Deep Blue

by Aishling Morgan

  ‘Jesus, Tammy,’ he managed as she rolled on to her back with a happy sigh.

  She smiled and gave a little purring noise, stretching her body on the sand. Lost for what to say, Joe climbed slowly to his feet, only to be forced to jump forward as the wash of a wave came close to his shoes. Tammy took no notice, neither troubling to cover herself nor move when the water touched her foot.

  ‘That was good,’ he managed, sure he ought to say something. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘A pleasure, sir,’ Tammy answered.

  ‘We don’t really say ‘‘sir’’ any more,’ Joe laughed. ‘All that formal stuff went out years ago. Nobody ever called me sir before, anyway!’

  ‘You say ‘‘mister’’?’

  ‘No, just Joe’s fine, especially when we’ve just, you know, fucked and all.’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘Anyway, we’d better get back. The tide’s coming in.’

  Tammy nodded but made no move to get up.

  ‘Look, are you around at all?’ he asked. ‘Are you staying in Tawmouth?’

  ‘No…’

  ‘Oh, right… It’s just that, you know, it would be nice to see you again. You’re really cute and everything. I suppose you’re going back to France on the evening ferry.’

  ‘No. Perhaps we may meet on the beach again. Or at the solstice party at the Wythman?’

  ‘Party, what party?’

  ‘There will be a party on the solstice, at the Wythman. It will be such fun.’

  ‘That’s that mound on the big hill, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes. I’ll be there.’

  ‘Great, I’ll keep an eye out. Look, we’ve got to go before we get cut off.’

  ‘You go. I need a swim.’

  ‘You’re going to get one, longer than you bargained for!’

  ‘I will be well.’

  ‘Well you’re a big girl, but if you end up spending the night halfway up the cliff don’t blame me!’

  ‘I will not. You must leave, Joe. Thank you for tupping me.’

  ‘Sure, see you again, yeah?’

  Tammy nodded and Joe made for the headland, where the waves could be seen, breaking perilously close to the cliff face. Twice he looked back as he went, finding Tammy first standing, in the act of removing her bikini, then half immersed in the water, stark naked as far as he could tell. When he reached the tip of the headland he turned once more to wave, but found her lost to view. A large wave broke against the rock he was on, splashing him and increasing his urgency to get to safety. Hurrying on, he reached the beach, wading the last few yards to leave his legs wet from the knees down.

  As he climbed to the sea wall he shook off a trace of worry. Tammy had been so confident that she was safe, and the worst that would happen was for her to have to shelter a little way up the cliff for the night or to swim around the headland. Neither choice would have suited him, but he was sure that if he’d pushed the issue it would have put her off, while as it was there seemed every chance of having her again.

  Walking back along the front, he felt thoroughly pleased with himself, whistling and running over what had happened again and again. It was all great, from the first peep of her body in the overtight bikini to watching her come under her own fingers. It had been hard to talk to her, but she hadn’t minded his talking dirty, which put some girls off. She’d been well up for it, too, really keen and really dirty.

  One thing was odd. She had been at St David’s and at Tawmouth, so she must have come back on the same hydrofoil, yet he definitely hadn’t seen her. Then again, all it meant was that she had a private motor launch, or had come back on someone else’s, so it wasn’t such a mystery.

  Ed Gardner stood looking out across the sea, watching the French ferry as it swung slowly in towards the dock. A good number of passengers were visible on the open decks, apparently a typical range of French and British tourists, arriving for and returning from holidays respectively. With luck there may be a few who looked disreputable enough to search, and perhaps he would find a little cannabis or ecstasy. There may even be the chance to have a pretty girl or two body-searched, which always gave him pleasure. Even though it was against regulations to do the job himself, it was worth it just to see the looks on their faces when they realised they would soon be bending for the insertion of well-greased fingers into their vaginas and bottom holes. It was great afterwards, too, watching the shame and anger in their expressions.

  The dock quivered as the ferry bumped into place, and Ed set his jaw and folded his arms across his chest as the bow door began to open. Passengers appeared on the footway, a cluster of French schoolgirls, a family in loud holiday clothes, a single man in a neat white suit. Ed considered the man, watching his face for any trace of unease or hint of sweat. None was evident, merely a natural arrogance that made his opinion of customs officials very clear. For a moment Ed considered stopping the man, only to abandon the idea as too likely to lead to trouble. Still, the single, haughty glance had pricked his pride and his determination to take his feelings out on a more vulnerable passenger increased.

  More came, mainly holidaymakers, families who were French, British and from elsewhere in Europe, none of whom seemed worth stopping. Only when the initial press had died to a trickle did he allow the stern expression on his face to briefly twitch into a smile. The man was perfect, an obvious libertine, and more than likely to be carrying drugs, possibly even something hard. In height he was perhaps a touch under six foot, two inches shorter than Ed. He was slim in proportion, slight even, with bright-red hair tied back into a thin ponytail. Black jeans and a black top seemed normal enough, but black nail polish definitely was not. His shoes were also suspect, the thick heel at least three inches in height. Worse still were his earrings, cheap gunmetal set with crimson enamel in an eight-pointed design, which in Ed’s book made him definitely weird and probably homosexual.

  ‘Excuse me, sir, might I see your passport?’ Ed asked as his target came close.

  ‘Certainly, officer,’ the man answered, his educated and somehow condescending tone setting the final seal on Ed’s determination to have him searched.

  Ed took the passport as it was offered, opening it to find a clear picture of the man obviously taken at most a few weeks before.

  ‘You are Mr Mordaunt?’ Ed asked. ‘Mr Nicholas Mordaunt?’

  ‘Nicalo,’ the man replied.

  ‘Could I ask you to step this way, sir?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Just a routine check, sir.’

  The man followed him into the interview room, apparently with no great surprise, which further increased Ed’s suspicions. Two cases were surrendered without argument, a large travel bag and a briefcase, both black. Within the bag were clothing and a few essentials, nothing more. The briefcase proved more fruitful, containing a magazine illustrated by a picture of a naked woman entwined in the tentacles of an octopus, stylised but of an undoubtedly sexual nature. Flicking it open, he discovered further drawings, some with sexual content, some without, apparently illustrating text, which he didn’t bother to read.

  ‘Are you aware that it is an offence to import pornography into this country, sir?’ he asked, keeping his voice cool and level although thoroughly pleased with himself.

  ‘Pornography?’ the man demanded. ‘What pornography?’

  ‘This pornography, sir,’ Ed answered, turning the case to display the cover of the magazine.

  ‘That’s not pornography,’ Mordaunt retorted. ‘It’s a learned work!’

  ‘Pornography,’ Ed repeated.

  ‘Nonsense!’ Mordaunt insisted. ‘It is a treatise, to do with pre-Celtic imagery.’

  ‘Really, sir?’

  ‘Yes, really. For goodness’ sake, do I look like the sort of man who smuggles in dirty magazines? And if I was, do you think I’d have left it on top of the papers in my briefcase?’

  ‘I really couldn’t say, sir. We get all sorts. The girl is naked, she’s getting off. In my book that’s
pornography. And it’s perverted.’

  ‘Philistine!’

  ‘I could have you arrested, sir.’

  ‘Officer, the paper is a work of scholarship. Much of the original work was done in this town, towards the middle of the nineteenth century, also in London, where it was published. Can it be illegal to bring back something that was published in this country?’

  ‘It’s pornography. You get a straight choice. I confiscate it and that’s that or you get shirty, I arrest you and we can work it out in court. What’s it to be?’

  For a moment Mordaunt looked as if he was about to answer, then his jaw set into a hard line, his eyes meeting Ed’s. They were green, the colour of virgin olive oil, and disconcerting, but Ed returned the stare until Mordaunt at last gave a hiss of frustration and began to repack his bag.

  Ed held his stern expression until Mordaunt had left. Smiling, he tossed the magazine to one side, hoping it would make good reading later. Women with octopus was weird, too weird, but there had to be other stuff, hopefully some bondage. He glanced at his watch and his smile grew broader as he thought of the end of his shift. He was meeting Lily, a girl he had been out with twice. She was an archaeologist, in Tawmouth for a year to study for a master’s degree, blonde, small-breasted, with a pouting, heavy little bottom that wiggled as she walked. Quiet, sensitive and intellectual, she was also easily dominated. He had discovered this on their first date, bullying her into hasty sex on the floor of her room and surprised to find that she didn’t resent the act. On the second occasion he had persuaded her to perform a striptease while he watched. She had been clumsy and embarrassed, but her nervousness and her blushes as she peeled nude had made the act far more exciting than any professional strip. This time he hoped to push it further, maybe to tie her hands, maybe more.

  In her tiny room above a dockside fish-and-chip shop, Lily Tompkins lay on her bed, naked under a short bathrobe. A book lay open in front of her, a work on prehistoric sites in south Devon. Her attention appeared to be on the page, but she was finding it impossible to concentrate. Despite every effort, her mind continually drifted to the coming evening and what she might expect of Ed Gardner.

  She knew he was a bully, and part of her hated him, yet it was impossible to deny her own compulsion towards being sexually bullied. Alone in the town, and never having found friends easy to make, she had gladly accepted his initial offer of a date. He was good-looking as well, tall, muscular and handsome in a rather craggy way, with a firm, square jaw that projected all the confidence she lacked. It had been easy to let him make the decisions, to control her, taking her to an Italian restaurant, then a pub and finally back to her room. He had more or less invited himself up for coffee, which had turned to kisses, to fumbles and to the removal of her knickers from beneath her dress. She had taken it placidly, accepting his cock in her mouth before being rolled up on the floor and entered. A few dozen hard pushes had taken him to orgasm, withdrawing at the last moment to come over her belly and dress. He had wiped his cock on her discarded knickers and finished his coffee, leaving her to clean up. Afterwards, when he had gone, she had masturbated to orgasm, not over him as such, nor over their sex together, but over the crude, casual way he had wiped up his come and her own juices, using her most intimate garment as a rag.

  Her intention had been to refuse a second date if he asked, but when the time came she had found herself mumbling assent. They had eaten fish and chips on the quay, then returned to his house. He had made her drunk on cheap lager, then put on some dreadful music and told her to do a striptease. She had obeyed, blushing furiously as she did her best to dance and undress at the same time. As her clothes came off it had been impossible not to think of herself as a stripper, doing it for money: Lily Tompkins BA, stripping to music in some seedy bar. By the time she was nude she had been shivering with embarrassment. She had been wet, though, wetter than she could remember.

  Ed had made her kneel, sticking her bottom up in a thoroughly vulgar pose and entering her from the rear. Being aware of what she was showing had added to her woes as he had grunted his way towards orgasm, and when he had pulled out and deposited his sperm over her naked buttocks and down in her crease she had been near to tears. Later, back in her room, she had masturbated again, and done it kneeling, her nightie off, sobbing with humiliation as she brought herself to climax. Now it would happen again, or something worse. She knew she would do it, though, and cursed herself for being weak even as she anticipated the pleasure of the orgasm she was bound to take afterwards.

  After pushing herself up from the bed, she began to dress. A rebellious voice in the back of her head told her to choose the plainest possible clothes: white knickers and bra, jeans and an old T-shirt. Half an hour later found her in a knee-length black cocktail dress, black silk culottes, hold-up stockings and no bra, with three-inch heels to complete a look that she knew Ed would appreciate but that she personally felt made her look like a call girl, albeit an expensive one.

  Feeling resentful, and weaker than ever, she set off for her rendezvous, hoping that Ed would at least have the decency to provide something less basic than fish and chips before seducing her. He was waiting in the square, casually dressed, standing by the fountain in a nonchalant pose that made the best of his lean, muscular figure. Lily felt a warm flush at the sight and found herself smiling and allowing him to kiss her, then to squeeze her bottom as he began to steer her towards the front.

  He proved in generous mood, selecting a good restaurant and ordering oysters, then Dover sole, washed down with Muscadet. Lily quickly found herself becoming tipsy, also both nervous and excited at the prospect of what was likely to follow the meal. Ed talked, his normal mixture of right-wing politics and stories about his work, to which she listened politely with no more than the occasional noncommittal comment. Within she was thinking of having to strip for him, lifting her little black dress to show her underwear and naked breasts, easing down her culottes with her bottom stuck out, burning with embarrassment as he commented lewdly on the sight of her bare bottom…

  She shivered, then looked up to see if he had noticed, a coy glance to which he failed to pay any attention whatever. Instead he signalled a waiter, ordering lemon cheesecake to be followed by strong Irish coffees without troubling to consult her. She sighed, unable to deny the pleasure in being under his control but still wishing she had a more assertive personality.

  They finished the meal, the whiskey-rich coffee leaving her unsteady on her feet when they rose to go. Ed put his arm around her, supporting her, then letting his hand wander lower to take hold of her bottom and squeeze, indifferent to the busy evening crowds. Lily said nothing, but let him lead her, through the town centre and up the hill to the Edwardian terrace where he lived. As the door closed behind them she felt a sensation of having been cut off, of having lost her last chance to back away.

  Ed took her hand, leading her up the stairs to his room, an austere, masculine chamber with a great iron-framed bed at the centre. Lily found herself shivering, awaiting his orders, to strip or pose, to suck his penis or part her thighs for him.

  ‘Climb on the bed,’ he ordered, ‘arse up.’

  Lily obeyed, her jaw shaking as she crawled to the middle of the bed and adopted the rude pose he wanted. Kneeling, bottom lifted, she felt the blood rush to her cheeks, blushing with embarrassment.

  ‘Cute,’ Ed drawled. ‘Now put your hands out. Take a grip of the bedstead.’

  Looking back, Lily again did as she was told, stretching her arms forward until they met the iron bars of the bedstead. Ed moved to one side, pulling open a drawer, lifting out what she realised was a skipping rope. For an instant she wondered if she was going to be made to do exercises in the nude, only to realise the significance of her position. Her jaw started to tremble as she realised she was going to be tied up, both in anticipation of what he might do once she was helpless and from the knowledge that she was about to take part in an act of kinky sex.

  ‘No, Ed, p
lease,’ she managed, but she didn’t move, holding passively to the bedstead as he came to kneel beside her.

  ‘Relax, babe,’ he told her. ‘You know you love it.’

  Lily found her breath coming faster as the rope was looped around her wrists, pulled tight into a figure of eight and knotted off on the bedstead. She was helpless, tied in place, his to use, with her bottom raised and vulnerable, a dirty pose she was holding because she’d been told to. Her teeth met her lip, biting, holding back the tears that threatened to well up in her eyes, even though she could feel the warm dampness in her culottes. When they were pulled down, as she knew they would be, the full, embarrassing extent of her excitement would be revealed, her swollen, ready sex.

  He turned his body, pushing his crotch close to her face, his hand going to his fly. Lily watched, unable to take her eyes away as he slid down his zip, delved inside and pulled out a dark, heavily hooded cock. She swallowed and closed her eyes as his hand took her hair, pulling back her head. Her mouth came open, wide, gaping for his penis despite her reluctance and the shame of committing what she had always been told was a dirty thing to do. It went in, filling her mouth with the salty, male taste, and she was sucking, whimpering in her throat, close to tears, but sucking nonetheless.

  ‘That’s my little girl,’ Ed breathed from above her. ‘You love a good big cock to suck, don’t you? Come on, get it in deep, make me hard.’

  Lily gulped in as much as she could, until the rapidly swelling head was pushed against her tonsils. She began to gag and tried to pull back, only for the grip in her hair to tighten and stop her.

  ‘None of that, girly,’ Ed chided. ‘You’ve got to show some respect for your man, take his cock right in your throat and swallow it if he wants to come in your mouth.’