Aprons for Gayle

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Take a look at my profile pic for Hamish. Yes, he's the Scotts Fertilizer guy. I just love his accent.

Thanks to my (new) editor, JonB1969! I was lucky to find him so quickly.

Y'all might notice a little change in Hamish, but I hope it's not too extreme or that I'm not showing his softness too quickly. Any American who fully understands a Scot should be awarded a medal or something! :-) Apparently I was hit on by one when I was in Perth and didn't even know it! (Smacks palm on forehead).

We last left off with Hamish and Gayle just having made love after a great day at the beach.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Sunday, August 11th, 2013; Early morning

Gayle woke up sometime in the middle of the night, not sure exactly where she was. Her head rested on something hard yet warm which, oddly enough, rose and fell in a steady rhythm. Directly above her came a soft purring, which she quickly figured out was a manly snore.

With her eyes closed, she could see the room was brightly lit, and it was a moment before she braved opening her eyes. Sure enough, she was snuggled up with Hamish who was indeed fast asleep and both lamps were on.

The clock on the nightstand beyond him read 12:17. She had slept just over two hours, but it might as well have been fifteen minutes for how exhausted she felt. She was also happily content.

Her bladder then screamed at her, and as she sat up she groaned but quickly panicked, afraid she'd woken him up. But looking over at his face, she was relieved to see him turn his head, snore loudly but stayed asleep.

What surprised her was how cute he was -- she would have used sexy, or handsome or something more manly. Seeing him now, she wouldn't have said, "I'm never gonna enjoy having sex with him" like she had when she first met him. But now ... he was definitely growing on her.

Carefully slipping down from the high-set mattress, Bessie had come from the foot of the bed and met her, wagging her tail. "Shh," Gayle whispered.

Like a shadow, she followed her human buddy to the bathroom in the hall. Gayle kept the hall light off so as not to wake Hamish, and sat on the toilet longer than she needed to. Her face in her hands, she thought about what happened between the two of them just hours earlier ... and she couldn't think of a single bad thing to complain about.

Not just last night, but all the times he'd touched her he was sweet, affectionate and gentle, and most definitely was the first to give her a real orgasm. Her face suddenly felt flushed from the memory of her begging him to allow her to come, and when she did it was like a wall came down. Not between them, but from herself.

Quietly stepping back into the bedroom, she turned the lamp off on one nightstand before she went to the other. Her hand on the switch, she heard a groggy, deep voice ask, "What are you doing?"

When she looked at him, he was smiling in a way he hadn't smiled at her before. It was as if he, too, was just as content as she was.

"Sorry, Sir. I didn't mean to wake you. I'm turning the lights off so you can sleep. I'll leave it on." She then turned and walked towards the door.

He sat up rubbing his eyes. "And where do you think you are going?"

"I'm going to my bed. Good night."

"Oh, no, you're not." He got out of bed, not even hiding his half-wood as he stepped to her. "Lass, you will not be sleeping in your bed tonight. You will be staying with me."

Her eyebrows furled, and she ran her fingers through her hair. "I just thought ..."

"You thought wrong. Now hop back into bed. I'll join you in a tick." Giving her a soft smile, he headed to his bathroom.

Not really sure what prompted his desire to have her spend the night, she wouldn't waste the chance of sleeping in a Cadillac of beds, and a warmer one at that.

Lying on her side close to the edge, she settled back down and took a deep breath to force herself to get back to sleep. A moment later the second lamp went off, and the bed shook as he got under the covers beside her, threw his arm over her waist and pulled her to him. For the first time she realized what a perfect fit their bodies fit together, almost like a puzzle piece.

But that thought quickly went out of her head when he started nibbling the base of her neck to her earlobe. Shivers coursed through her as his beard tickled her skin, but it shocked her nonetheless. How he could wake up her body was beyond her, but at the moment all she wanted was to go to sleep.

"Sir, you can have me all day tomorrow if you want, but I'm really pooped. It's been a long day."

It took a second for her pleas to reach his ears, as he'd been busy kissing her shoulder and the crook of her neck. Pulling back, he grumbled, "You're no fun."

"I promise I'll be more fun later." Reaching her left hand up, she dipped her fingers into his soft, short hair and smiled. "Thanks for ... earlier. It was nice, perfect."

"Nice?

Nice

?! I'll have you know --"

Flipping over to face him, she gave him a quick soft kiss that shut him up. Smiling coyly, she said, "It was smart of you to get me the chastity belt."

His eyebrows rose curiously. "And how is that?"

"Now that I know what I've been missing, I might be more tempted to, um, play with myself."

She hated to admit it, but it was the truth. Although her body was somewhat numb from the intense orgasm she had, her mind was elsewhere. She didn't want to admit that he'd awoken something in her. But at least she'd taken the first step in being open and honest with him about how she was feeling.

"Ah," he replied, skirting his hand down her waist to her hip; goose bumps trailing behind. "So you want me again, eh?"

Her eyes flew open, blushing wildly. "I didn't say that!" Laughing, she said, "Well, I could."

"As much as I would love to ravish you, there's no need to rush." Slipping his hand between them, he cupped her breast but didn't let go. "However, I could always make you change your mind."

She laughed and closed her eyes. "Good night, Sir."

Smiling, he removed his hand, kissed the tip of her nose and cuddled closer with her; she buried her face into the crook of his neck. "Is this nice?" he asked sarcastically, but she could clearly hear the smile on his lips.

Hamish laid there thinking about the past few hours. He was surprised how good she felt in his arms; how perfectly their bodies fit together; how quickly she warmed up to his touch and pleaded with him to her come. She was much more passionate than he expected her to be, especially given her sexual background. In those few moments she accepted and trusted him.

Jack's words of warning came flooding back to him as well. He was indeed in over his head, but he didn't care. He was content with Gayle. He was happy with everything about the woman. She was absolutely more than he could have imagined, and he knew at that moment that he would have to watch his step with her. He wasn't about to take the chance of messing things up between them.

At that moment he vowed to make her six months in Scotland -- with him -- to be a time in her life that she would never regret and would often look back on fondly.

Later that morning ...

Gayle woke up lying on her stomach with her arms stretched up over her head and something sharp scraped up and down between her shoulder blades to the small of her back. She was facing the nightstand and almost jumped out of bed when she saw it was past 9:30. But when she felt the warmth of his palm, she relaxed for a second.

Moaning softly, she turned her head and mumbled, "Mornin,' Sir."

"Good morning, my little fawn."

"Do you wan' me to make some coffee?"

"I would, please. And can you bring the post?"

Sitting up, she replied, "Sure. I'll let Bessie out too."

Fifteen minutes later, Gayle walked into Hamish's bedroom carrying a tray and set it at the foot of the bed. She handed him his coffee mug then laid the post beside him. Getting on the bed carefully so as not to spill her coffee, she said, "We didn't have the cheesecake last night. I only brought one slice. I was thinking we could share."

"Well, it does have fruit in it, and fruit can be brekkie. Give me a taste."

Pulling the tray closer to her, she got a small bite at the end of the fork and bravely brought it to his lips. He grinned wickedly and stuck out his tongue, flicking it not even close to the fork, which set her off in a fit of giggles.

"Stop it! I don't want to drop any."

"Alright," he said, but he did the exact same thing again when she brought it closer.

"Hey! I have no problem eating the whole piece by myself."

"You wouldn't dare!"

Narrowing her eyes at him, she put the fork on the top of her tongue slowly, wrapped her lips around it even slower then pulled the fork out, chewing the delicious piece. He raised an eyebrow curiously, and in the blink of an eye smashed his lips against hers, forced her mouth open with his tongue and kissed her hard and passionately. She was able to swallow without choking on the dessert.

At first she wanted to push his tongue out, considering it was disgusting that he was actually trying to get the cake from her mouth. But his soft, warm lips felt so good on hers that she returned his kiss and closed her eyes, blissfully lost in his kiss.

The next thing she knew he'd pulled away, and she moaned her displeasure.

"How was that?"

Her mind blank, she replied, "The cheesecake was excellent."

"I meant the kiss."

"I know. I was just being cheeky, as you say. I'll go take a bath. Are you still going to take me driving?"

He put the mug between his knees and opened up the newspaper. "Not after you were being all cheeky. I think I shall stay in bed all day and read," he said overly dramatic. "I've got some books to catch up on as well."

She pouted her bottom lip exaggeratedly, slipped off of the bed and headed for the door. "Okay. I'll call you after I've burnt your eggs and toast."

"You do that. And when we're done, I'll take you to the dungeon and teach you a lesson so you'll never burn my food again."

Turning around sharply, she grinned playfully. "Damn it! You never let me win, Sir."

"Nope," he chuckled. "Never."

After they ate breakfast and she cleaned up the dishes, they were finally on the road. Hamish was behind the wheel of his Mercedes, driving them to Cupar, since that's where Gayle would do most of her personal shopping. He gave her pointers to the different signs and what they meant; at a stop light, when it flashes yellow it means to proceed slowly as opposed to green; and the massive and intimidating three-lane roundabout.

"Now, one thing I noticed the few times I drove in the States is that I tended to hug the center lane, not the shoulder as you do here, mainly on two-lane roads. So I suggest you pay attention and stay a bit more to the shoulder on the left."

They had just passed a sign that read:

'WELCOME TO ROYAL AIR FORCE LEUCHARS'

There was a small building for checking in visitors, just as the Little Creek Naval base in Virginia Beach, Virginia. Beyond that was a jet standing proudly.

"Sir?! Is that the base you mentioned when we were at the lake? Where the jets came from?"

"That it is. It was constructed in 1911 after setting up a training camp in Tentsmuir Forest. At the end of the second World War it was used mainly for anti-submarine and anti-shipping strikes."

"Huh. Cool."

Passing more large farms, fields and pastures, she decided to keep quiet and not complain about the ever-ending scenery and simply take in as much as she could.

Several miles down the road, he explained, "You'll need to pay attention when you enter a roundabout," he said just as they approached it.

It was a small three-way intersection, but instead of taking the right as she did at home, he checked for oncoming traffic to the right then went left.

"Well, that was simple, unless there are a bunch of cars coming at me," she laughed.

They then passed several industrial parks and residential areas before he announced, "And here we are. I'll take you to a car park where you can park and walk. Remember, you have the GPS built in the car, but I'll program it so you don't end up in Ireland." He chuckled.

"Ha. Ha."

After he parked he didn't turn off the engine. "Okay," he said, turned on the GPS and typed in his home address. "Take us home, Jeeves."

Gayle sat dumbfound in the passenger seat as Hamish got out, walked around the car and stood at her door waiting for her. When she looked at him stupidly, he opened the door. "Lass, you have to be behind the wheel to drive."

"Sir? You're going to have

me

drive home?"

"Yes. I want to make sure you don't wreck my treasured car."

"You can't be serious!"

"Very."

"But ... But don't I need an international driver's license or something?"

"No, you do not. Now hurry up because this is a metered park, and I don't feel like spending the night in the penitentiary."

Despite her complaining, moaning and groaning, she found herself behind the wheel.

"Now, just take your time and check out the dash. Pull out when you're ready."

Ten minutes later she pulled out of the car park and made it onto the main street. Her hands were so tight around the steering wheel her knuckles had turned white. But within minutes she was relaxed and driving very safely.

"So, you had nothing to worry about, Ms. Boyce."

"Ha! We're not home yet, Sir."

"True. But you're doing very well."

By the time they reached the driveway to his castle, she was completely over her fear. "Oh, my god! I can't believe I didn't hit anything!" She laughed, parked then turned the engine off.

"Well done, Gayle! Now, let's go straighten up my library from last night. You left it quite a mess."

While Hamish let Bessie outside, Gayle waited for him in his library. She looked over his books and found one about haunted Scotland. She took it off the shelf and skimmed through it when Hamish sauntered into the room and stood beside her.

"Of course you would choose

that

one," he said sarcastically but playfully. "Of all the classic books in my collection, you've chosen one of ghosts?"

"At least it's shorter than King's 'It,'" she said as she put the book back on the shelf.

"No, you may read it if you wish. But you must read this first."

He went to another wall, took a moment to look them over and pulled one out, handing it to her. Reading the title, she grumbled, "'Poems, Chiefly in Scottish Dialect, by Robert Burns.'" She opened it to page 85 and read aloud.

"'Adown the glittering ftream they featly danc'd; Bright to the moon their various dreffef glanc'd ...'"

"No, no," Hamish interrupted. "The 'f' is an 's.'"

"Oh," she replied, feeling like an uneducated idiot.

"'They footed o'er the wat'ry glass so neat, The infant ice scarce bent beneath their feet: While arts of Minstrelfy among them rung, And foul-ennobling Bards heroic ditties sung.'"

Looking at Hamish, she chuckled. "Okay, so, people are dancing around a stream that's partially iced over with singing flies making art, and a foul smelling Bard sings of an heroic dittie. What, exactly, does that mean?"

"Oh! You doth wound me, child! How you dare to insult the great Bard?! I shall render your hind useless for a fortnight!" he wailed, his hand over his heart, his eyes wide. Taking the book from her, he placed it back on the shelf, handling it like it were a priceless Ming vase.

Thinking she had truly insulted him, she apologized profusely before he started to laugh. "Well, if you must read rubbish, then Scottish ghosts it shall be." He pulled the book from the shelf and set it on his desk. "Now let's get this table back in its proper place."

"Aye, Captain, oh Captain!" she bellowed, saluting him by placing her flattened hand over her right eye.

He narrowed his eyes at her and barked, "Ms. Boyce, although I have been rather lenient this weekend, do not forget I am still your employer, and I will not tolerate such disrespect."

Gayle didn't know what the hell to say. He had been lenient, fun and not so 'Dom-like;' apparently he had his little mood swings that she hadn't noticed before. She nodded and watched him press a button on a bottom shelf that opened a door at the far end of the room beside the fireplace. He folded up the massage table with ease and began to drag it toward the door, but she wasn't sure exactly when he would need her help because he seemed to have the situation under control.

As he approached the door, he said, "Go on inside and take the edge as I come in. I'll be placing it against the far wall."

Stepping to the doorway, what she saw in the fairly large storage room stopped her dead in her tracks. She was familiar with some of the equipment from her visit to The Crucible -- a wooden stock, the bondage bench, a four-foot body cage and a tall, thick wooden beamed apparatus.

Looking on the opposite wall was a wooden, doorless cabinet with several leather floggers of different lengths; several whips, every single one scaring the crap out of her just by looking at them -- some were beaded on the ends of the leather strips; three paddles of different sizes and textures; a strange-looking thick leather paddle that was split down the middle lengthwise; four metal restraints and four leather restraints with fur on the inside; two 2-1/2 foot metal strips with restraints attached on either side; a red mouth gag; a set of metal nipple clamps; and two riding crops. Several ropes were knotted and hung on metal spikes in the stones.

"Oh. My. God," she whispered, suddenly finding her body shaking in fear.

"Ms. Boyce," Hamish grunted, seemingly struggling with the table, as it was at least ten feet high.

"Oh! Sorry, Sir!" She helped him pull it into the room, placing it between the cage and the wall.

He leaned against the door frame, folded his arms and gave her a curious grin. "Are you keen on trying something you see?"

"Do you want the truth or do you want me to lie?"

"Let's try the truth."

"Not really."

He chuckled and walked back to the bookshelf, and as she walked out he pressed the button; the door closed silently behind her. "We'll see if I can change your mind. Feel like a walk to the lake?"

She smiled. "Sure. That would be nice."

"Right. Why don't you go put on an apron of your choice, but not the one formal French maid one. That's only for special occasions. And don't wear the ones you've worn before."

That doesn't sound like much of a choice, boss!

She smiled and shook her head. "Okay. Be right back."

With Bessie joining her, she went upstairs and selected the all-black apron with the lace bra and wide lace, bare-in-the-back skirt; there was a narrow, sheer strip from the bow in the bra to the skirt. Slipping on the stockings, she put on her heels and headed downstairs.

"Sir!" she hollered out, not knowing where he was. "I'll be in the kitchen!"

She filled a glass with orange juice and waited for him at the sink. A few minutes later he joined her carrying the book, a knotted long length of rope, two pairs of restraints and a leather flogger -- he was also wearing a very mischievous smirk.

Grinning back, she asked, "Are you planning on fishing with those? A rod and worm will give you much better results."

He laughed then set them on the table. "I'll give you a choice. You said you weren't ready for anything in my play room, but I was wondering if you'd be up for a bit of flogging in the fresh air. Again, it's up to you."

She closed her eyes and threw her head back. It didn't matter where she received the flogging, it was still a flogging. Taking a deep breath, she held it for a second before she replied, "If you promise to ... do it light and not hurt me."