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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 Ankara travesti 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. Konya travesti 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 İzmir travesti 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.
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