Red’s Scottish Trip Ch. 05

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Author’s note:

In this chapter, I have finally succumbed to the many comments (mainly but not all from North America), which I have received about my ’embedded dialogue’ writing style. So this one is full of ‘quotes’ to denote dialogue. Ach – (sighs) – life’s full of compromises! I hope it makes it easier for some of you to read.

The story so far.

Red, a thirty-something Canadian divorcee, has booked a tourguide for the start of her Scottish holiday. He is Sandy, a fifty-something Scot who was recommended to her by a friend. On the first day there is sexual chemistry between them as they explore the area round the city of Glasgow. It is not all sex. There is history, architecture and much else as well as hot sex too!

In this Chapter, the first part of Red’s holiday adventure in Scotland draws to a close. It stands alone, but you may find it easier to follow the developing relationship between Red and Sandy, if you read the previous four chapters first. Many thanks to my kind editors for their help throughout this story. Very special thanks to Plainly_Jane for your help with this one.

If you have enjoyed the tale so far, please let me know. If I get enough appreciative comments I’ll follow it up and let you have the story of the rest of their time together. That would pretty much make it a novel.

1.

Red woke to what sounded like heavy rain outside. She tiptoed to peek through the curtains. Saw rainwashed tenements with unremittingly grey clouds above, rain drumming off the grass and paving of the backyards. She shivered, grabbed her gown, and went to brush her teeth, then headed to the kitchen to make tea.

Sandy was stirring when she returned to bed with the tray. He rubbed sleep from his eyes as he watched her pour tea and place his mug beside him. Then she slipped from her gown and her beautiful form was in bed beside him again.

“Hey darling, thanks for my tea. What a lovely way to waken up!” He kissed her nipple, sucked briefly so it grew under his lips. Then he got out of bed and moved to the bathroom to freshen up for her. She was sipping tea when he returned to bed and he took the mug from her hand and nuzzled into her warm excitement. When he bent his head to kiss her mouth, he felt her deep sexual response.

They cuddled and luxuriated into each other. She felt his arousal; felt too his fingers part her thighs to touch her dampness. “So baby,” she whispered, “what have you planned for my day?”

“Well, I’m afraid I haven’t planned very good weather,” he responded. “Looks like an indoors day, unless you really like getting wet?”

“Sandy, you get me wet all the time. And you know I love that!” Red gasped as his teasing fingers slid into her soaking cunt, stroking up her vagina walls as he moved on top of her and kissed her welcoming mouth softly.

“Right now I don’t want to move out of this bed, my sweet,” he whispered. “But at some stage we may want to get up, and since it’s so awful outside, I suggest we visit the Burrell Collection and Pollock House.”

Her fingers were stroking his hardness. “That sounds good lover,” she replied softly, “but it’s only seven and I don’t imagine they open for a while. Right now I need a loving fuck.” He gasped as her fingers tightened on his cock.

“But,” she continued, “this time I need to be in control,” and she squirmed round so he was on his back. Straddling her thighs over his face, she bent to take his prick in her mouth. “Lick me out, tourguide. If you make me cum I’ll give you a nice surprise.” And she licked round his cockhead, sucked him between her lips, as she felt his tongue begin its exquisite journey of exploration.

“I just don’t know why this is so,” Sandy said, lapping into her as his finger probed her wetness. “But I could bury myself in your taste and scent forever darling.” She squealed as his finger brushed her g-spot, and her teeth closed on him involuntarily.

“Sorry baby, but you made me do that!” she whispered.

“I…I quite liked it lover,” he gasped. “I want you to do whatever you want to me. Anything…AHHH!” — as her sharp teeth sank into his rod again — “anything that gives you pleasure.” His lips pursed tight on her clit and her shudder told him she was going to cum on him soon. She wriggled her hips hard on his face.

“Fuck my face darling,” Sandy urged Red. “Take me for you. Use me for your pleasure.” Her hips were bucking faster on him now and his face was dripping with her delicious cunthoney. She had stopped sucking him as she focused on her own pleasure, and he was glad. At that moment, what he really wanted was for Red to use him as her sextoy. He concentrated on giving her every pleasure he could, trying to read her body’s increasingly urgent movements on his face, to anticipate what she needed.

He moved his head up a fraction, tongue wetting her perineum as his mouth moved into her sweet bumcrack. He felt her tense as his fingers pulled her cheeks wide so his tongue could probe her anus. She shuffled güvenilir canlı bahis siteleri onto her knees a wee bit so his fingers could continue working her cunt, whilst his tongue probed her sphincter. Once his tongue had penetrated her tight ring, he moved one hand to finger and pull on her tits as they dangled invitingly over his stomach. As he squeezed and twisted the nipples, her hips became a frenzy of facefuck for him. His tongue was shaken from her fast-moving arse and he became a receptacle for her lust as he felt her orgasm build.

Truly this was what he was intended for: just to pleasure this amazing woman. With one final downward thrust of her hips on his face, she groaned deeply as her orgasm swept her being. She shuddered to collapse on him, nerves twitching all over. He ran his fingers lightly down her sweaty back. “I love you from the core of me Red,” he said hoarsely.

2.

Presently she stirred on top of him. “I could live like this forever,” he whispered, “crushed under you with your sex on my mouth.”

She moved round and lay beside him. He kissed her mouth and they settled, bathed in each other’s sex and sweat.

“That was so amazing Sandy.” She licked into his neck. “No other man in the world has ever allowed me to just let go on him, use him for my pleasure.”

“Well, it was high time it happened lover. I rather suspect you’ve allowed others to use you selfishly. In fact, I know you have, with me. So maybe it was just your turn? I wonder, do you have any idea how wonderful it was for me, knowing I was giving you that pleasure? We have another fortnight Red: plenty of time to explore how we can be good for each other. But now,” he glanced at the bedside clock, “it’s nearly eight, and we have some art to discover together.”

Her fingers wound possessively round his cock and she rose on an elbow to kiss his mouth. “But lover, what about you?”

He smiled. “I’m fine darling, just suffused in joy, being with you. I’ll probably need to give you the most selfish fuck you ever had, later. Meantime, let’s get showered and grab some breakfast. Then I’ve things to show you.”

* * *

It was nearly ten as Red drove off the busy suburban road and under a railway bridge. Suddenly they were no longer in a big city, but in eighteenth-century landscaped parkland. A long rhododendron-lined avenue with huge ancient hardwoods towering above, and squirrels scattering off the road before them. A lazy river wound to their left. They passed a tree-studded field with a herd of Highland Cattle grazing. Red squealed at the sight of the young calves and pulled onto the verge, camera in hand. “Ohh Sandy, aren’t they just heavenly?”

Then she parked at the gallery, not on the usual sheet of unsightly asphalt, but on some sort of grid which allowed grass to grow through it, so it looked as though the many vehicles were parked on greensward.

She was entranced by the setting, and the care for the visual environment. He pulled her to him as they left the car. “I love you because you care, Red.” And grinning wickedly at her, he added, “because you’re the best fuck in the world!”

As they passed the shelter-belt of deciduous trees, the Burrell Collection Gallery opened before them. It was a long low modern building, part traditional red sandstone, part aluminium and plate glass, sculpted into the parkland landscape. “Oh my goodness, Sandy,” Red exclaimed, “what a lovely building!”

“Isn’t it?” he responded. “It’s twenty-something years old now, and it still looks as fresh as the day it opened. It was built by the City Council to house a collection which had been bequested to the people of the city many years previously. I have many criticisms of our city council, but this is NOT one of them. I’m glad you like it Red. Wait till you see what’s inside.”

The huge red sandstone entrance was a bit like going into a cathedral, she thought. As they wandered into the gallery she noticed entry was free.

They went past the giftshop and into an atrium, a sculpture-park on their right. She drew him by the hand as she admired the Rodins and other works in the beautiful setting. They wandered through a medieval archway set in the wall, and were faced with a long diagonal gallery containing, successively, Chinese, Egyptian, and other early Mediterranean sculptures and ceramic artefacts.

A window-wall allowed the gorgeous parkland outside to almost enter the building. “Sandy, it is just totally gorgeous,” she whispered, so awed by the place that she couldn’t raise her voice. Sandy led her through medieval tapestries and displays of knights’ armour. Red lingered over the tapestries, understanding from her passion for quilting and embroidery, the enormous amount of work their weavers had put into them, many centuries before.

They emerged through the labyrinth, to a gallery on the south side of the building. Rain was still beating down outside, though the sky looked a bit brighter. “How d’you feel about a wee break for tea güvenilir illegal bahis siteleri or coffee?” Sandy asked. “There’s still quite a lot you haven’t seen here.”

“You anticipate my every need, tourguide,” she smiled up into his eyes. They descended a long straight concrete staircase to the café area below them. The stairs were narrow, she noticed, and mentioned this to him. “Hah!” he laughed, “trust my observant lover!”

“Waddya mean?” she asked as they made their way to the serving-area.

“I mean, that staircase is the one terrible design-fault in this wonderful building,” he explained. “Apart from one wee lift, it’s the only way in and out of the café. At busy weekends, the congestion gets terrible, families queueing to get up and down. I suppose every beautiful building has to have one fault,” he smiled.

They put their tea and cakes on the tray and Red insisted on paying. Then they moved to a table beside a south-facing plate-glass window overlooking wet parkland.

“So tell me Sandy — as I know you are dying to — what’s the story behind this amazing collection?”

“Umm. Well, in my view, it’s not such a pretty story, despite the wonders of the collection,” he replied. “William Burrell was a Glasgow shipowner and trader, end of the nineteenth, beginning of the twentieth century. At the height of the British Empire, when Britain literally dominated the world, commercially and militarily. Unlike many of his contemporary capitalists, he had some taste and culture. He used his immense wealth, and his shipping interests, to assemble here in Glasgow a huge range of cultural artefacts from all over the globe.”

Sandy took a sip of his tea and continued. “Today, I’d call it cultural rape. He was obsessed with building his collection, and he didn’t mind where and how he got it. I suspect there are quite a few dark stories behind it all.”

“On his death, he became philanthropical about it. He left it in trust to the citizens of Glasgow, and many years after he’d done so, the City Council eventually got round to housing it properly, and putting it on display for the public. It is, as you are learning, a most wonderful collection, and several generations of this city’s kids have grown up appreciating a bit more about the world beyond these shores, because of it. But my presbyterian and socialist upbringing won’t allow me to forget how it got here: a bit of cultural rape by an over-rich and obsessed man.”

Red gave Sandy a lightly teasing grin. “Hey, I wish you’d just lighten up sometimes Sandy! What does it matter, now, how it came to be here? What matters to me is, it’s here, and I am relishing it!”

“I know that Red. In many ways I’m glad it’s here too. It helped my kids expand their horizons when they were growing up. And me, too. It makes it easy, if you grow up knowing it, to understand the world doesn’t stop at the shores of our wee country. And that older civilisations, which ignorant racists think are inferior to ours, have a lot to teach us today.”

He glanced at his watch and drank the last of his tea in one gulp. “There’s more to see here. And we still have Pollock House to look at!”

* * *

They moved up the narrow flight of stairs and he showed her into elaborate reconstructions of the rooms of medieval mansions, set carefully into the design of the gallery. Furniture hundreds of years old, fireplaces, doorways, windows, all carefully dismantled, he explained, and moved hundreds of miles to be reconstructed many years later inside this fabulous building.

Red was beginning to understand the wealth, and the cultural obsession, that had enabled this to be done.

Finally they moved up another flight of stairs to the art collection. Red was so overawed by the experience of the place, she could no longer begin to take everything in. But in the softly-lit room containing the Degas collection she lingered, peering at the delicate pastels of dancers, shivering at the blatant sexuality the artist had captured. She realised that in Degas’ time, this must have been truly revolutionary art, this revelation of, celebration of, womens’ sexuality.

“I see Degas turns you on darling,” Sandy murmured, his arm round her waist. She turned to him, kissed his mouth: “Yes he does lover. He must have been quite a man, to capture that, at that time in history. And to dare show it!”

They were alone in the dimly-lit gallery and Sandy pulled her roughly to him. “I need to fuck you so hard now,” he growled, his hand sliding under her jeans, fingers probing her damp warmth.

“Sandy, you can’t, not here!” She protested, but feebly. She was excited as well, and welcomed his fingers probing her depths.

He drew back, panting. “I know lover. I just wanted you to be aware how much I need you.”

3.

Red lingered in the shop before they left, purchasing a few cards for her children and for her friends back home. The rain had stopped by the time they left the gallery. “It’s only a bit over half-a-mile güvenilir bahis şirketleri to Pollock House Red, and the weather’s lifting. Want to walk through the park?” Sandy asked.

She nodded consent and he guided her along woodland paths, alive with the sound of birds, till they emerged onto a wide grass avenue lined with stately old trees. At the foot of the avenue was a driveway leading to the back of a mansion. He’d taught her enough by now that she knew it was Georgian, late eighteenth or early nineteenth-century. They wandered down the avenue holding hands lightly, breathing wet rainscent from the trees and flowers. He showed his card at the entrance to the house and they entered, a huge staircase before them, down in the middle, up at the two sides.

He turned her to him and kissed her lightly. “Down is lunch,” he said, “up is the house. Which way first, lover?”

She pulled him to the central staircase, downwards. “This girl’s getting hungry, tourguide,” she said. “Let’s get some lunch!”

They wandered down a long subterranean servants’ passageway, and there at the end was the restaurant. It had obviously been the kitchen of the old house, and copper implements hung on the walls above kitchen-ranges. It reminded her a bit of the kitchen in Culzean Castle and, as a waiter found them a table, she said so. “It’s very similar Red,” he agreed, “around the same period too. Now,” as the waiter handed them menus, “what do you want for lunch, lover?”

They ordered their meals and the waiter left their table. Red glanced round before slipping her hand up his kilt and fondling his penis. “Fuck baby,” he gasped, as he straightened to her touch. “Don’t do that, or I’ll bend you over the table and fuck you right here, in public.”

She smiled, her hands slipping down his thighs to innocently tickle his knees. “You know that’s just what I need baby,” she whispered, leaning over the table to kiss him. “After I’ve had my lunch!”

* * *

They wandered through the gorgeous old house after they’d eaten, moving through a succession of rooms which had been the home of a rich family until sixty years previously. The library was particularly stunning for Red, but as they explored further she couldn’t make her mind up which room she liked most. Sandy pulled her to a halt before a portrait of Oliver Cromwell.

“He was the leader of Britain’s first, and sadly brief, Republic,” he told her. “Would a King or Queen ever have allowed a court painter to show a wart on their nose? Cromwell did! I love the guy, just for that one fact. But I know he was a bastard too, just in case you think my political prejudices get in the way of reality.”

She smiled at him and pulled his face down for a kiss. “I’m just beginning to understand how you work Sandy. It’s part of why I’m growing to love you honey. Strange as you certainly are, in my ignorant Canadian eyes!” She swallowed his tongue forcefully, then slid away from him as she heard others enter the room. She looked at her watch. “It’s nearly five honey. I think they’re going to close on us soon?”

4.

It was a sultry evening as they left the house, swallows and swifts swooping for insects above as they moved through formal gardens to the river-bank. But the rain held off, and Red pulled Sandy up the path by the river towards the signposted stable-block. As they entered the archway, a couple of huge Clydesdales were being urged into their stables for the night. She left him and ran to chat excitedly with their grooms, a young woman and man in their twenties.

Sandy hung back and rolled a cigarette. He lit it and inhaled, his eyes following what he thought were swifts darting above him. As they flittered under the eaves, he realised they were house-martins, not swifts. Ach, he was getting old!

Red had told him she loved horses, and he was happy to wait as she moved about the beasts, getting their grooms to pose as she found the right angles for photographs.

“Hey Sandy,” she shouted, “get over here! Sharon says you can sit on this beauty, and I wanna pic of you!”

He stubbed his cigarette and folded the butt in his sporran, then moved over the courtyard towards her. “You think I’m going to get on THAT beast, just for you to get a photo?”

“Yes honey, you certainly are!” Her excited face closed with his doubtful one and she kissed him. “This is Sharon and Alex. And these beauties are Princess and Monarch. Sharon says Princess likes men in kilts, and she’ll be very quiet if you sit on her a moment. Um, Princess that is, not Sharon.”

The young lassie had the grace to blush at Red’s crudity. She was a sparkling and comely wee blonde, bulging out in all the right places, and Sandy allowed himself a momentary fantasy with her before she said, “There’s a mounting-stone over here Sandy, and for some reason Princess DOES like guys in kilts. So come, mount her for Red.” She burst into giggles as she realised what she’d said, but guided the towering mare to the mounting-stone.

He used to knew horses well enough, and moved to Princess’s face to stroke her nose and chat to her. His fingers searched in his sporran for the end of a tube of polomints and he laid one on the flat of his hand, proffered it to her. Princess looked in his eyes and bowed her nose, graciously accepting his offering.

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