True Scotsman Pt 05B

[ Author's Note: As the title indicates, this is a continuation of True Scotsman Part 5, this being the second part of a single episode. It is recommended that you read part 5a before reading this. ]

Jamie was in a daze as he walked back along the dingy behind-the-scenes corridor of the nightclub and through the "Staff Only" door, putting him back at the security point at the nightclub entrance. He stepped up to the small booth and paid the cover fee and received a stamp on his wrist for his trouble; it seemed almost surreal to be paying the entrance fee for the venue after what he'd just been through but, right now, he

really

wanted another drink.

In search of a bar with a short-ish queue, he passed a high-energy room playing rave music as clubbers held their hands in the air amid the bright strobe lights, and an urban room playing hip-hop in near-darkness. Apparently, all these nightclubs were built around a successful formula. Up a flight of stairs, he found a room that appeared to be a chill-out space: a long, almost entirely empty bar, and lots of comfy padded seating with few people sitting at them.

Perfect.

He got served immediately, and collapsed at a table with a Glenfiddich.

"

Jesus

," he muttered to himself, with feeling.

He checked his phone, expecting something from "Mistress" Amy, but there wasn't anything. At least, not yet. She was probably working up to another orgasm, knowing her.

***

"Mistress" Amy was.

There had been about a second of a pause between Mistress Charlotte closing the video call and Amy lunging for her vibrator. She was

desperate

to come. She had just watched her husband Jamie shudder out a semi-orgasm through his cage all over the lino flooring in the back room of Charlotte's nightclub, thanks to Charlotte's prostate massage -- and it was the hottest thing she'd ever seen.

At the back of her mind, she knew that she needed to talk to Jamie about this. It was bad enough that she'd set him up with a cock cage, trusting in the strength of their relationship for him to go along with it, but to assent to Jamie's first anal sexual experience to be via the finger of a woman he didn't even know, and a dominatrix at that, was going to require some serious apology on her part.

But that was for the future. Right now, she needed to come, and she needed it badly.

Her go-to vibrator was already to hand, and she lunged for it as soon as she was able, thrusting it deep into herself. She was already aching for it. She thought about how he'd looked as his expression had changed, his eyes going unfocused as he went from "this is strange" to "OMG"; idly, Amy wondered whether she'd be able to contact Charlotte and find out exactly what she'd been doing that had caused that response. But in the meantime, Amy needed to come.

To her frustration, she realised the go-to vibrator wasn't enough. She pulled open the drawer of her bedside cabinet and grabbed her larger dildo, the one she used when she was

really

worked up, and she pulled out her wand. It had a large head, which meant it could provide pleasing sensations to a wider area. The vibrator lay discarded on the bed as Amy worked the large dildo into herself. The head disappeared on the first attempt; each successive thrust pushed it a further two inches in, and very shortly Amy was taking the full length of the massive silicon cock-and-balls, and she turned on the wand, inverted it, and held it against her clitoris,

Immediately, the world span as her eyes rolled back and she fell back onto the bed, letting out a gasp.

But she wasn't there yet. She was pumping the dildo in and out, feeling the sensations from the wand, thinking about Jamie's expression as he came, still within the cage, but it wasn't getting her there, hot though it was.

It was Mistress Charlotte, commanding Jamie. Amy imagined herself standing there instead of Charlotte, radiating that aura of authority, controlling her Jamie, making him come despite the locked-up cock.

Mistress Amy.

That's what got Amy shuddering her way through her own, seemingly endless epic orgasm, fantasising about controlling her Jamie and getting him off like that. It went on and on and on, until it faded, and Amy was left breathless and drifting in a timeless realm and it was oh so good until she realised that she hadn't spoken to or texted Jamie since Mistress Charlotte had cut the call.

Oops.

***

Jamie sighed, his eyes closed, his head resting back against the padded bench in the chill-out room. He took a sip from his glass and felt the heat of the alcohol warm the inside of mouth. It felt good to sit down; it's easy to spot a kilt when the silver on the sporran is reflecting the bight lights and the pleats are swaying back and forth; less so when the wearer is sitting down and hardly moving, so he'd been constantly on his feet for, what? Five, six hours now? Apart from a brief bit just now, when he was literally on his knees, wiping the lino.

He rested for a good ten minutes before Amy pinged him.

"OH. MY. GOD!!!! Was that a head rush or what?"

"It was certainly different," Jamie admitted. Truth was, he wasn't sure how he felt about what had just happened. He needed time to process it, and he needed a more nuanced conversation with Amy than text messages allowed. Instead, he deflected. "Catching my breath with a dram in one of the bars."

"You still carrying on, then? Thought that might be you for the night."

"We'll see," he replied. "I could get a small house in Dundee for what this whisky cost me, so I may as well check out the rooms while I'm here."

"Keep me posted, then. Love you, ma bonnie boy!"

It turned out that this venue's retro room was effectively adjacent to the chill-out space. He found it when he went back out to the stairs, and tried the next set of doors along the landing.

The room was currently playing Bew*tched's "

C'est La Vie

", and the dance floor, a multi-coloured rectangle with the classic colour-changing square tiles, was packed. The room itself was also rectangular, with bars taking up most of the long sides. Booths covered the short sides, wrapping around the corners. The dance floor was surrounded by a railing with a narrow shelf and tall bar stools. The booths at the ends and many of the stools around the dance floor were occupied, and groups spilled out from the seating areas into the spaces between the bars and the dance floor, with clubbers standing in groups, chatting, dancing, or watching the dancers. It was all now very familiar to Jamie.

Jamie made his way to the bar and waited to be served another drink. The servers were all women, all young and attractive, and all dressed like extras from

Fame

or

Flashdance

, with hairbands, leotards and leg warmers. He didn't have long to wait, and soon he was holding a small lager in a plastic bottle.

He turned from the bar and strode across to the dance floor, standing by the barrier where there was room. The music had now changed to Wigfield's "

Saturday Night

", and half the dancers were doing the accompanying actions. As expected for the retro room, there was a wide mix of demographics on the dance floor, but quite a few pretty young things too. He noticed women from the hen nights he'd seen while waiting at security. The "police women" were dressed in standard off-the-shelf costumes: poorly-made black shirt and skirts in cheap-looking material with white stripes and insignia on them, plus a cap, plastic-sliver badge and handcuffs. Some of the women in that group looked sexy despite the outfit, rather than because of it.

The "Roller Derby" group looked much more authentic -- but then, real outfits were considerably more affordable and accessible for them. T-shirts, athletic shorts with a cheap mini-kilt thrown on top, and trainers. Add to that bike helmets and skate pads on elbows and knees. Finish off with fingerless gloves and a whole lot of punk attitude, and you were ready to rock. And certainly the roller girls seemed to be having fun, while the police women seemed to be a bit more performative. And for some reason, the police women kept picking out some random guy on the dance floor and either haranguing him or having some kind of argument, though apparently in a good-natured sort of way.

He moved round to the top of the room, where people entered and exited the dance floor through the gap in the surrounding railing, loitering there for a bit. It put him in the eye line of anyone passing through, and it also meant he was in front of several occupied booths. A few women flipped his hem a bit as they passed. The roller derby girls looked him up and down and giggled as they returned to their booth, rejoining their friends.

A few minutes later, he was aware of the roller girls approaching again, and waited to see whether they would attract his attention.

"Excuse me," one of them said. "Can we take some photos?"

He turned. There were three roller girls there, with phones at the ready. "Sure," he said, with a smile.

Two of them quickly snapped their arms forward and down, and took up-kilt photos. "Ha!"

Jamie jumped in surprise, which they took for alarm. "Ha!" they said again. And suddenly Jamie was surrounded by roller girls with phones and wicked grins. Each time he turned around in response, another phone went off, complete with flash, and no small quantity of actual cackling. Chances are, all they were getting were random shadowy shots of tartan, leg or carpet, but that wasn't really the point.

It took Jamie a couple of seconds to stop reacting in surprise to the girls appearing from all directions around him, and to simply stand there. They smirked at him, and took a couple more anyway.

"You know," he said calmly, "you could just ask."

"We did," the first girl said, amused. She snapped another picture.

"You know what I mean."

Click.

"You still said 'yes'."

Click.

He held his arms out, as if to say

Knock yourselves out

, which perversely spoiled their fun. They took a few more just in case. Then they realised that they could take pictures more carefully, so a couple of them took the time to position their phones properly first, with a shrug.

May as well, right?

They started to drift off after that, still cackling.

And then they finally got around to

looking

at the pictures they'd taken.

"Holy shit!" one said. "What the hell is that?"

"What's what?" another asked. "I don't see any--

Whoa!

That is freakin' weird!"

"Yeah," the first said. She looked at Jamie. "Seriously, what

is

that?"

"What does it look like," Jamie asked, amused.

"It looks like you've been fucking a balloon whisk."

"Yeah," the second girl said. "Why does your knob look like an unwrapped champagne cork before it's been popped?"

"I thought I was the sheltered one round here," a third said to the first two. "Do you two live under a rock? Do you not have the Internet?" She turned to Jamie. "Why are you wearing a cock cage?"

"You should ask my wife," Jamie told them. He reached for one of the cards.

"No kidding," she agreed. She looked around. "Where is she, anyway? Why isn't she here?"

"Like I said," Jamie said, reaching for one of the other cards, "you should ask my wife."

"Wait," the first one said, peering at one of the photos that she'd evidently zoomed in on. "Is that thing made of metal? How did you get it past the metal detectors without them noticing?"

"Oh, trust me, they noticed," Jamie said meaningfully.

"And they did nothing?"

"Once more, with feeling," said Jamie, holding out the cards, "you really should

talk to my wife."

So they did.

Sure, they all took turns to have a proper peek and a grope at Jamie's encased member, but mostly they gathered around in a group centred on Jamie's phone, having a screamingly hilarious text conversation with Amy. Jamie wasn't invited, but they often looked over at him with thoughtful -- not to mention predatory -- expressions on their faces.

It looked like they would be a while, so he went to get another drink. He threaded through knots of people standing or dancing in the walkway, but bumped into one woman when she stepped backwards just as he stepped forwards.

"Sorry," he said, holding up his hands in apology as she turned. "My fault."

It was one of the police women. She looked him up and down in surprise, her eyes widening.

"Hold on a minute," she said, putting a hand on his chest. "You can't just walk around dressed like that and expect to get away with it." She pulled out her silver-plastic handcuffs from her plastic costume belt, and hooked one onto his wrist. "I'm arresting you on suspicion of having a loaded cock. Any underwear you have may be taken down and used against you." This evidently-rehearsed speech was delivered in a breathless, little-girl sort of voice that was supposed to be sultry and seductive. She snapped the other cuff onto her wrist. "You're nicked," she said, in a more normal voice.

She led Jamie round the corner to a booth nearest the bar, where the rest of the police women were congregated. They had a couple of ice buckets with bottles in them on the table, and lots of glasses and streamers and other decoration, but none of the usual sex-related paraphernalia of hen nights.

"Got another one, Sarge," the woman leading him said to the one wearing a Chief Bridesmaid sash. "Loitering with intent, I reckon."

"Nice one, Officer Tulip," "Sarge" said, standing and coming around the table. "We need get villains like this off the streets to protect the public. All right ladies, this geezer needs processing." She pulled out another set of plastic handcuffs and cuffed a bemused Jamie's hands behind his back, as Tulip removed her cuffs. He almost sighed.

"Right then, girls," one of them said. "Get frisking!"

Jamie was suddenly covered in hands, which quickly found their way inside his shirt and along his thighs. It wasn't long before they discovered the cage. They broke character pretty quickly, wanting to know the deal.

"Take a look in the pockets in my waistcoat," he told them. "Normally, I'd just hand them out, but, well...." He shrugged his shoulders.

They quickly found the cards, and read them with interest. Some brief discussion followed before the one with a bride's veil dragged them back into the scenario, saying, "I reckon we need to examine this boy's phone. It could contain crucial evidence."

"Good point, Inspector," Sarge said. "You! Where's your phone?" She started trying to open the sporran, but Jamie interrupted.

"I don't have it on me right now. The roller derby girls, just over there. They've got it."

Sarge straightened. "Right then. C'mon, you 'orrible lot. Let's get detecting."

En masse

, they frog-marched Jamie round to the roller derby group, who were all still gathered around Jamie's phone, cackling.

"Evenin' ladies," the Inspector said. "I understand you can help us with our enquiries. We need to examine this lad's phone for crucial evidence."

The roller girls burst into laughter, and entered into the spirit of the game. Soon Jamie was being prodded and groped and peeked at by all of them. But at that point, a female member of staff came by.

"Unless you want to be arrested for real," she told them, "you shouldn't be doing that out here in the public space. Especially when I've got a private room you can use." She looked over at him. "Hello again, Jamie."

Mistress Charlotte was back.

***

Amy had been enjoying her chat with the roller girls. She'd gotten them to send through some selfies, so she could visualise them, and she enjoyed encouraging them to play with Jamie (within reason), and passing on details of Jamie's encounter with Mistress Charlotte earlier (again, within reason). It was a mild turn-on, at this point; mostly, she was enjoying the girl-to-girl conversation, with a side order of basking in their approval. It did wonders for her self-esteem.

Then, briefly, they went quiet, not responding.

Then they were back, with "The police are here," which made Amy panic again, until a photo came through of the half-dozen or so bimbos in off-the-shelf Sexy Policewoman costumes, all crowded around Jamie. "They want to play, too." She breathed a sigh of relief.

And then: "Mistress Charlotte is taking us all to a private room."

Well

. Things just got interesting.

***

They must have looked a weird sight as they moved around the side of the dance floor, across the lobby space, and through the chill-out space to extra doors at the back. Charlotte led the way, striding confidently like she owned the place (and maybe she did). The roller girls followed, each bristling with swagger, like a gallon of attitude crammed into a shot glass. The police women brought up the rear, tottering along on ridiculously high heels and tugging down their mini-dress hems every few steps, playing up the blonde hottie stereotypes. And in the middle, doing the tartan perp walk in his cuffs, was Jamie.

Charlotte pushed the doors open, led them down a short corridor, and opened up another door using a key card from her jacket. They all filed into the room beyond, a karaoke room with a shut-down audio system and a closed and locked-off bar.

"Two rules," Charlotte told them, once they were all inside. "One, you get Mistress Amy on video call so she can watch. And if she says

No

, it doesn't happen. Understand? Two, no matter what, that cage stays on." She pointed to the security cameras mounted on the ceiling. "I

will

be watching. Clear?"

The roller girls and police women all nodded obediently, momentarily cowed by Charlotte's forceful nature.

"Good. You have thirty minutes."

"Thirty minutes?" one of the policy women complained. "That's not very long."

"Then I suggest you focus." And she closed the door.

***

Amy answered the video call from Jamie's phone, and, as expected, was faced with one of the roller girls: a youngish woman wearing a cycle helmet.

"Hi Amy," she said. "Mistress Charlotte said we should get you on video. I guess she doesn't want us to overstep any boundaries. Well," she added with a laugh, "any boundaries you don't

want

us to overstep, anyway." She was fiddling with the phone, checking the view it was offering as she propped it up somewhere. "How's that?" she asked, as she backed away. "Can you see us all?"

Amy could. In fact, she could see more than she expected: not only could she see Jamie and the roller girls, but she could also see the Police Women group of girls; Jamie appeared to be collecting quite the crowd. There appeared to be at least ten or twelve women now. "Yes," she told them. "I can see you now." She wondered what Jamie was thinking, to be surrounded by so many attractive women all wanting to use him as their plaything.

"Great," one of the police women said. "Can we get started now? Mistress Charlotte only gave us half an hour."

"Okay, what can we do?" one of her fellow officers asked. "It's not like we can fuck him, with that thing on."

"Fucking him's out of bounds, anyway," one of the roller girls said. "It's in Amy's rules."

"He's got two hands and a tongue," another chimed in. "I say we put them to work."

"Who gets to come, then, and who misses out?" another asked. "There's a lot of us here. The boy may be talented, but even if he's a miracle worker doing three of us at once, we're not all going to get a chance."

"Can we

at least

get him

naked?

" one of the police women asked, plaintively.

This was quickly agreed, and they set to, rapidly stripping Jamie. The waistcoat was gone in seconds. They unbuckled the sporran chains, and two of them worked on the buckles for the kilt, while two more speedily unbuttoned his shirt. Amy got a real buzz out of seeing her man driving so many women to distraction. They struggled a bit with the shirt until she realised why:

Jamie was handcuffed

. Well, that was certainly adding spice. They magnanimously removed the cuffs until the shirt was off, and then put them back on.