He could stand it no more. He pulled away from her grasp, moved swiftly behind her, and pushed her forward onto the mat. He pushed her thighs apart and entered her, rampant. She shouted her assent, though he doubted he would have listened to instruction. He was possessed.
He brought her rapidly to a breathless climax. She tried to hide it but the orgatron gave her away. He withdrew, turned her over, and started again. They flowed together like two tributaries meeting at a rocky cascade, wild and dramatic. She gasped for air as the frantic sex took every drop of her energy, taking her suddenly over an unseen waterfall and into an endless tumble of orgasms.
He, however, had only just begun. He pulled back and looked into the deep pools of her eyes. Where the iris should have been were the gaping mouths of two silvery fish. He was no fisherman but he would have said they were salmon, but not limp in the supermarket, vibrant and leaping towards their spawning grounds. What a surprise, he thought, that her vagina spirit was a shoal of fish; and he had conjured them up.
Inspired by his newly discovered power, he re-entered her slippery vagina. She slithered underneath the weight of his hard body, rippling from side to side in a sequence of fast, exquisite movements. He dived into her repeatedly, pushing her legs wider and wider to allow his possession to be complete. He led her to another gushing orgasm. He raised himself off her in triumph, ready to offer himself to the next spirit seeker.
They all seemed content with each other, but he was now desperate to relieve the pressure that had built up in his balls. He wondered why he hadn’t had an orgasm himself. When he and Caroline made love he never had a problem coming. She didn’t like too much messing around. She liked to get on with sex and have an orgasm without swinging from the chandeliers for two hours first. They were easy and relaxed with each other, giving and loving. Not mad like this.
This sex, the moon ceremony, was like the mythical bowl of porridge that re-filled however many hungry peasants ate from it. It was a very different kind of gift, one with unexpected consequences, like people turning into spirit animals, and him turning into an insatiable stud who could fuck for hours without coming.
He couldn’t even blame the effects of alcohol, the glasses of wine at dinner being insufficient reason for the dulling of sensations. In any case, his sensations were not dulled. They were magnified to an intensity he didn’t know was possible. Is this what celebrities were seeking when they practiced tantric sex? Was it similar for Regina and her proselytes? Is this why they were willing to pay hundreds of pounds to sleep in a bunk and eat mung beans?
He looked over to the dais where the unlikely triad, Linda, Jocasta, and Regina continued to wrestle each other to animal climaxes. The wayward Jocasta was the junior of the party, and the frailest of the three, made to look more fairy-like by the stocky frame of Linda and the imposing curves of Regina. Jocasta was making the most of the moon ceremony. It was the one time when her propensity to orgasm was an asset rather than an embarrassment confessed to the sex expert on the problem page of her magazine.
She was the only woman she knew who had an orgasm on her bike on the way to work. She had made some progress in controlling her autonomic system, helped by Regina’s system of rewards and punishments. Her orgasms were less like a sneeze and more like the breathlessness at the end of a hundred metre sprint. And her two trips to the dungeon had opened up a new world of controlled pleasure and controlled pain. The wicked climaxes she had experienced down there had been shudderingly good.
Linda had seemed to Robert to be single-minded in her approach to life at Dunlaggin Castle. She had come to forget the ex-husband, and take whatever experiences were on offer; and on offer happened to be an intimate group of attractive women who were exploring their sexuality. It was no surprise that she was drawn to Regina’s imposing form and confident physicality.
While Robert had been trying to slake his lust, Regina had been instructing Linda and Jocasta in the subtle arts of lesbian sex, making them practice on her first before telling them what to do to each other. Seeing Robert had exhausted Georgina, Regina summoned him to the dais, and addressed her disciples:
“The moon ceremony enters its final phase. The spirits must be settled before the moon goes down behind the Pap of Mura. To achieve the quietening, we must witness the symbolic spilling of the male seed. As your Mother Superior, I will assume responsibility for bringing this about. Robert, come to me.”
He hesitated. The thought of having sex with Regina revolted him. Not because of her age or appearance, but because of what she had done to Caroline in Germany. He knew she had a dark and domineering character, a cruel and selfish streak that could manifest itself in unexpected ways. He wanted to believe that she had turned over a new leaf by retreating to this remote isle and exploring her spiritual side, but his lawyer brain told him to watch and keep an open mind. It was entirely possible that this elaborately choreographed ritual was part of some devilish scheme, something even more devilish than fleecing her former employers.
She saw his hesitation and nodded to the Wimples to bring him to her. She settled back on the dais, a large cushion under her buttocks, her big hair spread around her head like a halo, her breasts as prominent as the Pap of Mura.
“He must spill his seed in me or the spirits will be angry.”
The proselytes stood aside to let Wimple One and Wimple Two bring Robert through, and then pressed tightly round the dais, fascinated but uncomfortable. At the edge of the platform, Robert dug his heels in.
“No, I’m sorry, I can’t do it. I’m too tired. I’ve lost the urge.” The statement was somewhat contradicted by his huge erection.
Regina only needed to wink to the Wimples and they pushed him forward onto her, one hand guiding his penis into her, and others pushing his buttocks to force him deep inside her welcoming vagina. He felt a rush of dark energy. He pinned her arms down while he lunged into her soft tunnel. She laughed a witch’s cackle, delighted at his frenetic fucking, and rolled him over on to his back as if he weighed nothing. She rose and sank along the length of his member, caressing the tip with her labia. It was no surprise to Robert that she was a high priestess of vaginal manipulation.
She too was possessed by an inhuman energy, and in the dying embers of the fire the soft skin of her body was transformed into the lithe muscular dappled form of a wild cat. He looked into her eyes and saw the round cold green eyes of a feline. She opened her mouth wide and there were the sharp incisors of a flesh eating mammal. He screamed, opening his own jaw wide, much wider than he thought possible, and saw a snow leopard reflected in the cat’s eyes. He pushed her off him before the fearsome teeth could sink into his neck and pounced on her in turn, jumping onto her back and entering her from behind. She snarled and bit the hand he had placed over her mouth.
He withdrew his hand. There were tooth marks in the flesh of his palm and blood welling out. He wiped his paw across his forehead leaving a trail of red, then cuffed Regina’s fleshy bottom. She squealed, turned and sank her claws into his back, dragging her nails down the skin. He grabbed her hair and yanked her head back. She looked shocked for one moment at the rage in his eyes, then triumphant. She lay back again and let him have his violent way.
When the acolytes talked later, in hushed and reverential tones, about what they had seen happen on the platform, they described it in different ways. Most agreed it was more like a wrestling bout than a sexual joining. They all agreed that what had started out as a human act had become something different: something animal, desperate, a struggle for survival.
Then, suddenly, as if an invisible referee had rung a silent bell, the tumultuous contest was over. The sexual combatants sprang to their feet and prowled around the dais, eying each other warily. What had looked like mortal battle had just been a symbolic tussle with only minor injuries on either side. Regina licked a trace of blood off her fingers and felt between her legs. She didn’t think he had come, but she wasn’t sure. She was warm and wet, but there was no tr
ickle of come.
“The spirits are not at rest,” said Regina. “He has been possessed by a bad spirit. I saw it. Did you see it?” she asked the proselytes. Some nodded. They had seen something strange, for certain.
“The bad spirit must be exorcised. Take him to the dungeon. There we have the tools to chase the bad spirit away. The wild cat has told me how to release his seed. Jocasta, you must come too.”
Robert was still breathing heavily when he was seized again by the Wimples, assisted by willing acolytes, and bustled out of the great hall and down the steps to the dungeon. His captors giggled as cold air stung their skin on leaving the warmth of the hall. But the fervour of the women was not diminished by the coldness of the night. Nor did Robert feel the chill. Such was his nervous anticipation of what might be done to him he didn’t notice any discomfort other than his overwhelming desire to have an orgasm and go to bed. He thought about running away, but there was nowhere to run to except a barren hillside or a cold sea. He didn’t fancy his chances of surviving long enough in the water to make the shore of Sporran.
When the group had made it down the narrow steps and into the undercroft, Regina took Jocasta to one side and asked her if she would help exorcise the bad spirit. Jocasta nodded enthusiastically when Regina explained her role and the exact form of words she must use to draw the spirit out.
“The wild cat guide has given me the words you must say,” explained Regina. “It is a kind of spell. Repeat it. It must be correct or the spirit will not respond.” Jocasta repeated the mysterious words.
“But how will I know the right moment to use the spell?” said Jocasta.
“Fix your eyes on his penis. When it begins to quiver, but before it erupts, you must say the words. You must be strong. It is a very evil spirit. You may have to endure much pain.”
“Thank you for choosing me, Regina.”
“May your guide be with you.”
“It is with me. I met it on the dais when you were instructing me. My animal spirit is an otter.”
“Sleek and fast, strong and impervious to extremes,” said Regina. “May the otter be with you.”
Regina took Jocasta into the dungeon. They lit every candle in the holders around the wall and four calor-gas heaters in each corner of the room. Then Regina asked Jocasta to stand on a chair and she fixed her slight frame to a pair of manacles on the wall.
“Now step off the chair… carefully!”
“Could you lift me down, Regina?”
Regina wrapped her arms around Jocasta and pressed her into her bosom, lowering her to the ground, the balls of her feet resting on the freezing floor. Regina opened a cupboard in the corner and took out a spiked metal choker, snapping it shut around Jocasta’s neck. She found a thick leather belt and fixed it tightly round her narrow waist, telling her to breathe in, and pulling it in another hole.
Regina stood back to admire her handiwork. She returned to her cupboard of delights and took out a riding crop. She stroked it three times across Jocasta’s breasts then drew it slowly down to her belly button. Jocasta shivered in anticipation. Then Regina lifted Jocasta’s light body up and turned her round so that her arms were crossed and she was facing her wall, her toes barely touching the ground. She tapped the soles of Jocasta’s feet, making her hop from foot to foot, then very gently ran the crop up between her legs and across her bottom.
“Bring Robert in,” called Regina. The troupe filed in, bringing the miscreant spirit with them. There was a hubbub of surprise when they saw Jocasta hanging on the wall, the pert globes of her shining bottom facing them. Most of them, hearing the tales of punishment for unauthorised orgasms, had secretly been down to explore the facilities, but none of them bar Jocasta had used them extensively. Georgina and Joni sat on the edge of the rack to get a good view.
“Put him in the stocks,” Regina ordered, tapping the riding crop in the palm of her left hand. “Facing Jocasta.”
Robert just stood there, refusing to move. Tonight he felt he had the strength of ten men and two Wimples could certainly not move him towards the stocks.
“The bad spirit will not co-operate,” explained Regina. “It has to be persuaded.” She spun round and hit the small creature hanging from the wall with the riding crop, aiming below the belt, and writing a line of red across the white skin of Jocasta’s firm, cyclist’s bottom. The proselytes gasped, surprised by the sudden blow on their spiritual sister, but Jocasta didn’t make a sound.
She raised the crop ready to sting the skin again, but paused.
“Put him in the stocks.” He walked forward under his own steam. Wimple One raised the top bar and he put his neck and hands in the half-moon holes, the wood worn smooth my centuries of miscreants, rebels and masochists. Wimple One brought the top bar down over him and fixed him into position, demonstrating a practiced knowledge of the use of medieval punishments. His face was just a few feet away from Jocasta’s body, white and fragile against the hard cold stone. Once the clasps were fixed Wimple One stood back and gave Robert a hard slap on the behind, and several of the women giggled and pushed forward so that they could have a turn.
“Wait,” called Regina. “The bad spirit enjoys pain and suffering. The more you punish Robert the more the spirit will enjoy possessing him. We want to release the spirit, release his seed. Georgina, Greta, get down below him, begin to release the spirit from its prison. Linda, Joni, all of you, line up to take your turn with Jocasta.”
Greta understood Regina’s logic, or at least was prepared to go along with it in order to play with the fantastic erection. She wormed her way between Robert’s legs and sat under the frame of the stocks, taking his bulbous penis in her hands. Georgina stood behind him and caressed his buttocks and his balls.
Joni was first in the queue beside Jocasta and Regina handed her the riding crop. She tapped Jocasta lightly on the thigh.
“That’s no good,” said Regina, ‘the spirit must see you inflict pain. That will excite it, make it lose control.”
Joni tried again, but her swing decelerated just before the crop landed on its target globe.
“Harder,” ordered Regina.
Joni gritted her teeth, stood back, and swung her arm freely. This time there was a loud slap of leather on skin, but no visible mark.
“I’ve never done that before,” said Joni, flushed with embarrassment and excitement.
“Do it again,” said Jocasta, quietly. “It will help release the spirit.”
Gaining in confidence, Joni lined up the crop by touching it on Jocasta’s pert bottom, drawing back her wrist and slapping it with speed against the white skin.
Joni examined the red mark she had made, which was not as angry as the weal made by Regina. She rubbed Jocasta’s buttocks gently, then kissed every inch along the two red marks. Jocasta’s orgatron flashed yellow. Joni was unable to resist the temptation to stroke the labia exposed by Jocasta’s uncomfortable position, and then reached further to rub her hood. Jocasta came, wriggling like a worm on a hook and clanking the chains of the manacles but otherwise silent. When she had subsided, Joni passed the baton to the next contestant, satisfied that she had done her bit in releasing spirits.
The sight of Jocasta’s thrashing orgasm had stimulated Robert’s bad spirit and he was desperate for Greta’s mouth. He shifted his legs, trying to find it, but she knew the spirit was very bad indeed and would take some shifting. Instead, she teased him with her tongue, licking him deliciously. Georgina teased too, running her fingers down the crack of his arse and cupping his balls.
Linda was next in line and without consultation lifted Jocasta up and turned her round. She nibbled Jocasta’s nipples, watching her face. Jocasta betrayed no reaction. She bit harder, and Jocasta bit her own lip to prevent a cry escaping. Linda held the crop up before Jocasta’s eyes, showing it to her carefully. The flat end she drew across her cheek. Then she turned it round and showed her the thick ribbed handle, pushing it a little way into her mouth.
Jocasta
sucked and bit it. Linda left the crop there between Jocasta’s teeth and sank down to her clitoris, sucking it whole into her mouth. Jocasta bit on the handle, but made no sound. Linda sucked hard, then softly, making Jocasta’s orgatron flash yellow again. Jocasta’s breathing became heavy, as Linda’s tongue explored every crevice and darted in and out of her tight vagina. Sensing that Jocasta was holding back from the red zone, she stood up and took the crop out of her mouth, tapped her bold clitoris with the striking end, and slowly eased the ribbed handle into her hole.
Greta could tell from the quivering of Robert’s penis that the demon spirit was close to losing its grip. She finally allowed the penis to find her mouth. She held her lips tightly around his shaft and allowed him deep inside her throat. Georgina pushed a slim finger into his arsehole and that spurred the spirit on.
Linda used the handle slowly at first, allowing it to become wet with Jocasta’s rising excitement. When it was as slippery as an otter, she plunged it further in, raising Jocasta’s feet from the floor and causing her eyes to screw tight. Linda let her regain her footing, then eased the stick from her. She walked over to Robert, and held it under his nose so that he could smell the fruit of Jocasta’s excitement. He groaned as Greta’s tongue swirled around the tip of his penis.
Georgina was getting impatient and kicked Greta to indicate that she wanted a turn on his tool. Greta gave a few more hungry sucks before they swapped positions. Georgina wriggled under Robert, took his penis in her mouth, and rubbed her pussy to ease the tension that had built up in her watching Greta being fucked in the mouth and Jocasta being fucked with a riding crop. She quickly became unaware of what was going on around her and became entirely focussed on the rising tide of pressure in Robert’s urgent thrusts, and the swirling shoal of climatic sensations that were building in her vagina.
Robert began a series of groans that signalled the final approach of his long-awaited orgasm. The undercarriage was down and the bright lights of the airport were clearly visible below. Unfortunately, just as he was coming into land, a riding crop gripped between his teeth, there was a message from air traffic control.
Shameless Exposure Page 10
