True Scotsman Pt. 06a

EIGHT MONTHS AGO: JANUARY 1st.

Amy's phone rang. She picked it up, and then grinned broadly as she saw who was calling.

"Nuala!" she said, answering. "Happy New Year!"

Amy and Nuala had been at Glasgow University together, and had been close friends ever since, despite Nuala moving to Warwick Uni down in England.

"Have to go where the research grants are," Nuala had said at the time.

"You're dead to me," Amy had replied, while grinning in delight at her friend's successes.

Nuala was a full-on belle damme sans merci, a semi-fey force of nature that would have had the pre-Raphaelites reaching for their brushes. Or "Irish", as it was more commonly phrased.

"And a happy new year to you," Nuala replied. "Did yeh have a good New Year's Eve?"

Amy lay back on the sofa in a casual sprawl, and arched an eyebrow. "Ach, you've gone native on me," she accused.

Nuala laughed. "I'm sorry. Did yeh have a good Hogmanay?"

"That's better," Amy approved. "Aye, we did."

"Did yeh do the street party?" Edinburgh's Hogmanay street party was a legendary affair, attracting immense crowds every year.

"God, no -- as if Weegies would go to Edinburgh for Hogmanay! Local pub, then back here for Jools before having a wee party of our own, if you know what I mean."

"Ah, us too," Nuala said. "They had some do on in the town, but once yeh've done Hogmanay in Glasgow, Coventry doesn't really stand much of a chance, right?"

Amy pulled a cushion close and snuggled in for a long chat with her bestie. "So how was your Christmas?"

"Aye, it was grand," Nuala said. "We were staying with Eoin's family, and they always have a good Christmas. Cosy, without the drama."

"Sounds lovely."

"Oh, it was. We went caroling!"

Amy almost sat up in surprise. "You didn't!"

"We did! It's a family tradition on Christmas Eve. Eoin's folks live in this thatched cottage in a tiny village in the wilds outside Limerick. It already looks like a postcard, but with the lights and the frost, oh, god, Amy, it was magical. We had lanterns with candles in them, on poles. We had hot buttered rum and sang Good King Wenceslas and O Come All Ye Faithful and a dozen more. Eoin proposed. We had mulled wine when we got back to the cottage, and then in the morning there was this whole thing about hot buttered crumpets for breakfast, toasted over the log fire."

It took Amy's brain a few seconds to catch up with what Nuala had just said, and then it was kind of wheel-spinning for a moment before she could respond. "What did you just say?"

"Crumpets! For Breakfast," Nuala said. "Oh, they were lovely. Hot and buttery and--"

"Nuala! Did you get engaged?"

"..... Maybe." Amy could hear Nuala's huge, delighted grin down the line.

Amy squealed in delight. "Oh my god! That's so fantastic! Tell me everything."

Nuala giggled girlishly -- the only time Amy had ever heard her friend be girly. "Eoin said that he'd been planning it for months," Nuala gushed. "He was going to do it between Boxing Day and New Year, so that it didn't spoil Christmas if I said 'no'--"

"Nuala, honestly, I love Eoin to bits, but does he have sawdust between his ears? Like you'd ever turn him down!"

"I know! It's adorable, isn't it?"

"It really is," Amy said, grinning. "You two are so perfect together, it's unbearable. Honestly, I'm disgusted."

"Noted."

"Do go on. Details! I need details."

Nuala filled her in; apparently Nuala's boyfriend had found the festive scene too enchanting, and had led Nuala down a secluded side-street under the pretence of showing her the location of childhood memories, only to get down on one knee in the halo of light from a phone box that had stood there for at least a century. They'd decided to keep it to themselves for the holiday, only for Eoin's parents take one look at their faces and immediately burst into applause.

"So, what about your Christmas?" Nuala asked, after they'd spent a further twenty minutes dissecting and reliving the proposal.

"Well," Amy said. "It got off to a weird start." Amy told her about the award ceremony Jamie had had to attend on behalf of his company, last month, and Jamie's formal dress.

"Ah, Jaysis," Nuala said. "I'm sorry I missed that. Jamie's a fair lad to be sure, but in a kilt? Rawr!" Nuala had never been shy about having a thing for Amy's Jamie; they shared everything, after all, and Amy knew that Nuala would never overstep that boundary.

"You are not alone in that opinion." Amy described Jamie's narrow escape from a bunch of handsy drunk tarts from the company Christmas party in an adjacent function room at the same hotel.

Nuala found it hilarious. "Ah, yeh can hardly blame them, can yeh? I can barely keep me hands off yer husband at the best of times. Don't leave me alone with him in a kilt if I've had a few, is all I'm saying."

"Duly noted", Amy echoed.

"So what did yeh do, when he told yeh?"

Amy arched an eyebrow. "What would you have done, in my place?"

Nuala gave a throaty laugh. "If it was my Eoin, I'd have probably have ripped his clothes off and banged him right then and there, like."

"Bingo!"

"Whoo! You go, girl!"

"Well, I did give him time to get the kilt back on first."

"Once more, I say with feeling: rawr!"

Amy laughed.

"Ah, Jaysis...." Nuala said, thoughtfully.

"What?"

"I'm wondering if I can get Eoin into a kilt for the wedding."

***

SEVEN MONTHS AGO: FEBRUARY.

"We have a date!" Nuala said to Amy down the phone. "Come September, I will be an honest woman."

"Shame," Amy said. "Any news on when you're getting married?"

'Hush, yeh Jezebel!" Nuala told her.

"Speaking of Jezebels," Amy asked, "got any news about the hen night yet?"

"Working on it," Nuala said. "I'm thinking September as well. Not sure where, yet, though. Know any places where a shameless hussy can celebrate her last gasp of freedom before submitting to never-ending domestic servitude?"

"Sorry," Amy told her. "Already succumbed to the crushing weight of the patriarchy, over here."

"Ah, well, never mind," Nuala said. "I'll ask me sister. She's a tart."

Amy laughed. They spent some time chatting, mainly about the plans for the wedding.

"Speaking of which, is Eoin getting a kilt?" Amy asked.

"Oh, Lord!" Nuala laughed. "Aye, I wish! No, his family are quite traditional. Although...."

"What?"

"I probably shouldn't be telling you this..."

"Oh come on!" Amy said. "If you say that, I know you're going to tell me. Out with it!"

"Well," Nuala admitted. "after yeh told me about Jamie's little adventure down in London, I've thought about it quite a bit. If I'm honest, I've ground out a couple just thinking about it."

"Oh, god, me too," Amy assured her.

"Yeh're entitled," Nuala said. "He's yer husband, after all!"

"No," Amy said. "I don't mean about Jamie in his kilt. I mean, him almost getting stripped out of it. The thought of those women getting all handsy with him, and poor old Jamie getting all bothered and running away with a caber between his legs-- Oh, yeah! I like that other women wanted to strip my husband. Does that make me a bad wife?" Amy asked her friend. "I'm a bad wife, aren't I?"

"If yeh're a bad wife, then I'm a terrible fiancé," Nuala assured her. "I've been wanking off over all of it -- Jamie getting groped, him having to jerk off a massive stiffy afterwards, and yeh fucking his brains out when he got home. It's all hot."

"It is," Amy agreed.

"Really, really hot," Nuala said.

"In fact...." Amy paused.

She could hear Nuala's ears pricking up in response. "Oh? Your turn to spill the beans now."

"You're going to laugh."

"I sincerely hope so, me girl. Out with it."

"We tried to do it again."

Nuala sounded baffled "What d'yeh mean?"

"Jamie had another trip a couple of weeks ago. I told him to go out into town in his kilt afterwards, and then tell me what happened so that I could get off over it."

Nuala gasped. "No! Yeh didn't!"

"I did," Amy promised her. "I really did."

Nuala was rapt. "Did he do it? What happened? I wanna know!"

Amy shifted the phone to her other ear, and put her face in her free hand. "It was a disaster. It was the middle of the week, pissing it down in this tiny little dead-end town near Birmingham Airport. Nothing happened, except that Jamie had to lug all his formal gear there and back again. I still made him jerk off for me when he was back at his hotel, though, so not a complete loss."

Nuala considered. "Well, meh. I suppose the Christmas spirits would have been flowing by the gallon first time--"

"--and now it's February," Amy finished. "Nothing ever happens in February. I should have known that."

"Yeh live and learn," Nuala said.

"Too right," Amy said. "Next time, we'll make sure it's a Friday!"

***

FOUR MONTHS AGO: MAY.

Amy was having a video call with Nuala. They were discussing bridesmaid dresses. Amy wasn't the Maid of Honour -- Nuala's sister had that job -- but she was still going to be a bridesmaid, just as Nuala had been one for Amy. And, thankfully, as both Nuala's family and Amy's shared Celtic heritage, the colour scheme was going to be flattering to all of them. They'd spent an hour (and half a bottle of wine each) talking about sleeve patterns and necklines, and were now looking at hemlines.

"I don't know," Nuala said, contemplating some of the possible options. "I think it's a lil' bit long, don't yeh? Yeh wanna to be elegant, aye, but yeh wanna to be able to dance, too. I think the hem needs to be lifted a bit."

Amy gave a laugh. "Speaking of lifting hems, I have an update for you on the Continuing Adventures of Jamie and His Amazing Kilt of Lust."

On the screen, Nuala grinned excitedly. "Oh aye? Tell me!"

Amy refilled her glass. "Well," she said, as she did. "As you know, February in the rain in the middle of the week in the middle of the arse-end of nowhere, not great." She took a sip."On the other hand, a Friday night on a pleasant April evening in Newcastle? Now that works." She pulled a face. "Well, once I steered the plonker away from old-man boozers and into clubs, anyway." Amy peppered Nuala with random details from that night. By the time Amy had finished recounting how the night had ended with Jamie blowing his wad in the ladies' toilets of a nightclub, Nuala was agog.

"Jesus Mary Mother o' God, Amy," Nuala said, open-mouthed, "I cannot believe what yeh've just told me. God, poor Eoin!"

Amy blinked. "Why poor Eoin?"

"I'm gonna be wearing me button off I'll be wanking so much this week, thinking about that. Me poor fella'll be wondering where it's gone."

Amy laughed. "I did pretty much the same thing while it was going on. Well," she furrowed her brow. "Mostly. And also afterwards." Nuala looked confused, so Amy clarified. "I told Jamie it was okay if I heard about it, but he can't really say, 'Excuse me, before you lift my kilt without asking, can I just say no handjobs? And do you mind telling my wife what you think about my willy while you're at it?', can he? It's over and done with before he knows about it."

Nuala waved this away. "Pfft!" she said. "He should wear a t-shirt with yeh number on it."

"What? Instead of 'For a good time, call Amy?', 'If a good time, call Amy'?"

Nuala shrugged. "Yeah, something like that. Like footballers wear. But not advertising betting shops or airlines."

Amy rolled her eyes. "I may as well have him carry a sign. Although...."

Nuala looked at her. "What?"

Amy laughed to herself. "Sure," she said, quietly. "Why not? That'd work."

"A sign?"

Amy blinked. "No, not a sign. Business cards."

***

THREE MONTHS AGO: JUNE.

"Hi Amy," Nuala said as soon as she answered the call. "What's up?"

Amy was vibrating with excitement. "Oh. My. God."

"What?"

"Oh. My. God," Amy said again. "I just had to call."

"Is everything okay?" Nuala sounded concerned. "Is there a problem with the wedding? Yeh can still be a bridesmaid, right?"

"Oh, everything's fine," Amy said. "Bridesmaid, check. I just had to call, otherwise I'd burst."

Now that Nuala knew her wedding wasn't affected, she was probably losing patience. "Oh, for god's sake, woman. Out with it."

"That business cards idea? It worked."

"I recognise each word," Nuala replied, slowly. "The sentences are grammatically correct. Yet I haven't the foggiest idea what yeh're blithering about, woman."

"Jamie. Business travel. Kilt. Handing out business cards."

"Oh. Wait. Oh. Right. Now I'm with you. They worked? Tell me?"

"Manchester," said Amy.

"Holy fuck. Manchester? That's like, mental."

"Fuck, yes. Last night. Jamie's on the train back, now. I had to call and tell you. I literally could not have waited any longer."

"Well? Don't keep me in suspense, yeh cruel woman! Details!"

Amy filled Nuala in on the night -- including sharing the selfies that some of the girls had taken. The selfies showed a group of attractive women posing with their faces level with Jamie's hips, with his kilt pulled up. Amy was basically sending Nuala dick-pics of her husband's cock. Nuala was not complaining. Not in the slightest.

"So, just want yeh wanted, right?"

Amy pulled a face. "Almost. Part of the point was to stop things going too far. I put rules on them, for heaven's sake!" She went on to describe how Jamie had been creatively violated by a horde of overly-inventive posh totty.

"Jaysis, Amy," Nuala said with feeling. "And yeh were watching this?"

"Yep. Video call."

"Christ. I'm flustered just hearing about it. I wouldn't have been able to keep me hand out've me drawers."

Amy gave a short laugh. "Who says I did?"

"Ha! Feck yeah, Amy!" Nuala whooped at her. "Have yeh.... Have yeh done anything like that? What they did? With the gloves?" There had been a certain amount of improvised bondage, much to Amy's surprise -- and arousal.

"Not yet," Amy said. "But I tell you what -- I'm going to. Soon as Jamie gets back. Poor boy's not going to know what hit him. Gotta run -- I need to hit Claire's Accessories."

"Oh, wait, before yeh go," Nuala said. "Hen night: It'll be Brighton, in September. I'll email yeh the details."

***

ONE MONTH AGO: AUGUST.

"Mistress Amy?" Nuala asked.

"That's what she said," Amu confirmed; she'd been describing Jamie's experiences in Leeds the night before, and was at the "Mistress Charlotte" part of the tale.

"I'm putting that on yeh place card at the wedding banquet."

"Don't you dare!"

"What name should I put, for Jamie's place? Or will he be eating from a bowl on the floor, now?"

"Oh, behave, you!"

Nuala laughed. "Ah, it would probably make the card too long. Never mind. Carry on. What happened next?"

Amy told her.

Nuala was gobsmacked. "Holy fuck, Amy! I mean: Holy. Fuck."

"I know."

"And yeh let her do that to Jamie?"

"Was that terrible of me?" Amy asked. "I wasn't sure whether he'd want me to stop her or encourage her."

"How did he respond?"

"All over the floor."

Nuala laughed.

"And that's not all." Amy filled Nuala in on the rest.

"Jaysis!"

"I know, I know. So much for 'stopping things going too far', right?"

"So, what are yeh going to do?"

"I don't know," Amy admitted. "Putting rules in place just meant they got more creative. Even putting his willy in a metal cage didn't stop them from making him spurt. How was I supposed to know they'd have vibrators on them? Are you going to have vibrators with you, on your hen night?"

"Well, I feckin' am now," Nuala said with feeling.

"But no," Amy said. "I don't want to stop doing this, because it's a real turn-on, for both of us. But it does keep escalating, and I don't know how to avoid that."

"Does Jamie have any ideas?"

Amy rolled her eyes. "He suggested that I go with him."

"Wait, what?" Nuala said. "How would that even work?"

Amy's reply was exasperated. "Exactly!"

"Ah, bless. Like any girl's gonna go peeking up yer man's skirt when he's clearly with another woman."

Amy managed to sound even more disgusted. "His suggestion was that I go too, but not so that we're together."

Nuala's eyes were wide. "No! Really?"

"Yep. He imagined I'd be, I dunno, standing nearby, so that I could step in if needed."

Nuala gave a bark of laughter. "But that's even worse! Does he have any idea what it's like for a single woman in a bar?"

"Apparently, not a Scoobie."

"I mean," Nuala said, warming to her theme, "Fuck's sake, Amy -- you'd have single guys on you like flies. You'd never get a moment's peace."

Amy just held up her hands in an I know right? gesture.

"Ah Jaysis, Amy. I love him to bits, but it's a miracle he survived to adulthood."

"Men," Amy said witheringly. "Clueless eejits, the lot of them."

Nuala paused for a moment. She looked at Amy, then away, and then back again. Amy knew that look; it meant something was going to start with "what if...", and shenanigans would follow. There had been times when that Look had been the start of something that so nearly ended up in a jail cell.

"What?" Amy asked, cautiously.

"What if...." Nuala began. "What if yeh brought him with you?"

Amy looked blank. "When?"

"Brighton!" Nuala said. "The hen night!"

"Dinnae be daft, lass! I cannae bring me husband on a hen night, for fuck's sake?"

"Why not?"

"Because it's a hen night!" Amy said. "It would be, like, sacrilege. It would be inviting the wrath of the ancient goddesses of womanhood, or something like that."

"I don't see why not," Nuala said haughtily. "It's my hen night, after all. I can have a man if I want." Her eyes twinkled. "Especially if he's in a skirt."

Amy gesticulated wildly, "It'll be all kinds of awkward."

"Just because he's with us, he doesn't have to be with us." Nuala saw Amy's confused face and tried to explain. "He might be in the bar next door. Or same bar, different area. Close enough that you can get to him. Far enough away that he's not obviously with us."

"Hmm." Amy gave it some consideration. "That could work, I suppose. But are you sure? Do you really want to keep seeing my Jamie while you're on your hen night?"

"If he's in a kilt? Hell, yeah!"

"Be serious. You know what I mean."

"Look, Amy, it's fine. It'll work out, trust me."

"Well, okay then. As long as you're sure you're okay with it."

"Trust me!" Nuala looked pleased. And then she looked sly. "Although..."

"What?"

"Well," Nuala said. "Like yeh said -- it is my hen night..."

***

NOW: SEPTEMBER

Jamie also thought Nuala's suggestion was a bit weird, but he acquiesced when Amy assured him that he wouldn't be with Nuala's party -- just in the same city, at the same time.

The packing was both easier and more complex than usual. Easier, because Jamie now had a rhythm. He was used to overnight visits from all his work travel, and he also now had plenty of experience at packing everything for his kilt outfit. He didn't even bother including the kilt jacket, since he'd stopped wearing it for Amy-directed expeditions. And also more complex than usual, because Amy was coming as well, and Amy did not pack lightly. It also took her a while to settle on what she would pack, and wear, which surprised Jamie given that there was only one night out. Somehow, she managed to fill three-quarters-fill one of their larger wheelie cases. Once she was done, Jamie started piling his stuff on top.

"You're packing the kilt?" she asked him.

Jamie looked at her, baffled. Wasn't that the point? "Uh, yes?" he said, after searching for any possible alternatives.

"Nooo," Amy said, thoughtfully. "I think you should wear it on the train down. Not the full formal outfit. You know, casual."

Jamie gave her a steady look. "Why?"

"Well," she said, managing to be both evasive and suggestive at once. "You never know." He evidently still didn't look convinced, because she added, "Hush, now, ma bonny boy. Do as you're told."

He gave her a Look, but pulled the kilt back out, and hung it back on its hanger for the journey tomorrow morning.

***

The next morning, they got a taxi to Glasgow Central, and caught a west coast line train to London Euston, not long after 9am. Jamie manhandled the case on board, while Amy led the way, a Costa Coffee cup in each hand. They'd sprung extra for first-class tickets, so they expected to get some breakfast and beverages on the train, but first-class service was always something of a lottery on British trains -- it depended on which rail company was running the service, and how reliable they were. Amy and Jamie were willing to take a chance on breakfast, but neither were willing to bet their coffee on it. Not first thing in the morning.

Amy was dressed simply, in a white summer dress with short sleeves and a floral print, over bare legs and white trainers. The body of the dress was close-fitting, complimenting her bust and narrow waist. The tight fit continued over her hips, then the dress flared out, finishing just above mid-thigh. Jamie loved the way it hung, hinting at her toned behind, and how the hem danced as she moved, giving tantalising glimpses of her upper thighs.

Jamie was wearing his kilt, in casual mode: a black polo shirt, walking boots, and the thick kilt hose pushed down to his ankles.

Their reserved seats were at a table for four. The two seats opposite were still unoccupied as the train pulled out, but the seat indicators showed that they were reserved from a later station onwards.

For the first part of the journey, they spent time reviewing the battle plan for the evening; with Brighton laid out on Amy's laptop screen on Google Maps, Amy took Jamie through where they were staying, where they were going to go during the night, and what times their reservations were. Jamie would be following the ladies around, nearby, but not with them. That was the idea. The first class service started -- relief all round! -- and they helped themselves to more coffee, and bacon rolls (such class! "You are spoiling us, Ambassador!" they quoted in unison), and then tea, as they conferred.

Once they'd gotten that down, Amy settled down to stare out the window at the scenery, and Jamie fidgeted. Normally, this would be the point when he'd be going over his presentation for the customer meeting to come. But there was no customer to meet, and no presentation to work on. He twiddled his thumbs for a bit, before pulling out his phone and scrolling through Facebook via the train's somewhat-spotty wifi.

At Lancaster, Jamie pulled his gaze from his phone to look at the passengers waiting on the platform. A broad selection of humanity watched as the train pulled in and stopped. A family starting (or ending) their holiday. Parents struggling to shift a mountain of bags while several children ran riot around their legs. A besotted pair of goths forehead-to-forehead, entwined in each other's arms. A bunch of lads off to observe some Sportsball. Half a dozen early-twenties women, all fake-tan and fake-blonde, in matching pink t-shirts over denim jeans, shorts or skirts. "SHELLY'S HEN" screamed the t-shirts, as if the sashes, veil and barely-restrained air of exuberance weren't sufficient clues.

He nudged Amy, to point them out. "Handy of them to wear the identifying t-shirts," he confided. "It would be embarrassing to make the whole journey down sitting next to them, and then discover that they're all in Nuala's party."

"Pfft!" Amy told him. "Nuala's sister's already sent us all photos of each other. She's organised like that." But Amy hadn't needed nudging; she'd been watching the party as they pointed as one towards a carriage and started hobbling off down the platform at a canter, coping admirably in their high heels.

***

About an hour later, Amy nudged Jamie. "Need to pay a visit," she said. Jamie stood to let her out, and she gave him a quiet "rawr!" as she briefly ogled her sexy man-hunk. She gave him a pat on the arse for good measure before he had a chance to sit down, and chuckled to herself as she made her way to the vestibule.

Once she'd used the toilet, she didn't return to her seat immediately; instead, she kept going along the train, making her way through the different carriages. She passed through the designated "quiet" coach, and kept going. The train wasn't too busy, but neither was it empty. She got near to the buffet car, and then passed through the carriage where Shelly's Hens were seated. The girls had taken over two groups of tables, and were raucously living it up, evidently eager to waste no time in getting the party started. They were playing some kind of card game that evidently hinted at all manner of debauchery and filth, judging by the cartoon illustrations on the cards displayed on the table, and the way they were shrieking at each other. She glanced around the carriage; the nearby seats were mostly empty.

Excellent.

She continued to the buffet car, and made a show of looking at the menu while thinking how best to do things,

Amy considered being subtle: casually walking by, holding her phone as though she was in a call, "accidentally" dropping something right by their table as she said something like, "no, really, there's this guy on the train in a kilt! And he lets you see underneath if you want! Oh my god, I couldn't believe it!" Only perhaps more convincing.

Or she could try a direct approach: the buffet car had teeny bottles of Prosecco for purchase; she could get one, and offer it to Shelly, pretending it was something on promotion that she didn't really like, and somehow wedge the topic of kilts in there somehow. Amy wasn't convinced; it seemed fraught with peril. Too many ways that conversation could go wrong.

What the hell, she decided, getting out her phone and scrolling through the saved photos, honesty is the best policy. Making her way back along the train, she stopped at the hens' table. The card game was still in progress, to much amusement.

"Good morning, ladies," she said brightly, a friendly smile on her face. "You must be Shelly," she added, directing her comments to the pretty Barbie doll in the veil. "Congratulations! When's the happy day?"

"Next week," Shelly replied, beaming back at her.

"Whoo!" some of the other hens cheered.

Amy nodded along. "Lovely! Where are you all off to today?"

"London," one of them said. "We hear Shoreditch is the place to be at the moment."

"Is that right? Well, I'm sure the good people of Shoreditch are not going to know what hit them. Getting the party started nice and early?"

"Oh yeah," Shelly nodded, and the others joined in enthusiastically.

"Perhaps I can help," Amy said, unlocking her phone and showing the picture to them. "This is my husband Jamie."

"Whoo, kilt!" one of them said, once she'd focused on the picture of Jamie in his finery, in one of the photos of him from one of the previous evenings, before heading out.

"He got anything on under that?" one of them asked, with a cackle.

"Well," Amy said, glancing from side to side conspiratorially, and leaning in. "It's funny you should ask..."

***

There was an announcement that the train was pulling into the next station as Amy settled things with the hens. She started back towards her seat, but found that she was stuck behind all the people queuing to get off, with all their luggage. She shuffled forwards with everyone else, passed through the vestibule to the next carriage, and then was stuck in that carriage as all the people who'd gotten on were trying to find their seats. They all seemed to have gotten on at the wrong end of the carriage, and were trying to pass by each other. She had to fight her way through the next carriage, too. When she finally got back to her seat, she saw that two young women were now seated on the opposite side of the table.

Jamie was sitting in the aisle seat. He got up to let Amy sit back down and, when the young woman seated opposite saw Jamie's kilt, her eyes widened. Her eyes followed the kilt for a moment, almost transfixed, and then she blinked, as if she'd realised she'd been staring. Amy smiled to herself. Jamie could have that effect, sometimes.

"Everything okay?" Jamie asked her.

"Fine," she told him. "I had to go a bit further, and then got stuck in all the onboarding."

"Ah." He nodded his understanding.

Meanwhile, Amy was watching the two girls opposite.

They both looked to be teenagers, probably not even twenty. The one who'd reacted to Jamie's kilt had black 50s style hair, and bright red lipstick. Her glasses were black-rimmed, with large, round lenses. She was dressed in a white blouse with a floral pattern on it. The girl sitting next to her had dark brown hair, tied back in a pony tail, with a thin face. She was dressed simply in a fitted black t-shirt tucked into jeans.

The one with the glasses glanced at her companion, who was reading a book and hadn't noticed anything. Glasses picked up her phone, and tapped away for a moment. Pony Tail's phone beeped; she glanced at it, and her brow furrowed, then she threw her friend a look. Picking up the phone, she read what was there, and then tapped away. Amy watched the pair of them communicate for a minute or so by texts, amused by it. She would put money on them talking about Jamie and his kilt.

When she'd judged it had been long enough, she nudged Jamie. "Can you go get me a packet of mints from the buffet car, please?"

Both girls opposite froze.

He looked surprised. "Do they sell mints?"

"I'm sure they do."

He shook his head. "I'm pretty sure they don't."

She opened her eyes wide and gave him a beseeching look, a low blow but always fun.

Jamie knew when he was outgunned. "Fine, right, I'll just go see, shall I?"

Three sets of eyes watched Jamie as he got up.

"Nice kilt," Glasses said, in an American accent.

"Thank you," Jamie said, as he started off down the carriage.

The two girls looked at each other as if they might burst. It was almost like they were squeeing at such a high frequency it could shatter glass.

Amy gave them an indulgent smile. "Good, isn't it?"

"Oh. My. God!" Glasses said. "That is amazing. I just love a man in a kilt." The two girls, it turned out, were students from the US, newly arrived in England for university courses. The woman with the glasses was called Megan, and her friend was Audrey. And they were huge fans of Outlander. They'd seen all the TV series, read all the books, written fanfic and attended conventions. And yet, this was the first time they'd seen a properly kilted man in the wild. Especially a true Scot.

"Is it true what they say?" Audrey wanted to know.

"Is what true?" Amy asked, though she knew full-well.

The girl glanced around nervously. "About what they wear under it."

"Well," Amy said, folding her arms, "you could ask him. But Jamie wouldn't tell you. It's not a question he answers."

They looked crestfallen.

"But you can find out," Amy continued.

"How?"

Amy smiled at them. "I'll show you."

***

Jamie swayed from side to side as he moved along the train, his sporran swaying even more than usual. His hands walked along the backs of seats to keep his balance as the carriages rattled along and jerked unexpected. From time to time, he nearly pitched into a passenger as the floor lurched without warning, causing him to miss his footing or his hand placement.

He was halfway along one carriage when he realised that the hen party from the station platform were seated just ahead, on the right. By now, he'd been trained to pay attention to hen parties, but he was on a mission for Amy at the moment -- not to mention on a train full of members of the public in the early afternoon. But all that was irrelevant -- he'd not gotten within ten feet when one of them spotted him.

"Hoy, Scotsman! C'mere!"

He sighed, and prepared to be polite and looked at the curvy blonde who'd spotted him. She had a huge grin on her face, and now the others were looking up, too.

"Oi, Jamie, c'mere," the bride said, waving at him. She was sitting in the window seat. "We gotta question for you!" Cue mass sniggering.

Wait a minute. Jamie realised what she'd said, and the penny dropped: Amy had set him up. He succumbed to the inevitable. And his penis was starting to stiffen, too.

He paused at the table. "Yes, ladies? How can I be of service?"

"Fuckin' 'ell, worra gen'leman!" one of them laughed. "So polite!"

"You can fuckin' service me, like," said the girl sitting opposite the bride. "Whoo!"

"C'mere," the bride, Shelly, said, summoning Jamie to lean closer. He stepped up to the edge of the table, hoping he didn't get the kilt wet from the puddles of spilled Prosecco and WDK.

"You have something you'd like to ask?" he said, being the consummate gentleman, and giving them their feed line.

"Nah," the one sitting in the aisle said, as she snaked a hand up his kilt and grabbed his wedding tackle. "Amy said we didn't have to ask."

Jamie jumped a little in surprise, as her fingers wrapped around his penis, and another hand took hold of his testicles, from the woman who'd called out to him in the first place.

"Oh yeah," the second one said, rolling his balls in her palm. "I could get used to this. All trains should have some guy getting his cock and balls out so that you can have a play."

"Eeee", the woman who was fondling his rapidly-stiffening shaft squeed, "he's doing it! He's doing it!"

"So, you've talked to Amy, then?" he said.

Shelly nodded. "She said you'd be coming by."

"Amy doesn't really want some mints, then," Jamie said, stating what appeared to be the obvious.

"Oh, no," Shelly said. "You should totally go get her some mints. Once we let you go," she added, with an evil grin.

"Really?"

"Gives us time to swap seats so we can all have a go," added the one groping his bollocks.

And all apparently encompassed the ladies on the other side of the aisle, too, because now Jaime could feel hands on his arse, as well. He resisted the temptation to look up or down the aisle, to see what other passengers thought of this; Shelly's Hens were speaking in what they probably imagined were furtive whispers, a tactic rendered somewhat less effective after an hour of working on a carrier-bag full of portable plonk. He couldn't help but think that anyone not watching the scene unfold intently was instead head-down, pretending to read their phones while concentrating entirely on the stage whispers that reached to the vestibules in both directions.

The girls sitting in the aisle seats swapped hand positions, so that each had a chance to play with all of Jamie's junk; Jamie felt pretty erect now, which was awkward with the sporran. The delicate fingers pumping his shaft under the tartan didn't help.

"That's enough, I think," Shelly said. "I wanna go before you make him spurt!"

Jamie winced.

The hands withdraw.

"Right, then," Shelly said. "Gerron wi' you! Go get them mints! We'll see you soon," she said, waggling her eyebrows.

Obediently, Jamie continued on his mission. In the vestibule, he paused, attempting to get his wedding tackle under control -- or a little more comfortable, at least. He was thankful that he wasn't tenting as he completed the journey to the buffet car, where there was a queue.

"'Scuse me," he said, when it was finally his turn to be served, "do you have mints?"

"Mints?" the geezer behind the counter said. "No. 'Course we don't have mints."

"Right, no, of course you don't," Jamie said. "Silly question. Never mind."

At least his stiffy had gone down. A bit. But it soon came back as he made his way back along the train, ready for round two. The Hens had indeed all swapped around, so that the bride could get a handful herself, and she devoted herself to the task. Jamie's mast was soon ascending skywards again.

"Can I see it?" one of them asked. "I wanna see it!"

"Course you can't, yer silly tart," another said. "We're onna train, aren't we? 'e can't go getting his todger out onna train."

Jamie wondered what the chances were of the floor opening up and swallowing him whole. Depressingly low, he estimated.

He received a thorough fondling, and was finally released, to much cheers and waving. Not to mention a smug tell-Amy-we-said-hi parting shot from Shelly herself.

He made his way along the carriage, pleased to have survived the ordeal. Near the vestibule, there was a tiny, dainty woman of post-middle age. She had grey hair in a bun, and round glasses. Her face showed elegant features that must have been mesmerising on a young woman of twenty. She still looked attractive, though she was dressed in a sedate tweed ensemble.

She raised a hand to block Jamie as he approached. "Excuse me?"

He paused. "Yes, Ma'am?"

She gestured for him to lean closer, so he did, giving her the opportunity to speak to him in a low tone. "Forgive me for being direct," she said, "but were those young ladies, erm, well. That is--" She paused, and apparently steeled herself. "Were they fondling you?"

"Ah," said Jamie. "Yes."

She looked surprised. "Does that happen a lot?"

He gave a wry smile. "More than you might think."

"Doesn't that bother you?"

Jamie gave a smile. "As it happens, it greatly entertains my wife, and I try to make her happy, when I can."

The eyes behind the large frames widened. "Goodness!" She appeared to take this in, and then looked up at him again. "In that case-- In that case, would you mind terribly if I did, too?"

Jamie smiled at her. "Not at all." At least she was asking politely. He stood up again, closer to the seat arm, and she surreptitiously slid thin, fragile fingers upwards along the inside of his thigh, until her knuckles brushed against his testicles. Once more, her eyes widened, as if she didn't really expect to encounter bare genitalia under a kilt. Her fingertips played around his scrotum gently, giving the slightest of tugs, before finding his shaft and enclosing it.

She closed her eyes, a breath escaping from her parted lips. She grasped him only lightly, moving her hand slowly along his length and back several times, before squeezing more tightly.

And then with regret clearly on her face, she withdrew her hand.

"Thank you," she said. "And please give my regards to your wife, too. Don't ever let her down."

"Believe me," Jamie said, with feeling, "I wouldn't dare."

***

Jamie made it back to Amy with no further maulings, though he noted that Amy was now sitting in the aisle seat. He assumed that she'd simply sat there for convenience while he was away. Amy stood, as he approached, waving him into the window seat instead of scooting over. He gave her a curious expression, but said nothing as he settled into his seat.

"Did you get my mints?" she asked mischievously.

"They didn't have any, as you well know," he told her.

"Oops," she said artfully. "I guess I must have been mistaken." She flashed a look towards the young ladies sitting opposite, who appeared to be following the conversation with great interest. "I'm sorry to have sent you on a wild goose chase for nothing." Amy radiated cheerful insincerity. "At least you got some exercise. Better than sitting in the seat for several hours, no?"

"Maybe."

Amy smiled to herself, and let the topic drop. After a while, she leaned up close against Jamie. it was nice, just feeling her against him like that. She reached across her body, and rested her hand on his leg, on the bare skin past the hem of the kilt. that was nice too. He closed his eyes, just enjoying the closeness.

Then she slid the hand under the hem, which startled Jamie; his eyes snapped open again. And immediately met the gaze of the ladies seated opposite, who were watching. Closely.

Amy's hand enclosed his member, and caressed it.

"Amy," Jamie almost squeaked, aware that he was being watched.

She opened her eyes like a Cheshire cat, with a smile to match. "Hmm?"

"Really?" He said quietly, trying not to draw attention. "Now?"

"Hmm?" Amy looked at him, followed his gaze, and met the looks from the girls opposite. "Oh, them? They're fine, aren't you?"

The nods in response, while discrete, were emphatic.

"See?" Amy said, almost sleepily, as she rolled his balls in her hand. "It's easy." And Jamie became aware that she wasn't speaking to him.

Amy kept going until he was fully erect, while the two girls opposite watched her hand moving under his kilt, and then she lifted her head again. "Want to try, Megan?" Evidently Amy had been getting acquainted.

"Well," the girl in the glasses said, "I don't know--"

"Course you do," Amy said, releasing Jamie and standing to make room. "Here, swap places with me."

There was a moment of disbelief, and then Megan was up and moving and sitting down next to Jamie.

Amy sat herself opposite. "Just do like I did. Lean in, and reach across."

And so Jamie found himself having this lovely young stranger lean up against his shoulder as she reached under his kilt and took his erect shaft in her hands, at the express instruction of his watching wife. Her fingertips slid along his thigh shyly, and only brushed his penis at first, retreating and advancing again several times. Each time, she didn't have to reach as far, as Jamie was becoming harder and harder. On the other side of the table, the other young woman, who he soon learned was called Audrey, was watching avidly, eyes wide. Amy looked smug.

The tiny hand wrapped around his shaft and squeezed it a bit, and rubbed the surface of his scrotum. Then she appeared to settle in, her hand just squeezing his penis or testicles lightly as she rested against him.

After a while, Amy suggested that Audrey "have a go", and they all swapped places. Now Amy and Jamie were both in the window seats, the two girls were in the aisle seats, and he had a different lovely young woman leaning on his shoulder, groping him, and sighing to herself.

It was at that moment that the first class trolley service did another run along the carriage, and Audrey quickly pulled her hand back. Drinks were served, and the woman pushing the trolley must have wondered what on earth everyone at that table was laughing about.

"Would you like your seat back?" Audrey asked Amy, but Amy waved this away.

"I like this arrangement," she said. "You two take your time. We've got the rest of the journey to London. Just don't take it too far -- he's not allowed."

And so, to Jamie's amazement, they continued with the scenario all the way down to London Euston, Megan and Audrey taking turns as to who leaned against his shoulder and fondled his shaft and balls, while Amy chatted with them about all manner of things: where they were from, how things worked in Britain, television, travel. They swapped places from time to time, and the wide-eyed amazement that they were allowed to do this gave way to a cozy comfort. They also got used to casually slipping their hand back out as someone approached, then slipping it back in again when things were safe. Jamie's erection varied in stiffness, as the girls shifted between simply holding him, with the occasional squeeze, or gentle caresses with some light stroking. He too couldn't believe Amy had put them up to this but, whenever he opened his eyes and looked over at her, she returned the look, a pleased, indulgent, smug smile on her face.

***

Amy was loving it. She'd hoped to spot another hen party joining the train -- and, indeed, had done so -- but this was so much better. Megan and Audrey were discreet, and it was so sweet watching their responses. Plus, they were fun to talk to, and she genuinely enjoyed the conversation. Watching Jamie squirm was an added bonus. She felt very turned on, watching the girls' hands moving underneath the kilt, and seeing Jamie's lips parting in response silently from time to time. She really wanted to play with herself, but she wasn't that comfortable.

When they reached London Euston, where the train terminated, everyone got off. On the platform, Audrey and Megan gave Amy and Jamie enthusiastic hugs and promised to keep in touch; Amy had exchanged contact details with them, and suggested that they were welcome to visit if they ever visited Scotland -- which, as Outlander fans, they had every intention of doing.

Amy and Jamie got separated from the girls in the general rush of crowds into and through the main concourse, and went down the steps into the Underground. The trip from London Euston to London Victoria was a quick one -- just a few stops along the Victoria Line -- and, as it was Saturday, not all that crowded. Rather than taking a seat, Amy elected to stand near the carriage doors, and Jamie followed suit. Amy hoped that there would be some adventurous hands, but it wasn't crowded enough -- or late enough. It was still only early afternoon. There were some admiring looks towards Jamie and his kilt, but nothing more.

***

At London Victoria, they boarded the worn-out rolling stock heading for Brighton, avoiding the Gatwick Express. It wasn't long before they were outside Brighton Station, mid-afternoon. The sun was still high in the sky.

"C'mon," Amy said, ignoring the taxi rank and following the map on her phone, "the hotel isn't that far from here."

"Right, of course," Jamie said, pulling the suitcase behind him, his sporran swinging as he walked. Jamie would follow Amy anywhere; the way that short dress swung as she strode down the hill towards the sea didn't hurt at all.

Their hotel was about two streets back from the beach, up a hill and on the other side of a square. Or a circus, or a place. Something old and historical. It was about two hundred years old, and constructed entirely from white plaster and staircases. They only had one suitcase between them, but Jamie could swear it was getting heavier as he ascended further and further upwards towards their room. Surely there couldn't be more stairs, could there? On the other hand, Amy was leading the way, and Jamie was blessing her decision to wear a dress with a short skirt.

"Are you looking up my skirt, you perve?" Amy asked him at one point, a smile on her face.

"Every chance I get," he assured her, once he got his breath back.

She grinned at him. "Glad to hear it!"

***

Their bedroom was up in the gods. Presumably former servants' quarters, it was made even smaller by the more recent addition of a minuscule en suite. There was space for a queen-size bed, a tiny wardrobe with a couple of drawers in the base, and not much else. They had to close the door to manoeuvre between the door and the bed.

That was okay; Amy didn't think they'd be doing much standing in this room.

Jamie dropped the case in the corner. Amy stepped up to him, cornering him, and slipped her hand up his kilt. "How are you doing down here?" She grabbed his now-relaxed penis again, and made a face "Oh, no. That won't do at all." She pulled him so that he was at the foot of the bed, and pushed him so that he fell onto it, on his back. "Scoot up," she told him, and followed him onto the bed, on her hands and knees, as he obeyed.

Amy pulled up his kilt. He was already beginning to stiffen. "Mmm, that's an improvement," she said approvingly. "But we can do much better than that." Taking hold of him with one hand, she brushed her red hair all over to one side, and lowered her mouth down over his stiffening shaft. She rolled her tongue around his tip, and bobbed her head up and down, running her lips along its length. With her other hand, she stroked him.

"Have you enjoyed being played with by pretty girls all morning?" she asked him, a mischievous expression on her face, as she pumped her fist up and down his penis. "Have you been wanting them to make you come?"

"Oh, god, Amy," Jamie sighed.

"That's what I thought," she said, smugly. "But only I get to do that. And only I get to do this."

Amy moved up on the bed, straddling his waist. Tugging her gusset to one side, she sank down onto him. She received a low groan from Jamie in reward. "Look at you, ma bonny boy," she told him, as she rode him. "You're so beautiful. And you're all mine."

He was very turned on, she could see, so she didn't think he would last too long if she went hard at it. Plus, she honestly wasn't sure whether the rickety old bed could take it. Or the floor joists, for that matter. Plus, she was just as desperate to come. She slowed down, lifted her skirt, and slid her fingers inside her white briefs. She leaned back, resting her hand on Jamie's solid thigh, and rubbed her clitoris while she gently rode Jamie.

"Mmm," she said, eyes shut. "I've been wanting to do this all morning." She opened her eyes again, holding his gaze. "I've been dying to get myself off watching them play with you."

"Oh, god," Jamie said again. She could feel him jerking, inside her, as he watched her fingering herself. She increased the pace at which she moved her fingers, feeling the warmth building, and as she got near, she started riding Jamie faster. He responded in turn, matching her motion, his hands on her thighs. Her orgasm washed over her and she froze, tensing, squeezing Jamie's shaft as hard as she could inside her, holding him there until the waves passed.

She looked at him. She could see the love in his face, along with the arousal and his need to come. Amy rose off him and scooted back between his legs, taking his penis in her hands and holding it gently. "Are you ready to come, too?" she asked him softly.

"Oh, god, yes!" he said with feeling.

She pouted a little, as she shifted her grip to just a light touch. "But then you might be all spent for the day, and you might not be any fun this evening." She stroked up and down, just her fingertips touching, watching him squirm.

"Amy!"

"I've come all this way for this evening. It would be a terrible shame if you weren't able to recover in time." Just a single finger traced along the underside of his straining penis, from base to tip.

"Amy!"

She smiled. She was so tempted to deny him his orgasm, but it was more important to her to remind him that she was the one who made him come. She started stroking him properly, building up a good rhythm. "Did Megan or Audrey stroke you, too? I could tell they were making you hard." With her other hand, she fingered his testicles gently. Jamie closed his eyes and let out a long sigh. His abdomen was moving, now. "What would you have done if they'd stroked you like this? Would you have asked them to stop? Would you have spurted right there on the train, while I watched?" He was getting near, now. "Maybe, if you had, you wouldn't be hard now. Perhaps I should stop, and let you rest?" She was only teasing him; Amy kept up the same rhythm, and in moments she was rewarded by Jamie's orgasm bursting forth. She dipped her head quickly, taking him in her mouth to catch his seed; she didn't want the kilt soiled beyond use before the night had begun. That only made Jamie lose it even more, and his climax seemed to last some time; she was momentarily concerned that maybe she had worn him out too soon, but he had well over ten hours to recover before she needed him to perform again.

***

Jamie lay in a post-coital daze. Once again, his amazing wife had blown his mind. It had occurred to him, as she was screwing him, that neither of them had removed any clothing at all. They were both still street legal, as it were.

He felt an imperious tap on his testicles. "Oi, you!" Amy told him. "Enough loafing around. We're on the clock here."

Jamie started to grumble, in a hard-done-by way about Amy being the one who chose to waste time having sex, but a glance from Amy quelled him.

"I'd be careful what I'd call a waste of time, if I were you, ma bonny boy," she said dangerously. She slapped his still-exposed thigh. "You get us unpacked. I'm going to see if the plumbing in this place features anything as modern as a shower." She peeled off her sundress as she spoke, turning towards the bathroom door, and giving Jamie a delightful glimpse of her smooth back and her ridiculously sexy arse, in snug, white briefs. Despite having only just come, his gaze lingered until the bathroom door closed again.

Sighing to himself, Jamie rolled off the bed, hefted the case onto it, and started unpacking.