1. Deryk (2) - If Kilts Are Your Thing.......


    Date: 9/1/2015, Categories: Fantasy, Anal, Ass to mouth, Domination/submission, Extreme, Gay, Hardcore, Monster, Violence, Author: Bulge Voyeur, Rating: 25, Source: sexstories.com

    had given me the night before and scanning the rocks and bracken for any sign or clue of his having been there. The path passed close by a small tarn or pond fed by hill water from the ridge and there were the remains of an old barn or croft nearby. I was about to make the detour to investigate when I spotted something in the bracken; leather; a leather strap; then the unmistakable shape of a leather sporran. It was his! There was a small stream just a few yards away and as I cast my eyes up and down the gulley, I spotted the unmistakable shape of a kilt, now soaking wet and filthy dirty, lying in the mud. But there was no sign of Deryk. Stepping down into the stream, my heart sank into the pit of my stomach as I saw him, lying face down in the mud, completely naked except for his socks and his X-Men tee shirt. I was shivering with fear now, at what I might be about to discover. He was a pitiful sight; lying there in the shallow, rocky stream, his body last night tanned and strong was now grey, shriveled and helpless. As I bent down to touch his battered and bruised body, I feared the worst. I felt his neck; there was a pulse from his carotid artery – a feint one but a pulse at least. He stirred at my touch. “Mark?” he murmured, “Is that you?” He raised his head and turned, but as he tried to get up, I realised that his body was covered with large wheals and bruises, as if he had been kicked repeatedly, and his face was puffy with bruises, cuts and grazes. I lifted him up ...
    and comforted him, as I took off my coat and put it over his cold and shivering shoulders. “You came for me. I knew you would come for me,” he quietly sobbed, “just like when we were kids.” Tears began to mingle with mud and blood on his beautiful but beaten face. “Who did this to you?” I asked, as I used my handkerchief to wipe the mud from his face. “Those bastards in the bar last night,” he muttered, gritting his teeth, as if gathering strength, “I should have known better. They fucked me all roads, the bastards. But at least you’re here now.” By now the weather was getting angry; the wind had picked up and the cold rain was starting to come down quite heavily. And it was getting dark. I looked at my watch and realised that, in his condition, we would never get back to the car before nightfall and this terrain would be treacherous in the dark, even if we tried. God knows where his boots were – stolen I guess, along with his talisman and the contents of his sporran. I checked my mobile phone to call for help but just when I needed it most, there was no signal. I decided the only thing to do was to seek some kind of shelter and I remembered the ruined croft a few hundred yards away, so with some difficulty, I managed to get Deryk to his feet and we staggered out of the ditch and across the bracken, eventually to discover that part of the ruin was still a small roofed structure with a half-broken barn door on the other side. As we staggered inside, we were greeted by the warmth ...
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