Macillicuddy Serum, The


By Scott J.

The weather had been like this for days. The sky was a grey making the lock below in the valley look like a lead.

Jamie woke up in the small croft, damp with the smell of the peat fire he lit last night still hanging in the air. The tiny cottage had no electricity and was cold and dripping on the bare granite walls.

Having lit the peat in the rayburn, stoking it with dried heather he made himself bacon and eggs. He was to meet the lawyers today and finally hopefully get possession of the large house on the hill that his uncle had left him after he died.

This was the last thing Jamie needed. Although Scottish he lived in London and was a successful trader in the city. Coming up here and dealing with his uncle�s estate – although worth a few bob – was making him uncomfortable and wet.

He got in the tiny hired car and looked at the view from the croft. The view lasted all of three seconds as the windows fogged up. He smelt of wet wool. In the rear view mirror he looked at himself. He looked a little red faced from the cold. Although elegant and smooth in his London life the black stubble and the now rather unkempt black hair made rather pleased him. He smiled at himself catching his pale blue eyes. He looked like a Scotsman now. His dad would have approved. Handsome and swarthy with a thick frame that he did not need to keep in trim, he had no trouble charming people. He needed to do this with the solicitor now make sure that they trusted him with the property which was held in a legal trust, then he could fly home to a warm bath and a drink.

Having slipped down the croft�s drive he got on the high road around the loch to the big house. A thin woman with over dyed red hair greeted him by slightly raising her head in the drizzle. A Scottish warm welcome.

�Take these, and these� she said and passed him two soggy brown envelopes

�Thank...� he tried to say. He was talking to the back of her head as she got in the car.

The gravel crunched as she left and he turned to look at the house. Twelve windows wide and three high, made of a mellow granite and looking directly to the loch, it exuded a melancholy elegance. He got the key from the envelope, fuddled around in the porch and went in.

He never had met his uncle Red. Summers had been spent here without the uncle in residence. He remembered how big everything had seemed then as a child, and was looking forward to seeing how small everything was now that he was a well grown man.

Everything was huge. He felt tiny. The doors were all so wide and high. The hooks holding stalking hats were almost out of reach. He wandered into the hall and looked up the staircase onto the gallery of the first floor. He needed to pee.

The door the first floor landing had always been locked. He knew from old that this was his uncles suite of rooms, forever denied when he was young. He turned the handle. It was locked. Where on earth was the loo? He could not remember. He looked down at his hand – the second soggy envelope. Inside he could feel a second key. Pressing through the paper, a key emerged which he placed in the lock. It turned. He rotated the handle and the door opened.

Darkness and the smell of dust presented itself. He turned his shoulders to find a light switch, and after a moment of fumbling he found the a small dark bakelite toggle and pressed down. The lights came on and revealed an interior that would lead Jamie into a world which he knew little about....

On the walls were oil paintings that stretched up to the ceiling, that lined the room leading to a bed of stupendous proportions. To the left and right of the bed were doors. He ran up to one of them assuming that one of them would lead to a loo. The one to the left of the bed opened to a basin closet. Fuck it, he thought and unzipped his fly.

Jamie�s thick fingers darted into his tweed trousers and unfurled his cock over the side of the basin. The cold sting of china on his dick woke him a little as he started to pee. In front of the basin was a mirror in which he could clearly see the himself and what he was doing. He looked down with pleasure at the base of his flat muscular torso, turning to short thick hair and culminating in his generous proportioned shaft. Jamie had never worried about the size of his dick, he had always known that he was very generously endowed, and seeing the thick stream of piss emanating from his thick long cock reminded him of his masculinity. Shaking it off he felt a slight swelling as he admired himself in the mirror. His hand reached down to his balls as he adjusted them and tweaked the tight flesh at their base. He took a moment to look at himself in entirety, cock in hand. His woollen jumper grazing the top of his shaft, he cut a fine figure of a man, toned and smiling, playfully stroking his long dick. He laughed at himself and pushed the meat back into his trousers. Now to explore.

Turning around he had more time to examine the room. He turned to the painting on his left. He stood in awe. He turned to the painting on his right, again the same. He re examined the first, and was so taken aback he sat on the large bed behind him.

No wonder the door had been locked. In front of him there were two men depicted in oil that looked like it was from the seventeenth century. Based on a Scottish theme, the older man was wearing a tartan sash, while the younger had the pale skin and red hair of the Scots. But what men. The bearded older man was life size with a thick black beard and black eyes and was depicted three quarters on. His neck was wider than the width of his head and bulged down to hugely thick sloping shoulder that led to two balloon like shoulders, painted in sweating flesh tones that made them look smooth and pliable, but rippling with indecent movement. The arms were as broad as oak trees, bulging into taut thin skin and showing every vein and sinew. His chest was enormous and broad – rising to meet his neck so that one could have rested a plate on it, with a well defined crevice between the pectorals that lead down to rippling abdominal muscles that looked like billiard balls.

As Jamie�s eyes ran down the man�s physique he started to feel a sense of jealousy. He had always been the best built man he had known. He had always been the one in the showers who was happy to show himself off. Now he felt inferior, but at the same time he felt sexy. The picture was turning him on.. He reached down to his trousers and felt the hardening of his long cock. He pressed his hand against it and felt the familiar surge of pleasure run through his body as he did so. Leaving his fingers prodding his growing cock he looked back.

Below the stomach muscles of the godly man in the picture, was a confusing sight. The younger red haired mans head appeared in front of his genitals. At first Jamie was disappointed that he could not look at the cock of this fantastic specimen, but then he realise the cock was deep in the warm throat of the red headed young man. Jamie�s cock twitched and grew.

He turned away. This was not normal. Why was this picture here? Jamie had never been interested in gay sex. Sure, he had some good gay friends in London, but it had never occurred to him that he might like to be gay (except at boarding school when everyone had played around). Uncle Red had obviously been interested.

His swelling cock was rubbing against his trousers as he lay back on the bed and took in the other pictures in the room. All showed the same hugely muscular men, one bearded and the other younger and red haired. By the door – the last in the series – showed the younger man being fucked by the older one, the look on his broad face showing a mixture of ecstasy and pain, making his huge body writhe across the canvas. Jamie rubbed his cock through his trousers. He was now about to come. He felt the hot fluid run through his body and spurt against the fabric of his trousers making a hot patch against his thick thigh. His muscles loosened and he lay back panting.

As he fell asleep on the bed he remembered seeing a small vial of lilac coloured liquid on the marble topped bedside table to his left. He drifted off in the four poster, bemused by his reaction to the picture. The weight of his muscular body felt comforting on the soft down of the covers.

Waking suddenly, he was thirsty. Too much whiskey the night before? He absent mindedly reached over to the cut glass decanter by the bed and took a long draught. The liquid tasted sweet and floral. He lay back. His body felt abnormally warm, and he relaxed.

He woke again, feeling his thick thighs glowing with a strange warmth.... •

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