Bad Penny (34 page)

I shut my eyes and groaned, waiting to be ravished. I sensed him mount the altar, then the fur of his legs touched my thighs and a clawed hand brushed my breast. Then something was pushing against my vagina, something huge and rubbery. I could feel his sperm oozing into my vagina as he pushed, stretching me, opening me. My teeth were gritted as my flesh stretched around the head of his cock, which must have been at least the size of my fist. For a moment, I wasn't sure I could take it; but in it went, making me gasp out loud. He was filling me, easing it slowly into my vagina, the sperm dripping out and down between my bottom-cheeks to mingle with the mead and my own juices.

He mounted me, the big breasts squashing against my little ones, warm and undoubtedly real. His fur tickled as he began to ride me with long, controlled strokes, each one of which caused an eruption of sperm into my vagina and then out to wet my thighs and bottom. All I could do was take it, sighing and panting as I was fucked. His head was against my face, the strong animal scent thick in my nostrils, one glowing eye looking right into mine.

I turned my head to find Poppaea looking on in awe. Of the others there was no sign whatever, but she was reaching out a trembling hand to stroke his back. His humping became faster and I shut my eyes, vaguely aware that she was stroking his bottom. I was almost out of my senses and was wondering how much longer I could stand it when he stopped abruptly. I opened my eyes as the vast cock was pulled from my vagina, which was left gaping, sore and oozing come. Poppaea knelt at his feet as he dismounted, only to be taken by the hair and put back to his cock.

He made her suck for perhaps a minute while my aching body shook and trembled with reaction. Then he threw her roughly over and mounted her from behind. I heard her say one word, again in Gaelic, although the pleading tone was not lost on me. Her pert buttocks were up, open and ready for entry. I saw another spurt of come erupt out over her bottom and the huge cock put to her vagina. He entered her carefully and, although she screamed when it went in, it was ecstasy more than pain. As he rode her she put her face in the dirt, babbling something I couldn't understand and clutching at the grass with her hands.

After perhaps fifty hard thrusts he suddenly pulled out and sent another jet of come over her bottom and back, soiling her hair and even hitting the ground beyond her head. She stayed down, and made no resistance as his great hairy arms lifted her with ease. She groaned and gave a little whimper, perhaps expecting to be carried off. Instead she was lowered on to me, head to tail so that her face was over my pussy and her pussy over my face. He took her head and pushed her into me, then gave her a hard slap on the bottom that sent a spray of come into my face.

She began to lick me as I raised my head, poking my tongue to get at her pretty pink pussy. I could smell her, a musky, feminine scent mixed with the stronger, animal scent of his come. The smell reminded me of leather and sweat, like the smell of a girl who has been beaten with a new leather strap. My tongue found Poppaea's clit, tasting the meaty, salt flavour of his come. It was thick, almost like honey, and spread liberally over her pussy and between her bottom-cheeks. Her own tongue was working on my clit as I lapped, Herne looming over us with his mighty arms folded across his chest.

I came first, Poppaea hitting her climax even as my thigh muscles started to contract around her face. Every muscle in my body was tense, my bottom clenching and my arms and legs straining against the rope as I climaxed, still licking desperately at Poppaea's sex. I hit a second peak, then she was pulling up from me and calling something I couldn't make out. I shut my eyes, determined to lick until she wanted me to stop, despite the pain in my neck muscles and my exhaustion. I could see her bumhole contracting rhythmically in the candlelight as she went through a long, long climax, peaking perhaps four or five times before finally subsiding on to me in a sweaty, juice-smeared heap.

My head fell back to the ferns and I closed my eyes, opening them a moment later to find that we were alone.

Amber had done me proud. I'd expected her to be pretty impressive, but she'd surpassed my most vivid imaginings. The magnificent fake Herne had fooled everyone, even Poppy while she was actually being mounted. Of course, it had been smoky and pretty dim, and she'd been taken from behind, yet she'd also sucked on Amber's splendid strap-on dildo and never realised it was not flesh. It was also just like Amber not to be able to resist the androgynous touches, leaving her breasts and buttocks bare so that she could achieve at least some physical sensation in addition to the mental pleasure of ravishing Poppaea and me. She'd done something there, too, because the fullness of both her breasts and bottom had been more like Ginny's than her own.

I hadn't really expected the other girls to be quite so terrified yet, when they met Poppaea and me at the mini-bus, they were all very apologetic. Ea had watched from the woods and she, even more than the others, was completely in awe of Poppaea. That was what removed any last doubts I might have had about my deception because, although Poppaea was completely exhausted, she was also absolutely glowing. The girls couldn't praise her enough and every one of them now regarded her with an admiration that was akin to worship. I got my share of praise, too, and I admit to revelling in it; yet what I really wanted to do was meet up with Amber and find out just how she had done it so well.

We were supposed to meet at my flat, for which Amber had a key. As it was, Poppaea needed a cuddle so badly that I stayed with her until dawn, only then slipping out of bed and making my way across the city in the first light of morning. Amber wasn't at my flat and, for a horrible moment, I thought she'd got fed up and gone home. Then I realised that nothing whatever had been disturbed and that nobody had been there at all.

The light on my answering machine was blinking, and I pressed the button, expecting to hear Amber saying she'd broken down somewhere between Wales and my flat. As the machine clicked and whirred I was smiling at the image of Amber calling out the RAC in her full Herne the Hunter get-up, but when the tape started it was not her voice, but Ginny's that spoke.

‘Penny, hi, it's Ginny,' her voice sounded. ‘I hope I've caught you in time. Look, Amber can't make it, she's had to go abroad . . .'