Celtic Mist Ch. 16

Declan moaned. Damn! Why was her arsehole so wantonly provoking? If it was a test, he was most eager to fail it!

His tongue withdrew and his mouth momentarily opened over her buttock, softly biting her in a throb of ecstasy. The wanting was unbearable --- he wanted to fuck her and fill her with spunk by every possible route in which a lad and lass could join!

In a flash he was on his feet and molding himself against her bent-over body upon the stone, lodging his aching cock in her cleft and kissing her nape between her short braids. "Oh God, Aoife!" he croaked, his hands skimming down her arms to her outspread fingers on the granite surface.

With deep nips, his open mouth traveled towards her ear, and she pressed harder against him. Upon the stone, the fingers of one hand interlaced with hers, whilst the other hand slid between them...over her back...over the curve of her arse. His fingers delved purposefully between her buttocks, soon reclaiming the wondrous indentation, slick with his spittle. He groaned.

"'Twas a pleasure for ye when I licked your pretty little bottom hole, wasn't it?" he rasped by her ear, then gave her earlobe a soft nibble. "It was for me." Her sensitive aperture squeezed tremulously as the pad of his finger deliberately rubbed it with small, slow circles.

Aoife replied not, but her heavy lashes fluttered at half-mast over her glazed eyes. Her fingers tightened upon his.

"And when I pushed me tongue into it...ye liked it, lass," he said in a low, husky voice.

For a moment there was only the sound of their breaths, then, scarce audible came her shivery, stirring whisper, "Aye." Between their close, bent forward bodies, her little hand reached back, burrowing between them and wrapping round his cock. Declan moaned, wiggling his fingertip in the center of her moist pucker. Aoife squeezed his stiff column. There were several seconds of wordless, accelerating pulse and breathing as Aoife stroked his staff, and Declan stroked her anus.

Abruptly Declan scooped up her torso and straightened, grabbing with his other hand the small pottery jar of unguent that was visible in her open knapsack upon the boulder. "Come here," he bade hoarsely, walking her a couple of paces away from the stone, where he dropped to his knees on the soft grass and shamrock, pulling her down with him. He bent her to his ardent kiss, then with his hands on her shoulders eagerly turned her. "Get on your hands and knees!"

Aoife twisted to drop to all fours, looking over her shoulder as Declan, facing her hip, flung her shirt up to mid-back...then tugged it over her head, she lifting her hands from the ground for him to strip it off.

"Aoife," he breathed, absorbing the enthralling sight as she resumed her stance, her pale body completely bare...limber and nubile upon her hands and knees...her little teats hanging, her bottom pertly swelling below her slim waist. One short red braid curved on her shoulder as she looked back at him, her huge blue eyes all nervous excitement. The matching fiery down showed between her legs. Damn!

With shaking fingers, Declan uncorked the jar and scooped up a measure of the pale green balm with his right forefinger. Lifting his eyes from the jar, his gaze traveled from her arse to her face, meeting her eyes. He cleared his throat and said hoarsely, "Raise your bottom, lass."

With her eyes smoldering, Aoife bent her arms, arched her back, and lowered her chest to the ground, her face turned towards him and her cheek pressed to the clover.

"Jaysis!" burst out Declan in rutting exultation. Oh, unsurpassed beauty! Like a female creature in heat, her roused organ was most primally presented in licentious supplication...rosy, pouting, and parted...the wetness shining in the sunlight. Above it the tiny pink crinkle of her anus was flagrantly exposed.

Declan was staggered by Eros's sudden dilemma: plunge in her cunny straight and true or play at backgammon? When the luminous dimple winked at him, he ceased his pondering and applied his fingertip to the target.

Aoife jumped. In giddy fervor did Declan distribute the unguent all over her wee flinching vent, coating the radiating folds and adjacent cleft, working it into the firm center. The little anointed aperture soon glistened like a jewel.

'Twas Declan who now jumped when Aoife's hand touched his bobbing cock. She had unfolded her arm nearer him and reached back to where he knelt next to her. Glancing down, he realized that she too had scooped up balm from the jar that was on the ground between them and was smearing the cool cream over his heated organ with awkward strokes up and down the shaft and over the crown. He moaned, falling to his elbow, his head on the ground next to hers.

Side by side, each on their knees and one elbow, their burning gazes locked as their busy hands played...her hand sliding up and down his now well-oiled machine, his finger swirling on her slick little pucker, feeling the choice skin, the resilient muscle, and the tiny, tempting central divot. The lewd, slippery sounds of their fingers in the unguent fortified the erotic agitation as their faces flushed and mouths panted.

From its surface fondling, Declan adjusted the angle of his finger to now broach her wee hole head-on. Lusciously greased, the inherent resistance of her opening capitulated to the wriggling incursion, and his big forefinger pushed carefully into her bottom...by God!...the fierce, smooth grip was extraordinary!

Aoife inhaled, her hand tightening upon his cock. His eyes flared. Slowly...slowly...his digit began to stroke in and out of the tantalizing narrows. Her lovely face was illuminated by amorous yearning...guileless and undisguised...her eyes wide, her brows tensed, her mouth open. Only a few thrusts of his finger could he manage ere Declan knelt up with all urgency. Any more of this, and there would be less of it! He was set to spill his seed in her hand!

Sweet chaos ensued as they hastened to embark on the indecent venture. He scrambled to yank his breeches and drawers off...then a moment later his shirt. Stripped naked, he dropped to his knees behind her, first spreading her knees...only to discover that so positioned, the difference in their sizes thwarted the desired joining. There was a hasty, fumbling repositioning: Aoife on her hands and knees with her legs now pressed together, Declan behind her, his knees outboard of hers. Thus aligned, Declan forged ahead with no further delay.

Pushing his throbbing weapon down, he pressed headlong upon the shiny pink mark. Aoife started and the little aperture clenched in unsurprising shock at being so bluntly importuned. His cockhead skidded up over her arse, making her squeal. Grasping his shaft firmly, Declan renewed the enterprise, pushing more pointedly...under his bluff helmet, he felt the alluring, hot dimple and its recalcitrant guardian muscle. By God! He wanted in that wee hole! Again his cock slid precipitously away.

Twice more did he attempt to breach the sacred temple without success.

Panting, he considered the problem. All the points of engagement were well greased with the unguent --- she had managed to take his finger --- but perhaps the present discrepancy in proportion between weapon and sheath was rendering the undertaking impossible. The entrancing anatomy of the postern passage that so admirably befitted its usual function in holding things in, was evidently equally adapted to keeping things out.

With ragged breaths, Declan applied a fresh swab of unguent and smoothed it over the delicate skin with an encouraging thumb. With his fingers splayed over her bottom, he curled his thumb into the pucker, working it in to the knuckle and softly wiggling it in the tight canal.

"Hoooo..." she sighed.

Now his other hand presented his cock anew, holding it fast as he pressed the head against his thumb, gingerly attempting to exchange the one for the other --- taking advantage of the yield piloted by his digit. "Push!" he whispered.

Together they pushed --- his thumb slipped out and his cockhead wedged partially in. Declan did not squander the progress: with steadfast pressure he advanced relentlessly into her anus, her panting efforts abetting the joining. In amazement, he felt the stubborn little twist unfurling round his organ, and the silky grip of her sphincter covering him. Soon the straining, pink ring of her blatantly open bottom hole was visible as it gradually accepted the inordinate width of his crown. Declan's breath hissed through his gritted teeth.

Aoife whimpered, trembling.

The next moment, there was a sudden sensation of surrender and his bulbous knob was fully plugging her arse. Here Declan halted, riding out the threatening eruption of pleasure. Bending forward over her, he felt the sweat on her back as their torsos heaved together with their breaths. He panted against her nape.

Kissing his way past her ear, he pressed his hot cheek to hers. With one hand planted on the ground, his other curled under her to cradle the quivering cones of her breasts, one then the other, feeling in awe the intense erection of her nipples. Her innocent little body was crackling with an unearthly, primitive response to the prodigious 'unnatural' penetration. He too was wonderstruck by the pulsing constriction of her distended anal passage round his cock.

Aoife's face turned towards him and their damp lips briefly met as Declan began to move inside her. Soon he knelt up again to better control the exhilarating endeavor. With his large hands holding her hips, he pushed in deeper and deeper with gentle shoves. Push...push...push. The elemental heat gradually encased him.

Jubilantly did the lusty lad now take up Nature's indecorous oscillation.

Together, Declan and Aoife in ecstasy discovered the novel joys of her exquisite nether passage...as well as its foibles. Fully buried in her bottom, the pressure of his robust organ filling her fundament was too profound and made the wee lass groan piteously. Relenting and partially withdrawing, Declan soon was engaged in a tumultuous battle with the muscular cuff of her sphincter...how rousing was the vigorous squeeze of that encircling canal...but how contrary it was! Twice, his organ was ejected from its snug, happy lodgement, attended by her muscle briskly crimping to reconstitute the defiant pink star.

Cock re-embedded, Declan managed to temper his strokes to achieve a smooth in-and-out motion that, by and by, transported them in a soft, lascivious melody of moans and tight, lubricious thrusting sounds.

Declan was reeling with elation at Love's gifts. Between her vagina and her bottom, he could detect the varied sensations --- finding naught but sublime pleasure in each. Even given his own blindness to the morality of their present manner of copulation, he was not oblivious to society's condemnation of the exercise. Indeed, the very transgression of the act endowed it with an inconceivable provocativeness. His eyes were wide, and his body shook with his pounding heart as he fucked her wee anus, glorying over its obscene distention round his glistening, rigid shaft.

"Oh, Declan...Ohhhh!...What does it look like?" chanted the fair maid.

"'Tis a rare, lovely sight, love!" Declan pushed his organ in and pulled out with deliberate excursions inside her compressing channel. "Your upturned bottom is so fine and round...your wee arsehole is so pink and shiny...impaled on me ruddy cock and squeezing it so loving-like...oh, God!" he groaned. "And when I pull out, 'tis for a flash so wide open that I can see inside your bottom afore it clamps shut again."

Aoife moaned, and when he felt her fingers brush his tightening scrotum, he realized that she was frigging her clitoris.

Emotion and instinct in happy accord overwhelmed him, dispersing all coherent thought. Together they sank forward, both naked among the flowers and clover...Aoife lying on her belly and Declan's large body straddling her slight form, leaning forward...his bare chest undulating against her writhing back as he unflaggingly stroked his pillar over and over into her hot, grasping, arched-up hole. One elbow braced his weight, whilst his other hand found hers on the ground alongside her head, covering it and enlacing his fingers with hers. Over her shoulder, where her face turned towards him, their open mouths mingled in uneven breaths, tongue-kisses, and moans.

"I-I love you!" Aoife panted. "Oh, Declan, I love you!"

"Aoife, I love you!!" No longer was Declan master of his body --- the primitive, rutting fervor commanded the powerful, bunching muscles in his thighs and buttocks, rhythmically driving his organ in and out...in and out of her body...the exuberant knob voluptuously tormenting the quaking, muscular cuff of her anus...his stones pressing over and over against her rubbing finger.

Her strong little body was heaving and straining under him, as was his atop her. No further words were recognizable. Above the shameless noises of his piston pumping in her lubricated orifice, the only sounds that rose in the spring air were raw grunts of pleasure --- hers quavering and beseeching, his lustful and beast-like. Declan felt the transcendent, escalating pressure of her pulsing fundament round him, felt the firm, clutching sleeve of her sphincter elongate and grow impossibly taut, taking his redoubling thrusts in perfect suctioning communion.

The scent of shamrock, flowers, and Aoife flooded his heart, and the reflected emotion erupted outwards to his eyes, throat, and cock. Declan's mouth lifted from Aoife's and bit frantically at her ear and neck, his teeth sinking into her thick braid as his body began to convulse on top of her. And then she was hollering and bucking under him, to Declan's rapture --- her gorged bottom hole in wondrous, wrenching...oh so prolonged contractions taking every, last, radiant blast of love that his besotted ballocks could deliver...

At last, they lay unmoving.

The sound of the wind rustling leaves presently overtook the thumping pulse in Declan's ears.

"Aoife," he murmured, "Ye owe me a shilling."

* * * * *

Day hangs its light between two dusks, my heart,

Always beyond the dark there is the blue.

Sometime we'll leave the dark, myself and you,

And revel in the light for evermore.

--- Francis Ledwidge

Aoife sat cross-legged upon the ground, studying the sleeping young man near her. She had re-donned her white shirt, and under its nominal protection, she struggled to collect herself.

Whilst he slept, she had finished the darning of his stocking that had been so indecently interrupted a short while ago. Now her hands were motionless as she thought on what they had done...on everything that they had done...all the shameful and blissful exercises of amorous enterprise. The heat rose in her cheeks, and she shifted in discomposure, pulling the mended stocking off her hand.

Declan lay on his belly among the waving grasses and flowers, his turned head resting on his folded arms. His eyes were closed, and Aoife was free to let her eyes wander where they would without his intense green gaze upon her.

She observed his face, inwardly wincing at the swollen black eye. The visible lacerations thankfully all appeared to be clean and untainted. Even with his injuries, how handsome he was to her! The strong, dark eyebrows and thick lashes, the full lips --- varyingly humorous, warm, and wicked. The bristles of a youngling beard grew upon his upper lip and jaw --- no doubt, Declan's attempt to distract Blaylock's recognition.

Aoife's gaze ventured lower, and she flushed anew as she lingered over his nakedness...the tall, wide-shouldered body was presently in repose, his back gently expanding with his breaths. The stalwart muscles of his torso and limbs were visible but quiescent. A few darker, linear marks here and there upon the smooth skin of his back evidenced the healed lacerations from the flogging Blaylock had administered back in September. Below his lean waist, his round, muscular buttocks were at ease, but well did she remember the feel of their dense flexing under her hands and calves as he rode her.

Aye, Medb!

For a moment Aoife's eyes glazed, and she swallowed. Gingerly she adjusted her position on the ground --- the whole of her privates felt most happily sore and swollen. Declan's earlier emission deep inside her cunny had worked its way down and was presently oozing from her vaginal opening, and her bottom hole was yet quivery with the novel sensation of Love's vigorous possession and its hot charge of sperm. Indeed, she had yielded to Declan's ardent inspection upon withdrawing, hiding her flaming face in the cool clover as he had held her cheeks apart and exulted, "Oh love, how rosy and puffy your wee bottom hole is...and a string of spunk is connecting it to me cock!"

Aoife closed her eyes as her cheeks burned anew.

By and by, her tender survey of him was complete, and there was naught left to stand between her and her tormented thoughts.

During the past months when her mind had fixed itself upon revenge, she had in her methodical mission contemplated little save her righteous fury. To the extent that she had anticipated what her feelings would be in the unlikely event of accomplishing her purpose, she had supposed she would experience some sense of peace.

Such was not the case...but not, as one might guess, due to remorse or horror over her bloody deed. Nay, in place of peace was an open wound in her heart that no immediate remedy could stanch --- a wound so wholly unexpected that she was floundering for self-possession. Aye, the tumult of shame, despair, and joy overwhelmed her.

She was well acquainted with the first two sensations, but the third was unfamiliar to her. Joy. And the joy was the spoils of love.

Never in all her rehearsals of confronting Blaylock had she considered encountering Declan on the scene, and nothing that had then transpired --- either at the garrison or afterwards alone together --- was according to plan. In the space of a few minutes, her acknowledged feelings towards Declan had undergone so material a change that she scarce felt master of her emotions.

Or...had she loved him all along? She had been denying her feelings so relentlessly that she knew not when her heart had first been stirred by him. The new knowledge of him that she had learnt last night mayhap had been but a stimulant that allowed her to abandon herself to her heart's wiser counsel.

No matter --- after years of burgeoning curiosity about Nature's commission of sexual intercourse, she had at last been initiated into that profound mystery. But 'twas so much more than she had imagined, and her curiosity, far from being sated, was all the more aroused.

Thinking back, the spells of timid fluttering between her legs that had for some time distressed her...how foolish such things now seemed! What was that to the feel of the young man's large body pressing down upon her? To the feel of his iron-like organ pushing into her? To the pleasure of voluptuous release in each other's arms?

But the revelations did not end simply with the physical sensations. Aoife's astonishment at the new venture had been compounded by a flux of turbulent emotions as her body twined with Declan's. She ken right well that the word 'love' had oft been applied to the activities attendant upon the pursuit of sexual congress, but with innocent cynicism, she had not foreseen that the emotion and the act were in truth connected.

Were they? Had she married her childhood playfellow Hugh McDonnell and lain with him, would she have felt a like sensation? She was too new to both love and sex to disentangle the puzzle.

But Aoife's rhapsodic discovery did not entirely ease her other cause for disquiet. Her happy introduction into Venus's pastime could not so quickly erase eighteen years of shame and furtiveness born of admonitions and scolding from all fronts. Was it the same for lads, or did lasses bear the brunt of shame's burden? Did the shame indeed fortify the helpless pleasure?