The highest mountain pass in Great Britain rose before me. I stepped on the gas with slight trepidation, and renewed excitement. The higher I climbed the more beautiful it became; lochs, mountains and steep valleys stretched in every direction.

Someone once told me that the Scots had a knack of seeing around corners. Which was a good thing; the locals took the hair-pin turns like we were on a highway.

It felt as though the narrow road were going to give way beneath the car in a couple of spots, making my arrival at the top of the mountain end with a sigh of relief.

I parked the car and got out to take in the vista painted before me. The ocean was in the distance, and mountains on the other side of that. The islands of Raasay & Skye, the Ben Nevis and the Cairngorms covered the horizon. Mist hovered over the water, shimmering in the late afternoon sunlight. I felt as though I had stepped back in time.

My stomach gave a growl and I was reminded of the purpose of this trip.

The Applecross Inn and its menu.

The town of Applecross was nestled at the northern side of the mountain’s base, in an inlet on the rocky shores of the sea. The Inn itself looked like many of the pubs I had visited the past couple of days; wood décor, long inviting bar, cozy fireplace, menu written with flourish on a chalkboard covered wall.

The difference here was the out-door seating.

Picnic tables had been set up on the beach, so guests could eat and enjoy the breath taking scenery.

I took a seat at one of the tables and congratulated myself on my brilliant vacation choice. A family sat at the table beside me, laughing and chatting in thick accents. On the beach, a dog ran loose, chasing waves. The inn, a couple of houses, and the surrounding mountains were all that made up the little town.

The waitress returned with my pint and the smoked salmon plate. I was in for a treat. The slices of salmon were rolled into the shape of roses. The bread was fresh baked, its aroma teasing my nostrils. What followed was the best venison sausage I have ever eaten. Flavors danced along my tongue, making my taste buds jump. I smiled, the sun lighting my face, the sky a welcome canopy of blue.

I was full, but I ordered dessert. My tongue craved more stimulation. The Raspberry Cranachan was unbelievable. I had never eaten food that melted in my mouth…cream, oats, berries…it was bliss.

I walked into the pub reluctant to pay the bill. But getting back over this mountain in the dark must be near suicidal. I was met by the fresh faced girl who had been my waitress. “How was your meal?” she asked in her delightful accent.

“Unreal,” I said my eyes closing in remembered pleasure. “Best food I’ve ever eaten.”

She laughed at my enthusiasm, handing me my receipt.

“Can you please pass the word along to the chef?” I asked.

“Your pleasure is my own,” said a voice rich with a Scottish brogue from behind me. I turned to find a tall man reminiscent of ‘Braveheart’ filling his chef whites with his broad shoulders. His lips were framed by a neatly trimmed beard and mustache. His reddish brown hair was long and wavy, tied back with a length of leather cord. His smile was slightly menacing, but what made my stomach drop was the kilt skimming his bare knees.

“Sean Road.” He offered his hand to me and I took it. A thrill raced along my skin. The first thought in my head was one of indecency. Was it true what Scotsmen wore beneath their kilts?

“What brings you to Applecross, Miss…?” He asked.

“Jamie.” He took my hand and I peered up at him through my lashes. “I was told I could find some great food at your pub.” His eyes were green with tiny specs of gold throughout.

Sean led me out the door into the orange and pinks of the evening sky, his hand hot on my back. Sean smiled and asked after the guests meals as we passed their tables; every bit the professional chef. We ended up on the rocky beach. Large smooth stones shifted under our feet as we walked.

“Dinner was amazing. I haven’t eaten anything so delicious since I arrived in Scotland…maybe since I was born.” I winked and he laughed, taking my hand and bringing it to his lips.

“Thank you,” Sean whispered. His hair glinted with flecks of red as the strands caught in the light of the setting sun.

“Are you staying in town?” He asked.

“No, I have a cottage near Inverness.” I looked back at the car in the distance wishing I had known about this place before my drive out this morning. I could have planned better. And now there was this man just begging to be devoured. Perhaps the inn had a free room?

“Maybe you should,” He cajoled his eyes catching mine. “I bet I could find you a room.” And he reads minds. He moved in closer. I could feel the heat of his body.

“A room?” I thought I heard my voice tremble, but all thoughts left my head as his lips sought mine. They were soft in contrast with the roughness of his facial hair. We sampled each others flavors; the spice of lips and tongue. I felt like a delicacy the longer the kiss went on, a treasured dish to be savored.

I stood on tip-toe letting my body lean into his height. My hands found his hair and the silky strands slipped from their tie and embraced my fingers, climbing like vines along my wrists. He moaned into my mouth, whispering my name.

“Yes?” I answered, rubbing my cheek against his like a contented cat.

Sean grabbed my hand and continued impatiently down the beach. He was walking fast, the rocks slipping beneath our feet making it hard to move quickly. I laughed out loud at the desire licking our heels.

After a few minutes stairs cleaved from rock came into view. They led off the beach, and up the side of the mountain. He took me up a dozen stairs and the ground leveled out. A large wood door stood in front of us with a huge gold knocker. He stopped in front of it to kiss me again and I laughed against his lips. What was I doing?

He turned the knob and we were inside a darkly lit room. He pushed me back upon the entry and I wrapped my arms around his waist pulling him flush against me. I could feel his hard cock pressing into my belly.

“Is it true?” I asked breathlessly. He leaned over and let his lips nibble along my jaw.

“What?” He whispered into my ear. I trembled as his tongue traced along the outer edge.

“What Scotsmen wear beneath their kilts?”

“Why don’t you find out?” He suggested.

I let my hands travel down his back and over his kilt. I came to the hem and my hand touched the back of his knee. I let my fingers slide up further, traversing his muscular thighs and the fine hairs that led to the swell of his BARE ass. I squeezed playfully.

“Is this sanitary?” I laughed and he pulled me into the kitchen.

“Depends on what I’m cookin’.” Sean’s teeth flashed white in the dark room as he smiled. He lifted me onto the butcher’s block that stood at the kitchen’s center. My shirt flew over my head and landed on the pot rack above our heads.

He leaned into me suckling my breasts like they were fine cream. He pulled one nipple and then the other into his mouth and they reddened to the color or ripe berries against my pale skin.

Honey gathered in my pussy wanting to be eaten.

I unzipped my jeans and lay back, lifting my hips. He dragged them down my legs and kicked them towards the dining table. My legs spread wide, inviting him to take his fill. His nostrils flared as my juices wafted through the fabric to greet him.

Sean turned from me and found a pair of kitchen shears. The shiny metal gleamed in the soft light that was coming through the window. He brought the cold steel to my hip and gently snipped through the delicate lace of my panties. The contrast in temperature of the scissors and my flesh had me moaning. He moved to the other hip, the thin fabric falling away from my body

Sean placed my knees over his shoulders. Beard hair tickled my thighs as he rubbed his cheeks against my sensitive flesh. He nibbled and teased his way around my center. His mouth swept over my pussy, tasting every fold and crease. He stoked my hole with his tongue in a steady rhythm. I was boiling, my juices making a gurgling puddle between my legs.

I took hold of his hair, pulling his face against my cunt. My feet pressed his back wanting more. His lips engulfed my clit.

Juices were flooding my boiler and covered his face. My pussy steamed. Sean’s smile glistened in the dark light of the room.

“Sean…Sean!”

“Not yet, lassie,” he stopped. I felt dazed, my body held together by a string.

“Sean, please….I…” He put a hand to my lips and turned me onto my stomach.

“Be still,” he whispered.

But I wasn’t. I ground myself against the wood. My hand slipped under my body and I played with my hot cunt. I stroked my eager opening and humped the butcher block. I lifted my ass in the air and squeezed my cheeks.

“That’s right, honey,” Sean encouraged. “Show me what you like.” My thumb pressed into my clit in hard circles. Moans filled the kitchen.

Warm oil drizzled onto my rear, catching my breath. His finger kneaded my ass, pressing the round fullness with his strong hands like a ball of dough. My ass waved in the air, wanting his cock, needing his hard dick to fill me. I begged.

Sean pulled me back until I was hanging off the block; my tip-toes barely brushing the floor. Hands on my hips, he held me still as his prick massaged the entrance of my hot tunnel. He slid in slowly, letting me eager cunt adjust to his size. He inched in further, stretching me wide.

I pulled at the other end of the block, groaning as I took him in. Flush against me, his pubic hairs brushed my ass. My insides clung to every turgid bit of flesh.

His weight rubbed the smooth wood against my tits and pussy. Fingers tangled in my hair then grabbed a fist full, rotating his hips. He kissed my neck as he moved slowly, a long grown deep in his throat. On a wave, he undulated against me. Riding me.

The smack and sting of our flesh echoed in the room. He moved faster, pushing harder.

Beneath the Kilt [1992 words] (MF, oral)

Sean brought his hands under me and took a hold of my breasts, pulling me upright. I grabbed the pot rack above our heads. The metal clanged over us as we fucked.

His hand on my clit and tossed me over the edge.

The sound of our skin slapping together mingled with the pots like a recipe. His dick grew, pushing at my walls then coating them with his hot come, sliding down my legs in a wet stream.

I collapsed on the block and looked over my shoulder. Sean was still dressed for work, as I lay there splayed out like some exotic cut of meat.

“I’ll show you the bedroom,” he announced. I yelped as he threw me over his shoulder.

“I like the kitchen!” I laughed.