Lara wondered what it was like back home in Spain. She had come to Scotland on holiday and had never known a storm like this. The fork lightning, which lit up the sky was so different from the sheets of lightning she was used to at home. The wind was howling and, even in the car, she and her husband could feel its strength. The rain was just pouring down; it was falling in torrents and she wondered if they would ever find their destination.
She stared out into the dark and was amazed how beautiful yet dangerous the storm appeared. She could hear the thunder as it rolled across the dark sky, bringing an even heavier burst of rain and topped with another shaft of light splitting the sky. She was thrilled by the storm, its very violence all she had hoped for. She didn't want to admit it at that moment but she knew her knickers were wet as the menacing storm infused every cell in her body.
Her husband was trying to force the car by sheer will power through the tempest and, at last, they saw the signs for the castle. They had been invited to dinner by the local laird and his wife and they were not going to let a storm get in their way. They drove up the long tree-shrouded drive and wondered how they were going to get out without risking a total soaking.
Just at that moment a tartan-suited butler appeared at the large wooden doors and indicated they should stay where they were. He quickly produced a large golf umbrella and staggered out to the car to collect their luggage. At the same time, he handed Lara's husband another umbrella and shouted through the noise of the storm that they should get in as quickly as possible.
Before her husband had even had time to say thanks the man was emptying the boot of the car and hauling their overnight case out and running for the sanctuary of the door. Her husband told her to wait where she was and he would come round to her side of the car to protect her with the umbrella. Lara had other ideas.
She threw open her door and stepped out into the maelstrom. Her thick, dark hair was instantly plastered to her head as the rain poured down on her, soaking her to the skin in moments. Lara didn't mind; she lifted her face to the clouds and let the cold, Scottish rain batter her gorgeous face before her husband grabbed her and pulled her under the umbrella.
"What do you think you are doing? Are you mad?"
Lara didn't have an answer. She just knew she wanted to feel the ferocity of the storm. Holding her around her soaking waist, they ran together for the door and erupted into a huge, fire-warmed hall. Her husband lowered the umbrella and handed it back to the butler with thanks. The man wondered why he had bothered when he saw how wet the woman was but nodded courteously and led them through to meet their hosts.
They were show into what looked like a large library which was, once more, warmed by a large log fire. The butler introduced them by name, even though they had not told him, and they were greeted by a very elegant couple; both tall, he sitting by the fire in formal evening along with his obligatory tartan trews while she stood facing them, an elegant mistress of the castle and all she surveyed. She was dressed in a long, black evening gown and, Lara guessed, must be somewhere in her mid fifties.
"Lady MacDonald," she said with a warm smile extending her hand. "I imagine you would like to freshen up after your journey. I must apologise for the weather but I am so glad you could make it."
She instructed her butler to show them to their room and Lara realised she would be glad to get out of the soaking wet clothes which now clung to every inch of her gorgeous body. The laird had also seemed to notice her curves but just smiled from his place by the fire and watched them leave the room. Turning to his wife, his smile was replaced by an evil grin.
"I think you'll have fun with that one."
Leading them up a long, winding staircase, the butler informed them that they other guests were already preparing for dinner but they had sufficient time to shower and dress. Throwing open a heavy wood panelled door, he carried their case into their room for the night and left them to their preparations. Lara walked around the room in wonder, the walls covered in paintings which were, she imagined, originals. The room was opulent, to say the least, and Lara looked forward to seeing the rest of the castle after dinner.
In any other circumstances she and her husband would have taken their time to shower and prepare for such a dinner but they didn't want to keep anyone waiting so had a quick wash then got dressed. They had been warned that this would be a "black tie" affair and so they had brought Lara's evening gown and her husband's dinner jacket as advised.
Lara was excited and more than a little nervous as they made their way back down the staircase and saw the other guests, two more couples, turning their heads to greet them. She noticed that they were all a bit older than she and her husband; they were both thirty five years old while all other guests seemed to be about the same age as their hosts
This time they were greeted by the laird and, taking Lara by the hand, he introduced them to the others in the room, Mr and Mrs Wallace along with Mr and Mrs Simpson. They were offered the choice of champagne or whisky, and though Lara had never tasted it before, she wanted to blend in with the other guests and was handed a heavy crystal glass with a few inches worth of the golden liquid. She sipped at it and even that tiny amount, numbed her lips and burned its way down her throat. Trying hard not to cough, her face reddened but she managed to keep it down.
As they mingled among each other, Lara's fears that she would not be understood disappeared. She found that they could understand her English perfectly well and she found that the whisky made her even more confident in speaking this foreign language. If anything, she believed she was speaking it better than the other guests who were obviously locals and were continually slipping in local words and phrases that she had never heard before.
As they were led through to the dinning room, her husband whispered into her ear that she should slow down on how much whisky she was drinking but Lara was enjoying herself now and the meal passed by in a blur of rich food and more alcohol. Each time she took a drink of her whisky, her glass was refilled and, when the men excused themselves to accompany the laird to his study where they would be served brandy and cigars, Lara realised she was glad she was not the one who had to stand up. All the feeling in her legs seemed to have gone and she held on to the table to make sure she didn't fall to the richly carpeted floor.
"Well now that the men have gone to do whatever it is men do in my husband's study, shall we play some cards?"
Mrs Wallace and Mrs Simpson seemed only too pleased to begin their parlour games and Lara simply nodded her head. Lady MacDonald was handed a deck of cards on a silver platter by one of the maids and expertly shuffled them before dealing out the cards. Lara looked on in bemusement as a few cards landed in front of her. She picked them up as her host announced they were playing poker. Lara had never played before but was too embarrassed to admit this and simply tried to follow what the others were doing and saying. Her whisky glass was filled once more and Lara began to think her husband might have been right.
After a few moments, they all had to show their cards and Lara was amazed and overjoyed to find out that she had won.
"Well done, dear," smiled Lady MacDonald and the other two women offered their warm congratulations. "Now, shall we make it a bit more interesting? Let's say that each time someone loses, they have to pay a forfeit? Everyone up for that?"
Mrs Wallace and Mrs Simpson nodded eagerly and when Lady MacDonald looked to Lara she didn't think she could do anything but agree. After all, she had just one the first game; it seemed easy. And how difficult could the forfeits be anyway? She was dealing with a member of the aristocracy, after all, and two respectable pillars of the local community. Lara smiled back to her host and agreed to pay any forfeits that should come her way. That's when things started to go wrong.
She lost the next hand very quickly and Mrs Wallace suggested that she should have to give each of them a kiss. Lara giggled at that, like a schoolgirl, struggled to her feet then walked unsteadily round the table to give the other two guests a peck on the cheek. When she came back to Lady MacDonald, however, the older woman turned her head just as Lara was about to kiss her and there lips met. The shocked woman tried to pull away but her host had grabbed her hair and she realised she was going nowhere. As the older woman kissed her passionately, Lara felt her hot tongue invading her mouth and, instinctively, she kissed her host back.
Her head in a whirl, Lady MacDonald released her and she stumbled back to her seat. Her legs were like jelly but they weren't numb any more because she could feel her thighs trembling and her pussy leaking out. She had never kissed another woman before; she had never really kissed anyone but her husband before and now she was reeling from the effect that kiss had had on her.
Lady MacDonald simply smiled and dealt the next hand but Lara could not concentrate for a single minute and lost before she even knew what was happening. This time it was Mrs Simpson's turn to name the forfeit and she smiled sweetly at the unsuspecting woman across the table before announcing,
"I'd like to see her tits."
Lara nearly laughed out loud until she looked around the table and saw that no-one else was laughing. Instead the three older women were staring at her with what could only be described as hunger in their eyes. She tried to explain that she wasn't that kind of woman and that there must be something else she could do.
At that Lady MacDonald rang a bell on the table and one of the doors behind Lara burst open. She began to turn her head at the sound when her view was blocked by two maids standing behind her. Before she knew what was happening, her hands had been grasped and tied to the arms of the chair.
"Please, no, let me go. Lady MacDonald what is the meaning of this? Let me go."
She was trying to be strong but in her mind she was scared. She had had a lovely evening until that point. Why was it turning out so badly? She had more things to worry about though as each of the young maids pulled her black dress down over her gorgeous tits and left them there for all to see. She could see her nipples growing; she could feel the damp patch in her knickers growing too but she knew she didn't want any of this. She struggled to free herself but the more she struggled, the more her breasts shook wildly and she stopped as she realised the three older women were enjoying the show.
"Now, dear, don't be a poor sport. You lost the game and had agreed to pay your forfeit so fair's fair. I must say though, you do have incredible breasts. If you agree to leave them on display during the next hand then I will allow you to be untied. If not then I'm afraid the binds will remain."
