nice eh?
Here's a couple of snippets, first from A True Scotsman
The bellow through the microphone made both of them jump. He stretched out one hand and caught the sunglasses Charlie threw at him. "Oh my. Armani, get you."
"No you don't get him, I do. And whilst you're buggering around—well you better not actually be—get your asses in gear now. Charlie, get on with it. Alfie get up here like yesterday." They both jumped.
"That's my bloody ear drum gone. Sheesh a voice like a fog horn, there's no need for these headphones." Alfie grumbled, as Charlie punched his shoulder. "Ouch."
As by then Alfie had so many layers over him, Charlie disputed the fact he'd feel anything.
"I heard that." The voice in his ear spoke again, but this time he could discern no softness, it was all business. "Okay, muted lights on. And ready, three, two, one." As a soft, almost unnoticed light bathed him in its gentle sheen, Charlie stretched and grabbed the rope that hung down the crag. "Rolling and go." The voice sounded tinny now, and it reminded Charlie of the terrible sound system at a very famous sporting venue not a million miles from where he stood. "Don't fall. I have plans for the next session."
So did Charlie. "Good plans, hot plans, my plans." Now it teased him. The tones were sex-filled. Charlie's cock throbbed and tented
his kilt. He pondered whether those plans meshed with his as he gained his position and let the rope fall. It wasn't needed now, he wason his own. If, as he hoped, he needed a rope later, it wouldn't be like that one.
"Ouch ye bugger, that hit me." "Good, though I'm amazed y'felt it." "Children behave. You'll be having a ‘my cock is bigger than
your cock’ next."
Charlie grinned. He'd seen Alfie's cock and there was no contest. Alfie didn't stand a chance. Charlie knew he won, hands—or cock—down, and up.
He started to climb. Even if the tiny light hadn't been there to help him—well, Charlie acknowledged he wasn't its primary reason for being—in truth the rock held no terrors. What waited at the top could strike the fear of goodness knows what into him, but the climb? No way. He could have climbed it in his sleep. Well he had done, many times from the comfort of his own bed, when no lover rested beside him. Which, contrary to what most people thought, was the norm rather than the exception. He hoped his run of a hot bottle not a hot body under the covers was about to end ... maybe...
"Move it McCuell, shake that perfect ass and show your legs. Keep your confusion covered."
"Not much chance of that," he spoke into the tiny microphone as he searched for the hand-holes he knew were there. "I'm a true Scotsman, climbing this rock face in a kilt. Never fear though. I'm bare arsed but it's so bloody cold that you'd be hard pressed to see anything." He swung his legs over a rough outcrop and winced as a shard of granite scored a thin line up his leg. "And if anyone is stupid enough to be out and about, with or without a telescope, it'll be front page of The Scotsman in the morning. A new version of spot the ball."
"Oh, I'm sure we can hunt everything out." The voice went silent, and Charlie moved upwards a few yards. "I have very clever hands ... and they're warm."
His weren't. A particularly vicious gust of wind blew his kilt up and over his head and he swore as he became unsighted for a second. A wolf whistle from Alfie below made him grin. He couldn't be that shriveled, then. His foot slipped and he shouted a warning as some stones were dislodged.
"What happened?" The voice in his ear sounded anxious, and in spite of his precarious position it sent a tingle of awareness through him, like tiny pinpricks of pleasure, and a hint of what he hoped might
await him at the end of his climb. There was a hint of love and concern in the careful tone. "What's up?"
"Nothing yet, but I'm ever hopeful. I dislodged a stone. If it hit Alfie it may've knocked some sense into him."
***
Second one from Pure as the...
Girls, and then women, scared the life out of him. With his looks, men were envious of his pulling power, and women wouldn't believe that someone like him would be true and faithful.
Marcus would love the chance to try. Especially with Cammie. But then, would someone like her look at him? Cammie Christie was everything anyone could ever wish for: tall, shapely, with long dark hair that just skimmed her nipples, and dark brown eyes that twinkled like the stars.
Damn, I didn't know I was so poetic. I teach maths, not literature.
Marcus stole a look under his lashes at her, and looked away again in a hurry.
out.
Ah shit, she's walking over here. Cool it, be casual ... ask herHe knew he wouldn't. Marcus didn't think he'd be able to stand it when she said no. And of course she would. They all did.
"Hi Marcus, how's it going?" She sat down in the chair next to
him.
As ever, his cock did the snake wriggle, and Marcus held his tablet over the interested appendage. Damn it, the bloody thing has a mind of its own. "Er, hello Cammie. I'm fine. Er... how are you?" Dammit, why do I stammer like a three-year-old when I talk to her?
"Oh dandy, thank you. Now I've got good news. Well, I hope it is." She didn't look too sure.
"Tell me?" Marcus made sure his cock was still decently covered. He was sure he could feel it pushing his tablet up into the air. That would be the last straw, for Cammie to notice and either laugh, or run.
"You won a prize in the church raffle." She paused. "A flower arranging session, and then tea with the vicar. So I'll see you at the vicarage on Saturday then? Around four?" She smiled and walked away, her dog collar proudly on show.
Tea? Flower arranging? With Cammie in the vicarage? That's attached to the church. Well, it’s the right place to think I've died and gone to heaven.
Marcus had no idea how he got through the rest of the week. He must have taught all the right classes in the correct order, but how? He didn't have a clue. Nor did he ever remember buying a ticket, but if Cameron said he had he must have....
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