own buttocks to toy with his ever-ready asshole. “Go ahead,” Stash grunted. “Shove that big dick of yours up my ass!”