1 comments/ 12931 views/ 4 favorites The Selkie By: Spykke I've been captivated by Celtic history since I was six. It all stemmed from a pictorial history of Iceland and the Orkney islands given to me by my aunt one Christmas. "It'll do the lad good to have something useful to read as well as his comics," she had told my parents. To parent's surprise, I took to the book like a fish to water. I fell in love with the mystery of the place – the standing stones, the legends and mysteries, the wild remoteness, even if my only experience was from the words and pictures in my book. My parents thought I would grow out of it but as I grew older my fascination with Celtic lore grew almost to obsession status. This culminated when I announced that I wanted to study Celtic history at university. Perhaps I get ahead of myself and had better tell you a little about myself before I continue. My name is Thomas Strong. I was born and bred in the city of York in the north of England. My parents were from a conservative professional background, my father an accountant and my mother a teacher. I was brought up in a strict but fair ethic of "work hard and you will prosper." As a single child I was fairly lonely although this suited my nature. I was more content to spend time reading than playing football with my peers. "Don't you want a profession such as a lawyer or doctor?" my father asked. "Something which will earn you a living?" A man needed a useful trade through which he could find his way in life and my father could not understand anyone wishing to take an alternative course. I was determined, Celtic lore was the only thing that interested me. I chose a Scottish university with a first class history department and, to my delight, a languages department which offered a course on the Celtic language. The courses were a joy – never was learning more of a pleasure. I didn't have a social life, I didn't need it. I spent my time in the library or the language lab, avidly absorbing information and knowledge. I had a reputation with the other students of being a strange, nerdy type but I didn't mind. I would interact with them but drinking, parties and women weren't on my agenda. Sometimes I would ask myself what was on my agenda? Why did I have such a wild preoccupation with Celtic history? It felt somehow preordained. It came as something of an anti-climax when I received by first class honours degree. "There is nothing more we can teach you," my tutor told me after the presentation ceremony. "Never have I had a more able student." That was all perfectly good, but what was I going to do with the rest of my life? The dusty life of an academic didn't appeal to me and there was no way I wanted to teach. I went back home and tried to find a way out of my quandary. There seemed no way forward. The employment exchange couldn't help and I could raise no interest in taking an ordinary job. As the months of unemployment passed I slipped into depression. Life dragged on until one day I saw salvation in the newspaper. A simple advertisement. "Wanted, a keen and enthusiastic nature lover to conduct a census of seals for the Nature Conservancy Trust. Experience not required, full training will be provided. Must be able to work alone under difficult conditions. Will involve relocation to Orkney for one year minimum." There followed an address and telephone number. Within seconds I was dialling the number. There was an interview. Although the advertisement had indicated that no experience was needed, I was asked why I was interested in the job. It seemed strange that someone with no knowledge of biology would want to have the job. I explained with more than a little desperation that the job would allow me, in my spare time, to pursue my interests. My knowledge of the language, I was now fluent in a number of Norse and Celtic languages, and the culture would be a major benefit to the job. The interview panel must have agreed because a week later I was offered the job. Within a month I was walking off a ferry onto a short jetty. It was a bright sunny day with the clouds moving quickly driven by a brisk October breeze. I felt excited and uplifted by the smell and sight of the island. For some strange reason I felt as though I was coming home. The town hardly justified the term, comprising of little more than thirty buildings built from the grey local stone. I was staying for two days in the local pub before making the final journey by small boat to the island where I was to spend the next year. The local pub was the largest building in the town, but only just. There was just one guest room. The landlord had initially treated me with reserve until he realised that I spoke his language and understood his culture. He then became much friendlier. The room was simple but comfortable. That evening I ate a simple but wholesome meal and sat in the bar enjoying a glass of strong ale. As the evening progressed around thirty people came in, all greeting me with a mixture of curiosity and reserved friendliness. As the whisky began to flow conversation became more animated. Soon I felt as one with these hard working folk. It so happened that an informal folk club met in the pub. Nothing organised, people just got up and sang or played as they saw fit. The quality of music was excellent with the locals joining in with the songs. As the evening drew on a woman stood up. Conversation was silenced as we looked at her. She had a breathtaking willowy figure, long brown hair and a elfin face. She wore a simple brown dress. Strangely I could not recall seeing her earlier, it was as though she had suddenly appeared in the room. "My name is Sheena," she announced and she began to sing a cappella. I heard a mother lull her bairn, and aye she rocked, and aye she sang. She took so hard upon the verse that the heart within her body rang. "O, cradle row, and cradle go, and aye sleep well, my bairn within; I ken not who thy father is, nor yet the land that he dwells in." And up then spake a grey selchie as aye he woke her from her sleep, "I'll tell where thy bairn's father is: he's sittin' close by thy bed feet. "I am a man upon the land; I am a selchie on the sea, and when I'm far frae ev'ry strand, my dwelling is in Sule Skerry. "And foster well my wee young son, aye for a twal'month and a day, and when that twal'month's fairly done, I'll come and pay the nourice fee." And when that weary twal'month gaed, he's come tae pay the nourice fee; he had ae coffer fu' o' gowd, and anither fu' o'the white money. "Upon the skerry is thy son; upon the skerry lieth he. Sin thou would see thine ain young son, now is the time tae speak wi' he." "But how shall I my young son know when thou ha' ta'en him far frae me?" "The one who wears the chain o' gowd, 'mang a' the selchies shall be he. "And thou will get a hunter good, and a richt fine hunter I'm sure he'll be; and the first ae shot that e'er he shoots will kill baith my young son and me." Everyone sat transfixed as her angelic voice filled the room. Her voice was magical and we all had tears in our eyes as we listened to the words. I had heard the song before – the legend of the selkie – the humans who lived a dual life as seals in the sea. She smiled quietly as we applauded at the end of her song. To my surprise she walked over to me. "That was marvellous," I told her as she sat down beside me. I introduced myself, "I'm Thomas Strong." "Ay I know of you Thomas Strong and I'm pleased to meet you," she told me with a smile. "I'm Sheena Strangmer." She knew me? Where from? "Are the Selkie real or just a legend?" I asked her. "They're real enough," she replied. "You'll no doubt meet them afore ye have long lived on the Skerries." The Skerries were a group of tiny islands where I was to carry out my seal census. How did she know I was to stay in the Skerries? I found her demeanour disconcerting. She seemed somehow old fashioned - her clothes and accent were not modern. She spoke as though she were talking to a child and that she knew secrets that I didn't. I turned momentarily to order a drink from the bar. "So you've finally come," she spoke. Then in a whisper she added, "join us soon, chosen one." I turned back in surprise but she had gone. I scanned the room but could not see her. I went up to the landlord. "Did you see where Sheena went?" I asked him. He shook his head. "Do you know where she lives?" I asked. "Her name is Sheena Strangmer." He looked at me in shock. "Did ye say Strangmer?" he asked. I nodded. "That is a name not heard for a hundred years or more," he replied solemnly. He took me on one side. "The Strangmer family lived on the Skerries. The mother and father with their daughters Sheena and Morag. From all accounts they were decent folk who lived a simple life. Then came the storm in December 1893. The family disappeared, never to be seen again." I felt a chill course through my body. --------------- The next day I had a visit from the local agent for my employers. "I'm Alex McKay," he told me, gripping my hand firmly. "I'm in charge of making your year on the Skerries safe and tolerable." We settled down in the hotel lounge and ordered coffee. "I hope you're not superstitious and don't mind less than comfortable accommodation." I looked at him quizzically. "Well you'll be living in a genuine Orcadian skáli," he told me. "It's a rock house built in a hole in the ground. A sort of heavy duty croft. Not very comfortable by warm and nuclear bomb proof. You need it when storms hit." "And the superstition comment?" "The skáli is built on the site of an older one which belonged to the Strangmer family." I nodded. "Ah the folks who disappeared?" "The very same." "I understand they were decent folk," I told him. "I'm sure they won't bother me." "Ok, fair comment. Now I need to brief you about the safeguards you will have." Again I was perplexed. "Apart from the monthly supply boat you'll be on your own for a year. You could have an accident or fall ill. You'll have three routes of communication. First your lap-top which will have internet connection. You'll also have a radio. Finally you'll have a simple push button beacon which you carry. We expect you to use this every 12 hours to let us know all is well. If you fail to press it or you press it before time then all hell well be unleashed and we'll send in the rescue crew." "How is all this stuff powered?" I asked. "There is a high efficiency solar panel and a wind driven turbine, both connected to a set of wet acid cells. These give you more than enough power for all communication gear and a light. The nice thing is the system works in all weather conditions. There is also a small petrol driven generator for emergency use." "The skáli is built to protect you. The rock walls are two feet thick bolstered by earth. The roof is made from heavy slate slabs – these are an innovation we have introduced. The window has a shutter which you can use in storms. There is a cooking range and you'll have a big stock of peat and wood so you'll not be cold. The nice thing about the design is that the walls absorb the heat from the fire, keeping you warm longer. It may not be the Ritz but it will keep you warm and safe under any weather conditions. You'll be as snug as the proverbial bug." --------------- A couple of days later all was ready and I was on a fishing boat chugging across the ten miles of grey water to my new home. I was accompanied by Alex, 4 guys to unload the gear and a heap of wooden crates. The weather was good and the sea mercifully smooth – I wasn't a great sea traveller. My new home appeared as a small featureless island, we moored at a small stone jetty and I jumped ashore. Alex led me a hundred yards up the slope from the stony beach. There was the skáli – a low stone building almost buried under ground. Beside it was a stone out building which housed my supplies and a motor powered inflatable boat. The best way to describe the inside the skáli is small. Basically there was a large fire cum cooking range, bed, an arm chair, a table and a cupboard. The internal walls we grouted and white washed. The stone slab floor was covered with traditional rugs. Apart from a single light bulb there were several oil lamps. Although the room was simple it was surprisingly comfortable and cosy. Alex gave me a run through showing me where everything was while my supplies were unloaded and within a couple of hours I was alone. There was a radio to help pass the hours and two shelves held books left by previous occupants. There was wide variety of books including a couple of hardcore porn mags for those needing a little manual relief. I settled into the work with ease, enjoying an active life in the fresh sea air. I spent a fair time getting the skáli tidied and to my liking. I had brought some books and other bits and pieces to make the place a little more homely and soon had my frugal dwelling comfortable. The work was straight forward, I simply had to monitor the number of seals passing the island for a fixed period of time each day. To my surprise it was actually quite easy to recognise individual seals from their facial markings and I soon got to recognise regular visitors. They in turn got to recognise me and would gather just off shore from me, barking and wailing in a strangely human fashion. I loved the simple life. The absence of television meant that I spent my time in the evening on creative activities whether it be reading or writing short stories. The black nights, free from the light pollution of big cities, were silent apart for the sound of the surf or the wind and voices. Yes, I said voices, whispering voices. The air at night was filled with the faint sound of many people speaking. What frustrated me was that I could never quite hear exactly what they were saying. They were speaking a dialect of ancient Celtic which was somehow familiar to me but was just out of reach of my comprehension – as though it was a long forgotten language. I didn't fear the voices, I felt that somehow they were friendly. ------------------- I felt a thrill of anxiety as I listened to the radio one evening. The weather forecast predicted gale force storms in my area for the evening. Although the skáli was built to resist the fierce climate, I still felt vulnerable. I fastened down the shutters, stocked up my peat and wood supplies, locked the door and prepared to sit out the storm. The forecasters were not wrong and by midnight the storm was upon me. I shuddered as the wind tore around the building as if trying to rip it from the earth. Then I heard it. During a short lull in the wind I heard the cries. Human like, they were the cries of something in peril. Against my better judgement I pulled on my waterproofs, grabbed a torch and blundered out into the storm. The sound took me down to the beach. In the water were two seal pups. They were trapped in a rip tide below a rocky outcrop. They were crying out pitifully and were obviously getting weak. Without help they would certainly drown. A group of adult seals were further out in clear water, calling out. Although it is easy to anthropomorphise it seemed as though they were crying for me to help. A single adult lay on the beach either dead or unconscious, half in the water. I realised that the adult was in danger of drowning and quickly pulled it further up the beach. There remained the problem of the pups. Acting on sudden inspiration I ran back to the skáli and grabbed a length of rope. I ran back and threw one end out to the pups. They instinctively gabbed the rope in their mouths and as they held on I pulled them to the shore. Soon they lay gasping on the rocky beach. Two of the adults crawled onto the beach and to my surprise nudged the pups reluctantly down to a safe patch of sea. I say reluctantly because the pups didn't want to leave the comatose adult lying on the beach. Other adults barked at me as if they were trying to tell me something. They quietened down as I knelt down and checked out the adult. It was a young female and to my surprise was still breathing and from a bloody mark on it's head I guessed that it had hit it's head and been knocked out. I picked up the beast and carried it back to the skáli. I laid it on a blanket near the fire and set about bathing it's wound. The creature was breathing steadily and I guessed there was little more I could do. It would either live or die, it was in the hands of god. I settled down on the bed and grabbed some sleep. I awoke with a start. The wind had stopped, the skáli silent. I sat up and looked towards the fire. A thrill of shock raced through me. Instead of the seal there lay a naked women on the blanket. I leaped up and knelt by her. There was no doubt. She looked to be in her late teens and was extremely pretty. She had a tight, muscular body with full breasts. Her skin was pale and her crotch and arm pits were heavily hirsute with dark hair. The hair on her head was brown, long and silky. I guessed she was no more than twenty. I put my ear on her chest, her heartbeat was strong and steady, as was her breathing. There was a large bruise on her forehead but otherwise she seemed in no danger. I carefully lifted her into my arms, put her in the bed and covered her with a blanket. I poured a large scotch and sat in my chair, trying to figure out where this girl had come from. After a while I slept. "Hello Thomas Strong," a gentle voice penetrated my sleep. I awoke, disorientated and then I remembered. I looked towards the bed where the woman sat. How did she know my name? "I'm Morag Strangmer, I've been looking forward to meeting you," she said as she slipped form the bed. She paused and looked down, as if discovering her body for the first time. She cupped her breasts in her hands before touching her hirsute mons. She gave a gasp of surprised pleasure. "Do you have a mirror?" she asked me. I pointed at a large mirror above the sink. She stood in front of it, examining herself. She smiled. "When last I saw myself I was a girl of 10 with a flat chest and a smooth hairless body. Now I have breasts and my body has changed. I am a grown woman." "Do you like what you see?" I asked. "Oh yes. I dreamed of the day I would be a woman." I did some quick mental arithmetic. If she was the Morag Strangmer of legend then she had disappeared over a hundred years ago and yet had only aged around 10 years. "Are you the Morag Strangmer who disappeared in 1893," I asked, needing to understand. "Yes, I suppose I am. What is the date today?" "2003," I told her. "So long but it seems only yesterday," she mused. I realised with some surprise that the bruise on her forehead had gone. "Do you feel well?" I asked. "Very well, Thomas Strong. We heal quickly." "We?" I asked, perplexed at her use of the word. "We... the folk. Selkies you call us." Throughout she stood, naked but unembarrassed. "Are you cold?" I asked. "Do you want some clothes?" "No, sweet man," she smiled. "I don't feel cold as you do. She nevertheless took my bathrobe and covered her nakedness. "How do you know my name?" I asked. She paused, tilting her head as if listening to a faint sound. "A moment please," she said and went outside. I followed her down to the beach. There were twenty or so seals in the water barking at her. Morag stood listening and nodding. After a while she waved to the seals and walked back to the skáli. "Sit Thomas Strong, I will explain everything," she told me. I sat in the chair and Morag perched herself on my knee. Unconsciously I rested my hand on her knee. If Morag objected she gave no sign. "It seems we have much to thank you for. You saved both my and two of our young one's lives. You have our gratitude." The Selkie Bending into the wind, Finn Cameron cursed steadily under his breath. He was well aware that he had had one whiskey too many and his cock quivered between his legs, aching and aroused because that little bitch Bridget O'Malley had given him a good feel of those big pendulous tits of hers but been adamant about allowing him no egress to whatever lay between those plump thighs. Heavy and warm in his hands, the hard rubbery nubs of her teats had driven him mad with lust. He had taken her little hand and tried to at least coax her to give his prick a rub, but squealing, she had slapped his hands away and run giggling back into the dance. Frustrated and angry, he had slammed out of the ceidlh and headed home. What he hadn't anticipated was the gale force winds and driving rain that even now was making him breathless. Not for the first time, he wondered if he was a fool to keep the little cottage so far from town and so close to the sea. But as his strong legs drew him close to home, the rich, salty smell of the ocean managed to send tendrils of scent through the driving rain, and stopping for a moment, Finn drew that familiar, beloved scent deep into his lungs. The wind buffeted the tousled fair hair, tangled and curly hanging to shoulders, the stormy grey eyes closed. The wind blew a little less hard and for a moment the full moon sent a silvery glow which lighted his way. Clouds, roiling and dark, scudded across its dulcet surface, creating twisting shadows and lending a softness to the sparse vegetation and wind-burned heather which clung tenaciously to the rolling hills. He was near the cliff now, a path his feet could take him safely through whether he was blind drunk or exhausted from a hard day pulling nets and fighting the sea for sustenance. Standing on the precipice which loomed over his small home, Finn allowed the wind to flirt and push, sending softer fingers now to curl beneath the muscular arms, the strong, thick thighs and to slap gently against weathered cheeks. The clouds cleared for a moment, pushed by eddies of a dying storm and the moon shone rich and full, illuminating the restless water below. Despite being clouded with drink, Finn's eyes searched the ocean below, taking in the eddies and flow, the white foam flecked waves and the slap of water against the rocky beach, rhythmic and mesmerizing, as familiar and dear to him as his own breath. Dark bobbing heads and a wild cry like a woman's scream startled him for a moment, until, grinning at his own befuddlement, Finn took in the dark heads of seals bobbing close to shore. He wondered if his own pretty pet was out among them, and following a whim, began to scramble down the rocky path to the beach. Finn knew the other fisher folk would jeer. Seals and fisher folk were not always the best of friends, each seeing the other as a potential rival for the sometimes uncertain bounty of the sea. But Finn, secretly, had an affinity for the cheeky, sleek animals with their long intelligent heads and darkly lashed eyes. He would pause in the battered scow of his boat and watch them for a moment, admiring their athletic and sleek muscled bodies and the grace they exhibited as they bobbed and dived just feet away from his puttering vessel. One bold seal in particular had become almost a pet. Finn called it a "her" but wasn't quite certain – he knew her because unlike the dark brown soulful eyes of the other seals, this one had some form of genetic abnormality and the big, dark lashed eyes were light. She always seemed to be around when he was out, barking and flirting, flipping a bold tail and leaping in a graceful arc from the waves when he threw her a fish. He admittedly found it a little odd sometimes because occasionally the look in those unusually beautiful eyes would disconcert with the intelligence which seemed to shine from them. Stumbling but somehow keeping his balance, Finn made it to the beach. Down here in the sheltering arms of the cliff which loomed above, the wind's force was muted. He stopped for a moment, feeling woozy. The crash of the waves slapping against the shore was loud now that he was so close, the pounding of the surf echoing off the grey rock. The barking of the seals, wild and forlorn caught his attention. Squinting, Finn tried to peer through the murk as he heard stones rattling and the sound of something dragging. In the sky above, the full moon shone full on the tiny bay as clouds scudding across its surface cleared. Finn could see a black mass at the far end of the beach, a mass which seemed to move and writhe but drink and night clouded his normally keen eyes and he couldn't quite make out what it was. A heavy storm cloud roiled in the night sky, obscuring the bright silver glow of light and defeating any chance he had of making out what was occurring at the other end of the small beach. Shaking his head, Finn thought he caught a glimpse of something pale. Stumbling on the uneven sandy soil, he tried to tread carefully as he wound his way to the far end to investigate. Then, out of the murk, a figure, insubstantial, ghostly, seeming to almost float, suddenly appeared. His ears full of the monotonous compelling sound of surf, the muted whistle of wind rubbing soft lips against his face, Finn wondered for a moment whether he had indeed drank far too much. "Hello!" Feeling foolish, because after all, it was 1 o'clock in the morning on a goddam bloody stormy night, who in the name of God would be about except himself? Unbelieving, Finn watched as a figure glided towards him, pale and curved, skin glowing translucent in the gloom, illuminated briefly as scudding clouds cleared and the full moon's sibilant light shone down. She was tall and almost painfully slender with long sleek muscled limbs. Dense, black hair, lustrous and glossy even in the night snapped around her fine boned face, dominated by huge eyes, which even at this short distance were oddly compelling. Her breasts were small firm mounds on a narrow chest, with swollen dark nipples, tip tilted and delicious. Except for the sweep of hair which snapped and flew around her head, spilling over narrow shoulders and masking for a moment the delectable breasts, the girl was completely smooth. The soft mound of her sex, a plump vee between the long narrow thighs was completely naked yet unmistakably adult. "Jesus, Mary and Holy Saint Joseph, sweet one, what in the name of God are you doing out here at this time of night?" Finn felt heat suffice his face as he took in the nude figure. Nude women were not a common occurrence on the windswept beaches of the Orkneys, that was for damn sure. A practical man, he immediately wondered if perhaps a ship had foundered and then the thought there might be others arrowed into his drink-fuddled mind. "Are there more of you?" he asked roughly, his fisherman's instinct taking over. "Did your boat founder in the storm?" The girl glided up to him on small, neat feet, her small breasts moving slightly, the midnight hair almost alive in the dying gasp of the storm. Coming to him, still not saying a word, the girl reached her hand out and gently patted his cheek. Finn flinched. Her hand was cool with an undertone of warmth and the great eyes, luminous and a stormy grey/green caught his own in an endless gaze. He forgot for a moment to breathe, a part of his brain noting the hand which touched him was cool but not wet, that the hair which now whipped across his face carried on its silken strands the endless rich smell of the ocean, pungent and rich and to a man of his ilk, intoxicating. The girl stepped closer and against his chest, despite the layer of flannel, he felt the heat of her breasts, the nubs of her nipples seeming to burn holes into his chest. His prick, which had begun to subside, suddenly seemed to spark awake. Her warmth seemed to reach out to him, her scent wild and rich invaded his senses. The girl's eyes darkened as she seemed to smell his arousal, and opening the lush mouth, she emitted a low growl which sent tentacles of pure lust spiralling down his nerve endings. Helplessly, unaware he was doing so, Finn stepped forward, his arms encircling the warm body. His groin felt heavy and aching, his prick an iron bar strangled in the stuff of his pants. Her skin was incredibly smooth and sleek, soft and cool, with an intoxicating bubbling of warmth like a little furnace underneath. He ran work calloused hands down a sweep of back, to the small firm buttocks; leaning slightly, he cupped the firm cheeks and pulled her close to him, rubbing his swollen groin against her. She clung to him and tilting that fine boned head, her warm lips caught his in a clinging kiss. She tasted of salt and musk and clean astringent sweetness. Her straight midnight hair trailed silkily across his face as he deepened the kiss, his tongue probing the delicious mouth deeply. His prick, still in its tight prison, throbbed against the warm, flat belly. He realized that she was making soft trilling sounds, provocative and enticing, thrumming against his tongue. Her long slender fingers were at his chest and suddenly he felt the buttons pop and cool wind for a moment then soft, firm breasts hot against the fur of his chest. Finn groaned as the hot swollen tips seemed to pulse against his skin and somehow, he realized his shirt was off and his bare chest was pressed hard against her. Finn had lost awareness of his surroundings; had he been aware he would have been amazed as the wind died down, the cool silvery moon raining down twilight light on the frantic couple grappling on the sandy beach. Offshore, dark heads bobbed, eerily silent as large, dark lashed eyes watched the struggle onshore. The girl's fingers fumbled at the button of his pants. Releasing his frantic clinging lips from hers for a moment, Finn stepped back and tore at the waistband, ripping it open, then unzipping and pushing them to his feet. Shaking his leg, he kicked the pants off, not caring where they lay. He stood for a moment, drinking in the girl's naked glory. Her hair roiling and dancing around her head, the great eyes, glazed and filled with lust, the breasts heaving, their tips swollen. In the bright moonlight, Finn could see a glistening trail of arousal creeping down her thigh, and his prick throbbed almost painfully. He stood, tall, rugged, wide shouldered and narrow hipped, his prick long and thick, its hooded head glistening and uncovered, crimson and almost angry looking. The girl's eyes met his, her gaze hot and fervid and Finn's felt himself swell even more. He wasn't sure if she moved forward or whether he did, but suddenly their two naked bodies were pressed tightly to one another. The girl's long sleekly muscled arms went around his thick neck, and then with an odd little skip, the long slender legs were suddenly clasped around his waist. Finn stood, swaying, her slight weight an easy welcome burden. His swollen prick probed roughly between the straddled legs, pushing into the long glistening slit. His strong teeth nipped at the long neck, almost drawing blood and the girl gave a scream of pure animal lust. Her hips swung against him and with a long exquisite thrust, Finn sank his prick up into her clinging folds. She was hot, incredibly wonderful, wetly hot and clinging. His prick almost felt too big, swollen and hard, pushing aside red glistening folds and pushing up, until he could feel his heavy testicles slapping against her hot wet cunt. Yelling, allowing her to hang from the knotted muscles of his neck and shoulders, he released the firm buttocks and dug his strong fingers into the slender hips. Holding tight, he began to pull his swollen cock out, only to helplessly thrust back, pushing it deep within her swollen folds, the feel of her a vice around his throbbing prick, his balls tight and aching. Leaning, her captured with his lips the tip of one swollen breast, hot and hard and rubbery, suckling, while his hips thrust in a regular, hot rhythm back and forth, up, deep, wanting to cleave her in two, feel his prick burst out through her throat. His legs began to tremble, and his hands went down around the hot firm cheeks of her ass, holding her close, as ignoring the sharp gritty sand, he fell to his knees, her long legs clinging tightly to his waist, his prick buried deep within her. The girl lay back against the sand, oblivious to any discomfort, her legs wrapped tight around the man's strong waist. Her hair spilled around her head, a midnight spill of silken pleasure, the great stormy eyes captured his, entangling his own hot gaze with hers, her mouth moist and open, her fine nose flaring as her chest heaved. Bracing himself, Finn now had the leverage he craved. Her cunt was clinging and hot, tight so that he had to really push, really thrust to get its entire swollen length up its hot glistening sheath. For a moment, he pulled back, frightened he was hurting her, but the purring undertone increased, and lithely, the girl's drumming feet pushed into his flexing buttocks, pushing him deeper within her. Her slender hips rose each time he slightly withdrew, her long wet gash rubbing up against his swollen length, the hooded clit protruding from between slender, swollen labia whose normally pale skin was flushed and blushing with arousal. Leaning, Finn captured her delectable mouth with his own, unbelievably aroused by the hot salty taste of her delicious mouth; it tasted like the clean sweet astringent wind dancing over waves, the sweetness of hot sizzling fish frying in a pan on an early morning as the nets fill and hot milky coffee which sends tendrils of life into frozen veins. His prick felt as it were on fire. He could feel his heart thumping, the heavy balls tightening as the hot molten sperm gathered. He felt an atavistic need to plow, to impregnate, to dominate and fuck this beautiful female, this sweet, exquisite creature who had come out of the night to capture him. His breath whistled in a frantic throat, matched by her own frenzied breathing and as he watched, the great eyes went opaque and around his already tightly enclosed member he felt her tighten even further, to the point of exquisite pain and then he felt her release and a gush of hot liquid soaked his pistoning groin and the contractions had him, squeezing and tightening and loosening and tightening again, nipping the hot swollen tip of his prick, seeming to suck at its spongy tip, the winking eye spitting a clear steam of precum deep within her ... And he was lost. His balls tightened right up into his groin, he felt their aching fullness and then needling through his prick, he felt the hot sperm erupting up the long swollen shaft, to explode and almost painfully assault the throbbing womb, strings of hot molten slashing against her cervix, thrusting harshly, strongly, helplessly against the sucking hot depths. Between his legs he felt a throbbing achiness as his balls tightened and spat their creamy cargo up the thrusting prick deep into her essence. His mind shut down and became a mindless sweep of orgasmic pleasure, a dark wave of elation that overwhelmed and shut out everything else. His hips thrust, once, twice again, slapping against the hot sweet cunt, emptying his seed, staking his claim, his woman, his sweet darling female. Finn's prick seemed to spit and throb for an eternity. As the hot streams of creamy essence flooded her tight hot folds, it felt as if his very soul was being dragged into her with their throbbing release. A hot wet stream soaked the wiry hair of his groin and he realized, panting, that the little darling had cum again. Panting heavily, Finn braced his arms and looked down. The beauty gazed up at him, eyes hot yet oddly vulnerable, open with the innocence of release and pleasure. His hips locked tightly to her, the last weak spurts making his hips push weakly now against the sweet, sucking cunt, Finn watched a red flush sweep up from the pale swollen breasts, darkening the glowing skin and pinking pale cheeks. Leaning, he captured the mobile mouth, breathing his own whisky laden breath into its warmth and sweet moistness. Then releasing her lips reluctantly, he hunched slightly and gently lipped a swollen nipple, tugging gently with soft lips. His prick, though empty, still felt swollen and he had a strange reluctance to disengage. In a smooth motion, Finn fell to one side, rolling to his back, his arms cupping her shoulders, his strong thighs capturing her narrow hips, keeping his still stiff cock deep within her clinging folds. He brought her slight weight over himself, feeling guilty for having shoved her soft back down against the grainy sand. Stinging, small particles poked his back, but with the soft armful and that glorious hair falling like a black waterfall over his face, he was content. He held her close, clasped tight to his own warm body, nuzzling the fragrant neck, feeling a deep atavistic contentment at the smell of her, a sweet, astringent mixture of salt and clean water and an underlying musk that as he closed his eyes and breathed it in, made his prick stir deep within its sweet prison. The girl lifted her fine boned face and gazed down at him, smiling gently. Her hand came up and tenderly, she brushed a lock of his tangled curls from the grey eyes. Finn nuzzled into her palm, rubbing like a cat against its warmth. "Sweetheart, what is your name?" he asked gently. She smiled at him again, but then leaning, took his lips with her own cool lips, deepening the kiss, the small tongue licking the inside of his cheeks and tangling with his own. Her hips, pressed tight against him, moved slightly, rocking almost imperceptibly. Finn groaned, and amazingly, felt his cock stir. Shrinking, it had slipped slightly from its sweet prison, and a heavy trickle of sperm and arousal squeezed out the side, trailing down her narrow thigh and dripping onto his already moist groin. Pulling up slightly, the girl leaned back, and cupping her small breast, using her thumb and forefinger pinched the deep brown nipple. Finn reared up and his lips captured the delicious teat, suckling strongly. The girl's hips moved strongly now, pushing against him, coaxing and rubbing against the thickening member. Finn groaned, his mind distracted, instinct and testosterone taking control. His big calloused hands came down hard on the small firm buttocks, cupping their warmth and rubbing a thumb along their flexing muscled abundance. Finn's mind clouded, his senses fuddled by whiskey and lust. Oblivious to the sharp grains of sand, the tiny rocks scratching his back, he lay back. The pounding of the surf, the slap of the tide against the shore, became his heartbeat, even and monotonous, intense and elemental. His cock throbbing and stiff pushed up yet again into the tight wet folds, pushing, claiming, invading. Again he groaned, his hands going to the narrow hips, moonlight blinding him, her pale face above, the black hair, silken and wild, snapping and falling in silken strands, tickling his face, tangling in his fingers as he almost cruelly grasped the narrow hips, pushing her down on him, hard, pushing up into her, hard. His balls began to swell, filling with creamy cum, his seed, his brand, filling and swelling the hairy sacs as his throbbing prick thrust and pushed into the warm hot essence of her cunt. Keeping one hand grasping the narrow hips, claiming and controlling, his other hand went up to cup and squeeze the jiggling pale breast, twisting the fleshy tight nipple, pinching almost harshly. Over the pounding of the surf, he heard her trilling, a deep thrumming which resonated in the small bay, matching the whistling of the wind, the far-off bark of sea creatures. The moon, huge and low in the horizon glowed, sending silver tendrils of light over the writhing figures. The Selkie Finn felt it building, felt his balls tightening then he heard her grunting, a harsh, elemental gasp and her narrow thighs tightened and suddenly Finn felt a hot rush of liquid spill onto his already soaked groin, trailing liquid fire down the matted bush at the base of his thrusting prick and making him yell as lust, elemental and pure, sent a bolt through his throbbing prick and he erupted. He closed his eyes and grimaced, his face a rictus of lust, almost painful, as his prick began to spurt and empty itself into the hot sucking cunt, its tip spurting as the thick head was squeezed and contracted by her own orgasmic release. It was as if they were in a symphony of release ... the pounding of the surf matching the frantic hammering of his heart, the throbbing contractions of her tight wet cunt matching the thumping metronome of his spurting prick, the feel of her warm and cold, cool and hot against his naked skin ... even the sharp prick of the beach under his back adding to the overload of emotion and feeling he was experiencing. Gasping, Finn emptied himself within the precious darling. As the contractions lessened, as his prick spat its last small emissions into her cunt, Finn's eyes closed. Reaching, blindly, he pulled her to him, pulling the silken head into the warmth of his neck, mingling his gasping breath with hers, cuddling her close. Distantly, he listened to the lulling surf, the sound which sang to him each night and each morning, his lullaby and reassurance. Her body was warm against his chest, her sweet, taut thighs tight against his hips. He felt contentment and a great lassitude roll over him, the whiskey, the long day on the sea and now this incredible, unlooked for treasure combining to create a black wave of exhaustion. His prick, content and still semi stiff nestled in the tight warmth of her cunt while the sweet nubs of her soft breasts flattened against his chest. He heard her breath, soft and sweet against his neck and without awareness, drifted off to sleep. _________________________ "Do ya think he might be dead?" "Nah – but there's a nice wee worm there we can feed to the gulls". Voices, harsh and lilting, humour and laughter tinting their strong accented dialect wormed their way into Finn's consciousness. Fighting his way into consciousness, Finn tried to open gummy eyes, then groaned to laughter which resonated and crashed into his head as sunlight speared painfully into his hung over orbs. "JAYSUS." Rolling, Finn felt his back stinging, grimacing as salt spray from the surf which was just feet away from his naked feet sent pain lancing through its myriad scratches. Again, he tried to open his eyes, succeeding this time despite the pain to squint around. Dougal and Connor stood above him, grinning wickedly as they contemplated their naked, battered friend, supine upon the beach. Consciousness flooded back suddenly, and sitting up abruptly, Finn looked around frantically. "Where is she gone? Did ye frighten her off??" "Who, you crazy man?" "My little beauty, my little dark queen? WHERE is she?" Standing, Finn shaded his aching eyes and looked around the small confines of the Bay, his prick sticky and aching, dangling. No one was to be seen. Ignoring the quizzical looks, Finn made his way to the far end of the beach, where he had first seen her. The encroaching tide had obliterated any signs that might have been there earlier, and Finn felt frantic as he contemplated the reality that he didn't even have a name. Rushing back, he gathered up his scattered clothes, ignoring the ribald comments of his friends and mind working, made his way up the rocky path to his cottage. The Selkie "Would you believe me if I told you that this day was planned many years ago?" she continued. "Do you think it a coincidence that your Aunt kindled your interest in Celtic lore when you were young?" I was bemused. "Do you understand that there are important powers which govern the world. God did not only create the life on earth. The earth itself has life. It has a spirit which has been worshipped by many such as druids and celts. The selkies are the spirit's people." "What happened in 1893?" I asked her. "We were a simple family who lived in peace on this island. We had no awareness of the spirit, we were content with our simple life. Then came the storm, huge and fierce. We feared for our lives. In the middle of the storm we heard a voice telling us to leave the island in our boat. In spite of the danger we pushed off to sea. The current pulled us to the west. A huge wave washed my parents into the sea but Sheena and I held onto the boat. We were washed up on an island where the sacred crystal lies. Through it we joined the folk." "How? I asked. "The crystal carries power. A touch with a hand is enough to allow it to flow through you. That is enough." "And how am I involved?" I asked. "That we don't know. We know that the spirit holds you in regard but we don't know what plans it holds for you. Sheena was sent to meet you and verify your suitability." "Suitability for what?" I asked. "That will unfold in time," Morag replied enigmatically. "Can't you tell me more?" I asked, suddenly frustrated with her cryptic responses. "I can't tell you what I don't know, Thomas Strong," Morag replied with a sigh. "The spirit speaks to us but doesn't tell us everything. You must accept that there are plans afoot for you and that they will unfold with time. You will know what they are when the time is ripe." I realised that I had to accept what she told me. "Are you hungry?" I asked. I wasn't being a good host. Morag suddenly looked wistful "Do you have any oatmeal?" she asked. "Its so long since I have eaten good oatcakes." "With cheese and tea?" I asked. "The very thing," Morag beamed with pleasure. Morag ate the simple food with relish, smiling broadly between bites as she recalled the long forgotten pleasure of the flavour. "Can you move freely between the your human and seal forms?" I asked. "Yes, but I am forever a selkie. My previous life as a human is gone. My life in the sea holds more pleasure for me than on the land. We are not encouraged to mix with humans, they don't always understand us." It was quite clear that although her head injury had healed, Morag's ordeal had drained her energy – to put it simply, she looked exhausted. "I think you should get some sleep," I told her. Morag nodded. "Yes, I am fatigued." She slipped off the bathrobe and climbed into bed. "Will you join me in my bed, Thomas Strong?" she asked. I looked at her in surprise. "I owe you for my life and we have a strong bond. I have never known a man, I dearly wish that you be my first," she whispered, blushing gently. I quickly undressed and slipped into bed beside her. I was also a virgin and the feeling of her naked body against me was both frightening and exciting. I held her in my arms and stared at her beautiful but somehow fragile features. I felt a profound tenderness. "Kiss me Thomas Strong," she whispered. Her lips were sweet and soft. Her hand slid behind my head and pulling me to her. Our bodies moulded together as we kissed, our legs entwining and our genitals meeting. There was no science, no game plan, we simply let our instincts guide us. Sheena shivered as my rigid penis found her slippery opening. "Yes, Thomas, take me," she sighed in my ear. I gently pushed and as Morag gave a gasp of pain it was done. Her moist body grasped my penis in the tenderest embrace – never had I know such exquisite pleasure. Gently we moved together teasing each other to new heights of pleasure until my sperm flooded into her. Morag gave a cry of passion, "Yes Thomas Strong, give me your seed!" We lay, resting. Morag's face was flushed, her eyes moist with tears, her mouth curled in a smile. "I love you Thomas Strong, you are my man," she told me, her archaic language adding to the poignancy of the moment. "I always have loved you." I saw no point in asking her what she meant by her final remark, I no longer cared what everything meant. "I love you too, Morag," I replied. "I already knew that, it was ordained, "she replied in her irritatingly enigmatic way. There was no doubt that I had no control whatsoever over matters. ------------ "I must leave soon, the sea calls and I cannot resist," Morag regretfully told me the next day. I couldn't bear the thought of losing her but I realised that there was nothing I could do. "Will you come back?" I asked. "One day, perhaps," she replied enigmatically. "The sea makes many demands." We made love one final time and with a kiss and a sad smile Morag walked into the green sea. She ducked under the waves and in a moment a seal's head surfaced. With a bark of farewell, the creature swam off. I returned to the skáli with a heavy heart, already I felt a deep sense of loss. How could I be so stupid as to let Morag go but what could I do? She was a creature of the sea and I of the land. I threw myself into my work, trying to forget. ---------------------- Winter passed and the fair weather of spring came to the islands. I still felt the loss of Morag keenly but the tranquillity of the island was a fine medicine. One evening as I sat reading there was a tap on the door. As you can imagine, that is an unexpected occurrence when you're the only person on the island. Grabbing the fire poker as a weapon I slowly opened the door. There stood Morag, smiling radiantly. She threw herself into my arms and we embraced. "You came back," I gasped. "I can only stay a short while," she replied. "I have news." She took my hand and put it on her stomach. Her usually flat belly was rounded and plump. "I am with child," she whispered. "Your child. Indeed I should say children, I carry three." My heart soared and I hugged her with joy. "How can you know?" I asked. I speak with them daily. Unlike human folk, we can speak with our young while they are in the womb. Already they know about my world and about you. There are two females and one male child." I felt overwhelmed with the idea of being a parent. It was the acme of human achievement and I longed to see them grow and mature. "I must go my love, the earth spirit calls." I felt a terror of loss. I wasn't going to let her go again. "Wait, there must be a way I can stay with you," I gasped desperately. With a shock I realised that I knew what to do. Suddenly, as Morag predicted, the spirit's plans were clear. "Can you show me the way to the island with the cairn?" I asked. "Yes, I know the way." I grabbed my waterproof. "Then show me!" We walked down to the shore. I launched the dingy and started the motor. Morag thrust through the foam and headed west. For an hour we headed west until in the mist I saw a dark shape. In no time we were upon the island. It was a barren lump of rock no more than 150 feet across. I beached the dingy and walked to the centre. There, surrounded by a ring of standing stones, lay the cairn. The island was strangely quiet, no crying of seagulls or rushing of the waves. Just a sense of energy pulsing through the air. The rocky ground was littered with items of clothing, shoes, jewellery, weapons and shields, many of them ancient, as though they had been simply dropped by their owners. Morgan stayed in the water, watching. I reached the cairn and saw the crystal at it's top. A lump of black, shiny stone carved with runes. I looked back. Morag had been joined by a dozen seals. They watched in silence as I touched the crystal. I felt heat flood up my arm and through my body. I heard the sound of voices whispering in ancient Celtic. My body tingled and I felt a desire to tear off my clothes. I no longer felt the cold wind. I stood naked and looked seaward. I felt a deep desire to swim deep through the green water. I walked towards the edge. The seals barked loudly. I understood them! "Welcome, join us brother," they cried. "Join me my love," called Morag. I did not hesitate.