#3031: Shetland Islands, United Kingdom
Original photo: @art.sequence
A struggling writer seeks inspiration in the rugged beauty of the Scottish Highlands—and finds more than she expected in Isla, her strong, sensual B&B host. A single stormy night leads to passionate exploration, awakening something raw, tender, and utterly unforgettable.
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Transcript
I was sitting in the grass near the edge of the cliff—close enough to feel the thrill, but not so close it was dangerous. Heights had always made me uneasy, but something about this magical place called to me. I’d come here searching for inspiration for my new book, and it felt like a crime not to get as close to the raw beauty as I could.
The contract with the publishing house had been signed long ago. All that was left was the writing—but that proved harder than expected. After the success of my previous series, starting fresh was daunting. Creating new characters, new lives, hoping readers would fall in love all over again—it weighed on me. But I hadn’t given up.
Back in London, I was blocked. Coming to the islands seemed like the right move. And it was. Walking through these landscapes made my fantasy world feel more real. There was something indescribable about Scotland—something ancient, powerful. The grandeur of it all was intimidating. The weather was unforgiving, yet strangely invigorating. I assumed people shaped by this land would be similarly harsh, but I was wrong. Everyone I met on the Mainland was warm, generous, openhearted.
One of those people was Isla, the host of my B&B. She was the embodiment of the Highlands: tall, strong, with wide hips and arms that looked like they could carry the weight of the world. Her hair was already streaked with gray, though she was only ten years my senior. But her beauty shone undimmed, her smile bright and disarming. I knew I wanted to base a character on her—I just hadn’t figured out how to ask.
I kept jotting notes until I noticed the sky turning dark. The rain was coming. With a reluctant sigh, I packed my blanket and notebook and made my way back toward the cottage.
The house Isla owned was straight out of a fairytale—small, brick-walled, with a green roof and wooden window frames. At first, I’d hesitated to book a place where I’d have to share space with the host. I’d worried about interruptions. But something about the cottage tugged at me, and once I arrived, I knew I’d made the right choice. It was everything I’d hoped for. Isla was the cherry on top—she loved to talk, and I loved to listen, especially when she spoke of local legends and folklore.
Just as I reached the front door, the rain began to fall in earnest. I rushed inside, shaking off the cold. The smell of something delicious hit me immediately—Isla was cooking again. She greeted me with a smile and offered me a seat. Soon, a bowl of stew was in front of me, warm and comforting. We ate together as the storm outside intensified, and I confessed that the book still wasn’t coming together. Isla offered encouragement, squeezing my hand. She told me she’d help however she could.
Lightning flashed. The power cut out. The cottage went dark except for the flickering fireplace. Isla cursed softly, apologizing. There was nothing to be done until morning. She suggested we sleep in the living room, close to the fire, to preserve the warmth. I didn’t mind—it felt like an intimate adventure.
I brought my bedding down, and we both nestled close under thick blankets, our bodies brushing. I smiled as I touched her arm, telling her she felt just like I imagined—warm, soft, real. Isla laughed, her voice teasing. There was something more in her tone, something promising.
“What do you usually do when the power goes out like this?” I asked.
She listed the usual: reading, tea... and then, with a deliberate pause, “masturbating.”
The word hung in the air like a dare.
I propped myself on one elbow, met her eyes. “Want to do something from the list?” I asked, my voice low. “Maybe I could help.”
She sat up slowly. The firelight painted shadows on her face as we stared at each other, breathless. Then, we moved. Our lips met—hungry, urgent. Her kiss was as fierce as the Highlands themselves. She pushed me onto my back, our tongues tangled, heat building between us faster than the fire crackling beside us.
She pulled off my shirt and took my breast into her mouth, sucking until I whimpered. My hand slipped into her pajama pants, finding her already wet, slick and hot beneath my fingers.
The fire wasn’t just in the hearth—it burned between us.
Isla moaned as I rubbed her clit, her hips bucking against my hand. I felt the tension in her, the rise of pleasure that made her body tremble. I kissed her face, held her through it, watched her unravel in my arms. I hadn’t even been touched yet, but it didn’t matter—I was intoxicated by her pleasure.
When she came, it was a moment suspended in time. She collapsed onto me, breath ragged. I could feel my own desire, aching and pulsing between my legs, but I didn’t speak of it. I just smiled.
Then Isla kissed me again, deeper this time, and murmured that she had something for me.
She left briefly and returned with her pale skin glowing and her body fully exposed—except for one detail: a black leather harness and a pink dildo strapped tight to her hips.
I bit my lip and lay back, legs open, craving her. “No teasing,” I said. “Just take me.”
She laughed, wicked and soft. “Exactly how I want you.”
Isla climbed on top, spread my thighs, and slowly slid the toy along my folds, teasing me until I whimpered. And then—she pushed inside. I gasped, gripping her shoulders as she began to fuck me, hard and deep. Every thrust hit something raw and perfect inside me. The sounds of the storm outside were nothing compared to the cries she pulled from my lips.
She wasn’t making love to me—she was claiming me. And I wanted her to.
The wet sound of the toy thrusting into me, the slap of skin, my moans—it was all primal, wild. I clung to her as I shattered, my orgasm crashing through me like the storm outside.
When I could finally breathe again, I looked up at her, dazed. “I think I’m inspired now,” I whispered.
Isla laughed, kissing me again. “Good,” she said. “Because I plan to keep inspiring you.”