Reds Scottish Trip Ch 03

Best to read Chapters 1 and 2 first. Many thanks for your messages. And for your support and help: you know who you are! Hope you all enjoy this.

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1

Red opened her eyes, sleepsoft. Sandy was gazing directly into them, warm sparkles, a smile curling the edges of his mouth. He bent to kiss her: Good morning my dear. Did you sleep well?

Oh what a lovely smile to wake to Sandy, returning his kiss. Yes, I slept the sleep of the just, thank you. Or maybe of lust?

His tongue licked into the corner of her jaw, then into her ear. She squirmed: Oh Sandy...He bit her lobe softly and his fingers went to her breast.

Now Red, he grunted low: It's only half-past-six, and it's a really beautiful morning. So I think we ought to head out of the city, go explore the Burns country. The only question is, when? His fingers were fondling her nipple and it was hardening. His other hand slipped between her legs and she spread them to let him in.

You have so many choices right now Red, he whispered, fingers separating her damp outer lips, stroking the smoothness of her mons. You could go back to sleep -- if I could keep my hands off you. Or I could go get you breakfast in bed, as promised, right now. Or you could just lie exactly there, and do everything I tell you. You'll still get your breakfast, just a little...later. His fingers were stroking between her exposed labia and he bent to lick a nipple. So what's your choice, lassie?

Mm, a beautiful morning, you say? He nodded, nipple in mouth, two fingers inside her now, probing. Well, how about breakfast in bed, and we make an early start for the countryside? His mouth lifted from her nipple, fingers slid from her vagina. He smiled in her eyes again, lifting himself off the bed.

Your wish is my command Red. Tea or coffee? Grapefruit, cereal, toast, bacon and eggs? He slipped on his gown. His erection was throbbing.

Uh, tea please. And all the rest.

He kissed her hard. Coming up, madam. You just stay right here. But you know this means I'll be horny all day. I'll have to find somewhere I can fuck you when we're out. He left and she lay, listening to the sounds from the kitchen, birdsong on the trees outside the flat.

They ate lazily in bed, and as she munched toast, sitting up, the crumbs trickled down her breasts and stomach, onto her naked lap. Sandy took the empty plate from her and started licking the crumbs, tickling her breasts and belly. He licked lower, parted her legs so he could tongue up the soft insides of her thighs. Less tickly now: she squirmed slightly as his tongue lapped into her sex. He looked up from his efforts into her smiling eyes: Now this is a new taste for me Red, toastcrumbs with cunthoney. Mm, love it, and he pulled her down so she was lying flat, his head bent to the task again.

She lay back as he lapped her out, relishing every movement of his tongue, his lips. As her moisture began to flow he licked more vigorously, tongue starting to flick her rising clit now, and she felt the growing warmth as her arousal became more insistent.

Oh Sandy, now you have to make me cum. Suck my clit please lover...ahhh yes...

Red, the taste and smell of you, feeling you move, so good...a delicious way to begin the day, and his lips pursed round her clit, sucking.

Her hips were off the bed now, all her focus on the sensations in her sex. Sandy, please, put your fingers in me, and she felt the surge of fullness as he complied.

Now my sweet, I have to make you orgasm, and his fingers and mouth began a pattern of sweet torment till she was writhing and moaning, hips jerking her cunt up into his face. He was making sounds into her now and the vibrations stimulated her nerve-ends till she felt the orgasm welling from deep within...ohhfucksandy, bite my clit softlyplease, and this final tease set her into a tight spasm. A wet finger slickly probed just into her anus and she felt the hardness of his nose rub her clit roughly. She exploded on his face, whimpering. His mouth was softer on her now but she could bear no more sensation, roughly pulled his hair so his head rose from her sex.

He wriggled up the sheets and kissed her, beard and moustache spreading her own honey on her face. She opened her eyes, smiled into him: Well Sandy -- still trembling -- thank you so much for breakfast. But now, don't you think it's time to take your client off on a day's adventure? I promise I'll repay you for this, later.

Yes, boss, it's half-past-seven, and I need to be back in town for six. Let's move. And yes, you will repay me for that, I'll make sure I claim it.

2

They were on the road just after eight, picnic in Sandy's backpack. Red had decided not to delay things by going back to Ma Docherty's to change. She had clean panties and stockings in her purse.

The car joined a queue to get onto the motorway and they crawled in ten lanes of jams over a big river-bridge. Look left for the city centre, said Sandy, and she thought the strange jumble of Victorian and modern buildings was almost pretty in the morning sunwash.

After the bridge the traffic speeded up and they took the left fork: 'M77 Kilmarnock, Ayr.' They were climbing through suburbs, pasture with horses, onto a high moor. Sandy kept the foot down at a steady seventy-five and soon there was a distant vista of farmland and towns spreading before them to the seashore; a mountainous island in the distance. The sun glinted off rocks and snow on the cloudless jaggy summits.

Hey Sandy, this is gorgeous. What's that island?

Isle of Arran, one of Scotland's favourite places. Well, mine, anyway. I've done just about every climb on those mountains.

It looks almost enchanted Sandy, maybe I wanna go there.

It's only two hours from Glasgow, an hour to the ferry at Ardrossan, an hour's crossing. It's certainly worth visiting, lots of lovely and interesting things and places. And of course the mountains. But it doesn't always look like this: it gets a lot of rain.

They passed a big town and the land became more pastoral, deciduous woodland and lush green fields full of cattle. Sandy, tell me about your marriage?

Still a bit sore, lass. Not right now, if you don't mind.

They lapsed into comfortable silence. Turned left at a big roundabout, an airport on the right, the island still beyond the shore. OK man, here's an easier one. Tell me how roundabouts work? We don't have any in Canada, at least not that I know. And if I'm hiring a car, I need to...be aware.

They work fine Red. The basic principle is, you signal in advance which way you want to go, get into the appropriate lane, give way to traffic already on the roundabout, coming from your right. You'll see in a few minutes, I'm turning right into Ayr on the next one.

And past the airport, there was the big roundabout roadsign. Sandy signalled right to go into Ayr, moved into the right-hand lane as they approached. Pulled onto the roundabout when it was clear and headed into town.

Red, if you're not sure about our traffic, my insurance will cover you driving this car. Before you hire, would it help if you get used to driving my car, with me advising you?

Oh hon, you're so sweet. Yes, that would be wonderful. I've been watching carefully as you drive, but I'm a bit nervous about this wrong-side-of-the-road stuff.

I don't think you'll find it to difficult to adapt Red. I've never had a problem in Europe, or Canada. Let's start you later today, when we're on quieter roads. They passed a racecourse and the traffic got heavier as they neared the town centre.

Ayr's an ancient burgh, he said. Was an important port, before Glasgow was dredged to handle big ships. West coast, so lots of trade with the Americas in the seventeen-hundreds. Burns wrote:

'Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a toon surpasses, For honest men and bonnie lasses.'

But I have the bonniest ever lass sitting right next to me. What a lucky guy!

They were going through the town centre now and he pointed out eighteenth- and nineteenth-century buildings: We're heading south for Alloway. When Robert Burns was born there, it was a country village. Now it's a suburb of Ayr.

Through tree-lined avenues of fine sandstone Victorian villas in rich gardens. Hey, not so many poor folk here Sandy?

No. Back in the eighties, when Scotland was swept by rejection of Mrs Thatcher, this was one of the last havens of Conservative politics in the country. He smiled. Then the bastards even lost Ayr!

I take it you're not a Conservative then?

No, hardly. Old-fashioned socialist me. Not a Tony Blair fan, far less a Tory. Now, we're nearly there. He drew into a carpark and escorted her by an ancient low thatched cottage. There were gardens and Victorian buildings behind.

The birthplace of Robert Burns, he explained. Agricultural labourer, poet and songwriter, later farmer and exciseman. A quite extraordinary man Red, have you heard of him?

Mm, sorry Sandy, I don't think so. Didn't pay much attention to poetry at school I'm afraid. Or since.

Maybe. Tell me, in Ontario what you traditionally sing at New Year?

Uh, Should Old Acquaintance Be Forgot, of course. Goof!

Thought so. Auld Lang Syne. By Robert Burns. He hummed it. Probably one of the first examples in the world of a genuinely internationally-popular poet. In fact, still one of the few.

Her laughter tinkled in his ear: OK, so the guy's famous. And I knew one of his songs. Sorry I hadn't realised it. But you -- and this museum -- are going to educate me. I kinda feel it coming up. He kissed her cheek and they entered the museum. He spoke non-stop, but she was getting used to that, listened intently.

After the museum proper, they toured the cottage where the guy was born, seventeen-something. Humans lived in one end, animals the other. In the same building. Stout wooden artisan furniture, fabric mostly wool and linen. What we had here before Carolina cotton, Sandy said. She was moved by the dire poverty of this existence. And a world-famous poet was born here?

I've been to folk museums in Southern Ontario, and the cottages looked a bit like this, she whispered, quite in awe at the strangeness. But they didn't produce world-famous poets. And they're built of wood.

They were in the kitchen of the cottage, burnished copper pots and pans by the fireside. Nobody else in the building. He moved to her, kissed her urgently. As they closed together she felt his cock hard under the kilt. I need to fuck you soon, Red, he whispered, fingers moving up her thighs. She shuffled her legs apart and his fingers moved higher, stroking silkily, probing cautiously. Oh Red, I don't know what you've done to me lassie.

His fingers found soft wetness under her panties and she sighed, her fingers now searching beneath his kilt. Touched his throbbing prick, stroked.

Sounds at the door and, sighing, their fingers slipped from each other, clothes dropped modestly.

Maybe it's time to move on Red?

Maybe. She glanced at her watch: ten-thirty. Where next, tourguide?

Lots of choices lass. Nearby there's a ruined abbey, a fine Adam mansion on the site of an ancient castle, an industrial museum with a steam railway, fishing villages, views of Ireland, lots more. You choose.

She glanced at him demurely. Well, tourguide, that's some choice! What's a poor Canadian woman to do?

Choose, numpty!

OK, I choose...a ruined abbey, and a view of Ireland. First. And a driving lesson, remember?

He kissed her as the family burst into the room: So, that's where we're going Red. Ruined abbey, view of Ireland, driving lesson.

3

They walked back to the car and he opened her door for her. Bent to lick her knee. She shivered. The abbey's maybe twenty minutes away Red. It's called Crossraguel. We'll go by backroads so you can drive once we're out of town.

He talked her through the controls as he drove. They all seemed pretty straightforward to her, except of course the gearstick and handbrake were on the wrong side. Mm, sorry Red, I'd forgotten something. This has a manual gearbox, not so many automatics in the UK. Can you use a manual box OK?

Sure, my winter truck's manual. Much better control on snow and ice.

Good. He pulled into a farm entrance. Your turn madam.

They changed round and she adjusted seat and mirrors, ran through the gearbox, checked the stalks for indicators, lights, horn. She was more excited than nervous, relishing the challenge. Pulled away cautiously. Slowed right down into the verge to let an oncoming car pass.

You were quite right to do that, he said. I think some of our roads are a bit narrower than yours?

Uh, sure are! I'll just need to be careful till I get used to it all. But at least they all seem to be blacktop, minor roads in Ontario are often dirt. She focused on driving, getting used to the gearbox, the whole wrong-way-round thing. As her dress slipped up her thighs, Sandy couldn't resist a wee stroke.

Hey, cut it out man, I do not need any distraction right now! He blushed, withdrew his hand, mumbled apologies. They were on a busier, wider road now, pretty solid with big trucks. She was beginning to relax a little as her confidence grew. Presently she saw stone ruins ahead on the left.

This is Crossraguel Abbey Red, carpark's just coming up. She drew in and switched the car off. Then sat still for a few moments.

So, how did you find that, lass? Looked to me like you were doing fine, and I didn't feel nervous at any point. So you get my thumbs-up!

She held her hands up: Well, I'm shaking! But you're right, for some reason I wasn't nervous when I was driving. I'm sure it's like anything else, I just need to get used to it.

Much of the Abbey was in a ruinous state, but some parts were intact, and the remains were obviously well cared-for, set in pretty lawns and flowers. It was first established in the late thirteenth century, Sandy explained, by a branch of the Benedictine Order. Rebuilt over the years: you can see the main surviving stonework came from two very different quarries. As with almost every Abbey in Scotland, after the reformation it fell into disuse. Most of the physical ruination was probably the work of locals raiding it for ready-hewn masonry.

He guided her round, pointing out features of architectural and historical significance. There were no other visitors on a spring weekday and, tour complete, Red started frolicking and teasing him, playing hide-and-seek through the ruins.

She knew just how horny he must be, wanted to make his consummation fun. As she escaped from him into a sheltered sunlit corner, she suddenly found something of interest on a wall, and leaned over to examine it. So when Sandy arrived in pursuit, she was bent threequarters over from the waist, legs straight, dress hugging her ass and raised well up her thighs by her posture.

Sandy stopped. There was something just so incredibly erotic about the way she was standing. He felt his cock engorge, moved behind her. Knelt, started licking the backs of her stocking-covered knees. Licked up as she shuffled her legs wider, pushed the dress up her back, tongued up the back of her thighs, onto her flesh above the stockings. Christ, he loved her smell, sweat and arousal mixed. Her legs were wide apart now and he pulled her panty-covered ass-cheeks apart, tongued into her arsecrack. She felt his hot breath through the cotton, felt the wetness of his tongue seep through the thin material. Neither spoke.

He unclipped stockings from suspender-belt, unfastened the belt. Pulled her panties down sufficiently to lick into her naked bumcrack, tongue her anus so she twinged. Pulled her panties right down so she could step out of them. Stood and lifted his kilt. He had seldom been so excited in his life. Fingered her wet cunt, slid his dripping cock into her waiting hole. And fucked her hard, ferally, pure animal-lust. He was groaning now as his cock plundered her vagina, deep and hard. Felt the contraction in his balls, the flash of electricity the length of his member. Plunged hard again into her, cocktip hitting her cervix, felt the awful surge as his spunk sprayed her womb. She moaned then. He bent to kiss the back of her exposed neck, licked into the hairline, behind her ears. Oh Red, you have no idea how much I needed that my dear, thank you. She stood and turned so his cock slipped from her, kissed his mouth slackly. He was trembling now, returned the kiss unsteadily.

Well, you know I owed you one, she smiled, mischief and affection in her eyes. And this was my first churchfuck, glancing at the ruins around them. Well, sorta.

4

Half-an-hour later they were on a winding coastal road, fields sloping down to clifftops, sea sparkling blue. Pull into this layby Red. They got out of the car. Now, look south over the sea, he said. See the conical island? She could hardly miss it, it was pretty prominent. That's Ailsa Craig. Sailors used to call it Paddy's Milestone, as it's supposed to be about halfway from Glasgow to Belfast. It used to have granite quarries. Ever played curling?

Sure, in our part of the world it's a big sport. And lots of fun, even more skill. Remember we have winter around seven months of the year?

Well, Ailsa Craig used to be the source of all the world's best curling-stones. Or so I'm told. Maybe you should get a pic for your curling friends back home? Now, behind it, on the south horizon, see anything?

Yeah, looks like land.

That's Ireland Red, the north Antrim coast.

She turned to kiss him: Wow, it's so near!

Maybe fifteen to twenty miles from here. Ireland and Scotland have always been close, physically and culturally.

She busied herself with photographs for a moment, till her stomach rumbled loudly.

Shit, sorry Red, I've been neglecting the inner girl. Or at least, that aspect of the inner girl! It's about midday, fancy some lunch?

Thought you'd never ask, goof! Where can we go for our picnic?

On Sandy's direction she drove them to Dunure, an old fishing village perched round a tiny harbour. They lunched on a sward of grass above the harbour, overlooking a ruined castle. The sun was shining and the wind had dropped to a gentle breeze. Somehow they couldn't stop gazing into each other's eyes, between eating, and feeding scraps to boldly inquisitive seagulls.

Sandy lay back on the warm grass, shut his eyes. Maybe it's time I told you more about me Red. I grew up in Edinburgh, came to Glasgow to study at University. My main subject was Scottish Literature, and that's mostly what my University teaching career has been about. Met Jean at Uni, we were married before we graduated. Once we had jobs we bought a flat -- the one I still live in. She taught History in secondary school, still does, cept she's a head teacher now, runs a big school.

When we were young -- remember we were students in the sixties, early seventies -- we were quite permissive with each other. We both slept around when the fancy took us. Threesomes a few times when we could find a friend, male or female, who wanted to play.

That stopped when the boys came along and we became a respectable married couple. All our energies went into our jobs and our kids. We just neglected the relationship between ourselves. Pretty common story I think. We were an economic and child-rearing unit. We seldom touched each other, and when we did it was for a hard release-fuck. The love seemed to have gone.

Then as the boys grew older, we both started messing around with other partners. Trying to fill a void maybe, I'm describing, not defending myself. By the time they left home to go to University there was nothing left and we were both in our late forties. One day we sat down and started talking to each other, as we hadn't for a long time. Decided we had to stop messing, and get back to trying to make our marriage work again.