[ Author's Note: Some readers who did not enjoy "Servant Day Pt. 02 - Lockdown Trim" will also bounce hard off this one, early on. That's okay. If that's you, skip this story, and re-join Jamie and Amy for Part 6. Also, as the title suggests, this is part 5a - Jamie's adventure this evening will continue in part 5b, for more digestible chunks. ]
The parcel was the size and shape of a hardback novel, a thick, summer blockbuster one. It was wrapped in black tissue paper and tied with a white satin ribbon, and it was nestled among the shirts and socks in Jamie's suitcase. And it was Not Supposed To Be There.
It had definitely not been there when Jamie had packed the suitcase, last night. He was pretty sure it had not been there when he'd shoved something in at the last minute, shortly before leaving home in Glasgow this morning. And yet, when he'd come to unpack the case after checking into the hotel in Leeds, there it undeniably was, hiding beneath the very first shirt he'd lifted out.
Jamie wondered when Amy had found time to slip it into the case without him noticing.
Because it was undeniably from Amy. Even if you ignored the fact that only his wife would have access to the case, or the many subtle clues, such as using one of the ribbons with which she tied up her red tresses, it also had a label, written in Amy's own fair hand.
"DO NOT OPEN UNTIL YOU HAVE SPOKEN TO ME," it said, in her neat, precise black-ballpoint way. And it was signed, "love Amy". Rather unnecessarily, Jamie thought.
He lifted it out onto the bed, somewhat gingerly, and dug out his phone. "At hotel," he texted. "Unpacking. Found your parcel." Then he continued to unpack while he waited for her respond, while keeping a wary eye on the package as though it might start ticking at any moment.
It was probably a sex thing, he thought, as he put shirts onto hangers in the wardrobe.
He didn't have to wait long. "Oh good," Amy replied, then followed up quickly with "DO NOT OPEN!!!!" Then, "Call me after you've showered, but before you get dressed for the evening, and we'll open it together." And finally there was a cartoon image of a sexy female devil, complete with wings, horns and a pointy tail.
So, definitely a sex thing, then.
Sex with Amy was great. Mainly because, well, because
Amy
was great. Smart, funny, confident -- oh, and Scottish, which
automatically by definition
made her one of the sexiest people on the planet. But lately, sex with Amy had gotten...interesting. She'd become more adventurous than before. More dominant. He'd found himself restrained a couple of times recently, with Amy even strongly suggesting he should return the favour...
He lifted the kilt out of the case, shook it, and hooked the eye loops onto a hanger in the wardrobe.
To some women, a Scotsman in a kilt is like catnip: an irresistible temptation that also throws inhibition, caution and discretion to the winds: they had to know what was underneath. And what it looked like. And felt like. And more. Something Jamie had repeatedly discovered recently. Amy had found that it was a turn-on to throw a be-kilted Jamie into the lion's den, getting a thrill from the fact that her Jamie in his kilt was driving these women wild but only Amy could really "have" him. Though that line was pretty vague at times, and could even be said to have been crossed occasionally, to their mutual surprise.
And yet, Amy was still keen to send Jamie out suitably attired, his honour defended only by a piece of card listing Amy's "Rules", so that he could report back.
Hence tonight.
August. Friday. Leeds, in the north of England. Jamie had visited a customer, done the presentation, fulfilled his work duties, and decamped to a budget hotel not far from the central train station, started unpacking, and found the parcel.
***
As instructed, Jamie called Amy after he'd finished showering. The plan, at this point, was that he'd get dressed in the kilt and venture forth into the city of Leeds, to bars or clubs selected by Amy. Left to his own devices, Jamie would naturally gravitate to comfortable boozers where you could be sure of a nice pint without getting bothered, but Amy
wanted
Jamie bothered. Hot
and
bothered. Preferably by a pack of women out on a hen night. So Amy had provided places for Jamie to go, where he would pay eye-watering amounts of money for something barely drinkable, but would get his kilt lifted to Amy's satisfaction.
But Amy evidently had more in mind.
As soon as she answered the call, Amy insisted that Jamie switch on his camera, and prop up his phone.
"Oi, what's this with the towel?" she complained, and Jamie obediently discarded the towel that had hung around his waist. "There's ma bonnie boy," Amy cooed.
And she was not wrong. Jamie didn't consider himself good looking, as such. He was all right, he supposed, but then, he was a bloke. But a reliably high number of
drunk but quite insistent
women had put considerable emphasis behind the fact that Amy wasn't the only woman to find him attractive. And he
was
quite fit. This, he had no problem admitting. Lots of time in the university rowing team, plus keeping up the hobby afterwards, did wonders for your thighs, glutes, pecs, abs, and lots of other easily-abbreviated muscle groups.
And he wasn't lacking in the willy department either, apparently. Once again, something a disturbingly high number of drunk women had been at pains to express to him. Often while it was in their hand, to Amy's delight.
Jamie did not pretend to understand all of this, but he did understand that he was widely considered to be a good-looking, fit, handsome, ginger Scotsman with a nice penis and an incomprehensibly understanding wife.
And a beautiful one, at that. At 23, Amy was a couple of years younger than Jamie, but undeniably the one who wore the trousers in their relationship, and Jamie wouldn't have it any other way. Her hair was a softer red than his bright ginger, but she was without question a knockout, while he was just a bloke, or so he thought, contrary to the comments he'd received. And yet she stuck with him. And he adored her.
"Okay", Amy said, now that he was naked, with his penis already half-erect in anticipation of whatever shenanigans Amy had planned. "I think you're suitably attired. You can open it now."
Jamie pulled on the ends of the satin ribbon, undoing the bow, and setting the ribbon aside for later; Amy would want it back. Removing the tissue paper, he found a black cardboard box. Placing it on the bed and opening it up, there was another crush of black tissue as padding, beneath which he found four more items, each labelled "1" through to "4", and each individually wrapped in more black tissue and tied with more ribbons -- red, this time.
"You had a lot of fun doing this," he said.
Amy giggled. "I did!"
He lifted the packages out in order, placing them on the bed, where their black wrapping and scarlet bindings really stood out against the stark white of the hotel linen. Item 1 was cigar-shaped, a couple of inches long and half an inch in thickness. Item 2 was similar, but twice the size in all dimensions. Item 3 was the largest, making Jamie think Amy had wrapped an aubergine. Finally, item four was small and determinedly rectangular and neat, two inches by one, and thin. Jamie had suspicions about that one.
He dug through the remaining crush of paper in the larger box, but didn't find anything else.
"Do I open these now, then?" he asked her.
"Yes. Start with 1 and take them in order."
