Skip to main content


Showing posts from 2018

#StoryIn12 - December

Every day,  the #StoryIn12 flash fiction meme on twitter challenges writers to write a “complete” story in exactly 12 words, that includes the prompt word for that day. #StoryIn12 is the creation of t Molly (aka @mollysdailykiss ) and Wriggly Kitty (aka @Wriggly_Kitty ) Here are mine for this month: Winter  – Snuggled in front of the fire, sheltered from the chill of winter. Bump  – Sometimes, things going bump in the night can be fun, not scary. Blue  – Some days blue is more of an emotional state than a colour. Method  – His method was simple and direct, but it achieved the desired results. Ocean – Although there was an ocean between them, somehow they would be together. Forecast  – The weekend forecast was atrocious. Another good reason to stay in bed. Length – In her opinion, width was a much more important measurement than length. Inspiration  – I was lacking inspiration so I almost gave this prompt a miss. Party  – The party season was in full swing. What c

Claiming Jane

Claiming Jane by Kilted Wookie Jane assumes the required position; bent over with her skirt flipped up over her back and her  knickers around her ankles. Her cunt is wet. The anticipation builds her arousal. My finger trails over her arse. A shiver runs up her spine. My hand slaps down. Jane’s skin smarts at my touch. Again and again; my hand rains down on Jane’s upturned arse. Her cunt grows wetter with every slap. I  can almost feel the heat spread across Jane’s soft cheeks. It stings; a delicious tingling of pain that makes her catch her breath. Her face reddens, tears rise in Jane’s eyes. Each strike of my hand creates a wonderful juxtaposition of pain and pleasure. I slide a finger between the lips of Jane’s cunt; feeling her warmth, testing her wetness. My hands grip her hips. A soft moan escapes from between Jane’s lips. Moments pass; an eternity of anticipation. I feel her brace herself as my fingers tighten their grip, digging deeper into her flesh. W


Splash by Kilted Wookie She kneels before him; mouth open, expectant like a hungry chick. He stands before her; his cock hard, the head, a swollen, angry purple. She knew she had been bad; some unknown transgression against him. Her arse still stung from the kiss of his belt. Now, as their guests look on, he intends to humiliate her. She waits as he works his fingers up and down his cock with long, slow, majestic strokes; each one bringing her ever closer to the moment of her humiliation. “Worthless slut!” he growls. The tension in his voice betrays how close he is. “Filthy little slut!” Her cunt grows hot and wet. She squirms uncomfortably against the ropes that bind her wrists to her ankles, feeling them dig roughly into her skin as her movements cause the knots to tighten. She waits willingly for her humiliation; for him to show their guests just what a worthless filthy slut she is; to demonstrate his contempt for whatever she has done to displease him. His co

It's Not All About Intercourse

I’ve never had a sexual relationship where intercourse wasn’t (ultimately) the predominant sexual activity that was undertaken. That “ultimately” is in there because there is one very slight technical exception to that) rule; that being what was my first sexual relationship. When I say that, it’s not that the girl in question and I didn’t have sexual intercourse, we did; it’s just that we built up to it gradually, exploring each other’s bodies with fingers, lips and tongues before, many months later, discarding our virginities together. In that respect, it started off as a “hands-only” sexual relationship. We moved from simply snogging to hands on top of clothes, to hands under clothes and, ultimately, the removal of clothes. The very first time she brought me orgasm was by rubbing me through my boxer shorts. That was a very important stage of my sexual education; learning to touch, learning how I liked to be touched and, above all, learning how to communicate what I liked a

A Matter Of Style

It may come as a surprise, but I do actually wear clothes.  Being a native of a cold climate and generally having to interact with my fellow humans means that one simply cannot be naked at all times. If I have any sense of style at all, it could probably best be described as casual, or maybe even relaxed. The simple fact is, I dress for comfort. There are times when comfort can mean naked but, for the purposes of this post, we’re going to stick (sadly perhaps) with clothes on. At work, I tend to go with the “traditional” business formal: suit trousers, smart shirt, jacket when necessary, Oxfords not brogues. At home, I am much more casual: jeans and a polo/rugby shirt depending on the time of year and the temperature. In summer the jeans may, weather permitting, be replaced with shorts. Being Scottish, I will, of course, look for any excuse to “kilt up“; most often when formal attire is required, but it can be worn informally too. I’ve never really been a follower of fashion. As

#StoryIn12 - November

Every day,  the #StoryIn12 flash fiction meme on twitter challenges writers to write a “complete” story in exactly 12 words, that includes the prompt word for that day. #StoryIn12 is the creation of Molly (aka @mollysdailykiss ) and  Wriggly Kitty (aka @Wriggly_Kitty ) Here are mine for this month: Separation  – Time may not heal, but it can numb the pain of separation. Bury  – I want to bury my face between her thighs, savouring her taste. Report  – She smiled. A bad report card meant the kiss of the cane. Floor – The cold floor beneath her back; a contrast to his warm body. Excuse – She could not excuse herself from the discipline she would soon receive. Champion – He was her guide, her protector, her teacher; he was her champion. Figure – She had a wonderfully filthy mind, and the figure to complement it. Cottage  – A remote highland cottage, a roaring log fire, her lover beside her. Confront  – For good or bad, the time has come to confront my demons. Seat – She

The Sounds He Makes

The Sounds Makes by Kilted Wookie He sighed as she took him into her mouth. The sighs turned to contented groans as she worked her lips up and down his shaft. The groans were accompanied by spasmodic jerks of his hips as she tongued the tip of his cock’s swollen head. “You’re so good,” he whispered, “I love how you suck my cock.” She loved hearing his words of compliment, and sucked him harder. She was aware of the rustle of the sheet below them as he squirmed, his movements becoming increasingly less controlled. His breathing became increasingly laboured as she focused on his pleasure. His cock twitched in her mouth, each spasm accompanied by a moan. “Oh fuck… Oh fuck…” His words vocalised his increasing tension as she brought him towards his climax. His head tossed, fingers gripped her shoulder. “Oh… Oh… Aaaahhh… Fuck…” She could taste his approach, feel it as well as hear it. Every sound he made told her that she had taken him to the brink. “Oh fuck… Yes… Fuc

Women On Top

I suspect that it’s pretty fair to say that the subject of Female Domination is not one I know much, if indeed anything, about. There is, of course, a very good reason for this: while, in a D/s setting, I may identify as “a Dominant”, I am, very obviously, not a woman. I have also never experienced domination from the perspective of the one being dominated, i.e. the submissive. My only “experience” with fem-domme comes through the imagery of porn and, if I’m being completely honest, such imagery tends to leave me more than a little cold. Partially, it is because of my on identification; I simply cannot put myself in the position of the male in the scene. The other, for me at least, off-putting aspect is the imagery itself. Discipline, particularly in the form of corporal punishment, features quite heavily in D/s porn. The Dominant may have the submissive over their knee and be administering a spanking. Alternatively a belt or a cane or some other implement may be used. The b

Temporary Loss Of Control

I am something of a self-control freak. I get uncomfortable when I am not the master of my own destiny. I’m not really one for placing myself in other’s hands. Oh, I accept that there are times when I have to rely on others; I cannot know or do everything myself. I am, however, at my most comfortable when I know that the things in my life that I can influence and control are being controlled to the fullest of my ability. Even when it comes to sex, generally I prefer to do things “my way”. The Dominant in me likes to lead, to take charge, to direct. When I go down on a woman, I love that I have the ability to control, to a certain extent, her climax. The pace and pressure of my tongue on her clit, the exploration of her clit, the teasing, the tormenting and her eventual release are all to some extent being dictated by me. Edging is a very definite exercise of control. Conversely though, during sex is one of the few times when I actually enjoy losing control. I don’t mean that I let

Casual Fun

Many years ago, late at night, I was alone, at home, in bed, chatting online on MSN to a friend of mine. The friend in question was, of course, female. The conversation was, as the conversations we had so often were, flirty and decidedly frank. I can’t remember which of us first mentioned that our particular chat that night was getting us a bit hot under the collar, but I do remember her asking me what I would say if she told me she was tempted to get dressed and drive to mine. Despite it being past 1am in the morning, my response was that the door would be open and that she should let herself in. Less than 30 minutes later we were fucking with an intense abandon that left us both happily drained. She left to go home sometime after 3am. More recently another friend who has occasionally featured on this blog. Again it was an online chat, neither of us could sleep. A suggestion was made. I responded that I could be there in about 20 minutes. We fucked hard and fast in the kitchen. A

When I'm Down

I’ve always been very open about my depression and mental health . I don’t let it define me, but it is so much a part of who I am that I can’t really not acknowledge the fact that it is a very big part of what goes together to make me the person I am. As a general rule, apart from when I am at my very worst, depression hasn’t had too much of an adverse effect on my libido. When circumstances, and the availability of a willing partner, allow, I probably enjoy sex every bit as much as anybody else. Actually, this is a bit of an interesting point as, given that I have suffered from depression on and off since my teens (before I became sexually active), it’s actually difficult to say how depression has affected my libido. I’ve been on anti-depressants now constantly since 2004. Before that, from about 1995 onwards, I had occasional episodes where I would be prescribed a 6 month course. The only comparison I can make is that between my current libido and that of those periods pre-2004 w

#StoryIn12 - October

Every day,  the #StoryIn12 flash fiction meme on twitter challenges writers to write a “complete” story in exactly 12 words, that includes the prompt word for that day. #StoryIn12 is the creation of Molly (aka @mollysdailykiss ) and  Wriggly Kitty (aka @Wriggly_Kitty ). Here are mine for this month: Student  – He was an accomplished student in the art of igniting her pleasure. Tissue  – The grand promises, inevitably turned out to be a tissue of lies. Glass  – Wiping the condensation from the glass, he looked contemplatively through the window. Square  – He walked briskly across the square, scattering pigeons with each purposeful stride. Direct – The maestro wielded his baton, seemingly without effort, to direct the orchestra. Owe – I have come to claim payment of the debt you owe me. Dash – A dash of Worcestershire sauce unleashed the flavours of his signature dish. Attic – The attic had always been a conflicting combination of apprehension and safety. Prison

Time Is Fleeting

In the right circumstances, I’ve always quite enjoyed a good quickie. Now, granted I wouldn’t want every fuck that I have to fall into the “wham, bam, thank you ma’am” category, but sometimes that’s what’s needed. There are, I’ll admit, few things that beat a long, drawn out, sex session with fondling, foreplay and lots of seriously good fucking in numerous positions; possibly doing it more than once if time allows and the flesh is capable. Sometimes, however, time is not on the side of slow, sensual sex marathons. Sometimes the need within us is too urgent for drawn out seduction and foreplay. Sometime both of these conditions can occur simultaneously. That’s when the quickie comes into its own. One particular experience happened when a particular friend (with definite benefits) of mine intimated that she had a particular need. I was, at the time, en route between appointments but, as luck would have it, my route didn’t require much of a detour to take me to hers. It was fast,

Finding Inspiration

Inspiration is all around. At least, it can be.  I tend to draw my sources from daily life. Sometimes a conversation will send my mind down avenues that I want to explore. A post, or tweet from another blogger may sometimes jog my own thoughts on a particular subject. Casually observing people going about their lives, their interactions with others can also trigger the imagination, particularly when it comes to writing fiction. Memes such as  #MasturbationMonday , #TMITuesday , #WickedWednesday , #Food4TThought , #KinkOfTheWeek or The Erotic Journal Challenge can also provide much need inspiration with their weekly/fortnightly prompts. I’ve mentioned before that, when it comes to the stories I write, there is combination of imagination and experience, in varying proportions, in every one. A particular experience, a memory, or sometimes even the anticipation of something that is still to happen can, when mixed with the correct quantity of “artistic” licence, result in something

Word for Wednesday - Oblivion

Oblivion /uh–bliv-ee-uh n/ noun the state of being completely forgotten or unknown the state of forgetting or of being oblivious the act or process of dying out; complete annihilation or extinction For those of us with depression, and other mental health conditions, there can often be something quite seductive about the state of oblivion. It can, however, mean different things for different people. For some, oblivion is a longing for death as an escape; an end of suffering. For others, it is all about the state of forgetting; about being able to somehow eliminate the negative energy that permeates every thread of their existence. For me, it is something slightly different. I’m not going to lie; there are times that I wish I were dead. I don’t want to kill myself or be killed. I don’t actually want to die; I simply want to be dead. I want to no longer feel, to no longer be aware. I want to just give up. I have no desire to exist. But that’s not what oblivion mean


Marked by Kilted Wookie Her skin was marked. Hot lines, angry lines; such a contrast from the pale, soft white skin between them. They were the lingering evidence of the belt’s kiss. In her mind, she relived the thrashing; feeling the hot tears on her face as she was made to count each stinging lash. Just as it had when the leather had bit, she felt her cunt grow moist as she remembered each impact. The anticipation, the sound of the belt as it swished through the air, followed by the crack of contact on her backside had an almost comfortable familiarity; a pace and rhythm that repetition did not dull. The crisp sharpness of each lash delivered a measured dose of pain and pleasure, each one building on the last. She had maintained a determined silence at first, uttering only the count of each stroke through clenched teeth. His delivery was, however, as merciless as it was precise. The pain intensified with each caress until each count was punctuated with sobs. Lost wi

Synergy - Not Always Greater Than The Sum Of The Parts

It should come as no surprise to anyone reading this, that cunnilingus is, and pretty much always has been, one of my favourite activities. If you didn’t know this about me already, where have you been? It also won’t (or at least shouldn’t) surprise anyone that, by virtue of being male, I am also a big fan of getting my cock sucked . So, with that, you would think that if you apply the logic of synergy and take two things that I really enjoy and combine them, then the results would be mind-blowing. Sadly, however, as a general rule, that isn’t always, or indeed, almost ever, actually the case. Now, I’m not knocking 69 (yes, OK, I suppose I am actually), it can be a lot of fun. It definitely involves all the senses and is extremely intimate. But, and it’s a big but, as fas as being an overwhelming sexual experience goes, it leaves a lot (in my opinion) to be desired. Now, I confess, the first time I did it, as a randy teenager, I was like “WOW! Fuck! That’s intense! I’ve GOT t

Special Places

In a way, this kinds of links back to last week’s post . While Friday may have been my birthday, that’s not really something that means much to me. I keep track of the passing of the years more through the steadily increasing creaks, aches and pains, along with the greying and thinning of my hair rather than paying attention to the actual number. No, for me, what is more important is that at this point in the year (i.e. late September/early October), as part of my self-care routine, I take myself away for one or two weeks to relax and recharge. I don’t always go to the same place, as I enjoy experiencing new things, but there is a place I do tend to return to quite regularly; a quiet little place on the north-west corner of the Greek island of Corfu that has, not one, but two fantastic beaches (and a particularly lovely taverna with the most amazing views, and very good beers, situated at the highest point on the ridge that separates them). The fact that both beaches welcome tho

On The Inside

Mental illness often makes me feel like an outsider; as someone who is always on the periphery and not quite part of group. Oddly, this doesn’t actually bother me as much as some people might think it would. Yes, it can be quite a lonely existence sometimes, but I’ve always been a bit of a loner, someone who keeps their own counsel and has learned to depend on myself. If you were to look up “introvert” in an illustrated dictionary, you’d stand a fair chance of seeing a picture of me there as a definition. Like a lot of people with mental illness, I spend a lot of time “inside my head”. I reflect on things, turning them over and over in my mind; often trying to work out how I could have dealt with a particular situation more effectively. Sometimes, however, I recall something that I’ve done well and focus on that. It doesn’t happen often, but it happens just often enough to stop the lights from going out completely. I spend a lot of time looking inwards. Self analysis can, all too

TMI Tuesday: October 2, 2018 - Joy In Sex

Joy In Sex What is the most annoying thing to you during foreplay or sex? Interruptions. There really is nothing worse than just as things are slotting into place, as it were, the phone rings, there’s a knock at the door, the cat throws up on the floor in front of you. These things really do put a dampener on the mood. Tell us something you really wanted to do but let someone talk you out of when deep down you wanted to do it? This may sound unlikely, but I’m not sure there is anything. Having a sexual career spanning the best part of three decades, if there’s something I’ve wanted to do, I’ve almost certainly done it. Where I haven’t, it has been down to circumstances rather than another person telling me they didn’t want to. It’s one of those situations where communication is key and understanding and accepting each other’s boundaries prevents disappointment. During sex are you more orgasm-centred or going for an all out enjoyable experience with connection? The simple answ

#StoryIn12 - September

Another month, another collection of 12 word flash fiction written for the #StoryIn12   meme on twitter , hosted by  Molly (aka @mollysdailykiss ) and Wriggly Kitty (aka @Wriggly_Kitty ). Here are this month’s contributions: Question  – Like most politicians, he had a tendency to avoid answering the question. Upstairs  – A trail of playfully discarded clothing enticed him to follow her upstairs. White  – The white lines streaked across her skin; the evidence of his climax. Ladylike – The urgent need that gripped her, left no time for ladylike behaviour. Authority  – She had no problem with authority, she just loved feeling his belt. Dirty  – “Time to get my hands dirty” he thought, rolling up his sleeves. Tasty  – Her lingering flavour on his lips; a tasty reminder of their passion. Freedom  – Her submission allowed her to be the person she wanted to be. Charcoal  – He traced her gentle curves on the paper with bold charcoal lines. School – The skills he liked to employ


Signs by Kilted Wookie Mascara streaked tears ran down her face, across cheeks flushed red with pain and arousal. The imprint of the rope, with its coils and knots crossed her skin; a pink swelling, evidence of how she’d struggled against it, pulling it tighter, digging into her flesh. Angry crimson welts, such a sharp contrast against the otherwise pale whiteness of her skin, burned across her buttocks, a market testiment to the kiss of his belt where it had rained down on her. Her smuged lipstick, a silent witness of how he had taken his pleasure from her mouth; her jaw ached and her throat was hoarse, a pleasnt reminder of how he had used her. Thick, sticky white globs of his essence on her her neck and over her breasts; a sign of his release. She barely noticed its warmth as it trickled over her skin, so inconsequential in comparison to the heat of her recently thrashed backside. His arms wrapped tightly but tenderly around her, holding her close; comforting and

Animals Unleashed

A touch – a drag of a fingertip across my skin; up my side, across my chest and down my abdomen. Her lips on my neck, the warmth of her breath causing goose-pimples. The hand moves lower, down the outside of my thigh then up the inside. My body tenses. A sigh escapes from between my lips. She knows my body so well, knows what I like, knows my responses. A fingernail is drawn lightly along the underside of my penis. I flinch and grow harder. “You like that, don’t you?” she whispers huskily in my ear. I nod. “Uh huh,” I sigh. She does it again. The same result. She teases the tip before lightly circling the head with her finger. My spasms make her chuckle. She knows exactly what to do to make me give her what she wants, what she needs. Fingers stroke up and down. She kisses her way down my body. I stiffen in anticipation of what she is about to do. Her lips replace her fingers; she kisses up and down my shaft. Her tongue teases the tip before she wraps her lips around me an

Getting Started

I wrote my first erotic story way back in about 1998/99 and posted it on one of the alt-dot newsgroups on usenet . A couple of years later, I found Literotica and started posting my stories on there. I also posted them on a “blog” at adult friendfinder . I wasn’t aware of there being a blogging community at that point, just the people who frequented those sites and who occasionally commented or left feedback on my posts. In 2011 I discovered Twitter and created the persona of Hairy Highlander . I also moved my stories on to a wordpress blog to create what would become the first iteration of what would, after several deletions and reinventions, eventually evolve into this site. In those days, however, it was still very much just me and a few people I had began to chat with. I still didn’t really “belong” to a community as such. People liked my stories. People chatted to me on Twitter. That was pretty much that. In 2014 came the first deletion. For reasons I won’t go in to, Hairy

Sensual Sounds

I don’t really say much during sex; I’m usually far too distracted. That’s not to say that I lie there in stony silence while the other person tries to determine if I’m enjoying her attentions; I may not say a lot, but I do tend to vocalise quite a lot. It seems I have quite a range of moans, groans, sighs and occasional whimpers. These are often accompanied by my non-vocal responses: the flinches, the twitches and the all too noticeable finalĂ©. In terms of how my partner expresses pleasure, that’s pretty much down to them. Like everyone, I do like to get some form of “constructive feedback” to let me know what I am doing is being enjoyed. I’ve known women who like to talk, to tell me what they’d like me to do, and let me know that I am doing it right. I’ve known others who, like myself, tend to just moan and sigh. Thankfully, I’ve never had a partner who has been a pornesque asthmatic banshee, as I suspect I would find that decidedly offputting. I’m all for encouragement, but I’d

Self Indulgence

I have referred to my masturbatory “dry-spell” before. For reasons due to my depression and the medicine I take to control it, attempting to provide myself with a little “personal relief” all to often results in causing more frustration than it alleviates. Such being the case, it is something I have more or less given up on, as effort and frustration far outweighs any benefit I may derive from it. In those days when I was much more inclined, I always used my hands . It is, I suppose, entirely possible that toy use could help alleviate my current masturbatory reticence, but I suspect I will never know for sure. I’m not knocking the use of male masturbation aids; I know that many men find them highly enjoyable, they are, however, just not my thing. While I have often enjoyed watching partners masturbate; for me, doing it myself has almost always been a private pleasure. This isn’t so much a personal preference on my part; more that the partners I have had have almost invariably

#StoryIn12 - August

Another month, another collection of micro fiction for  #StoryIn12 , the flash fiction meme on twitter , hosted by  Molly (aka @mollysdailykiss ) and Wriggly Kitty (aka @Wriggly_Kitty ). This time I have surpassed myself and actually managed to come up with a story for all 31 daily prompts. Here are this month’s contributions: Vice – The migraine felt like his head was being crushed in a vice. Letter – One letter at a time, he slowly deciphered the secret message’s meaning. Husband  – She didn’t need a husband, all she really needed was a lover. Sunday – Sunday: the end of the weekend, a new week full of potential. Fight – Not wanting to fight, he retreated into the safety of the shadows. French – He couldn’t speak French but he understood her intention; desire is universal. Grace  – He said grace, then lent forward between her legs to taste her. Barefoot  – Walking barefoot through the breaking waves was one of life’s simple pleasures. Reflection – The reflection