True Scotsman Pt 02

"Oh, by the way," Jamie said to Amy as he was clearing the table after dinner, "I won't be able to make the pub quiz next week. Sorry."

Amy looked up at her husband. "Hmm?" She put down her phone. "Sorry, love. What was that?"

"Next Tuesday evening," he said. "

Nay canne dae it

. New client, down south in England."

"Oh." She stuck her tongue out and blew a raspberry at him. The Tuesday pub quizzes were a regular feature of their weekly routine. It was a music quiz, and they had a team with two other couples. They did well, often winning second or third place, but were regularly stomped by the usual winners who had some real obsessives in their team. She leaned back in her chair. "Well, you'll be missed. When are you going?"

"Tuesday. Afternoon flight down to Birmingham. Presentation first thing on Wednesday, then back in time for dinner." He shrugged. "But no quiz."

"Well, it keeps you off the streets," she said. Jamie often had to travel for client visits. Mostly, they were relatively local and could be there-and-back in a day by car. When longer journeys were required, he tried to travel out on the day before, to avoid missing the meeting due to train or plane delays.

She picked up her phone again.

***

Later that night, as she was getting into bed, she remembered the last time Jamie had been travelling for work. It had been in December, and he'd had to attend an awards ceremony because his company had been nominated for something or other. He'd been wearing his kilt as it was a formal occasion, and he'd received "attention". To put not too fine a point on it, he'd been erotically mauled by some drunk women from an office party happening in the same hotel. He'd expected Amy to be angry about it, but she'd found the concept a turn-on — the thought of all those women ogling and even groping her hot husband, when only

she

could screw him, excited her. Her hands drifted down and she cupped herself at the memory: after Jamie had confessed the incident in full, she'd demanded he put the kilt back on immediately so that she could give him the shagging that none of the women could.

Even the next day, she'd been barely able to contain herself, and she'd made them both late for work by waking her husband with a blowjob. It wasn't just Amy, either; when she'd spoken to her BFF Nuala over Hogmanay, she'd been unable to resist telling her bestie about Jamie's extracurricular escapade, and Nuala agreed it was hot as hell. Even now, two months later, the thought still got her horny.

She was lying on her back on the bed, her nightie rucked up a little to show her knickers, when Jamie came back from the bathroom in his t-shirt and shorts. She had one hand behind her head, her red hair artfully mussed, and the other inside her waistband, gently playing.

"Hello, you," she said, seductively. "I've been waiting."

"Oh," he said. "Ah. Right."

She

loved

how easily he was flustered. He was just so sweet.

She patted the bed beside her. "On yer back, ma bonnie boy."

He hurried to comply.

Amy rolled onto her front as he lay down, her hair falling around her face, and then stalked towards him across the bed on all-fours. She threw one leg over him, straddling his thighs. Leaning down, she kissed him deeply, before sitting up again. She looked down at him. He was not classically handsome, but he had a pleasing face — long, thin, and simple, as though some cartoonist had drawn him with a few quick lines and a couple of dots. His expression was always so open and innocent, and he

adored

her. She slid her hands under his t-shirt, sliding them up his chest, feeling the muscles underneath. Jamie had been in one of the rowing clubs at university, and a rowing machine at the gym was still his preferred method of exercise, and boy, did it work. Jamie was

ripped

. Not big and muscular, so you'd notice, but lean and taut. "Mmm," she said.

Feeling her way back down, she returned to his waistband and kept going, pulling his shorts lower. His shaft came into view, already nicely erect. "There you are," she said to it. Taking hold, she stroked him several times, getting him to maximum hardness.

"Oh, god," he said, looking up at her with a mixture of love and wonder. He always seemed to be amazed that she wanted to have sex with him, the big dork. After all,

she'd

been the one who'd proposed to

him

.

Shuffling forward, she raised herself up and, pulling her gusset to one side, she sank down onto him.

"Nggg," he said, arching his back in response.

Amy began to ride Jamie, slowly at first, but quickly building up. Leaning back with one hand on his thigh, she fingered herself with the other. She didn't want to "make love", not tonight. She was thinking of those women looking at Jamie in his kilt, getting a glimpse of what lay beneath but was denied to them.

I get to fuck him, not you

. Tonight, she was horny, and she wanted it quick and hard. She moved faster and faster, feeling him inside her again and again.

You can't have him. He's mine

. And then she was coming, squeezing him tightly, letting it wash over her with a shuddering moan.

When her orgasm finished, she again fell forward onto his chest, kissing him once more, and then began to move against him, with him still inside her. When she'd built up enough pace, she rose up off him and shuffled back so that she could take him into her mouth. Working his penis with one hand and his testicles with the other, she sucked and licked him until he too burst, spraying onto his t-shirt.

Jamie lay panting for a while, before he looked up at her. "Wow," he said. "That was amazing.

You

are amazing."

She patted his cheek. "You better believe it."

****

Monday evening. Jamie was packing for his trip the next day when Amy came into the bedroom and sat on the bed to watch. After a moment, she asked, "Is that everything you're taking?"

Jamie paused in the act of folding a shirt, and surveyed the items laid out on the bed.

"...Yes?" he said, now unsure of himself. If he'd forgotten something obvious, it wasn't leaping out at him.

Amy arched an eyebrow at him, then talked over to the cupboard. After a brief rummage, she held up a suit bag on a hanger.

It took a moment for Jamie to recognise it. "My kilt?"

"Yep."

"Why would I need my kilt?"

"Oh, you know," Amy said, laying the suit bag on the bed. "You remember the

last

time you took it with you?"

The formal-dress awards dinner in a London hotel. The Christmas party in the function room next door. The over-enthusiastic, over-inebriated, very

attentive

women. "I do."

"Aaaand you remember what happened after you told me about it?"

Jamie blushed, thinking how Amy had essentially ravished him. He swallowed. "I do."

"Well," she said seductively, "I think it would be fun to do that again."

Right

.

"Hey," he said. "no argument from me. I am totally down with the whole post-awards trip scenario. But remember," he said, "that was December. Those people were at a Christmas party. In London. This is a Tuesday night in the middle of February, near Birmingham. Not

in

Birmingham.

Near

. As in 'small town'. It'll be cold and miserable, and it'll probably be raining."

"You," Amy told him, "are far too pessimistic. Kilt. In case. Now."

***

The Glasgow-to-Birmingham flight is quick. Less than ninety minutes, meaning that the people on either side of Jamie had to work hard to cram in as much booze as they could between the cabin crew being free to move around, and having to reclaim their seats for landing. Jamie himself did not partake; he had to drive to his hotel after the flight, so he settled for a cup of tea. He looked sadly at the luke-warm water in the cardboard cup, with the teabag sitting it in, and sighed to himself.

At least he didn't need to wait at the luggage carousel after landing; even with the kilt and everything it involved, an overnight trip didn't necessitate a checked bag — though he did need to move up to a small wheelie-case instead of the larger of his laptop bags that he'd been intending to use.

The car hire desks at Birmingham airport weren't in the terminal itself; instead there was a short walk to a nearby carpark where a pre-fab hut stood. He had to wait for twenty minutes, while an irate customer tried to explain to the attendant why it wasn't

his

fault that he'd given the wrong date when making the booking, and that they should have his vehicle ready one month early, and then it was Jamie's turn. A brief bit of form-signing followed, and then he had his keys and was on his way.

***

It was a forty-five minute drive following the satnav to his hotel. A bit of motorway, some A-roads, and then a frustrating meander through small-town streets with a 20mph speed limit. His hotel was a Premier Inn in the town centre. He'd already eaten while waiting in the departure lounge, so he didn't need an evening meal. He checked in, unpacked, had a quick shower, and then changed into his kilt. Jamie was going "full Charlie", meaning that he had on his Bonnie Prince Charlie, the kilt equivalent to a dinner jacket, with a waistcoat underneath, and a white shirt. Instead of a bow-tie, he had a cravat that matched the green in his Sinclair Ancient Hunting tartan.

He texted Amy: "Kilt on. All set."

Amy answered almost immediately with a video call. "Show me," she said. "I want to see you." There was a mostly-full-length mirror near the room door, so he stood in front of that and held up his phone.

"Ah! Ma bonnie boy," she cheered. "But lose the tie."

Putting down his phone, Jamie unfastened the cravat — like many modern bow ties, it was a pre-assembled garment, designed to be easy to put on and take off — and unbuttoned his collar.

"Better?" he asked, once more in front of the mirror.

"Hmm." Amy looked thoughtful. "Undo one more button, I think."

He did.

"Rawr! Okay,

now

you're ready. And remember — I want to hear all about it!"

"I know," he assured her. "Love you."

Amy blew him a kiss, and hung up.

He dropped his phone into his sporran along with his wallet and room keycard, pulled on his coat, and wandered out.

***

It was now just after 8pm, so it had been dark for a few hours. There was a nasty wind in the air which threatened rain but had not yet followed through. He looked up and down the street, picked a direction at random, and started walking.

There were very few people about. Not many cars. Chain coffee shops and Charity-shop storefronts illuminated the pavement in front of him. After a short walk, he found a pub, "The Peacock".

Well, that fits

, he thought, as he went inside.

The pub wasn't wide but, approaching the bar, he could see that it continued through to another room at the back. There were a couple of men playing darts, and a handful of tables occupied by groups of men or by couples. Two women in their thirties sat at one table. A TV in the corner showed BBC News with the sound down and subtitles on.

"What'll yer 'ave?" the barman asked.

Jamie made a quick survey of the pumps. "Pint of Ruddles, please."

The barman raised an eyebrow as he heaved on the pump. "Wedding?"

"Sorry?"

"The kilt. You look like you've just escaped from a wedding."

"Ah. No." Jamie went with the previous justification. "Company thing. Formal dinner. The escaping part's true, though."

The barman sniffed. "Fair enough. Seemed a funny day for a wedding." He placed the pint on the bar, and Jamie paid.

"In pub, with beer," he texted to Amy. "It's almost empty."

Jamie sighed a little. Still standing at the bar, he started reading Facebook on his phone, and sipped his pint.

***

Amy was having a better evening.

She'd been turned on by the thought of what might happen to Jamie all day, with shivers of anticipation each time she thought of it. As soon as work was done, she'd given in. She'd retreated to the bedroom, retrieved one of her vibrators and some lube, and gotten to work.

After undressing, she lubed the vibrator and her fingers and lay back, spreading the lube over her labia and mound. She worked quickly, moving her fingers inside and out, inside and out, then up and around her clitoris and back, before turning the vibrator on and moving the tip around her mound, not too close. She caressed her clitoris a little more, feeling the rush of pleasure, the need.

Amy pushed the vibrator inside, slowly, feeling it open her up and fill her. She squeezed her mound with her hand in a slow rhythm at first. Out, in, pause. Out, in, pause. She rubbed herself as she did. Wanting more speed and depth, she rolled over and got up on her knees. With her legs spread and her face in the pillow, she could move the vibrator in and out more quickly, while still rubbing herself. She got faster and faster until she could feel her orgasm start. When she came, she pushed the vibrator in as deep as it would go, and collapsed onto her side, both her hands clamped onto her sex and pulling tight, her knees together and drawn in. "

Uhhhhhhhhh!

" she moaned to herself.

Once she'd gotten that itch out of the way, she could settle back to enjoy the evening properly. She dressed again and made herself dinner. When Jamie said he was all dressed and ready to go out, she wanted to see. He looked so sexy in his kilt, even if

he

couldn't see that. She saved a screenshot for later, and poured herself a glass of wine — just the one, it was mid-week, after all — undressed again, and lay back on the bed once more to enjoy the gentle play of her fingers over her sex as she waited for Jamie to report in on events.

***

Jamie had noticed that the two women by themselves had spotted him, and kept looking over. He tried to be nonchalant about it, but he could feel a stirring in his nether regions. After a while, they got up, and he thought they may be about to come over to him, but instead they picked up their coats. They were obviously leaving. They did veer towards him on their way out.

"By the way," one of them said, placing her hand on his arm briefly, "we love your kilt!" And then they were gone.

Jamie left his pint half-drunk, and decided to move to another pub.

Outside, he randomly picked another street and started walking. It was dark and chilly and windy, but it was hard to deny that there was a certain electric feeling to it. As he walked the kilt swished around his knees, and the frequent gusts of wind would blow the hem higher, or make it billow outwards; these gave him a frisson of excitement as he felt chill air against his upper thighs or buttocks. The weight of his sporran kept the kilt from riding up too much at the front, but there was a real danger of a full-on Marilyn Monroe event.

After a while, he came to another bar. This one had music playing, so looked promising. Inside, though, it was, once more, mostly empty.

"Gave up on that pub," he texted to Amy. "In new pub. Also very empty."

He did not fare any better here. Once more, he drank about half his pint before moving on. He passed other bars that were empty, too. The wind was starting to turn from

isn't this exciting?

to

cold and annoying

so he started back towards his hotel, down some different streets.

One more

, he told himself.

One more bar, then call it a night.

After a while, he came to another bar with music coming out of it. It turned out to be a karaoke bar. When he entered, a middle-aged couple were fumbling their way through "I Got You Babe". The place had more people in it, so maybe he would do better. He got another pint, and stood at the bar to watch, after texting Amy with an update.

After the couple finished, a good-looking guy in his early thirties took the mic. He'd picked Maroon 5's "Move Like Jagger", and he certainly knew what he was doing. He sang well, and could dance. Jamie looked round the bar. There was a gaggle of young women at one table, several couples, and several small groups. He noticed one or two people glance over to him, then point him out to others at their table.

When the good-looking guy had finished, he said, "Next up, we have Cheryl," and he waited for the gaggle of young girls to make their way over to the raised dias where the karaoke setup stood under lights. Evidently, he was running the session, which explained his confidence.

The girls had picked Abba's "Dancing Queen", and attacked it with more enthusiasm than talent or ability. Their efforts were not helped by their inability to get through a verse without collapsing into laughter at their own efforts. Well, at least they were enjoying themselves, he thought. And they were pretty to look at, too.

When they'd finished, the girls returned to their table for a short while, but they'd obviously noticed him, because after a while, one of them came over to him.

"I love your outfit," she said.

"Thank you."

Is this where it begins

, he wondered? He felt himself beginning to stiffen in anticipation.

"Would it be okay if we got a photo with you?"

"Sure," he said.

She took his hand and pulled him over to their table. He was greeted by a chorus of variations on how great he looked in the kilt, then he posed for several photographs with them, with one girl on each side, arms around waists. By now he was at half-mast — not that that was obvious, with the weight of the sporran at the front of the kilt.

And... that was it. They'd gotten pictures, and now they seemed content, so he drifted back to the bar and his pint. He sipped a bit more, while texting Amy a brief description of the interaction.

There were no further approaches, and after half an hour, he'd drained the glass.

And that's that

, he thought to himself. He'd had all the beer he was going to have, and it was quite late enough given that he had to be ready and awake for the client in the morning.

"Calling it a night. Heading back to hotel," he sent to Amy.

***

He called Amy, when he got back to the hotel room, after he'd dumped the jacket and waistcoat onto the bed. She sounded put out.

"I did warn you," he said. "It's a cold, Tuesday night in February. People aren't out partying like they are at Christmas time."

"Well, it's their loss. They don't know what they're missing." She switched to a video call again. He could see that she was lying on the bed.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't realise you'd gone to bed." He frowned. "It's a little early."

"That's okay," she said. "I wasn't planning to go to sleep yet. Take off your shirt."

"Er, why?"

"Because I want to see you with your shirt off, and I'm not there to take it off for you." Her eyebrow arched up. She'd had one of her Ideas. Amy's Ideas didn't always end well for Jamie. He started to stiffen again. Amy always got him a little excited when she was in this mood.

"Okay. Hang on a mo." He started to put the phone down.

Amy immediately let out a cry of complaint. "Oi!"

"What?"

"I didn't say put the phone down. I want to

see

you take it off. Go into the bathroom and prop the phone up there."

He did as he was told. "That good enough?" he asked, as he propped it against the mirrored back wall next to the sink.

"Much better. Off you go." She snuggled into the pillows a bit more, to watch him as he unbuttoned his shirt and then peeled it away to reveal his bare chest. "Mmm, yes." she said. "That's what I like to see. Now, I want to see your sporran."

Okay

, he thought, and lifted it into view.

She rolled her eyes. "No, move the

phone

so that I can see the sporran."

Once more, he positioned the phone to her liking. He could still see her face, from his angle, but she couldn't see his.

"Happy?"

"Yep. Kilt up."