11 comments/ 51029 views/ 9 favorites Girl at the Peace Camp By: Scotsman69 Author's note: This is just a story. Not a true one, though I wish it were. My thanks to my friend who has carefully edited for me. This story was rejected by Literotica the first time I submitted it, on the spurious grounds that underage sex was portrayed. This is the about the fiftieth story I have posted to Lit in well over five years, and the first that has been rejected for any reason. I am not stupid enough to submit a story which contains reason for rejection. As is made crystal clear in the story (in dialogue, a more natural way of the reader gaining knowledge than tedious backstory), the girl Sandra is over 18, has left school, and is about to start a degree in Chemical Engineering at Strathclyde University. So, for the benefit of the Literotica editors who chose to reject this story without reading it carefully: ALL CHARACTERS IN THIS STORY ARE EIGHTEEN (18) YEARS OLD OR OVER. ***** He'd seen the camp before, often, from the adjacent A814.This was his first visit, though it had been there for thirty years. Following his son, he wheeled his bike over the rough path through soaking undergrowth and trees towards the dishevelled ensemble of caravans and huts in the clearing. The lad turned and smiled: - Well, here it is dad. You did well to keep up with me. I know it's a long time since you last cycled that far. - I'm just glad we're here. My poor old muscles aren't used to this treatment any more. Nor -- he panted -- are my lungs. They'd only ridden twenty-five miles, but in the humid still air after the thunderstorm, it had felt a lot further. His son propped his bike against the largest van and was talking to a lanky young man with a shaved head, his arms covered in tattoos: - Dad, this is my pal James. He'd heard a lot about James. The older lad seemed to have become something of a mentor for his son; a mentor in arcane anarchist theory. Sandy really didn't approve, but he knew his boy. Michael could only ever learn the hard way. He'd grow out of the anarchism in time. Sandy hoped. He propped his bike against the aluminium side of the van and stretched out his hand to James: - Pleased to meet you. I've heard a lot about you. - I'm glad you decided to come. I know you're an old peace campaigner, but Mike says you've never visited the camp before? - No. I've passed it many times; lots of demonstrations have begun or ended at the gates to the base, but this is my first visit here. Michael was very insistent that I see it and get to know you all. - In you come, man, everyone wants to meet you. The food's nearly ready. Want a beer after your ride? You look like you could do with one. - A beer would be great, thanks. There were eight other people in the van. Four men and four women, none a day over thirty. Sandy felt a bit out of place, conscious of every one of his years. And his aching muscles. James called out as he entered: - Comrades, this is Sandy, Mike's dad. Someone get him a beer please, he's cycled here from Glasgow. A girl, the youngest in the van he thought, lifted a can of Stella from a case next to her and handed it to him: - Hi Sandy. You deserve a beer for cycling to join us. Mike's told us a lot about you. We don't get many peace movement veterans here. Welcome. I'm Sandra. She was still a teenager, slight body, long unkempt red hair, a loose peasant dress that wouldn't have been out of place on a hippy from his youth in the sixties. And a delightfully open smile. - Thanks Sandra. He would have said more, but Michael tapped his shoulder as he raised the can to his lips: - There's lamb stew or veggie stew dad, which are you for tonight? Sandy smiled. His son was a strict veggie, but never tried to proselytise. - Lamb sounds good, thanks. I'm a bit surprised meat-eaters are indulged here? - Only since Sandra joined the camp. Presently they were all eating. Most of them had their plates balanced on their knees, but Sandra had insisted that Sandy sat beside her at the small table: - We don't often get such a distinguished older visitor. He laughed: - Well lass, it's some time since anyone called me distinguished! - Ach, nae false modesty man, Mike's told us all about you. He's very proud of you. Said you were at the first demo against the US Polaris base at the Holy Loch? - Aye, that's true. I was fourteen, over fifty years ago. It was my first step into political activism. Quite a baptism. It made its mark on me; I can still get my tongue round some of the songs. The US Polaris base inspired a wheen of good songs. - Maybe you can sing some for us after the meal? James is a mean guitarist. - Maybe I could. This stew's delicious. Just as it should be, plenty of rosemary and mint, the proper Scots way. Did you make it? - Aye, I don't have many skills, but my dad taught me to cook. Sandy ate reflectively, glancing round at the gathering of young peace campaigners. Michael was deep in discussion with James. But Sandra had become the focus of his attention. She was young, vivacious, and incredibly attractive. Far too young to have any interest in him, he knew. Sighing, he mopped the remaining gravy from his plate with a slice of wholemeal bread and leaned back, draining the last of the lager from his can. Sandra took the empty can from him, dropped it in the recycling bin: - Could you manage another? Wet yer whistle so you can sing for us? - Is the Pope a Catholic? Smiling, she handed him another Stella, then announced to the gathering: - Eat up folk. Sandy's agreed to teach us some sixties peace songs after we've finished our food. Michael smiled: - That's great dad. Can you start with 'The Glasgow Eskimos'? - I'm not so sure that's very politically correct nowadays... - Aye, I know. But that's what Lanin called them, isn't it? I don't think the term 'Inuits' was widely used in the early sixties? One of the women raised her brows: - Stop talking in riddles, Mike. Who was Lanin? - I think he was the captain of the Polaris mother ship, wasn't he dad? - Aye. He was captain of the USS 'Proteus'. -- Sandy raised his voice a wee bit, so all could hear him -- When Proteus first arrived in the Holy Loch, it was buzzed by a number of campaigners in kayaks. Lanin was quoted in the papers as saying they were a bunch of Eskimos. Likely he considered that to be a derogatory term. The campaigners took it as a compliment, and three co-wrote the song. It really caught on, became the national anthem of the peace movement in Scotland. James stood up: - Right folks, since we've all eaten, I think it's time Sandy let us hear this song. Those on the dishwashing rota tonight can delay dealing with clearing up till after we've listened. Ready Sandy? Want an accompaniment? He reached for his guitar, fiddled with the tuning. - OK folk, 'The Glasgow Eskimos'. It's set to 'Marching Through Georgia', James, and I think I usually sing it in G. Give me a chord please? - Sure. The chord silenced the murmur of chatter. Sandy cleared his throat: - Like any good folksong, it has a chorus. It goes: - Hello, hello, we are the Eskimos/Hello, hello, the Glesga Eskimos/We'll gaff that nyaff ca'd Lanin/And we'll spear him whaur he blows/For we are the Glesga Eskimos/. So give it a try please comrades. By the time he'd sung the chorus a couple of times, most of the gathering had joined in. He noticed Sandra had a harmony line. At the end of the rendition, the final chorus might have raised the roof of the van had it not been welded on. A babble of voices erupted as the last guitar chords faded. By the end of the evening, Sandy had been coaxed to produce every peace song he could remember, and a few more Scots folksongs. The air was thick with the fug of weed and tobacco. A downpour drummed the roof of the van. He was very aware that Sandra's thigh had been pressing ever harder against his as the evening progressed, and her hand sometimes brushed against him. As folk began dispersing to their various sleeping quarters, she whispered, her lips and tongue brushing his ear: - Did you bring a tent? - Aye, Michael said sleeping places were at a premium till the new van arrives? She nodded at the thrumming roof: - It's not a night for messing about with tents Sandy. You'd better sleep in my wee van. Besides -- she shivered and clutched his arm as lightning illuminated the trees outside, followed immediately by a roll of thunder - I really don't like being in storms on my own. Her words electrified Sandy. His hand went to her thigh, squeezed gently: - Well lassie, maybe I'd better keep you company. I'd feel bad snuggled in my tent, knowing the storm was keeping you awake. Lead on, please. Michael and James had disappeared, as had some of the others. Those remaining were busy unrolling sleeping bags. He swallowed a wee blue pill, gulped the last of his beer, and bade them goodnight. Shrugging on his goretex jacket, he followed the elfin young woman out into the storm. She had no rainwear, and was soaked during the short stumble through trees and undergrowth. Her home was an ancient and decrepit Ford Transit, not a camper, just a plain once-white van. She opened the back doors, shivering: - Welcome to my humble abode, Sandy. Her wet arms went round his neck, and he trembled in excitement as her lips met his: - And just so we're both absolutely clear, Sandy, though I'm now wet all over, my cunt's dripping for you. I really need a hard dirty fuck. I'm so glad you're here to give me it. But before we get inside, I need to pee. Can't be bothered going to the toilet. Besides, I want you to watch me. Shine the torch on me. She lifted the peasant dress from her body and stood before him in the glow of his light. Naked. Utterly gorgeous; small firm tits with prominent nipples, the tiniest wee hint of a belly. Slim hips, muscled legs. And a flaming red thatch at her groin. He watched transfixed as she crouched slightly to pee, legs wide apart, and the stream of urine gushed from her urethra onto the muddy ground. She didn't make any attempt to wipe her cunt. Smiled wickedly: - I hope you don't mind that I'm hairy. I know it's unfashionable now, but I prefer to be natural. Now, you need to piss too. Point the torch at your cock. I want to help you. - Natural's a delight. I wouldn't want you any other way. He gasped as she fumbled to extract his erect cock, pulsing in need, and held it firmly: - Piss for me Sandy. Piss for the wee slut you need to fuck. Jesus, he couldn't remember when he was last as excited. Well, he could, it had been nearly two years previously, his last time with his ex. The fountain of piss sprayed up in the air, and as it slowed to a dribble, the girl bent down and took him in her mouth, drinking the last of his offering. She looked up at his surprised face: - You've no idea what a depraved slut you have on your hands, Sandy. Now let's get in. I need this in my cunt. Try to keep your wet clothes off the bed though, it'll get damp enough without that. And she slithered into the van, pulled a towel from a hook, and began drying her hair and body. But not, he noted, between her legs. Sandy clambered into the vehicle, and she nodded at a clothes-hanger on a hook by the back doors: - Hang your jacket and anything else wet there man, there's a drip tray under it. He did as he was bade, and began undressing. The wavering torchlight showed him a mattress with double sleeping bag occupying nearly the whole of the floor, a shelf of books and CDs against the side of the van with a narrow cupboard below, clothes hanging neatly on hangers. She was a tidy lassie, he thought, approvingly. Her enticing naked form slipped forward, and he directed the torch on her arse. - Like what you see Sandy? It's all yours. I've never had a cock up my bum before. But I might want yours. She was lighting candles and incense sticks on fixtures on the sides of the van. He was uncertain what he should say. But, damn it, she'd made clear what she wanted: - You're an utter delight Sandra. I can't wait to fuck that pretty cunt. And your arse looks like heaven. - I hope you'll find that I'm tight. Very dirty. And very, very needy. I haven't had a fuck in months. I went on the pill to come here, expecting sexual adventures galore. But I've had nothing at all. Now, come and join me. Please. Lightning flashed through the windscreen as she slipped on top of the sleeping bag. Thunder boomed, Sandy moved beside her, and for the first time held her naked form to his slim body: - Fuck, lassie, you're just gorgeous. This is the last thing I expected to find here; a needy young wench wanting fucked by a man old enough to be her grandfather. How old are you? And before we fuck, tell me a bit about Sandra? She snuggled into him, stroking his cock as his lips explored her face, his hands searching her everywhere: - I grew up in the West End of Glasgow, professional family. I'm an only child. Dad's a lawyer, mum's a teacher. Both on the left but not activists. They took me on a few demos, never drummed their politics into me. But I got the message. I've just left school, and decided to spend the summer here before I start Uni. I'm nearly nineteen. She gasped as his loving fingers finally entered her wet cunt: - Jesus Sandy, I so need this. I... uhhh... I've never been with an older man, but when I heard Mike talking, I did wonder about you. And when I saw you this evening... uhh, ohfuckman, do that again... I wanted you in my cunt. Does that make me a bad girl? - It makes you a very bad lassie. But with good taste in men. - Oh indeed. So you're modest too? Her giggles dissolved as he moved down her body, sucking her nipples, fingering her cunt. His head moved again, licking and kissing, down over her belly till he reached the aromatic tangle of her pubes: - Need to smell you and taste you lassie. He breathed her arousal, head dipping between her legs, lapping her thighs, savouring, teasing. It had been a very long time since he'd been with a woman this young, and it might never happen again. His fingers played with her nipples as his tongue and lips explored her groin, careful not to touch her clit. Not yet. - Lick my cunt you old bastard. This wee slut needs to cum. - If we were in my bed now, I have lots of toys I'd love to tease you with. For now, we'll need to make do with my fingers and mouth. Part your legs wider, slut. Raise your knees to your chest and hold them there whilst I examine what I'm going to fuck. Do as you're told. She shivered. Something in his tone had changed. She had to obey; raised her knees to her shoulders so she knew she was gaping open, vulnerable to him. - Good girl. Such a good girl. Such a pretty young cunt and -- he moved his head so his tongue reached her arse -- such a needy wee anus. D'you know when I was last with a girl as young as you Sandra? She whimpered as his tongue laved her anus, trembling in need: - No. When? - If my memory's right, about forty-five years ago. - Please. Lick my cunt. She needs your tongue now Sandy. - Does she indeed lassie? How lovely. Maybe I'll have to indulge her then. His senses exploded as his tongue ploughed her furrow: the taste and smell of piss mingled with sweat and the delights of her sexhoney, her soft giving texture; a cocktail of sexual joy. This girl was just perfect. And she was his, at least for the few nights he intended staying at the camp. But his cock was dripping. He had to fuck her: - Ready for cock up her, is she? - Jesus aye. And I like it hard. Use me. Fuck, she was better than perfect. He'd noticed the clothes-pegs on the drying line over the driver's seat. He knelt up and removed two: - Right lassie. Lower your legs now. I need to play with your tits before I fuck you. She obeyed. Gasped as he attached the pegs to her pointy hard nipples: - Ever had really hard sexplay Sandra? - Ohfuck, my nipples... I was going to say it hurts, but my cunt needs to explode. What's really hard sexplay? You mean, like, BDSM? - Aye, that's what I mean. Have you? - No. But I've read and fantasised... She was more than perfect, this adventurous wee lassie. He couldn't wait any longer. Lifted her legs over his shoulders, plunged his cock right into her core: - Tonight, and for as long as I'm with you, I own you. I'll teach you things nobody else could ever teach you. She writhed beneath him as he plundered her. She couldn't believe how the fuck was intensified by the throbbing of her abused nipples. And of course, by the weed she'd smoked earlier. She was going to cum soon: - Not sure about you owning me... but... ohhhfuck... I'll tell you something man... Sweat was pouring from him whilst his member sawed in her cunt. He twisted his head to suck her toes as the pair of them writhed together, relishing the sweat between them: - What, lassie... slut... my slut? - I've never before orgasmed to a fuck. I'm going to now... so this'll be a first. Spunk in my cunt Sandy. Make me cum. You can have my arse later... ohsweet dirtiness, make me cum on your cock... maybe you do own me... a wee bit... and nobody ever sucked my toes before, my stinky toes... Her body convulsed. Sandy was almost lost in her, but watched as her irises rolled till only the whites showed. Just like his beloved ex. He could hold back no longer: - Take this, my gorgeous wee lassie. Take my spunk in your cunt... Her hips jumped from the mattress, pushing up against his penetration. A wailing ululating sound came from her mouth. As he exploded into her, her cuntmouth, all of her, closed on him. And his groin was soaked by her ejaculation. Her legs fell from his shoulders and he collapsed on her. Sweat ran on them, and he licked her face: - Sandra, my dear lassie. I have no words. But you know, don't you? She shivered in agony when he removed the pegs. her nipples. He kissed her nipples gently, knowing her pain as the blood rushed back into them. - Aye, I know. You do own me. I've never been there before. But I want to return there. Will you take me, Sandy? She trembled as his flaccidity slipped out of her. - Aye lassie. I'll take you there again, as often as we can be together. I've never been quite there before either Sandra. He kissed her mouth, feeling something akin to love: - Which Uni are you going to? She smiled wickedly: - Strathclyde. Chemical Engineering. Why d'you ask? - You know fine why I asked, slut. I need more of you. Much more. He knew she had a fine mind. Chem Eng was reputed to be one of the most challenging degrees, along with medicine and dentistry. Strathclyde had one of the best schools in the subject, so there was heavy competition for places. And it was in Glasgow. He was impressed. And glad that she was remaining in the city. ***** She woke first, to sun streaming through the east-facing windscreen. She'd slept soundly for a change, better than any night since she'd arrived at the camp a few weeks previously. It was so comforting to have Sandy with her. She'd never before spent a whole night with a man. Well, she'd never before been with a man. Only boys her own age. She studied his face. Mike had told them all something about him. An old socialist who'd given his life to fighting for, and caring for, other people. The lines on his face showed it, she thought. She kissed his brow. She didn't understand why she wanted him so much, but she did. She lifted the top of the unzipped sleeping bag -- it had been sultrily warm all night -- and licked and kissed down his slim fit form. His cock was hard. She took it in her mouth, relishing the scent and taste of her cunt on him. Jesus, how he'd transported her last night! Her first orgasm with a cock in her... she needed more. She sucked and fondled, heard soft groans. Intensified her attention. Girl at the Peace Camp - What a beautiful way to wake up girl. Thank you. But I don't want to spunk in your mouth. I need to learn your sweet arse. Give it to me lassie. That tone of command in his voice again. Something in her melted: - Yes. Sir. I need this organ in my arse. One last suck, and she licked back up his body: - How do you want your slut, Sandy? - On your back. I need to watch your face as I take your virgin arse, woman. He watched in joy as the compliant girl slid on her back beside him, opening her legs. He crouched to lick her sweet cunt, his cock throbbing. Lifted her legs over his shoulders, and her arse was before him. He licked and probed with his tongue, then asked, breathlessly: - D'you have any oil here, anything to help me take your arse? It'll hurt if there's no lube, unless your bum is really greasy? - No, I don't think so... but there's olive oil in the main caravan. - This is too urgent, I'm not going there now. We'll need to do the best we can manage. Suck my cock, and slobber on him. He needs to be as wet as possible. But first, I need to feel this... She gasped as two wet fingers pushed past her sphincter, sank in her. Heard him murmur: - Jesus girl. A deliciously greasy arse. This should work without lube. Now suck me. Wetly And he thrust his hardness between her lips. She was beyond excited, obeyed. Slurped on him. Felt him harden further. He withdrew. Pulled her legs over his shoulders again, spread her cunthoney into her bum. She felt the hardness prodding her sphincter: - Relax Sandraslut. Push out, as if you're going to shit. She obeyed. His hardness pressed on her, and her muscles gave a wee bit. He forced into her tightness, and she gasped in pain: - No Sandy, please no, that's too much. - Fuck that slut, I'm taking you. You need this. The pain won't last, I promise. It didn't. It was strange and slightly uncomfortable as she felt him filling her where she'd never been filled before. She shivered as he kissed her closed eyelids, licking her nose. Knew he cared, way beyond wanting to fuck her. Her eyes opened as his member probed in her rectum: - Sandy... I... this is the strangest sensation... - Good or bad sensation lassie? - New. Good. I think. He was bursting to just use her for his own pleasure, but knew he would need more in future. And he cared for her. So he restrained himself: - Want me further into you? His lips feathered hers. His tongue licked her nose. - Yes Sandy. All the way in. Fuck my arse. - Ohgod. Thank you lassie. Her bum exploded in pain as he forced all the way into her, withdrew, rammed in again. His pelvic bone was pressed hard on her clit as he took her, and she began to find strange pleasure in their un-natural coupling. And, maybe, in the act of giving him what he needed. He sensed from her breathing, and the muscle-twitches on her face, what was happening. She wasn't his first anal virgin. He kissed her mouth. His fingers found a nipple, and he twisted and tugged. Her breathing became panting. He tweaked and pulled the other nipple as his cock delved in her tight bowels. He knew he couldn't last very much longer, but yearned to give her her first anal orgasm. He ground his pubic bone harder on her clit on every in-stroke. Her panting morphed into moany grunts and gasps. He had to hold out till she got there; wanted so much to be good for this wonderful girl. He sucked her earlobe as he plundered her, whispered: - Cum for me, slutSandra. Cum to Sandy's cock fucking your sweet virgin bum. Cum to your first anal violation... Her screams rent the morning air. She shuddered and convulsed under him, and her sphincter grasped him till he emptied into her. She hissed a long ssssss as her irises returned to his sight. She breathed: - Master. You own this slut completely now. He watched as she slid the dress, a different one from yesterday, over her slim muscled form. They wandered through the brush, still wet from the night's rain, a blackbird melodiously welcoming the morning, to the main communal van. He'd noticed a wee honeysuckle shrub against the side of her home as they left it. He knew he couldn't ever own this remarkable young woman, but cherished her words. They'd finished their porridge, were sipping strong tea and munching toast and honey, when Michael eventually appeared in the van. Hugged his father: - Hi dad. I didn't see your tent. Where did you sleep? Sandy thought for a minute, realised that it would be impossible to keep his relationship with Sandra from his son. He was just too close to Michael: - Sandra persuaded me that I'd be better off in her van. I'm glad she did; not sure my wee tent could have coped with the rain last night. How did you sleep? The lad's eyes flickered between Sandra and his father, his wonder transparent: - Fine, dad. Michael turned and busied himself ladling porridge and pouring tea: - Anyone needing a refill? ***** He and his son had discussed a short day's cycle trip if the weather was good: up the A814 past the gates of the base, then a right turn from the main road, up the steep winding brae to the summit, and down Glen Fruin, through Helensburgh. Maybe a stop if they had time to view Mackintosh's Hill House, and back to the camp by the coast road. He told Sandra of this as Michael took his breakfast. A wee frown creased her brow: - After last night, you want to go off and leave me alone today? He sighed. She was very young: - He's my son. I don't see enough of him, don't do as much with him as I should. If you have a bike, why don't you come with us? The frown remained for a moment, but her blue eyes sparkled: - I don't have one here, but I'm sure I can borrow Liz's. I haven't cycled much in ages though. How far is it? And -- she paused momentarily -- I do like Mike. Won't he mind me joining you? There was something behind the hesitation, he knew. He'd discover what it was in time: - It can't be more than twenty miles, maybe less. Go and ask Liz, and I'll speak to Michael. Forty minutes later, armed with oranges, sandwiches, a flask of soup, and a few bottles of tapwater, the three of them set off. Sandy was more relaxed than he had been in years, indulging himself in his closeness to his son. And his fascinating new young lover. The sun shone on their backs as they plodded up the hill past the base gates, the sinister black forms of two Trident-carrying nuclear submarines souring the Gareloch below to their left. Michael was well ahead, of course, and Sandy knew better than to try and talk to Sandra beside him as his tired muscles forced the pedals up the brae. She was even less used to cycling than he was, and near the summit she gasped: - I need a wee rest Sandy. Sorry. Stop with me please. I don't know where we're going. They dismounted, and leaned their bikes against the perimeter fence of the base. He took her in his arms, licked the sweat from her brow. Kissed her eager mouth, and fingered between her legs through the shorts she'd changed into for the day out: - Last night was the most wonderful thing that's happened to me in nearly two years Sandra. I want to keep you in my life, if you'll have me. I know, given the age thing, that it's near insane. But you're under my skin, slutgirl. And I want you to stay there. Will you? Please? - I... Then she pushed him away. A squeal of brakes, and Michael was beside them: - Dad! You can't have needed to rest already? You did so well yesterday. Sandy wasn't going to tell his son that it wasn't he who had to stop: - I got cramp in my left calf. I just asked Sandra if she would massage it for me, but I think it's OK now. So shall we get moving again? Next stop a proper break at the summit before we descend into Glen Fruin? It's nearly all downhill after that. Michael was measuring his pace, deliberately not pulling ahead of his dad and Sandra now. He did wonder what had happened in her van last night. He'd seen inside it, knew how wee it was. But surely not; his dad was well into his sixties, Sandra just out of Hyndland Secondary. The thought was ridiculous. But he'd known his dad's ex well; knew the attraction sensuous younger women had for him. And he for them. But Sandra... he knew her a bit, and she was a special and lovely girl. She was so young... His dad? The sun was shining today again after yesterday's low pressure and thunderstorms. And his dad had finally succumbed to his pleas to visit the peace camp and meet some of his friends. Michael's mind settled on the song he was writing as his fit legs powered him up the steep brae. Sandra and his dad were panting when they rested their bikes next to his at the summit. He watched his father's red face, pouring sweat, as he drew bottles from the pannier, handed one to each of them: - A couple more days like this and you'll have all your old fitness back dad. It's great to see you active again after the past couple of years. Sandy sighed. He knew he'd been neglecting himself since the searing pain of the breakup with his ex. Not eating properly, not getting enough exercise. Drinking far too much. But Sandra needed to be included in the conversation: - It might take a wee bit more than a couple of days son. But Sandra's stew last night certainly gave me lots of energy to burn. And aye, I know I need to get fit again, I've been letting myself go. It's lovely to have someone else cooking for me for a change. Sandra's blush could be detected through the high colour from her exertions: - I'm glad you enjoyed it man. There's enough left for tonight too. But if you're staying any longer, it'll be your turn to prepare the non-veggie meal the next night. - Fair enough. I'd like to stay at least a couple more nights, get to know everyone a wee bit better. Sandra's heart fluttered: - Aye Sandy, and we all want to get to know you better too. There was something in her voice when she spoke to his dad, Michael realised. They'd done more than just sleep in her van last night. He studied the girl more closely. Just out of school and six years his junior; she had to be nearly fifty years younger than his father. The older man had moved away, was crouched in the tussocky grass and heather by the roadside. Michael turned to Sandra, touched her arm to bring her thoughts back from wherever they'd wandered: - He's an interesting man, isn't he? Her blush was very obvious now: - Aye he is. I think he's... he's just lovely. - He's the most caring man I've ever met Sandra. I've learned so much from him... They were interrupted by a call from Sandy. They rose and moved over to where he crouched: - Look what I've found. Aren't they just lovely? Sandra crouched to peer at the myriad wee flowers, pale, just a blush of purple: - They're gorgeous Sandy. What are they? - Orchids. Common spotted marsh orchids. - Orchids? I thought they only grew in... well, in exotic places? - Ach no lass. There are a few species native to Scotland, but these are far the most common. They fair brighten the place up, don't they? Anyway, I think we've rested enough. Time to get moving if we're going to do Hill House justice. Michael of course wheeched ahead of them down the long slope of Glen Fruin. Sandy was glad, it gave him time to talk to his new lassie as they free-wheeled down the brae: - I've always thought that cycling downhill is almost sexual in the pleasure it brings me. Maybe it is; after all, there's a lot of pressure on your genitals. - It gives me sexual pleasure too. I can orgasm when cycling, if I move my cunt on the saddle in a certain way. It's almost as good as horse-riding for a woman. Fuck, he was erect now at the thought of her orgasming on her bike: - Show me, little girl. I want to watch you cum for me as you ride. Think about what I'm going to do to you tonight as you rub your cunt on the saddle. Do it now, for your new master. Fuck, this man... she flooded at his words. And the tone of command in his voice: - Yes sir. I'm very wet. I need to get off. Watch me. He watched in awe as she bent forward and began moving her hips back and forward, twisting and writhing, her mouth slack with lust, her breath coming in pants as the saddle rubbed her clit: - Ohfuck, nearly there. Tell me what you're going to do to me tonight please. No, don't. Tell me the dirtiest thing you've ever done. - That's easy. Group sex. I've had a couple of threesomes. One with two women, I fucked the arse of one from behind as she knelt eating the other woman's cunt. I had the other woman's cunt later, once I recovered... Her face was a portrait of lust at his words, her hips twisting on the saddle: - Oh jesus... I have a bi friend... - The other time I was with a woman and her man. She wanted a DP, two cocks in her simultaneously, fucking her arse and cunt to completion... Sandra's howl was unearthly, like the sound of a stag rutting. She stopped the bike carefully, almost fell off it. Sandy halted beside her, let his bike lie down on the verge. Grabbed the girl, with a glance down the glen to check nobody was in sight. Twisted one nipple hard through her tshirt as his hand slipped into her shorts. Rubbed and jabbed her cunt hard, almost cruelly, till she howled again, jerked and quivered beside him, her lips glued to his: - Fuckman, that was so beautiful. I almost fell off my bike when the first one hit me. - Aye, I'm amazed you managed to stay in control. But now slut, your master needs attention. Serve. She knelt before him and eased his throbbing heat from his shorts. She didn't know she wasn't going to give him a blowjob. He needed to fuck her face, he was so desperate to cum. As she swallowed him whole, he grabbed her wild hair and used her mouth and throat to masturbate in. He erupted in seconds. She gulped his spend down and looked up in his glazed eyes. This girl was so wildly and wickedly sexual... but he was ashamed. Knew he shouldn't have used her like that. She zipped his shorts and stood. He clasped her to him: - Sandra my dear, I'm so sorry. I don't know what came over me. I don't think I've ever used a woman like that before... Her finger went to his lips: - Wheesht man. You didn't use me; it was mutual pleasure. I enjoyed serving your need. But -- she smiled teasingly -- Mike will be wondering where we are. Now that we've got that out of our systems, let's get moving. They found Michael a couple of miles down the road, looking intently in the sky, his bike on the verge. He smiled at them: - Dad, what's that? Sandy followed his finger, pointing in the sky above the moorland below the road: - Can't be certain without binocs, and we're looking into the sun, but I think it's a red kite. The tail is very distinctive. They've been reintroduced into Scotland over the past few years; before that the only UK residents left were in mid-Wales. Sandra gazed at him, a slightly bewildered look on her: - Is there anything you don't know about Sandy? - Jesus aye lassie, millions of things. Don't ask me anything about sport or modern popular music. Or what's on TV; I don't own one. But the flora and fauna of Scotland, hell yes, course I'm interested, they're part of our real world. But now -- he glanced at his watch -- maybe it's time for lunch? Michael slapped his dad's back fondly, looking at Sandra: - And he knows fuck all about modern cinema either. I think lunch's in your panniers dad? I'm starving. After eating, they coasted together down the rest of the glen, then a wee pull up to another watershed before the long steep hill down into Helensburgh. Sandy yelled directions to Michael, and presently they were at the entrance to a rather severe-looking mansion, south-facing over the trees and rooftops of this most douce of Glasgow's outer dormitory towns. The Firth of Clyde sparkled in the sun beyond. The sign at the gate read: 'National Trust for Scotland. Hill House.' - You'd better tell Sandra about it dad, I've forgotten most of the details. - I'm not totally silly Mike, I know something about Charles Rennie Mackintosh. This was one of only two houses he designed, wasn't it? Sandy nodded his assent as they strolled up the path to the door. He was delighted that Sandra and he shared at least one common interest, sex apart, and looked forward to getting to know the lassie better. They spent a couple of hours exploring the house and gardens, and might have remained longer, but Sandy hurried them. He had a couple of things he needed to buy in Helensburgh, before the shops shut. They shackled their bikes in the town centre, and Michael and Sandra walked down the pier whilst Sandy went shopping. He was relieved to find what he was looking for, locked the items in his pannier, and joined the young pair on the pier. They were deep in conversation when he caught up with them: - OK, mission accomplished. Ready to head back to the camp? Michael looked at his father a little strangely: - Aye, I think so. You ready to move Sandra? As they walked back along the pier, Sandra took Sandy's hand in hers, whispered: - Mike knows. I... He asked me outright, and I had to tell him. He seems OK with it. - Ach weel. He's no daft. He had to know sooner or later. He and I are very close. We've few secrets from each other. I'm quite relieved he knows... and that it was you who told him. Sandy was tired on the few miles cycle back to the camp. He fell behind, watching as his son and his new lover rode together, chatting occasionally, as they passed the glitter of the Firth, then the Gareloch, on their left. ***** The evening was quite different to the previous one. After eating Sandy was largely commandeered by James, who subjected him to an almost endless monologue on the intricacies of anarchist theory. Sandy had always been on the left, was well-read, and familiar with some of what James spoke of. But he didn't like being lectured to, given little opportunity to respond or express a point of view. Ach, the arrogance of youth! But he reflected, as the lad droned on about the distinction between anarchism and libertarianism, that maybe he'd been as certain about his beliefs when he was James' age? Eventually, he decided by about nine that he'd had enough, tapped the lad's arm: - James, I'm sorry to interrupt, but this old man really could do with a shower. Michael told me the camp has one. May I use it? - Sorry man, aye there's a shower. Solar heated, and it's been sunny today, so there should be plenty of hot water. Come to the door and I'll show you where it is. There was a knock on the door as he finished drying himself. Towel-clad, he opened it. Sandra stood there, with Liz behind her: - You finished Sandy? Liz and I both need showers too. It's normal here to share to conserve hot water. - Oh. I didn't realise that, daft me. James didn't mention it. Sorry to have breached camp etiquette, however inadvertently. Liz grinned: - That's OK, you're a guest. Now, may we come in? - Errr... maybe I should dress first? - You don't have anything I haven't seen before. And I'm sure Sandra knows you already. Now let us in man, I've been digging vegetables all day, and you know what Sandra's been doing. We're both mingin. He backed away from the door as the women entered. They began undressing, so he turned his back to them, embarrassed to be seen naked by Liz, and quickly pulled his briefs up. They were in the shower by the time he finished covering himself. Liz was smiling between the open curtains, brazenly displaying her tits and shaven cunt. With a grunted farewell, he exited, shaken, and returned to the communal van. He was pleased to see that James was delivering a monologue to one of the other men. He'd been told all their names the previous evening but wasn't so good at remembering things as he got older. Michael broke from a discussion with one of the women, rather overweight, maybe in her early twenties, and waved him over: Girl at the Peace Camp - Dad, this is Siobhan. She's come to join us from Ireland. - Hi Siobhan. Where in Ireland? - County Donegal. Bunbeg, you won't have heard of it, it's not even big enough to be called a village. Sandy burst out laughing: - I've not only heard of it, I've been there. I've even sung in the pub! - Well! The pub's always been famous for its music. But what a coincidence. How did you find it? - It's rather a long story, and it was a many years ago. Well before you were born, in the seventies. But I'll tell you one thing. At that time there was a regularly bus service from almost every village in Donegal to Glasgow. The woman's eyes gleamed: - I don't mind a long story. Do tell. Mike, get your dad a beer. He was barely halfway through the tale of his trip to trouble-torn Belfast in the mid seventies, with a musical weekend in Donegal following, when Sandra and Liz came in, hair still damp from their shower. Sandra sat on the floor beside him and took his hand. He tried not to flinch away from her public display of fondness. She sensed his unease: - Don't be daft man, everybody knows by now. Nobody has a problem with it. Unless you do? He felt himself redden: - No, of course not. She squeezed his hand: - Well then, get on with what you were telling Siobhan and Mike. Beers and conversation flowed for a couple of hours, and the fug of tobacco and weed became thicker. Sandy sat back, temporarily out of the discussion, suffused with a profound sense of well-being. Sandra squeezed his hand, moved her head to his ear: - I think it's time to get back to the van and fuck. And I'm dying to know what secrets you bought in Helensburgh. I know they're for me, aren't they? - Maybe... and fucking you in the van is the best offer I've had tonight. So aye, let's move. She stumbled a bit on the way through the trees and shrubbery. She'd had quite a lot of weed. He shivered in anticipation, remembering how incredibly sexually aroused his ex had become on weed. At the doors of the van she stopped, drew the dress up over her head: - Need to pee again before we go in. Watch. Her nakedness enthralled him. And the intimacy of what she was about to do, and wanted to share with him, touched his heart. She watched as he removed shorts and shirt, his erection bobbing. She grasped a branch for support as she crouched, and as she began to void herself, grunted: - Cock. In my mouth. As I piss. Need cock. Now. Jesusfuck. This beautiful, delicious, filthy girl. He loved her depravity, stepped closer, watched and felt her mouth close on his erection. She groaned around his cock as she emptied her bladder; finally sighed: - Now you. She gripped him gently. And as before, when his fountain had subsided, she took him in her mouth to drain him. Swallowed, smiling: - Now take me, when you've cleaned the piss from my cunt. Get inside. He followed her nakedness into the van, watched as she lay, legs splayed, on the bed. He knelt and licked her voraciously, no teasing tonight. She groaned as his fingers slid into her, stroking and rubbing where nobody had touched her before. Felt her orgasm rising as his teeth tugged and twisted her nipples. But she had to... she cried out: - Stop Sandy! I need to pee. He licked her eyes, murmured: - No you don't, my sweet slut. You're going to squirt. Just let go. His head moved to her groin to lap her offering. Her legs twitched, her hips rose, as the explosion built in her. She wailed as her body contorted. Never in her life had she felt anything like this, hovering on the edge in ecstatic agony. His fingers dug into the pad of special flesh inside her, and she detonated with a terrible scream. Sandy lapped the nectar as it erupted from her cunt, delighted that he'd been able to give this sweet lassie such an experience. He knew as soon as she said she had to pee that she'd never had a squirting orgasm before. But she was very still and quiet. He raised his head in concern, gazed on her face, completely relaxed. She'd passed out. He eased up beside her, slid his arms round her, kissed her eyes, licked her ear, feathered her lips with his. Presently her eyelids flickered open. She smiled at him, wavering light from the solitary candle reflected in her blue irises: - Sandy... what... what was that? What happened? - My sweet girl, you had a gspot orgasm. And it was so intense that you passed out for a moment. How do you feel? Her arms went round his neck and she pressed her lips to his: - I've never... I've never ever experienced anything as wonderful in my life, dear man. - I'm so glad for you, sweet lassie. It was a privilege to be part of that. And your ejaculate is truly the nectar of the gods. Her face creased in a puzzled frown: - My ejaculate? His fingers stroked her wet mons, and he put them to her lips: - Aye, this ejaculate Sandra. You squirted, and I know it was your first time. He kissed her to forestall any further questions. She needed to relish where she was, not worry her head with the whys and wherefores: - Can we change the subject please? I thought you wanted to know what I'd bought in Helensburgh? Her face lit up: - Course I do, old man. Show me! He reached for his jacket on the hanger, withdrew a small 'Boots the Chemist' bag from the pocket: - I'm afraid bourgeois Helensburgh is lacking in sex shops, so this is the best I could do. She emptied the bag. Out slipped... a small bottle of baby oil, and an electric toothbrush. Her face fell. He kissed her eyes and whispered: - Sometimes one has to improvise. The town can't supply anything as vulgar as anal lube. Baby oil's the nearest I could get. If it's good for a soft wee baby's skin, it's good for lubricating your arse. And I'm taking your arse again tonight, my slut. She shivered as she heard the hard commanding timbre of his last words: - And the toothbrush? - You'll find out what that's for. Now, open your legs. Lift your knees up and hold them wide apart. You need fucked hard. Shit, his voice again. She melted. And complied. His cock throbbed at the sight of her gaping welcoming cunt, the delightful crinkle of her dark hole. He lunged into her, his carefully-restrained need loosed. She was his to use, he knew she needed it all. And by fuck she'd get it. Though he was hard, he wasn't hard enough for her arse yet. He'd already orgasmed in her twice today, and when a man's in his sixties three times in a day is rare. He needed to fuck her glutinous clutching cunt before he took her arse. And he did, ravishing and plundering, caring for her need, aye, but relishing his own pleasure more. Her hips began to rise and jerk inexorably. It was time to be dirty, to stimulate her. He licked her ear as he pillaged her sex, and whispered: - When you asked me to talk dirty to you as you wanked on the bike in Glen Fruin... and I told you about my threesomes, you mentioned you have a bi friend. Have you had sex with her? She was gasping now: - Aye, once. - I want to fuck your arse as you eat her cunt. - Aieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee She exploded under him. He withdrew from her when she'd subsided He hadn't cum yet: - Arse now, I'm going to fuck your slutty arse. From behind this time. Hands and knees, sexgirl. - Yes. Sir. He anointed himself with baby oil as she twisted round, then glugged the bottle on her anus and fingered the lubrication into her. Wiped his fingers dry on the sleeping bag. Grabbed her wild hair: - I'm going to use your arse as my cumdump, slut. D'you think your bi friend would be up for a threesome with us? He rammed hard into her, confident that the oil made it pleasurable for her tightness: - Well? - I'll ask her. Sir. - Better with the oil? - It's all pleasure and no pain. Take me master. Spunk your slut's arse. He was nearly there. Fuck, three times in twenty-four hours! That had only happened once with his ex, over three years previously. But Sandra needed pushed over the edge again: - D'you think your friend will let me fuck her arse as she eats your cunt? - Ohfuckfuck jeesus... He tugged and twisted her nipples viciously. Her anus tightened on him as she came. She wasn't even touching her cunt. Pure anal orgasm. His mind blanked as his ejaculate surged in her. Dirty sweet bumfuck. He collapsed on her, done. Remained there, chest heaving and sweat pouring from every pore, for a couple of minutes. Then eased himself off her, and slithered down to clasp her in his arms: - That was beyond words, Sandra. So beautiful. Thank you. Their mouths twisted together, unable to part. Till she pushed him away with a mock-grimace painted on her wet face: - Would you really fuck her arse whilst she ate my cunt? He laughed: - Sweetness, it was just a dirty fantasy. I was trying to get you off. - Hm. Maybe. It did work though. I must be a really dirty girl to get off on that. - You're the most deliciously dirtygirl I've encountered -- he was going to tell a lie, paused, thought better of it -- in the past two years. Her face fell: - I thought you were going to say ever? - I was, but it would have been a lie. I'll tell you all about it another time. But you're at least as beautifully dirty as she was. And much, much younger. - So dirtiest equal then? Sounds like a challenge to get to dirtiest ever. I love a challenge! He kissed all over her face. He was totally bewitched by this girl-woman. He'd worry about the consequences later: - I think you might win it, Sandra. I think you just might. - You mean if you get to fuck Jenny's arse as she eats my cunt? He slapped her face playfully: - No! Silly girl! This is about you and me. - Aye, we'll see what you say when you meet Jenny. Now -- sitting up, serious again -- what's the electric toothbrush for? - You'll soon learn lassie. But first, is there a can of beer in your van? Your old man could do with a drink. - No beer, sorry. But I've a half-bottle of whisky. And some bottled water. - Even better. May I have some please? He couldn't keep his eyes from her as she opened the slim cupboard against the side of the van. Even in the dim light, the carpentry looked well-executed. He'd have to ask her about the van. Glugging noises, and she turned, holding two teacups: - Sorry, no glasses. It's Grouse, hope that's OK? - Best blended whisky there is. - Water? - Same again please. She poured from the bottle: - So. You have your drink. What's the toothbrush for? - Your clit. Think about it. - Ohh. Sounds like it might be a bit rough? - I know you like rough. It depends how hard it's pressed on your clit. If it's lightly held, it's just a tickle. Pushed down hard, it's rough, aye. Now, slainthe! They tinkled their cups together -- bone china, he noted -- and sipped. He smiled at her, and she knew from his eyes that he cared: - So where did you find your good taste in whisky Sandra? - Ach, where d'you think? My dad of course! My parents have good taste in everything. - They certainly know how to raise a daughter to be a sex-goddess. She smiled shyly, no longer the confident siren. A wee girl again, he thought: - Sandy, I'm not... I'm not perfect, you know. - Nobody's perfect, my dearest lassie. I want to learn all of you, perfections and imperfections. I hope I will in time. He was aware after he said it that he'd made a commitment to this beautiful girl-woman. Couldn't help it. He finished his dram, put the cup down carefully beside the bed: - Finish your whisky, slut. Your clit needs the toothbrush before you sleep. That voice again. Fuck. Her viscera churned: - Aye. Sir. - Open wide, slut. Master needs to taste the cunt he owns. He picked up the toothbrush. Bent to kiss and lick the damp wee gorge of her sex, relishing the smell and taste of her essence. Her clit was small and delicate, barely larger than a grain of cooked Basmati rice. He lowered the buzzing brushes to it carefully, so they just feathered her acute sensitivity. She jerked at the touch, gasped. His hand held steady, his eyes on hers, vicariously enjoying her pleasure: - Harder, slut, want it harder? - Yes. Master. His hand moved a fraction. Her hips rose, involuntarily seeking more pressure. Deep sighs became moans. Her irises turned upwards. He pressed a fraction more and she issued a feral grunt, her groin pressing further up, seeking more sensation on the clitoris. High needy whining now, her eyeballs almost invisible. He forced the innocent weapon down hard. The most incredibly sensuous sound, like the unholy mating call of grey Atlantic seals. Her body twisted and soared; both the brush and his hand were wet as she howled. Subsided, settled on the bed. Her eyeballs returned to his view. She blinked: - Well, who'd a thunk a toothbrush could do that? - Time to sleep. He bit his tongue to stop himself calling her 'darling'. She smiled: - Aye, to sleep, perchance to dream. But no need for dreams after today. I couldn't ever have a better dream. Goodnight Sandy. ***** Sandra woke first to the insistent pounding on the back doors of the van. And the voice: - Dad, Sandra, wake up please. Now. Mike's voice. She shook Sandy awake: - Sandy! Lover, wake up. Mike's banging at the door. He shivered himself semi-awake, heard his son's voice, raised his own: - Be with you in a moment Michael. Struggled into his clothes, half-asleep, glanced at his watch. Eight am. No way Michael would normally be up now. Opened the door, bleary-eyed, his lover shrugged into the sleeping bag behind him: - What's up son? - I just had a call on my mobile. Alec's been taken into hospital dad, the Western. We need to get to Glasgow. Now. Sandy was suddenly wakeful. Alec was his elder son: - What's happened love? - I don't know exactly. He was out running this morning. Did something to his leg. A passer-by found him and called an ambulance. Just as well he had his mobile on him. He called me five minutes ago. - OK Michael, I'll be ready to go in five minutes. We can take our bikes on the train at Helensburgh. Partick's only a few minutes from the Western, we can be there in about an hour, depending on the train times. He turned back into the van as Michael scampered off to gather his things and pack them in his panniers. Sandra was sitting up in bed, her small tight breasts exposed, worry creasing her brow: - I heard what Mike said. Didn't know he had a brother. I'm so sorry Sandy. For Alec, for you and Mike. And for me. I'd hoped... He put a finger softly to her lips: - Wheesht lassie. I'd hoped too... you know I need to go. But -- he leaned in and kissed her warmly -- we haven't seen the last of each other. Here -- his fingers moved in his bumbag, emerged with a card -- here's my address, phone and email. Get in touch with me soon sweetness, please. I care for you as well as I love fucking you. Now, I must be off. Contact me soon, please. You're a very remarkable young woman, and I'm so fortunate to have met you. And he was gone. That afternoon, James had a call on his mobile from Mike. Alec had tripped on a tree-root whilst running, torn a ligament in his knee as he fell. Experienced intense agony till the the ambulance came, and the hospital staff had bandaged it. He'd be on crutches for a few weeks. But nothing near life-threatening. James gathered the camp members and told them. Sandra felt everyone's eyes on her. As soon as she could, she retired to the privacy of her van and called Sandy on her mobile. She got the answering machine. She was asleep, or otherwise not answering, when he returned the call to her voicemail. Mike came back to the camp the next day, and said his dad had to look after Alec for a couple of weeks. Sandra couldn't bring herself to return Sandy's call. He kept looking at his phone as Alec became more confident on the crutches, but decided not to call her back again. It had just been a fantasy encounter; one which could have no future. A young woman of eighteen didn't need an ongoing relationship with a man in his sixties. So he got on with his life, or tried to. He lived alone: his sons were grown-up and had their own worlds. ***** Six weeks after his visit to the camp, his doorbell rang. He didn't get many visitors, and wasn't expecting anyone. He left his computer, opened the door. Sandra wore the peasant dress she had on the first night they met, and a huge rucsac lay beside her. She smiled shyly: - My parents don't know I've left the camp. I had to see you. May I come in please? - Ohh. My darling girl... I've never stopped thinking about you. I'd nearly convinced myself you were just an old man's fantasy. - Couldn't get you out of my head either Sandy. And I'm no fantasy. Feel my cunt. I'm dripping. For you, man.