Desire in the Isles

by Roland Graeme

  “Oh, he’s definitely gay.”

  “What are you saying? Have you made it with him?”

  “Yes, I have, actually. Which is not for public consumption. Discretion, you know.”

  “I knew you would! What was it like?”

  “A casual thing. Convenience sex. I was worried, at first, that it might fuck up our professional relationship. Stash insisted it wouldn’t. And so far, I must admit, it hasn’t.”

  “What’s he like in bed?”

  “Hot. Eager. Sweet.”

  “Better than me?”

  “I don’t make such comparisons, Liam. And I’m here with you, tonight, aren’t I? Isn’t that all you need to know?”

  “So, you’d rather be here with me than in town, sleeping with your boss?”

  “That’s about the size of it.”

  “Then let’s go to bed,” Liam suggested. “You want the light on or off?”

  “Oh, leave it on, for now.”

  “It looks as though your cock and balls have recovered from their immersion in the cold sea,” Liam observed, as the two of them stripped for bed.

  “Yours have, too.”

  “Well, I’ve been here long enough to become acclimated. And I’ve found that a good hand job always has a restorative effect.”

  “Yeah?” Carter decided to take matters into his own hands, so to speak—and into his mouth and ass, too, if possible! “Let’s fuck, baby,” he suggested brazenly, setting the example by seizing Liam’s incredibly sensuous body and throwing him down on the sleeping bag which took up much of the ground inside the tent.

  “Shit—as though I can resist you—as though I don’t want you,” Liam moaned. “So much!”

  “Give in to it,” Carter advised. “Oh, how I’ve missed you. Now, though. Tonight. You’re mine again. All mine!”

  He put his lips on Liam’s lips and he began kissing and sucking and tongue-fucking him. To his delight, Liam hungrily sucked him back, thrusting his own tongue into Carter’s mouth and rolling it eagerly over the American’s tongue.

  His sleek body writhed hotly under Carter’s as he ran his hands wildly all over the other man’s sweat-greased, slippery body, stroking and wiping the excess moisture from his legs, ass cheeks, and back with clawing, clinging hands.

  Carter didn’t waste any more time, but he threw Liam roughly down on his back, knelt in front of him, and pushed the boy’s legs high up and back into the air so that his asshole was fully exposed and accessible. In the soft glow from the camping lantern he could see the tiny slit of Liam’s puckered pink asshole, and his butt crack covered with curly brown hair.

  “You want to get fucked?” Carter asked, crudely.

  “Of course. It’s what I’ve been praying for, ever since that last time we were together, on the boat back there in Portree.”

  “Lube?” Carter inquired.

  “Right here. I’ve been using it when I jerk off.”

  Carter’s prick was throbbing hotly with desire as he dipped his fingers into the gel and spread the slippery stuff over Liam’s asshole. The minute Carter touched the young English stud’s hole, Liam writhed and moaned with pleasure, throwing his own legs higher in the air, holding them back tightly with his arms, and throwing his thighs wide apart.

  “Rubber?” Carter asked.

  “Right here. I’ve stockpiled them, waiting for you.”

  “Damn, I’ve been hot, thinking about this, looking forward to being with you again,” Carter whispered. With nervous, fumbling fingers, he tore open the condom packet and unrolled the prophylactic down over his dick.

  “Well, now you don’t have to think about it. You can go ahead and do it. Fuck me!”

  After Carter had thoroughly greased the kid’s asshole, he pressed the head of his latex-sheathed dick against it and he could feel it slipping easily inside as Liam, grunting in welcome, put his hands down to his buttocks and spread his hole even wider for Carter’s huge cock.

  Carter pushed in firmly, his long, hard fuck tool plunging deep into the guy’s anus. Liam was groaning—both in ecstasy and pain—but he kept his legs spread and his asshole raised, begging for Carter’s hot meaty prick to fill and fuck his ass.

  “Take me, oh, Yank,” Liam begged. “Fuck me! Make me feel your big, hard cock in my ass. Fucking me. Yes!”

  “You horny bitch,” Carter taunted the other guy.

  “So horny, yes,” Liam moaned. “Fuck me, oh fuck me,” he moaned.

  Finally, Carter was all the way in. Panting for breath, and despite the chill in the night air already sweating so that the perspiration dripped from every part of his body, he began to fuck that incredibly hot, tight, responsive ass.

  “Sweet tight hole,” he moaned.

  “Oh, I love having your cock inside me,” Liam whispered.

  “And I love being in your ass.”

  Carter continued to thrust his hot, searing manhood hard into Liam, each thrust more urgent and demanding than the one before it. Liam whimpered with pleasure, exulting in the intense sensual stimulation of having his asshole stroked by his well-hung overnight visitor.

  Carter fucked the English boy until he couldn’t take it any longer. Banging his groin against Liam’s hard-muscled, squirming buttocks, he finally came—spurting out all of his come into the young stud’s innermost being, pouring what felt like a pint of warm, fresh semen into the safe receptacle of the condom, deep inside Liam’s ass.

  The only downside, Carter soon discovered, was that—having so ably demonstrated his sexual prowess with Liam—he was expected to satisfy the lad repeatedly. Liam was obviously determined to make up for lost time. Before the night was over, Carter was compelled to go through his entire sexual repertory. He and Liam joined their bodies in every way possible—kissing, licking each other’s bodies from head to toe, fucking, sucking, engaging in mutual masturbation, and rimming in a frenzy of erotic abandon which left Carter limp and exhausted when he was finally allowed to drift off into a much-needed sleep for a few hours.

  When he woke up, shortly before dawn, Liam was still in the sleeping bag next to him, still also naked, snoring blissfully away, his cock semi-erect, one brawny arm flung possessively around his American friend’s torso, hugging Carter tightly to him.

  Carter kissed his English buddy awake, tousling his hair and playfully squeezing and stroking his cock. In no time at all, both men were fully hard and ready for action, working up an appetite for breakfast.

  “Make love to me again.” Liam insisted.

  “Have a little mercy,” Carter pleaded. “I’m older than you. You’re going to wear me out.”

  “Wear out my mouth and my ass,” Liam urged. “If you can! Come on, Carter, fuck my face for me.”

  “God, how I’ve missed you, you horny motherfucker,” Carter moaned, as he began to thrust his cock in and out of Liam’s mouth, fucking it as though it were an asshole.

  He thrust up and down eagerly, jamming his meaty erection all the way in, as though he was feeding the other guy a thick hot breakfast sausage, and pressing his glans as hard as possible into his friend’s throat.

  Liam took it all, every bit, slurping and sucking on Carter’s cock, not content to let one inch of it escape his hot, hungry mouth.

  He ran his hand down into Carter’s butt crack, found the opening of his asshole, and stuck his finger in. His finger slipped easily into the American’s anal opening, and Carter went insane with pleasure, aware that despite the sexual excesses which they’d already indulged in, he was going to come again, at any moment. Desperately, he tried to hold back the flood tide of his sperm.

  But it was too late! Liam’s hot-sucking mouth was suddenly filled with an ocean of come. Even though he swallowed as fast as he could, Carter was coming too hard, too much, for him to comfortably accommodate. He began to gag, but he kept his mouth working on Carter’s blasting prick, letting the jism he couldn’t swallow run down out of his mouth.

  Carter unloaded until finally he sank back o
n the sleeping bag, exhausted. Liam then spat out a mouthful of come onto his own hand and he began jerking himself off, covering his dick with the sperm which Carter had just shot into his mouth, lubricating it thoroughly with the slimy white syrup.

  Wildly aroused by the sight of his buddy jerking off with the help of his own jism, Carter decided that maybe he wasn’t that old or worn out, after all. He opened his mouth and he plunged it down around the head of Liam’s big, hard erection.

  The hot young archeologist was jerking madly on his meat, beating it so violently that Carter thought he would pull it apart. Liam’s fist almost bruised Carter’s lips when he closed them around the head of the cock and he began to suck it, licking the open, drooling piss slit with his tongue. The strong, salty taste of Liam’s jism on his tongue made Carter’s cock, incredibly, start throbbing with raw horniness all over again!

  “Oh, Christ, man! I’m going to shoot!” Liam yelled.

  Carter opened his mouth wider and held it over Liam’s throbbing erection as Liam shot into his open mouth—the thick spurts of fuck cream hitting the back of Carter’s throat and then slowly dripping down out of his mouth onto Liam’s wildly pulsating cock, which Carter licked clean with his tongue.

  “Jesus, what a way to start the day!” Liam gasped.

  “I wouldn’t have missed this for the world,” Carter told him, hugging him tight. “You’re sexier than all of the Scottish guys I’ve seen so far put together!”

  Kissing Liam hard on the mouth, Carter reached for the lubricant and began to rub some of it between his own buttocks, greasing up his asshole, finger-fucking himself lightly to get himself good and hot for Liam’s cock.

  “I’m not sure I can come again,” Carter explained. “But you seem to be goddamn insatiable! Get a rubber on that big thing of yours and shove it into me, buddy,” Carter told his tent mate, eagerly. “Do some excavating deep in my ass! Let me know if you find anything interesting.”

  “Exploring it may give me some insight into how you live,” Liam joked. “And especially about your love life.” He unrolled a condom down over his dick.

  “Right now my sex life is starting to look up—that’s one thing for sure. Go ahead and fuck me, Liam," the American gasped. He straddled the other man’s hips and started to sit on his dick, shoving it up into his hungry asshole inch by thick, unyielding inch. “Oh, fuck me, man! Fuck me, yeah, fuck me, fuck my ass!”

  Carter was still repeating the same words fifteen minutes later, as he and his buddy balled their brains out in the cold, clear dawn.

  It was a weary but happy pair of men who finally joined the other tent dwellers, for breakfast.

  “Rough night?” Stash teased Carter, when he, Bill, and Alonzo arrived at the site and picked him up.

  “I was put to hard work,” Carter admitted, ruefully. “All afternoon—and most of the night.”

  Stash snickered. “Well. there’ll be no slacking off, now. We’re off to see the sights. Keep your camera ready.”

  Kinloch Castle, located at the foot of mountains on Loch Scresort, was an astonishing place.

  The Campbells of Oronsay had once owned the island of Rum, where they tried to farm sheep, but without much success. And so they were happy to sell the island to John Bullough, an Englishman from Lancashire who had made a fortune by designing and manufacturing mill machinery, becoming a Member of Parliament. The sale took place in 1888, and Bullough began using Rum as his own private holiday retreat.

  Sadly, he died three years later, in 1891. His somewhat eccentric son George, who was then twenty-one years old, inherited his estate. After sailing around the world on his late father’s steam yacht, George Bullough finally got around to checking out Rum. There, he decided that Kinloch House, the old laird’s house which his father had used during his visits, was inadequate as a rich man’s residence. He commissioned London architects to build a castle for him, sparing no expense.

  Construction began in 1900. George shipped red Arran sandstone to Rum, along with a crew of Lancashire stonemasons, who, he insisted, must wear kilts. He had to pay extra to persuade the Englishmen to wear them. Then, when the workers complained that the kilts made them vulnerable to attacks by insects such as midges, George further supplemented their pay with “midge money”—tuppence a day, to buy tobacco.

  Kinloch Castle was completed in 1902. Garden soil was imported from Ayrshire, and the castle’s grounds were beautifully landscaped. Grapes, figs, peaches, and nectarines were grown in heated greenhouses. Specially designed heated tanks housed such exotic creatures as turtles and alligators, and there was a conservatory stocked with birds of paradise and hummingbirds. Peacocks roamed the lawns. The interior spaces of the castle were a fantasy of pseudo-Gothic grandeur. The billiard room was air conditioned, to remove the players’ cigar smoke. George decorated his castle’s luxurious interior with exotic artifacts which he had collected on his world tour.

  George wasn’t just a self-indulgent hedonist. In recognition of the assistance he provided to wounded soldiers during and after the Boer War, he was knighted.

  Although George—now Sir George—was married on Rum, ironically he ended up spending only about three weeks of every year on the island. Afraid that being known as the Laird of Rum might make him the butt of jokes, he changed the spelling to “Rhum.” Subsequently, in modern times, the traditional spelling was reinstated.

  Guests invited to Kinloch Castle in its heyday traveled better than first class. They came to Maillaig by a private train and from there they sailed on board a steam yacht to Loch Scesort on Rum, where they were met at the pier by a fleet of chauffeured automobiles and were driven the short distance to the castle.

  Near the castle, Sir George had built an elaborate white marble tomb for his father’s remains, but when one of his guests joked that it looked like a London Underground lavatory, Sir George promptly constructed another mausoleum modeled after an ancient Greek temple in a distant glen. Then he dynamited the vault which had been the subject of the ridicule.

  Sir George died in 1939 and was buried beside his father.

  In 1957, his widow, Lady Bullough, sold Rum to the government and donated the castle’s contents to the nation.

  Stash, Carter, Bill, and Alonzo spent the entire day exploring the castle and its grounds. Now inhabited only by a couple of caretakers, the estate showed sad, inevitable signs of neglect and deterioration. It clearly needed massive influxes of cash—but where, in the twenty-first century, was the eccentric multi-millionaire who’d be willing to pour money into such a restoration project? Still, the castle, with the evidence of its erstwhile glory everywhere to be seen, was an astounding place to visit and to film in.

  “I’ve been to Hearst Castle—you know, William Randolph Hearst’s retreat in California?” Stash remarked. “It’s impressive, but compared to this place, it’s a modest little bungalow.”

  “And compare it to that old Norse farmhouse Liam showed us,” Carter said. “Isn’t it ironic to find two such different places on the same island?”

  In the village, Stash had purchased a bouquet of flowers. In a gesture of homage, he placed them, at sunset, on the Greek temple where the Bulloughs were buried.

  “Too bad we can’t spend the night here,” Stash said, as they drove away from the castle. “What a hotel this place could make!” He turned to Carter. “Well, tomorrow morning we sail again. Do you want to spend the night with us in Kinloch—or should we drop you off at Liam’s camp again?”

  Carter grinned. “What do you think?”

  Chapter Seventeen: Future Plans

  Carter was making the penultimate gesture, confirming his trust in Stash. He was allowing Stash to use his smaller camera, to film him. The ultimate gesture would have been for Carter to let Stash wield one of the larger, more expensive cameras. But that wasn’t going to happen. Not in this life, anyway!

  “Whatever you do,” Carter warned, “don’t drop it. Not onto the deck—and, God forbid, not overboard.”
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  “I’m not an idiot, Carter!” Stash protested. “I’ve worked for TV stations for years. I know how to use a camera. And how to take care of one.”

  “Well, bear in mind, that’s one of my precious babies you’ve got perched there on your shoulder. Coddle it accordingly. And hurry up and finish shooting whatever you want. Me trimming the sails—not the most exciting visual I can imagine.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that.”

  “By the way, I’m sure this is technically in violation of union regulations. You working behind the camera, I mean.”

  “So sue me,” Stash said.

  “Of course, for a small fee, I could take out a piece of paper and write out your very own temporary union card.”

  “Do I look as though I was born yesterday?”

  “Um, the day before yesterday, maybe.”

  “Well, get on with it. This posing for the camera is a bit of disappointment. It’s surprisingly boring. I don’t know how you do it, Stash. I could never be a TV star. Or even a male model, for that matter.”

  “Sure you could. You’re handsome enough. Do you have any idea of how sexy you look, right now?”

  “No, I haven’t a clue. Feel free to tell me all about it.”

  “Clothing aside, you could be an eighteenth-century pirate, like our ill-fated friend John Gow. I love the way your long hair is whipping about in the wind.”

  “Just for you, boss. If it adds to the visual effect, fine. The truth is, it’s getting in my eyes and blinding me.”

  “Hang on. Put up with it, just for another minute or two. It’s tough being beautiful, as I well know. All right,” Stash said, reluctantly, after filming for another few moments. “I’m going to turn off your precious camera and put it back in its case, now. You can relax.”

  “At last! Still, if I were paid for doing this sort of thing, I suppose I could get into it. Maybe I’ll quit the show and take up a new career, as a sailor slash male model. No, make that a sailor slash male model slash porn star. I might as well be a triple threat.”