Deep Blue

by Aishling Morgan

  ‘Don’t try it, love,’ he sneered. ‘Unless you want attempting to bribe a police officer on your charge sheet.’

  ‘Come, come,’ she answered. ‘I’ll do anything you like, for free, a nice wank with my bikini pants, a suck, or even a special show while you do it in your hand. I know some very rude tricks.’

  ‘I’ll bet you do.’

  ‘How about it then? I can put on a pair of these silly little panties and show you what I do for my boyfriend in Ireland. You’d love it. Come on, a big, strong boy like you needs plenty of good, dirty sex.’

  ‘That’s enough of that. Now are you going to come easily?’

  ‘I bet you will, once your cock’s in my mouth. I bet you’ve got a big one. I like them big, to really fill my little cunt. You can do me from behind if you like.’

  ‘I’m really not that sort of copper, love.’

  ‘Oh, but you are, you all are. Do you know Officer Weekes? Big, fat man, huge cock.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘He was a dirty one. He arrested my friend and made her eat her breakfast with his spunk all over it. He did it in front of her, too, and made her suck him hard.’

  ‘Yeah, sure.’

  ‘It happened.’

  She shrugged as she said it, a gesture of such indifference to his opinion that he wondered if she was telling the truth. The way she was talking was getting to him, her lewd offers made all the more tempting by his jealousy of Ed Gardner.

  ‘Come on,’ she wheedled. ‘I’m good, and I’m dirty. I’ll do things you only dream about, anything, just name it.’

  He paused, thinking that it would be easy to take her up on her offer, then arrest her anyway. It would be her word against his, and she wouldn’t be the first female prisoner who had claimed sexual assault by an arresting male officer. She would never be believed, just so long as he left no trace on her or in her.

  ‘You sure you’re sixteen?’ he asked.

  In answer she spread her legs and casually pulled aside her bikini crotch, revealing a thick, dark growth of pubic hair and a well-developed sex. A second motion lifted her bikini top, displaying breasts of tiny proportions but fully formed. She was mature, that much was obvious. He nodded, his cock twitching as she shrugged off her bikini top completely.

  The boathouse doors shut off the view of the harbour. The oil drum held the door closed behind him. They would not be disturbed, and the offer was suddenly just too tempting. She smiled, perhaps reading the expression on his face. He nodded and she rose, took two graceful paces towards him and squeezed his crotch, kneading his cock through his uniform trousers with every appearance of genuine enjoyment.

  ‘I’m going to like this,’ she sighed. ‘You’re lovely and big. Come on, get him out, I want a suck.’

  She pushed, guiding him down on to the mooring bollard even as his zip slid smoothly open. Her hand burrowed inside his trousers and his cock was out, stiffening in her tiny hand as she stroked and teased. Her touch was gently, incredibly feminine, and he wondered how he could have thought her inexperienced for an instant, never mind immature. What she was doing to his genitals was the act of an expert, someone who had spent a lot of time learning how to give men pleasure.

  ‘Lovely,’ she sighed, ‘that would fill me right up. Shall I sit on you?’

  ‘No…’ he began, but she had already risen and turned.

  At the sight of her tiny, rounded bottom his resolve went. She was perfect, two fleshy cheeks divided by a deep cleft, the bikini hiding little, then nothing as she took it down. For a moment he had a view of her tight, puckered bottom hole and the hairy rear of her sex. She sat, pressing his cock between her bottom cheeks to fold it in hot flesh and wiggling, squirming her buttocks on to his penis. He moaned and began to move his cock, sliding it in her crease. It took all his resolve not to lift her and put her on his erection, but he held back, leaving her to giggle and squirm, rubbing her bottom into his lap until his cock felt fit to burst.

  ‘That’s nice,’ she sighed, ‘but there’s no hurry. Shall I show you what my boyfriend likes?’

  ‘What?’ he demanded.

  ‘You’ll see,’ she laughed, and rose, bending forward to retrieve the pack of knickers and presenting him with a full view of her naked rear.

  He watched as she pushed off her bikini pants and pulled out a pair of panties. They were tiny, and tight even on her as she pulled them up and over her bottom, making sure he got a good view of the material pulled taut across her little cheeks. He swallowed and took his cock in his hand. She looked glorious in panties, a perfect little nymph, sweet and innocent.

  ‘Watch,’ she ordered and bent at the waist, taking hold of her knees with her tiny bottom stuck out right towards him.

  Her legs were braced apart, her hands on her knees, giving a plain view of her panty crotch, bulging with the swell of her sex. Both lips were plainly visible, the material caught between them and rising to cover her bottom in a display somehow ruder than when she had been showing it all. She looked back, her huge green eyes bright with excitement, her mouth curved into a playful smile.

  For a moment he wondered what she was doing, only to see her mouth set briefly. He heard the hiss and saw the wet patch appear on her immaculate panties, his mouth dropping wide as he realised she was peeing herself for him. It was gushing out, forming a little yellow fountain over her panty crotch and dribbling from the sides to run down her thighs. Some soaked into her knickers, drawing them tight against her sex and bumcheeks. More splashed on the ground, forming a rapidly growing puddle.

  ‘Is that pretty?’ she asked, for all the world like a girl asking him to admire a new dress.

  He nodded dumbly, his hand moving instinctively up and down on his cock as he watched. The rear of her panties was transparent with pee, showing her hair and the details of her bum. She was smiling, a mischievous, taunting smile, as if daring him to pull down her wet panties and plunge his cock between her pee-sodden sex lips, up her hole, fucking her with her piddle running down over his balls and her wet buttocks squelching against his front.

  It stopped, leaving her panties dripping. She was standing in her own puddle, grinning back at him, watching his rock-hard cock as he nursed it. Reaching back, she took hold of her panties, hooking a thumb into either side and pulling, then peeling them slowly down, once more exposing her bare bottom and leaving damp marks where the wet cotton had been on her bum. Her pussy came on show, wet and dribbling into her panties as they were taken to her thighs and left, stretched taut and sodden, the pee still dripping from the crotch.

  ‘Now I shall suck your lovely cock and swallow your spunk,’ she said, ‘and you can think of what you saw, and my wet panties, still pulled down, just for you while I suck your cock and kneel in my pee-pee.’

  He nodded dumbly, pushing his erection out as she went down, kneeling. She took it, looking up with her lovely eyes as she licked the head, treating his penis like a lollipop. He groaned at the sight, then again, more deeply as she suddenly took his cock in and began to suck with greedy, urgent motions. Almost immediately he felt himself start to come, overwhelmed by the feel of her mouth and the thoughts of what he had seen. It was perfect, her little mouth working on his erection, his mind full of the sight of her panties filling with pee, her bare bottom, her wet cunt…

  The jerk came totally unexpectedly, a violent wrench at his ankles delivered at the exact instant he reached the point of no return. He felt himself go backwards but could do nothing, his erection spraying sperm in an arch as he went over. His cry of alarm blended with her high-pitched crow of laughter as the edge of the dock struck his back, he toppled and an instant later landed in the harbour mud.

  Winded and gasping, he pulled himself up, anger rising in a sudden burst. The mud was deep, and slippery, foul-smelling bubbles rising to the surface as he struggled to stand. She was laughing, a hysterical, almost demented sound, and he cursed, yelling after her. The response was a yet wilder laugh and the scrape of the oil drum,
then the door slamming.

  Jeff Perkins clambered to his feet, turning to find himself below the level of the docks gates and looking out across the harbour, directly at two men in a fishing boat. Both were staring, one grinning, one open-mouthed. He looked down, hastily returning his mud-smeared and still erect penis to his fly. With as much dignity as he could muster he waded to a ladder and pulled himself up, reaching for his radio only to stop and decide that as far as his colleagues were concerned she had simply lost him in the summer crowds.

  Mr Hobbers walked slowly along the passage, following the librarian between high stacks, both intent on the details and dates presented at the end of each. The smell of dust and general antiquity reminded him of his own shop, while the tall cardboard binders on the shelves looked as if they had been untouched since being placed there.

  ‘I thought so,’ the librarian announced, ‘right at the end, Tawmouth Journal, from ’47, when it started, up to ’83. Let’s see, hang on, some of the ’53s are out. Which month did you want?’

  ‘June.’

  ‘Typical, that’s the one. Come back upstairs — somebody must have it in the reading room.’

  Mr Hobbers followed the librarian back the way they had come, waited briefly while she consulted his colleague and was shown into the reading room, where he was pointed towards one of the alcoves. A young man was there, his black clothes, jewellery and bright red hair in a ponytail suggesting he was one of the pagans who had been flocking to the town every summer for the past few years. Spread before him was a yellowing newspaper, evidently the June edition.

  Thinking at first to wait politely until the man had finished, Hobbers found it impossible not to be curious. If such a person was reading the 1853 Journal, then it almost had to be for a reason related to his own, making him wonder if the man might not know more of the girl who called herself Thomazina. The man appeared studious, serious, but in no way aggressive, and Hobbers decided that he should open a conversation, from which he could easily keep out improper elements such as his purchase of the stolen coin and any mention of sex. Slipping into the chair opposite the man, he gave a polite smile.

  ‘Excuse me,’ he remarked in a whisper when the man failed to respond. ‘I’m sorry to trouble you, but are you seeking the details of the disappearance of a Thomazina Keeley?’

  Violet lay on the beach, face down, the feel of her fresh tattoo keeping its presence in her mind. Yasmin was beside her, their efforts to find Tammy having quickly given way to hunger, then, after a meal in a café, to a desire to sunbathe. Nich, she knew, was in the library searching for records of odd events in Tawmouth over past years and also for a photograph of the Reverend Clerebold Wilmot.

  Yasmin and she had taken turns to oil each other’s back, leaving her pleasantly relaxed and just faintly aroused, if too sleepy to want to do anything about it. As on the first occasion, her dream had scared her, but once again the fear had faded with the morning. Nich had had more trouble than ever at hiding his delight, and had been in a manic mood all day, now certain that her dreams related to the barrow god. She had agreed, her doubts gone in the face of fact and the thrill of being called. The result was that they had not slept, but spent the night talking and making love, until in the morning she was exhausted. Nich had barely seemed tired.

  Thinking pleasant thoughts of the sex they had enjoyed and what was doubtless to come, she began to drift, only to hear his voice calling out. Raising her head, she found him striding along the front. She returned his wave, waiting until he had thrown himself down on the sand beside them before speaking.

  ‘Did you learn anything?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Nich answered, ‘perhaps more than I sought.’

  ‘How come?’

  ‘First,’ he said, ‘the man in your dreams is Wilmot, tall, red-faced, white muttonchop whiskers, it must be him.’

  ‘I wouldn’t call my man tall,’ Violet answered, ‘and his whiskers were grey.’

  ‘I’m sure they were, in 1853,’ Nich went on. ‘The picture I found was of him in his old age, 1879. It is him, Violet, you are called, no mistake.’

  At his words her sense of excitement rose again, along with a touch of fear.

  ‘What else?’ she asked.

  ‘Something puzzling, perhaps disturbing,’ he replied. ‘I was lucky to discover it, because while I was reading about the opening of the barrow a man came in after the same paper. He’s called Hobbers, he owns an antique shop, and he wanted to know about a girl called Thomazina Keeley. Some girl had used her name apparently, when trying to sell him stolen goods. He had seen her gravemarker in Abbotscombe churchyard. She disappeared in 1853, June the twenty-first 1853, to be exact.’

  ‘Solstice night,’ Yasmin put in.

  ‘Solstice night, when the barrow was open,’ Nich went on, ‘after developing a habit of sleepwalking over three weeks. Wilmot began his excavations at the Wythman on May the thirtieth.’

  ‘Shit!’ Violet answered as her mild fear rose to a sharp pang.

  ‘The farm where she lived is only a half-mile from the barrow,’ Nich continued. ‘She is supposed to have walked over Aldon Cliff, although no body was ever found.’

  ‘Oh, shit,’ Violet repeated. ‘What have we done?’

  ‘Nothing, necessarily,’ Nich answered, ‘but we must be careful. I’ll keep an eye on you, don’t worry.’

  ‘So you reckon she was called down into the barrow?’ Yasmin asked. ‘That’s creepy.’

  ‘They’d have found her,’ Nich pointed out. ‘Everything I’ve read points to fertility rituals. There’s nothing about sacrifice or death. Women are called and become priestesses, that’s all. Besides, no bones were found during the excavation, although Wilmot wasn’t as thorough as he might have been. Also, it’s the only case I could find and I cross-checked on their computer. There are plenty of cases of women having odd dreams, though. And one other thing I came across when searching for references to the Wythman: a group used to go up there in the fifties, rock-and-roll types. They got busted on solstice night 1957. Among the people arrested, for drugs and what are described as ‘‘lewd acts’’, was a girl who claimed to have been called to the barrow in dreams, Rosemary Evans. No one got hurt then.’

  ‘It didn’t last until sunrise,’ Violet answered.

  Thomazina watched the water, her face set in a petulant frown. Aldon Head reared above her, three hundred feet of sheer red rock, cut at its base into gentle ledges following the plain of the strata, one of which she sat on. To her right a great sea cave opened into the cliff, her ledge narrowing as it entered the mouth. The opening was huge, angled to the rock plain, reaching nearly a third the height of the cliff. Thomazina paid no attention to the magnificence of the scenery, watching the water until at last the telltale swirl she had been expecting came and Elune’s head and shoulders appeared above the surface. The small girl was grinning, her wide mouth curved up between round cheeks, her eyes glittering with delight. She pulled herself on to the ledge, stood and stretched, her naked body dripping water on to the sunlit rock.

  ‘Don’t you ever learn?’ Thomazina demanded.

  ‘Don’t be sour,’ Elune replied. ‘It was fun.’

  ‘We might have been caught!’

  ‘You got away. I got away.’

  ‘Yes, but —’

  ‘I tricked the big ugly policeman into letting me suck him, then threw him into a dock! It was so funny! He went right in the mud!’

  ‘Elune! Now he’ll be furious! We daren’t go back to town!’

  ‘So what? I hate your towns. They smell, and everyone’s so big and clumsy.’

  ‘I like them!’

  ‘Just so you can fuck and suck with all the boys.’

  ‘No, not just that. I like ice cream and sweets and fried fish and… and lots of things. I wanted my tattoo refreshed. You always spoil it, Elune!’

  ‘An ice-cream van stops on the Ness, near where they play that funny game with the little white balls and the sticks.�
��

  ‘Golf.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Thomazina. I’ll get you a limpet, one of the big white ones.’

  ‘I hate limpets.’

  ‘No, you don’t, you’re just sulky. I’ll lick you, then. You can pee in my face. Will that make you feel better?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Sit on my face, do it in my mouth. I’ll hate that.’

  ‘No, you won’t.’

  ‘Punish me, then, any way you like, but stop sulking.’

  ‘Any way?’

  ‘Any way.’

  ‘Oh, all right. I’ll ask Juliana’s advice.’

  ‘Juliana!’

  ‘She’s inside. She was just finishing changing when I got here.’

  ‘Oh, no, you bitch!’

  ‘Don’t call me names, Elune.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Thomazina, I’m sorry. Couldn’t you just give me a spanking? Maybe with a snakelocks in me? That hurt.’

  ‘I know it did. No, Juliana’s better, she always knows what to do with you.’

  ‘She’s…’

  Elune stopped, glancing towards the cave mouth. Thomazina followed her gaze, finding another girl emerging from the shadows, a slender, black-haired girl of her own height. She was naked, her body glistening with fluid, her skin marked with several large, red circles, two of which covered her well-grown breasts. Her expression was blissful at first, the look of someone who had been through an exquisite experience, but changed as she saw them, becoming warm and friendly, yet with a hint of the malign.

  ‘Juliana!’ Elune exclaimed. ‘It’s been so long!’

  ‘It has,’ the girl replied, ‘and Thomazina tells me you haven’t changed.’

  ‘It was a joke, just fun.’

  ‘You never could resist policemen.’

  ‘No, they’re so pompous, so self-important, like the fascists. You understand, don’t you?’

  ‘Of course, but now Thomazina can’t take me into town and help me buy pretty things.’

  ‘She has some money, and she knows a place we can sell coins and things, at the best price, just in return for a spanked bottom. It’s a shop, with an old man. He’s easy to get round, isn’t he, Thomazina?’