“Those bastards in the bar last night,” he muttered, gritting his teeth, as if gathering strength, “I should have known better. Big cock And it was getting dark. (PS) If anyone out there likes my “Deryk” stories, perhaps you’d like to suggest how I should develop him – constructive comments, please! He was groaning and writhing against the bed, clutching at the pillow in pleasure at his rimming. Through the heavy woollen material, I massaged the cheeks of his bottom, feeling their plump round shape and clutching at the pleats of the back of his kilt. He had on a chunky Arran sweater and he had a large tumbler in his hands with about half-an-inch of what looked like Scotch in the bottom. I checked my mobile phone to call for help but just when I needed it most, there was no signal.
