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Castle Passionthis story is part of the FanClub (fm:anal sex, 2141 words) [1/2] show all parts

Author: Spearchamp Picture in profile
Added: Jul 22 2008Views / Reads: 1650 / 1421 [86%]Part vote: 9.46 (13 votes)
A slightly inebriated American stranger lost in Scotland finds himself "rescued" by a pretty young native who has a thing for castles and manacles. Could also be considered a bondage or fetish story, as well.
 


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Night descended upon the coastline of northeast Scotland, as a cold, hard wind blew in off Cruden Bay, rustling the heather and gorse growing from the massive, grassy dunes. I walked hunched over, leaning into the wind, my breath visible as I trod along the jagged contour of the beach.

Somehow I lost my way back from the pub in Petershead - maybe a combination of too much Scotch whiskey, song, and American bravado. At any rate, I had no idea where I was. It began to rain, the wind blowing stinging droplets sideways into my face.

A few lights shined about a mile or so up ahead. I squinted into the night, and realized that in front of me was the tiny fishing town of Port Errol. Classic good news, bad news deal. Good news - I knew where I was. Bad news - I was about 5 miles away from where I needed to be. Well, I reasoned, the Scots are friendly folks - there's a small pub in town, I might be able to find a ride or at least some shelter for the evening.

I finally reached Port Errol and found Saint Peter's Pub, the sponsoring MacEwan's Tartan Ale sign swinging wildly in the wind. I straggled in, and the bartender laughed out loud, saying, "Laddie, ye look like ye been doon the wrong rood". The few patrons in Saint Peter's roared their approval at this, as I ruefully nodded and explained my plight. There were a few sympathetic looks from the patrons, but no offers. I ...

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