Deep Blue

by Aishling Morgan

  ‘Oh, no, Mr Hobbers, not that,’ she gasped, but she made no move to rise.

  ‘Sorry, my dear,’ he answered, ‘if you didn’t want to be buggered, you shouldn’t have grown such a fine, fat behind.’

  He had taken her hips and pulled down as he spoke. She gave a yelp as his cock popped past the tight constriction of her anal ring. The head was inside, embedded in warm, rectal flesh, her sphincter tight on the neck.

  ‘Relax, my dear,’ he ordered. ‘It’s going up you, one way or another, so best to make it easy.’

  Again she gave her little despairing groan, but began to lower her weight even as he felt her ring give. He watched, eyes bulging as the full, greasy pink length of his penis slid into her bottom hole, his cock in a young girl’s bottom hole, a spanked young girl’s bottom hole. Her bottom settled on his hips, her cheeks still hot from her beating. It was all the way in, her wet sex pressed to his balls, the last half-inch of his cock all that remained outside the straining ring of her anus. Once more she groaned, expressing misery, humiliation, helpless pleasure, all the emotions he would have expected in a girl with an old man’s penis in her back passage.

  ‘Ride it, nice and slow,’ he ordered, ‘and start feeling yourself again — I like to see that.’

  She obeyed, once again starting to bounce on his cock, only this time with it firmly pushed up her ample bottom. He watched her ring move on his shaft, lost in ecstasy at the feel of the inside of her rectum rubbing on his glans. She began to masturbate, one hand to her sex, the other holding up a breast, stroking the nipple. He groaned as she began to move faster, her long black hair shaking to the rhythm of her movements, which also sent delicious little quivers through her fleshy bottom cheeks and her sides. He lay back, letting her do the work, buggering herself, feeding cock in and out of her dirty little hole until she made him come, which he knew would not be long, nor for her. Her ring began to contract and she cried out, no longer in sorrow but in pure pleasure. She was coming on his cock, her anus going into spasm on his shaft, her buttocks bouncing and wobbling, his cock rubbing in the hot, slimy tube of her rectum. He felt the jerk as he shot the full mass of his sperm into her bowels. She screamed out and rose, lifting herself clear for one instant and then jamming her gaping anus back on to his cock. Sperm erupted from around his cock, splashing his balls as she sat hard on him, and his vision went red with ecstasy, his final view that of her sperm-slick ring sliding down on his shaft.

  Nine

  Violet jumped down from the gangplank of the river ferry, her shoes crunching into the coarse red sand. Nich followed, taking long steps in a fastidious attempt to spare his Cuban heels. Yasmin came last, after passing out their bags.

  The shore was crowded, the tiny parking area for the miniature golf course packed with vans and cars. A road crew was unloading a generator from one of these; Topher Knight stood by another, flicking through a case of discs. Yasmin waved and called, but failed to attract his attention, her voice lost in the general buzz of noise.

  ‘Catch him later,’ Violet suggested. ‘Anyway, Nich’s been through everything with him.’

  ‘Right,’ Yasmin answered doubtfully. ‘Hey, look, that’s Tammy, in the blue bikini, with that old boy.’

  Violet turned to where Yasmin was pointing, finding a well-built young girl stepping from a car. A man was standing at the opposite door.

  ‘The shame of it,’ she laughed, ‘brought to the party by her dad!’

  ‘No, no,’ Nich cut in, ‘that’s Mr Hobbers, the man who I met in the library.’

  He jumped to the low wall that bordered the beach, walking quickly towards the couple. Mr Hobbers had been about to get back into his car, but paused at the sight of Nich. Violet and Yasmin followed, Tammy smiling at Yasmin, then giving a glance of unmistakable excitement towards Violet’s hair.

  ‘Good afternoon,’ Nich greeted them, nodding formally to Mr Hobbers. ‘It is Tammy, I believe.’

  ‘Yes,’ the girl answered. ‘Hello, Yasmin.’

  ‘You friends?’ Hobbers asked, his manner now some-what uneasy.

  ‘Yes,’ Yasmin answered. ‘Hi, Tammy.’

  ‘I had really better be going,’ Hobbers said quickly. ‘Well, then, goodbye, ‘‘Thomazina Keeley’’, enjoy your party.’

  He ducked back into the car, quickly starting the engine and backing away.

  ‘What got to him?’ Yasmin asked.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry,’ Tammy laughed. ‘He thinks I’m a thief and I suppose he thinks you’re my gang. He spanked me too, and maybe he thinks we might try to get even.’

  ‘He did what?’

  ‘He spanked me. He is funny. He is desperate to smack my bottom, but he lacks the courage to simply ask. He did in the end, but only when he thought I couldn’t refuse. I put on a fine show for him.’

  ‘The dirty old bastard!’

  ‘Oh, it wasn’t so bad. I made a fuss, but that’s always the best way, then they get too excited to do it properly. Are you Violet?’

  ‘Yes,’ Violet answered, ‘and this is Nich.’

  ‘Hi,’ Tammy said, nodding to Nich and then turning back to Violet. ‘Is it you who had an octopus tattoo done, like mine?’

  She turned as she spoke, displaying her bottom. Violet swallowed as she saw the flushed pink skin, realising that not only had the old man spanked her, but that he had done it recently. The tattoo also had a raw, recent appearance, suggesting it had only just been filled in.

  ‘Yes, mine’s purple. It’s a bit scabby now, but I’ll show you later. You’re coming up to the Wythman, aren’t you?’

  ‘To dance?’ Nich asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Tammy responded. ‘So why did you get the tattoo?’

  ‘Yasmin saw yours,’ Violet answered. ‘It sounded really cool, so I got one myself, from this old guy down by the docks.’

  ‘I went to get mine redone. That’s where I met Mr Hobbers.’

  ‘And you let him spank you, a dirty old man like that? Why?’

  ‘I suspect I know,’ Nich put in.

  Juliana stood at the highest point of the barrow, looking out to where the sun was sinking in the west. Elune was beside her, also lost in reflection, indifferent to the gathering crowds. Inside her excitement was rising, and occasionally her eyes would flick to where Lily was standing, pensive and obviously embarrassed by the cheerful throng of pagans and other partygoers.

  They had spoken, and Lily had admitted to dreaming, shyly at first, giving no details, and then in greater depth as both she and Elune had admitted to the same experiences. Lily was now fascinated, and by the time they had reached the summit of Aldon Hill she had been talking openly, of the dreams, of her feelings, and of the man Edward Gardner, who ruled her. She had even been persuaded to remain at the party, and Juliana’s sense of hope had risen until her throat felt tense and her stomach weak. One thing alone spoiled her pleasure: the absence of Aileve — yet in turn this increased her determination.

  She turned from the glare of the sun, letting her eyes run over the gathering crowd. Most wore bright, revealing clothes, many had body jewellery, a colourful display that suggested an ease of spirit very far from the Christian rigidity. Moreover, there were many symbols on display, few of which she recognised, but which were clearly not related to the cross or fish symbol.

  A voice called out her name, then Linnet’s, and she saw Thomazina climbing over the stile, with others, a man and two women. As the group approached she saw the man’s earrings, red enamel and eight-pointed, each point set with tiny flecks of gold. One girl was dark, the other pale, but with purple hair and amethysts set in her ears, nose and belly. Around her navel purple symbols had been tattooed, in Greek script.

  With her pulse racing she watched them approach, then cast Thomazina a questioning look, which was answered with a smile. The other three broke off, towards where the control system for the party was being set up, Thomazina walking on alone and climbing the mound to join them.

  ‘Who are they?’ Elune
demanded, Juliana echoing the question.

  ‘She is a dreamer, the purple-haired one,’ Thomazina answered, her voice bubbling over with excitement. ‘She has a tattoo, like mine, but purple to suit her taste.’

  ‘What have you told her?’

  ‘A little. She is already intrigued; I think she is caught. Tonight, when we have danced, they will perform a ritual. The man is a heathen, a priest of some sort.’

  ‘A pagan, Thomazina,’ Elune corrected. ‘What of the ritual?’

  ‘He would not say. It is pagan, it can only do good.’

  Elune nodded. Juliana looked to find the purple-haired girl. She was with the others, by the front of the mound, talking to Lily. Beyond, a group of people were approaching: a small man with a brush of greying hair, other, younger men and a woman. The woman was tall, elegant, her face a delicate oval in a frame of jet-black hair, her expression detached, almost ethereal, and familiar. She looked up, her eyes meeting Juliana’s, and the last doubt vanished: it was Aileve. Juliana nudged Elune, who gave a delighted squeak. Thomazina waved, and, as the people who had been with her stopped, Aileve came forward, climbing the mound.

  ‘Where have you been?’ Elune demanded. ‘We thought you lost, or worse.’

  ‘I have been in Exeter,’ Aileve answered, then bent to kiss each of them in turn, ‘and for now I am Dr Alice Chaswell, a much-respected expert on medieval archaeology. Those with me are my colleagues, Professor Cobb and others. Tomorrow we open the Wythman.’

  ‘Open the temple!’

  ‘Indeed, and why not? Surely it is a better contrivance than our last attempt.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose, but how did you manage this? To join the people who are going to open the temple?’

  ‘How did I manage it?’ Aileve answered. ‘I arranged it. I, while you have been cunting the length of the sleeve and more, have been working for our Lord.’

  ‘He has no understanding of such things,’ Elune replied tartly. ‘Also, I’m sure that the word ‘‘cunting’’ is neither current nor polite.’

  ‘No, but it describes your behaviour,’ Aileve went on,

  ‘and his understanding is irrelevant: liege duty is liege duty.’

  ‘Well I think you’ve done jolly well,’ Thomazina broke in, ‘but we’ve not been dallying, or at least I’ve not. I have permission for us to dance tonight, nude. It is sure to bring someone.’

  ‘With the way closed?’

  ‘Maybe. It can be opened.’

  ‘And doubtless we will be caught again and I will be molested by fat policemen. My way is better.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Elune admitted. ‘In any case, I am happy you are with us. Tonight will now be as it should.’

  ‘Two dream,’ Juliana stated. ‘A wild young girl with purple hair and jewels in her flesh. She has taken a tattoo, showing him, a replica of Thomazina’s.’

  ‘She is called Violet,’ Thomazina added, ‘and is already heathen. She has adopted the name Ianthe as deity. She says it is for a sea nymph.’

  ‘Wonderful, and the other?’

  ‘The other is shy and sweet, and she is drawn to him, without doubt. The girl beside your friends, with the pale hair.’

  ‘Lily Tompkins?’

  ‘Yes, Lily. She came to us this morning. You know her?’

  ‘She is a student, studying ancient sites, and will be with us tomorrow. If she dreams she is caught, surely.’

  Lily responded to Professor Cobb’s introductions with a pleased smile. It was impossible not to feel privileged, with so many of those whose work she had studied talking to her as an equal. Not only Cobb, but Alice Chaswell, whose ability to find lost medieval sites was legendary, and who also, to Lily’s surprise, seemed to know the girls she had met that morning.

  ‘…sometime before 3000 BC,’ Cobb was saying in response to a question. ‘My guess is as much as five hundred years previously; Alice thinks earlier still. Possibly we will be able to obtain more accurate datings.’

  ‘If old Wilmot has left anything to go on,’ another put in.

  ‘His excavation was fairly cursory,’ Cobb replied. ‘So Alice assures me. He expected a burial chamber, a typical kistvaen, and when he found nothing in the central chamber he assumed anything of value had been taken and gave up. I think we can hope for a great deal.’

  ‘So what would these people have been like?’ Lily asked, gesturing at the mound.

  ‘We know very little,’ Cobb answered. ‘They left no written records and little other than their stone artefacts remain. They seem to have been polytheistic, and great temple builders, as the Wythman attests. We do know they were small, from the dimensions of their huts and what few skeletal remains have been found, also dark-haired and delicate. In fact, look at the little girl Alice is talking to, in the yellow dress. To them she would have been tall, but not atypical.’

  ‘I know her actually,’ Lily put in. ‘She’s a grown woman.’

  ‘She is?’ Cobb answered. ‘Then she may well have more than a normal share of pre-Celtic genes. She could have walked into the settlement at Grimspound and been thought no more than an attractive stranger.’

  ‘So they interbred with the Celts?’

  ‘To some extent. Genetic studies of the populations in the West Country and Ireland indicate as much. Nothing is known for certain, although there is one piece of amusing speculation.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Pure speculation, it really is, no more, but it has been suggested that the Celtic legends of pixies, fairies and so forth derive from their contact with their forerunners. It is easy to imagine. The pre-Celts were small and seem to have been peaceful agrarians. You can imagine their shock when the Celts arrived, far larger, warlike and temperamental. They would have been quickly pushed back from the more fertile land, on to Dartmoor and other high places. To the incoming Celts they would have seemed shy, elusive people, tiny and with no shared language. It is easy to see they might have been thought supernatural.’

  ‘I see, and when they died out the legends persisted.’

  ‘Absolutely. Again it is purest speculation, but the legends may even give a hint to their character. Pixies are portrayed as unnaturally agile and full of mischief, leading people into bogs, spoiling milk, even stealing babies. Who knows? There may be some truth behind it, although it can hardly be considered as scientific evidence.’

  ‘It’s a nice story, anyway,’ Lily replied. ‘Actually, Professor Cobb, I was wondering if I might ask you a favour. The man over there, with the red hair in a ponytail… He’s a Mr Mordaunt, who is a keen amateur with a special interest in the Wythman barrow. I promised I’d ask if he might join us to watch the dig.’

  ‘Certainly,’ Cobb answered. ‘We could always do with an extra hand, as long as he knows his stuff and doesn’t pinch anything.’

  ‘I’m sure he’ll be fine,’ she answered. ‘Shall I introduce you now?’

  Cobb nodded and she went to Nich, who proved eager for the introduction. He was quickly accepted, exerting his full charm and knowledge on Professor Cobb and the others. Alice Chaswell rejoined the group and began to talk to Lily, comparing the map of the mound with how she herself imagined it had once looked. Somewhat in awe of the young woman’s reputation, she found herself filling with girlish pride at being singled out, only for the feeling to be replaced with trepidation as Ed appeared, walking towards them. Glancing at her watch, she realised that she should have been at his house, making his tea.

  ‘There you are,’ he announced. ‘I thought I’d find you up here. Aren’t you going to introduce me to your colleagues?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Lily stammered. ‘Dr Chaswell, this is Edward Gardner.’

  ‘Her fiancé,’ Ed added. ‘Call me Ed. Lil said you were coming today. Digging up some old bones, eh?’

  ‘Excavating the barrow,’ Lily said hurriedly. ‘It’s not really bones we’re after, more things like post holes. But this is Professor Cobb, Mr Mordaunt I think you’ve met…’


  She went on, introducing the others. Ed scowled at Nich, who answered the look with a cold stare. Now feeling uneasy and embarrassed, she tried to return to her conversation with Alice Chaswell, only to have Ed place a proprietorial arm around her shoulder.

  ‘You must excuse Lil and I,’ he said. ‘We really must be getting back to the town.’

  Lily let herself be steered away, wanting to remonstrate but knowing exactly what Ed’s response would be. He pulled her towards the stile, his grip tightening on her arm as they moved away from the group around the barrow.

  ‘Ow, Ed, I’m coming,’ she managed as his fingers pinched into the soft flesh of her arm.

  ‘You bet you are,’ he answered. ‘Jesus, I’ve never seen such a bunch of dropouts and weirdos, and the eggheads are as bad. What a waste of taxpayers’ money!’

  ‘It’s important research.’

  ‘Important research? Bollocks more like. You’re lucky you found me, or you’d have ended up like that. I can just see you, a right little egg bonce you’d make!’

  ‘But that’s what I want to be, an archaeologist. Like Dr Chaswell. She’s brilliant.’

  ‘No wife of mine spends half her life up to her fanny in dirt. Drop it, and I don’t want to hear another word.’

  ‘But Ed…’

  ‘Do you want a slap?’

  ‘No, Ed, I’m sorry.’

  ‘That’s more like my Lil. Now look, a woman’s privileged to be with me, but to be with me she’s got to know her place, and like they say, that’s barefoot, pregnant and in the kitchen. Now come on.’

  ‘What about the party? There’ll be food. Why don’t we stay?’

  ‘With that bunch of weirdos? You’ve got to be fucking joking. No, my girl, you’re coming home, making my tea, and then it’s upstairs and panties off, and that way you stay. Any argument and you get a slap. I’m an easy-going guy, Lil, but I mean it: I won’t take any shit. Besides, Jeff and his boys are going to raid the place and I don’t want you in the cells with a load of drugged-up weirdies.’