Calla tugged at Basil’s brightly coloured cock then and silenced herself as she pulled the slender machine into her mouth.
Baz gasped and steadied herself on the bed with one hand, as Calla’s tongue worked. It felt to me like I was licking her, too, as if somehow, through Calla, Basil’s cock and my tongue were connecting. “Kee-rist . . .” she breathed, the only one of the three of us whose mouth was not busy, and yet she could barely speak. “Wow . . . it’s . . .”
Calla paused to grin up at her. “Is it as good as they say?”
Basil nodded, then must have read the questions in my eyes. “It’s new. She . . . paid for it . . .” and that was all she could say as Calla’s mouth went back to work. It made sense now, the way she kept expecting Glory to invite her to bed. I felt Calla’s clit spasm under my tongue and knew she was close to coming. I increased my pressure and she came while Basil thrust into her mouth, into the fleshy side of her cheek where I saw it bulge. Then I closed my eyes and concentrated on making her come once more, two fingers spiralling in and out of her while my mouth drew her clit in and I clicked my tongue on it. She rewarded me quickly, wailing again as Basil popped free.
I sat up and Calla looked at me, pleadingly, both of them did, and it was easy to see she wanted more of the technocock. Basil and she giggled a bit as we swapped positions, and I shifted around until Calla was sitting up, her back against my chest like two kids on a gravity toboggan. I reached around with my hands to brush her nipples and she arched just as Basil thrust in. Soon she had established a rhythm, and I let the waves of sensation come through her body and into my own cunt. I had tucked my head next to hers and she could turn her head to kiss me on the lips. I closed my eyes and kissed her and rode the wave of Basil’s backbeat for a while. Then she broke away and kissed her, too.
I was startled out of my reverie then by Baz’s lips on mine, her tongue searching urgently for something in my mouth. The Spark fl ared up to meet her hungrily. And then somehow she was climbing past Calla, and the two of them together climbed on to me. Calla lay along one side, kissing my neck and stroking me from breast to the top of my bush, while Basil crushed the erect technocock into the crook of my hip with her body.
“Luna,” she whispered, her throat tightened by desire. “Luna.”
I quivered under her, the echo of the shivering fit I’d had before starting again. I knew if I paused too long . . . I knew I didn’t want to pause too long. Glory and I had played with dildos, the low-tech kind, from time to time – she liked sticking things into my cunt as a way to prove she was in charge – but never anything like this and not in a long time. I crooked one knee up and there was the tool, now glowing blue and green and casting an undersea look on Basil’s face, bumping up against the flesh between my legs. It had looked so slim before as she had pumped Calla’s mouth, but now I wondered if it would hurt when she put it in. I clutched at her sweaty back with one arm, the one that wasn’t trapped by Calla, craving it and fearing it all at the same time, which only stoked the Spark hotter. Calla’s free hand then, it had to be, reached between my legs and opened me wide, and Basil thrust upwards through the slippery juices, then she adjusted her angle and sank into me.
I cried out, not from physical pain but from the sudden memory of the shape of Glory’s hand stuffed into me. Basil’s technocock was nothing like that, conveniently shaped for pleasure but not the rock heart that her fi st had been.
Calla moved then, letting Basil push my knees up, and straddled my face. I licked at her between gasps as she dug her fingers between our bodies to get at my clit. She soon had the loose skin of my labia and bush stretched up taut towards my belly with one hand while the other jabbed in double time over the hard nub. Basil’s thrusts mashed her hand even harder into me and I thrashed my head from side to side. “Harder,” I said through clenched teeth. My body wanted violence, needed it to break through the tense wall of pain that separated me from them. The wall that Glory’s death had erected.
No, I realized. The wall that Glory and I had built bit by bit over the last few years. Basil and Calla obliged, fucking me and frigging me as hard as they could, until I felt the edge of Calla’s finger claw over my clit. “Yes!” She crooked her finger more and I bucked hard against her, Basil now the one along for the ride. The orgasm seemed to radiate along my skin as well as through my insides, doubling back and cresting for a second time as they continued their motions until I went limp.
I was amazed that Basil had not come, but what did I know about how the technology worked? Maybe she had a way to turn it down. She pulled out of me, the tool glistening wet and now throbbing a deep purple, and Calla nearly leaped upon it. Baz obliged, falling on to her back and letting Calla seat herself with the cock deep inside. She moaned and fell forwards for a moment, then sat up erect. Now I could again circle her with my arms and get my fingers on to her clit and nipples.
I don’t know how long it was before she succeeded in making Basil come. All sense of time had long since fl ed. The three of us were just in a groove, where Calla would peak, then I would, using my own fingers when I had to, until eventually she arched and cried out and gripped her by the hips for two last thrusts that set Basil finally into a spasm, while I thrust my own fingers into my empty vagina, trying to remember what Glory’s callouses had felt like.
The two of them were then on me again quickly, Calla burying her face in my muff while Basil hugged me from behind. Then, as Calla drew another orgasm out of me, as I beat my palms on the coverlet, I shouted, “Enough, enough!”
They fell away from me as the sensation ebbed. There weren’t many cases, but there were a few, where people were fucked to death. The Spark can burn out a host, too. It was time to get it back under control.
I think it was some time later that I began to speak. I’m not sure if I blacked out or not, but when I came to, they were still there. The three of us were lying on top of the bed and I had no way of knowing if we’d been there for a minute or an hour. “We’re going to play tonight,” I said.
“What?” Basil sat up at the sound of my voice and rubbed her eyes.
“We’re going to play tonight. A tribute concert for her. Just like we did here. Improvisational, cooperative.” Not like anything we’d done before. As I described it to them, I could see the idea catching fire, the memory of the song I had played stirring faintly. “And there’s something else I have to tell you.” And I told them, about the Spark, about Saffron, about Glory, Rose and Nura, and all I knew. “I’m sorry,” I said as I finished. “I should have told you before. For some it becomes a curse . . .” I looked at Glory, still lying in state on the low table. “But it is a gift, too.”
In response, they came and kissed me, both together. I already had the sound in my head of the music we could make together.
Celtic Tongues
Jacqueline Applebee
They said a creature lived here. I breathed in deeply, inhaled a thousand shades of green into my lungs. I breathed out, opened my arms. I welcomed the new world. I was in Scotland, in the Highlands that surrounded the legendary Loch Ness. The lure of a monster in the deep waters had piqued my interest, but what had finally drawn me hundreds of miles from my home in Bristol was the thought of quiet, peace and tranquility.
Nine glorious hours on a train had left me in the city of Inverness, the capital of the Highlands. A short bus journey had brought me to my destination: a collection of chalets in the tiny village of Invermoriston, where I would be staying for seven days.
I made my way to the reception area, but nobody was there. I went back outside, my feet crunching on the decorative gravel that formed a border to the building. I was in no hurry to check in. I could have a leisurely walk around the sprawling grounds first; acclimatize myself before I settled in.
A figure approached me from the pathway, a young man who was tall, lean and tanned. The sun broke the clouds, and shards of light glinted across his bare chest. I saw his toothy smile from some distance. I found myself grinning as he moved closer.
“You OK there, hen?” he asked. In my journey from the West of England to the North of Scotland, I’d been called “mate”, “love”, “hen”, “pet” and “wee lass”. I was starting to become accustomed to the variety of endearments used by complete strangers; it was quite sweet when I thought about it.
“I was supposed to be checking in, but I guess I’m early.” I tried not to look at the young man’s nipples, but he was quite a bit taller than me, so his chest was literally in my face.
“Well, my ma’s just on her way over.” He picked up my heavy suitcase with one hand.
I inhaled clean sweat as he moved, but was riveted by the sight of lean muscles that fl exed beneath his skin. He looked hard and solid. I licked my lips without meaning to.
I tore my eyes away from his delicious body, as a woman of my age came trotting up to us.
“Hello there!” she called in an accented voice. “You must be Molly.”
We shook hands. I glanced discreetly between the mother and her son. “I see you’ve met Adam.” She nodded to the object of my desire and sudden dread. “He’s helping me out today. Would you believe he’s just graduated from university, but the lazy boy won’t go out and find a proper job?”
“I consider this a proper job!” Adam called out over his shoulder as he walked to the nearest chalet.
“Ach, young people,” his mother said with a melodramatic sigh. “Do you have any children yourself?”
I shook my head. I’d never been able to conceive. After a few years, I’d stopped trying, got on with the rest of my life.
“He’s a good laddie really.” She ushered me to the chalet. Adam leaned against a wall near the door. He didn’t move as I squeezed by. All those good looks were obviously a veneer for a cocky attitude. He knew the effect he was having on me.
Adam’s mother explained which keys opened what doors, where the recycling bins were, when the launderette was open. But I heard little of what she said, as my eyes and my attention kept being drawn to her son as he moved around the small chalet. At one stage, he reached up to unscrew a light bulb from a ceiling lamp. I watched his jeans slide low over his hips; I glimpsed the tan line over the swell of his buttocks. He glanced down at me, shook the bulb gently.
“I’ll get ye a new one.” Two buttons on his fl y were open. A bulge was outlined against the denim. “I’ll pop by later, if that’s OK?”
I nodded, unable to speak. That would be more than OK.
They left me alone after I completed the paperwork. I had just started unpacking when a polite knock at the door signalled Adam’s return. I let him in, making sure that I stood at a discreet distance, but it was hard work. Something dark stirred in the depths of my belly; I felt desire move like a creature inside me. I wanted to reach out to stroke over his fine tanned skin. I wanted to get on my knees, and blow him. Why couldn’t the man take pity on me, and wear a shirt? I was going to get myself into trouble if this went on for much longer.
“Do you have any plans now you’re in our wee neck of the woods?” he asked, tilting his head. “I don’t know if it’s your thing, but there’s an event in Inverness tomorrow night. I’ll be performing there.” He pulled a little stool from beneath a nearby table, and then stood on it to get at the light fitting with ease. Once again his worn jeans drooped over the top of his hips. Against my better judgment, my murky mind took a plunge into an obscene fantasy. I pictured Adam stripping in front of a gaggle of screaming women, throwing discarded items of clothing into the fray. I swallowed, willed my voice to remain calm. I was forty-two, old enough to be the man’s mother.
“Can I ask what sort of performance it will be?”
Adam looked at me. His eyes were green, unblinking. “It’s Nos Ur.”
“Nos Ur?” I repeated, puzzled.
“It means ‘New Style’ in Scots Gaelic.’
“You speak Gaelic?”
“Aye, I speak it, I sing it and I love it.” He screwed in the bulb, fi xed the light shade in place, and hopped off the stool.
“Impressive.”
Adam stepped up to me, invading my space completely. “I could only use this language, once I knew I had it.” His voice was low, husky. “But sometimes words do me no good at all.” When his lips brushed against mine, I breathed in a thousand shades of green. Adam tasted of the wild land. His tongue met mine, and his fingers gripped my arm. I felt drawn in to his world.
“Ma will be around with cake in a little while.”
“What?” My eyes had trouble focusing.
“She does it for all the new visitors – cake for your first time, a bottle of wine for your second.”
“I don’t drink,” I said stupidly. “Anyway, I’m sure this won’t be my only visit here.”
“So will you come to Nos Ur?”
I nodded, smiled. The door to the chalet opened just as Adam took a few steps away from me. His mother carried a covered plate in her hands.
“Cake for the new guest,” she said with a smile. She set the dish on the table, and swept away the cloth to reveal what looked like a small fruitcake. “I hope Adam hasn’t been bothering you?” She shot him a look that meant she knew exactly what kind of bother he could cause.
“No he’s been very helpful.”
“We’ll give you some peace then.” She beckoned to her son, who gave me a wink before he followed his mother out.
The next evening I went to an upmarket venue in the heart of Inverness. Tall pine trees that framed the dark loch had given way to grey stone as the small city opened out, but I still felt that I was deep in the Scottish Highlands.
Nos Ur had brought some serious crowds to the concert hall. Ten bands would be playing, each one in a different Celtic language. There would be a vote for the favourite, and they would then go on to a bigger event that would be held in the Netherlands later in the year.
At Nos Ur, there were bands that performed in languages that I had never heard of before, like Cornish and Lowland Scots. However there were also some that were more familiar to me, like Welsh and Gaelic from both Scotland and Ireland. I was struck by the way the music united all the different languages and dialects. At one stage I even started singing along with a happy tune sung in Lowland Scots, which was the closest language to English. I wondered if this was how the world was before Babel. I didn’t have a hope of translating all the tongues I heard, but somehow I just knew what every song was about. I felt the magic of the area start to permeate my skin.