Wild Irish Girl

by C. B. Halverson

  Mine.

  He looked away, drifting away through the crowd.

  I leaned down, pinching her harder. Her nails dug into my silk tunic, and I whispered in Arabic. “I’m going to bury myself inside of you.”

  My heart raced, the freedom of another language giving me the kind of liberty I had never known. She let out a long exhale, her hand slipping to the waistband of my trousers, lingering in the V between my abdomen and my cock.

  “I’m going to drench you in my come, my Irish goddess,” I said, again in Arabic, recalling some of my education back in the brothels with Weston. Those beautiful ladies had taught me all their dirty words. And their even dirtier deeds.

  Her backside pressed into my thighs, and I rubbed my cock up and down the small of her spine, my movements slight, fractional. I moved with the rhythm of the crowd as it swayed gently to the drumming, building and building, faster and faster.

  “Watch and imagine all the terrible things I want to do to you.” I palmed her breast, my fingers spreading wide across the tender flesh.

  A gong sounded and the naked women in the crowd pushed their way through the black-robed figures, surrounding the platform with their heads bent in submission. They began to chant in broken Greek.

  Audrey’s keen mind caught all of it repeating the incantation under her breath. “Dionysus,” she whispered. Then she belted out a laugh that startled me. “Goodness, these ladies need a new tutor.”

  I took hold of her nipple again, and she twisted her neck to look up to me. I saw her sly smile out of the corner of my eye, but I kept my attention rapt on the women who danced wildly around the priestess. Their hands waved in the air, their legs twisting and turning across the marble floor in perfect choreographed movements. Audrey was smart. Well read. She knew what would happen next.

  “I hope the ritual is a bit more accurate than their Greek,” she said, as if reading my mind.

  I stifled a laugh into her hair. God, she smelled like late summer. Like lemon cake. Like something hot and humid. Like sex.

  She pressed her hand over mine, and her hips shifted, parting her legs beneath her black skirts. Taking hold of my other hand, she brought it down, down across the silky fabric until finally pressing it against her mound. She was such a demanding little thing, but I refused to give her what she wanted. I wanted to wait. I wanted her to see. Her hand settled over mine, and I buried my fingers deeper between her legs…and then stilled. She pressed, but I was stronger, and I remained firm, emitting a low sound of warning in my throat.

  The priestess gave a speech in Greek, but my mind drifted far away, still teasing Audrey’s sweet little nipple. Around us, the members of the Gathering danced and swayed, gulping down red wine by the gallons. Some of the revelers openly kissed and fondled, but not us. I wouldn’t make a spectacle of my wild Irish girl. Beneath my domino and her skirts, I would seek out her hot sex and claim it for my own.

  But not yet.

  The dancing women stilled with the second ring of the gong, and they gathered in a wide circle. From the doors at the other end of the chamber, a loud roaring began, and the male initiates entered. Satyr masks covered their faces, their bodies oiled, making their chiseled muscles gleam like marble. Their cocks dangled loose, some at half-mast as they danced and fondled the female initiates. The women remained still as the men’s hands ran up and down their hips, cupped their breasts, sucked on their necks. The drummers pounded, the sound reverberating in my chest, and the satyrs grew braver, stroking their hardened cocks against the women, rubbing them against their thighs, the clefts of their backsides. The female initiates never moved, and if they felt any pleasure, their masks never revealed it.

  Audrey’s body stiffened at the sight of the male horde, and I teased her mound, reminding her of my presence. She would have nothing to worry about as long as I was there. I would not let another man touch her.

  And what happens after tonight?

  I pushed down the sudden flare of rage. The hard reality. Dr. Joseph Moorland. Son of a grocer. Not enough money to keep a wife. Not enough to keep a woman such as Audrey Byrnes.

  But she had said it herself. She never wanted to marry. She had loved someone once, but who was he? And how had Castlevane taken him away from her?

  I realized I had grasped too hard, and my hand softened against her breast. Had I hurt her?

  She reached up and pressed my hand against her chest in response. Hidden in her skirts, her fingers inched up across the back of my palm and beneath the cuff of my tunic. She traced lazy circles around the inside of my wrist even as she undulated her backside ever so slightly against me. I let out a low moan beneath my breath, my sac heavy in my loose trousers. I wanted to throw her down on the floor and take her right then, but I breathed in a deep inhale, appeasing myself by inching deeper between her thighs.

  Another gong sounded, and my chest tightened, the third stage of initiation about to begin. The drumming stopped, and an abrupt silenced filled the hall before the priestess began her chanting again. The satyrs found their places in the circle, their chins held high, and the squeaky sound of wheels echoed across the marble walls. Four satyrs pushed a platform out onto the floor. Four carved planks created a wide square, and a young, masked woman dangled from it, her arms and legs spread wide. Even with her mask, she was blindfolded and gagged, her ash blond hair hanging in loose waves across her breasts.

  Audrey grabbed my arm, and took a small step forward. Always ready for battle.

  “What are they going to do with her?” she hissed, not to me in particular.

  Dislodging my hand from her bodice, I caged her close again, pulling her back beneath my domino. I mumbled something in Arabic, but my heart leapt in my throat. I wanted to tell her so many things. How the women from the Gathering came willingly to be initiated into this silly cult. How this woman was no doubt some bored lady from the aristocracy who couldn’t find pleasure in her own husband otherwise. Weston had spilled all the secrets behind this ridiculous club. Of course some members took it seriously, but for most it was an excuse to indulge in darker appetites.

  I nodded up to the woman tied to the posts, making soothing sounds and running my hand across Audrey’s shoulder. She glanced back at me, peering up through her mask. Her gaze flitted to the woman then back to me. Some understanding passed through her eyes, and she exhaled, settling against me again.

  A slight smile spread across my face, and I whispered in Arabic to her. “You would look so beautiful tied up like that. Perfectly open and undone.”

  She shivered, her spine arching against my cock. Folding her tiny hand over mine, she sent it back to her mound. I grasped at her skirts instead, inching them up. Her chest heaved, her body a ball of fire against me.

  The doors boomed open on the other end of the chamber. Audrey turned and gasped.

  A man stood in the threshold, a giant bull’s head mask balanced on his shoulders, the long horns glinting sharp and firm. A great fur cape covered the man’s shoulders. He wore no other clothes, but carried a black leather flogger in his hands. The bull made its way through the parted crowd, slapping the flogger against his thigh, the snap echoing loud in the chamber.

  The drumming began again, low at first but swelling with each step. Reaching the platform, he paused and stared at the woman dangling there, her body quivering in her bonds. I closed my eyes, imagining Audrey hanging there, her long dark hair down her back. With one hand on her flank, I pressed her hard on my cock. With small movements, she rubbed her backside against me, and I thrust my hips into her again while my fingers clutched on her skirts, moving her petticoats aside. I lingered on her thigh, brushing my hand back and forth.

  Snap.

  The flogger cracked through the air, landing hard against the woman. She lurched forward, her breasts pushed high as she fought against the bonds. Audrey startled, and I responded by pressing my thumb against her clit. She emitted a small whimpering sound, and I grabbed her other hand, guiding it into her bod
ice.

  That’s it. Pleasure yourself, little one.

  I brought her hand over her nipple, showing her what I wanted her to do. She sighed, and I took hold of her fingers, forcing her to pinch and pull and rub. She was pliable, her spine melting in my arms. I dislodged my hand, and wrapped it tight against her waist.

  Snap.

  The flogging went on, a blush creeping up the woman’s body, her back arched. She moaned through her gag, her head lolling.

  Snap.

  The flogger embraced her with its dark tentacles, brushing over her pink skin before the bull brought it down again.

  Audrey stared ahead in wonder even as she massaged herself beneath her cloak. She emitted tiny mewling sounds with each crack of the flogger, and the sound of it almost sent me over the edge as I pushed against her backside.

  My fingers explored her, her opening so hot and wet. I groaned and slipped a finger inside her, barely a hairsbreadth. But enough.

  Audrey’s body shook with a sharp spasm, and I caught her close in my arm. I shoved another finger inside, but didn’t move. Instead, I allowed her sex to expand around me, to pulse and contract. I didn’t want her to come too soon.

  The flogging continued, and the drumming swelled, joined in now by the organ. All the attention remained focused on the platform, but the smell of sex and desire filled the air with a musky, heady scent. The dark figures began pairing up, caressing themselves or each other. Pretty soon, the floor would be a frenzy of lust-filled bodies, but the show hadn’t climaxed yet.

  I moved my fingers deeper inside Audrey, curling them and massaging her inner walls with the slightest of movements. I emptied her, spreading her wetness across her folds before reaching her tiny nub of pleasure, massaging it before sliding my fingers back into her again. The rhythm continued with the hard slap of the flogger, and she slinked her body against mine, the teasing motion of her hips making me impossibly hard.

  The bull roared on the platform, waving the flogger in the air. A gong sounded, and the women came forth this time, untying the initiate and folding her in their arms. She staggered forwards, her body a map of bright red stripes. They placed her face down on an altar, kissing her and caressing her the whole time. Her long hair fanned around her, and someone produced a basket of flowers, casting petals all over her body.

  The bull roared again, and the drumming reaching a fever pitch. The women pranced away, leaving the woman alone and spread eagled before its towering figure. The initiate rolled her hips into the altar, inviting the bull to take her. He grabbed onto her flank, pulling her to her knees.

  “Is this what she wants?” Audrey breathed. “In front of all these people?”

  I grabbed her tight in response and dug my fingers in deeper, impaling her, forcing her on her tiptoes. Her muscles tightened and then released, her walls pulsing around me. I longed to ask her what she wanted, to hear her desires pass across her lips. The dirtier the better. The need for this woman overwhelmed me, driving a fever to my brain. I let out a deep breath, and it tickled her cheek. She nestled the side of her face into my shoulder, and I moved my fingers quicker inside her. Her knees buckled, and I propped her up with my arm, nudging her to remind her to keep teasing her nipple. Another small moan escaped her lips, and I inserted another finger inside, spreading her wide.

  We stared up at the platform, and Audrey caught her breath as the bull grabbed onto his swollen phallus, stroking the skin back and forth in preparation for the final stage of the initiation. Gripping onto her hips, he rammed himself inside with a great roar, the music and the drumming swallowing his bestial cries. I thrust my cock hard into Audrey’s back, gritting my teeth and trying not come against my trousers. My fingers dug deeper into her, spearing her, her body molding to mine. Her hips gyrated, her body lost in the fucking, the drumming, the hollow organ music. I clutched onto her waist and forced her to bend to me, to give in to the pleasure.

  On the platform, the bull rammed into the initiate with frantic thrusts. Like an animal, he pounded the girl, her backside quivering with each brutal stab of his cock. The bull threw his head back and howled, and the initiate’s body shook with spasms on the altar, writhing in ecstasy.

  I plunged as deep as my hand would allow into Audrey, and she let out a moan, her spine arching. A shaking began in her knees and swallowed up her limbs until she collapsed against me, her orgasm spent completely.

  The bull raised his hands, his spent cock still buried in the initiate. He shouted something in Greek, and the satyrs and naked women swarmed them, the orgy officially beginning. Naked servants brought out endless jugs of wine, and the sound of sucking, slurping, kissing consumed the chamber, the music blaring in my ears.

  Audrey’s pulse slowed, and with the gentlest of motions, I slipped my fingers out of her, forcing her to face me. Her eyes glittered through her porcelain mask, her full lips parted. I folded my arms around her, planting a kiss on the curve of her neck.

  Her eyes grazed around the room, taking in the bodies contorting and writhing in the candlelight. She shook her head and looked up at me. Her hand slipped down my trousers and she grabbed my cock, her small fingers gripping me hard. “Let us find a quiet place. Alone.”

  Chapter 5

  Audrey

  The words slipped out of my mouth, and I resisted the urge to bite down on my lip. My poor mother must have been rolling in her grave, but I had no thought of sin or proprietary or decorum in that moment. My body ached for Saeed, the silent, towering man bending over me. He had barely said a word, and I had parted my thighs for him, let him stroke me, invade me. There was no end to my madness for this man.

  Refusing to turn back, I squeezed his cock, and he raised his face to the ceiling, his fingers digging into my back. It didn’t matter anymore what happened. Morning would come, and we would be as we were. The sultan. The penniless writer. In no universe could such a union be possible, but only in this space, in this echoing marble chamber with the smell of sex all around us, could our paths intertwine. All I wanted was to escape, pull him into that dim hallway beyond, do the things the bull had done to the initiate. I had come for him, but it wasn’t enough. Not if tonight was all it would be.

  He took my hand and turned on his heel, pulling me through the throng of twisting bodies. His palm shifted and he laced his fingers in mine, our hands clicking into place. The room tilted, and the floor fell away from my feet, all the sound in the room shut out with the pounding of my racing heart. I closed my eyes, and for a brief moment a profound sense of belonging overwhelmed me. Belonging to this man. This quiet man leading me away from everything. This desire. The need of our bodies to be close. Closer. Closest. It was all I knew. I thought then that it would be all I would ever know again. After everything.

  After Charles.

  I stopped in my tracks, memories of Charles flashing in my mind. Oh god. What was I doing? I had given myself up to this man. Made myself vulnerable to such terrible feelings. Love and longing.

  No, Audrey.

  I let go of Saeed’s hand, the pounding of the drumming roaring back. I found myself standing alone amidst a sea of writhing, darkly shrouded bodies, like beetles on a corpse. A cold sweat drenched my skin, and my chest tightened, the room whirling.

  Someone grabbed my shoulder, and I turned with a start, coming face to face with a grotesque mask.

  “Have you seen Lady Elliot?” a muffled voice called behind it.

  I blinked, pressing my hand to my neck as recognition washed over me. Lord Weston.

  “I thought she was with you,” I said.

  “I went for more wine, and when I returned she was gone.”

  “Oh dear.” My skin prickled, my heart pounding. Gazing across the room, I strained my eyes, seeking out Christine. I should never have left her alone. I had focused all my attention on the sultan and forgotten my whole reason for being there, to protect her, to make sure she didn’t get into trouble.

  A commotion drew my eye to the corner of the roo
m, and I spotted a group of satyrs pushing Christine’s frail body into an alcove. She stumbled, her head lolling.

  Without a thought, I broke into a sprint, dodging and diving through the gyrating crowd. I bumped into a man’s elbow, his wine drenching my cloak, but I pumped my legs faster, trying to reach Christine.

  I grasped one of the satyr’s shoulders and whirled him around. My hand clenched into a fist.

  “Get off her!”

  I slammed my knuckles straight into his jaw, and the satyr staggered back. He flailed, and I tried to duck his fists, but he sent me flying into a pillar. My head exploded in pain, and I collapsed to the ground. Somewhere, a woman screamed, and the sound of trampling footsteps crowded the room. I shook my head, trying to see through my mask, cracked and askew. Something warm dripped down my temple, and I pressed my hand to it. Blood. I was bleeding.

  I peered through the haze, trying to get to my feet, but my legs refused to work.Christine reached out to me even as the satyrs dragged her from the chamber, and I screamed, “No!”

  I blinked, the room floating and shifting like a kaleidoscope. The sultan and Lord Weston appeared, fists pounding on the satyrs. Saeed shoved one into the wall, and his porcelain mask shattered, blood splattering across the marble. The man slumped against the floor, and Saeed dug his heel into his belly with a snarl. Another satyr swung at him, and he ducked, grasping the young man around his waist and throwing him to the ground. His fist pumped into the satyr’s chest like a sledgehammer. Christine’s attacker squealed, throwing his hand over his head and curling into a tight ball.

  Lord Weston had grabbed Christine, and I reached out to them, my hand appearing double. A pair of strong arms lifted me up, and I cried out. But then the smell of clove and cardamom hit me, and I looked up into the eyes of the sultan. He shrugged through the crowd, the masked bodies parting for the large man. A great roar sounded behind us, and his pace quickened. He shoved open a door with his foot, and we pounded down the stairs. I took in great gasps of cold air, the ache behind my forehead turning to a crushing vise.