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: