Holy Fuck... Ch. 02

Author's note: The first part of this was recently posted. You're advised to read it before you read this.

My thanks as ever to my muse, for her inspiration and editing, and to raconteuse, who has greatly assisted with editing. And of course, to my readers, whose support and interest has helped sustain my writing.

If you're new to Melanie, there are two earlier chapter stories about her, with lots of red Hs against them. Do please have a look: I know that if you liked this, you'll like them too. 'Journey into Melanie's Reality' is almost complete now, and the remaining chapters will be posted soon.

*****

He woke slowly, half-dreaming... but it was no dream. Her face was above his, her breasts dangling lewdly over his chest. And her hips were pumping hotly on his cock embedded in her sex. She panted as she watched his eyes flutter open:

- Good morning my sweet. Sorry, couldn't wait. I woke wet and needy. Hope you don't mind?

Her smile was bewitching, illuminated by love. His heart melted, his body trembling in joy and excitement as she fucked him:

- My sweet numpty... the most beautiful way to start the day... take everything you need from me. I belong to you... oh fuck...

- Course I had to wash your cock first... oh my sweet man... how I love you...

He thrust into her as the speed of her movements on him increased:

- Ohh darling, not going to last if you keep this up, going to spunk you...

- Yes love, need that... so close now. Cum to me darling one, give me your seed...

- Yes sweet... touch my balls...

She felt the contraction as her fingers feathered his scrotum:

- Ohhhh jesusgod...

They convulsed and groaned together as the jaggy lightning of sudden ecstasy struck them. She collapsed on him, sweatsoaked, their groins welded, her orgasm lingering long after he was spent, hips still moving on him, but with less urgency. Eventually she stilled, kissed his eyes:

- Well, that's sorted for now. Are you ready for your breakfast?

His answering look had her exploding with laughter.

They rose, stood naked at the window, watching the rain sweep up Loch Indaal:

- You'll need warm clothes today darling. If this keeps up it'll be a car-tour and indoor pursuits. What d'you fancy?

- Well, we can't visit Islay without seeing a distillery, can we? No point in doing that on a dry day...

- Sounds fine to me. But now -- kneeling before her -- you can't get dressed till I've cleaned you up a bit, can you?

- Yes, I need that, and so do you. On the bed with you man...

They cleaned each other, then dressed for the day. Over breakfast, their young waitress Katie said:

- Ye'll be pleased tae ken the forecast says the rain'll lift later.

Melanie smiled at her:

- Sounds like a distillery visit this morning then. Any recommendations Katie?

- Ach weel... Ardbeg's supposed tae be good value, and the tours are hourly even at this time of year. Mibbe ye should try there?

So after breakfast, Melanie drove them up round the shores of Loch Indaal, wipers flailing in the driving rain, then southward to Bowmore, the largest village on the island. When she turned left in the village centre, there was the kirk at the top of the hill. Sandy peered closely at the entrance as they passed it:

- Aye, as I thought, looks like it's open to visitors...

His hand stroked the denim on her thigh, and she eased her legs wider as she drove so he could feel into her heat:

- Darling, I'm wet at the thought... but if you don't want us to end up in the ditch, perhaps you'd better leave me alone? For now...

A few miles of bleak peatland, then they were past the airport, through Port Ellen, and eastward along the south coast for the few miles to Ardbeg. They arrived just after ten, and the first tour began at ten-thirty, so they had time to look round the shop.

Melanie was fascinated by the tour, and whilst Sandy had visited many distilleries, every one was different. When their small group stopped by one of the stills to listen to their attractive young guide's explanation of the process, his hand stroked Melanie's arse and he whispered in her ear:

- Mmm, I wouldn't mind her joining us for play...

- Maybe I wouldn't either darling... though Katie's nearer to hand, and so sweetly shy...

The tour moved on, and ended with everyone sampling a sixteen year-old measure of the distillery's product. The rain was down to a smirr by the time they left the building. Melanie handed him the car keys:

- I think you'd better drive, love. That went straight to my head. What now?

- There's the ruin of a celtic church a few miles further up the road darling. Want to have a look? It's probably more ancient than any building you've ever seen.

She was glad she wasn't driving as he navigated the twisting single-track road, braking suddenly at passing places to allow the occasional oncoming vehicle through. Then they were at the signpost: Kildalton Church.

The small kirkyard was dominated by a large eighth-century celtic cross, complete and surprisingly unweathered for something that had been exposed to the harsh Atlantic elements for well over a millennium. Melanie studied the guidebook, tracing the elaborate biblical carvings with an archaeologist's practised fingers.

Sandy sensed her mood. The spirituality of her younger self showed through at times, and he knew she needed to be alone. He wandered through the medieval graveyard, stood before one of the guardian yew trees that Scots Christianity had adopted from pagan times. Rolled a fag and reflected in awe that this remarkable and beautiful woman had chosen him as her lifemate.

Presently she wandered over to him. Her face glowed as it did after orgasm, transcendent. Her voice was reverentially hushed as she whispered:

- It's just so beautiful darling. Everything, the cross, the churchyard, you... I'm so glad we came here. Let's look at the church now?

The building was roofless but otherwise intact, and dated from the twelfth century. A small rectangular structure, curved Norman windows and doorway. Breathtaking in its simplicity. He felt her retreat again into a part of her soul he couldn't reach, and was content to let her wander round the ruin alone. Eventually she leaned back against the damp wall:

- Come here darling.

They embraced, kissed softly. His fingers went to her groin:

- I want to make love to you here my sweet, but it's too cold and damp. Are you needing attention?

At her nod, his fingers went to the fastening of her jeans, and his hand slipped inside her panties. Felt her wetness, began stroking gently, teasing her as she breathed heavily in his mouth:

- Oh yes love, need this...

His fingers gathered speed in the warmth of her sex, feeling her wee hardness protrude from its hiding place. His mouth lifted from hers, his fingers more insistent, whetting her need. He felt the fire growing in her, kissed her beloved eyes, her sex thrusting against his hand. She groaned as two fingers entered her, curled to the soft sponge in the wall of her cunt. Her surreal cry was a prayer fulfilled in the sanctity of this ancient place, her squirt the fountain of all that was wholesome. She sank in his arms, shaking.

Sounds of a vehicle stopping on the road beside the kirkyard.

He licked her neck, up to her gasping lips, kissed her beloved mouth; busied to refasten her jeans. A couple stood by the cross as they passed and exchanged greetings. Melanie was beyond words. They got in the car. He didn't ask her, just drove the couple of miles north to where the road ended at Claggain Bay.

He reached to the back seat, lifted the rucsac from it. Glanced at her:

- Time for lunch sweetheart?

The rain had come again, not heavily, but enough to keep them in the car for now. He smiled. Her vibrant brown eyes were on him:

- A penny?

- Oh, just remembering my daughters telling me this. They grew up thinking that picnics were something you had in the car, with rain drumming on the roof.

- I'm not surprised, in this wet country of yours. Now, what's for lunch?

The rain had lifted by the time they'd finished the tea and sandwiches. They left the car and his eyes were on Beinn Bheigier. The hillwalking gear was in the back of the car, but with heavy mist down below a thousand feet, they'd not be donning it today. Melanie was looking intently out to sea. She gripped his arm:

- Look sweetness, what are they?

He followed her gaze. A couple of large birds circled over the bay, a few hundred yards out, black wingtips and pale yellow heads on otherwise white bodies. One folded itself and plunged vertically into the sea, maybe a hundred feet below; a splash when the bird hit the water. It emerged and took off seconds later, a wriggling fish in its beak.

- They're gannets darling. Solan geese is the old Scots name. Some of the biggest colonies in the world nest on inaccessible islands off our shores. Aren't they beautiful?

- Everything's beautiful my love. Everything in this world has its own beauty.

They lingered on the empty beach for a few minutes, but she began shivering, so they returned to the car. Headed back they way they'd come, heater full on, the road wending inland before returning to the shore at Loch a' Chnuic. She touched his cheek:

- More seals! Can we stop?

He parked and lifted his camera. The tide was in, the seals on rocks only yards off the short beach. Alas, they weren't singing, but he managed some good closeup studies with the zoom. His eyes wandered the shoreline, but with the tide in, only a couple of oystercatchers peep-peeped on the wee beach. He was about to hand her the binocs so she could study these most iconic of Scots birds, when her fingers tightened on his arm:

- There darling, there was something there...

His eyes followed her finger, but saw no movement. He gave her the glasses, turned to fetch his old ones from the car. When he returned seconds later she was focused on a vee-shaped streak in the calm water of the inlet:

- That's not a seal, is it?

He fiddled with the focus till the view came sharp. He breathed carefully, not wanting to send the shy creature into hiding. Whispered:

- No sweet. It's an otter. Don't move, and don't make a sound. Just watch. It likely has a mate.

They watched entranced as a second otter emerged from behind the rocks, and the two sleek beasts began tumbling together in the water, playing as few other wild mammals do. After about ten minutes they disappeared behind an outcrop of rock, and didn't reappear. He turned to her:

- That's only the third time in my life I've been privileged to watch otters at play love. Thank you for your sharp eyes. They're shy and elusive beasts. A bit like you sometimes... as you were in the kirkyard.

A heavy burst of rain drove them back to the car and he handed her the keys:

- Your turn to drive love.

It was still raining as they approached Bowmore Kirk. She glanced at him as she drove past it:

- Now, darling? At least this one has a roof...

His fingers went to her groin:

- Is she wet? Needing something?

Melanie groaned and parked the car. They walked up the hill hand in hand to face the stark simplicity of the building. The door was shut against the elements but not locked. The interior looked as though it hadn't been altered since the place was built, over two centuries previously. A broad wooden gallery ran round the walls above the circular nave. The building echoed with emptiness, suffused with the mustiness of old kirks everywhere. It wasn't warm. They breathed the spirit of the place for a few silent minutes. Then Melanie nodded to the gallery:

- Up there'd be best. As far as possible from the door, in case we're interrupted?

Her hand went to his groin:

- Glad you're as ready as I am darling. Bet you can smell my need.

He knelt reverently, his nose to her cunt:

- Yes. Now my sweet.

They climbed the stairs, explored the gallery nervously, searching for the best place for their holy sacrilege, out of sight of the entrance downstairs, and secluded from direct view from the stairway. The building's acoustics reflected their every movement, so they were confident they would hear anyone enter. At the very top of the gallery, she pointed to the solid wooden barrier behind the rearmost pew, maybe four feet high. She whispered, awed from her Christian upbringing at the delicious violation of sanctity they were about to perpetrate:

- Here love?

He drew her to him, kissing her neck, her sweet mouth, his fingers fumbling with nervous excitement at the fastening of her jeans. She pushed him away gently:

- Well, my fine atheist, I'm glad you're as affected as I am by the enormity of this act.

She slipped off her shoes, shucked jeans and panties down, stepped out of them. Leaned back against the barrier, baring her cunt lewdly at her lover. He knelt and nosed the glistening wetness, her scent filling his being as it always did, whispered:

- For what we are about to receive, may the Lord make us truly thankful.

Attacked her orally with a need that took the breath from her lungs. She panted:

- Just do it. Fuck me. No need for foreplay, and every second we waste increases the likelihood we'll be interrupted.

She twisted round and leaned over the barrier, wiggling lewdly, presenting cunt and arse to him. His jeans and briefs were at his knees in seconds, erection sliming her beautiful bum:

- Need your cunt first, then your arse.

She groaned as he slid in her welcoming wetness, pushed back against him:

- Whatever you want, I need...

Her fingers reached for her clit. His hand moved under her top, squeezed one nipple then the other, twisted till she breathed:

- Oh god. Arse. Now.

He drove into her anus hard, one hand scrabbling at her tits, the other reaching for her throat:

- The holy fuck we've both fantasised about my sweet... not going to last.

- Me neither, beautiful. Consecrate me. Give me your blessed seed...

- Ohh jesusfuck...

Her body shuddered as the spunk filled her. He slumped on her back, feeling the furious heartbeat thudding through her, as his resounded against her back. A creaking sound, then voices below. She went rigid and he withdrew, pushing a tissue in her arse. They fumbled to right their clothes as the voices grew louder, and a couple came into view in the nave. The same couple they'd passed at Kildalton Cross earlier. Melanie was still drawing her jeans up as she called down to them:

- Well, we meet again? Seems we share some interests...

Sandy was amazed, as so often, at her self-control. The woman below called back, a New England accent:

- Why yes, we're exploring our Celtic heritage. You?

Melanie laughed, a real laugh:

- Well, we're exploring too. But we're just on holiday; neither of us have any connections here. Historical connections, I mean...

They waited at the top of the stairs as the couple ascended laboriously. Sandy sensed his partner might have lingered, but he glanced pointedly at his watch:

- Sorry folks, we have to go. Enjoy the rest of your trip.

He almost stumbled on the stairway, had to catch the banister to steady himself. Outside, the rain had finally stopped, and there were traces of sunlight behind the heavy Atlantic cloud.

*****

Two days later they were up early to catch the first ferry back to the mainland. The sun was shining for their departure, as it had for their arrival. Their stay on the island had been a jumble of craft shops, wildlife, folksongs in the bar of the hotel, and the most intimate companionship. The condoms hadn't been used, and she didn't know whether she was relieved or disappointed.

They hardly spoke over breakfast, or on the drive to the ferry. There was no need. They'd never been closer.

At Port Ellen they wandered the pier after parking the car in the queue. Watched boats tying up after a night's fishing, open crates of fish being raised to the quayside. He identified the species he knew for her and they murmured companionably, arms loosely around each other.

On the ferry they sat in the bow lounge, touching but not needing. No alcohol: they were sharing the long drive back to the city. The crossing passed in a dream for them, a dream of the togetherness they'd shared in a beautiful place that was uniquely new for both of them.

Approaching Kennacraig, the call came to return to the vehicle deck. He slipped her the keys:

- You're on first shift love, if that's okay?

Her lips met his, gentle completed love, before they eased themselves into the car.

On the way up Loch Fyneside, she was too focused on the twisting road to notice the sun sparkling on the loch to the right, and by Lochgilphead he knew he ought to be driving. Melanie hadn't been here before and he had, many times:

- Darling mine, you've done your bit. Time for you to see something of Argyll. Do you know that this single Scots county has a coastline longer than France?

A roguish smile creased her face:

- Jesus sweetness, please don't start in your how-wonderful-is-Scotland mode. A girl can only take so much... but yes, I'd like to be a passenger now, a tourist.

She sat back, absorbing the rugged beauty of the land, the tranquillity of the sun dancing on the gentle water of Loch Fyne, as he spoke with love of what she was seeing. She was lulled into another place, deep inside her head, into the depths of her soul. She had never felt so secure as she did now with Sandy. Gravel crunching under the tyres drew her from her reverie.

- Lunchtime, darling.

She glanced through the car window. A modest two-storey Georgian building. The sign said 'Cairndow Inn'.

- Um... we're continuing your literary explorations. Burns stayed here during his tour of the highlands.

They supped soup and ate sandwiches. He drank water, but urged her to sample a pint of the Deuchar's ale.

- You don't need to try and loosen me up my sweet. I'm approaching mid-cycle...

Sandy knew exactly what that meant. Shivered in anticipation as he placed the pint before her. They spoke lightly, but the sex between them quivered beneath their words. When he went to piss before they left, he was glad it was a urinal. His cock was so hard, it would have been painful to pee in a toilet.

As they sped up the long straight road through Glen Kinglass, he pointed to the ragged mountain towering to the south at the head of the glen:

- That's the one we climbed last year darling: Beinn an Lochain.

The car breasted the summit, Rest and be Thankful, she remembered. As they began the long descent of Glen Croe, his voice startled her from the ache in her cunt. There was a hoarseness there she knew well:

- I want you to do something for me my dirtygirl. For me, and for you.

Her mind stopped functioning. She heard nothing but sexneed in his voice:

- What darling? You know I'll do anything for you...

- Remove your jeans and panties and wank for me.

She flooded at his words. Removed her shoes. As he took the bends at sixty, she eased her hips from the seat, removing jeans and panties. Spread her legs wide, her hand working between her thighs:

- Like this... master?

He glanced at her engorged labia, blooming like the most exotic flower in the world. His eyes returned to the road as it made a final bend before the shore of Loch Long. He was shaking at her use of the word, barely able to growl:

- Yes darling. I want to hear and smell you get off. We'll be passing through Arrochar in a few minutes. Lots of folk around...

She teased her clit, leaned over to touch the bulge in his jeans:

- Darling, can't we stop somewhere and fuck... please? I need you.

- Just concentrate on getting yourself off dirtygirl.

So she did. As they approached the village she slid three fingers deep in herself, stroked then rubbed, her other hand working her clit. There were folks on the pavements now, a few feet from her, as he drove carefully through the village, but she didn't care, she was nearly there, that was all that mattered...