Soul Journey Pt. 06
6 wood
Working hard on Saturday morning; there were only a few people in the office, so she wasn't disturbed. Compared with the bright electric lights inside the house, the sky outside is gray. She paused and stared at the opposite wall, thinking about what to write next. The sound of drums in the distance. She wondered what that might be. A practicing band? She ignored it, preferring to put her words down, but the light flickered and went out, plunging the room into darkness. The power was out - it really didn't help.
But the room seemed to be getting darker. The distant sounds seemed to be getting closer and closer, so slow and regular, rhythmic sounds. It's not a drumbeat, of course it's too slow, but what is it? The sound grew louder and the light grew dimmer. At first it was faint and far away, but slowly it came closer until it was with her, actually on either side of her. She could no longer see her table, and when she reached it she found that it was no longer there, and there was a bright light around it, but no shape - just a mist. She sat, sitting in the boat, and she could feel the rocking motion of a small rowboat rowing through the mist.
Her hands gripped the wood of the seat tightly, trying to see something clearly, but everything seemed blurry. Gradually it got light and she could see the man rowing. This is a familiar figure - who else but him?
A breeze blew, and the mist began to flow; she found that she could see the water, calm and clear except where the water rushed and swirled, and where the paddles moved in and out. The rhythmic sound of paddles and water. It was cold, but so clear.
The woman said nothing. She wasn't used to moving. She wondered where this man wanted to take her. The sun began to rise through the mist. Soon she saw that they were moving steadily across the lake or bay to an island on which stood the ruins of a castle.
Harris was impeccably dressed as always, this time in Highland attire suited to the cold weather and location. Long woolen or knee-high socks with lightning bolts and sgian dubh patterns on black brogues, a thick warm skirt and a sporran. White shirt, buttoned waistcoat and tweed Argyle jacket with tie. Tie, of course. This is very formal Highland clothing, suitable for traveling across the lake.
Her black skirt and tights were gone, her cream shirt was gone, just about everything was gone. There she sat, wrapped in a tartan blanket with one ear pinned and carefully wrapped around her body, forming something like a skirt, with a belt and silver buckle fastened around the breast, and a hood on her head, feeling Warm and cozy. In thick wool. However, her feet were bare on the boat, her toes digging into the wood.
Harris said nothing, his feet spread apart, his knees spread, his hips on the oar, and his strokes were steady and powerful. She looked left and right. For a moment she put her hand into the water. The weather was sunny but cold. They weren't at the beach at all on a hot summer day.
She wonders why she was brought to the island. The lyrics and melody of Skye's Barcarolle came to her mind:
"Speed, beautiful ship, like a bird spreading its wings,
farther! The sailors wept;
Carrying the boy who was born to be a king
Across the sea to the Isle of Skye.
but it is not the truth. Is she the captured daughter of a rival tribal chief, being held hostage, or for some other, less pleasant reason - for the sexual pleasure of the victorious chief and his people? What does Harris think of her? Despite the cold, she felt a familiar movement. It happens. This happened to Harris. It made her look at his knees; she wondered what he was wearing under his kilt. Women are taught to keep their knees together when sitting in skirts. Men spread out - men spread out - but the same goes for men wearing kilts so that their "attacks" are not seen. They were wearing short skirts, each one blissfully unaware of what the girls were displaying and how much they were enjoying the sight. She smiled. Men have no idea how rude or disrespectful women can be to each other, and schoolgirls, if you know the truth, are no less fascinated by sex than boys. A row of handsome young men with penises of varying shapes and soft egg-shaped testicles nestled between powerful thighs. Showing no signs of being harsh, just calm, but with the potential to grow and give the girls more than just a "push".
"When I was a little girl I dreamed of being kidnapped by a Scottish man, yes, wearing a kilt. A tall man with a beard and wild eyes," she says in a mocking Scottish accent. : “I was so hungover, I was ranting, I couldn’t take off my jacket fast enough.”
"If our shadows were offended, you would think, but all is well, you were just sleeping here when these visions appeared, and this weak and idle subject, produced only a dream."
"Shakespeare was not Scottish," she said.
shrugged,
“But joy is like a poppy seed that scatters,
When you catch a flower, its flower withers;
Or when the snow falls into the river,
One moment it's white - then it's melted forever. "
"Robbie Burns?"
"Indeed, Tam O'Shanter carpe diem - choose your day - seize the moment and make your dreams a reality for a moment." He looked at her and she leaned forward, holding his knees as he rowed.
She slowly lifted his kilt. What a bargain – really. His cock was no longer resting but stood erect, strong and very masculine, his balls hanging down - tongue and growl. And off she went, kilt left behind, Harris exposed.While he was rowing, young people - and generally men - liked to stare at Petey, and the girl forgot about her modesty and lay on the grass in the park reading a book, not noticing for a moment that the young man was short. See the rocks; it's a shame for a rowing girl who has to use her feet to support herself, and she can't help it when her underwear (if she has any) comes into view. It was wonderful for the young man to see his girl rowing in a short skirt with nothing underneath, and his eyes taking in her charms as the bulge in her jeans grew. To her it was like that, only the other way around. An excellent male organ, she did give Harris.
Working steadily across the lake; the world seemed empty except for the moving boat; her eyes admired the scenery but kept returning to her stiff penis. Her hand stretched out, almost unconsciously, she was attracted to him and wanted to grab him, feeling that her hand was so big and tight.
“Can you use it while rowing?”
"If you guide me."
Is he referring to the boat or the penis, or both? Harris paused her rowing, the oar still in her hand, and she took the opportunity to lean forward and suck. She wanted to suck, wanted to feel his hard, round manhood in her mouth, wanted to roll her tongue along his slick part, press and pull on it with her lips.
But only for a few minutes. She stepped carefully between the oar and his outstretched arms, and used her ears to pull on the rope and the canopy, lifting it slightly so that she could sit on his now cold thighs, feeling her wetness as she Her warm, soft thighs rested on his cold, hard thighs as she pushed forward, searching for his cock. Beneath the folds of wool, moist, warm femininity seeks hard masculinity in order to surround it, perhaps even penetrate it.
Everything was hidden in her clothes. It's not like they were rowing or sailing on some island in the Aegean Sea, or some sunny but remote spot on their home river where they could wear woolen clothes instead of clothes with sexual organs, just their organs touching , the rest of their bodies are wrapped in warm wool. The steady mating rocked the boat a little, and then Harris started rowing. Forward and backward movements, that's the thing. As for intercourse, she felt - as she felt - the steady movement of the penis inside her sex organ, as they moved steadily across the lake, all right Things are being stretched and pulled.
"Move to the left", does she want to adjust the bow slightly, or move the stern to the left? The two actually pushed the boat forward, and the island and castle were within reach.
"Almost there." She was about to climax. It was the jolt of the ship as it docked, the jolt that set her off. As her body resisted the momentum of the boat's sudden stop, the extra thrust against her forced Harris to lean against the oars, edging her against the boat.
"Oh," she said, "Oh!"
He gently lifted it up and away from his cock.
"you are not...?",
"Everything has its time." The kilt fell down, covering his wet erection, probably because it suddenly felt cold in the cool air. He rescued her from the boat just in time. What awaits, and where will she be taken? She could hardly refuse him then. Not after her behavior on the ship. What's in store for them? Is the entire tribe waiting for them? Did she just have a crush on her? The idea that something happening in a dream is simultaneously scary and strangely exciting doesn't matter - really. She had thought they were alone together, until the forest and the curly-haired elf boy, not that they mated, but... surely Harris wouldn't allow her to be snatched away by a man, right? But what about the plains beyond the basalt canyons…
Across grass and rocks, she followed Harris, his brogues steady, his knees worked, his wool kilt rocking. She felt like a woman following her husband—but he was not her husband; That's Benjamin.
Pass through the crumbling stone wall, pass through a courtyard, and ascend the winding stone steps. Within the circle was another spiral, like in a garden, rising higher and higher. The view from the top is breathtaking. The wind blew her hair and made the chestnut strands dance around the purple snowy mountains, the lake and the view from the castle ruins on the island to the wonderful panoramic and romantic setting, according to Sir Walter Scott.
"Loneliness," she said. "Is it just the two of us?" Harris smiled slightly, his eyes full of smiles. She looked at Harris, who stood there with the wind blowing past him, clutching his kilt. A heroic gesture. The man has such a nice figure.
"Maybe," he said, coming up behind her. She felt her ears lift, knowing what was coming next. Her legs were still wet. She gazed upon the half-ruined battlements, upon the wilderness of the Scottish Highlands—if she had been there.
How many times had Benjamin appeared behind her, perhaps at the mundane kitchen sink, perhaps in the bathroom as she combed her hair in front of the mirror, or perhaps standing outside the window? How many times had she felt his hard cock nestled in the cleft of her ass? How the upright shape looks right there; how good it feels whether worn through thick denim or silky lightweight pajamas. If Benjamin was naked, she could So I felt the shape of his erect penis against her skin, could feel every part of it: denim to denim, just a vague shape, but familiar nonetheless.
She turned to Harris. "That's good," she said. And the movements are even and rhythmic. It used to be great on a boat, now it's great on a castle wall.
"The storm is coming," he said.
She looked back towards the castle walls. The weather was looking dangerous indeed. Huge storm clouds formed in the east, and huge storm clouds rolled toward them. If he had impregnated them on the city walls, perhaps they would have stood there with thunder and lightning crackling around them? , maybe even if it was raining as Harris finished her performance. A simple squirt of the cock, thick liquid flowing out and sticking inside her. She wanted to get pregnant again, she wanted so badly to have another child, she wanted so badly to have a fertile seed inside her that could produce a child.
But again she felt the cock leave her.
"Come on," he said, taking her hand. Go down the stairs, not all the way back, but through a door. She was surprised when she saw that the castle was not completely destroyed after all; she found herself in a warm kitchen, with a fire crackling on the stove, a kettle bubbling, and pans gently heating. A domestic scene, perhaps two hundred years ago. Didn't see anything modern. Harris sat on a large wooden chair.
"Sh-should I make tea?" she asked.
It's obvious that women are expected to perform their feminine duties while men sit in the booth. She didn't mind the enticing smell, and jumped to her feet, looking sharply at Harris. It was the smell of heated goose fat.
She remembered; she remembered their first meeting clearly—the goose fat was not too hot, slightly above body temperature, and pleasant to the touch.
"Do you want...my ass again?"
Harris sat in his chair and smiled. She wondered if he was erect, ready to wear his heavy kilt. "Yes, I do. This time it's partner sex. It's cold outside, but it's warm by the fireplace."
She had already experienced orgasm that day; twice she had allowed him—encouraged him—to penetrate her. Can she refuse his wish?
"I do not want."
He shrugged, seeming to indicate that her wishes were unimportant and casting doubt on her desire to be served by a carved chair. She slowly unbuttoned her belt and untied the brooch from around her neck. The slap fell to the ground, leaving her completely naked. She turned slowly so that he could see her from behind, then she walked over to the oak table and bent over with her breasts on top, legs spread and hips up.
Has this happened there before? Is the young kitchen mistress subjugated to the will of her master, or perhaps oppressed by the cook or other kitchen denizens? It's a rite of passage for a new girl (or maybe a boy), and unexpected thoughts pop into her head. It was her excitement; it didn't go away. As she waited, her mind wandered. The sound of a pot stirring came from behind. She knew it would be warmer than body temperature, but not too hot. She waited, sexually and anally exposed. A choice, but one she knew had been made.
She was not caught, not held by strong arms. She was not a young kitchen girl being introduced to a cock for the first time perhaps. Having just been brought into the castle, she had to bend down to find her place on the big table like the other girls before her. Instead, she flexed voluntarily and her lower cheeks voluntarily parted.
Touch, touch her anus, the heat of his fingers sinking into the fat, caressing it. Just as the young kitchen lady wants to be prepared. She knew it was coming, but it still made her frown and her hips tighten. Her soft cheeks clenched around the fingers as her anus contracted. The movements stopped until she relaxed, then the stroking resumed. Use hotter but not too hot goose fat; this time it ran into the crack of her ass; not too hot, what did he say that day? Like Goldilocks and the Three Bears: “Just right!”
Harris' fingers twisted the protruding orifice, letting it relax, letting it relax - surrender. As before, he was in no rush, there was still plenty of time in the world. The generous amount of goose fat made her anus smooth and pliable, softening and relaxing, until a little more hot fat was added in and she felt the fingertips dragging in violently - or really that horribly - and she became wet again, This shows that there is nothing wrong with it. Was her anus actually reaching for the finger and trying to pull it in, or maybe trying to absorb the warmth of the fat? The fingers slid in and out of her easily now, and then she felt the second and third, her base open and ready. The movements of the fingers are very similar to those of the penis, just like during intercourse - just in different places.
She opened her arms and found her hands gripping the other side of the table. She closed her eyes and focused on the feeling of her fingers moving inside her. She'd rather be treated right - with or without goose fat - but she knows that's not the case. She did not turn around to see if Harris had taken off her kilt and was now exposed. At some point, he poured or dipped his cock in hot grease and then coated her. The thought of her husband suddenly came to her mind. His thoughts spread beneath her as she waited for the second penis - Harris in her womb, his penis in her vagina.What it was like - double penetration - she had never felt like this before... but now she was so turned on, what would Benjamin think about the thought of hot goose fat being poured into her ass and dripping hot ? On to his scrotum? Would it make him jump and push his cock into her harder? It made her tense her muscles as if she were squeezing Benjamin's cock, but in reality she was squeezing Harris' fingers.
"Don't worry, it's almost time."
The finger was withdrawn. She waited, recalling the first time she entered the orange-fired cabin, not so different from the castle's kitchen, and how she waited for the touch of Harris' cock.Time was in the cabin, with its orange firelight, not unlike a castle kitchen, waiting for the touch of Harris' cock. The air was thick with the smell of goose fat, like fried potatoes.
"Please... I'm ready. In fact, it's for the best, but it's going to be controversial."
The goose fat is poured in again, more liquid and perhaps hotter than before. She heard the pot being placed on a saucer on the table. It should not be reheated.
As before, she felt the touch of the hot, no doubt greased man's cock against her vagina. Open it with a gentle push and then a firm push from the smooth helmet shape. The goose fat is just so slippery, so slippery - it makes the penis slide in so easily. As before, her muscles tensed, gripping the depression behind the corona as if forming a tight seal. She was breathing heavily, all too aware of the heat and the large intruding object. Behind her, Harris stood motionless and waited.
Her muscles relaxed as she accepted the intruder, and once the buttons were released, the journey began again. Inch by inch Harris's erection slid into her ass. Move slowly and steadily in and out, up and down. Another inch, another inch, and Harris was fully embedded. The first thing is done. She could feel his thighs against her skin. He had taken off his kilt.
So full; she remembered how full she had been. She didn't let Benjamin... maybe she should have. So full, so warm from the heat of its fat, she knew it would become so slippery when the man resumed his movements.
"Slippery" might not even be the right word, so much hot goose fat and so little friction as the piston moves in such a tight sleeve. Back and forth, pumping steadily. She was breathing heavily and just lay there with her ass being used, almost shocked when she felt how pleasurable it was. Could this be true for young kitchen ladies? She hoped so. What if Benjamin had been there and had two penises working on her? One in her ass, one in her vagina, not double the pleasure, but double the fullness; both pistons worked, and then her eyes widened, almost in shock, not from the impending orgasm but from It was the realization that she wanted Harris inside her vagina, not Benjamin. She hopes Harris' seeds will work.
What does it look like with Harris' cock so hard in her ass? She could only imagine. Everything is behind her, no mirrors. Harris would see everything as the shaft emerged and disappeared in her rectum; his hands were firmly on her buttocks, dripping with warm, slippery goose fat.
"I do, I don't...but I do. I will come back. I shouldn't - shouldn't be like this! It's not like this..."
Helplessly, her body entered another climax. Her head swung from side to side, steady strokes sliding on and on without end or beginning, like a never-ending movie loop on a never-ending reel. If it had been Benjamin, he would have been here, but not Harris.
She tried to stand up with her arms and fight him, but he failed. In fact, he was more interested in trying to impale himself. Then she finally felt her movements speed up a little. Is he nearing his conclusion? There was a thunder in the distance and she felt it. Not goose fat, but she seemed just as hot inside. Harris' expenses. To finish, Harris dipped her hand deep into the grease and slid it over her clit, hot and slick. There was an explosion of pleasure, another orgasm on top of the previous one, shaking violently, and she was spun away, eyes tightly closed, back to her office, away from the coming storm.
That night, she woke up and sat up in bed, her naked body dripping with sweat. It was windy outside, but judging from the thunder, she couldn't hear it at all. Beside her, Benjamin slept soundly and did not hear the sound of raindrops hitting the window pane. In her mind, she relived her time in the rowboat and on the island. Was that a dream? Was everything she experienced at her desk in the office a dream? But why is there a wooden spoon on her desk - just perfect for stirring the pot? It's not a new spoon, but a spoon that has turned black due to long-term use. It has been ground smooth and shiny after countless stirrings in the pot. It didn't exist before.
Her hand fell between her thighs and she found herself wetter than before. Not just wet dreams. There was a flash of lightning, but the thunder was far away, and there stood Benjamin's naked body and erect penis. The brief flash suddenly freezes. What did he dream about? What did he create deep in his subconscious, what images dissolved in his mind? She leaned forward and popped it into her mouth, just as she had done with Harris in the rowboat. Done? Does she really have that?
After a while, next to Benjamin, she lay down and fell asleep, licking her lips. The raindrops beat against the window pane rhythmically, which is soothing.
Benjamin didn't wake up, and there was no sign of it in the morning, no obvious residue, but he only remembered having a wet dream.
Read also:
Source: www.nice-escort.de
