She cried out softly and wrapped her arms around Mike’s back, holding him tightly as her pussy molded itself around his cock, adjusting itself to su...h size before he started to move back and forth into her, letting out a groan of much needed ecstasy. “Fuck me…Yes!” he could hear her moan out and he kept rocking his hips forward against her own, his pelvis rubbing against her clit with each deep thrust he made. Mike couldn’t fathom what was happening, all he could focus on was the desire that. He was wearing typical Highland hiking clothes: walking boots, thick woolly socks and an appropriate Skye Tartan kilt, complete with a rather worn leather sporran which now lay in his lap. He had on a chunky Arran sweater and he had a large tumbler in his hands with about half-an-inch of what looked like Scotch in the bottom. He raised the glass to his lips. It was Deryk – or rather, the somewhat elusive, mysterious and handsome young guy I had met months before in London and who seemed to. More

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