She grabbed her left breast and began to massage while she rubbed her clit. My left breast moved in sync with hers. As I was magically molested by my own reflection I remained speechless. I must have been in a really vivid dream, or at least I thought at the time, and enjoyed her expert touch. I arched my backed as my pussy began to spasm. As I came closer, my reflection fingered me harder and more rapidly. My body began to convulse as my orgasm overtook me. My hips gyrated and my hands shook as I began to moan. I looked up at my reflection and all of a sudden there were two of me in the mirror, the original reflection lying down in front of me and another leaning in from behind it. The new doppelganger got on her knees and parted the legs of the other. She went down and slid her tongue deep into her wet sex. I jerked as if I felt the tongue as well. Her tongue went deeper than I could have ever thought possible and slid back out tapping my clit. It didn’t take long and I was already on the way to my next orgasm. Her tongue felt amazing, and just when I didn’t think it could get any better I felt two mouths licking and sucking on my tits. I looked up at the mirror and two more doppelgangers had joined in. I screamed as this next orgasm was more powerful than the first and I squirted my juices all over the mirror. After I settled down, all the phantom touches stopped. I looked back up and there was only one of me in Hardcore the mirror again. She winked at me and waved goodbye. I laid back down and fell asleep in the floor. During a short summer break, I was spending a week driving around the west of Scotland and had booked a couple of nights on the Isle of Skye. For years considered a dramatic destination with romantic overtones, nowadays of course you don’t so much go “over the sea to Skye” as you go “over the bridge” to it – paying a hefty toll for the privilege - and this does tend to diminish the sense of romantic isolation. Nevertheless, the scenery when you get there is just as romantic and as dramatic as it ever was. I had booked into a small private guest-house hotel somewhat off the beaten track, partly for the added romance of its remoteness but also for its location in the north of the island, not asian far from the “Old Man of Storr”, a conspicuously phallic granite outcrop some 535m high. Just like so many passing tourists, I had seen it from a distance but never up close and I thought that the healthy trek up to it from the road might be rewarding. That was my plan for tomorrow anyway. I checked-in early in the evening and the woman of the house seemed pleasant enough but when I went down to dinner an hour or so later, I detected a strange atmosphere in the small dining room. As I entered, I was immediately aware of a group of about 6 guys at the little bar at the end of the room; they were the only others in the room and as I walked in, they suddenly stopped talking and, after a momentary pause to assess the interloper, they restarted their conversation – but in Gaelic. I felt very much the outsider and as I sat alone at my table in the window, the woman of the house took on a sort of “Mrs Danvers” persona teen as she served my meal; if you’ve ever seen that old Hollywood Classic “Rebecca”, with Laurence Olivier and Joan Fontaine, you’ll know what I mean; she was polite and efficient, while at the same time, rather grim and somewhat forbidding. It was all rather eerie and I ate my wholesome Scottish farmhouse dinner alone and in an awkward silence, while the locals continued their conversation in murmurs of Gaelic, interrupted by the occasional burst of laughter and a glance in my direction – which just made me feel even more uncomfortable. Afterwards, I retired to the comfort of the lounge, after first ordering a good 20 year-old malt whiskey from the bar – making sure that I did not give the locals grounds for offence by adulterating it with anything like ice, even though I would have preferred it that way! Slumped in a deep arm-chair by the fire, filled with my meal and warmed by the scotch, I began to feel mellow and rather sleepy. As I dozed, I became conscious of the figure of a kilted young man half-sitting on the arm of the sofa next to me. My eyes travelled upwards over his young, slightly hairy legs and tanned bare knees. He was wearing typical Highland hiking clothes: walking boots, thick woolly socks and an appropriate Skye Tartan kilt, complete with a rather worn leather sporran which now lay in his lap. He had on a chunky Arran sweater and he had a large tumbler in his hands with about half-an-inch of what looked like Scotch in the bottom. He raised the glass to his lips. It was Deryk – or rather, the somewhat elusive, mysterious and handsome young guy I had met months before in London and who seemed to have assumed the role of my erstwhile fantasy younger brother from childhood. “Hello,” he said, looking directly japanese into my eyes with his piercing gaze. Then with that winning crooked smile of his he continued, “Glad to see we share the same tastes.” He cocked his head on one side, winked and raised his glass, as if to public say a silent ‘Slangevar’ before sipping his scotch appreciatively. His eyes were deep-set beneath soft black eye-brows and against the fire glow they seemed almost lustrous, while the blues and greens of his tartan kilt seemed to reflect in their rich blue colour. So much for sticking together. Who is Eddie planning to give me to?” I feel tears start to come down my cheeks. on the stage, the poncho lifted waist high, displaying, from behind, her Daisy just stayed quiet and put her arms around the blue-haired girl. Yes really. You look all flushed? "You're such a good boy Kyle," Mom kept saying as we kissed, "such a good boy." I turned to face him and watch him getting all flustered. "And don't forget, you must keep your eyes closed to get the full effect." I cupped my daughter on the cheek, wiping away her tears with my thumb, seeing her beauty shine brighter once the pain was dried from it. "My work public permit and visa are ready; do you want me to come up earlier?" It was charming mind you, but I hadn’t seen pigtails on my daughter in years. He pulled me harder against him and we grounded our cocks together, as he asian was hard again. Ben glanced over at the girl. "You don't have to be gay to enjoy a little massage." "I know I would have watched." Hunters, already. “Won't know until you let her suck you, Ms. Matos.” I could see the outline of his cock as it hung off to the side and down. Most of the conversations between girls, to start with, were about the men’s erections. When I looked at maa I am shocked to see her face… I could read jealous japanese in her eyes. He heard the bathroom door close, then 10 minutes later heard it open and heard foot steps. It sticks out in the teen back if not the sides like a real girl. She looked back and winked Hardcore at me as her skirt fell back into place.