Ask about Traditions

As tempting as the thought is - and there's certainly a part of your male ego that balks at turning down a beautiful chick offering to go down on you - this is probably your best opportunity to get some real info about the town. So far this entire afternoon has been completely a pretty surreal experience, from just walking down the street with nary a man in sight to Ceilidh jillin' off to your impromptu lecture on design, and any.. logic would at this point be greatly appreciated.

And then there's the way she said 'traditions' that makes you think she isn't referring to casual town gatherings and street barbecues. No this was Traditions with capital T, the kind preceded by an equally reverent and foreboding micropause .

..Traditions.

How can you not ask her to elaborate. In any case this seems just the right thing to ask, because once Ceilidhs silly grin is once more beaming straight at you. As strange as you've found her behavior so far, she is undeniably cute. She swiftly catches her untamed curls in a loose ponytail and with little hesitation scoots closer until your sides are flush, quickly pulling the laptop closer and starts navigating folders to pull up a couple of what looks like V I S I T O R S covers.
"Okay just tell if anything in particular catches your eye.." she says breathlessly and though she attempts to sound casual, you catch the anticipative gaze she sends you and the way she slightly arches her back, teasing pink nipples under the edges of shirt.

"So this is Betrys' Seat, a centuries old glade in the small copse by the village green.." she says, pointing to an extremely explicit picture of a man setting on an old treestump in a greatly compromised position, legs spread revealing every throbbing vein of his erection. Your first reaction is to sheepishly avert your eyes and you notice a beautiful maze pattern of inlaid stones in the moss around him. When you finally overcome your hesitation, take a closer look at this stranger who probably doesn't consent to have this photo taken. His cock is red and bulging, his balls are shaven, his skin striped with lash- or scratchmarks but it's his expression you have a hard time getting over. A slack-jawed, drooling look of desperation and ecstasy.
Suddenly hear Ceilidhs voice whisper in your ear; "What you can't see is that the Seat is a 8 inches long carved dildo going all the way up his ass." Your head snaps around to stare at her and she giggles.
"Yup.." she explains, "apparently after a dozen children, Betrys Glynsdaughter was sick of constantly getting knocked up so she carved herself a perfect cock that would be safe to ride. Ironically over the years people started visiting the Seat for the exact opposite reason and for the last hundred years girls have gotten their boys to ride it, hoping they're inherit some of Betrys' renowned fertility.." Ceilidh pauses and her helpful smile takes a sly turn, "If you want to go see, just tell me.."

Letting you ruminate, she skips to the next picture. Instantly you recognize the cover you saw in the cornershop. Tony. Your old mate Tony you've known since school. You see his arms a tied behind his back around an old tree. You realize that his entire lower body is soaked in a variety of glistening juices, his cock limp but no less red than the last picture. Behind him is a blackboard where you count 12 lines.
You turn to find Ceilidh watching you with a curious expression and you realize that you're blushing. This wasn't one of the stories Tony told you, but the picture manages to tell most of it by itself.
"This is the mangrove tree. It's kind of a.. rite of passage or a.. test of manhood if you will. We tie them to the tree and take turns pleasuring them, seeing how many time they can perform." Even if the first person pronoun didn't reveal it, you only have to see the reminiscing look on Ceilidh's face as she says it, to know that she's partaken in this particular tradition more than once. Though in spite the way she seems to enjoy running her hands over your body, the way her sentences are mostly whispered and moaned directly into your ear - punctuated by playful bites - Ceilidh actually seems really knowledgeable and you do your absolute best to maintain focus and remember every detail, "Certain stories claim that the tree was planted at founding of the town and that the.. heh.. seminal spurting was spent fertilizing its seed. However any competent botanist will discredit that factoid - beech trees simply don't get that old - well it's still a nice story, don't you think?"

"And finally.." Ceilidh says skipping to one last picture. Is that anticipation you here in her voice? You shake your head slightly and turn your eyes back to the screen, now showing a fairly different photo. Where the last two were taken outside and prominently featured men, this picture seems to have been taken from the point of view of a woman. You're treated to a beautiful view down her front, two full breasts in a pristine white corset with floral lace. Creamy skin with sharply defined hip bones supporting a girdle, equally white stockings and there between her legs.. A man kneeling in supplication. His mouth and lower face is completely burrowed in her shaven pussy, revealing only a blond head and brown eyes. In contrast to the earlier pictures this is of markedly higher quality and the framing and detail wouldn't be amiss on a profession fetish site..
Though you'd probably never see that hint of terror in a professional fetish model's eyes.
"It's a wedding photo.." Ceilidh says wistfully and she even sighs like it's such a romantic sight. Then her eyes is filled with determination and her hand falls to rest over your crotch.

"Any of the three you want me to tell you more about.. or maybe.. show you?" Ceilidh says and bites her lip, "You just have to ask.. I mean if you want.."

She looks demurely down as you're struck with a certain understanding. This girl you met not even an hour is proposing to you! She's suddenly asking you to marry you in what appears like some mistress/**** ceremony, and as you this strange realization bounced around your brain, somehow it suddenly all makes sense:
She's claims to be a reporter like her dad. The dad who hasn't really been in her life. And talking "shop" with her turned her on to the point where she got off to it. And when you realized that you were reporter too, she seemed actually overjoyed.
It sounds completely bonkers but you can't deny that it makes a strange, weird kind of sense. Now the question is what do you answer. Ceilidhs big brown eyes are watching you intensely, waiting for your answer to her Big Question.