Date: Mon, 26 Mar 2012 16:25:10 +0100 (BST) From: TomJon Smith Subject: Highland Fling (Beginnings, Rural) HIGHLAND FLING By TomJon Smith It was my gap year and I was working for a very dull company that, I think, sells things to other companies. Whatever it was we did, we did it well and those in charge were always arranging weekend trips away to boost morale and keep the office suicide count to a minimum. I was the office junior, sorting through post, filing things and answering the phone: a weekend away, even with the rest of the office, was welcome. And at eighteen, I had never really been away from home before. My team had lucked out with a trip to Scotland. The month before, the accounts team had to go white-water rafting in Dungeness. We were staying at what looked like a castle an hour or so away from Glasgow. It had been an ancestral home to some clan or other, and was now being rented out for various functions and activity weekends. We flew to Glasgow, the rest of the team drinking several drams on whiskey on the way. The office creep, Gary, had plonked himself down next to me and it was best to feign sleep rather than put up with innuendos. At the Christmas party he had cornered me in the stationery cupboard and tried to snog me. Not that he wasn't attractive, but with a girlfriend waiting for him at home, it was a little sleazy for me. Perhaps I would meet a rich Scottish laird on this break! I drifted off to sleep, dreaming of being made love to by a wealthy land owner. At the airport we were met by a huge, strapping chap who gruffly introduced himself as `Big Jase', the laird's ghillie (head gamekeeper). Kitted out in full highland dress, he towered above everyone else. He must have been over 6'5" and was a big guy. His black coat bulged with the muscles beneath. His face was obscured by a thick, long brown beard, neatly combed and platted into a single knot that fell halfway down his powerful looking chest. Hoisting up two or three suitcases in each hand, he led us outside to two waiting Range Rovers, nimbly hopping behind the wheel of one of them and drumming his fingers impatiently as the rest of us sorted ourselves out. I had got into the vehicle Jase was driving. A few of the office girls tried to engage him in conversation but soon gave up when he responded in monosyllables. His accent was as broad as his shoulders, deep and rich, the kind of voice that should read poetry. It took about an hour before we turned off the twisty main road onto an even more twisty road that eventually took as through some huge iron gates. We all gasped as the castle came into view, a grey construction of turrets and towers, red and green ivy clinging to the stone walls. The vehicles pulled up in front of the giant arched doorway. Jase and another chap carried our bags up the flight of stairs. We were greeted here by the housekeeper, a middle-aged lady, who led us to our rooms and told us to be down for dinner with the laird at 7 o'clock sharp. I hadn't realised that we would actually get to greet the laird himself. Perhaps I'd be able to nab myself some Scottish aristocracy after all! Upon each of our beds had been laid full Scottish dress to wear to the formal meal in the evening. I picked up the kilt: it was made from a heavy woollen cloth, woven into a dark tartan pattern of blue, green and black. A chunky belt was also provided and a leather pouch, adorned with studwork and fur trim completed the kilt. And there were long socks, shiny black shoes, white shirt, bow tie and jacket to try on too. I decided to bathe first, filling the bath with hot water. The taps whistled and waterpipes knocked and moaned inside the walls. I washed the dirt of travel from my body and dried myself on the clean white towels. Then came the dressing up. My first decision was whether to go native and abandon underwear for the evening. It was a rather thrilling thought, to be sitting there eating dinner, my cock and balls just beneath the tartan material. In fact it was rather too exciting. It would probably be bad form to turn up to dinner with an erection. Sadly, I pulled on some boxers and wrapped myself in the kilt. When I had finally worked out the fiddly bow tie, I looked at myself in the mirror: very smart. With an hour to spare, I unpacked my case and decided to have a wonder around the grounds. The house was a maze of wooden panels and dead animals heads staring down from the walls. I found my way to the stairs and out into the evening air. On the lawn to the left of the building, a stretch of mowed grass half a mile across that ended in a dark forest, a few white marquees had been erected. The gardens were beautifully kept: roses crept over walls, hedges were trimmed into neat geometric shapes. Gravel pathways led in all directions, taking you to secret corners and covered trellises. It was perfect for canoodling with a partner. Feeling lonely suddenly, my mind turned to Gary. He was sure to make a pass at me again this weekend. Perhaps I should succumb this time, let him have his way. I was only going to be in the office for another six months: if it was a mistake I wouldn't have to deal with it for too long. Eventually I came to a small cottage on the edge of the gardens and in the shadow of the dark forest behind. It was situated at the bottom of a slope, so I could peer down through the windows. The lights were on and, being a nosy person, I decided to have a look. I approached the cottage from the side and was peering into what looked like the bathroom. And there was Big Jase, standing at the toilet bowl. With one hand he had lifted his kilt above his waist. And in his other palm he held a fat dick. A stream of golden liquid gushed out. I was so shocked I fell on my arse but recovered myself in time to see Jase shake the last drops from his spout-like foreskin and drop the kilt back over his hairy genitalia. Embarrassed, and worried he would see me, I hightailed it back towards the big house and saw a group of my workmates on the terrace, drinking what looked like cocktails. Thirsty, I scuttled along the gravel path back to the house to join them. Dinner was a strange affair. We were all done up to the nines and I have to say Gary looked really quite handsome in the kilt. I still hoped for a dashing laird to come and sweep me off my feet, but alas, the small old man that was spectacularly ugly. My face reddened when I looked at him, the image of his big meat imprinted on my mind. And the way he gazed at the heaving bosoms of the girls was very uncomfortable. My little fantasy of living in sin with a young Scottish nobleman was dashed. Big Jase played the bagpipes out on the terrace: beneath his beard, his rather handsome face had turned red with all the puffing. After dinner, and rather full of wine, the guests retired to a large room. The fireplace was roaring with fire and we all sat about chatting and joking. With the games taking place tomorrow, there were plenty of laughs about caber tossing. By half past ten, I was so sleepy I made my excuses and retired to my room. I undressed, carefully folding up my kilt and hanging up the jacket. I had just got in to bed when a knock came at my door. I knew it was Gary, hoping for a fumble, but I ignored him. He tried opening the door but I had locked it, the handle rattling loudly. He gave up after a few minutes and I heard the floorboards creak as he returned to his room. / We were all looking forward to the highland games the next day. In the morning we found bunting strewn from trees and a hive of activity around the marquees. It was like a big village fete with people selling bits and bobs, old ladies with their cake stalls and traditional games like tombola and hoopla, all accompanied by bagpipe music blasting out from speakers. There was a highland dancing competition, with lots of kids prancing about on a wooden stage. To my delight I saw Big Jase striding about, doing some stretches: he was going to be competing in the Games! He wore a white vest that clung to his body and showed off his huge arms. They must have been the thickness of some people's waists. Dark chest hair spilled out over the vest and he had unknotted his beard, combing it out straight. His long hair was also untied, falling on to his broad, exposed shoulders. He looked like a pirate from the seventeenth century, or a civilised caveman. My memory thought back to the night before and the glimpse of that impressive piece he kept beneath the kilt. As he stretched his legs I could see that he was keeping himself covered in tight blue shorts beneath. There were lots of big guys about. The housekeeper pointed out the local lads, some of whom spent most of their spare time training for highland games. But Jase, she told me, would take some beating. He was by far the biggest man there, dwarfing even Hengist the logger, whose days were passed hacking down tall trees and chopping them into kindling. Gary, being a typical show off, entered the competition too. Although he was very athletic, he was amusingly poor at these highland events. The caber nearly crushed him and his throws flew wildly to the side, endangering an old woman's jam stall. I think he was trying to impress me, or perhaps some of the office girls. He wore only his kilt and boots, throwing his jumper to one side and self-consciously flexing his muscles. But during the games began, I had only eyes for Jase, watching him toss the caber a distance I would have thought impossible. In the throwing event, Jase whipped his body around in circles, his hair splaying out and his kilt flying up and exposing the large lump in his shorts. Some of the office girls giggled excitedly and I licked my lips involuntarily. His power was electrifying to watch. Cabers, which are essentially tree trunks, flew through the air. He lifted heavy weights like bags of feathers. He wrestled every competitor into the dirt, wrapping his arms around them and throwing them to the ground, roaring with victory. Gary didn't stand a chance: Jase picked him clean off the ground, his legs dangling pathetically, before dropping him into the dirt. Cussing and red- faced, Gary retreated back to the big house to clean himself up. Jase proved unbeatable that afternoon. He won every event, crushing the opposition and he was given a special tartan sash and a cheque for £300 for winning. He stuffed the cheque into his sporran, shook the hands of the poor bruised fellows he had defeated and strode off in the direction of his cottage. / A ceilidh was being held at the castle that night, and the gents of our party all took the opportunity to wear our kilts again. After wimping out on the first night, I declined to wear underwear. It was rather an odd feeling, dangling in the air, nude but clothed. The Great Hall of the castle was the venue for the dancing. In a dark corner, a temporary bar had been assembled. Sitting on a stool was Jase, still kilted, knocking back the whiskeys. Lots of people from the village were in the hall, but no one from my party had come down yet. I went to get a drink at the bar. Jase had just thrown a shot down his hairy neck. `Can I get you another,' I asked, a little shyly. He looked me up and down, seeming to weigh me up. `Sure you can wee man.' The barman poured us both a shot. `To your victory!' I clinked glasses with him and nearly spat out the foul tasting liquid. Jase laughed heartily and, having reluctantly swallowed it down, I laughed too. We chatted for a while about the games that afternoon before I asked: `Why do they call you Big Jase?' He laughed and in response flexed his big muscles. `Oh I see! Have you always been big, Jase?' `No. That nickname started at school.' He said. Beneath his beard I could see his cheeks were reddening a little. Perhaps because of the drink but perhaps not. `Why?' I asked again. `You know why, wee man. They don't make tadgers like mine everyday. I saw you peeking at me last night. Got an eyeful, didnae? You might get another one later, laddie.' / At that moment six or seven of Jase's competitors from that afternoon arrived at the bar and swarmed around him, patting him on the back. He looked a little annoyed at first, but after knocking back a few more whiskeys, was laughing and joking with them. The office girls extracted me from the bar when the ceilidh began and I was forced to join in with the dances. I kept stealing glances over to where Jase was sitting at the bar, but he was still talking to the other strongmen. I couldn't really imagine him joining in with the dancing. Tired, I managed to wriggle out of The Loveknot Dance and went to get some air out on the terrace, I walked around to the back of the house where it was quiet and dark. I leant down on the stone balustrade and looked out across the gardens. A lake in the distance reflected the half moon and the gardens were dark and seemingly endless in the pale light. A hand touched my hip. Thinking it was Jase, coming to finish our conversation, I didn't move. Another hand on my side and the press of a body against me. Something was wrong, it wasn't Jase, I spun round to see Gary's face lean in for a kiss. I pushed him back sharply. `What the fuck are you doing?' I said crossly. `Don't give me that,' Gary said grabbing me with surprising strength and pulling me against him. `You've been giving me the come on all day. All those looks during the games after the brush off last night. You don't have to play hard to get with me.' `I wasn't!' `Of course you were.' One of his hands was creeping down and under my kilt. `And you're not even wearing any underwear, you little prick tease. Which is handy, because I'm not either.' He pulled me towards the balustrade and I could feel his erection jab against me from beneath his kilt. Pulling my arm behind my back, he managed to turn me around so I was bending over the stone, and with his other hand, he lifted the kilt up and over my back, exposing my naked arse. I heard him spit down on his hand and I wriggled to try and free myself, but he twisted my arm hard. I braced myself, trembling with fear. I told him to let me go, to stop, but his grip hardened. `GET OFF HIM!' I heard the bellow behind us, and looked over my shoulder to see Big Jase push Gary to the floor, kneeling over him and holding him by the lapels of his jacket. `We're just having a bit of fun.' Gary spluttered. Jase turned to me, I was rubbing my arm where Gary had held me and shook my head. `He was enjoying himself,' Gary said, `He asked me to give him a seeing to.' `A nice wee lad like him doesn't need spindly weaklings like yous sniffin about.' `Jealous are you,' Gary mocked sneeringly. I thought Jase was going to smack him but instead, he roughly dropped Gary and stood up, brushing himself off. `Snidy buggers like yous not worth fussing over,' Jase said, `but if I see you bothering this fella again, your snivelly face is going to have the imprint of my knuckles across it.' Gary picked himself up and scuttled off into the night, rattled by Jase's threatening tone. `Are you ok, wee man?' Jase said to me. He placed his hands on my shoulders and looked into my eyes. I gazed up at him. `I'm alright.' `Let me get you back to ma cottage. I've got some vintage Scotch that'll settle your nerves.' / Turning on the lights to his cottage, Jase sat me down on the sofa and bounded off upstairs for a few minutes before returning, a bottle of brownish liquid in his hand. `This'll put some hairs on your chest,' he said, pouring me measure before sloshing some into a glass for himself. `Thanks,' I said, sipping at it. It was definitely an acquired taste but its warmth was soon glowing inside me. We chatted for a while, he told me about the house and the laird, revealing that this cottage was the hunting lodge but he got it as part of the job. As he talked, I found myself looking at his handsome, squarish face. I didn't normally like beards or long hair, but somehow they suited him: the beard softened the square jaw and the long hair reminded me of Samson, the biblical muscleman. `So, that Gary. Has he tried it on with you before?' He asked, trying not to sound too interested. I nodded. `Once or twice. Only when he's drunk.' `One of those. Good thing I came along when I did.' I smiled. `What were you doing around the back of the house.' He had the grace to blush. `Ah, well, you see, I was a little waylaid by my friends and I thought you might have scarpered.' `You were looking for me?' `I wasn't going to let a pretty wee thing like you go without a bit of a look aboot.' His hand touched my shoulder and I put down my glass on the coffee table. Jase leant in for a kiss and I met him halfway, his soft lips pressing against mine before they opened. I held his large face in my hands, his beard both soft and scratchy on my skin. His tongue pushed its way into my mouth, the taste of whisky on it. I had definitely acquired the taste. His big hands crept around my smaller frame and he pulled me into him. The hardness of his body surrounded me, a prison of musculature that I was happy to serve time in. Beneath the hems of our kilts, our legs touched and a frisson of excitement shivered through my body. Jase was an excellent kisser, firm but gentle, tender but strong. I longed for the touch of his hands on my body and after a few minutes, a solid hand appeared on my knee and slowly, but surely, worked its way up my leg, creeping around to my buttocks. He kneaded the flesh lightly, playfully, and I felt myself melting against him. He unclipped the sporran and put it to one side. On my knees, I lifted the tartan slowly. He pulled the material back across his bare, huge legs, revealing his nakedness. The balls were large, like a ram's, the sack tufted and wrinkled. The soft penis lay against his thigh, emerging from a thicket of dark pubic hair. Its large head was bulbous beneath the foreskin, which was a little long and gathered into a spout. Bluish veins corsed along its shaft, ready to thicken him. I looked up at him and he was smiling down at me through his beard. Hitching the kilt back now with one hand, his other took one of mine and placed it on him and let my fingers wrap around it. The softness of the skin surprised me: I half expected such a big, coarse man to have something hard and abrasive between his legs. But he was just as soft, if not softer than the lads I had mucked about with before. He was much larger, there was no missing that and the weight of it in my hand was pleasing. I stroked it for a moment, like I was petting an animal, and I felt the sponginess begin to stiffen. `Take it in yer mouth, laddie. Give ol' Jase a lickin'!' With his spare hand he held me by the jaw and gently brought me face to face with his member. I eased back his foreskin to reveal the purplish head. A bead of moisture had seeped through the tiny slit and I stuck my tongue out, the slightly salty flavour dancing on my palate for a second. I slid my tongue over the smooth surface of the head and then, with a hunger that my whole body felt, pushed my lips over him until the entire purple bell-end was resting on my mouth. Jase's head rolled back and he sighed like he had just sat down after a long walk. My lips encircled him and my tongue slid rhythmically upon his frenulum then circled around the edge of the helmet. So busy was I concentrating on his shaft that I did not notice him fiddling about with his sporran. From inside the pouch, he produced a large silver ring, perhaps two inches in diameter. `I nearly forgot ma wee cockring!' he exclaimed, detaching me from his growing erection and sliding the ring down to the base of his shaft, where it nestled in his bush like a ring in a magpie's nest. His hand buried into my hair and he pushed me onto him once more, guiding my lips down the length of his growing shaft. He was expanding beneath my fingers, loosening my grip with the force of his swelling, like strappings stretching around a growing tree trunk. `That's it lad. Up and down ma pizzle.' The silver cockring was now tight against the shaft, holding his erection firmly in place. My head bobbed up and down as I worked his penis from softness to hardness. He warmed beneath my lips, the soft skin stretching over his hardness. I wanted to keep working him until he blew inside my mouth. I wanted to taste him and to kiss him, sharing his essence. But he had other ideas. To such a large, strong man, I was nothing to lift, and before I knew what was happening, I was over his shoulder and staring at his tartan backside. He strode through the lodge and up the stairs to a dark room. It was panelled with dark brown wood. Animal heads, mounted on plaques, stared out from the walls. Candles flared on wrought-iron frames: he must have lit them when he was getting the scotch. Jase hauled me onto the large wooden bed, laden with thick blankets and large stiff pillows. Looking up at him, I laughed at the protuberance that had lifted the kilt a little higher that it should be. Jase looked down proudly at his tented member and, shifting his gaze to me, licked his lips. He told me to stand up, facing away from the wall and hold the wooden frame of the bed head behind me. He lay down on the bed, his head beneath me, gazing up my kilt to my shadowed thighs and covered buttocks. He ordered me to squat down and tentatively I bent my knees and lowered myself. I felt the bristle of his beard first against my legs and then, as I knelt further, on my buttocks. Muffled beneath my kilt, I heard appreciative noises and then felt the damp intrusion of his tongue on my ring. I love that feeling of being rimmed, it sends little flushes of pleasure through me and makes my nipples almost sting with longing. Jase's huge hands crept along my legs and pulled me down to met his tongue. I bounced up and down slightly, letting his wet tongue work my hole, feeling the scratch of his thick beard on my naked inner thighs. It reminded me of sitting on a straw bale. Laid out in front of me, I could see the tower of his dick tenting his kilt into a peak. I wanted to reach out and take it in my hand again but feared loosing my balance. Instead, I ripped open my white shirt and began to play with my hard nips, tugging at them as Big Jase serviced my hole. His fingers stole across my buttocks and found my anus. He pawed at my ring, stretching it slightly, allowing his pointed tongue to push into me a little way. This was a new sensation to me. Jase had an expert tongue and sent little blooms of desire through my body. My dick strained against the kilt and I reached under the material and took it in hand, tugging myself off as Jase flickered his tongue around. Crouching for so long, my knees began to ache. Jase told me to kneel down over his head so I was sitting in his face. My kilt, splayed out, covered him. The new position meant I could now go to work on his straining dick. I lifted the tartan from his erection and gazed at it admiringly. It was not the longest penis I had seen, but it was one of the most beautiful. Its head was still partially covered by the foreskin, the slit and purplish bell-end peeking through. But the shaft! The shaft was as thick as a coke can, broader than the head itself, thick veins spidering under the skin. It was like some exotic mushroom that had sprouted overnight and surprised you in the morning. The silver ring was wedged in place by the erection, almost painfully choking his dick. I reached out to take the swollen shaft in my hand. He was rigid with longing. I lightly tugged the foreskin down, watching it rolling back to expose the beautiful head. Spitting on my hand, I slicked the spittle over it. It glistened in the candlelight. I stroked it firmly with my hands, the fingers of one hand could not reach around it at its broadest point, so with both hands I formed a wider hole and worked his knob, my thumbs pressing against the head, spurring on his endeavours with my arsehole. I was so wet with his spit now and loose from his fingers, that Jase's tongue now wriggled inside me. I wanted to taste his dick again, but he had other ideas. Coming up for air, he pulled back my kilt and lifted me from his face, laying me down beside him. He pulled off his white shirt, exposing the muscled chest and softer stomach of his hairy torso. Thick brown hair covered him. I raked my fingers through it and kissed him, the plait of his beard tickling my own smooth chest, his big hairy arms wrapping around me, his hands stroking my body. His erection poked me in the thigh and I knew it was time. He rolled me onto my back, kissing me all the time and I pulled the kilt up over my thighs and gathered it up at my waist. His fingers found my arsehole again, stabbing into me to make sure I was loose enough for him. I gasped in delight but doubted I could be loose enough for his thick snake of a dick. He was between my legs now and on his knees, his erection straining against the heavy tartan. I looked up at him with expectation. His big face was glowing with lust and he smiled down at me. He lifted his kilt and took his dick in hand, pushing it against my arsehole. Still slippery with his spit, his helmet slid against me and prodded my scrotum on the first few attempts, but he grasped himself tightly behind the helmet and forced his way in, grunting with the effort. My anus unfurled and I felt myself expand to accommodate his knob. Being slimmer than the shaft, his knob popped in fairly comfortably but as I opened wider I saw stars as my passage stretched around him. The other lads I had been with, none could compare to the girth of this man. I always worried that I was too loose as they had all slid inside me without much bother. But now I knew how it felt to be stretched. He inched inside me, slowly but firmly, one hand pulling on my thigh whilst with the other he guided himself into me. I breathed deeply, managing the sensations that washed through me: not pain exactly but not pleasure either. Finally I felt his tufty nutsack against me and knew that half the battle was one. He left himself inside me, letting me relax around him. I squeezed a couple of times, wrapping myself around his solid mass, exploring him. I felt moulded to him and I moved against him, testing his limits, finding his form, like trying to find someone in the dark. I looked down but our kilts blanketed us now, the tartans ruffled and gathering against each other. Feeling that I was ready now, he manoeuvred himself into a press up position above me, his shoulders and his long hair, untied and flowing were a shelter above me. I clung to him like a monkey, my thighs against his legs, my hands clutching his shoulder blades as he begun to work me. His tartan arse rose, withdrawing his dick a few inches, then plunging down with a swiftness that took my breath away. His eyes fixed on mine as he took me, dark brown eyes, full of warmth but somehow primal and animal too. His hips worked like a machine, plunging his meat rod into me again and again. He'd withdraw so only his head was in me, then stretch me with his thick shaft. He whispered things in my ear, most of which I couldn't make out either because of the accent or because I was focusing on the beautiful feelings that were streaming through my body, but the low vibrations of his voice and the sweet whiskey scented breath made me cling to him tighter, my chest pressing up against his, my hands pawing at his muscled back. He fucked my arsehole like it was cunt, sliding in and out with ease once I had loosened to his girth. I could have stayed like that for hours, gripping him with my hands and the muscles of my anus, but he needed to change position, if only to stave off his orgasm. His dick still lodged inside me, he rolled us over, so he was on his back and I could ride him. It's my favourite position: there is something so beautiful about sliding down a man's length and having some control over how deep and how fast. Shuffling about to find the right position, his dick popped out of my arsehole, so I took it in hand. It was still greasy with our mixed saliva. I tried to reinsert him, but it felt like I was trying to slide down a bollard. He took my buttocks roughly in his hands and spread them apart and as I pushed down, his helmet penetrated me again. He lifted his knees slightly and I put my hands on his chest and reached down for a kiss. The taste of whiskey still lingered in his mouth, and his beard was rough on my naked face. His tongue roughly pushed past mine and lashed inside my mouth, passionate and probing. At the same time he pulled me down his shaft, filling me once more with his thick meat, my ring stretching around him. I cried out in ecstasy, throwing my head back til only guttural noises of pleasure escaped from me mouth. He laughed his deep hearty laugh, pleased with my contentment. `Most lads can't even get ma knob past their ring-pieces,' he chortled, his hands stroking my thighs beneath the kilt, `But you, a wee slip of a thing, are getting' ma nuts wet!' With that, the smile dissolved and returned to the serious business of fucking. He wanted me naked now and, still impaling me with his penis, unfastened my kilt and unwrapped me, like a Christmas present. His fingers fiddled with my balls and tugged at me cock, but he did so delicately, as though I was fragile and he was scared of his own strength. `You don't need to be gentle with me,' I told him bending down for a kiss, `I want to feel your strength.' His kilt had ridden up his torso and I unclipped it at the belt and pulled it open to reveal his softer stomach and the forest of pubic hair beneath. `Do ya now!' his face was serious, `Then let's fuck wee man.' He pulled out of me and slammed back in, taking me by surprise. He gave me a moment to compose myself, so when the next thrust came I was ready and slid down to greet it. Hard, almost brutal thrusts came from his hips and I was sliding up and down his shaft. I supported myself by pressing down on his wide hairy chest, our bodies slamming together as he fucked me and I rode him. Without the kilts, I felt released, unshackled and animal. With the kilts on we had clung to some aspect of respectability but without them we were just animals, rutting for pleasure. His hands strayed all over my body, stroking, mauling, clinging, and I hit his chest, and slapped it and tugged at the thick mat of hair, pinching his nipples. And all the time we fucked, the friction of his dick stabbing into me sent shockwaves of pleasure through my body and I could feel he was nearing orgasm now. There was something more insistent about the way he held me, it felt like his dick was squeezing into me and that I was milking him, trying to draw out the orgasm from him. He stared into my eyes, those dark brown eyes that were both human and beast. He longed for the release and I longed to give it to him. He was nearly there, I felt the large balls pull back towards his body and the skin of his scrotum crease. And then suddenly, still locked together, he had lifted me up and he was standing and holding me. Surprised, my hands clung to his powerful arms, and my legs wrapped around his body. My weight was nothing to him, the sweat pouring down his face, dampening his beard was more from the exertion of our love-making than bearing my weight. I'd never been fucked like it. He smiled at me and I would have laughed but all that came out was more animal noises of lust. He was literally pulling me onto his dick. I could feel his power then, the raw, unadulterated strength of him, pistoning into me, driving himself deeper inside me, expanding me, stretching me. I felt like I was being fucked by a god. And then it came, the release we were searching for. Jase's mouth opened and a roar bellowed out of him, like the roar of victory but angrier, deeper. The noise rolled over me until I was hollering too. His body trembled and I could feel him jerk inside me, the involuntary flexes of his huge meat as his jism spewed out from his body and into mine. It was too much for my mind and body to comprehend and I stiffened with orgasm too, our roars fading and petering out into heavy breaths as the orgasm that had ripped through us passed. Somehow in those moments, he managed to get us back onto the bed. I felt drained, almost numb with pleasure, my limbs feeble and disordered. Jase just collapsed on top of me, pinning me to the bed with his heavy body. We breathed together, our chests expanding with air until strength returned to us. I stroked his damp body and slowly began to push him out of me. He whispered things softly in my ear and he stroked me face, kissing me and holding me until we drifted off to sleep, the kilts a blanket beneath us.