* Erotic Fiction
* Queer Fiction
* Kinky Erotica
* The Softer Side
By Alice Gray
The Fourth Veda
By Amanda Earl
Beating the Gothic Out of Her
Mercy and the Man. . .
Sex With An Old Woman
The Afternoon Circle Jerk Society
The Graffiti Artist
The Vampire Responds
By Ann Regentin
What Never Dies
By Arthur Chappell
Tedia, Goddess of Boredom
The Too Beautiful Boy
By Big Ed Magusson
Like a Brother
By B.K. Bilicki
Shades of Night
By Brady Sutton
Girls for Leash
The Peculiar Case of...
By C. Sanchez-Garcia
An Early Winter Train
Riding the Dog
The Girl With Kisses...
The Lady and The Unicorn
You Belong to Me
An Evening At...
Are You Kidding?
Bitsy Takes a Test
Cruising On A Sea...
Fridays At The Benoit
Mr. Merridawn's Hum
Readiness Is All
By Cherry Black
Just A Simple Black Dress
By Chris Bridges
By Daddy X
A Woman in My Position
Never For Punishment
Nikki Didn't Like It
By Dominic Santi
Kiss of Peace
By G. E. Russell
First Love, Last Romance
The Glass Cage
This Desolate Eden
You Like It Like That...
By Helen E. H. Madden
Husbands and Wives
Neighbor of the Beast
Over the Rainbow
The Fifth Horseman
The Monster Beneath...
When The Angels Fall
By Helena Settimana
The Space Between
By Huck Pilgrim
A Small Favor
He Sends His Regrets
By J.T. Benjamin
Advice From Miss Millicent
Secret Lives and Lusts
What are Friends For
Olivia's Ulterior Motive
The Baby Doll
The Journals of Chastity
Thornburg Sex Survey
Zachary's Perfect Date
A House On Fire?
It's About Sex
Maureen and Sheila...
Sheila Discusses ...
By john e
I Wish My Dick...
johnny's jackoff journal
In Praise of Pussy
Tight, Tighter, Tightest
You Rang Madam?
By Juniper Maclay
By Keziah Hill
Laying Down the Law
Strawberry Flavoured Joy
The Second Coming
By L.A. Smith
By Lara Nickles
By Lilie Berlin
Color Less Ordinary
Naughty Little Girl
By Mike Kimera
At the Adult Bookstore
It May Not be Art...
Living With It...
Paying For It
Playing With Barney
Sex with Owen
Till Death Do Us Part
The Last Taboo
By Nan Andrews
By Nick Nicholson
Grigore & Tatiana
Land of Smiles
By Nikki Isaak
A Rathskeller Jar
The Dread That Stained Kalos
Androids Behaving Badly
Eat Your Veggies
Fiend in Need Part II
I Am Not A Scorpion
Maybe You Can Go...
The Vow Part I
What Would Aristippus Think
By Raziel Moore
Invisible Lines (Novella)
Does Immortality come with a Pension?
by Robert Buckley
The young nun's hips swayed so sweetly Locan half-expected her to glance back at him over her shoulder and wink. She did smile as she gestured to him to follow her into the bishop's study.
Bishop Galway hunkered over his desk scowling at newspaper clippings.
"Sister Sonja's skirt looks shorter," Locan said.
Galway raised his gaze, but not a muscle in his face relaxed.
"Cut the shit, Locan. Where the hell is your partner?"
"She had a late night."
"She had a date ... she hasn't come home yet."
"A date? But ... I thought you two ... well, what the hell is with you two anyway?"
"Sorry, Bishop, I don't get your meaning."
"Hmm, I suppose I've made certain assumptions; I ought to know better. Well, how modern of you to countenance Miss McDaniel sharing her charms with other men. She doesn't eat them, does she?"
"She hasn't been that hungry lately. And as far as making faulty assumptions, her date was with a woman."
Galway's visage soured again. "For the love of God. And that doesn't bother you?"
"What ... that she likely woke up with a girl today, or that she woke up with somebody else – period?"
"I suppose you think I have no basis to be making ... assumptions ... faulty or otherwise."
"Well, colonel, it isn't like you're running along the same track."
"I wasn't born celibate, you know. When I was a young Marine ..."
"Did you really want to see me and her to tell us war stories?"
"Careful, Locan ... I give you plenty of leeway, but cross the line and ..."
"Hard to tell where the line is, Bishop."
"You crossed it when you disrupted Cardinal Lex's 80th birthday party."
"I did no such thing."
"Oh? And every newspaper in Italy got it wrong, I suppose. You were arrested, weren't you?"
"Hell, no. I knew the cop in charge; he gave us a slide. Anyway, I didn't start it."
"I know your opinion of Cardinal Lex."
"That he ought to be doing time in a state pen back home? Yeah, that's right. But I had no idea that shitbum was involved until the swill hit the fan."
"His people claim you accosted several of his party ..."
"Look, Rachel and I were having dinner in this restaurant she's been talking about for months. We were the only two people in the place when these two pig-faced nuns burst in and started trying to roust us."
"Yeah, they said they'd reserved the room we were in. One of them grabbed Rachel by the arm like she was some poor little kid in a parochial school. The one who grabbed my arm got pushed back. Then the other clowns came in with the owner insisting we had to leave. I told them we'd leave after we'd finished dinner. Then some twerp of a monsignor poked me in the chest."
"That twerp of a monsignor says you knocked his bridgework loose."
"He was lucky."
"And you had no idea they were with Cardinal Lex?"
"Not until the cops showed up. I saw him outside, the smug prick, sitting in the back of a limo."
"Locan ... this unit is supposed to be super-secret, need-to-know only, and you end up getting your picture taken during a brawl at a cardinal's birthday celebration and all sorts of the wrong questions are being asked."
"I told you ... we didn't start it."
"Uh-huh, well, I'll try to explain that to the boss, but in the meantime, you and Miss McDaniel are going away for awhile."
"Yeah ... just the two of you. No girlfriends in tow."
"Sorry ... that was uncalled for ... but so what. I just wonder ..."
"Bishop Galway ... that girl's going to live longer than you and me combined. Hell, we'll be dust and she'll still look like she hasn't cracked thirty. I can't put any claim on her. The time'll come when she'll have to move on and leave me behind."
Galway's features softened. He nodded.
"Well ... um ... you're being sent to Connemara."
"Don't know of any place else that has a Connemara."
"But ... there's nothing there except sheep and people who only speak Irish and not even many of them."
"Better brush up on your Gaelic then ... something beyond 'pog ma thoin'."
"What in hell is there in Connemara that you're sending us there?"
"A private school for girls. I'm talking about the cream of Europe; they send their daughters there for safekeeping."
"They're the daughters of ultra-wealthy financiers, industrialists ... the kind of people you never hear about in the news, but who pretty much run the world."
"What's the story on this school?"
"It's run by the Sisters of the Society of St. Barbara. It's what they used to call a 'finishing school'. The girls are slightly older than high school age, eighteen to twenty. It's smack in the middle of nowhere, and there are no boys around – for miles."
"Safekeeping you said ... you mean safekeeping their cherries."
Galway grimaced. "Locan ... the super rich are just like us when it comes to their children, especially daughters. Especially young ladies whom they might suspect are predisposed to give in to their hormonal urges."
"So they lock them away in some ... convent? A lesbian boot camp, I'd say."
"The tuition, as you might expect, is quite ... substantial."
"And I suppose quite a bit of that money gets funneled to Rome."
"That's not our concern."
"Okay, so why is the Vatican dispatching two Paladins to Ireland's version of East Bumfuck?"
"The mother superior, Abbess Marie, informed us a month ago that Monsignor Padraigh O'Callaghan had arrived to take over the administration of the school."
"So? The old bat resents giving up the top slot to a priest ... a man?"
"Obedience is not an issue with the sisters."
"The problem is, Monsignor O'Callaghan, while expected at the school, arrived a bit later than scheduled."
"When was he supposed to get there?"
"He left from Dublin in October ... 1873."
"Obviously. But there's something else."
"Some of the student's families have contacted various cardinals at the Vatican. They are concerned because their daughters have tried to dissuade them from visiting."
"Yeah, usually the kids are begging for a visit, or to be taken away entirely. Instead they write – and they have to write because there's no Internet out there – about what a lovely time they are having, and enjoying their lessons, that sort of thing."
"Teenaged girls? Yeah, something's fucked up. Has anyone tried to contact the abbess, or this O'Callaghan?"
"Yes, they say all is well. I myself spoke to O'Callaghan ... charming fellow, a real gift of the blarney."
"Why not have the Garda check things out?"
"We did. No suspicions raised."
"We didn't tell them he was impersonating a priest from the 19th century?"
"We left that bit of information out. We just wanted them to give us a read on the guy."
"Why us ... why Paladins?"
"Just a feeling ... a hunch. There's something off about the guy, besides the fact he was supposed to arrive a hundred and forty years ago."
"You'll fly to Shannon, stay overnight in Limerick. The Garda will take you to the school."
"Locan, the boss is very concerned about this."
Locan chuckled. "Well, then I guess we'll have to solve this mystery. Maybe there'll be a red hat in it for you."
"Not likely. This new guy seems to have no use for cardinals."
* * *
A young Garda greeted them at the diplomatic gate at Shannon Airport.
"Fáilte go dtí Éire."
"Huh?" A pair of heavy-lidded eyes peered back at the young man.
"Um ... welcome to Ireland. I thought you'd be apt to brush up on your Irish. People won't reply in English where we're going."
"Uh-huh," Locan nodded, his voice gravelly. "Well, most of the people I'll be talking to won't be so hindered."
The young Garda nodded. "Sorry, you must be tired from the flight, but there's been a change in plans. I'm to take you right on to Galway and thence to Connemara. Sorry, it's a bit of a ride."
"How much of a bit?"
"Six hours ... maybe."
"Can't we stop to freshen up, at least," Rachel pleaded.
"We can make a quick stop in Galway, miss."
She looked toward Locan. "What's the freaking hurry? Tell me again: Why are we being sent here exactly?"
Locan shrugged, lowered his voice, "A guy arrived a hundred and forty years late for work. You'd think they could stand to let us put off interviewing him a day more."
"And a night."
"Okay, officer. Let's hit the road."
They stopped at a small inn on the outskirts of Galway where they were invited to refresh themselves. The hostess showed Rachel to a room with a shower. Locan waited in a small bar with the young Garda.
"So, you work for the Vatican, do you?" the young man asked.
"Interesting work, is it?"
"It has its moments."
"Hmm, have you met the pope?"
"Not one, not yet."
"Ah, that's a shame."
"Oh, I don't know."
"Miss McDaniel ... if you don't mind my saying ... she doesn't look like the type of woman who would work for the Vatican."
"Oh? What should a woman who works for the Vatican look like."
"Well ... like a nun, I'd imagine."
"Who's to say she isn't a nun?"
"You don't say? She's awfully pretty."
At that moment Rachel entered the bar. Conversation stopped as every eye traced the tight, cable-knit white sweater that clung to her curves and continued to the black wool mini that generously exposed her pale thighs an inch or two above her knees. Black boots clad her lower legs and made her seem taller that she was. Locan smiled. She'd acquired a fine fashion sense since the first time he'd met her.
"A nun, you say?" the young Garda gasped.
Locan chuckled and gestured to her to join them.
"We'd better be one and done," their guide said. It'll be dark before we reach the school if we don't set out."
"No rest for the weary," Locan nodded.
They left Galway behind. Traffic was scant save for a pair of tourist buses.
"There are more houses here than I remember," Locan said.
"You've been here before?" Rachel asked.
"Long, long time ago. It seemed more remote then."
"Just wait a bit," the Garda said.
Before long they cruised between high green peaks streaked with pink-purple slashes of heather, as if a giant had taken a paintbrush to the hills.
"What are those white dots way up on the mountains," Rachel said, pointing out the window.
"Sheep," Locan said.
"There are hundreds of them, but only one or two together."
"Lots of room to roam."
Mountains rose to their right at the rim of a great bowl-shaped valley.
"Those peaks are some hundred miles distant," the Garda said.
Altogether the place exuded a profound sense of emptiness.
"It's beautiful," Rachel said. "But I'd hate to be a young girl and having to spend any time here. I'd feel like I was marooned on the moon."
There was more of the same landscape ahead, beautiful but depressing somehow, as if the craggy valleys harbored lost souls.
They continued on for another hour.
"You haven't asked me about Gina?" Rachel said. The break in silence made Locan start.
"The girl you insisted I go out with the other night."
"I didn't insist. You said she was cute. I just said go for it."
"Hmm. Well, don't you want to know?"
"How things went."
Locan shrugged. "None of my business."
"You make me crazy."
"You goad me to go out with a girl and then you pretend not to care what happened next."
"Goad you? C'mon. We agreed I wouldn't ... that is, if you wanted ... anyway, you seemed to like this Gina chick. Besides, when you were still MIA in the morning I figured you must have had a good time."
"She's nice. She's also Sicilian. A little pushy, possessive. I won't be seeing her again."
Locan shrugged once more.
Rachel hissed an exasperated sigh. "You make me nuts."
After a few more hours Locan leaned forward to ask the Garda if they were lost, but in an instant the school appeared as a castle hugging the side of a mountain. The Garda steered the car along a drive to a parking area. A tourist bus began to pull away as they came to a stop.
A group of young girls in jackets and tartan skirts eyed them with undisguised curiosity. Rachel stepped out and stretched. She noticed the girls exchange whispers. One of the girls stepped in front of her companions and smiled.
But Rachel's gaze was drawn to the front of the girl's skirt.
Locan stepped around her. "We better find O'Callaghan."
"Locan ... look at that girl's skirt."
"Huh? What about it?"
"Look at it!"
Locan rubbed his eyes. The girl boldly gazed back at them.
"Her skirt? Why ... what ... what the fuck?"
The girl turned back to her companions as her skirt swirled and lifted allowing a glimpse of her thighs. The group giggled and started back toward the school."
"Did you see?" Rachel pressed.
"I think so." He shrugged.
A nun and the Garda exchanged some words, then he gestured to Locan and Rachel.
"The sister will take you to the monsignor. Call me when you're ready to leave. Uh, your phones are satellite-based?"
"Good. It's a big dead zone here, and the land line isn't always reliable. I'll leave your luggage here. Someone will come for it, the sister says."
"A little chat in the Irish?"
"No ... She's Romanian, but we both speak a bit of French."
The nun curled her finger and turned. They followed her toward the castle.
She led them into a hall with long tables and a low dais toward the front. The nun left them without a word.
Locan and Rachel assessed the crystal chandeliers and elegant wallpapers depicting rustic scenes. The tables were polished, a deep, dark wood. The dark wooden floor gleamed.
"Quite a dump," Locan said.
"Lavish, isn't it? Lovely place to retire to ... it is that."
Locan and Rachel turned toward the dais where an elderly priest smiled and stepped down. His white hair piled atop his scalp like a wave about to break over his forehead. His face was craggy, and there was a mischievous glint to his pale blue eyes.
"I am," he said, and effected a slight bow. "And you'd be the visitors from Rome. Glad to have you, but mightily curious about your visit."
"Well, we can discuss that."
"No time like the present," the priest nodded; his grin widened. "Get the business out of the way at once. Now, Gary, me boy, it's lovely to see you, but why are you here?"
Rachel looked at Locan and mouthed "Gary?" He shrugged in reply.
"Well, monsignor, the church is concerned that ..."
"Your mother called you Gary, did she? When she told you stories of the faery folk, when you were just a wee bit of a lad."
Locan's mouth hung open at his interruption. "I ... no, my mother never called me Gary."
"Hmm, and how is your mum?"
"My mother died ... about fourteen years ago."
"Aw, and don't we miss her."
But the cleric had turned his gaze to Rachel.
"Darlin', lovely that you've come to visit. There's always room for another cailín deas ... that is, another pretty lass here."
"Uh ... thank you, but ..."
"Did you notice the faery hounds lurking about?"
"Huh ... hounds?"
"Did ya not? Great white shaggy beasts, except of course for their ears all fiery red, and their eyes ... red as demon's eyes they are."
The cleric turned again to Locan.
"Surely your mum told you of the faery hounds." He grinned.
His gaze snapped toward Rachel again. "I would have thought you'd have espied them. Never to mind, then. They'll not be far away. Pests they make of themselves."
Rachel leaned toward Locan and whispered, "What the hell is he talking about?"
A capsule of memory burst in Locan's mind. Could he have been even four years old? His mother held him in her lap and told him the stories. The faery hounds ... chief antagonists of the ...
"Aw, shit! Fuck me ... fuck us!"
"Now, now, there, Gary boy, mind your talk. There are young ladies about and the sisters."
"Fuck you! Son of a bitch bastard!"
"Now, we can't have you going on like that."
Rachel's eyes went wide as her glance darted between Locan and the cleric.
"Locan! What's wrong?"
"Aw, shit! ... He's a fucking pooka!"
Blue electricity danced up Rachel's arms and around her head.
"No, Racey, don't shift!" But Locan's warning came too late; he averted his eyes at the brilliant flash of blue.
"Ah, now there's a bit of ephemera I've not seen for ages," the cleric said, his voice pleasant, even. "I think I may have known her great-great-great-grandfather. You know, the one who paid his respects to grow inside her great-great-great-grandmum's belly. Passed the gift along the generations, I see."
Locan's eyes adjusted. His gaze darted about the room. Rachel was nowhere in sight.
He yanked his Sig 9 from its shoulder holster.
"Uh-uh, put away your fusee! You know it can do you no good, and we don't want innocent bystanders getting hurt now; do we Gary, me boy?"
"Stop calling me Gary, you prick! What have you done with her?"
"Eh? Oh, the darlin' Rachel. She's right there, and well enough."
He pointed with his finger to a place on the floor where a squalling puppy awkwardly tried to gain her footing on the high-polished surface.
"Adorable," O'Callaghan said. "Do you not think so?"
"Bring her back, or I swear, pooka or not, I'll find a way to ..."
"No need for ultimatums and such. She can right herself."
He knelt over the puppy. "Come now, darlin'. Bring yourself back to us."
He glanced at Locan. "Better to shield your eyes, boyo."
Locan turned away just as the room shone again in intense blue light.
Rachel stood as a cascade of blue fireflies fell off her shoulders and evaporated. She shielded herself in the classic stance of a young woman caught naked.
"Well, aren't you a wonderment, young lady? I take it your clothes don't survive that big bright thing you do?"
"No!" she snapped.
"Dear, dear ... I beg your pardon. Not to worry, we'll respect your modesty."
He called out and a nun and four girls came into the room. The girls giggled at Rachel's predicament.
"Our guest, Miss McDaniel, seems to have lost her clothes. Would one of you ladies lend her your jacket, just for the nonce, until she can retrieve her baggage?"
The bold girl from the parking lot slipped her school jacket off her shoulders and held it out to Rachel, just enough to make her drop her arms from her bosom and snatch it. The girl grinned.
It was then that Locan noticed the girl's skirt and the prominent tent in front.
"Would you come with us, please," the girl asked, perhaps a bit too sweetly.
Rachel glanced at Locan.
"Go ahead. I'll be okay."
"You'll be more than okay, Gary, and so will the lovely Rachel. Run along with the girls, darlin', we'll see you soon enough."
Rachel followed the giggling girls. The hem of the jacket didn't quite cover her behind.
"You'll be having dinner with us, will ya?"
"Listen, O'Callaghan, or whatever your name is ..."
"You couldn't pronounce it, boyo."
"Whatever ... just so you understand, I'll do whatever I can to keep you from abusing these girls and these sisters. Twisted mother ..."
"Uh-uh, no need for nasty talk. We're all friends here."
"You're a damned pooka, you don't have friends."
Locan wasn't prepared for the shadow of melancholy that darkened the pooka's visage.
"Ah, true enough. But, we're turning over a new leaf, as it were. Have a seat, young Paladin."
"Oh, Gary, saw you coming leagues away. The young lady too; although, it took me a moment to realize she'd carried the gift."
O'Callaghan shrugged. "Affliction, if you will. Depends on how you look at it on any particular day. Now there's something I have in common with your lass: a lot of days ... in my case, stretching on into that place they call forever."
"What are you doing here? What happened to the real Monsignor O'Callaghan?"
"Well, now, that good father suffered gravely from a wounded spirit. He sought ease by taking an occasional dram or two ... or more .. much more. Something about the emptiness of the country wore on his heart. He died near an abandoned hovel ... one of hundreds that lie between here and Dublin. I'd been his shadow for a part of his journey ... I couldn't tell you why. I felt ... well, you'd call it pity for the old man."
"You ... a pooka ... felt pity?"
"Bucko ... it came as a surprise to me too. Anyway, I sat his wake, kept the goblins and the faery hounds at bay till his soul took flight to wherever souls fly to. And then I had meself a good long think."
"I did that. And I thought I'd continue his journey for him. Take up his burden."
"That was almost a century and a half ago."
"Is that so?" He shrugged. "I tend not to notice such things."
"So, you're here now."
"And exactly what the hell do you suppose you're doing here?"
"Making things better."
"You're shitting me."
"Why would I ... Sorry, I don't get your meaning."
"You're a pooka. You don't make things better. You screw things up. You screw with people's heads."
"Ah, well. That's all behind me now. I've retired, don't you see?"
"Retired? Now I've heard everything."
"No, you haven't, Gary. But you will; I promise."
Locan shook his head, a long sigh of exasperation escaped his lips.
"Now then, boyo, will you take a bit of a walk with me. It'll build your appetite. The young ladies and the sisters love to cook for guests. We have them so infrequently. I expect they'll prepare a grand repast."
"Yeah ... sure. Cripes."
* * *
They ambled through the woods along the shore of the mountain lake as O'Callaghan's narrative meandered off on a series of tangents and into a dozen tales. His soft, gravelly brogue was disarming, and Locan had to concentrate on suppressing a nascent affection for the being he knew could bring no good to the world.
"Well, now, Gary. Are you hungry?"
"I guess I could eat something."
"Come along, then."
They returned to the castle. Locan followed as O'Callaghan led him inside back to the hall, where they had first encountered him. About forty girls were seated at the tables as a crew of younger girls brought bowls and dishes and served.
"Aren't they lovely," O'Callaghan said. "Ah, and here's Rachel, all dressed and decent."
Locan's jaw fell when he spied her. She was dressed in a schoolgirl's uniform, right down to the knee stockings and flat patent leather shoes.
"Don't you dare say a thing," she warned. "They claim they misplaced my bag."
"Sorry ... for a second I thought you had enrolled."
"Locan ... I warned you."
"Sorry," he said as he tried to suppress a grin. "You look like an extra in a movie I saw once, 'Schoolgirl Lust' I think the title was."
"Okay, okay. I'll lay off ... promise. Jesus, you're cute."
He nodded, took her arm and led her to their seats.
After they were settled Rachel leaned and whispered to Locan.
"That girl ... she has a dick."
"The girl from the parking lot, the one who lent me her jacket."
"No. She's a girl, but she has a dick."
"I don't get it ... what, she's wearing a strap-on? Is that what was poking up from under her ..."
"Locan ... listen to what I'm saying. She's a girl ... and she has a dick ... and a pair of balls too. She showed me; she said I gave her a hard on. Jesus!"
Locan remained gape-mouthed for a moment. "Damn, I might have known. Fucking pooka. Jesus, these girls must be traumatized."
"You mean O'Callaghan gave her a dick?"
"Not really. It's all in their heads ... our heads. That's how the fuckers amuse themselves. They love to humiliate human beings. Jesus, these poor kids are going to need therapy once we get this bastard out of here."
"How do we do that?"
He shook his head. "About all you can do is wait him out, wait until he gets bored. Maybe we can divert his attention elsewhere."
O'Callaghan sat opposite Locan and Rachel.
"Lovely combination: goose and trout. Fins and feathers."
"So, you think you're making things right around here?"
"I do ... and why are you taking that tone with me?"
"What you've done to these girls isn't just immoral; it's sick perversion."
"Whatever do you mean, Gary? Oh, Rachel must have glimpsed their alterations."
"Look about you, all you see are happy young women. Do you detect even the slightest bit of unease, anxiety? All confident, smiling faces. The sisters too."
"Do you know who these girls are?"
"They're from the wealthiest families in Europe."
"They are that. Families with such wealth, and such power. Did ya know ... things haven't much changed since the feudal days. Women ... girls are still used as a medium of exchange. These girls are ... how shall we put it? Deal sealers. Just like back in the Dark Ages – ah, there was a time – they are expected to marry a selected mate. And just like in the Dark Ages, they are expected to be virginal."
"It's the 21st century, pooka."
"It is that ... so what? I have always chuckled at the premium human beings set on a female's virginity. I've come to hate the concept meself. Poor virgins, they're martyred, sacrificed, fed to dragons and such."
"Oh, not like in the faery tales either. You've not read of the likes of these dragons."
"These girls have been sheltered their entire lives. One day they'll be given to a man and be expected to know what the hell to do. Incubators, that's all they are, expected to carry the genes of an unbroken line. Can you imagine the terror a girl experiences on her wedding night, benighted and encumbered as she is by ignorance of her own body?"
"But," Rachel said, "what does that have to do with altering a girl ... giving her a penis?"
O'Callaghan's face brightened. "Now, that was a stroke of genius, even if I do say so meself. These girls share rooms with others who will be their best friends for life. So, after a bit of a think, it came to me. Who else to explore their bodies' mysteries with, than with their best friend ... someone they trust ... someone they love perhaps more than a sister?"
"So you ...?"
He grinned. "I gave one of them a cock. Just for a week at a time. They alternate. This way they explore, experiment, and an added benefit, they express their masculine nature, as well as their feminine. They're as well adjusted and balanced as any child ought to be. Now, I ask you again ... do you see a distressed face among any of the young ladies here?"
Rachel and Locan looked about the hall. Everywhere girls laughed, giggled, hugged their companions. Everywhere there was mirth. Even the nuns smiled.
"This could be a picture you are planting in our heads," Locan replied. "And by the way, where is the abbess?
"Oh, Mother Marie is enjoying a tryst with St. Sebastian."
"The poor dear. She's dedicated her life to God and his church, and her young charges. All the while she's entertained an erotic connection to St. Sebastian. Something about a beefy young man with arrows sticking out of his armpits stokes her fires. Well, I arranged for her to fulfill her yearnings. She's tending to the young man now."
"In her mind?"
"And does that really make it any less real?"
"You ... are so fucked up. Giving girls dicks, setting up an elderly nun with a canonized pincushion. Only a goofy fucking pooka could come up with something like that."
Rachel raised a finger to her lip as if to silently admonish Locan.
"What's in it for you?" she asked the pooka.
Again his smile did not fade entirely, but a shadow of melancholy came over his visage.
"Have you ever seen a man drown in a bog?" he asked.
"Huh? Um, no. I've managed to avoid that."
He nodded. "At first, it's almost a lark. He's sure he'll extricate himself. But the more he moves, and then struggles, the quicker it sucks him down into the muck. After a bit he can't make any headway, can't even struggle as he tries to slog through that heavy, spongy stuff that is neither water nor earth.
"Time is like that," the pooka continued. "A few thousand years go by and it's all fun and games. But then you feel the tug of the centuries, weighing you down as you slog toward forever."
Rachel's eyes began to pool with tears.
"Now, there darlin'. I know. But, be at ease. Your time is finite."
"It ... it is? But ..."
"I cannot tell you when. I cannot even tell you if it will be a long ways away. I'm afraid I have a faulty grasp of what is lengthy in regard to time. But I can tell you ... I'm tired, I want to stop someplace and take a bit of ease. I've decided this is the place ... for now. And I'll do some good as long as I'm here ... so long as the faery hounds keep their peace and distance."
No one said a word. Finally, O'Callaghan smiled.
"You'll be wanting to take your rest. I'll have a young lady show you to your room. Have a good night, now. We'll talk in the morning."
Rachel and Locan stood and followed a girl out of the hall. Rachel walked ahead of Locan who watched her hips sway and her tartan skirt swirl.
Damn, she looks cute, he mused.
Their room contained lush furnishings and a puffy feather bed.
"What do you think?" Rachel said.
"A feather bed. Been a long time since I slept in one of those. You'll go right out."
"I mean, what do you think of O'Callaghan?"
"I know he seems like a nice old guy, but he's a pooka. We can't trust him. They were created just to fuck with human minds."
Rachel let her jacket slip off her shoulders, then unbuttoned the white blouse. She let it fall and turned, standing topless in her tartan skirt and knee socks. Her gaze locked on Locan.
"What?" he said.
"My god, does this really turn you on?"
He shrugged. "Well, it is a different look for you."
"Cripes, you're leaking so much you've stained your pants. Can you at least wait until I get undressed, or maybe you want me to wear this thing to bed too."
"Huh?" He looked down at his crotch. His pants were indeed darkened by a large wet spot. Could he have exuded so much pre-cum? Damn if it didn't look like he'd pissed himself.
Rachel walked past him to the bathroom as Locan continued to puzzle at his wet crotch. Then he heard Rachel shriek.
He turned to bolt toward the bathroom, but she stepped through the door, naked.
"Oh, my God, Locan, look!"
He shut his eyes tight and opened them again. He couldn't be seeing what he was seeing. Of course, he wasn't; the damned pooka was playing with his head.
"My God, Locan. He's given me a dick!" Rachel's chin trembled.
"Hold on there, kid. He hasn't ... that is, it's not really there. It's just in your head ... our heads."
"Well it goddamned feels like it's there," she cried.
She reached down and delicately lifted the penis in her fingers. She slid her fingertips along its length.
"My God, that felt ..." She gingerly slid her fingertips along the underside again. It came to life and bobbed out of her grasp.
"Locan ... holy shit! It's getting hard ... I'm having a hard on!"
"Well, it will do that if you keep rubbing it like that."
"Oh, my God." She began to stroke it. "I can feel it getting hard. Ooo! It feels ... it feels ..."
Rachel's cock stood out like the prow of a ship. Locan could only stare dumbstruck, mesmerized.
It occurred to him that it was a pretty dick, the most feminine looking dick he'd ever seen. If a girl had to have a dick, especially a girl like Rachel, she couldn't have hoped for a prettier, more girlish dick than the one she stroked with increasing desperation.
It was pale as porcelain, and tapered, hairless. Then he noticed the pair of balls that hung between her thighs, contained in a pale, smooth, hairless sack.
"Locan, what am I supposed to do? I need to do something. Help me, Locan! You're a guy, what am I supposed to do with it?"
Should he tell her to jerk herself off?
"Um, look, it's not really there. What you're feeling, it's just in your head."
"I don't care. I'm ... oh, Locan."
"All right, stop stroking it. Get into bed and try to relax. Maybe it will disappear."
"But, Locan ... I can't help ..."
"Yes you can! Get into bed."
Rachel reluctantly let go of her hard on and waddled toward the bed.
"How the hell do you guys walk with all this junk between your legs?"
"Never mind, just get into bed. Look, I'll rub your back or something to get your mind off it. Go ahead, I'm right behind you."
Rachel mumbled, "How am I supposed to lie on it?" She climbed into the feather bed and sank into valleys formed by the bedclothes.
Locan dropped his pants as she watched.
"Locan! You ... you're ... you have a pussy!"
"What?" He looked down. "Aw, fuck. You're shitting me."
Rachel began to laugh.
"What's so fucking funny?"
"You're soaked. My god, I've never seen a pussy so sopping wet."
"I ... never mind. That prick ... immortal my ass, I'll find a way to kill him."
His ears burned as he sidled into bed, all the while attempting to shield his crotch.
Rachel giggled like she was being tickled mercilessly.
"Oh, Locan, you should have seen your face."
"Right, like you were looking at my face."
"Locan, please, I'm still hard. Look, it's making a tent in the bedclothes."
"Racey, you're just going to have to ..."
"Give me a blow job," she pleaded.
"Look ... whatever it feels like you can't trust it. It's all in your head."
"Locan ... please ... it's so hard ... I need some relief ... please?"
"I can't ..."
"If you really cared about me you wouldn't leave me in such misery."
"Huh? Are you kidding? Look, I don't suck cock."
"But it's not just any cock; it's my cock. It's a pretty cock, isn't it?" She lifted the bedclothes displaying her newly acquired phallus, curving delicately like a fleshy scimitar, reaching, yearning.
"I ... but ..."
"Please, please, Locan ... I don't think I can take much more."
It was her eyes, those wide, liquid puppy-dog pleading eyes.
"Jesus ... if you ever tell anyone ..."
"I won't, ever, cross my heart. Please, Locan, hurry."
He began to lean under the covers, but she tossed them off.
"Do it like you like me to do it," she said.
He took her cock between his thumb and forefinger. It was truly a girl's cock, creamy smooth to the touch.
"Okay," Locan said. He extended his tongue and licked the underside.
"Oooo! Whoa! Oh-my-god! Locan, Jesus, no wonder you guys plead and beg and whine and cry like little girls for us to do that to you."
"Don't stop, stupid! C'mon, lick me some more. Take me in your mouth. Ohhh, gawwwd!"
He had taken her penis into his mouth, lapping it's length from base to tip, then re-engulfing it. Rachel was past intelligent speech, and communicated in squeaks, shrieks and high-pitched sighs.
He felt the cock expand and withdrew it from his mouth.
"Owww, no! Why'd you stop?"
"Listen ... when you feel like you have to ... uh ... let loose, give me a warning."
"What? Aw, shit, Okay, okay, I promise I won't come in your mouth ... okay? Please, don't stop again."
"Jesus, okay, okay."
He resumed sucking her lovely cock and after some moments found himself suppressing a chuckle. She was so vocal, her fists grabbed handfuls of sheets, or pounded the mattress. He was driving her crazy and he was enjoying every second of her exquisite agony.
He fondled her balls as he sucked her, eliciting even more shrieks, sighs and the occasional nasty word.
He felt an almost imperceptible contraction of her ball sack and the tip of her cock knocked up against the back of his throat. He tried to expel her, but she held his head fast and thrust against his face, fucking his throat.
When her cock jerked he resigned himself to what was coming. It flowed into his throat as his tongue tried to divert it out the side of his mouth. Then his mouth tasted like a entire peppermint patty had melted in it.
"As her shrunken cock slipped past his lips he mumbled. "Fucking crazy pooka."
Rachel lay like a helpless rag doll.
"Oh, Locan ... I had no idea. That was so ... fantastic. I'll never make fun of anyone for begging for a blow job again."
Suddenly she lifted herself into a sit, took his head in her hands and kissed him.
"You taste nice," she grinned. Like peppermint. I'm sorry for not telling you I was going to come ... I just ..."
"Yeah, I know ... it's okay."
"Locan, that was beautiful. Such sensations. The urge to come ... like I wanted to explode."
"Glad you enjoyed yourself."
"Let me do something for you."
"Let me lick your pussy. I know how to make you crazy."
"Uh ... that's okay."
"Don't be embarrassed; I promise you'll like it."
In an instant she was kneeling between his thighs. Her hair fell over his crotch and then her tongue's tip slid along his vulva lips.
His exclamation spurred her to accelerate her attentions. Her tongue dodging about his clit, pulling at his lips with her own. Locan couldn't move; he could barely breathe. Rachel's tongue tapped out a tattoo on his clit and his eyes rolled back and his toes curled.
It was an orgasm like he'd never experienced before, a zing of electricity followed by a series of pulses that spread like ripples in a pond under his belly and chest.
His eyes opened, glazed, lazy. Rachel grinned above him, licking her lips.
"Locan, you taste like cinnamon syrup."
"Uh ... huh."
She molded her body to his.
"You really liked it, didn't you? I did it just the way I like it done to me ... you know, when I have a pussy."
"It was ... incredible."
"Locan ... this isn't so bad. I mean ... I hope we turn back to normal, but ... maybe this isn't such a bad thing."
"Racey ... I can't think right now."
"Yeah ... okay." She smiled and kissed him
They lay together, dozing from time to time. Rachel awoke and brushed her lips against Locan's ears and whispered, "Hey, I guess you're a cocksucker."
Locan bolted up into a sit.
Rachel giggled. "Oh, don't be mad. I'm just being a bitch."
"You ... you little ..."
"I'm hard again."
"Let me fuck you, Locan."
"Ah, no, I don't think ..."
"C'mon ... I'll never get a chance to feel what it's like."
"Racey, Jesus, no ... I don't think ..."
"Oh, don't be shy."
She straddled him, grinned and demanded, "Spread them."
"Haven't you ever heard 'no mean no'?"
"You say no, but you really mean yes."
"You're sopping again. Ya slut!"
She thrust her cock into him and all at once he experienced a sense of being filled; his insides clenched her cock as she withdrew and thrust again until she had achieved a regular, if accelerating rhythm.
Locan surrendered and clasped his hands over her hips, guiding her as she corkscrewed her pelvis, penetrating him ever deeper.
"Oh, baby," he whimpered.
She shuddered, and he felt her fluids splash inside him. He wondered what flavor they were this time, not that it mattered.
As she slid out of him, he felt a low yield charge explode in his belly.
"Oh, wow," he sighed.
Rachel bent down and kissed him.
"I love you, Locan."
She'd never said that before; they'd avoided saying it to each other.
He closed his hands around her hips and slid them up to her ribs.
"I love you too, Rachel."
A tear splashed on his cheek.
"What?" he said.
"It's just ... you only call me Rachel when you're serious."
They molded their bodies together in a tight embrace.
"I never knew," she said. "It was like I was taking possession of you, Locan. And, then, like I was becoming you, melding with you."
"I know ... I know."
Their room filled with bright sunshine, drawing them from sleep. Rachel snuck a peek under their bedclothes.
Locan tossed the bedclothes aside.
"Back to our old selves, I guess. Disappointed?"
"I would have liked to have done you doggie."
"This wasn't a bad thing ... there's no evil going on here ... is there?"
A soft knock at the door diverted their attention and caused then to snatch up the bedclothes to cover themselves. A girl peeked inside.
"Excuse me, ma'am, sir. We found the lady's luggage."
She left Rachel's bag and quietly closed the door.
* * *
They showered together then dressed in sweaters and jeans.
"So, what are we going to do?" Rachel asked. "Pooka he may be, but, damn it, I think he's on to something."
"I don't know. How'd you react when you found you'd suddenly acquired a penis?"
"I know ... I screamed my head off."
"You think these girls aren't similarly traumatized?"
"I think their girlfriends probably prepare them. At least now anyway."
"I suppose. Okay, let's go see him."
They found O'Callaghan sitting alone at a table lifting a spoonful of oatmeal to his lips.
"Good mornin' to you, darlins. Sleep well, did ya?"
"What do you think?" Locan scowled.
O'Callaghan grinned as Rachel rolled her eyes.
"All right, me boy. What are we going to do? Set me out onto the world to resume me old tricks? Or let me be at ease at this school, here amongst the mountains of the moon, as it were. Aw, Gary, you know in your heart I'm doing no wrong."
"How can I trust you?"
"Aye, you're taking a chance, I'll give you that."
A gaggle of students happened by, laughing, chatting. One hugged O'Callaghan and wished him good morning.
"Did I really see a group of happy girls walk by, or did you make me think I did?"
"Gary ... Rachel ... do you think you only imagined making love last night?"
"No," Rachel replied. "I didn't imagine ... anything."
O'Callaghan brushed back his breaker of gray hair and smiled.
Just before dusk their young Garda drove them past the gate and out onto the road to Limerick, Rachel asked Locan, "What are you going to tell Bishop Galway?"
"That the school is in good hands ... and we'd be wise not to fuck with it, or its new administrator."
Rachel suddenly sat up and leaned out the window of the SUV.
"What?" Locan asked.
"Don't you see them, all shaggy and white with red fiery ears."
Locan followed her line of sight.
"Faery hounds. Look at them all. Well, I guess they'll be keeping an eye on him for us."The young Garda looked quizzically at Locan and Rachel and shrugged.
Copyright 1996 and on, Erotica Readers Association, Inc.
By Riccardo Berra
The Girl with Two Lovers
By Remittance Girl
Fixed in Amber
I Waited for You...
The Central Registry
The Other Side
The River Mother
Things Better Left Unsaid
By Richard V Raiment
Ghosts of Christmas Past
Recalled to Life
By Robert Buckley
A Fragile Desire
A Weekend in Queens..
Adam and Eve on a Raft
An Unconventional Friendship
Brotherhood Of The ...
Close to Hand
Coins For The Ferryman
Dead Man's Switch
Does Immortality come with a Pension?
Excess Of Light
Making Her Late For...
Seeing Is Believing
Smells Like Money
The Angel of Loneliness
The Dog Park
The Great Sin
They Need Me
You Get What You Pay For
You're the Only One
By Robert GSK
By Rose B. Thorny
Only When It Rains
Power and Glory
The Thing Under the...
The Principal of the Thing
By Sidney Durham
I'm Only Shaving!
Junk Yard Goddess
Sometimes I Can ...
Speaking of Escher
The Road Not Taken
By Tulsa Brown
Debt of Honor
Flesh On A Woman
Half Moon Girl
By Valentine Bonnaire
Bing Cherry Silk
Have a Nice Day
Once Upon A Time . . .
Yellow, like the daffodils
By William Dean
A Hand in the Bush
Buy Me Something
Forest for the Trees
Kiss Me And Then...
Stranger in the Bonfire
by A.F. Waddell
A Filing Fling
by Addison Long
Menage A Cart
by Adhara Law
by Alana James
Torn in Two
by Alicia Night Orchid
by Angela Caperton
by BJ Franklin
by Beth Vox
Frostbite the Ice Pimp
by Chuck Lovepoe
The Accidental Fetish
So Much in Common
by Daphne Dubonet
The Hand & I.
by G. Gregory
The Puss Hater
by Inna Spice
One for the Road
by J. Corvo
by J.D. Coltrane
Naked Over New York
by J.Z. Sharpe
The Chocolate Wife
by James Robert Sands
by Jamie Smithe
by Jean Roberta
Caitlin Comes Clean
by Jerry Rightson
Something To Make...
by Jim Parr
Melanie and Jay Go...
by Jude Mason
It's Lovely. It's Horrible.
by Kathleen Bradean
by Kaye Heche
A Husband's Lesson
by Kim Bax
Better Than a Blow...
by Lauren Mills
Page 12 - No. F
In The Name Of...
by Michael Michele
by Nettie Kestler
The Wounded Healer
by Nicholas M.
by Nick Santa Rosa
by P. E. Brink
by Riccardo Berra
Newly Reformed Woman...
by Seneca Mayfair
by Sybil Rush
by Teresa Lamai
by Teresa Wymore
Shadows of De La Rosa
by Tori Diaz