Black Lipstick Kisses (24 page)

Michael sighed.

‘Sodomised by the Devil. That I have to draw.'

‘I'll pose, just find me a Devil.'

He laughed. We'd come to Sir Barnaby's tomb, and he was looking at the knight, as if expecting to find some clue in the intricate carving. There was a prickling sensation between my legs, and at the back of my
neck, which went with the sense of disapproval emanating from the tomb and made me feel naughtier still. I couldn't help but wonder if Michael would be able to feel it, perhaps at orgasm, perhaps.

‘Turn around, I'm going to suck your cock.'

Not surprisingly, he turned. I went down, squatting on the tiles, knees wide in front of him. Talking about rude things had already had its effect, his dick swollen in his trousers, and I quickly released him, into my hand, then my mouth, taking in the scent and taste of man as I began to suck. He took my head, stroking my hair as his cock grew in my mouth and the sense of pompous disapproval grew in my mind, but also regret and lust.

As I sucked I worked on Michael's trousers, opening them and tugging them down, to get at him properly, my hands taking his neat buttocks, my mouth working on his cock and now his balls too. He gasped as I took them in my mouth, sucking deep and licking, my passion rising at his taste, and the feel of him, and the delicious rudeness of what I was doing.

I was trembling as I slipped my fingers down between my legs and into my knickers. As I entered myself I took his cock back into my mouth as deep as I could, thinking of how it would feel inside me, and wondering if I dared invite him to penetrate my bottom. The answer came immediately. Not to was prudish, weak, and unadventurous. I wanted it. My pussy was wet, ready for cock, my fingers already deep in, and coming out juicy. The naughtiest possible feeling hit me as I pushed them back, to find the tight ring between my cheeks and to open myself, slipping in, and up.

The sense of outrage that hit me as I penetrated my
own bottom pushed away the last of my indecision. I began to finger myself and to suck harder on Michael's cock, now fully erect. He was getting urgent, his fingers locked in my hair, maybe ready to come. I took a last, lingering suck and pulled back, leaving his beautiful cock rock hard and shiny wet.

He looked impossibly thick, adding a fresh thrill of fear I rocked back. For a moment more I was playing with myself, Michael watching and toying with his erection, and then I was pulling my panties down, kicking them off, pulling my dress high to bare myself completely. He took me in his arms as I stood, his cock rock hard against my belly. We kissed as his hands went lower, to cup my bottom, lifting me, and I was on his cock, sighing into his mouth as my pussy filled.

I took a firm hold, bouncing on his cock and thinking of my bottom hole, open and juicy behind. It would have been just the moment for the Devil to appear, right behind me, Michael holding me tight as my bottom was stuffed full of thick hot cock. I had to do it, as best I could, now, before Michael came in my pussy. I began to wriggle, trying to get off, but he had me tight, his pushes now urgent as he fucked me. Suddenly I was gasping.

‘No, Michael, not yet. Bend me over . . . do it . . . do it, Michael, up my bottom.'

He grunted, his teeth gritted as he lifted me from his erection. I'd asked for it, surrender, and it was going to happen, now. He turned me over, so easily, my body a toy in his hands, and bent me down, across the stone knight, the marble cold against my breasts and belly. My bottom came high, open, his cock touched between my cheeks, to my anus, and I was shivering with fear
and desire, my head hung down, my breathing heavy and my mouth wide as he pushed and for the first time in my life I felt my bottom hole spread open around the head of a man's penis. I was gasping immediately, overwhelmed not just by the sensation, but by the delicious, rude, inappropriate act, something good girls just do not do, only bad, dirty little imps. It did hurt, as he put the full length slowly up, a numbing heavy pain that had me clutching onto the statue and Sir Barnaby laughing in my face. I clung on, determined to take it, whimpering into the cold stone, my teeth gritted, until at last I felt his balls push to my empty pussy and knew he was right in.

My mouth was wide, my jaw shaking uncontrollably, my whole body loose, helpless as he began to push into me. Slowly my pain began to die away, leaving me feeling so full, and so wanton, holding the thought of what he was doing to me in my head, a man's cock actually up my bottom hole, and bent across a tomb as I was buggered.

It could as well have been the Devil, dark and handsome like Michael, or huge and red, demonic in his passion, laughing as he buggered me, as he came up my bottom. Suddenly I was snatching at my pussy, the image bright in my mind. Sir Barnaby's cruel laughter turned to outrage as I focussed and began to rub, imagining Michael as the Devil, my bottom hole stretched taut around his huge cock shaft.

He was pushing hard, his balls bumping my pussy, helping me up towards climax as I dabbed and flicked at my clit. I pictured myself, spread bare over the stone knight, bottom high and penetrated, a big, powerful man working himself into my straining anus, his face
set in demonic glee. Michael or the Devil, it didn't matter. They were one and the same, in me, buggering me, about to come in me, up my bottom . . .

As the orgasm hit me I screamed with all the force of my lungs. I felt myself tighten on his cock, and then I was bucking frantically against him, wriggling my bottom and snatching at my pussy, clawing at the stone and screaming over and over, on and on. I heard him grunt, felt the final jerk of his cock inside me and I knew he'd come too, kicking my ecstasy up one more notch, my screams louder still, and dying, my body going slowly limp to the sound of Michael's breathing and the alarmed fluttering of the pigeons.

Even when it was over and he had pulled out I felt too weak to stand. He helped me up, taking me into his arms for a long lingering kiss, until my legs stopped shaking. I was dizzy with reaction, sore and trembling, and let him support me back to the vestry. Only when I was in the sink with my poor bottom immersed in cool water did I manage to turn my mind to anything but the immediately practical.

Michael was watching me as I washed, grinning, thoroughly pleased with himself and by my reaction. I was feeling a little shy, but generally happy, for the sake of my pleasure, the experience, and the new bond of intimacy it made between us. It did occur to me that given what we'd done, and what had been in my head, I might have expected to repeat my Satanic experience, but it was Michael who posed the question.

‘Did you feel anything? Spiritually, that is?'

‘Yes, Sir Barnaby, but only as I expected to. I was picturing you as the Devil when I came.'

He laughed.

‘I am the Devil, haven't you figured that out yet?'

‘I wish. Didn't you feel anything of Sir Barnaby? Maybe a sense of moral outrage, or his amusement at my pain?'

‘No, sorry. It hurt then?'

‘Of course it hurt! But . . . in a nice way, at least once you were in. I'm glad we did it anyway. It's only a pity you don't seem to have my empathy. I wish I could convince you.'

‘Oh I believe you experience what you say, absolutely.'

‘Yes, but nothing more. You think it's just in my head, don't you?'

‘I wouldn't put it that strongly. I just feel you should examine alternative explanations for your experiences.'

‘Whatever. You made me doubt myself anyway, because what happened with Sir Barnaby related so much more closely to your Goat of Mendes story than to his personality.'

‘Right.'

‘I looked, and I could find no evidence whatsoever to suggest that he was a Satanist, or anything of the sort. So I set up an experiment. Stephen helped me, by taking me to a cemetery I'd never visited before.'

‘I would have taken you.'

For the first time he sounded a little hurt.

‘Sorry, Michael, I would have asked you, normally, but I couldn't. I . . . I feel too intimate with you, and I had to be safe, but alone. You'd have put ideas into my head too. Stephen was right, because I knew he'd do as he was told but it wouldn't mean anything to him. Other than the kinky stuff, he's very straight down the line, candlelight dinners and soft music. Anyway, he
set everything up for me, black candles, a pentacle. I was blindfolded, and he left me to commune. It worked.'

‘It worked! For certain?'

‘Absolutely certain. I didn't mean to tell you, I'd hoped I could prove it to you, just now.'

‘I'm sorry, Dusk. You have no idea how much I yearn to be able to experience something like that, but I can't, not me. I've tried everything, believe me, seances, ouija board, I've even attended a Black Mass, of a sort. I've never felt anything, but if my doubt has made you explore further, that can only be a good thing. So what happened?'

‘The man was an ancestor of his, Richard Byrne, a fanatical puritan. To him I was a witch, which is presumably the way he would see me. I felt his hatred, so strong it almost overwhelmed me. He pulled me in too, the same way I was pulled into the Satanic ritual, only to a village where I was to be drowned, for heresy I imagine.'

‘And you had no idea it was his tomb?'

‘None at all. I didn't even know where I was. Sure, I'd tried to second guess Stephen, I couldn't help it, but I know his sense of humour, and I thought it would be some politician whose principles he disagreed with. Do you believe me?'

‘I don't doubt you for a moment, and I certainly can't explain it, although I admit I'd like to. So you have some empathy with . . . with ghosts, some resonance people leave when they die perhaps?'

‘Something like that. It's certainly not physical, or I'd have been soaking wet and half-drowned. It was pretty scary.'

‘I can imagine, like a nightmare only more real.'

‘Exactly, like a dream, but only once I'd been pulled in. Normally I'm very detached, otherwise it doesn't work, but I'm aware of myself, and of the person who's in my head.'

‘Like thinking to yourself, perhaps when you're trying to decide whether or not to go somewhere, buy something perhaps?'

‘No, dearer than that, more as if somebody's talking to me but I can't see them. No, that's not right, because it's the emotion I feel.'

‘There are no words?'

‘Never.'

‘So it's as if it's the essence of the person that's in your head?'

‘Yes, usually. Always in fact, except for that once. My first experience with Sir Barnaby still makes no sense, and when I tried to reproduce it I couldn't, not just now, but as a communion, mounted on the knight.'

‘You didn't feel anything?'

‘No, I felt plenty. I just didn't feel anything relating to Satanism.'

‘OK, let's look at this from a scientific point of view. In what way did your first experience differ from the second?'

‘Two ways. The second time I kept my head clear and I had doubts about the reality of my experience.'

‘But you felt something?'

‘Yes, what I'd have expected to feel from Sir Barnaby as I understand his character: pompous disapproval and a desire to control. So it was inconclusive.'

‘And you've . . . communed you call it, with your head clear before?'

‘Yes, lots of times. On Eliza Dobson's tomb, for instance.'

‘I remember we spoke about it. So was there any other difference, however slight? What do you put in black candles for instance?'

‘Nothing heavy, just a blend of incenses.'

‘Nothing hallucinogenic?'

‘No. I did try skunk, but I can't really afford it. It spoils the scent too.'

‘So that shouldn't make any difference, unless it's auto-suggestion.'

‘Auto-suggestion?'

‘Making people associate two things by habit rather than because they are actually associated. Like when you hear a particular type of music you know there's an ice-cream van about, but you don't need that to make ice-cream, or the ice-cream to play that music.'

‘You could say that, sure. I've got used to the incense when I commune, so now the scent makes me ready for communion. OK, but that doesn't account for the Satanic bit.'

‘No, not really. What else? You weren't ill at all? It wasn't an exceptionally hot day? Anything odd in the environment the first time? Anything different in you?'

I tried to think, and he was right. There was a difference.

‘Yes. The first time I'd been trying to commune with Isaac Foyle, as an act of atonement, but I was overcome by a need to be dirty, and cruel to myself. It was only afterwards I realised I was against Sir Barnaby's tomb. The second time I rode the knight on top of the tomb.'

‘So your experience might not have related to Sir Barnaby at all, but to somebody else?'

‘Yes, I suppose so, but who? There's no stone there, just bare tiles, if you're thinking there might be a grave beneath the floor. There's the crypt, of course, but it
doesn't extend that far out, only under the nave and chancel.'

‘Let's go down anyway.'

‘Sure, just let me dress.'

I didn't expect much, but still hurried to dress. Michael's grin was truly demonic as he watched me apply cream to my sore bottom, and I made a point of pressing a big altar candle to the seat of his trousers when I was finished, just to remind him that he was not inviolate. Once in my cleaning overalls and old boots, I got together as many candles as I could, lit two and we trooped down to the crypt.

As ever, after the Gothic glory of the main body of the church it looked depressing and sleazy. I hadn't been down since showing Michael when we'd first met, and in the meantime another section of the false ceiling had come loose, making it more dilapidated than ever. Michael lifted a candle to peer into the space, illuminating the original bricks with flickering orange light, the fourfold curve of a ceiling arch and a boss carved as a star.