Monday, October 29, 2012

Stallion in the Night (Part Four)


And so that was how Mia had ended up in the Irish Highlands. She had not known that there were highlands outside of Scotland, yet here she was, on the road to Gnéas Capall. She had not seen any eight-inch cocks as of yet, but she had seen one that was much larger than that. It had belonged to a horse though, or more precisely, a stallion.

Ahead of her was an old battered sign, “Enjoy Gnéas Capall, Vintage Irish Village”. Mia pulled into the old, rustic, Irish village, sunrise just beginning to break over the rolling Irish hills. The grass was a bouncy Irish green, the skies a vibrant Irish blue, and the clouds were a fluffy Irish white. All in all, it was very Irish; although not that different from England. A number of shops lined the main road: a post office, a pub, a grocery store, a pub, a Playhouse Adult Superstore, two more pubs, and finally, a bar. Her eyes drifted from the collection of handcuffs, whips and leather costumes found in the post office window to something even more enticing. In a sun dappled meadow, glistening in the morning dew, stood a rugged, bare-chested highlander chopping firewood. With each blow his chiselled muscles rippled, and Mia felt tremors of pleasure flow through her body. He turned, as if he could sense her gaze. The sunlight bounced of his spec”pec”ular pecs, and his golden locks rustled like sex in the morning breeze.

The Highlander glanced upwards, as if he could feel Mia's lusting gaze, and for a second their eyes locked. A tremor ran up Mia's spine, the hair stood up on the back of her neck, and she could feel herself salivating just a little. Mia shook her head to escape from her daze, and delivered herself a hefty ‘ovarian delight’[1] to make sure she would not drift back. She would not let herself become distracted again. ‘Not yet, anyway’, she added as an erotic afterthought. Reluctantly, she drove from the sun dappled meadow and towards her new home.

Her new rustic Irish cottage fitted in perfectly with the rest of the rustic Irish village. She passed the rustic Irish picket fence, and through a rustic Irish potato patch onto the rustic Irish porch. She entered through the rustic Irish door, past the removalists struggling under her furniture.  The inside was much as she would have expected, except for the opulent tapestries adorning every spare inch of wall. They depicted in excruciating detail erotic scenes so creative, so vulgar, so carnal, of things Mia had never even imagined possible, that Mia felt herself turn red with embarrassment… and wet with want. 

Mia hurried to the bedroom with her suitcases, not wanting to make a scene in front of the removalists who had begun to notice her staring at the wall in rapture. Within the privacy of her own room Mia withdrew two trunks from her luggage, two trunks she would not entrust with anyone else. The first held her weapons for work, the other, her toys for play. She hid them under her four-poster, king-sized bed with coin operated vibrating mattress, where no wandering eyes would see them. Exhausted from the night’s drive and the day’s arousing activities Mia inserted a penny and collapsed onto her now jiggling bed. It was then she noticed a second tapestry decorating her bedroom ceiling, so vibrant, so sensual, that it made the first look like the fourteenth episode of the Teletubbies. Mia got off her bed, only briefly, to take out one of the trunks she had just hidden.

[1] Ovarian Delight: A sharp blow to the ovaries, with similar effects to a kick or punch to a man’s testicles. Unlike what the name implies, this is less of a delight, and rather more like being punched in the ovaries.

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