Sex in the City--Dublin Read online

  ‘Torture their cocks so they learn not to?’ Lucina smiled.

  ‘It’s the fittest punishment,’ Juno agreed, resting her hand on his bare thigh and looking down with disdain at his naked groin. ‘But poor little Peacock has grown limp already!’ she observed.

  ‘Then we must make his cock hard again before we punish it,’ said Lucina, her hand moving to his other thigh.

  Both hands began to creep slowly upwards and he tried to squeeze his knees together, hiding his genitals.

  ‘Tut Peacock!’ Juno chided him. ‘I should slap you for that, but …’ She took his limp prick in her free hand and shook it, let it flop from side to side. ‘Sorry little thing,’ she said. ‘Like a worm, hanging from the worm that he is.’

  ‘Pale and lifeless, like an overcooked piece of pasta,’ Lucina said, and they laughed.

  ‘As Molly Malone might have said … cock-less and muscles!’

  ‘Alive alive-o!’

  Juno squeezed his cock gently, but there was little response; she dug her sharply manicured nails into it, scratched up to the head and then released it.

  ‘Dirty little wanker has wanked himself empty, has he?’ she frowned. ‘What might bring the life back to his sorry little dick? What might make his spunk rise again?’

  ‘Our mouths?’ Lucina wondered.

  ‘Our tongues on his balls?’ Juno suggested, and smiled cruelly at him. ‘You’d better get hard for us, Peacock, or it won’t just be your cock we punish.’

  The warning given, the women bowed their heads over his groin, Lucina scratching his thigh when she felt him tense. Slowly Juno ran her lips up and down his cock, her tongue flat against it like a cat licking at cream, while Lucina put her lips to his balls and began to nip at his scrotum.

  He feared becoming erect, feared the consequences, sweat broke out on his brow but he was unable to resist the ministrations of the two women, especially when they brought their hands into play. Fingers ran up and down his cock, teasing, then linking around it, Juno and Lucina gripping it as if to say it was theirs.

  Which of course it was. He – and it – now belonged to them.

  Slowly it stiffened, thickened, lengthened, and he let out a sob of despair when Lucina cupped his balls and squeezed, when Juno took his cock between finger and thumb and flicked her tongue quickly across the tip.

  ‘A response at last!’ Juno smiled. ‘You were never going to be able to resist, were you Peacock?’

  She and Lucina raised their heads in unison, keeping their hands on his genitals as they nestled their bodies close into him, Juno kissing him lightly on the cheek as if with fondness.

  The gesture made him tremble with trepidation, for such a mocking travesty of affection could only hint at one thing, that there was something other than affection to follow.

  ‘But it seems to be getting dark,’ Juno remarked, looking about the room. ‘I think candles are needed, so that we can see what we’re doing.’

  ‘And so Peacock can see!’ Lucina added, with a wicked laugh, giving his balls a gentle squeeze and then rising to leave the room.

  ‘Now keep hard for us dear,’ Juno coaxed, her fingers still running up and down his cock, her thumb brushing across its tip from time to time. ‘Stay hard for Juno, yes?’

  ‘Yes, Juno,’ he was forced to say, knowing it was inevitable that he would stay hard in her hands.

  Lucina returned with candles which she lit and placed at intervals around the room, came to the sofa with the last two and sat back down beside him. Holding one of the candles before his face, she kept it steady while Juno reached over to light it, then moved it slowly before him so that the flame danced in his eyes, reflecting his fear. For minutes the three of them regarded the candle in silence, Juno’s fingers still caressing his cock to keep him hard.

  Then her hand was still, she bent his stiff cock painfully forward and held it delicately by the tip. Lucina inclined the candle a little, first one way and then the other, regarding it as if with curiosity. Molten wax began to spill down the side, she tipped it further as she positioned her hand over his groin.

  Both women laughed as Peacock screamed, the hot wax splashing along the thick shaft of his cock. So fierce was his reaction that it sprang from Juno’s fingers and she tutted.

  ‘I think I need to hold it more firmly,’ she said, waiting for the wax to cool and harden and then wrapped her hand around his cock so that only the head protruded from her fist.

  ‘No!’ he begged, and tried to avert his gaze, but hands kept his head bowed, so that he could see Lucina begin to tilt the candle once again.

  A single drop of wax spilled onto the tip of his cock, sealing the narrow slit, and he screamed in agony, then again as more fell. He was writhing in their embrace by the time the head of his cock was completely covered, and while the wax was still soft Juno pressed her thumb lightly on the tip, leaving her print like a brand.

  ‘There,’ she said, letting his cock fall free. ‘That should stop the little wanker coming until we say he can.’

  ‘Yes, it’s going to take an ejaculation of some power to burst through that wax seal!’ laughed Lucina, blowing smoke into his face as she extinguished the candle.

  ‘Could Peacock build up to such an orgasm?’ Juno wondered, stroking his cock steadily, pleased to see that the wax was pliable enough not to break. ‘Or will he perhaps never be able to come again?’

  As she caressed his cock so Juno kissed his face, first to taste his tears and then for her amusement, whispering obscenities in his ear to coax him to become ever harder in her hand. Lucina, meanwhile, had set aside the extinguished candle and taken up a new one. Now she whittled away at the blunt end with a sharp knife, humming softly to herself, occasionally pricking him with the needle-sharp point of the blade, touching it to his thighs, his belly, the soft undersides of his raised arms.

  ‘Should we put him to the test?’ she wondered, when she had the base of the candle tapered to a point. ‘See if he is able to come?’

  ‘Indeed, let’s!’ agreed Juno, and they stood, ordering him to do the same.

  With his hands fastened behind his head, and his legs spread by the iron bar, he found this difficult, struggling to rise from the sofa, and they laughed at his clumsiness, prodded him and slapped him and told him to get up. Finally, in what was as close to pity as they could ever feel for him, they each hooked a hand through his arms and hauled him to his feet.

  Juno then lay back along the length of the sofa and lifted her skirt to bare her naked thighs and belly.

  ‘Come taste me, eat me, drink me Peacock,’ she invited, her body gently undulating.

  Lucina helped Peacock lower himself between Juno’s thighs, settled him with his face on her friend’s cunt, and then the skirt fell over him like a silken shroud, bringing darkness to his world.

  Immediately his mouth began to work on Juno’s cunt, he kissed, he licked, he forced his tongue inside her. It was an automatic reaction, as if he had been programmed, as if he had been trained.

  Lost within the folds of her skirt, between her thighs, he was aware of nothing but her cunt until he felt something press against his anus. Slowly Lucina forced in the whittled end of the candle, twisted it around, pressed it deep.

  ‘Lift your arse a little higher Peacock,’ she said, her hand moving the candle like a joystick to show him the way, and his knees shifted up the sofa, his buttocks raised. ‘There’s a good boy!’ she said, stroking the backs of his thighs, fingertips lightly touching his balls.

  He could hear little, and certainly not the striking of the match; he continued to lick and suck at Juno with a delighted devotion. It was only when the first drop of hot wax fell on the back of his thigh that he stopped, when the second and third fell that he cried into Juno’s cunt. He tried to pull his head away but she had him clamped between her thighs, all he could move was the lower part of his body, which began to writhe. The angle of the candle then changed, the next drops of wax fell onto his balls and now
he screamed.

  At last the wax stopped falling, he trembled and waited but there was no further stinging pain and he sighed his relief, his soft exhalation warming Juno’s cunt.

  Over the tent of her skirt, beneath which Peacock continued to work with his mouth, Juno smiled, seeing Lucina tilt the candle to a sharper angle. Now the wax no longer dripped from it, but poured steadily down its length, accumulating, moving lower, until finally …

  His scream was muffled by Juno’s thighs and the folds of her skirt, but she felt it shake her cunt as the wax poured onto his anus. A molten pool formed around the base of the candle, spilled across his arse, and before it could harden Lucina removed the candle and upended it, pouring a constant stream of molten wax over the puckered hole.

  ‘That’s two orifices plugged!’ she giggled, bending down to blow across his arse, helping the wax to cool and harden. ‘So which next my love?’ she asked Juno.

  ‘I don’t think Peacock heard that,’ said Juno, and lifted her skirt, parting her legs to let him remove his face from her groin.

  Taking him by his cuffed hands, Lucina roughly jerked him away and to his feet. ‘What I said, Peacock, is that we now have two orifices plugged.’

  ‘And what we wonder,’ added Juno, standing beside him, ‘is which we should deal with next.’

  ‘A hood would be good,’ said Lucina, running her fingers over his face. ‘A tight leather hood which would plug everything.’

  ‘But you know how our words can torment and tease him,’ said Juno, licking at his ear, biting at the lobe. ‘He needs to hear at least.’

  ‘But not to see. The worm isn’t worthy enough to set eyes on us,’ said Lucina, and in an instant was behind him, binding a soft leather mask across his eyes.

  ‘And his sobbing and bleating is beginning to annoy me,’ Juno decided, so she bound a similar length of leather across his mouth.

  There were moments of silence then, the only sound Peacock’s heavy breaths as his chest heaved. Seeing nothing, teetering on legs which were spread wide by the iron bar, his body began to sway unsteadily, so the two women pressed against him, sandwiching him between their bodies.

  ‘The only thing you have to excite yourself now, Peacock, is what you feel,’ Lucina told him, her hands caressing his body, front and back.

  ‘And what you hear,’ Juno whispered. ‘Will it be enough to make you come? Come hard enough to shoot that plug of wax from your cock?’

  Lucina laughed. ‘If not, young man, if you stay plugged, you’ll be full of shit and piss and spunk by the morning!’

  He shivered at their touch, trembled at their words, shuddered between them.

  ‘You are frightened, Peacock?’ asked Juno, and scratched her nails across his chest. ‘Ah! Poor thing!’

  ‘The only thing you have to fear is the silence,’ Lucina told him, her lips brushing his ear as she spoke. ‘The silence … and the anticipation of what is to come next.’

  And there was a silence so deep that he cried behind his blindfold, sobbed behind his gag. A silence so profound that Juno and Lucina seemed to grow with it and took on the stature of goddesses.

  In the presence of such goddesses even the proudest of men could be made as meek as the most insignificant of creatures.

  About the Story

  FLYING FROM LIVERPOOL TO Dublin is like being shot out of a cannon; no sooner do you reach cruising altitude than you’re plummeting back to earth again. Not the most pleasant of flights, despite (or because of?) the usual company of priests and nuns leafing through their prayer books or fingering their rosaries, but worth it, for Dublin is the place to go for a drink. The chat and the banter; the music and the good humour; the craic. I found it in plenty, in places too countless to mention. But then, in Temple Bar …

  Peacock doesexist, though perhaps it is not necessary to go to Dublin to find him. He frequents bars rather than pubs, drinks bottled beer rather than draught, has good looks and charm and is all too aware of the fact. Some men might react violently to his vanity, that is in the nature of the male, but women have subtler ways.

  I was brought up in an Irish community in England and remember the matriarchs, the women who could quell us unruly kids with the flick of a finger or a single withering glance. Their husbands might have thought themselves the head of the family, their sons might have towered head and shoulders above them while still in their teens, but it was the women who ruled: the mothers and the grandmothers. Despite their slight stature it was they who had the force, the drive, the determination.

  And Juno, I remember her too. Or, rather, I remember Sean O’Casey’s play, Juno and the Paycock. I have never read it, or seen it performed, but the title has always been enough to intrigue me. An Irishwoman named Juno? Who was she? Was that a common name? And the Paycock? These were questions enough to keep me interested, and from time to time I would imagine my own scenarios, my own plots, to go with the title. Juno and the Peacockrepresents my latest imagining, and the first to be put down in print. Now I think I might see how Sean O’Casey imagined it.

  Love is the Drug

  by Ken Bruen

  I’M GONNA FESS UP, up front.

  Kay?

  I came to Dublin to fall in love.

  Twenty-nine years old, not bad-looking, a girl once told me I looked like the drummer in Bon Jovi.

  Yanking my chain, right.

  But I rolled with it and sheet, I even considered taking lessons, on the drums that is, not the girl.

  My mom was from Dublin so you can already see where I’m coming from.

  Cockles and Mussels

  Sweet Molly Malone

  Trinity College

  Real pints of the black stuff and

  Best of freaking all

  Phil Lynott’s home town.

  Man, I love that band.

  Have the T-shirt and all their albums, not on CD, nope, on vinyl.

  Serious bucks that.

  My old man, worked construction in Jersey so guess what?

  I work construction.

  I do the edgy stuff, out on the high beams, and it pays.

  Mega.

  Did me a shit load of overtime for me dream trip.

  Two weeks in a hotel in Temple Bar as the internet said it was the centre of the action.

  Gonna get me an Irish girl, got to be at the core.

  I had close to ten K to spend in that 2 weeks. And I was excited.

  My dad had passed away a few years before and I was still living with my mom, she kept giving me advice:

  1………..Don’t let them take you for an ejit.

  2…………..Mind yer money.

  3……………….Be sure and eat a good breakfast.

  4……………………Don’t be having sex with foreign ones!

  I guess No 1 and No 4 are kinda interchangeable.

  She gave me rosary beads, to keep me safe and a bottle of Holy Water.

  Homeland Security took the Holy Water.

  I flew Aer Lingus, gonna make it Irish all the way.

  I was in economy, keep the green for the coleen. I had an Irish Claddagh ring, heart turned outwards to show I was available.

  An elderly man in the seat beside me, sipping from a flask.

  I put out my hand, said

  ‘I’m Ted, Ted Newton, outta Jersey.’

  He chugged on that flask, like Mother’s milk, ignored my hand, said

  ‘Let me guess, first trip to Ireland.’

  It showed?

  I said

  ‘Yes.’

  He made what sounded like a snicker, said

  ‘They’ll see you coming.’

  I didn’t want to ask what that meant as I figured, good it wasn’t.

  So I put on my iPod and heard him say

  ‘Fookin Pogues I’ll bet.’

  He was right but I acted like I hadn’t heard him.

  When the drinks trolley came, I had me a double Jameson and I would have offered him a drink, my treat but he’d al
ready asked for a large brandy, ignoring me completely.

  The in-flight movie was a Ben Stiller gig so I skipped that, moved my tracks to The Boys are back In Town.

  My companion was snoring loudly by then and I was a relieved.

  Not that I’m a wuss.

  You fucking kidding me, guy?

  I’d been working construction since I was eighteen years old and I was built.

  You don’t survive the job for eleven years by eating shit sandwiches but my first real Irish person, I didn’t want to break his goddamn nose right off.

  The in-flight meal was curry

  On an Irish airline ? But there was some seriously good bread, I asked the hostess who was as hostile as my sleeping buddy, I asked

  ‘Is that like, like, real Irish soda bread?’

  She said, yah believe it,

  ‘Whatever?’

  I had an Irish coffee for afters, determined to keep up my Irish dream. It tasted like the crap they peddle in Coney Island with fake cream on it and the hostess said

  ‘That will be ten Euro.’

  She accepted 15 bucks with a sigh.

  I could have argued the rate of exchange but the sooner I got off that goddamn airplane …

  Irish Immigration busted me balls, every which way but loose.

  I was losing the Irish buzz.

  Finally, after I changed me dollars to Euros and was staggered at the rate, not in my favour, I got outside and you guessed it, it was raining.

  I’d grown up with the lilt of soft Irish rain.

  This was mean, vicious, New York kind of shit.

  Finally got a cab, the driver was Polish and smoking.

  I pointed out the no smoking decals all over his vehicle and he muttered

  ‘Is no Iraq here.’

  The fuck was that.

  I gave him a tip and did he thank me?

  Right.

  Temple Bar looked like fucking Scranton, the armpit of Jersey.

  The hotel.

  I don’t want to sound like one of those moaning, ever-whining Yanks but shitsville USA, here it was in Dublin.