BACK TO THE PRESENT DAY
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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