Photo Story #8 (Patreon)

I originally had a different photo in mind this week, but after spending the weekend in Aberdeen in Scotland, I had to go for a kilt pic. I've always had a thing for guys in kilts and last night, I got to see a parade of incredibly sexy Scotsmen heading to some formal event, and the majority were in kilts. It was hands down one of the hottest sights, so whilst I continue to drool over my memories, here's a longer photo story about a sexy Scotsmen. 

When Archie had agreed to go to his friend's wedding, he hadn't given much thought to what he'd wear. As the October wedding got closer, Archie was so wrapped up in work that he didn't give the idea any thought, and then before he knew it, the wedding was the following day. 

Archie came home from work, exhausted and ready for bed, but he decided he better get his suit out of the wardrobe ready for the wedding. 

However, Archie's suit was nowhere to be found. The only formal wear in his wardrobe was the kilt and accessories that he'd worn to a Highland fling a couple of years before. 

"Fuck, my suit must still be at my parents." 

Archie's parents lived on an island off the northern coast of Scotland and there was no way he'd be getting that suit anytime soon. 

He pulled the kilt, shirt and jacket from the wardrobe and inspected them. 

There was no reason he couldn't wear the kilt. It would definitely still fit him, and he did look pretty damn good in highland attire. Yes, there wouldn't be many, if any, other people in kilts as it was an English wedding, but . . . maybe no one would really notice. It wasn't like he knew many people besides the groom. 

"Fuck it, it'll do," Archie said with a resigned sigh before heading to bed. 

The following day, he slept late, but still had enough time for a shower before he had to dress for the wedding. The shirt, jacket, kilt and sporran still fit him to perfection and he couldn't deny how sexy he looked as he twisted this way and that in the mirror. He donned his socks, his dagger and his shoes before heading out to his car. 

When Archie arrived at the wedding, he was immediately the centre of attention. Everyone was complimenting him on his outfit, but more than that, everyone wanted to know what he was wearing under the kilt. 

Being a true Scotsman, Archie hadn't even considered putting underwear on that morning, but now that he was surrounded by curious wedding guests, he suddenly felt very self conscious that he was so exposed. 

Shaking off his nerves, Archie headed into the room at the country hotel where the ceremony would take place. Being careful to keep his legs together as he sat down, Archie took a seat on the end of a row near the front. 

By the time the rest of the guests had filed in, Archie was feeling more relaxed. A couple of guys he recognised from the stag do took a seat in front of him, and both of them commented on the kilt. 

"What's underneath? Are you a true Scotsman?" one of them joked. 

Archie pressed his thighs closer together, but before he could answer, the string quartet started the wedding march and everyone stood up as the bridge entered the room. 

The ceremony was simple, but beautiful and everyone was ushered outside for photographs as soon as it finished. 

Unfortunately for Archie, it was quite a breezy day and the feel of the breeze blowing up his kilt and over his exposed cock and balls was more than a little titivating.

All the guests were corralled together and posed for a group shot, but as they waited for the flash, a particularly aggressive breeze lifted the back of Archie's kilt and he immediately clapped his hands on it as the material lifted exposing his bare butt. 

"Fuck," he cursed under his breath. 

The biggest issue with this was that the constant breeze tickling his balls and his butt was getting him hard and before long, he had to adjust his sporran to try and disguise the way his dick was tenting the material. 

As soon as the photos were done, Archie decided to head off somewhere quiet to try and deal with the problem. His dick had a mind of its own and once he was hard, there was no way it was going down until he came. 

The country hotel had vast grounds so Archie quickly made his way to a secluded clearing that was hidden from view by some tall hedges. The breeze had picked up and his kilt was constantly whipping up, exposing his muscled butt or flashing his hard leaking dick. 

As soon as he was confident that he was obscured from view, Archie lifted the front of his kilt with one hand before gripping his cock with the other. 

"Oh fuck yeah," he moaned as his hand flew up and down his shaft. 

Archie's butt clenched with each stroke and he was panting for breath as he stroked himself closer and closer to an orgasm. 

Just as he was about to blow his load, he heard voices. 

"I think photos in this part of the flower garden will be beautiful." 

Archie recognised the voice of the photographer, but he was too far gone, and as the bride, groom and photographer entered the clearing, Archie's dick shot it's first rope of cum that splattered on to the ground. He moaned his way through the rest of his orgasm, cum flying everywhere as the bride turned away in horror and the groom grinned. 

"Fuck dude, what the hell?" he said with a laugh. 

"It's a . . . uh . . . Scottish tradition," Archie said weakly, before he wiped his hand on the inside of his jacket and dropped his kilt back into place. "Congratulations on your wedding."