The Last Drop Tavern

Gordon watched as Krystie closed her eyes enjoying the sensation of his hands working their way along her leg. He was enjoying the sensation of her foot against his inner thigh which started to trace the outline of the bulge that was forming there.
The table between them prevented either from reaching any further without being obvious to the rest of the trains passengers what was going on.
So Gordon relaxed back in his seat and enjoyed the sensation of Krystie's foot and the feel of her legs in his hands.

Krystie had closed her eyes as Gordon's hands caressed the taught muscles of her calves, his hands firm but gentle stroking up to her knee and just barely teasing the flesh above it, where the skin became softer and more sensitive. She squirmed a little bit as she felt that familiar warmth start between her legs. She kept her eyes closed letting the warmth from the window infuse her from the outside as the glow grew inside her.

A sudden jolt rocked the carriage causing her eyes to fly open, an angry shout came from somewhere above her as she tried to work out where she was.
The warm sunlight no longer penetrated the carriage as a set of curtains now covered the windows, the table in front of her had disappeared and she now sat on a much firmer upright seat.
Her mind struggled to take in her surroundings as her eyes tried to adjust to the darkness, some light crept in around the curtains as they swung back and forth revealing wooden panels and only four seats. The carriage no longer ran smoothly along the steel rails but bounced and swung as if on a rough road, her mind began to register the sounds of the creaking wood and clattering of hooves outside.
'Where was she?' her eyes then gave her something else to consider: 'What the hell am I wearing?'
Her blouse and skirt had been removed and replaced with a bodice and long flowing skirt, it reminded her of some of the female characters at a medieval fayre that she had visited one summer.
She had wondered what it would be like to wear such an outfit, living and loving like they did then, now she was experiencing it first hand.

A hand reached out and slid back one of the curtains, the light that streamed in revealed another passenger sitting opposite her in what she now realised was a horse drawn coach.
She could not see the other passengers face as he looked out of the window, the wide brimmed hat which he wore at a rakish angle covered his features. He wore a dark leather waistcoat with silver buttons over a white shirt, a wide sword belt hung diagonally across his chest. The sword had been unclipped and now lay on the seat next to him, her eyes continued their journey downwards and she realised that he was wearing a kilt, it's dark reds mixed with lines of green and gold thread. A sporran of white fur lay in his lap, the tassels rolling side to side with the motion of the coach.

"Did no-one tell you that it's rude to stare lassie?"
Her head shot up as she began to blush, the brim of the hat rose to reveal a face that she recognised from a different coach and time.

"Welcome to Scotland" grinned Gordon.

"What... what do you mean?" Stuttered Krystie "Where am I?"
Still smiling, Gordon leaned forward and slid his hand around her bodice, pulling her forward so that he was looking straight into her eyes, " you are on your way to the most fantastic weekend of your life, an experience of Scotland that you have only dreamt of." With that he kissed her, a deep passionate kiss, the rocking of the coach pushing their bodies together.
Krystie was caught off guard as Gordon put his lips to hers and hesitated for a moment, but the sensation of his arms holding her, his warm scent and their two bodies pressed together soon had her returning the kiss with as much passion as he put into it.
Krystie gasped slightly as they broke apart, a warm flush infused her cheeks.
Gordon lent back in his seat watching her reaction and awaiting the inevitable question.
"But I don't understand, we were on a train travelling to Edinburgh, but now?"
"We still are, you are asleep there with the sun on your face and your feet in my lap. To anyone passing they will just see two people asleep on the train."
"But it seems so real."
"It is! What you do here can affect you back on the train and visa versa."
Krystie smirked "So my foot......."
She lent forward, but unlike Gordon she did not reach around him, she reached under his Kilt.
She soon found what she was looking for, "Hmm it has been affected hasn't it?"
She ran her hand under his balls feeling the smooth skin "Do you shave with that?" She asked eyeing the sword on the seat next to him.
"Hmm I only use that one for impaling enemies" he joked.
Krystie pushed the Sporran to one side with one hand and lifted Gordon's kilt. Her other hand wrapped around the girth of his cock and pulled it into view "Who do you impale on this then?"
She moved so that she knelt between Gordon's legs, dropping her head she licked the tip of his cock with her tongue, swirling it around the head. The hand that had lifted the kilt now stroked his shaven balls, her finger tips just grazing the skin making Gordon groan.
She teased a little more before sliding some of his length into her mouth, sucking and kneading his shaft.
Gordon groaned again, the sensation of Krystie sucking his cock and stroking his balls was bringing him close to the edge all too quickly.
"Stop it!" He commanded, lifting her head away from his length.
He pushed her back into her seat.
It was his turn to get between her legs and sample her delights.

Tune for this week: Deadmau5 'I Remember' (Caspa Remix)

A trip to Denmark.

Bornholm, an island on the western edge of the Baltic belonging to the kingdom of Denmark, and Ronne its capital town, to all intents and purposes, a quiet refuge from the madding world around.
Gordon had arrived on the little “puddle jumper” of an aircraft belonging to the Danish Air Transport fleet in the middle of the Wednesday afternoon. A flight so quiet that his hold luggage had beaten him the 200 yards to the terminal.
A short drive in the hire car had brought him to the centre of Ronne where the hotel he was booked into overlooked the town square. It had not taken him long to unpack and check out the gym that lay on the floor below his room, the thumps of the weights bars landing on the mats had already reverberated up through his room making him check to see what time it closed at night. 10 pm was a reasonable time and surely there would be little other noise to disturb his sleep in this metropolis of calm.
The town square had, what was for Gordon, an unexpected number of high street shops and several banks, one of which dominated the square, there was even a kebab shop which given the average age of most of the visitors to the square, probably didn’t get much day time trade. The cafes seemed to be doing better trade from the tourists who had been brought in by the ferries from the mainland, a mixture of Danish and Swedish drifting up from the tables.
Taking his time Gordon took a stroll to find out just how far the centre extended beyond the square, after barely 5 minutes he ran out of shops and found himself amongst the small streets of the fishing houses that made up the majority of the coastal side of Ronne. Looping back, he made the mistake of stopping for a beer in what was probably the only Irish bar on the island. A mistake as being a Scotsman he felt that 10 euros was just a bit too much for a beer, even a large one. Sitting outside he sipped the ale making every drop count, every so often there would be an exodus of tourists from the cafes around as they made their way to the bus stop to rendezvous with the coach that would take them on the ferry back to the mainland.
It did not take too long before most of the seats were empty and the only company he had on the street was the occasional local taking their dog for its evening walk. A few of the restaurants started taking their chairs and tables in closing up for the day, Gordon realised that if he wanted something to eat, he had better find somewhere that was still serving before they too decided that things had gotten quiet. Draining the last of his now warm beer he set off towards the one restaurant with its lights still on and a few customers still sat at the tables.
The waitress whom greeted him had a quick glance at her watch before confirming that he would still be able to have something to eat if he was quick to order. A quick scan of the menu led him to ordering a seafood salad and a “small” beer, best not to upset the chef too much by ordering a large main course.
His first evening on Bornholm was turning out to be a rather quiet affair which did not bode well for the rest of the week, while he was not there to “party” he had rather hoped that there would be a bit more life in the islands capital.
After what had turned out the a rather tasty Seafood Salad, Gordon made his way back to the hotel room, at least with an early night he would be able to have an early start and maybe get a morning run in before breakfast. He had already found a couple of runs recorded on the internet that he fancied having a go at and if the weather was against him, the gym facilities were more than adequate for a mornings workout. So with an intriguing spy novel he settled into bed ready for a fresh start in the morning.
That was until 11pm when a cacophony of sirens began their wailing. Not just one, but many, blending together as vehicles sped past the hotel. Surely the “boy racers” of Ronne did not warrant such a response? The window of his room was facing the wrong way to make out what was happening, but it seemed that every policeman on the island was making the most of whatever the ‘event’ was to justify having sirens on their vehicles. For the next half an hour sirens would sweep past the hotel before shortly vanishing into the night leaving the town silent.
Switching the light off he settled back under the duvet letting sleep take a hold of him and release the tension built from travelling all day. He came out of his slumber briefly when the town clock struck midnight, the one o’clock chime barely disturbed him. What did disturb him however was the chainsaw revving up and starting to whine as it bit into a piece of wood.
“What MAD Dane is cutting wood at 1am?” thought Gordon as he rolled over “must be an island thing to cut your wood in the middle of the night!” Ronne, was turning out the be a bit more lively at night than expected. The grind and whine of the chainsaw continued for the next hour as whomever was in control of the machine happily went about disturbing the sleep of the Ronne residents.
The next morning, with a large yawn, Gordon roused himself to get up and go for a run. Pulling on his running gear and trainers he made his way downstairs and into the carpark at the rear of the hotel. The weather was fine and promised a sunny day ahead as he started out with a gentle pace to warm up his legs, he rounded the corner onto the street and headed towards the square, intending to run through it and up towards the forest to the north of the town. As Gordon crossed the road into the square he noticed the police car and policeman stood in the middle of the square, surrounded by a group of men all wearing hard hats.
What were the mad Danes doing now he wondered?
The answer was soon apparent as his eyes followed the path of the ladders that led up the front of the bank that had dominated the town square. The sight of blackened and charred roof beams was joined by the smell of burnt wood as the reason for the nights chorus was revealed. The roof had obviously caught fire causing much excitement throughout the community of emergency services on the island and the need to ‘make the building safe’ before the first tourists arrived the next day, had necessitated the requirements of the chainsaw.
Putting the thoughts of mad Danes cutting wood or crazed mass murderers roaming the town to the back of his mind, Gordon carried on with his run, wondering if maybe Bornholm had more ‘action’ prepared for that night.

The Schloss (I) Boardroom Dreams

Sat in the boardroom you listen with little interest to the meanderings of the meeting just wishing they would get to the point so you could get back to your office and adjust the position of the love balls you had put in just before entering the room.

With a quiet sigh you survey the room considering each participant in the meeting as to whether they hide some dark secret or just live the vanilla lifestyle that so many fall into.
Discarding a few as being boring you settle on three that might have possibilities:

Aaron the project accountant who had the girls at reception giggling every time he passed by in his tailored suits and expensive shoes, take him away from his mates and he would probably turn into some nervous little boy in need of a firm hand.

Hannah your latest intern who while appearing a to be a young innocent flower of a girl had managed to last longer than your previous 3 interns who had not been able to keep up with the workload.

Cecil who sat at the head of the table a chubby oaf of a man who leered at his secretary as if he was a gift to all woman kind.

You scribble something on your notepad to make it look as if you are interested in the meeting and care what that sweaty idiot at the head of the table has to say. You know that Hannah will take the necessary notes and brief you on anything you need to know.

In your minds eye you find yourself walking down the corridor of a gothic chateau, outside it is dark and a flicker of lightning plays its light across the walls. Along the corridor candles burn casting flickering light across the paintings of semi naked muses in acts of fornication.
You are wearing a red leather bodice that squeezes your tits up leaving the nipples exposed just on the edge of the cups. Around your waist is a long black taffeta skirt that trails behind you, but cut upward at the front exposing your smoothly shaved pussy. Your legs are clad in black silk holdups that disappear into a pair of short high heeled boots.
You stride along the corridor towards the large double doors like the mistress of the house, you have left the party in the rooms below where other revellers are acting out the scenes in the pictures that line the walls and now want to enjoy yourself.
In your hand you feel the leather leashes that trail to the figures on all fours behind you, that try to keep up with your long strides.
Reaching the door you turn to the figures, "Sit" you command forcing them to squat in front of you.
Aaron and Cecil look up at you naked bar the collars around their necks.
You have been watching the antics in the rooms below and have become aroused and long to satisfy your lust but you know it will be all the sweeter if you wait, but still your pussy is damp with anticipation and a dew drop of liquid hangs to your lips.
Tugging on Aarons lead you pull his head towards your pussy "Clean me" you tell him.
He puts his head between your legs an licks the moisture from your lips, the sensation sending a tingle of pleasure coursing through you.
Cecil tries to move forward but "NO" you snap "get down you horrid animal".
Turning to the door you push the handles down and let them swing open.
You are confronted by a large bedroom, a large oaken bed dominates the room and is lit by two candelabras, heavy drapes hang halfway across the windows keeping out the worst of the storm outside, but still allowing the flash of lightning to enter the room.
In one burst of light you see, in the darkened corner, two figures, one is sat in a high back chair holding a glass while the other is stood to one side holding a tray with a carafe of wine on it.
Smiling to yourself, you walk into the room tugging the leads making your two minions follow you in.

The Schloss (II) In the room

Once inside the room you turn and unclip Cecil, "Close the doors and stay there" you instruct him.
You walk to the bed, sitting Aaron at the side before taking up position on the end facing the two figures that are in shadow.
You catch a movement as the seated figure gestures at the other who moves forward, as it approaches you start to make out more detail. A young woman dressed in calf length suede boots and a PVC dress emerges from the dark, finally her face is revealed, it is Hannah, her small breasts push against the material and you can make out the outline of her nipples and the piercings through them.
Leaning forward she offers you a glass of wine from the tray she is carrying.
Taking the glass you watch as she goes to the bedside table and places the tray on it before returning to where Aaron is sitting, she pats his head like he was a dog, scratching him behind the ears then sliding her hand down his naked chest. As she bends over you can see that under her dress she is not wearing any knickers and a clit piercing is dangling down between her slim legs.
Her hand reaches Aarons cock where it hangs between his legs, she strokes it then gives it a sharp tug as it starts to get hard "Naughty boy!" she laughs with girlish glee, before trotting back into the shadows.
Sipping the wine you lean back against the pillows, one hand stroking a nipple where it peeks above the bodice making it hard. You have 4 pairs of eyes watching your actions, you know that the night is going to be long and steamy and that this is only the beginning, the anticipation turns you on with images of carnal pleasure. Your fingers glide to your pussy, tracing the outline of your lips, drifting over the nub of your clit sending a shiver up your spine.
Your eyes are getting used to the dark and now you can see the figure in the chair, though the face is still in shadow, Hannah no longer stands beside the chair but kneels beside it, the top of her dress has been unzipped and she plays with the piercings of her nipples with one hand while the other has pushed back the material of a Kilt and is taking long slow strokes of the cock underneath, but her eyes are on you waiting to see what happens next.
You dribble a bit of wine over your breasts letting the cool liquid roll down your cleavage, pointing at Aaron you order: "come here and clean me".
He moves forward and you see that his cock has recovered from Hannah's handling, but you lay back and let him clean up the wine with his tongue. You sense a movement next to you, Cecil has left his post at the door and is trying to join in. "Get down" you snap, but still he pathetic excuse of a penis sways between his legs as he tries to climb on top of you.
In a flash of lightning you see a slim hand reach through his legs and grab his cock, he squeals in pain as the hand wrenches it backwards and he falls off the bed.
Hannah stands over the whimpering figure of Cecil and places the heel of her boot against his side rolling him over on his back, in her hand she holds a plastic cock cage, she pushes his hands away from his genitals and snaps the cage over his limp cock. "Bad boys don't get to play!"
Aaron has stopped licking at your breasts and looks alarmed as Hannah gets onto the bed and makes her way up your side, her hand trails over your bodice, "please relax madam, he will not be bothering us again".
Her hand reaches your cleavage and a finger trails through a spot of red wine, tracing a path first around one nipple then the other. "Good boy" she says to Aaron "carry on with your duties."
He leans in again cleaning up the trails that Hannah has just made.
Hannah takes your hand and places it on her breast, letting your squeeze it and play with the piercing, her hand has drifted down your bodice and makes lazy patterns on the sensitive skin around your pussy.
She is looking you in the eye, smiling and enjoying the moment, giving you pleasure.
Now that you are clean Aaron starts to suck and lick your nipples occasionally nibbling them to make them hard.
Hannah has slipped her hand under her dress and you can see that she is playing with herself as she starts to rub your clit and slide her finger into your hot wet depths, she throws her head back as a wave of pleasure runs through her.
Leaning forward her face is mere centimetres from yours, you can feel her hot sweet breath and tantalising scent as she asks, "May I play with your pet?"
You are intrigued as to what she means and nod your head in agreement.
She moves back and behind Aaron where she reaches through his legs and starts to stroke his cock, he flinches a little expecting a hard tug like the last time, but soon relaxes as his length stiffens. Leaning forward she spits on his ass before sliding a finger into him, letting her spit lubricate the way.
He moans with pleasure and becomes more ardent with his movements, moving to your pussy mound and licking away at the moisture that is gathering.
"Hmmm, there's a good boy, haven't you got a nice cock."
Hannah moves round to his side and positions herself on all fours in front of him, wiggling her bum she pulls her skirt exposing her round buttocks and wet pussy, "come on boy, come and fuck me like the bitch I am" she purrs offering herself up to him, reaching underneath herself to open her pussy and expose her damp pink depths for his rigid cock to enter.
Aaron is almost panting with lust and moves away from you to position himself behind Hannah, who is looking you in the eyes waiting for the moment that he makes his first thrust into her tight little pussy.

Samhuinn is here:

Beltane Fire Society

When in Rome

‘Rome is full of tourists’ thought the Scribe as he emerged from the Metro, and to all appearances he was right, crowds bustled around the Piazza dodging cars, scooters and locals alike.

He followed the flow towards the Fontana di Trevi, doing the “tourist bit” just for a short while.

Using his height, he caught a couple of shots of the fountain over the heads of the crowds who vied for a position at the edge of the water.

Time for a drink.

Making a rapid exit from the tiny square he took the path of least resistance, or at least the one with the fewest tourists. It did not take long for the backpacks and selfie sticks to disappear and be replaced by shoulder bags and umbrellas.

As he made his way up the street a sign hiding behind the folded material of a weather worn table umbrella caught his eye.

On a greying blackboard someone had tried to freshen up the lettering and now the bright white chalk proclaimed “The Public House”.

Just inside the double doors with their flaking paint the entrance to the bar stood open, loud Italian voices spilled out onto the pavement as he took the steps up into the dull interior.

The Naughty Scribe catches himself dreaming of what could have been:

She waited for him to emerge from the bar toilets, it had been a fun night and ‘The Public House’ had been kicking, everyone getting into the swing of things. She had been working behind the bar, mixing cocktails and pouring beers trying to keep up with the customers requests until she caught a glimpse of his smile at the end of the bar.
He had been talking to his friend and they were obviously sharing a joke as he turned to catch her eye, unlike the other customers he was not waving or calling to get her attention, he just gave a smile and a friendly nod when he knew she had seen him.
It had taken her a few minutes to finish off the rounds that she had been preparing before she could get down to his end of the bar, dodging one or two customers who should have really come first.
“Hey” he greeted as if he was surprised to see her so soon, “you are quick” his bright blue eyes shone in the light of the bar, almost drowning her in their intensity. For the rest of the evening he had been the perfect gent, a breath of fresh air compared with some of the other customers.
He and his friend had engaged with the staff and some of the clientele, making light of silly things, the smiling and laughing were infectious spreading to all those around them, making the time fly.
She almost felt a thrill when she would turn around and catch him glancing her way, not in a weird possessive way, but because he had been looking her way.
The arms of the clock had now crept towards 2 o’clock in the morning most of the customers had left for home or the nearest night club. She had done her glass collecting rounds making sure to brush past him and catch a whiff of his aftershave, a woody scent mixed with a lighter fruiter note, masculine but fun at the same time.
But now she wanted to take him in her arms. Show him that his respect had not been missed and those pleasing glances had been appreciated.
She wanted to know what he was thinking was he honest was he relaxed would they enjoy a night of passion?
So, she waited until he emerged from the cubicle and when he did she wrapped her arms around him “do you want me?”

In The Public House, Rome

Jasmine

The darkness that permeated Scotland didn't seem to bother the redhead in the short leather coat. The drizzle was set to work itself into a solid downpour as she ducked down an alleyway, and into a doorway to step out of the rain. Her fingertips caressed the cobblestone of the nearest wall.

Every inch of the country was magic. And she knew a little bit about magic.

Her palm pressed flat against the uneven surface as if the contact could conjure memories that went further back than a night or two ago. Cities, like this one, had their own breath, their own rhythm, and Jas would take some time feeling it out before she decided what she was going to do.

She had to do something- her boss wouldn't allow for less.

She took a long, reluctant breath in, and pushed out of the door jam and emerged out of the alley, pausing as the door to her right opened- letting out the warmth and rumble of a bar- what did they call them around here? Taverns? Pubs?

What better place to get a handle on how things worked?

Moving swiftly, she caught the door before it closed fully, and nudged it open to admit her small frame. Barely 5'2", Jasmine was short, even for a woman. She had long auburn hair that slipped down to her mid-back and biting blue eyes. She was pretty- but the sort of pretty that only came when she smiled. Most of the time, she looked like a ruffian, tattoos on her knuckles, and the idea of more when her short shirt moved. Her leather coat made her rough-and-tumble look complete, but there was something about it- as if that look was a facade. Maybe it was the grace in the way she moved. Maybe it was the way her gaze lingered on some, not with a challenge, but with a deep, engrossing stare as if she was seeing more than their own presentation.

She moved through the room, ignoring the glances that she got as a stranger in a new place. She liked the feeling of it- the warm wood, and warm lights. The sounds of a friendly game of cards in the corner, or was it cribbage? Hard to tell. Even the gleam of the bar. She slid onto a stool, and glanced up, studying the bartender a moment, before looking beyond him, to the bottles behind him.

"Somethin' strong ahn smooth, darlin'. Glenhaven?" She asked- a surprising US southern accent, more foreign here than at home. She flashed the man a smile- a quick one- and nodded as he pulled out the bottle and started to fill her glass. She put some cash on the bar as he set down her glass- local currency, and more than enough to cover the drink and more.

Passing her thumb over the edge of the glass, she saluted him, and took a mouthful, considering the alcohol on her tongue, then swallowed, and nodded in agreement. Clearly, she approved of the drink.

(Pic attached)

Tossing the empty bottle of Glenhaven into the skip Dave caught sight of the woman's hand as she put her money on the bar, a mixture of symbols and words inked out in various patterns adorned her skin and undoubtedly extended beyond the sleeves of her shirt.
Turning to the till he reached down the side and extracted a business card from the small pile that was tucked in the gap between the machine and the Frangelico, a bottle that even to the best of his knowledge had never been opened.
Returning to the bar he slid her money back towards her along with the card.
"We'll put that on your tab for you. You can settle up in the 'members bar' tonight." he said, deliberately tapping his finger on the square symbol marked on the card, the same symbol that he had noted in the patterns on her hand.



The redhead slid her money and card off the bar just as Heather the barmaid arrived with a full tray of empty glasses, "Can I get another round of Deuchars for table 6 and table 2 would like their bill."
Dave took the tray away and started to pull 4 local ales from the tap on the bar.
"Hi, is this your first visit?" asked Heather as she waited for the glasses to be filled "I'm Heather and this is Dave, welcome to The Last Drop. Don't be alarmed by some of the things you see in here we get all sorts visiting, just watch out for Mr McCleish" she nodded towards the corner where an old man sat drawing on his pipe studying the level of the beer in his glass.

Before Jas could enquire what Heather meant about Mr McCleish, the barmaid had picked up the tray of beer and was off dodging between the tables to deliver the order to table 6.

It took a moment for her to realise but the patrons at table 6 were not quite what Jasmine expected to see, alright they were dressed in kilts, but that was to be expected in Scotland, they were in fact Great Kilts, the tartan not only wrapped around the waist but up over the shoulder and bunched at the rear, nearly twice the size of a 'normal' kilt. They wore grey jerkins adorned with various pouches and belts, a broad black strap hanging over their shoulders carried a sword that from the hilt looked well used.

The scrape of chairs on the wooden floor drew her attention away from the Highlanders and to table 2 where a group of four students were just getting up, one of them slipped his cash card into the machine Heather was holding and proceeded to type in his PIN while the others gathered up their note books and laptops.

The 4 Highlanders barely glanced up as the students walked past in their jeans and jackets, zipping them up ready to face the rain that had set in for the night.

She glanced down at the card, then up at the bartender, studying his eyes for a long moment. Her hand covered his on the money, tapping her finger gently on it, then releasing him. The tips of her fingers had been rough- four lifetimes of rough labor did that- but her skin had been cool and almost soothing.

When the waitress came up, she slid the money and the card away wordlessly, watching the woman introduce herself, the bartender- who hadn't introduced himself- and insists that everything there was nothing to be alarmed over. She rose a brow and opened her mouth to respond, and she was off again. She turned and put her back to the bar, studying the room.

Her eyes went to the kids- and dismissed them out of hand. Her eyes lingered on the Scotsmen for a long moment. She knew of great kilts, dress kilts, all sorts. Corman was from here, and she had seen him in all manner of traditional garb. The cloth was beautiful. It reminded her of him, and how she had peeled it from his skin and made sure he knew just how delicious she thought it was. She knew swords as well- but openly carried was different.

She jerked her head away from the men as if the memory had slapped her. In a way, it had. A long reminder of what they had lost. She still wasn't sure what she was doing on this damn island. Maybe torture was too easy of a word for it. Frowning to herself, she turned back to the bar, and finished the Glenhaven with an easy swallow, and glanced at the men's watch around her wrist. Nearly ten. That club was open. Maybe she needed to just go, pay her tab, and go back to her hotel room. She rubbed the back of her hand against her forehead and let out a breath. "Thanks fer de tip darlin'" She said to Dave, giving him an absent smile that didn't reach her eyes.

Dave watched the short redheaded figure leave the bar and wondered if he had made the right decision in passing the card to her.
Maybe she wasn't what he had taken her for?
Well the Cauldron would sort that out they knew how to handle those sort of things.
Heather came up to the bar with a hand full of coins "Table 6 wants to pay, is this enough?" she asked.
Glancing down at her hand Dave counted 5 old Scottish 'Merks' and did a quick calculation in his head, before sliding open a drawer in the bar and extracting a 'Half Merk' coin, "there you go".
Heather swapped the four silver coins for the half merk and returned to the table.
Dave absentmindedly rolled the four coins in his fingers as he thought about the redhead, he couldn't shake off the feeling that there was something going on there that would bring a few new visitors through the portal of the Last Drop.
Shaking off the feeling he threw the coins into the drawer where they made a dull 'thunk' as they landed in the pile that was already there.

For those who want to follow Jasmines adventures in Scotland please go Here

Happy 2018

Happy 2018 to everyone

Gordon climbed down from the Landrover, he slipped on his Panama hat to ward off the bright tropical sun, the sun that still hurt his eyes after the red eye flight from Frankfurt.
A Scotsman by birth he travelled with work and had just completed a long stint in the North of Norway.
The dark nights overlooking the frozen wilderness just inside the Arctic Circle had been spent browsing the internet and trying to find a way to spend the bonus he was accumulating, which was when he discovered ‘The Resort’.
At first it had been vague comments posted on a couple of forums which caught his eye, he started digging a bit and eventually found a small website which gave a contact email address and no more.
It was a few days before he mailed them for details, not quite sure if it would be ‘his thing’, but dark nights and saunas can do strange things to a man, so he tossed care to the wind and went for it.
Now he found himself stood by the jetty looking out towards the island where they told him The Resort was located. One of the Resorts water taxis had just left and he could see a woman with her hair flowing out in the wind as she released it from the pony tail it had been in, just behind her sat a man looking rather green “perhaps they are a couple” he thought, “wonder if they would like a bit of company?”
“All right man?” the driver asked
“Yeah, just a bit shattered from the flight.”
“Well best you get some rest man, you’ll need your energy over there” he grinned.
Gordon smiled in return, why worry? They all knew what went on over the water.
“Your bags are in the boat, you be sure to have a good time now.”
Gordon thanked the driver and slipped his shoes off as he walked over the sand to the jetty, enjoying the warmth on his skin, soon to be all over when he got to strip off his trousers and shirt. “Just a Panama and a smile” he grinned settling into the boat.
As the boat bumped over the waves with the spray kicking up and dampening his linen shirt which stuck to his skin and cooled him off a bit, he put his feet up on his bag. Not a big bag since it was a clothes free holiday, but big enough for a few ‘outfits’ and his ‘piece de resistance’, something he rarely travelled without.
The Resort organised various party evenings, encouraging everyone to mingle and dress up (provocatively of course) adding to the hedonistic feel of the place, he just hoped what he had brought would be adequate. Everything was catered for with no need to carry money, well there wasn’t many places to keep your wallet! He had chosen a room with a sea view, so he could step out and be at the beach bar in a matter of moments or walk around the corner to the Jacuzzi and Pool areas.
The boat began to slow as they approached the resort pier, ahead of him he could see the woman making her way up the path towards the reception area, she seemed to look round as the noise of the boats engine reached her, but then she may have been speaking to her partner from the boat who seemed to have regained his colour and was only a few steps behind her.
Gordon could feel the hint of butterflies in his stomach, the feeling he always got when he was about to step into a situation which was new and out of his ‘comfort zone’, who knew what would happen at the resort…..

Tram Short 1



Margo's foot tapped restlessly as she hugged her long coat around herself to keep out the damp Edinburgh night.
"Where was that damned Tram?"
Standing at the corner of the tram stop she stared studiously up the length of Princess Street towards Calton Hill waiting for the lights of the tram to appear as it turned the corner out of St Andrews Square.
"Come on, come on, come on" she muttered to herself.
The woman on the benches behind her giggled as her swain whispered sweet nothings in her ear, Margo shuddered irrationally at the sound, willing the tram to appear by the power of thought alone.
The high pitched pips from the tram that had pulled into the other side of the platform only moments before punctuated the moment, as it closed it's doors, the background hum increased as it pulled off heading in the direction that Margo wished her tram would appear from.
The departing trams red tail lights receded down the track, heading into the cold wind that blew through the stop, causing Margo to scrunch down into the warmth of her coat and look down at her boots, the leather darkened by the rain that had been soaking the city all day.
How she longed to get into the warmth of her flat and kick off her sodden boots.
A shuffle of shoes on the pavement brought her head up, the lovers had stood up and were moving to the edge of the platform.
Margo's head flicked round to look back down the street to where a long snaking set of lights curved onto Princess Street, passing the red lights of the tram that had just left the stop, and started their steady progress towards her.
Moving her feet a bit she straightened up, shaking off the damp that had gathered in what had felt like an interminable wait, she could now hear the trams hum as it approached, figures were visible, standing up getting ready to disembark after the short journey from St Andrews Square.
The tram slid into the stop, its doors opening and spilling both light and customers onto the wet concrete before allowing Margo and the lovers into it's warm embrace.
In a matter of moments the doors shut with their customary pips and the tram moved off, disappearing into the night.

Tram Short 2

Another "Short" inspired by the picture in Tram Short 1

Love always seemed to pass him going the other way!
If he was just getting out of a relationship then his perfect girl would be "I've just met someone", if he was diving headlong into yet another disastrous relationship then it would be him using those very words.
Iain sighed as the tram rumbled its way through the West End heading onto Princess Street.
He had walked up to the West End stop from The Mad Hatter's pub, yet another site to put on his map of "places to be Stood Up". The damp had made the decision to take the tram for him, no point in being anymore miserable.
Swaying slightly as it rounded the corner of Shandwick Place, the bars on either side of the street bright and welcoming, filled with, what seemed to Iain to be, happy couples laughing and chatting, getting to know each other. Not breaking up, not receiving text messages explaining how "things just wouldn't work out" and definitely no sad blokes standing outside waiting for something that would never come.
The lad in the doorway shuffled slightly holding his bike against the motion of the tram as it slowed for the next stop, someone else for whom the wet streets had made a decision.
The doors slid open letting the light from the tram spill out onto the Princess Street stop and letting the cold air spill into the cabin.
With his back to the window Iain twisted slightly in his seat to look at the stop, his eyes fell upon a happy couple sitting on the bench, sharing a kiss. He started to turn away, but his eyes caught the outline of a woman standing at the corner of the shelter, he studied her for a moment.
She was almost studiously staring away from the happy couple, her hair tied high and tight in a bun, bag hanging from her shoulder and thick coat wrapped around her, she appeared to be making every effort to ignore the bubble of happiness emitted by the couple on the bench.
The door alarm sounded as the tram prepared to move off, taking it's passengers on the next leg of their journey and their final stop.
The woman's head turned, but not to look at the couple or the departing tram, she stared down at her boots, deep in contemplation, thought Iain.
Someone else going "the other way" he sighed.

Erastus stepped through the doors of the Grad Aetherlodge in Berlin, sliding his goggles down to his neck he took a moment to let his eyes adjust to the dim lighting.
Candles adorned the tables sending flickering shadows around the walls while, glowing globes of light reflected on the brass rivets and copper plate of the bar. At one end of the room a small stage supported two musicians who were tuning up their instruments ready for the evenings entertainment.
Adjusting the position of his sword belt Erastus stepped up to the bar, finding a stool he swept his Kilt round so that his bare buttocks rested on the cool metal of the seat while the Kilt material hung down around the stool legs.
"Was trinken sie?" asked the barmaid, her brown leather corset pushing her breasts up and exposing a large amount of flesh and the most delightful of cleavages, enhanced by her necklace, a thin leather thong that followed the curve of her neckline before dangling it's half moon charm over the warm depths of her bodice. "Hier oben" she laughed.
Bringing his eyes up from her cleavage Erastus found her looking at him with a crooked smile, obviously he was not the first one who had almost lost themselves in her charms.
"Ein bier bitte" he requested admiring her figure as she turned away to get the beer and a glass for him, the corset held her midriff in before it flared out to her hips and the black skirt that, at the rear, trailed to the ground but was short at the front showing off her beautiful stocking covered legs and stunning high heeled boots.