The Line Unbroken
Copyright© 2026 by Ring of Seed
Chapter 2: The Quiet Bloom
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 2: The Quiet Bloom - A bored young heir returns to his Scottish estate and discovers the real danger isn’t the ledgers — it’s the staff. Gardener, butler, stablemaster: older; married; rough. They take turns filling him, claiming the line through his hole. Consensual, campy, filthy, and completely ridiculous.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Ma Mult Consensual Gay Fiction Historical Incest Son Father Humiliation Rough Gang Bang Group Sex Anal Sex Analingus Double Penetration Oral Sex
On the surface nothing changed.
The estate woke each morning to the same gray Highland light filtering through mullioned windows. The air sharp with wet peat and distant woodsmoke. Breakfast was served at eight sharp. Porridge steaming in porcelain bowls. The faint metallic clink of silver spoons against china. The rustle of the laird’s newspaper crisp as new linen. James appeared in the dining room in a fresh shirt and kilt. Hair neatly combed. Voice soft when he asked after the weather or the tenants.
Hamish remained in his proper place. Out on the grounds. Pruning with the snip of secateurs. Planting with the wet thud of soil on roots. Hauling compost in heavy burlap sacks that left dark streaks on his forearms. His shirt off in the brief sunbreaks. Chest hair glistening with fresh sweat that carried the sharp scent of cut grass and sun-warmed earth. He touched his cap when the laird rode past on his morning inspection. Said “Morning, sir,” in that gravel rumble. Then went back to his work.
No one would have guessed.
But under the surface the air had thickened like syrup. Heavy with unspoken heat.
Hamish had learned James’s rhythms like he knew the soil.
A quiet corridor in the east wing. Mid-afternoon when the house was still. The faint echo of distant kitchen clatter. The smell of beeswax polish on oak floors. Hamish would back James against the cold stone wall. The chill seeping through linen into skin. Flip the kilt. Smack his arse hard enough to leave a hot stinging pink handprint blooming under the tartan. The sharp crack echoing once before swallowed by thick walls. James would bite his lip to stifle the gasp. Cock already thickening. Pre-cum beading at the tip and soaking into wool.
“Later,” Hamish would growl against his ear. Beard scraping rough as sandpaper. Breath hot with tobacco and the faint metallic tang of sweat. “Greenhouse. Sunset.”
They fucked everywhere the estate allowed privacy.
The walled garden at dusk. Ivy rustling like conspirators. The last light bleeding gold across wet stone. Rain from earlier still beading on leaves and dripping cold down James’s neck. Hamish bent James over the old stone bench. The rough granite biting into palms. Spit on his palm with a wet obscene sound. Push in raw. The stretch burning sweet and deep. The initial resistance giving way to slick heat. James’s fingers dug into mossy stone. Shirt rucked up. Kilt hiked. Cool air kissing the sweat on his back while Hamish’s hairy belly slapped rhythmically against skin.
Hamish always bred him full. Deep grinding thrusts until his balls drew tight. Then a low shuddering groan as thick seed flooded James’s hole. Hot pulses that made James’s thighs tremble. Spilled out when he pulled free in a slow sticky trickle. The scent of cum sharp and musky in the evening air. He’d plug it back in with two rough fingers. Calluses scraping sensitive walls. Smear the overflow across James’s arse. Then let the kilt fall.
“Keep it inside ye, lad. Let it soak.”
The hayloft above the stables. Late evening. The air thick with dry grass. Horse musk. The faint sweetness of manure. Dust motes drifting in the lantern glow. Rory was out exercising the horses. So Hamish had James on his knees first. Sucking the thick cock until saliva dripped down his chin and soaked the collar of his shirt. The taste salty-bitter on his tongue. Then on all fours in the hay. Straw pricking palms and knees like tiny needles. Hamish fucked him slow this time. Savouring the wet slide. The way James’s body clenched around him with every drag.