Aprons for Gayle

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Thanks to an ill MastersWench, who through her feverish brain found a way to kick me on the right path and catch my stupid blunders! 'Preciate you, girl! And thanks to my Scots friend for his linguistic skills!!

We last left off a week earlier with Hamish and Gayle having breakfast in bed for her winning the bet and a horrible second date for Hamish.

*****

Friday, September 13th, 2013

Cupar Town Centre, Hamish's Office

Hamish was having a horrible day, not that work was overloading him, but because he couldn't find anything on the Boyce family in Montgomery County, Maryland to confirm Gayle's ancestry. He was on a genealogy website and thought it would be easy to trace it with Gayle's father's name, John. But that wasn't the case.

He was so frustrated he got on the phone with her dad to ask for her paternal grandfather's name and vital information, explaining he wanted to present Gayle with her genealogy as a Christmas gift. Her father was thrilled and told him she would love it.

So, while he was working on that, a silent little box in the top right hand corner of his computer monitor showed Gayle cleaning the front drawing room, pushing and pulling the Hoover in rhythm to a song on the radio. Again, he practically drooled as she swayed her hips back and forth and singing dramatically, a little too dramatic, as at times she'd use the handle as a microphone and sing toward Bessie, who was looking at her two-legged friend like she'd lost her mind.

Then he thought of something. Waiting for her to turn the Hoover off, he sent her a text. 'Be dressed when I get home. We're going out for dinner as soon as I get home'

Wrapping the cord around the vacuum cleaner, he watched as she pulled out her phone from her apron. She began typing, then he received, 'Dress up? As in jeans?'

Reading her message, he messaged back, 'I want you looking bonnie, not a tattyboggle'

She frowned in confusion. 'i don't know who Bonnie is, and i don't know what a tattyboggle is! Are You referring to skirt and nice sweater?'

He smiled. 'No, naked. Skirt and sweater, ninny'

'That would be great! Few leftovers. Can i get drunk, Sir?' She grinned, having no intention of doing so.

'No you cannot!'

'Fien. Should i wait for You by Your chair?'

'no need'

'I'll be ready when You get here'

He frowned, but then a smile slowly crossed over his lips. She'd been behaving herself the past few weeks, and there had been no punishments, which he was a little disappointed in. But now he had her. He sent, 'I've noted your use of upper case i.'

Setting his cell phone on his desk, being that he was done with texting her, he grinned when he saw her hit her knee with a fist and shaking her head. She needn't have worried, though. He wouldn't punish her... too badly.

Picking up his cell phone, he texted, 'On second thought, be in your room, undressed, and stand at ease at the foot of the bed'

Back at Hamish's castle...

"Oh, shit. Oh, shit."

Gayle was having a pretty good day... until the last text from Hamish. But then again, she hadn't been punished in weeks, and she had been wanting to visit the dungeon again, though she had no clue whatsoever why she felt that way. Yes, the dungeon was a torture chamber, but so far, Hamish hadn't

really

tortured her. In her defense, the cell phone auto corrects, and that included the 'i' and 'I,' which she normally caught and changed. This time she didn't. And she'd have to pay.

So, she finished her cleaning on time and took a bath, shaving to get herself 'in proper tidiness' that he required of her. This time, however, was different than the other days she'd prepped herself before his arrival home. It was like every nerve ending was electrically charged, and it went straight to her pussy.

She admitted to herself that she enjoyed the sex with Hamish, and while they had some about twice a week, she was beginning to want it more often. But what shocked her the most was that she was constantly in a state of arousal.

Then she remembered that he had never said anything about his date Sunday night with the new woman, so she chalked it up to 'another one bites the dust' then promptly began to sing the famous Queen tune to quell her nerves.

By the time she dried and styled her hair and put on make-up, ironed the skirt Hamish had bought her and laid the beautiful cashmere sweater out on the bed, along with her heels on the floor, she had fifteen minutes to wait for him. Searching her brain for the correct position, she finally spread her legs wide, put her hands behind her back, shoulder back and boobies out, holding her body taut. She stared at the door.

Now

she was being tortured.

During the short wait time, her heart began to pound in her chest, but the sensation in her crotch hadn't let up. In fact, it got worse, and she was even growing wet. She didn't know why - whether it was the fact he'd ordered her to be as she was, or the fact she would be punished after dinner, or the fact...

The wooden floors in the hallways suddenly creaked, and she knew Hamish was on his way. Taking one long, deep breath, his shadow in the doorway grew into the man himself. She swore her heart stopped as he stepped into the room, and she watched him, but in her peripheral vision only she could see he had one arm behind his back as if holding something, but she couldn't see what it was.

Stepping to her, he cupped her face gently with one hand and kissed her lips, being careful not to smear the lipstick but enough for her to feel the warmth and softness of his lips. Pulling back, he smiled. "You look braw, Ms. Boyce."

"What does that mean, Sir?"

He shook his head. "You look very nice."

She sighed in relief, knowing then that her apprehension was based on his approval, which she apparently had received. "Thank you, Sir."

"Remove your collar then put your arms up."

As she removed the collar and threw it on the bed, he brought his arm forward and she saw the rope and a twenty inch black cord, double-corded, with two small rings on either end. To anyone else, it would simply look like a necklace with no pendant.

He threw the rope on the floor, then said, "This you will wear just for tonight. I can't have you parading around in my collar in public, now can I?"

"No Sir, I guess not."

After he placed the black cord around her neck, the metal ring lay between her breasts, while she could feel another ring between her shoulder blades. He then unbound the long length of rope, making Gayle swallow hard. He'd tied her up in a body harness before, and she liked it then. But then again, she wasn't in it for very long.

For the next several minutes, he brought the rope through the ring of the cord in the front, brought it under both armpits to the other ring on her back, brought it back to the front then bound the rope several times around her breasts, then once more on the ring between her breasts. What shocked her this time was that he brought a single length down her stomach to between her pussy lips and clit, right up and over her anus.

Standing behind her, he said, "I'm going to pull on the rope before I tie it in place. I want it taut but not too tight. There must be some friction but not so much that it's painful."

She nodded and held her breath as he tugged on the rope, and sure enough, there was plenty of friction to begin with. But as he lightly jerked it, it became almost unbearable.

"Okay, okay! That's good, Sir!" she squealed as she got on her tip toes before he'd split her in two.

After he tied it securely, he stood in front of her. "How does it feel?" he asked, his tone clearly telling her he knew the rope was tormenting her.

Pushing her shoulders forward slightly, her mouth flew open when the rope pressed even harder against her pussy and clit, not to mention her ass. "Ohh, my... It's tighter down..." She then shook her shoulders back and forth, but her breasts barely moved. "Hey! I won't need to wear a bra!" She chuckled.

"No, you won't, nor will you wear undies tonight," Hamish retorted.

"Wait, what? You want me to wear this to dinner?" she asked aghast.

"Under your clothes, of course."

"How am I going to move around without it... It's right on my clit! It's going to make me -"

"No, it won't, because I will not allow you to cum."

"You wouldn't..." she challenged him.

"Ohhhh

, yes I would, and I will. Do you recall your text earlier?"

She nodded. "This is my punishment? You can't."

He narrowed his eyes. "Are you arguing with me? I could cancel the reservations -"

"No! No!" she almost shouted. "I mean, I'm just... surprised."

"Oh, you will be after you wear it for twenty minutes. Now dress. I'll meet you downstairs."

After he left her alone, she took one step toward the side of the bed and groaned. Every step, every inch she took the rope rubbed against her clit so badly she tried to cross her legs for some relief, but it did nothing to alleviate the grazing of her nub and pussy.

"Lord, help me get through supper!"

On the road...

"So, how are you holding up?" Hamish asked as they got on the main road.

"Can you bring me my meal in the car?" Gayle asked jokingly.

"Absolutely not. Again, tonight it will be appropriate for you to call me Hamish. Enjoy yourself, alright?"

"I'll try. But what if I... what am I supposed to do if... This is cruel and unusual punishment, I'll have you know," she said teasingly but immediately regretted saying it.

He laughed, though. "Yes, it is, but I bet you won't forget to capitalize the 'I' in texts, will you?" His tone was menacing yet light.

She sighed. "No Sir. I won't."

"You'll get through it. But just tell me if you ever get close to orgasm. We're going to my favorite restaurant in St. Andrews, Little Italy. I've made reservations for 7:15, so we'll be right on time."

"Sounds good. We've not had Italian in a while. I've been hungry for lasagna."

"At this place, it's not known as lasagna. It's good grub." She chuckled. "I'm quite serious. It's as if you're eating their cuisine in Milan."

"You've been to Milan?!"

"Hell, no. That's just what others have told me."

Soon, they found a parking spot and had to walk a block, which practically killed her as she carefully made every step, as the rope had been agonizingly crawling up her ass since she'd stepped out of the car. But after she took a few steps, she was confident her breasts weren't going to knock someone over if they happened to walk by her.

Somewhat relieved, Gayle's attention was drawn to a church with tan-colored bricks on three-fourths of the building while the remaining quarter were gray bricks. There was intricately cut glass, very ornate, over the main entrance and a nicely decorated clock tower behind the building, though she didn't know if it was part of the church because the bricks were darker than the others and looked as if it was built in a different century.

They came across a sign to the church, and it turned out to be the Holy Trinity Church, which was appropriate because the church itself had three sections to it. The additional information on the church read:

'Established in the 12th century, Holy Trinity Church has a chequered and fascinating history. Of note, John Knox (who is widely regarded as the founder of the Presbyterian denomination in Scotland) preached at Holy Trinity Church in 1559, and kick started the Protestant Reformation.'

"This is extraordinary. Darn, I would have loved to go through it," she said as they started walking again. "I'd have to stay here for

years

if I want to see every castle, church and abbey I come across."

Muttering, she heard Hamish say quietly, "Would there be anything wrong with that?"

She didn't dare ask him to repeat what he'd said; she was too afraid to know if that's what she really heard.

Putting his hand in the small of her back, he directed her down Logie Lane; the street sign was a simple wooden block on the corner of the building. As they walked down the small, narrow market square, she could see the clock tower was indeed part of Holy Trinity, and there was even another smaller building attached to the clock tower.

"It's just at the other end of the lane. We got lucky finding a car park so close. Usually I have to walk three or four blocks."

"Well, it is a gorgeous night. I don't mind walking."

Only then did Gayle notice several couples that passed them, especially older couples in their 60s or 70s, would smile as they walked by. She had ignored the first few stares and smiles, but then she could no longer. She didn't know if it was because she looked like an alien to them, but the fact that they smiled told her a different story - a story she didn't want to admit to.

"Ah, so you're enjoying my company?"

"No, I wasn't saying that," she teased him. "Yes, Hamish, I'm glad you've taken me out."

"Brilliant, because there's another reason why I wanted have you alone for a bit."

Blushing, she looked up at him and said flirtatiously, "But Sir, you can always get me alone at home."

"Oh, lass, that was a

very

good answer, but that's not what I meant, although..." He wagged his eyebrows a few times, which made Gayle look away shyly.

That was when she noticed the restaurant. It wasn't a restaurant, per se, but more of a café. There were two simple plate-glass windows on either side of the door, and over the door was a green sign with 'Little Italy' in red. It wasn't exactly what she was expecting, not that it mattered. If Hamish liked the place, she was sure the food would be delectable.

"I'll tell you all about it once we're seated," he replied as they walked in.

Before he could tell the hostess his name, she said, "Welcome back, Mr. McDougal." Grabbing two menus, she said, "Follaw me. Yer table is reit thes way."

If Gayle was skeptical about the place from the outside, she was more skeptical of the inside. The ceiling had tacky green and red big tile panels, the walls were painted a deep red on which hung portraits. One that caught her eye was of Marlon Brando from

The Godfather

, and a full wall with all sorts of liquors and shelves for the multitude of wines.

The hostess stopped at a table with red and white-checkered table cloths, again not quite the impression she had imagined, but the candle in the center of the table added a nice touch. Hamish pulled out a chair for Gayle, so she slowly and carefully sat down so as not to chaff her ass any more than it was. Her crotch, however, was already on fire from every move she made.

Smiling, she thanked him as he sat down, and the hostess handed them each a menu. "Wally will be haur shortly tae tak' yer scran orders."

"Thank you," Hamish told her.

After the hostess walked away, Gayle leaned forward and whispered, "What's a scran?"

"It's just the meal."

Shaking her head, she said, "Oh."

He smiled soothingly at her. Reaching across the table for her hand, he squeezed it gently. "Love, don't be embarrassed. Simply ask if you don't know what something is. Okay? Promise me?"

"Yes. Thanks. Sorry."

"Stop apologizing. I understand more than you think I do. I didn't always order what I thought I was ordering in America."

She finally smiled then looked over the menu as a waiter poured water in their glasses. All of the entrees were in Italian with no pictures, so she didn't know what the hell any of them were. There were a few dishes she recognized by the names but lasagna wasn't one of them, and she felt too stupid to ask Hamish about it, even though she'd promised him. Then she caught the prices, which were double the price at home taking into consideration the exchange rate. She knew it would be rude as hell to say everything was too expensive, and that she'd order the least pricey one, but it seemed all of the entrees were just as costly.

Then she saw the chicken Carbonara, and she really wanted that. But she remembered how dominant he was the

second

she met him at the restaurant in Tysons Corner in Virginia - hell, he even ordered her to wear a certain attire, although he covered it up with the excuse that he'd need to know who to look for.

Now, however, things were different. He should know by the meals she prepared - actually, the dinners Jessie prepared - what foods she would or would not eat. He'd allowed her to speak her mind in a few matters, and she figured it wouldn't hurt to try now.

She looked at him expectantly and chose her words carefully. "Sir," she whispered, because she knew she had to take a very passive and diplomatic approach. "May I have the chicken Carbonara? I've only had it in a frozen dinner, and I'd like to try something new."

He looked at her, his eyebrows raised then looked at the menu. "No lasagna?"

"I can have that anywhere. But it'd be nice to have something... different that I wouldn't have at home. I thought I'd be adventurous while I'm here. Just no -"

"Shellfish. I remembered," he said a little terse but then gave a small smile. "You do realize there are peas in it?"

"Well, no. I don't know Italian for peas."

He paused a moment. "I'll consider it."

You'll consider it. Consider it? Why did I even bother asking?!

"And you've certainly gone up and beyond adventurous, Gayle."

That she couldn't deny, and her blushing cheeks embarrassed her as the waiter, Wally, his name tag read, came to the table. "Guid avening. Whit can Ah gie ye tois fur drinks or starters?"

"For the lady, she'd like Mirassou, and I'll have the Ceresuolo di Vittoria."

"Stoat choices. Starter?"

"Yes. Penne alla Caprese."

"Brill. Ah'll be reit back."

"Sir? What did you order me?"

"Wine, though you may have only one."

"Oh, okay. Thanks."

They both sat quietly for several minutes, and so she took the opportunity to look around at the various dishes on other diner's plates, and Hamish looked intently at Gayle, which she hated and grew self-conscious. She wished she knew what he was thinking... then again, maybe not.

Several minutes later, he asked, "So, Gayle, you'll be going to St. Athernase in the morning?"

"Yes, if you don't need me to do anything."

"No, no. I'm glad you found something that piques your interest. I have another date, so I'll be gone most of the day."

She tried to hide her disappointment by squirming ever so slightly in her chair, which caused the rope to rub against her clit.

Wally returned with the drinks then waited for them to sip it, Gayle assumed, so she did. "Hmm, this is very good. It's fruity. I think I can taste cherry, but there's something else..."

"Plum an' red currant. Ye ready tae order?" Wally asked.

"Yes. Gayle will have the chicken Carbonara, no peas." He looked at Gayle briefly before he said, "And I'll have the veal Parmigiana."

Gayle was shocked yet tickled pink that he'd remembered to mention scraping the peas. When he looked at her again, she gave him a warm, appreciative smile.

"A'right. Th' starters will be out shortly."

"Hamish, I would have eaten the peas... well, I would have just picked them out."

"Don't be so surprised, lass. A gentleman always remembers his date's preferences."

She had just taken a sip of the wine and almost choked. Thankfully, the rope-harness gave her such a sense of security she overcame her shock quickly.

"I'm very observant, Gayle."

"Yes, well, you've do have good tastes."

"Except for women."

She shook her head. "Give yourself some time, Hamish. You'll find one that's right for you."

He smiled, though there was no conviction behind it. I think I already have he thought but quickly dismissed it, hoping Gayle hadn't picked up on his admiration.

"Now, there are a few things coming up that I need to talk to you about. There's a charity event in two weeks for Wounded Warriors, which supports soldiers that have come back wounded to assist them in acclimating back into society. Financial assistance, re-employment, as well as any prosthetics they may need."