Deep Blue

by Aishling Morgan

  They began to use her, rocking back and forth, their cocks sliding in her, mouth and rectum, both places she had been taught never, ever to allow a man to put his penis. Her mind was swimming with utter, total humiliation, yet less came from what she was doing than from not wanting it to stop. The policeman’s balls were slapping her vulva as he buggered her, the same obscene sensation that had brought her to orgasm the first time. Now she needed it again, and reached back, grabbing his scrotum and pressing it to her sex.

  ‘Jesus!’ Perkins gasped. ‘The little whore’s rubbing herself on my nuts.’

  ‘Dirty bitch,’ Ed managed and came in Lily’s mouth.

  She felt it happen, his sperm erupting down her throat as he wedged his penis deep into her gullet. He groaned as she began to choke, then again as her muscles began desperate, spasmodic contractions on the head of his penis. He moaned deeply, ignoring her attempts to pull back, only to suddenly reverse, pull his erection from her mouth and deposit a last blob of come on the tip of her nose.

  ‘Nice,’ Perkins grunted, then gasped as she once more began to rub his balls on her sex.

  Ed had slumped back, pulling Lily’s head into his crotch. She began to lick his balls, then took them into her mouth, sucking them and rolling them over her tongue. His cock was deflating but she didn’t care, she was coming, coming with the policeman’s cock hard in her rectum, the rough skin of his scrotum bumping over her clitoris and two balls that tasted of Ed, of honey and of her own juice in her mouth.

  Her anal ring clamped on Perkins’s cock again, and it began to pulse, along with the mouth of her vagina. The orgasm exploded in her head, the whole, filthy experience running over and over, stripping, sucking, being buggered and most of all, best of all, sucking Ed’s cock when he had had it up her bottom. For one long moment it was perfect, even the hard, slamming of Perkins’s gut against her buttocks as he started to come. Then it went, her mind filling with shame and guilt even as the policeman gave a final, heavy grunt and shot the full mass of his sperm into her rectum.

  Lily slumped down, sobbing, indifferent to the pain as the policeman pulled his cock from her anus. The hole was left gaping, a burning inflamed mess, running sperm and honey and her own fluids. She let it come, feeling the hot slime ooze down over her sex and into her pubic hair. Soiled and spent, she no longer cared that she was making an open, obscene display of her buggered bottom, nor that her mouth was full of sperm.

  ‘One up the dirt box, eh, Lil?’ Ed drawled. ‘Nothing like it.’

  ‘Thanks, Ed, that was great,’ Perkins added. ‘She’s one hot bit of fluff, your Lil.’

  ‘I’d better wash,’ Lily said, stung by Perkins’s open and total disregard for her as a person but unable to find words with which to answer him.

  ‘See if there’s any more beer in the fridge first, babe,’ Ed said.

  Lily had risen, and changed direction at his words, going quickly into the kitchen and retrieving the last of the four-packs of lager Ed had ordered her to stock up with. In the living room the men had gone back to their chairs, their limp cocks still hanging from their flies.

  ‘That’s for later,’ Ed joked, seeing the direction of her glance. ‘If you’re a good girl you might even get your cunt fucked while you suck Jeff again.’

  Lily said nothing, handing over the beers and walking to the bathroom. She washed slowly, thinking of what she had done. Shame and guilt burned in her head, yet it was impossible to deny the pleasure she had taken and how good her climax had felt. She also felt more protected than ever, totally Ed’s property, although a weak, angry voice in the back of her mind was telling her that she was pathetic, that any woman with the least courage would rebel.

  Having showered, she applied soothing cream to her bottom, shutting her eyes in bliss as she rubbed it into the bruised cheeks. The belting had hurt, yet again she could not deny the excitement of it, nor the sense that it was no more than she deserved. Her anus came last, the sore, bruised little ring creamed and a finger slid into the hot interior of her bottom. It was impossible to forget that two men’s cocks had just been where her finger was, and as she slid it in and out she wondered if they would bugger her again during the night.

  She finished with powder and brushed her hair, reasoning that if she was to be used she might as well look pretty. Ed may even compliment her, although he was more likely to demand that she put her mouth straight to his cock. With her face set in a wry grimace for what she expected to happen to her, she returned to the living room. Both men were unconscious, slumped in their chairs, a beer can still gripped in Ed’s nerveless fingers.

  Violet lay still, her head cradled in the crook of Nich’s arm. He had done his best to calm her fears, but without much success. The timing of Thomazina Keeley’s disappearance and the opening of the barrow was beyond mere coincidence, she was certain. What had been a playful game had become a terrifying reality, and she was scared to let herself sleep for fear of what sleep might bring. Yet she was tired, not fully recovered from the previous night, while the two bottles of heavy red wine she had shared with Nich and Yasmin were making her drowsy. Her mind kept slipping to the space on top of the Wythman, the warm, dark night, the scent of incense and summer grass…

  Once more she was on the cliff top, looking out over the sparkling sea. She was not nude, but wearing the short, loose top in which she had gone to bed. It was black, the front emblazoned with occult symbols in silver and gold. It was also short, leaving her bare below the waist and acutely conscious of her naked bottom and pubic mound. She turned, knowing exactly what to expect. Sure enough, the Reverend Wilmot stood before the open Wythman, his workmen gathered around him, all staring. She stepped forward, unable to hold herself.

  ‘A witch, I knew it!’ Wilmot hissed. ‘A wanton also: see how she flaunts herself!’

  She found her mouth opening, meaning to apologise, then shut it, confused, unable to control her mind or her body.

  ‘Take her, beat her!’ Wilmot yelled and the workmen moved forward.

  She was taken, bent down, her face pressed to the earth, her naked buttocks thrust high. Her top was pulled up, exposing her breasts. Her knees were kicked apart, spreading her sex. Hands took her, holding her firmly in position. Wilmot began to read from his bible as the biggest of the workmen came behind her, his spade clutched in one huge, red hand. Her bottom jerked as the spade smacked down, but there was no pain, only the shame of being beaten and the fear of what would happen once her buttocks were red and her sex wet.

  Ten hard smacks were delivered to the tune of her cries and the priest’s droning voice, leaving her blubbering on the ground, soaked with tears and begging for mercy. Wilmot merely nodded and turned his back, walking towards the sea. The biggest workman put his hands to his belt, and only then did she think to call on the god.

  She yelled, but cocks were springing out of flies on every side, huge red cocks, as large and coarse as the workmen themselves, each erect and ready for her body, for her rape. Violet screamed, begging the god, babbling apology for her fear, for her lack of faith. Her head came up, her eyes fixing to the dark mouth that led into the ground, tears streaming from her eyes as big, dirty thumbs took her buttocks and prised them apart. A huge, round cock head bumped her pussy and something green moved in the blackness.

  The men screamed and vanished. She was dropped, sprawling on the ground, grovelling in a position of absolute abasement as Sigodin-Yth climbed from the earth. No muscle in her body would respond, her stare held immobile as the god came, manlike, with Nich’s body, lean and muscular, the head a grotesque contrast, a fat, green octopus, great green eyes staring ahead, tentacles writhing towards her. He was erect too, a huge penis projecting from his groin, the same pale green as the body, like a man’s cock, but with eight wriggling tentacles projecting from around the bulbous head.

  He took her, his tentacles enfolding her head, his hands gripping her arms. She looked up, into his face, watching the tentacles spread to reveal a we
t, thick-lipped mouth. Relief warred in her brain with revulsion, yet her body would not obey her and she let herself be drawn forward, her mouth opening of its own accord to kiss the blubbery octopus mouth.

  Tentacles took her, folding around her breasts, the suckers pulling out her nipples to erection. More took her bottom, opening the cheeks, probing at her anus, parting the lips of her vagina. The kiss stopped and her head was being pushed down, towards the grotesque, tentacle-ringed cock. She gaped, unable to stop herself, tasting fish as the fat head pushed past her lips and in, the tentacles writhing in her mouth as she sucked on his penis. Her body was being pulled, held firm by her legs and buttocks, drawn forward and into the mound, his tentacles enfolding her as she sucked on him, bending her body until his knees met hers and pushed them wide.

  She went back, the penis slipping from her mouth, her thighs opening to the god as he mounted her, his tentacles writhing across her body and head. His cock found her hole, the ring of tentacles moving on her flesh, squirming in her vulva, penetrating her anus, sucking at her clitoris. His mouth found hers, her head smothered in between all eight tentacles, his cock now in her, the cock-tentacles still spread wide over her sex. She could feel his suckers as they began to kiss, all over her body, wrapping her, holding her completely enclosed. His flesh was pulsing, the penis swelling in her vagina, the tentacle in her bottom expanding to bloat out her rectum. Her breasts were being sucked, her belly and neck tickled, her clitoris teased and she was coming, squirming in his embrace, fucked by a god, spread high and wide with his body engulfing her and her in turn engulfing him, thrashing, screaming in ecstasy unlike anything she had ever known…

  Violet woke screaming, her thighs clamped on her hand, the bedclothes wrapped tight around her body and soaked in her sweat. Her sex was sopping and she knew she had really come, reaching orgasm despite the terror and revulsion that had blended with the rapture of her dream. Nich was awake, leaning up on one elbow, his eyes shining green in the dim light.

  ‘He came for me,’ she managed. ‘Sigodin-Yth, he came for me and he had me, in the Wythman, and he had your body, your eyes.’

  Lily woke, shivering. It had been the same as before, only more vivid, more detailed. She had been in the cathedral, walking up the aisle to become Ed’s bride. Once more the tiny, impish woman had brought shock and outrage, desecrated the font by urinating in it, her sex spread for all to see with the pee gushing from the middle. Again the great tentacles had smashed through the high, stained-glass windows.

  This time they had not taken Ed, but her, wrapping around her in an embrace of immense power yet extraordinary delicacy. She had been lifted high, taken from her fate, and, as she had left, a wonderful feeling of security had come over her, stronger by far than the sense of protection she gained from Ed, or had experienced with any other man. Surrender had been easy, the simplest thing to do, and she had felt neither fear nor horror as she was carried away from his side.

  She had woken, but she had known what was going to happen. The arms would have pulled her in, gently opened her thighs, spreading her sex. She would have been entered, willingly, offering herself as her wedding clothes were stripped away, then accepting penetration and in doing so breaking her ties to Ed and giving herself utterly to the god.

  It was a god, she was sure of that, the same god whose image was carved beneath the Wythman, the pre-Celtic god Nich Mordaunt had spoken of, the eightman, Sigodin-Yth. In the back of her head the voice of logic was telling her not to be absurd, that no such entity existed, yet to accept the voice brought only discomfort and sorrow.

  Lying awake, it was impossible not to let her mind wander, thinking of how octopus mated. She would be taken by eight strong arms, folded in, entered, filled with cool, firm tentacle, the fat sperm arm writhing inside her, swelling out her vagina, the suckers fixed to her body, tugging at her skin, pulling her nipples to erection, teasing her clitoris towards orgasm…

  She stopped, shaking herself. Her hand had gone to her sex, feeling the soft mound beneath her culottes, the other tugging the old shirt she wore up over her belly, towards her breasts. She had been about to masturbate, over an octopus, an inconceivably dirty thing to do, worse by far than fantasies of being controlled and humiliated by Ed. It was the way her mind had been going, though, as usual finding paths beyond the control of her will. Any strongwilled woman would have rejected the dirty thoughts, put them from her mind with a touch of self-admonition. Not her, she was too weak, too weak even to resist her own darker urges, yet sometimes being weak wasn’t so very bad.

  With a despairing groan Lily let her hand slip back to her crotch, sliding into her knickers to find her sex wet and swollen with need. She closed her eyes, shook her head in a final, hopeless effort to break free and began to stroke herself, gently massaging her pussy and a nipple as she let her mind drift.

  She was on the beach across the river mouth where few people went, under the towering cliffs cut into Aldon Hill. The day was hot, the sun sparkling from the rock pools on the shelves and ledges below Aldon Head. She was alone, and nude, having stripped for the naughty pleasure of feeling the air on her bare skin, the tingling rudeness of having what she was supposed to keep hidden on show, her breasts, her bottom, the tangle of pale hair that hid her sex.

  As she so often did, she was looking for animals in the pools, only this time she would discover more than she expected. The octopus would be in one of the biggest pools. He would be a monster, pulled up from the deep by a storm, his skin the red of the sandstone he sought to camouflage himself against. She would be intrigued, wading into the big pool to get a better look at him, going slowly, gaining his confidence until he emerged into the open, his great pale eyes looking into hers. He would touch her, his tentacles sliding over the bare skin of her legs, as gentle as her own caresses, as strong as ropes.

  His touch would tickle, making her giggle and shiver, making her want more, and in more intimate places. She’d try to resist, but her resistance would snap, as it usually did, and she would find herself slipping down into the water, sitting her bare bottom down on the smooth-worn rock and spreading her thighs. He would move into her, his arms coiling around her thighs, holding her, taking her under her bottom and around her back. All eight would grip her, gently but firmly, never hurting her but rendering her completely helpless. He would explore, as he would a female of his own kind, caressing her skin, stroking her belly and breasts, squeezing the cheeks of her bottom, touching the nape of her neck.

  She would be helpless, totally under his control as his sperm arm began to trace a path down her front, towards her sex. Her breathing would become quicker as the tentacle slithered down her belly and into her pubic hair. She would be rebelling in her mind, calling herself a slut and a tart, yet lost in the horrid pleasure of his grip, unable and unwilling to stop it. The sperm arm would touch her sex, squirming against her clitoris, finding her vagina and filling her, squeezing inside as she cried out in her ecstasy and dismay. Her vagina would swell out as he pushed more and more tentacle inside, stretching her, filling her beyond anything any man could ever be capable of. All the while his firm, cold flesh would be pressing to her gaping vulva, to her clitoris, teasing her, tormenting her until at last she came, screaming out her lust…

  Lily came with a choking sob, misery and bliss blending in an orgasm far beyond those she had taken over Ed and the way he used her for sex. She let it come, rubbing at herself with her back arched and her mouth wide, riding wave after wave of pleasure until she could take no more and was forced to lift her fingers from her sodden vulva. Sobbing, shaking, with tears running from her eyes, she collapsed back on to the bed, utterly spent as the great wash of guilt and shame rose up inside her, just as she had known it would from the moment she put her fingers to her sex.

  Eight

  Joe sat in his usual place, sipping a cola and watching the river ferry. In the queue were two girls who seemed worth watching. One was the smart young blonde he had watched masturba
te. It seemed entirely likely that what she had done once she might do again, and her presence had his pulse racing. The other possibility was less obviously exciting: a slight girl with jet-black hair wearing stained black jeans and a top, both baggy and shapeless on her body, except across her breasts, which were full for her figure. They would be well worth a look, he was sure, even in a bikini top, yet her real attraction was her face, which was not only beautiful but gave her an air of poise and confidence. Watching her strip would be highly appealing.

  As the blonde climbed on to the ferry he followed, using his normal procedure of sitting well away from his targets and watching the sights of the estuary as they crossed. The tide was in flood, tugging them towards the harbour mouth so that the ferry beached close under Ness Head. Joe disembarked last, watching to see where the girls would go. The dark-haired girl was carrying a heavy bag, and he half expected her to turn for one of the hotels or the snack bar on the miniature golf course. Either would have been a loss, but she took the path to the beach tunnel, as did the blonde.

  Joe weighed his options: following or watching from the cliff top. He would get closer on the beach, yet the cliff offered a better chance of a leisurely stare. Also, the girls were likely to be ruder if they thought they were safe, and it was hard to go unobserved on Ness Beach. He was about to turn up the hill path when he remembered how it had been with Tammy. She had seemed as distant as any of the girls he had watched, yet once he had propositioned her she had been out of her bikini as soon as they were alone. Maybe it was worth trying it on with the blonde girl, who had a meek air about her. The dark girl seemed less likely to respond as he hoped. He followed towards the tunnel, thinking of Tammy’s lush curves and wondering if she would keep her promise and attend the solstice party that evening.