White Tailed Eagles Pt. 01

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Brian decides to drive to Scotland to see the White tailed Eagles. He picks up a pretty hitch-hiker before he’s an hour down the road.

This is a three part series. All characters are over 18 years of age.

The problem with Television programs these days is that… they are mostly total rubbish. Soaps, reality or competitions of one sort of another. Even nature programs have a ‘message’. If I watch anything it is sport, mostly but not football, ever (that’s soccer if you live on the other side of the pond). Sports programs tend to carry a lot of advertising and that’s when I channel hop, or make a cup of tea. It was on one such channel hopping sessions that I came across a little item on the White Tailed Eagle.

I’m not a twitcher. I don’t rush all over the country to try and see a rare, off course, migrant but I do enjoy birds, feathered and unfeathered. In fact I enjoy pretty much anything to do with nature or history, the older the better. That’s history not birds, you understand?

It seems that the White Tailed eagle was re-introduced to Scotland back in the 90’s and had done well. They had a plan to re-introduce it to the Isle of Wight in Southern England the following year, 2019. I’d not seen a White Tailed eagle, in the wild before.

Of course I could have waited a year or two then taken a trip to the Isle of Wight, maybe a little over two hours from home, spot the birds and still back home for tea. Like I said, I’m not a twitcher but I am retired and filling time with enjoyable activities is what retirement is all about. Google took less than 10 seconds to tell me that White Tailed eagles were resident in North West Scotland (all year round). That was it then, sorted!

The following morning I organised everything I would need. That afternoon I prepared and provisioned the van and loaded it up ready for a reasonably early start the following morning. I say reasonably because I didn’t want to hit the motorways during the rush hour. I lived about an hour twenty from the nearest motorway so planned on leaving about 8 to 8:30 ‘ish.

Up with the lark and the rain was hammering down on the glass of the conservatory roof. I could barely hear myself think much less hear the ‘snap, crackle and pop’ of my breakfast cereal. Should have checked the weather forecast I muttered to myself as I put my wellington boots next to the ‘things forgotten’ bag by the front door.

The app said things would brighten up around 9 so I made another cup of tea and double checked that nothing else needed to go in the bag. By 9:10 things had indeed brightened up so I made a dash for the van and got on my way. By 9:30 I was approaching the main road with my windscreen wipers clicking back and forth on slow. Traffic wasn’t too bad and we were making 40mph on a 50mph road. At the crest of the big hill behind Brighton I looked ahead into the valley where there was always a bit of a bottleneck. Sure enough the vehicles in the nearside lane were, essentially, stationary. As my eyes travelled back up the line of cars ahead I spotted a figure standing at the beginning of a layby. Hitch-hiker? Hadn’t seen one of them in donkey’s years. Needless to say nobody was stopping and ‘it’, the hitch-hiker was getting soaked with spray from the passing wheels.

My mind went back to the days of my youth. Bin there, done that. Instant decision, if ‘it’ looks respectable then I’d offer a lift. If ‘it’ didn’t I’d be turning off just up the road/or not and offer a lift that far. If all looked good? I’d play it by ear. Flicking the indicator on I slowed then pulled into the layby tooting my horn encouragingly as I eased passed the ‘it’ and pulled to a stop. The rear view camera showed ‘it’ hauling the big rucksack onto it’s back and striding purposely towards the vehicle.

As I’d passed I noticed that both the waterproofs and the rucksack had the same logo that my bad weather equipment had. So, at least whoever it was it was probably outdoorsy and had the sense and the wherewithal to buy decent equipment. I pressed the button and lowered the nearside window just as a pretty, elfin face appeared above the window’s sill. She smiled delightedly.

“Thanks for stopping,” she laughed happily.

“Where you headed?” I grinned back.

I decided that I was definitely going that way.

“Anywhere?”

“Scotland?”

“Scotland? Really?” she responded delightedly.

I pressed the door lock, unlocking the habitation and passenger doors. A second button lowered the electric step.

“Put you gear inside. Could get in and get out of the wet gear if you like?”

She opened the door, took the rucksack off her back and climbed in, closing the door behind her.

“There’s hooks in the shower room and a towel. Put your boots in the shower tray, if you’re comfortable with that?”

She looked around.

“This one?” she asked looking at the long door.

“Yep! Just press the button and it pops out to give you something to pull on.”

She popped open the door, stuck eryaman genç escort her head inside and looked around.

“Nice,” she observed as she unzipped her waterproof jacket and slipped it off. Reaching in she hung it on a hook and bent to untie her boot laces.

Even with waterproof trousers on I could tell she had a nice bum.

“Sure it’s OK to put these in the shower tray? They’re only wet, not muddy.”

“Perfect. Are you cold? I can make a cuppa if you like?”

“I’m fine thanks, unless you want one? I’d like to get out of my jeans, if you don’t mind? They’re not wet but waterproofs make them feel horrid after a while.”

“No problem. I’ve only been on the road about 40 minutes. I’m good too. Get yourself comfy, no rush.”

The waterproof trousers came off and were hung up with the jacket. She started to undo her jeans while I watched then stopped. Bugger! Looking at her rucksack she tilted it forwards, unzipped the lowest pocket and pulled out the attached groundsheet. Lifting the bag she worked the groundsheet under the bag and put it down.

“Sorry should have done that first,” she apologised, undoing the top and rummaging around inside and pulled out two items, placing them on a seat.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s camper van, a drop of water isn’t going to hurt it. I’m thinking, I’m going up to North West Scotland. I’m happy for you to travel with me until our paths diverge, how does that sound as a starting point?”

“Oh, I’d like to go all the way with you,” she chuckled wickedly.

And I’d like to go all the way with you! My mind responded without a second thought.

“It’s many a long year since a beautiful woman said that to me,” I teased.

A traffic report started on the radio.

“‘Excuse me,” I said turning quickly to increase the volume.

When I turned back she was unbuttoning her jeans. I watched blatantly, hoping she wouldn’t go into the shower unit to actually change. I listened to the report, she stopped unbuttoning and listened also.

“Well, that’s gonna bugger things up a bit,” she declared once the broadcast had finished.

She returned to her jeans and started to slide them off her hips and down, very well aware that I was studying her every move but showing no signs of discomfort.

“We could go right along the M27, up the M3 and take the A34 at Winchester, come out north of Oxford or maybe instead of the M40 the A44 towards Worcester and straight up the M5?” she suggested as she stepped out of her jeans and stood up straight.

She had a great pair of legs. Strong but still womanly. Most certainly a walker if not a full blown hiker. Right at the top was a delicious, smooth pussy with nice, fat, swollen lips. I could see it was smooth because the tiny strip of material that masqueraded as panties was jammed up between the nice, fat, swollen lips. Seemingly unconsciously she slipped her finger under the thin strip ran it down to the bottom and started to straighten it out.

“I could do that for you?” I offered with a dirty, theatrical leer.

She eased her finger out without making the required adjustments and slipped it into her mouth provocatively before sucking on it erotically. She stepped forward, two small paces, and stood well within arms reach. Putting a hand on each of the two front seat backs, placed her feet comfortably apart and looked me straight in the eye.

“Dare you!” she challenged delightedly.

If she was thinking I would chicken out she was thinking of another guy. Without hesitation I reached forward, slipped my finger under the scrap of material and pressed my knuckle gently into her clitty. She sighed and pushed against me. I moved my knuckle up and down making her squirm.

“You’re just rude!” she exclaimed joyfully.

Moving my finger downwards I turned my wrist so I could slide a finger into her cunt.

“Is that more rude then?” I challenged, “And you’re not just damp, you’re sopping!” I declared delightedly.

“No, I’m Robyn, with a ‘y'” she chuckled.

“And I’m Brian, without the ‘y’. Pleased to meet you Robyn, with a ‘y’.”

“If you keep doing that I’ll cum!” she sighed softly.

“All the way to Scotland?” I whispered quietly, keeping my finger in her wet cunt and played with her clit with my thumb.

Fortunately the rain had got heavier and my front screen was opaque. Robyn’s upper body stayed reasonably still but below her slim waist she was frantically fucking my fingers like she’d been without a good seeing to for months. When she finally came she soaked my forearm with multiple squirts and laughed with delight.

“Every step of the way!” she announced gloriously, “every fucking step!”

She took a few moments to compose herself. I eased my finger out of her cunt and my thumb off her clit straightened out the skimpy piece of material and patted her smooth pussy affectionately.

“You’re done, for now.” I told her.

“No point in organising them now, they’re far too wet to wear. I’ll have to hang those ankara escort bayan up with my waterproofs,” she chuckled, “would you prefer a dress or skirt?”

“Whichever enables me to steal regular looks at more of your beautiful legs,” I stated unequivocally.

“Better be the dress then. I’d usually wear leggings with it. Don’t think they’d be required today, do you? As you’ve tidied up my panties so well would you mind removing them for me. I’d better hang them up to dry.”

I quickly checked that the windscreen was still opaque, knelt between the two front seats and started to work her tiny panties down and off. Dipping my head forward I licked across her perfect smoothness and down to her clitty. She widened her stance giving me easier access. My tongue probed and licked while my lips closed in around all her delicate tissues. I sucked, wriggling my head to pull the delicate flesh this way and that. Robyn rested her hands firmly on the top of my head and her hips began to grind her cunt into my face. She came hard and shuddered forcibly as she covered my hot face with the juices of her pleasure.

“God Brian! How slowly can we drive to Scotland?

“I’m retired. I’ve got all the time in the world. When do you need to be where?”

“Mum would like to see me for at least a few days before I return to Uni.”

“And where would we find Mum?”

“Just down the coast. I could come in each day on the bus but where would be the fun in that?” she chuckled filthily.

“Sussex Uni? Teaching starts last week in September? So I could drop you off at a bus stop beginning of second week September? You have anything else to do during the break?”

“Is it still the 5th June? I’ve had a busy day,” she grinned, “if we say 5th September then that’s 92 days. Can we get to Scotland and back in that time?” she laughed.

“Blimey, that was quick!” (It was also correct), “we probably could. Could go further afield if you’d prefer?”

“I’m reading Maths ‘n’ Physics, aiming for a Masters, so if I can’t do simple add ups and takeaways I’m in trouble,” she laughed, “I’m easy, but you must have realised that already, I’m happy with pretty much anything. Mind if I rinse these through?” she ended picking up her tiny knickers.

“Watch the hot water, it’s very hot. Soap powder and pegs in the cupboard under the sink. Little drying rack on the shower wall.”

She sniffed the flimsy item.

“Narhhh, they were clean this morning and they’re not spunky… yet. I think a rinse through with hand soap will do for now.”

She disappeared into the shower unit, didn’t close the door, and I heard her humming happily as I re-programmed the SatNav for Didcot via M3J11

“Brian, would you mind if I didn’t wear a bra?”

As if…

“What does the alternative look like?” I asked reasonably.

“This,” she answered stepping out into the main part of the van.

My jaw dropped, I know that to be true because she told me to close my mouth, there was a bus coming! She was naked but for an overly full bra that her delicious orbs seemed only to rest on. What a body! Tight, toned and incredibly sexy. The stuff my dreams were made of standing right before me.

She laughed at my instant reaction.

“Or this?” she asked reaching behind her back.

Off came her bra in one easy move. Perfection! Absolute perfection. I studied them with rapt attention. Full! Delicious swelling to either side but firm with a distinct cleavage within which I could bury my cock if the opportunity arose. She’d pass the pencil test even if it was a thick, Zulu, marking up pencil.

“You are perfection personified, can you put up with me leering and salivating for the next 92 days?”

“You just going to drop me off at a bus stop? After all we’ll have been though?” she laughed, “anyway I’m not perfect, my tits are too big.”

“They’re not!” “They are!” “Not!” “Are! Look they’re my tits I know when they’re too big.” “They’re not! Look I’m a man and looking at them, drooling! They are perfect! Don’t argue!”

“Are we having our first row?” she giggled.

“Ohh no, no, no, no no… We’re simply considering the same data from different perspectives.”

“So now my tits are data?” she laughed.

“I would suggest that they are… after all they can be manipulated to achieve the desired results, can they not?”

She roared with laughter.

“Well that’s a new one!”

“Come over here, let me demonstrate,” I coaxed.

“You just want to fondle my knockers… you dirty old man,” she sniggered happily and stepped towards me, “facing you or snuggled in so you can reach around and hold me tight?” she purred.

“Young lady, what we are doing is exploring a very important social phenomenon. Should the status of tits be determined by a single perspective or should other perspectives be included in the equation? Now snuggle in close so I can wrap my arms around you and hold you tight.”

“So you’re going to fondle my tits scientifically!”

I sincan escort ignored her and slipped my arms under her arms and cupped her fulsome left breast in my right hand and her right in my left.

“Observe,” I suggested, “how perfectly they sit within the cups of my hands.”

She glanced down.

“Bollocks! Thy cups runneth over, in every which way possible. I will say that your cups are significantly larger than any other cup that has cupped my tits though. Feels very nice.”

I struggled to ignore her.

“Which raises my second point. My fingers can now freely explore that which runneth over. I am able to stroke, tease and manipulate your data, to our hearts desire. If, however they were smaller then, when I stroke, we would have less to enjoy…”

“But…”

“Ahha, hang on. Not finished yet. These perfectly delicious areola,” I traced around each with the adjacent fingers.

“You can do both together? In opposite directions?”

“I’m ambidextrous. Where was I? These beautiful, puckered, touch sensitive confections fall exquisitely to hand or finger as you wish. As I stroke they pucker up and tingle excitingly and on the top, the veritable cherry on the cake, the nipple on the tit. Only moments ago it might have been resting, snuggled into your beautiful breast. Content with its world, all warm and cosy but now my fingers have passed by, grazed delicately over the sensitive button and it has awoken, rubbed the sleep from its eyes and peeped out into the exciting world of fingers, a tongue or even teeth that might both excite and inflame.

They stretch out into the world, stroke me, caress me, nibble and pinch me they cry. How could any living soul resist? Now, if you can absolutely guarantee that any reduction in volume. Any alteration in shape or form will not reduce their sensitivity and ability to produce a shared feeling of total pleasure then I might, just might consider conceding that they might be a tad larger than necessary…”

“Ummmm..”

“Are you even listening to me?”

“Something about puckered areola?”

“Yes… well I hope you pay closer attention to your Maths and Physics lectures…”

“Umm if Dr. French was using my breasts to illustrate the properties of vector quantities, you know, displacement, magnitude and direction, I might have a bit of a problem. Please continue.”

“That, of course is my perspective….”

“Was meaning with the demonstration…” she giggled, “I totally see your point of view and concur, the size of my girls gives wonderful benefits for both. Now let me hear you struggle to see the data from my perspective,” she challenged.

I rose to the challenge and Robyn sensed it pressing into her bum.

“Did I do that?” she murmured seductively.

“Certainly did, you needed to ask?”

“All this is not in vain then? Life in the old dog yet, eh? Laters, Baby. Go on then, keep going. I want to hear my perspective from your point of view and don’t ease up on the demonstrations.”

“Imagine for a moment that my hands are the cups of your bra. I lift them up to the position you feel you would like them to rest, thus. Too high? Too low? Left or right a little?”

“Just a touch higher,” Robyn suggested with delight, “maybe out each way a tad?”

I manipulated the data while Robyn adjusted the parameters, it took a while.

“From this position I discover that I or you cannot see my or your feet…”

“Silly bugger,” she chortled.

“That must be difficult when putting shoes or stockings on. Then there’s the problem of not being able to look to see if all the buttons on your jeans are correctly fastened. It would be a little embarrassing if you fumbled with your fingers to check and one or two buttons were unfastened. What would people think? I won’t mention how difficult it must be getting your little panties on correctly…”

“You just did!”

“I just did what?”

“Mentioned how difficult it must be getting my little panties on correctly. You said you wouldn’t. Just like a man, can’t keep his word!” she stretched her head back and kissed me lightly on the cheek, “I think we’re gonna enjoy the next 92 days… and nights. Well carry on then…!”

“The issues are quite simply resolved by the judicious use of mirrors. Were I in control of these matters I’d have an arrangement whereby all aspects of your body were visible from any one position… however I can see there are more important problems. The straps that hold your bra and thus your breasts as you would desire have made quite deep marks in your shoulder. That must be uncomfortable even if you eventually get used to it.”

Taking a pause I bent a little and kissed tenderly all along the dark, deep grooves on her soft skin before working along to her long, slim neck and up to her ear lobe. I nibbled and licked and was pleased that she sighed and wriggled in my arms.

“I don’t wear my bra straps up there,” she whispered softly.

“I can stop.”

“No rush.”

I didn’t rush but eventually continued my examination of the data.

“Does the strain make your back ache?”

“Yes, quite a bit but it’s not so bad if I remember to sit or stand up straight. Only problem is that people then think I’m pushing my tits out to show them off.”

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