A cool morning mist shrouded the mountains and muffled the sound of the sea relentlessly smashing against basalt cliffs to the west. Gulls squawked as they soared on the thermals and dived to fill their bellies with herring for chicks that waited in scary nests on implausible ledges. Iomar shaded his eyes with a soily hand as he looked out towards the sun, now bursting through the thinning mist, rising up from the rounded shoulder of Fiachleach – the mountain he had known since he could walk. It was time to go back for his porridge. As he strode back towards the wee black-house (built in a day), his thick boots pounded the soft ground and the heavy woollen pleats of his kilt rhythmically flopped into his muscular thighs. Back home, the air filled with the homely reek of the peat fire as it regained its strength in the hearth and water began to boil in its black cauldron lit by a warm orange glow that filled the stone walled room.
Even though he had been teaching at Hollywood High for twelve years, and had been roughed up so often that he now held a gun permit, David Lawrence had not lost his optimism. He was an amiable, youthful thirty-seven, amusing and well liked by his associates, especially the female ones.
Living in the Bladerunner world of modern Los Angeles, he accepted his grim wages, the fact that his marriage had failed and the continuous dangers of his thankless profession without repining. Blessed by nature with wit, remarkably good looks, a cheerful disposition and a propensity for indulging his senses, David found ways to enjoy himself every day.
Meeting women was not a problem, but finding a girl who shared his interest in spanking was. It wasn’t enough just to find a woman who would take a spanking. What he really craved was a female counterpart, a fabulous fetishist, who thought about spanking as much as he did.
As my train pulled into the station, I could see her standing waiting on the platform for me. Framed in the doors, she was dressed in a short summer dress, setting off her slim, athletic body to perfection. I’d first met her training at our local swimming club, and, four years later we were still together. As the doors opened, I stepped off into the bright sunshine and into her passionate embrace. As our lips met and our tongues explored each others mouths, I felt her reach down and squeeze my erection, which was already rubbing painfully against my jeans. I reached underneath her skirt and scratched up the inside of her thigh in response. As I got closer to her pussy she arched back and smiled at me. I carried on and traced the outline of her knickers with my forefinger.