Four more blokes come up tae lend a hand. They tie oor hauns and feet, same as the lassie, and huckle us back doon the stair tae the hall.
“Two more sacrifices, Master,” the Sergeant shouts oot tae the boy in red. “As promised.”
“Are they virgins?” the Master says.
“Come on. Would anybody shag this pair?”
The master laughs and says: “Bring them forward.”
We get carried, lyin’ on oor backs, by two guys each, and it’s as we pass down the centre of the hall that we see the faces peerin’ in.It’s aw folk fae the village. Folk we know, folk we’ve stolen from. I think aboot ma uncle and his blethers aboot secret gatherings. Auld bastard never knew the hauf ay it.
“This one first,” the Master says, and they lie me doon on the altar, which is still damp wi’ blood. I feel it soakin’ intae ma troosers as the boy starts chantin’ again and a fresh white sheet comes doon tae cover me.
I don’t know whether there was ether on it, or chloroform, or maybe it was just fear, but that was the last thing I saw, ’cause I passed oot aboot two seconds later.
So.
Ye don’t need many brains tae work oot what happened next, dae ye? Aye, a lesson was taught. A wise and skilled man, that magician, for he was the man in charge, the village in his thrall, willingly daein’ what he told them.
Suffice it to say, that was two wee scrotes who never broke intae another hoose, and the same’ll be true of you, pal.
I can see fae that look in your eye that you’re sceptical aboot this. Maybe you don’t believe you’re no’ gaunny reoffend. Nae changin’ your nature, eh? What’s bred in the bone, will not out of the flesh. Or maybe you don’t believe my story?
Aye, that’s a fair shout. I didnae tell the whole truth. The story’s nae lie, but I changed the perspective a wee bit, for dramatic effect. You see, if you werenae so blissfully oblivious of whose hoose you happen tae be screwin’ on any given night, you might have noticed fae the doorplate that my name’s no Rab. I wasnae wan ay the burglars.
I was the Sergeant.
I’m retired noo, obviously, but I still perform certain services in the village. We’re a close-knit community, ye could say. So I ought to let you know, when you heard me on the phone earlier, sayin’ I’d caught a burglar and tae come roon soon as, it wasnae 999 I dialled. Mair like 666, if you catch my drift. ’Cause, let’s face it, naebody knows you’re here, dae they?
Are you a virgin, by the way?
Aye, right.
Doesnae matter really. Either way, you’re well fucked noo.
Aye, good evening, officer, thanks for coming. He’s through there. Sorry aboot the whiff. I think you could call that the smell of restorative justice.
Go easy on him. I’ve a strong feelin’ he’s aboot tae change his ways. A magical transformation, you could cry it.
How do I know? Personal experience, officer. Personal experience.
Hard Rock
Gerard Brennan
The sweet scent of groupie sex hung in the air. I grabbed the tequila bottle by the neck and gulped down a mouthful. Another hotel room. They’d all merged into one. Especially since our manager had decided not to book us into five-star penthouses. He said the savings would buy us better equipment, but I was still battering out licks on the same old Les Paul I’d started out our first six-month tour with. We’d just played the last set. No more shows. No more hotel rooms. And no more groupies. Except this last one.
Buck-naked and handcuffed to the headboard, my last fuck of the tour smiled up at me. I stood at the foot of the bed, not wearing much more myself — just my silk boxer shorts and a smug smile. Her body was at my mercy. Five minutes she’d known me, but she trusted this much. I’d have passed it off as typical groupie dumb-bitch behaviour, but this one didn’t strike me as the usual awestruck bimbo. She wasn’t after a story to tell her friends. She wanted to give me a story to tell. I plonked my tequila bottle back down on the dressing table. She writhed a little on the crumpled sheets, just for show.
“You ready to go again, rockstar?”
“I need another minute.” I smiled to myself. “Just lie there and wait for me.” Like she’d a choice.
“Oh, you’re so mean, Joey D. Leaving me all chained up like this. I need some attention.”
“What are you, some kind of nympho? I already fucked you twice.”
“They were intro-fucks. Now that we’ve got to know each other, we can really go wild.”
I shook my head, but my dick twitched in my boxer shorts. She was something to look at, all right. Her golden brown skin and black shock of thick curly hair spoke of Latin blood, but her stunning green eyes had an Asian slant. Hawaiian, maybe? Certainly a world apart from the flame-haired cailíní I’d pursued in my youth. Forget those frigid Irish chicks. I’d moved on to better things. I ran my fingers through my mane, a match for hers in length, colour and volume. Rock and Roll, baby.
“Maybe a line or two of coke will get you going?” she said.
Seemed like a good idea. I scooped the baggie and my little pewter straw from the round table in the corner of the room. I held it out to her.
“Want some?”
“No, Joey. I want you.” I poured some snow on the table. “Wait, Joey! Why would you want to snort off that old thing? Lay some of that powder on me, why don’t you?”
“Party on, my lady.”
She giggled. “My lady. What are you, a knight?”
I ignored the wisecrack. She’d told me her name earlier, but I didn’t care about that shit. No need for names in this business. Something you learned pretty quickly on the road.
I powdered her from her tits to her trimmed pubes and got to work like a Dyson. She giggled as I disappeared the coke, working from the top down. I didn’t get it all. Got distracted by that musky scent from between her muscled thighs. I tossed the straw over my shoulder and it pinged as it bounced off the wall. She raised her hips to meet my tongue, purring like a kitty cat.
When I’d had my fill, I crawled up her body, licking patches of the missed coke off her skin on the way. My senses hummed. As we kissed, she hooked her toes into the waistband of my shorts and slid them down to my ankles. I reached out to the bedside cabinet for a condom. I always kept them next to the Gideon Bible. I’m not sure whether or not I meant it as an insult. I bagged Little Joey and guided him towards her.
“Wait,” she said.
“For what?”
“Let’s have a little more fun.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“I was wearing a silk scarf. It’s on the floor by the door. Would you get it?”
“Why?” I tapped the headboard. “You’re already tied up.”
“I’ve something else in mind.”
I wanted to fuck, but I humoured her. If she was into me wearing a white silk scarf it was no skin off my nose. So long as I got my hole. It’s something that’ll never change for me, but I can’t help feeling ridiculous when walking naked with a hard-on. What’s sexy about that? Worse still when it’s wrapped in a luminous green rubber. So I wasted no time. Dashing to the door and back, embarrassed by the wobble and sway of my dick, I fetched the scarf. Back on the bed, I started to put it on. She giggled.
“It’s not for you, Joey. It’s for me.” I shrugged, and wrapped it around her elegant neck. “Tighter,” she said. I tugged on it a little. “Tighter.” I pulled a little harder. “Tighter, Joey! Tighter!”
“What? You want me to fucking strangle you?”