Your erotic stories

The last habitable cottage before you come to the lighthouse at Ardnamurchan, the most westerly point on the Scottish mainland if not the whole of the ancient island of Britain, used to nestle to the southern side of an old, square tower. This tower may have once been a fortified block-house, such as one sees throughout the wilder parts of Scotland, where clan once fought against clan down through the years, until King fought against King for the final time and there were no more clans.

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I decided to wait for you, even though we'd made no plans. I know you'll be here. You love to visit this small wooded area, with its immense old oaks even when you're not on the hunt. I'm sure you can sense that I'm waiting. I sit with my back to a tree trunk with my knees drawn up to my chest. The silver moon winks at me through the branches that shiver in the breeze.

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I'm going to play dress-the-dolly tonight, because that's what I like to do. This particular dolly is – let's see – diminutive, with pale, oriental skin. Absolutely flawless and smooth. Her hair is straight, reaches down below her shoulder-blades, and is as black as midnight, as black as my unlit bedroom, although I can see every detail of her as if it was broad daylight.

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