Prologue
On the face of it, I was just having a pleasant jog. Here I was, running through the gorgeous grounds of the Kinloch-Strathinch estate. Nothing unusual, I often run a few laps around our club track after work.
This afternoon I was running through some of the most glorious countryside I had ever laid eyes on. Rather out of character, I was not paying a single bit of attention to the wide vistas around me. Instead of relaxing and soaking in the pleasant surroundings, I felt vulnerable out in the open and all I could think about was to get to cover. That is why I scanned for, and headed towards a wooded area up ahead.
Before you think I'm agoraphobic, I must stress that I had very good reasons to be wary of standing out against the expansive scenery. There were two reasons in fact. Two packs of hounds were on my trail, and as a consequence, they were never far from my mind.
Not that I panicked, in fact my breathing was deep but regular. I enjoy running and I'm good at it. The endorphins were already cruising through my veins. They gave me an all over tingle and I'm sure they are the reason I get horny from running.
My body is toned and men say that I carry just enough fat to be curvy. With the notable exception of my breasts which are rather large for my frame. I am quite a bit taller than most women I know, at close to 180cm.
I was running at a comfortable pace with my breasts bobbing as I bounced over grass and heather. Oh, did I mention I was naked?
Not that I felt naked. Even without a stitch, I looked fairly respectable, if a bit peculiar. I was covered from head to toe in body paint. Truth be told, I was rather artistically and convincingly painted. The actual dyes were of a high quality as well. No matter how much I perspired, I could not shift or smudge its red and white artwork.
I cast a quick glance down in appreciation of the meticulous brush strokes. I was used to seeing red and white tones when looking at myself, since underneath the paint, freckles cover my pale skin. My coat of paint was mainly red, but the artist didn't need to use any dyes for the bushy triangle between my legs. The striking red curls were all mine, the same colour as the long hair which flowed out behind my head as I ran.
Not for the first time, I wondered how I had gotten myself into this situation. How did I, a young Irish woman, end up streaking across the Highlands of Scotland? Perhaps I should have started this story at the beginning. Maybe as far back as when I was growing up on a farm in County Cork.
Those years did a lot to shape my current social life, as I have always felt close to animals. Not that I have lots of pets, the closeness is more in a spiritual sense. My boss and friend Siobhan is very similar in this respect. She and I have taken this shared passion to role playing games, where people play as animals. She does the people bit, and I do the animal bit.
That gives a little bit of background to why I had joined a fox hunt on this beautiful estate. Of course that's not unusual as such. Foxes have been hunted for countless years. That was the gruesome bloody kind that is fortunately now outlawed. This chase would not end with the hounds killing the fox by tearing it to shreds. At least I had a fervent hope it would not. You see, I was the fox in this hunt.
Let's go back to last week at work when Siobhan and I were engaged in a far more mundane meeting, and I was in much more conventional attire.
Hunting for sales
Siobhan started the meeting in her usual manner.
"Hi gang, let's get started. Next Thursday and Friday we're in Glasgow for the Show."
This was not news.
"Shelagh and I will be on the stand."
Everybody else's face showed some relief, as it would only be Siobhan and I who would be spending two days on our feet with forced smiles.
"Shelagh, what you need from the rest?"
I listed what we would need to take to the stand. Glossy brochures, business card scanner, pens with our logo and a thousand other things. Siobhan made sure all logistics were minutely prepared and we were all clear. The meeting broke up and everybody headed back to their desks. I dallied until I could talk to Siobhan alone.
"I spoke to Philip and Rosheen. They are in Scotland the week after the show."
They are a blonde couple which whom Siobhan and I share membership of the Aristotle club. Philip is an out and out hunk. He is tall, strong and quiet. Rosheen is more extrovert and almost as small as Siobhan. She has a dirty laugh and an even dirtier mind. Aristotle is a pony play club in an enclosed race course south of Dublin. Philip and I play horses while Rosheen and Siobhan are trainers.
"Fantastic, we'll catch up the weekend after."
That Wednesday Siobhan and I arrived in Scotland and dropped our luggage off at the hotel. We took the bus to the conference centre to help set up the stand. As we walked up to our patch we saw a few people already setting up the posters and lights. One of them towered head and shoulders above the rest.
He was dressed in camouflaged combat fatigues and was helping with a radio display. As he turned our way, we immediately recognised him as our friend. We shouted his name as one and ran up to jump him in a very unladylike bear hug. Josh is a Marine Corporal Radio specialist. He is even taller than Philip but unlikely to be mistaken for blonde. He is as black as the night. He carries himself with an almost matter of fact confidence and subdued strength. His gorgeous eyes smile as readily as his animated grin and his wide torso forms a classic triangle with his cute button tight ass. Due to an almost fanatical cycling habit, his long legs are very strong. Josh had been a visitor to our Dublin office to teach us about the radio set on display. We seduced him to visit Aristotle where he fitted right in. While he only played one day as a horse, he is certainly hung like one.
Eight o'clock sharp the next morning, Siobhan and I walked onto the finished stand. Josh was there; immaculately dressed in his fatigues, ready to demonstrate the military radio while we would handle the civilian set. The two days at the exhibition dragged out. We got sore feet and tired from smiling and chatting. When I wanted some fresh air and restart my circulation, I took a tour of the show floor. Most displays were fairly similarly with glossy posters and shiny apparatus. Yawnsville.
One was different. It featured large pictures of majestic Scottish landscapes and the stand was staffed by an attractive couple in running gear. As I passed, I made eye contact with the male runner. He had chiselled good looks and the clearest grey eyes.
"Aren't you meant to be in the gym?"
From their painful smiles I could tell I wasn't the first one to crack that lame joke.
"Sorry, but you do stand out."
To show their technical angle, the woman showed me a display on her left forearm. It was slightly larger than a smart phone and had a curved glass front. She explained its workings.
