Amongst the Heather: Are there Bears in the Highlands of Scotland?

A threesome in the highlands of modern-day Scotland

A threesome in the highlands of modern-day Scotland

Angus McPherson is competing in his village's highland games. Caber toss, hammer throw, and tug o'war, a test of his brute strength and throwing ability. He's a big guy—muscular and young.

After the competition, Angus is on the lookout for men interested in continuing the games somewhere scenic away from the village. He finds two—a couple of burly, furry bears. Their ample bellies and thick beards are exactly what Angus is looking for.

Amongst the heather, will this cub be satisfied by what these men are looking to do to him?

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Scotland, even on a good day; the weather could be miserable. The air was cold and misty but that wouldn't stop the festivities. People would still arrive in droves to watch the spectacle. It was the height of summer and tourists were thick in our small village.

The Highland Games, a Scottish tradition. An opportunity to display your throwing ability and brute strength. My events, the caber toss, hammer throw, and Tug o'war. The last being my favorite. I loved an opportunity to work as a team with a bunch of sweaty men.

I lifted my kilt and buckled the belt holding it in place. I was wearing black shorts underneath. If we got caught going scuddie beneath the kilt, we would find ourselves in a heap of trouble. I rooted around on my dresser, found my kilt pin, and attached it to the tartan.

Kilt hose on my feet, I yanked on a pair of hiking boots. There were some accommodations made for modern-day Scots. Not slipping in the mud because you happened to be wearing brogues was one of them. I pulled on a simple black t-shirt with a Guinness logo.

I smoothed out my kilt fabric. It was a variation of the Lantern tartan. Not sure why my family started wearing it. My last name was McPherson. Angus McPherson. Or Aonghus as my granny preferred to spell it. The name meant unnaturally strong. A fitting description in my case.

I was a big guy; muscular. Thick forearms and thighs. Dense ginger, pelt-like hair on my chest, legs, and arms. My preference was for bears, but not in the species sense. My tastes ran to robust, furry men. Broad chests and round bellies covered in hair. Highland games were like a smorgasbord of options. You just needed to know which men would be amenable.

I had my regulars. Guys who I met up with consistently. I hadn't been in a long-term relationship in a while. My last boyfriend got a job on the mainland, and I didn't want to go with him. It was an amenable breakup. Our ships just weren't going in the same direction.

Today, though. Today should offer some new possibilities. There were lots of outsiders in town for the competition. I just needed to size them up. A few lingering glances always seemed to do the trick. If they weren't interested, they looked away. If they were, they smiled.

At least that was my method. I had gotten it wrong on occasion. It was by luck of my sheer size that I had never had my ass kicked too badly. Plus, two burly men tumbling about in kilts trying to knock each other's blocks off generally attracted attention. I had been lucky.

I headed out to the festival ground. I could walk there. Nothing was very far away in our village. The fact we had a Highland Games was thanks to tradition. It wasn't as big as the large cities, but we did all right. The tourist dollars in town meant a lot to the residents.

Congregations of men and women were standing around on the field, the crowds gathering. The Scottish dancers were already in full form, performing on a makeshift stage. The wail of bagpipes filled the air. I understood why the pipes had been used to frighten the enemy. Despite my deep Scottish heritage, the screeching racket made me cringe.

I set off toward a grouping of men; all kilted, all raring to go.

"Hey, Angus!" Someone clapped their hand on my back. It was my longtime friend, Ewan. We had been friends since we were both bairns. We had attended nursery, primary, and secondary school together. He often acted as my wingman, directing the lasses away from me.

I remembered how terrified I had been to tell Ewan I was gay. Thought for sure he would dump me as a friend. It had taken me by surprise when he started laughing. Apparently, I wasn't very good at hiding my gayness. Too many lingering looks when in the company of other men.

"You ready?" Ewan handed me a bottle of water.

"Always."

"Caber toss is first." Ewan shoved me toward the center of the field. He wouldn't be competing in his usual activities this year. He had pulled a muscle in his shoulder. His technique was off, plus it would have been agonizing. Although, he was going to chance his luck in the tug o'war later; his barbarian strength required for our team to win.

I did well. The caber toss, and the hammer throw. I outstripped the others with the caber, completing one-hundred-eighteen tosses in an hour. My hammer throwing wasn't quite as successful, although I scored well enough. I managed to throw it one-hundred-seventy meters.

But now it was time for the tug o'war. We lined up on either side of the rope—four to a side. I was the anchorman. The judge shouted, "Pick up the rope." It was best two out of three that declared the winner. We had rarely lost a challenge. We thumped our feet to secure them.

"Pull!"

We tugged hard, straightening our arms and legs, leaning back. My strained muscles were on fire. We took steps back in waves of unison. After a lengthy, sweat-soaked effort, the other team was pulled off balance. We dropped the rope and leaped at each other, pounding and whooping.

Our second effort resulted in our win. We were unstoppable. Fresh off the adrenaline coursing through our veins, we headed for the pub. It was tradition. Push your body to extreme lengths and then get guttered. My muscles were still quivering as we stepped through the doors.

I headed for the washroom to ditch my shorts. They were cumbersome and so very un-Scottish. Plus, my balls needed cooling off. Under my kilt, the air circulated around them as I walked back. I wandered over to the barkeep and ordered a pint of Tennent's lager.

My team was occupying one corner of the pub. I joined them, shoving myself into a hard, wooden chair at one of the tables. They were beyond raucous. The loud singing had already begun, and we didn't even have the first pint in us yet. I peered around the room, searching for a potential target for later in the evening. The pub was filling up fast.

Two men caught my eye. They appeared to be together. Both fit the profile of my tastes perfectly. A couple of bears—kilted—bearded—muscular and rotund. I watched them until they looked my way. They both smiled. I winked to seal the deal. I would meet up with them later.

I turned back to my lager. Right now, there was beer to be drunk, songs to be sung, and bodies to be made legless. I was at it for hours, all the while keeping an eye on my duo. When they settled their tab and rose to their feet, I drained my pint glass and followed them.

They were waiting for me outside.

A patch of heather on the outskirts of town was a favorite spot for me. It was private; far enough away from folks that one could be fucked tapetless with reckless abandon. I headed toward it after a brief exchange to make sure the two guys were on the same page as me.

That we were all bufties looking for a good time.

We hiked for fifteen minutes. It was worth it, the time you put into getting there. Being outdoors, bare skin to the elements was magical. Scots of old would have done it outdoors. I often wondered how many men away on clan business ended up together, partaking of each other's bodies. Kilts lifted, hands on cocks, bent over in fields of green.

The thought made me shiver with excitement.

We headed up the final brae, a steep climb that opened into the area I knew so well. I had taken at least twenty guys there, maybe more. This was my first time here as a threesome, though.

We took a moment to introduce ourselves. Their names, Brice and Callum. They were a couple. It was their first time to our fair village, and they had thoroughly enjoyed the games. They had been keeping a special eye on me while I had been competing. I was their type. Rough, masculine—viral. They were pleasantly surprised when I propositioned them in the pub.

Callum stepped up to me and placed his hand on my chest. He stroked my pecs, my shoulders, and my abs. The sinister smile told me he liked what he was discovering. He bent his knees and teased my nipples through my shirt with his mouth, wetting the fabric. Brice wandered up to my left side and leaned in and kissed my neck. He gnawed and licked the skin beneath my ear, sending shivers straight through to my boots. Callum's hand wandered up under my kilt.

I was glad I had ditched my shorts. My cock was easy access.

Callum kneeled on the ground at my feet, his bare knees pressed to the heather, and sucked my cock into his mouth. The wet warmth thrilled me through. The feel of his coarse beard against my cock and my thighs escalated my arousal. Brice pulled at my earlobe with his teeth then peeled my shirt off over my head and discarded it to one side. He took over where his partner had left off, taunting my cold, erect nipples with teeth and tongue.

I looked down. Past Brice's head, Callum was beneath the fabric of my kilt. I closed my eyes and descended into the sensation of two men, each with their own task, pleasuring me.

Callum's tongue slicked up my hard flesh, his mouth sucking, his lips easing up and down my shaft, his hand pumping at intervals. The tip of his tongue circled my cockhead and dipped into the slit, then sucked it, moaning, dispensing with any precum gathering there.

He thrust his face onto my cock, striking the back of his throat. He gagged and coughed but keep spearing himself. Brice hummed and laughed against my chest then dropped to his knees. Callum released my cock and Brice moved in, slurping my length into his mouth. Callum remained where he was, kissing my thigh, swirling the hair around with his tongue. They switched off and Callum took command of my cock again. Brice when to sit amongst the heather.

He lifted his kilt and tucked it around his waist, his great belly protruding beneath the belt holding the kilt around his waist. His cock was rock hard, glistening at the tip. He moved his legs apart and invited me to come toward him. Callum, in on the plan, released my cock.

I made my way over to Brice and took my position—hands and knees. I bent forward, my ass tipping up into the air, and drew his cock into my mouth, my forehead pressed to his furry abdomen. I had to angle my face to gain full access beneath it. I gripped his thighs for support.

Callum lifted my kilt, exposing my ass to the elements. He draped the fabric onto my back, offering me some protection from the misty rain drizzling around us. I wet Brice's entire shaft, licking it, spitting on it, and jacking it in my fist. It was hot and hard and slick. I slurped and sucked, Brice's pubes tickling my nose. He smelled and tasted of heavy sweat and musk.

Brice's hands brushed through my hair, and he grabbed the back of my neck. He hauled my face tight to him, cutting off my ability to breathe, my nose pressed so tightly to him. I swallowed around his cock, its girth blocking my throat. I concentrated on the sounds of the forest around us. He would let me go eventually. On the border of panic, I gasped and coughed, sucking in breath after breath when Brice released me. My eyes were watering. My nose running. He touched my face for me to look up at him. He was satisfied with the level of discomfort he had put me through.

I sank back onto his cock, bobbing up and down on it, my ass becoming increasingly damp from the rain, my balls and cock shrinking in response to the cold. Callum lifted them in his hand.

"Not so big now, are you?" he said, laughing. He tossed them in his hand a few times then released them to dangle between my thighs. I waited for the moment I knew was coming. Callum's sporran held more than his wallet. The sound of a condom wrapper being torn ramped up my heart rate. It thundered in my ears as I continued to work Brice's cock. Brice grunted and grasped a handful of my hair. I dropped him from my mouth and shifted back as Brice rose onto his knees.

It had been a while since I had been spit-roasted. The idea of two bears piercing me from both ends thrilled me. My belly rose and fell as I waited, remaining on my hands and knees. My soft cock tried to revive itself, but the cold was numbing it as it swung there unattended.

Brice fed me his cock and gripped my face, jamming his cockhead down my throat. He pumped in and out of me, steady—rhythmic. I held still, accepting every thrust without complaint. I cradled his cock with my wet tongue. Cold fingers touched my hole then eased their way in, slick with lube. It seemed the two were gentlemen at least. Being fucked dry was never my favorite thing. But I never complained. I was an obedient wee cub.

They weren't there for long, Callum's fingers. Seemingly satisfied, Callum placed his thick cockhead at my hole. I spread my legs wider and angled my hips, offering him the best view and the best position to fuck me deep. He slid all the way in. One stroke—one grunt from both of us. The fiery fullness distracted me. I faltered with my tongue. Brice smacked my cheek a few times to regain my attention, then gripped my hair and shook my head, pulling me fully back into the game. I wouldn't make that mistake again. I reset my mouth and opened my throat.

Brice filled it time and again, blocking my airway then releasing me as his partner Callum drilled my ass. They sunk into a tempo, both filling me at the same time—spearing me, filled to bursting, Callum's dense, furry belly pounding against my ass cheeks. Brice's pubes clouded my senses, the fragrant sweat building around my nose and mouth. He was breathing harder and harder as he slammed into my throat, yanking my hair—swearing.

He battered my face with every stab of his cock. Spit coated my chin, tears streaming down my cheeks, my nose draining onto my lips. But I held steady. Callum rode me hard from behind. My hands and knees were taking a thrashing. Heather was somewhat soft, the flowery bit, but the tiny branches were digging into my flesh. Callum gripped tighter to my hips, pounding the hell out of my ass. I felt every thrust deep into my guts, jostling every organ in me.

Callum whipped his cock out of my ass. The condom landed beside me. The first splat of warmth hit my ass cheek, then rough hands pulled on my flesh and the next shots of cum landed on my hole. Callum slapped my ass as he played with it, pushing the slick, warm load in and out of my hole with his finger. I nearly fell forward when Brice vacated my mouth.

He raced around behind me. Both men looking at my cum covered hole. Callum sat down amongst the heather. Two hands peeled my ass cheeks open, Brice's, and his hot tongue soaked and rampaged my hole, licking away any evidence his partner had left behind.

Brice straightened, on his knees, moving closer to me, pumping his cock. He groaned as he came, Callum moving closer to him. For a second time, my hole was the recipient of the offering. Callum reached over and smoothed Brice's cum around the ring of muscle. He fed my hole his thumb, caressing Brice's cum into it. Brice leaned forward again and licked my hole as Callum thrust in and out of it. I relaxed, dropping to my elbows, my back arched, my belly heaving.

I closed my eyes and let the scene surround me. Out in the wilds of Scotland. Two big, furry men playing with my hole. Licking it, fingering it—stuffing it with cum. My cock hanging limp, my balls puckered—denied of my own release. I was on offer, a bountiful feast for a couple of big, burly bears. They could take what they wanted. Once we had rested up, we could begin again. Maybe head back to the pub for another pint first. I was theirs for the night.

I groaned as Callum and Brice's thick fingers slipped from my hole. My kilt was lowered to cover my ass. The walk back to the pub was exhilarating. Stark naked beneath my kilt and freshly fucked, my ass aching to be filled again. I was barely able to stand at the bar and order a round of pints without grinning. The Highland Games for the evening had just begun.

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AMONGST THE HEATHER; Copyright © 2022 by Gavin E. Black

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