True Scotsman Pt. 06b

Brighton in late summer on a sunny Saturday afternoon was still busy. The high season was over, but the town was still packed with tourists. Or, at least, Jamie assumed they were mostly tourists. Perhaps the town was always this busy? He considered wandering down the hill to the promenade to look at the sea, but he was more interested in exploring the Lanes, Brighton's famous old quarter: a quarter of a square mile of eighteenth century streets laid out as if someone had taken a pile of leftover scraps of ribbon, scrunched them up and dropped them on the floor, and then built a town based on where they'd fallen. Besides their quaint twists and turns, their frontages were also very much still in the historical style, and they were mostly franchise-free, being packed with unusual and idiosyncratic stores. It wasn't long before he was strolling aimlessly among the Lanes, his sense of direction completely lost. He considered getting another coffee, glanced at the blue skies above, and treated himself to an ice cream cone instead.

He was still dressed as he had been for the train ride down from Glasgow, in polo shirt, kilt and boots; Amy had insisted that he keep the kilt on while she was occupied elsewhere in town with Nuala's hen-night activities, and to let her know if anything "interesting" happened. Jamie attracted some interest, but nothing over the top:

- Some lads sitting outside a pub with pints called out to him. "Way-hay, Scotlaaaaand!" and "Och aye Jimmy."

- An ageing punk, with green mohawk, tattoos, weathered walnut skin and a pierced face like someone had hammered chainmail into a tree stump, came over to give him a fist-bump.

- An overweight black guy, in shades, backwards baseball cap and Red Sox shirt, insisted on a selfie. "Yo, ma man! You are, like, the baddest mo'fucker on the planet, dude!"

He was standing, appropriately enough, outside a boutique scented candle shop when two elderly queens, in pinstripe suits and silk cravats, approved of his tartan while bemoaning the general lack of style.

"That's for later," he assured them. "This is just casual daywear."

"Then we shall be on the lookout for you later, dear boy," one of them purred.

"Oh good," Jamie thought to himself. "Foreshadowing."

He drifted in and out of the tat shops and "bespoke silverware" sellers, hoping to find a simple gift for Amy. He was looking in one of the shop windows with more ice cream, considering a pair of earrings in the shape of red squirrels, when his phone rang.

***

For Nuala's hen party, the first event of the day was a cocktail-making class, in a swanky venue that operated as a restaurant throughout the day, then converted into a glitzy bar to catch the post-work evening crowd as the sun went down, before finally ripping off its rubber face-mask at midnight like the villain in Scoobie Doo to reveal the nightclub it had been all along. After making enquiries of the restaurant staff, Amy was directed through some closed doors to a separate bar area that wouldn't otherwise be open for several hours yet. Nuala's party had it to themselves for the next hour.

"Amy!" Nuala said, rushing towards her with open arms as Amy was ushered into the room. "Yeh made it!" Amy returned the crushing embrace enthusiastically.

"Like there was any chance I'd miss this!" She held her friend at arms' length, admiring her. "Look at you! You're positively glowing."

"I know! Disgusting, innit? Come and meet everyone!"

Amy was the last to arrive. The rest of the party were all gathered around a couple of tables in the bar that they'd pulled together.

"This is me big sister, Maeve," Nuala said, indicating a competent-looking woman in her mid-twenties. Her hair style spoke of professionalism. "She's the Responsible One," Nuala added, "by which I mean she's the only one of us reprobates who can find her arse with two hands after we've been on the piss for a while."

"Hence Matron of Honour," Amy acknowledged, shaking hands with Maeve.

"Oh, god, please no," Maeve replied. "Head Bridesmaid, maybe. Or perhaps She Who Must Be Obeyed If Yer Feckin' Know What's Good For Yeh, perhaps. But Matron? I'm only twenty-five, for god's sake."

"Ah, that's practically over the hill, so it is," one of the other girls said, as she leaned in to embrace and air-kiss Amy.

"That's true," said another of the sisters coolly. "If this were a Jane Austin novel, Maeve, yeh'd be considered left on the shelf by now, if yeh weren't already married." She too embraced Amy.

Amy blinked as she realised the two girls were identical twins — though the one who'd spoken first was noticeably more busty than her slimmer sister. The two girls were a bit younger than Nuala.

"An' these two sarcastic wee feckers are the twins, Siobhan and Saoirse," Nuala informed Amy.

All the sisters had Nuala's classic Irish colouring: pale skin, green eyes, red hair. As did Mary, Nuala's mother, though her red was now streaked with white. Amy wasn't surprised, after raising not just four daughters, but four Irish daughters.

"Amy," Mary said warmly, taking Amy into her arms. "Lovely to see you again." They'd met when Nuala's parents had travelled to Glasgow to help their daughter move in at the start of university.

There were three more women in the party. Niamh was the baby of the bunch at just eighteen. She was husband-to-be Eoin's sister, with a beautiful face and a head of golden curls. Despite her age, she introduced herself with confident calm, projecting effortless charisma. At the other end of the scale, Charlie was almost Mary's age. but still looked amazing despite that. Her hair was ash-blonde, big and straight, screaming hair-metal at Amy. The biker-style jewellery and tattoos didn't do anything to dispel that impression. Charlie, it turned out, was Nuala's landlady in Coventry, and the two of them had really hit it off and bonded. Finally, there was Simone, a statuesque young woman with dark hair, who Nuala had known since her school days.

"God, Amy, yeh look smashing," Nuala said, admiring her.

"Er, I think you mean we all do," Amy said in response. Amy, like the rest of the party, was dressed in a white blouse tied under the bust and a mini-kilt. Less like an American high-school uniform, and more in the Scottish style, unsurprisingly. The kilts varied in choice of tartan, but each woman had chosen tights to coordinate. They'd finished off the outfit with heels — either pumps or boots. Mary, a little more restrained, had a longer kilt on — though it still stopped above the knee. The mini-kilts had been Nuala's idea: if she couldn't convince her fiancé to wear one on their wedding day, kilts were going to be involved somewhere. Amy heartily approved. "The outfit made quite the impression on Jamie," Amy said, quietly just to Nuala. She smirked. "Good job I made sure to shag him before getting changed, or he'd have torn it straight off again." She leaned into Nuala conspiratorially. "He has a thing for a pretty girl in a mini-kilt."

"Speaking of," Nuala said to Amy in a lower tone, pulling her to the side a little, "Where's yer man, right now?"

Amy waved a hand carelessly. "Oh, around and about. Wandering, I think."

"But yeh brought him, right? An' his kilt?"

"Oh yes," Amy said, with feeling. "And I have got to tell you about the train journey when we get a chance." Amy had managed to arrange shenanigans on the journey from Glasgow down to London, meaning Jamie had had quite a few young women investigating whether Jamie was a "true Scotsman" — in a rewardingly tactile fashion.

"Ah, Jaysis, girl!" Nuala said, admiringly. "But listen — the other girls don't know, yet."

Amy was gobsmacked. "You haven't told them? Not even Maeve?"

"Ah, I love Maeve to death, but she wouldn't keep it a secret. She'd stick it on the feckin' itinerary, or something."

Amy's eyes narrowed. "Why haven't you told them?"

Nuala shrugged. "I'm not entirely sure. I just kinda get the impression yeh'd rather see what kind of reception he gets if the girls don't know that his wife is standing there watching him."

Amy blinked. She hadn't considered that. "You make a good point," she said thoughtfully.

"Don't I always?" Nuala said. "So, just keep it quiet for now, yeah?"

At that point, the doors opened and their bartender arrived to start the class, so Amy and Nuala rejoined the group. The bartender introduced himself as Mike. He was late twenties, with a bald head and a well-trimmed beard. His black t-shirt was tight across his chest showing a well-developed, muscular physique, and his tattooed biceps bulged. As he moved behind the bar, they could see that his tight black jeans showed off a taut posterior, too.

"Ooh, yummy!" Siobhan said in appreciation.

"Try not to drool on the furniture too much," her twin sister told her.

The class was fun. They got to make (and drink) four separate cocktails: a Margarita, a Mojito, a Bellini and a Porn Star Martini. There was much giggling, ogling of Mike, and stage-whispers between the girls; he seemed to enjoy their lustful talk behind his back, and leaned into it, flirting outrageously with all of them. All the drinks were made from shots already measured out for them, and they each received a paper "booklet" with the recipes in it.

"They do this for stag nights too," Maeve said to Amy in an aside while Siobhan pretended to be confused and Mike stood close behind her, guiding her hands with his in an intimate fashion as they assembled a cocktail shaker. "I bet they have a hot girl running that one."

"I wonder whether the drinks would be the same?" Amy mused. "I can't see guys getting into pink fizz with a slice of strawberry."

Maeve acknowledged the point. "They'll probably go for things like Screwdriver and Rusty Nail. Mind you," she said with a tilt of her head, "I don't think that's what's driving the choice here. They're going for the ones that have fewer shots of alcohol, and more mixer. Keeps the costs down, and the clientele less rowdy."

"I'm just glad they've gone for simple ones," Mary said. "Who's got time for all that faff?"

"You're not wrong, Mam," Maeve said. "They want something the punters can make at home, too."

It was educational, too. Niamh asked about Vespers, from Casino Royale. Mike told the group that those were originally made with a mixer that was no longer manufactured. "But apparently it tasted bloody awful anyway, so that's no bad thing," he said. "I hear that Ian Fleming just made it up without actually tasting it."

"What about Vodka Martini, then?" Charlie wondered. "Shaken, not stirred, and all that?" Which got Mike onto the subject of "bruising", "perfect" and "dirty" martinis, and so on.

"You know the easiest Martini to make?" he asked them at one point, standing behind the bar. As one, they all shook their heads. "Churchill Martini." He paused, then plonked a bottle of London Dry Gin on the counter. "Done," he said. "Winston Churchill wasn't one to waste time with mixers."

At the end of their hour, the entire group was comfortably lubricated; Amy herself had a nice buzz going. They all took the opportunity to hug Mike before they left; Siobhan grabbed a double-handful of arse in the process. There was much hilarity as they emerged onto the street, blinking in the afternoon.

"God, I love a liquid lunch," Mary said as they toddled along the street, following Maeve. "But I'll be asleep by four if we keep this up."

"Not to worry, Mam," Nuala told her. "We've got some physical exercise next to wake you up."

Simone looked up, surprised. "We have? I don't remember that."

"That's what passes for humour in our family," Saoirse explained. "She means the massage session."

"Oh, in that case, I'm definitely going to be asleep by four," Mary said. "A massage always puts me right out."

"No, Mam," Saoirse continued. "It's a massage class; we're not getting a massage."

"Oh." Her face fell a little. "Pity. I wouldn't mind drifting off under a massage, right now."

"Could be worse," Niamh said. "Siobhan wanted it to be a pole-dancing lesson."

"Really?" Amy said. "That sounds cool!" She thought about what she could do to Jamie if she learned how to pole-dance.

"I know, right? But Maeve wouldn't have it."

"Too feckin' right I wouldn't," Maeve said, from the front of the group. "I'm not spending all night in A&E 'cos one of you pissheads managed to drop yehself on yer head."

After four cocktails, Amy felt that Maeve had a point. "... massage sounds good."

"I think you mean lame," Siobhan said.

"Trust me," Maeve said.

In fact, Siobhan brightened up considerably when they got to the therapy centre, and it turned out that they'd booked something called an "Erotic Sensations" class. All the ladies liked the sound of learning how to get their men more turned on, with some essential oils and a little hands-on technique. Siobhan speculated about who they'd get to practice on.

"I hope he's like Mike," she said, her eyes glazed over at her own private dream.

"Maybe it's like nude models in art classes," Simone wondered. "You know, where you get representatives from all sides of humanity."

"Maybe you'll be groping some wrinkly old geriatric," Saoirse said, grinning evilly.

"Oh, yuck!"

Things came a little unstuck when their instructor, a middle-aged brunette called Tracy, explained that this was designed to be a couples class. As such, it was expected that the participants would be practicing on each other, and no "model" was provided.

"I thought you understood," Tracy said. "Though I did wonder, when I saw that there were nine of you on the booking. Still, it's a modern world and who am I to judge? So I didn't like to ask. Well, you don't, do you?"

This put a damper on the mood, despite all the booze from the previous class. Nuala wasn't going to let it ruin her day, though. "I have an idea," she said, getting everyone's attention. "Maybe we can get a model after all?"

"I'm sorry, dear," Tracy said. "But I don't know anyone who could do that kind of thing. Not at short notice."

"Nor do I," Nuala said. "But Amy does."

"Me?" Amy squeaked in surprise.

"Sure," Nuala said. "There's.... that guy you were telling me about."

Amy looked blank. "Guy? What guy?"

"You know." Nuala gave Amy Meaningful Looks, with all the subtlety of a head-butt. "The one who you think is in Brighton right now, somewhere around. Perhaps you could call him?"

"Oh," Amy said, the penny dropping. "That guy. I... could try, I guess."

Nods from the assembled group convinced her to try.

***

Jamie looked at his phone. It was Amy calling.

"Hi," he said, answering it one-handed. "I didn't expect to hear from you for a while. Everything okay?"

"Och, everything's grand," Amy said. "Where are you, right now?"

He turned in a circle, phone to his ear. "Erm, Ship Street, I think. Or near to it, anyway. Why?"

"Close enough," Amy said. "Are you busy?"

He took a slurp of his ice cream. "I'm engaged in serious scientific investigations as to whether Raspberry Ripple ice cream is better than Rum and Raisin. It's critical research."

"The defining question of our age, some might say. Can you do me a favour? Can you come and meet us?" She gave him the address of the therapy centre she'd mentioned as part of the activities she'd described during the train journey south that morning.

"I think I know where that is," he said, dubiously. "I can meet you there. Should I ask why?"

"Certainly not," Amy told him firmly.

"Ah. Right."

"Quick as you can. See you soon."

"Love you too," Jamie said, but Amy had already hung up.

Following his phone, it didn't take long for him to find the location. Amy was waiting outside.

"Thank you for coming so quickly," she said, giving him a quick hug and then grabbing his hand, pulling him inside. "Just one thing," she told him as she hurried him along a short corridor, "I'm going to introduce you as my friend."

"What?" Jamie said, as they went through yet another set of double-doors and then Jamie was in a room full of some of the sexiest women he'd ever seen, in equally sexy outfits. His jaw dropped.

"Hey, everyone," Amy said as the group turned to look at them. "This is... Jim, someone I know who conveniently happens to be in Brighton right now. He's agreed to help us out."

Jamie waved a hand feebly. "Hi," he said.

They all looked at him. And then at his kilt. And then Siobhan spoke for all of them: "Feckin' magic!"

Amy made a quick round of introductions — though he'd already met Nuala, of course. The instructor was clearly identifiable, being the only one not dressed in the mini-kilt outfit. Amy introduced her as Tracy, and Tracy immediately drew him off into a smaller room.

"Thanks for volunteering to help us out here, Jim," she told him. "You can get undressed in here." She handed him a large, fluffy white towel.

"I'm happy to help," Jamie said. "Er, why am I getting undressed, exactly?"

Tracy looked surprised. "Did your friend not explain?"

He shook his head slowly. "She just said she needed a favour, and asked me to come here as soon as I could."

Tracy blinked. "Of course. Silly me! I was standing right next to her when she called you. I'm sorry. So, this is a massage class, and the girls wanted someone to practice on. So you'll be getting a free massage. Well, lots of them." She beamed at him.

"Right," Jamie said. "That makes complete sense."

"So..." Tracy said. "If you'd just like to pop your togs off — love the outfit, by the way — we'll see you back outside in a mo." She laid a comforting hand on his forearm. "You can leave your undies on if you like; couples usually do, during these classes."

That caught his attention. "Couples?"

Tracy already had the door half-open. "Oh, yes, didn't I say? It's a class designed for couples. Right, see you in a minute. Toodle pip!" And she closed the door.

Leave your undies on. Right.

When he emerged a few minutes later, Jamie was clad only in the towel around his waist. There were cheers from the ladies, and more than a few wolf-whistles. Thanks to a regular training regimen for rowing, Jamie had muscles to be proud of, and now his abs, pecs and biceps were on display.

Tracy led him to one of four massage tables that were set up, and asked the hen party to gather on the other side of the table, so that they could observe. There was another towel laid over the bed, and Tracy held it up like a curtain so that Jamie's modesty was protected as he clambered onto the bed — much to the party's disappointment. He discarded his own towel as he got onto the bed.

Tracy asked him to lie on his front, and draped the towel over him. "Normally, for a full body massage, we'd start with the patient lying on their back so that we can work on their front," she told the group as she moved around to the other side, "but since this is an Erotic Sensations class, obviously you want to build up to working on their front."

It's a what-now class?

"Now,' Tracy continued, "I don't wish to be presumptuous here. It is a modern world, after all. Normally, I teach the ladies how to massage men. Is that what you want, here, or would any of you like to cover massaging other women, too?"

Maeve looked around at the others, and then confirmed that they wanted to focus on the male massage.

"That's a relief," Tracy said with a wry smile. "It means I can drop half the material which is good because we don't have a lot of time and there are a lot of you to have a go. Now then...."

Tracy covered several areas on the back of the body: the shoulders and upper back, of course, plus the soles of the feet and the nape of the neck, and Jamie felt all kinds of sensations as several members of the party attempted to replicate what Tracy was showing them. He didn't know their voices, so he couldn't tell whose hands were on him at any given time. Tracy moved the towel around, revealing different parts of the body and then re-covering them when she moved on.

"We don't really need the towel, do we?" one of the girls asked, hopefully.

"Oh, the towel's very important." Tracy said. "You want to take lots of time over this, and he's not moving at all, so he'll get cold quickly if you don't keep him covered up. But also," she confided, "think of it like a burlesque show, where the dancers use their fans just to give the audience glimpses. You're teasing him, tantalising him."

The touches were inexorably getting closer to Jamie's butt, and when hands stroked his back, several fingers dipped under the towel, reaching the top of his buttocks. And not much time was spent on the legs, except to note that, obviously, the thighs were close to the genitals, so light touches near the top of the thighs were very sensual.

More than a few of the ladies could be said to have strayed a little higher up the thigh than was strictly appropriate. The giggling was probably unseemly too, but not nearly as unseemly as Jamie's stiff penis; as his erection grew, he pretended to have an itch that needed scratching, giving him the opportunity to shift it to a more comfortable position.

"Yer fooling no-one with yer sneaky boner, Jimmy boy," one of them said. "Yer gonna have to give that table a proper wipe-down, Tracy!"

"Can we just get to the point where we can get our hands on his arse?" another said in response.

And, indeed, that was Tracy's next destination. She folded the towel back over his thighs, and Jamie felt the cool air tickling his bared buttocks.

"Jaysis," a voice said. "Yer man's got an arse on him!"

"Well, I did say you could keep your undies on," Tracy said, slightly flummoxed.

"Wasn't really an option," Jamie said, speaking through the face-hole in the massage table.

For the next few minutes, all the women who wanted to "practiced" a massage technique on Jamie's bottom.

"And now it's time to turn over so that we can work on the top," Tracy said brightly. She moved around to the other side, and once more lifted the towel so that Jamie could roll over onto his back. Tracy settled the towel on top.

The group took a Moment, to contemplate Jamie's form, as molded by the towel, with his very definite erection clearly outlined.

"Well, this is normally the point where we tell a client that's it's perfectly naturally and nothing to be ashamed of—" Tracy began.

"No feckin' kidding he's got nothing to be ashamed of," one of them broke in, to much amusement.

"—but this an erotic massage. Your young man should be aroused by this point, if you've done your job right. So," she smiled at Jamie and, to his surprise — and possibly hers as well — reached out and patted his swollen penis through the towel. "Well done, Jim. And well done, ladies. Onto phase two!"

Tracy continued to guide her students around the body, starting at the head, with temples, forehead and neck all getting a look-in. The chest area, with the nipples, got a little bit of attention, but all gazes were continually drawn to Jamie's noticeable profile under the towel, and it wasn't long before Tracy's narration caught up.

"We have a bit of a problem here, ladies, because normally this is the bit where I'd describe what to do, and you'd practice on your young man under the towel, if you wished. But since we just have a stand-in, here—"

"I volunteer as tribute," one of the ladies spoke loudly.

'Yeah, me too," said another.

"Then yeh can feckin' wait yer turn," the first one said. "The line starts behind me."

"Well, much as I'm sure Jim would enjoy the experience," Tracy began, "I can't really ask—"

"Oh, I'm sure he's fine with it," Jamie heard Amy say.

Tracy wasn't sure. "Are you, Jim?"

"I'm here to help," he assured her.

And so a whole parade of ladies took turns to reach under the towel and gently trace their fingertips around the edges of Jamie's testicles, which did nothing to reduce the size of his erection tenting the towel. Especially when one of them simply lifted the towel off Jamie to get a better view.

"Siobhan! Will yeh behave!"

"Sorry, Mam," the woman said unrepentantly. "Very nice," she whispered at Jamie as she put the towel back in place.

And Tracy called a halt there. Jamie was beginning to wonder whether a happy ending was being set up, and whether Amy would step in to avoid that, but Tracy seemed to think that proceeding any further was asking for trouble.

"There's a shower, if you need to get cleaned up afterwards, what with all the oils," Tracy told him.

Several women in the party immediately volunteered to help Jamie.

"Ah, yer bring shame on the family name, so yer do," Mary said, shooing the girls towards the exit. "Be off wi' the lot ov' yez."

Jamie waved them off, standing with just the towel around his waist again.

Amy dove in for a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek. "You were amazing," she whispered. "I'll explain later, I promise." She backed off. "Thank you Jim!" she called.

***

Tracy was waiting to lock up once Jamie was clean and back in his clothes. "Sorry the shower took so long," he said. "There was quite a lot of oil to wash off." The ladies had been using it not so much as lubricant for the massaging motions, more just as lube generally.

"I'm sorry about that," Tracy said. "The clients aren't all that good at making sure the oils are properly rubbed in and absorbed."

"I don't think that was really their focus," Jamie said, wryly.

"Ye-eees," Tracy said, letting out a long breath. "I apologise for that. It doesn't normally get quite so out of hand, when they're in couples. Thank you for being so understanding."

Jamie waived it away. "It was my pleasure. I mean, it was, literally — wasn't that the point of the class? And besides," he added, "don't worry about it. Amy? I'm not her 'friend' Jim; I'm her husband Jamie."

Tracy put a hand to her mouth. "Oh! But—"

"She set me up," he explained. "I walked into this blind. She likes doing that. You wouldn't believe the morning I've had." The train journey down to Brighton had made a lot of pretty young women very happy.

"Oh," Tracy said faintly. "Really? Does she do this a lot?"

Jamie nodded. "She gets a kick out of it. And she made up these cards. Hang on," he said, opening his sporran, "I've got some here." He handed over one of them. "If someone asks whether I'm a 'true Scotsman', I'm supposed to give them one of these."

Tracy read it through. "Sure, and my wife would like to hear what you think — borrow my phone to tell her," it said. And then she read the other side: "No, really - it's part of the fun. I am under instruction to give you this card. Rules: Looking and touching is fine. No hand jobs, blowjobs or intercourse. Have fun, but not too much fun."

"Goodness," was all she said.

"So it's fine," he told her. "The ladies getting handsy just now? That's exactly what she wants. And they enjoyed themselves too, didn't they? No harm, no foul."

"And you?"

He shrugged. "Like I said, it was literally my pleasure."

Tracy looked at the card in her hand, biting her lower lip. She appeared to be struggling with a decision. Jamie waited, but he could already feel himself beginning to stiffen.

"It happens a lot," she said, "when massaging male clients. The... physical response. It's natural, like I said. We try to put the client at ease, so they're not embarrassed. And it would be unprofessional to—" She stopped, and looked at Jamie.

"But you want to? When it happens?"

"Sometimes? God, yes."

She looked at the card, rather than at Jamie. "If your wife really wouldn't mind—?"

"She really wouldn't," Jamie assured her. "But don't take my word for it." He nodded towards the card in her hand. "Ask her."

Tracy did, calling Amy using Jamie's phone, and though Jamie only heard one half of the conversation, it did not take long for Amy to convince Tracy that Amy really was fine with Tracy mauling her husband.

"Well, then," Tracy said, returning the phone to Jamie. "If you don't mind—?" She stepped close.

He gave her a welcoming gesture. "Be my guest."

Somewhat nervously, she grasped the hem of his kilt in both hands, and lifted. And by this point, Jamie wasn't erect, but he was semi-hard; he could feel his penis pointing forward towards her as the weight of the fabric and the sporran was lifted.

Tracy let out a breath she had been holding. "Oh my word." Under her gaze, Jamie's penis stiffened further. It twitched. "Oh my word," she said again. She gathered the hem into one hand, and put the other to her mouth. Her eyes were locked onto his shaft. She started to reach out, as if mesmerised, and then pulled her hand back in surprise. She looked up, meeting Jamie's gaze. "Can I— Can I touch it?"

"Amy would be delighted if you did," he assured her.

So she did.

He expected a light, hesitant touch. Instead, she reached out and grasped the base firmly. Jamie groaned in response, his knees giving way a little.

"Oh my god! I'm sorry," she said quickly, snatching her hand back. "Did that hurt?"

Jamie blinked. "Quite the opposite," he told her. "It felt good. I was just surprised, that's all." He was now definitely fully erect.

Her second attempt was more gentle — a light grasp. She slid her fingers up and down his shaft, and ran a fingertip through the pool of pre-come at his tip; it left a glistening trail as she ran her fingers back down, to embrace his testicles, fingering them gently. And then, with a sigh, she withdrew.

"Thank you," she said. "Your wife is a lucky woman."

"Feel free to tell her," he said, holding out his phone.

There was another quick conversation, by text this time, then Tracy looked up at him again. "Amy wants a selfie," she said.

***

Amy was delighted that things had gone so well with Jamie, but she was concerned about how it would seem when he "just happened" to turn up again later during the night. Nuala wasn't concerned. She pointed out that the girls were going to get suspicious anyway, so what the hell.

Maeve had booked them in for dinner at a Mexican restaurant, and much of the conversation kept coming back to "Jim" and his kilt. And his cock. And his rocking' bod. Amy smiled to herself in delight as the women described what they'd like to do to him, given the chance. It especially amused her as there were occasional texts from Jamie, reporting on his evening. And even a call.

Nuala got suspicious when Amy kept texting him back. "What's that sly smile about, yeh crafty husseh?"

"Oh, nothing," Amy said, taunting her with a smile, and putting the phone away where Nuala couldn't see it. "Just ma bonny boy telling me about his quiet night in on the sofa in Glasgow."

"Is it, now?"

"Aye," Amy said, smugly. "With pictures."

Nuala put out her hand, demanding. "Lemme see! I want to see."

Amy was loving it. "What? And spoil the surprise? I don't think so."

"Oh, yer a cruel woman, Amy."

"Aye, I am. And you love me for it." She gave Nuala a comedy nudge. "And so does Jamie."

They were on the clock for dinner, because next up was a performance by a Dreamboys knock-off troupe at a local nightclub. Doors opened at seven; by half past, they were seated at two adjacent tables near the stage, set up cabaret-style, and when the curtain went up at eight they all screamed along with the rest of the crowd. The next two hours was a blur as hunk after hunk of glistening manflesh strutted on the stage or gyrated into the faces and bosoms of members of the audience. Nuala herself got singled out twice, thanks to the veil. Other hen parties received similar treatment. Amy had a blast; while none of the performers went quite as far as she'd known Jamie to, they were all ridiculously attractive and athletic, they could dance, and they milked the crowd like the professionals they were. Part of Jamie's charm was his persistent naivety; these guys were confident in their appeal, charismatic, and working to a script as carefully honed as their bodies — and they did it well. It was all a fantasy, of course, but such an enjoyable fantasy that Amy didn't mind at all having a break from the real thing.

But nor did she object when, during a break between performers, her phone buzzed.

The "real thing" was calling.

***

Once Jamie left the therapy centre, he was left to his own devices. He wasn't due to start "accidentally bumping into" the hen party until they finished their show at 10pm, so he had about four hours to kill. And first thing on his agenda was a drink.

He headed back the way he'd came, towards pubs he'd seen while wandering earlier. He ignored the first two he saw; they had bouncers standing outside them already. Jamie's Rule Of Thumb: you'll never find a decent pint in a pub with a bouncer. Amy didn't like him going into "old man boozers", as she called them, on his "kilt nights", because nothing ever happened in there. That suited Jamie just fine, right now. He wanted a quiet pint, without being bothered. He kept going, and found somewhere called The Windmills. No bouncer, and a CAMRA sign in the window. "That'll do me," he thought. Inside, he found a quiet room with mostly-empty tables, a dark-wood horseshoe bar probably installed during the Bronze Age, and an enticingly long selection of real ales on tap. The barmaid, a teenager with more eye makeup than years, served him a pint of Sussex IPA, and he retreated to a corner to sip his beer in peace.

Christ, it tasted nice.

The first half-pint vanished in a couple of gulps, then he forced himself to slow down; he had a long night ahead of him, and he needed to pace himself. Amy would not be happy if he fell over in a drunken heap before nine.

The Windmills did bar food, too, and Jamie was sorely tempted to go for local fish 'n' chips, but he knew he wouldn't be able to resist having yet another pint while he did, and he'd probably have one while waiting for the food to arrive, too, and boom, that would be him well on the way to having a pissed-off Amy. Not good.

Instead, he finished his pint, returned the empty glass to the bar, and walked back out onto the street with a sigh.

Amy was off having a meal with the rest of the hen party. Obviously, Jamie couldn't join them for the meal since the idea was that he'd be near by the hens, but not with them. He wanted something simple and basic, so he stopped at a Pizza Hut, where he had a pepperoni pizza, followed by sticky toffee pudding. Fuel to keep him going through the night. He had a glass of Coke to go with it, avoiding more alcohol for the time being, and then a cup of tea because he'd had enough sugary water. On the way out of the restaurant, he passed a large table full of women, so probably another hen night.

"Woo!" they called out, when they saw Jamie. "Looks like the stripper's arrived!" But as far as he could tell, they were just good-natured calls to entertain each other, and they didn't really want Jamie to respond. He smiled at them, and kept going.

It was now getting on for half-seven, so he made his way back up the hill to their hotel.

***

By the time Jamie had taken a good, long shower, dried off and dressed himself in his more formal outfit, it was nearly eight-thirty. That seemed like a good thing to him: it meant less time getting hammered too early in the evening. He sauntered back down the hill towards the sight of the golden late-summer evening light glinting off the sea ahead of him.

He had a specific destination in mind, now: the first bar that Amy had picked out for him. It was part of a chain, and ordinarily not the kind of place Jamie would have chosen, but Amy knew her target demographic, and she was not wrong: first time Jamie had been in one of these places in his kilt — well, it had been memorable.

These places had a common look: the dull thud of heavy bass coming from inside, the flicker of disco lights through the windows, two bouncers at the head of a short rope line, and a gaggle of women in glittery clothing outside, smoking. The women whooped as he walked past, and one of them reached out to flick up the hem of his kilt, but nothing serious.

"All right mate," one of the bouncers said. Jamie nodded back in return.

Jamie stepped through the doorway, coming face-to-face with a young woman who was coming out. There was a brief pause, the moment where you're not sure whether you're dodging one way or they are, and in that moment, she dropped to grab the kilt, lifted it right up as she straightened with a whoop, and let it go as she went left, passing on Jamie's right.

He blinked. Okay. Good choice, Amy. As ever. He took a breath, and moved inside.

Jamie had come to recognise a standard layout in this chain, and this instance didn't divert from the blueprint. The interior was divided into three spaces, with a dance floor, a space with small chairs and tables, and an open space in front of the bar. The venue was already pretty packed, with lots of knots of people standing in the open space near the doorway, holding drinks and dancing in place and "chatting" by yelling at each other over the loud pop music. He moved between the groups and joined the crush of bodies in front of the bar. Ordinarily, the British loved nothing more than to stand in an orderly queue while tutting under their breath at someone not observing queue protocols — but nothing was going to get between the British bloke and his pint. Ergo: crush.

A fraught ten minutes passed while the bodies edged ever closer to the bar, like zombies outside the Winchester, and then Jamie was at the front, sodden bar in front of him. A young, blonde Australian guy, with square jaw and dazzling teeth, turned to him; zombie Jamie extended his arm and waved at one of the taps, grunting. The Aussie held up a pinkie: one? Jamie nodded. Two minutes and one contactless tap later, the wordless transaction was completed, and Jamie shuffled off to the more open spaces, holding his pint of what was probably legally classifiable as "ale".

He moved around, looking for a suitably open space. He saw several groups of women, standing in tight groups, focused inwards. He could see some hen parties in the crush on the dance floor, on the other side of the bar. He drifted that way, and stood at the periphery, watching them. There were too many people to make out outfits in detail, but one group had selected hair fascinators as their tribal colours (red devil horns or silvery halos), while another had gone for feather boas, curled around their necks or shoulders and upper arms.

As he stood watching, one slim woman in her mid-thirties with a precise, almost engineered blonde bob broke away from her friends on the dance floor and moved towards the bar, putting Jamie in her path. After a second, she gave him an appreciative up-and-down with her gaze as she approached, and as she passed she paused to turn towards him, grabbing a handful of buttock through the kilt.

"Mmm," she said. "Just love a man in a kilt." And then she was gone, sailing into the crowd.

It wasn't too long before the same thing happened in the other direction; Jamie was watching the dancing when he felt a minor movement of the kilt behind him, and immediately there was a hand brushing the inside of his thigh, almost incidentally as it homed quickly in on his backside and squeezed. He blinked, but didn't jump. To his side, the same woman was back, giving him a confident, commanding smile. Once he'd recognised her, she paused for another beat, before withdrawing her hand. This motion was a bit slower, more drawn-out, and definitely counted as an intentional caress of his inner thigh. She held his gaze for a moment longer, before giving him a challenging arch of her eyebrow as she backed away and then turned to her friends, rejoining the dancing. The invitation seemed clear, but Jamie wasn't fishing. Not for that, anyway — he was on a mission from God, A. K. A. "Amy".

A hand on his arm made him turn, and a doe-eyed teenager who had to have had her ID closely inspected prior to entry stood up on tip-toe to ask whether her friends could get a picture of Jamie. He allowed himself to be led over to the other side of the bar, where her friends were all sitting, equally wide-eyed. They looked like they were wearing Game of Thrones merchandise. Jamie posed for several photos with them, with shy, giggling pretty young things on each arm, and they asked questions about the kilt and traditional Scottish attire, but none of them asked that question, and after ten minute of chatting, they let him loose, thanking him profusely for his kindness.

Ah well. They aren't all thinking about a Scotsman's nether regions, Jamie reflected.

"Oi, Scotty! You got any kecks on under that?"

And then some of them are.

He turned towards the female voice. A short, somewhat pudgy woman with ornate curls and an outfit glittering so much it could have been made entirely from recycled Christmas cards gave him a wicked grin. She nodded towards the kilt. "Well?" she demanded. "You commando or what?"

Behind her, Jamie could see a table of other Ladies Of The Sequinned Top staring at him intently; he felt like an antelope that had taken a wrong turn and unexpected found itself in the lion enclosure at the zoo. Some of them made "lifting" hand gestures.

He stepped up to the one who'd spoken.

"C'mon," she insisted, not backing down. "Let's see, then!"

He smiled as he dipped finger and thumb into his waistcoat pocket, and handed to her the card he'd withdrawn.

She frowned. "What's this, then?" But she read it, both sides. "Fuuuuuuckinell!" She turned back to her table. "Fuckin' geraloadov this, girls!"

The card was received to great acclaim. They immediately expected Jamie to do the honours, but he held his hands open, inviting her to.

"Really?"

"Go on, Michelle!" one of the others called to her.

Michelle did. There were cheers, and Jamie's phone was called for, so that Amy could be informed. As often happens, Jamie didn't know what was being texted back and forth between his wife and the Sparklies, but he was soon waved closer, and stood by the table as a hand or few took turns to make a further, more tactile assessment of his manhood. They were particularly delighted by the increasing solidity of his erection, and some of the Sparklies found it necessary to confirm that, yes, he was harder that when they'd first molested him, only a minute earlier.

An hour passed. Jamie did the best he could to make his pint last, as he moved around the venue, and he felt his kilt flicked up or his arse grabbed a dozen or more times. Two more cards were given out, though the ladies declined to talk to Amy; they contented themselves with a visual inspection, one group from the front, one rather more circumspectly from the side, sliding the kilt up until his hip was visible.

The bar was now more busy. He braved the even-deeper crush at the bar, and managed to secure more alleged beer.

He found himself watching a hen night over by a pair of tables that sat in the crook of a staircase that led up to the lavatories. The hens were all rock chicks: everything was black, either denim or leather or t-shirts. Some wore tight jeans, some wore mini-skirts. Some had ankle boots or shoes, some had thigh-highs. All had needle-sharp high-heels. The ladies of smaller cup size had gone for ripped tank tops that hung loosely from their shoulders, black bras visible underneath; the bustier ones advertised this to their advantage, with tight-fitting crop-tops. All the tops were emblazoned with the logos or album covers of hair-metal bands: Guns 'n' Roses, AC/DC, Bon Jovi, Def Leppard.

They were playing hen night games, which Jamie found entertaining to watch. The current game involved grabbing random men from the crowd and forming them into a line, and then each hen had to transfer an impressively-long double-headed dildo all the way down the line, using only her mouth. She'd pass the dildo to the first guy, pushing it between his upper thighs close to his groin, and then she'd shuffle on her knees around to the other side of him to remove it, turn and repeat with the next guy in the line.

The point, of course, was that not only did each hen have to wrap their laughing tackle round an absolutely massive rubber dong, but they had to get their face up-close and personal with each guy's butt or groin. So naturally when it came for the bride's turn, Jamie was plucked from the crowd and inserted into the middle of the line.

The bride was a Joan Jett clone: thin, heavy on the eye make-up, looked like she wouldn't put up with any of your shit. Her black sleeveless t-shirt hung loosely off her shoulders, but was tucked into her skin-tight black jeans, a bullet belt around her waist.

"You have got to be shitting me," she said with a laugh, when she saw one of the rock chicks pull Jamie out of the crowd into the line. "Did you plan this, Nina?"

The woman man-handling Jamie into position shook her head. "But why look a gift-horse in the mouth?"

"Hey, Susie," another of them said, "if you don't want to I will gladly take your place."

But Susie wasn't having that. "Oh, no," she said. "he's mine!"

"I hope you're up for this," Nina said, as she arranged Jamie in the line-up. In response, Jamie handed her one of Amy's cards. By the time Susie had worked her way around the first guy, Nina had had time to read it, and had wordlessly held her hand out in demand for his phone; equally wordlessly, Jamie had handed it over.

***

They were several performers and several cocktails into the show when Amy's phone buzzed with the incoming texts from "Jamie".

"Hi," the text said. "Are you really his wife, and are you really down with this card thing?" It was accompanied by a photo of one of the cards.

Amy smiled. Checking up on him. Good girl. "Yep, and Yep," she sent back. "I hope this means you're tormenting him atrociously."

"Torment is such an emotive term..." came the response. "But we HAVE roped him into a hen night game."

That sounded promising. "TELL ME EVERYTHING," Amy demanded, cackling to herself — possibly too openly, because Nuala gave her a suspicious look.

A sequence of texts from Jamie's phone gave a quick summary of the game, of which Amy delightedly approved. "Send me pics!"

"We can do better than that!" And a video call started.

They were between performers, so Amy jumped up and scampered off towards the Ladies as she answered it. There was, of course, a massive queue to get in, but Amy didn't need the facilities — just the corridor away from the main area where the music was too loud.

She'd just started watching when Nuala came in too. "What's up? Is that Jamie, yeh sneaky bint? It is, innit! Lemme see!"

The pair of them huddled around Amy's phone, watching as a young woman with dark hair, eye makeup and a metric tonne of attitude knelt on the floor behind Jamie, an enormous rubber penis clamped between her teeth. She put her hands on the floor as she bowed down to get her head under the hem at the back of his kilt.

"Fuck me, Amy," Nuala said in surprise. "What the hell is going on?"

"Hen night party game," Amy said. "Watch and see," she said, dramatically.

The woman straightened up, shuffling forward, the kilt over her head like a shawl.

"God," Nuala said. "She must have her face right in Jamie's crack. Shit, this is hot, girl!"

Amy agreed; it was definitely a turn-on.

Jamie was evidently getting some instruction: he widened his stance to allow access, and then closed it again, so that his feet were together. The woman disengaged, now dong-free.

"Wait, where's the rubber willy?" Nuala asked. Amy explained that Jamie was holding it between his legs.

The woman scampered around inelegantly on all-fours, and repeated the bobbing motion at the front, manoeuvring under the front of the kilt.

"Oh hell, yes," Amy thought, watching Jamie's slightly panicked expression.

"Omigod," Nuala said.

Jamie jumped a little, as the woman pushed her face towards his groin, then after a moment she emerged again, with the giant dildo once more dangling from between her lips.

"Daaamn," Nuala said slowly, as the woman turned to the next guy in the line-up; after Jamie, pushing the dong up between his denim-clad thighs seemed, well, tame.

Meanwhile, another of the women was jumping forward for her turn.

****

Jamie was well aware that Amy was watching, as Susie nuzzled his bare buttocks before directing him to squeeze the dildo between his legs. He hoped Amy was seeing what she wanted to see. And he really hoped that the bouncers weren't going to take offence. He was already stiff, his sporran keeping his erection pointing due south; feeling the giant willy pushing up against his testicles wasn't doing anything to reduce the swelling. As she knelt in front of him again, he got a good look down the front of her loose t-shirt, and could clearly see her bra trying to make the best cleavage it could out of her small breasts. As she disappeared beneath the front of the kilt and rose up again, he could feel his erect shaft rising in tandem; both the rubber penis and his own flesh-and-blood one would be pointing right at her. He jumped as he felt her face push against the tip, and then there was the feeling of her tugging the dildo out from between his thighs. Then she was sitting back on her heels triumphantly, the giant cock dangling from her mouth, and a faint glistening of pre-cum on the side off her nose.

He had to readjust himself a little to make sure the kilt front went back down again, as Susie started working on the last guy in the line, but already another of the rock chicks was waving her hand in the air excitedly. "My turn next," she said.

"You've already had a go, Tara," Nina said.

"Not with him, I haven't," she said, waiting impatiently at the end line to claim the dildo from the bride. "So I'll just do him."

"Then me," another said.

"And me," said a third.

And so the rest of the line-up was dismissed, as Tara was the first of three more ladies to play the game with him. Tara was the opposite of Susie: big, blonde eighties-metal hair, sharp cheek bones and bright red hooker lipstick. She wore thigh-high black leather boots, a black leather miniskirt, and a lycra crop-top that stretched around her generous bust, leaving her narrow waist and flat abdomen exposed.

****

"God, what a tart," Nuala said, pretending to be disgusted. "She looks like a hooker."

"More like a guy's fantasy of a hooker," Amy said. "Imagine what she's doing to Jamie." They shared a conspiratorial glance. "Poor thing."

Tara gave Jamie a sultry look as she slowly slipped the dildo between her lips in front of him. She placed her hands on his chest lightly, and kept contact as she stepped around behind him. Her fingers trailed down his back and over his butt as she sank to her knees; the other rock chicks whooped in response. With her head beneath his kilt, she soon had the dildo trapped in his thighs. A moment later, Jamie gave a jump, and then another.

Amy shared a puzzled glance with Nuala. "I wonder what that was?" Amy said. Nuala shrugged in return.

Tara looked smug as she emerged. Standing up, she carefully smoothed the kilt back in place, caressing his arse as she did so, then once more she trailed her fingertips as she stalked around to the front.

"Jesus," Amy thought, impressed with Tara's command of the situation, and her seduction skills, "Jamie must be hard as a rock."

Standing in front of Jamie, Tara lowered herself down to her knees, smoothly but slowly, her fingers on Jamie's front all the way. Once she was kneeling him front of him, she looked up at him, licked her lips, and went spelunking.

****

God, but Tara was hot.

Not only was she ridiculously attractive, but she was working it, too. Jamie was pretty sure she knew exactly what she was doing. For example, the spectacular view of her rack had to be intentional. And she wasn't shy; after she'd planted the double-header between his thighs from behind, she'd pressed her face in and licked his arsehole. That was surprising enough, but on the way out, she gave him what she probably considered to be a "playful" bite on the butt cheek, making him jump again.

His shaft was uncomfortably erect as she gave him that wicked, smouldering look before diving beneath his sporran but, even so, he wasn't prepared for the feeling of her lips wrapping themselves around his own tip. He moved briefly in surprise. He felt her suck at him, and run her tongue expertly over his head, before she withdrew, claiming the rubber dildo as her prize.

****

Nuala looked at Amy, eyes wide, but glittering. "Did what I think happened just happen?" she asked Amy in amazement.

Amy returned her look, equally excited. "I'm pretty sure it did. Ah, ma poor bonnie boy," she said quietly to herself.

"I don't know how either of yeh do it," Nuala said. "I think this is really hot, but I'm not sure I could stand to watch some hussy doing that to me Eoin." She paused, thoughtful. "Plus," she acknowledged with a side-tilt of her head, "I'm pretty sure his wee fella'd be spurting if that was him. She'd be coming up with more icing than a three-tier wedding cake."

"Nuala!" Amy said, shocked.

"Really?" Nuala said, laughing. "Now yeh're getting prudish? Away wi' yeh!"

****

Tara was not the last rock chick to go dong-hunting under his kilt, but all the other ladies were more circumspect. Mostly. There were some pecks on the end of his penis that were definitely intentional, but no-one tried deep-throating or rimming him. He was still hard as a rock, but relieved when Nina called a halt and handed back his phone — he was getting increasingly worried that the bouncers were going to take exception.

He took the opportunity to down the rest of his pint, and then he took his leave, staggering out into the autumnal dark, rather more light-headed than to be expected given the amount he'd imbibed to this point.

New venue. New crowd. Onwards.

****

"Fuck me, Amy." Nuala said. "That was awesome. Plus, I am friggin' desperate for a wee three-finger shuffle right now. I need another drink."

Amy agreed. She was really horny, so it was a relief to discover, as they returned to the main auditorium, that the last performer of the night was just coming onto the stage. He was dressed as an innocent, naive student, with spectacles, shirt and tie, and a handful of books. None of which did anything to disguise his muscular frame beneath.

"Rawr!" Nuala said. Amy agreed, though what she really wanted to see was more Jamie.

Not long now.

****

Jamie followed the directions on his phone. He was somewhat surprised that Amy's next recommended venue appeared to be both right on the promenade next to the sea, and invisible. There was nothing there! Yet the maps app showed a bunch of venues and stores. After some fruitless wandering back and forth in confused and increasingly-annoyed bafflement, he eventually spotted a bunch of revellers apparently coming up from the beach, despite their clubbing gear. It was only then that he discovered a set of venues beneath where he was walking, built into arches in the walls. Once he'd retraced the steps of those clubbers down to the previously-obscured next level down, he could see all the entrances, and soon he was where Amy had sent him.

"Bad Wolf", the venue was called. After queuing for a while and paying the cover charge, he was inside, and discovered why: It was a Coyote Ugly clone, playing American cowboy rock while pissed-but-pretty girls danced on the unusually wide bar, giggling and hugging each other.

"Okay," Jamie thought to himself. 'This is different."

The venue was quite small. It was mostly triangular in shape. One side had tall stools and a narrow shelf for drinks, while the other two sides were mostly filled with the bars; they didn't quite meet, allowing a small gap that, upon investigation, led into a quieter space with tables, and toilets. But in the main space, you could cross from one part of the room in only a few paces — if it wasn't crammed with people. Which, of course, it was.

The staff behind the bar were all women — sexily-dressed cowgirls, but wiry, with a no-nonsense look about them. The staff in front of the bars were big, muscular guys in tight-fitting t-shirts over folded bulging arms. Jamie watched them at work while he stood in the crush waiting to get served. Mostly, they handed the girls up onto the bars and back down again, managing the queue of volunteers. Just occasionally, they'd impress upon the clientele the importance of not reaching up to grab at the dancing girls — emphatically, if necessary.

The bar was heavily promoting Jack Daniels but, although it was now gone 10pm, Jamie still had a long way to go. Far too soon to be hitting the spirits. So he settled for a (plastic) bottle of Carlsberg, and tried to find a location where he (or, rather, his kilt) could be seen. This wasn't easy: the small size of the venue meant that everyone was close together, cutting off sight lines, so mostly only his face could be seen. He eased his way to the wider part of the room where the shelf was, finding a small gap to put his bottle down. But each time he tried to back away to keep a space in front of him, someone would move to fill the space, and he soon found himself wedged into the corner, and blocked off from sight.

Okay, fine. If he was going to be in a corner, then it could be the one leading to the toilets. He picked up his bottle and weaved through the crowd. At least this way, there had to be a gap for customers to move through, and they were always going past him. He had aside-on view for both bars from this vantage point, and watched the dancers. On the bar to his right, a couple of Barbies in glittery mini-dresses were shimmying side to side atop their stratospheric high heels; it was a cringey performance, though they were obviously enjoying themselves. On the bar to his left, one of the bar tenders took over and gave the crowd more of a show; in her cowboy hat and boots, Daisy Dukes and Jack Daniels (natch!) t-shirt, she was an attractive figure, plus she was used to dancing on the top of the bar. And, most importantly, she wasn't nearly paralytic from booze. She had a microphone and kept up a running dialogue with the crowd as she danced, twenty percent hey there, sexy, forty percent whooo let's have a good time people and the remaining forty percent this is my bar and you do NOT fuck with me.

She wasn't the only cowgirl in the room; there were several groups using it as a hen party theme too. One of them gave Jamie an appreciative look as she passed him on the way to the facilities, and gave the back hem of the kilt a little flick as she passed back the other way. Jamie shared a smile with her as she looked back at him.

On the bar, the bartender was crouching down, pouring shots into the upturned open mouths of clubbers who were sitting up on the edge of the bar.

It wasn't long before one of the other cowgirls came over, and asked whether they could get selfies with him. Of course, he allowed himself to be led over to the group, and they took several pictures, with Jamie wrapping each arm around a slender waist. Inevitably, one of them asked whether he was a true Scotsman, so Jamie handed over one of the cards. The cowgirl in question read it with growing surprise and glee, passing it around. It wasn't long before more photos were taken, this time with Jamie's phone, him with hands around waists again, and the cowgirls with hands up the kilt, grabbing his arse.

He drifted back to the apex corner once they'd all had a handful and returned his phone, and he watched the crowd and the volunteer dancers, some of whom were more confident (or capable) than others. He smiled to himself — a few months' back, that had been him. He'd been in a bierkeller in Manchester, full of clubbers dancing on the benches. As soon as Amy had heard that, she'd arranged for one of the nearby girls to do a video call of Jamie dancing with them. Jamie was not the best dancer in the world, and was quite self-conscious about it if all eyes were on him.

After some time serving customers, the bar tender was back up on the bar again, mic in hand. She rocked out to the end of the current track, and then started working the crowd, drawing Jamie's attention.

"All right people! Are we having a good time?"

The crowd cheered in return.

"Is that all you got? This ain't a fuckin' library! I can't hear you! Are we having a good time?"

The crowd roared.

"That''s more like it. All right. Now listen up. A little birdie just told me we got someone special in tonight. Seems we have a gen-u-wine Scotsman in our midst. Where's the guy wearing a kilt?"

Uh-oh.

She put her hand above her eyes, shielding them from the bright lights, searching the crowd. "C'mon, my dude. Where you at?"

A bunch of people looked around, became aware of Jamie and his kilt. Many hands went up, waving and pointing.

"There you are! Welcome, dude, welcome to Bad Wolf. Now git yer ass over here where I can see you."

Sheepishly, Jamie took the few steps necessary to bring him to the front of the crowd, next to the bar, while people cheered.

"Shit, no, not there," the bar tender said. "I can't see you there. We want a good look, don't we, girls? You come into Bad Wolf wearin' that shit, we gonna check you out. Git yer ass up here! Clarence, my man, give Scotty a hand on the steps."

"Right," Jamie thought. "Oh Amy, you're going to love hearing about this one."

Clarence was evidently the bouncer managing the flow of girls onto and off the bar. Jamie didn't need physical assistance, but Clarence shone an LED torch downwards, highlighting the otherwise invisible black-painted steps leading up to the top of the bar.

The bar screamed as Jamie ascended the steps into the spotlight.

"Oh, fuck yeah!' the bar tender said. "That is the motherfuckin' shit. Waddaya think, girls? You wanna see Scotty work it?

Another cheer.

"Gimme a fuck yeah!" She held out the mic as they dutifully yelled back in response.

"Lexie," the bar tender called to the DJ, "gimme a beat, here."

A dirty rock track started playing. She swayed her hips to the music, her feet moving in a complex, mesmerising shuffle.

"C'mon, Scotty," she said to Jamie, who was feeling a bit like a deer in the headlights on an oncoming truck — or possibly a freight train — "show me watchagot."

What the hell, Jamie thought, and tried to imagine Amy was watching him, instead. He tried to tune out the crowd — which seemed to have spontaneously erupted in a profusion of phones — and concentrate on the music, trying to move his feet and to sway his hips so that the kilt would flare a little.

The bar tender moved closer, and one of the other bar tenders got up on the other side. The first one leaned in close to Jamie, away from the mic so that only he could hear her. "Just follow us, Scotty." In what was evidently a well-practiced routine, they both began a simple line-dancing routine, and very quickly Jamie cottoned on, stepping forwards and backwards, with little kicks and taps, and spinning sideways in a twirl that made the kilt flare and rise — which Amy would have loved. Certainly, the many women crowded right in front of the bar looking up did. Jamie found he was enjoying it.

"Let's have a big round of applause for Scotty," the bar tender said, as the track finished. She waved her hands, encouraging them. She waited until the applause died down, then began again. "So what do you think of our Scotty? Is there anything you'd like to say to him? Is there anything you'd like to ask him?" she added, meaningfully.

The response was an uproar:

"What's under 'is kilt?"

"Is 'e commando?"

"Is he single?"

"Show us yer willy!"

"Show us yer willy!"

Her shoulders slumped and she dropped her hands down. She bowed her head, laughing, as the catcalls continued. Eventually, she regained her composure and tried to continue, lifting the mic to her mouth, a big grin on her face. As she opened her mouth to speak, there was another yell:

"Show us yer knob, ya ginger haggis!"

Again, she collapsed in hysterics for a while. When she could continue, she raised the mic once more, putting the other hand on her heart. "Oh, my people," she said, laughing, "you never let me down."

"Is he single?" another woman shouted again.

"No!" she said quickly, pointing at the person in the crowd, "he is not! But don't let that worry you, honey — this is not Good As Gold Wolf, this is Bad Wolf. And we know how to paaaar-teee!"

Once more, the crowd cheered.

The bar tender waved at someone in the crowd. "Jennifer, ma darlin', come over here." She leaned down towards one of the cowgirls that had been taking selfies with Jamie. "What did you ask Scotty?" She held the mic to the cowgirl.

"Was he a true Scotsman?" Jennifer said into the microphone.

The bar tender turned to the crowd again. "Is he a true Scotsman? What do you think, people? Is he a true Scotsman? Do you want to know?"

"Uh-oh," Jamie thought, again.

"Yes!" the crowd cried.

"I can't hear you! Do you want to know?"

"YES!"

The bar tender looked at Jennifer again. "And Scotty answered, didn't he?" She pulled a small white rectangle from her back pocket and held it up. "Scotty has cards. Scotty is prepared. Scotty is ready for your slutty ass. Do you want to know what this says?"

"YES!"

She looked at Jamie. "Are you a true Scotsman?" Then she read from the card. "Sure, and my wife"—she pointed at the one who'd asked if Jamie was single—"would like to hear what you think — borrow my phone to tell her." She looked at the crowd, then at Jamie, surprised amusement on her face. "Holy fuck, Scotty! Your wife would like to hear what we think. You've got some wife, Scotty!" She looked back at the crowd. "And that's not all! There's more!" She flipped the card over. "No, really — it's part of the fun. I am under instruction to give you this card." She gave the crowd a significant look, before continuing. "Rules: Looking and touching is fine. No hand jobs, blowjobs or intercourse. Have fun, but not too much fun." She looked out at the crowd. "Well, shit, people. Looks like we're just gonna have to have some fun with Scotty? You down with that?" She took a step back and looked at Jamie, pointing at the spot in front of her. "Come here, Scotty."

Obediently, Jamie stepped over and she turned him so that he was facing the crowd with her behind him.

"You wanna see?" she called to the crowd.

"YES!"

She reached down and grabbed the hem at the front, from behind.

"You really wanna see?"

"YES!"

She reached with the other hand, and pulled the hem most of the way up Jamie's thighs, stopping before she revealed anything.

"Really?"

"YES!"

"Well, tough shit," she said, standing and letting the hem fall again. "We ain't that kind of show, and you'll all have a hard time getting shitfaced if we lose our liquor license. But," she said significantly, "what you do with him is nothing to do with us." She smacked him on the butt. "Get down there, Scotty. Your public awaits." She addressed the crowd as she chased him towards the steps. "Don't forget to ask for his phone, girls! Let's make his wife really happy."

He was about to step off the bar, when she called out to him again. "Oh, wait, one more thing," she said, coming over to him. Without warning, her spare hand dipped down and went up the front of his kilt, grabbing his testicles and penis. She fondled for a moment as the crowd screamed its approval, and then she dismissed him. "Okay, you can go now. Remember, girls: looking and touching is fine. Lexie," she called to the DJ, "let's make some motherfuckin' noise!"

The women in the audience swarmed over to him. He wasn't off the steps before the first hand grabbed his genitals, while another woman was demanding his phone He spent something like an hour continually erect, being passed from woman to woman, as dozens of ladies caressed, touched, tickled or grabbed. Some stroked. Some held. Some just looked, while some just worked by touch. He lost count of the number of selfies taken with his phone; he struggled to keep track of where it was.

****

Amy's phone was exploding.

The strip show had finished. They'd finished up their drinks, and Maeve had led them through the Lanes to another bar, where they had a booth booked for midnight. Texts had started coming in while they were walking, selfies of some cowgirls with Jamie, fairly tame ones. Then while they were standing in the short VIP lane as Maeve confirmed their reservation with the manager, more texts started coming. And coming. And coming. So many comments from women, all very much pleased with her husband's wedding tackle, and expressing their approval. So many photos of faces right next to his arse or shaft. So many pictures of hands up his kilt. They continued as the party were led to their booth, At first, Amy responded to the texts, but she soon gave up — by the time she'd looked at the photos or read the texts and sent a response, a different woman had her hands on her husband and his phone.

What the hell is going on?

"Christ, Amy," Nuala said. "You've created a monster."

It was baffling. But it was also amazing. Amy was hugely turned on, and would love nothing more than to sneak into the Ladies for a quick two-finger shuffle, but the queues in bars always made that impossible. It was quite frustrating.

"I don't know about you," Nuala said, echoing her thoughts, "but I'm desperate for a wank. I don't know how you cope with this."

"Well, usually, I've had a few orgasms by this point," Amy admitted. "It hasn't been a problem before."

"Huh," Nuala said, amused.

"What?"

"Getting a taste of your own medicine for a change?"

Amy was taken aback. "What do you mean?"

"You like to see Jamie suffering sweetly, don't you? Turned on by the groping, but no relief allowed, isn't that right? Well, this is what that's like."

"But that's...." Not fair, Amy started to say. Or maybe not true. Well, okay, maybe it was true. She really did get off on Jamie being mildly abused, and she did her best to keep him wound up while denying him any release unless it came from her. So perhaps it was fair that she should be suffering similarly. That didn't mean she had to like it.

Nuala was watching her, an amused expression on her face, as Amy worked through this.

"Now you're starting to get it. But look at it this way: Think of how good it'll be at the end of the night when you've both been on the boil for so long." She gave Amy a wicked grin. "I'm certainly looking forward to the end of the night."

****

Once the swarm of mauling women thinned out, and Jamie stopped being chased, he decided to call it a night at Bad Wolf — there didn't seem to be any point staying in that venue as any group interested in the kilt had already had sufficient opportunity to take advantage. He reclaimed his phone, and drifted out into the night, looking for the next bar on Amy's list.

It was cooler now, and there was a definite chill in the night air. The streets were still full of revellers, though. Girls walked in small groups, dressed in almost nothing, their arms folded and hands clutching their upper arms as they tottered on their heels. Behind them, equal-sized packs of guys in jeans and shirts walked with their hands shoved deep in their pockets, trying to pretend they didn't feel the cold either. Jamie was fine; his wool kilt was perfect for keeping him cool in summer and warm in winter — though he could definitely do with a beer after the considerable man-handling in Bad Wolf.

Amy's next bar was a chain bar. The queue outside was short, which didn't bode well for hen nights, but that suited Jamie just fine for now. A break seemed like a good idea. It didn't take long before the bouncer was waving him in. The beer selection wasn't great, but Guinness was available, so he went for that. There was a tall stool unoccupied, so he planted himself on the stool and scrolled through the phone in amazement at the text messages and photos that had been sent to Amy.

Probably time to check in.

"New bar," Jamie said. "Finally have my phone back. Hope you enjoyed all that."

"Someone's popular," she replied.

He sent a short explanation about how one of her cards had been read out to the entire venue.

"Oops," she said.

"For a moment, I thought she was going to strip me on the bar."

"That would have been TERRIBLE", came the response, with a wicked devil emoji.

Jamie had the impression Amy was disappointed that that hadn't happened.

"Speaking of, how was YOUR show?" he asked her.

"Fab," she replied. "Will fill you in more later." Then, a moment later, another response came in: "But I'd still rather watch you getting your kilt off. Rawr."

Jamie was just wondering how to respond to that, when Amy sent a third text: "Nuala loves the photos, by the way. She's very impressed. She says Hi." And there was another devil emoji.

Amy was showing the photos to Nuala? Jamie hadn't expected that. He wasn't sure how he was going to look Nuala — or Eoin — in the face, after the weekend. The massage thing was bad enough.

He finished his pint, and returned to the bar to get another drink. This time, he settled for a Miller. There was a dance floor area, so he drifted near to that, and watched for a bit. A woman in dungarees, long straw-coloured hair and an Alice band walked past carrying a couple of complex drinks, and stopped, doing a double-take as she saw Jamie.

"Oh, hey," she said. "You look really great. Can I take a couple of pics?"

"Sure," Jamie said, shrugging.

"Thanks!" She looked at the glasses in her hand for a moment, and at the lack of nearby free tables, then at Jamie. "Would you mind?"

"No problem." He took hold of the drinks. She dug her phone out of her pocket and snapped a pic of Jamie.

"One more?"

"Sure."

She gave him a big grin, turned around so that she had her back to him, and then dropped down in a crouch, rolling backwards to land on her back, with her face right between his legs.

"Say cheese!" she said, as she took a photo up his kilt. Then she gave him another grin and a thumbs-up. "Perfect!"

Rolling smoothly back to her feet, she reclaimed her drinks, gave him a bright "Thanks!" and toddled off, leaving Jamie both bemused and impressed.

Another woman nearby had been watching this. She was wearing baggy, low-slung trousers, trainers, and a sporty crop-top. She looked at Jamie. "Does that happen a lot?"

Jamie laughed "More than you would believe."

"And you're okay with it."

Jamie held up a finger, in a wait a mo gesture, and dug out one of his cards.

She read it, and then looked up at him. "Seriously?"

"Again: more than you would believe."

"Mind if I keep this?"

"Be my guest."

She wandered off with the card, and was back again a few minutes later.

"My friends don't believe me. Would you mind?"

"Of course."

She led him around the bar to a table with five other young women, all dressed in urban street attire. They cheered when they saw Jamie.

"I take it back, Kendra," one of them said. "You were not shitting us after all." She looked at Jamie, holding up the card. "This yours?"

He nodded. "Yep?"

"Is it for real?"

"Yep."

"Well, shit, then," another one of them said. "What are you waiting for? Let's have a look."

Jamie stepped over to the table, presenting the kilt to them.

"Oh, we've got to do the work, have we?"

"That's the deal, I'm afraid."

"Never mind that," Kendra said. "Julie, come on out, let him sit down."

One of the girls got up and they ushered Jamie so that he was sitting behind the table, with the girls to either side, and immediately hands began exploring. He handed over his phone to one of the others, and she gave a startled noise when she saw all the recent text messages and photos that had been sent to Amy.

"Omigod," she said. "Look at these! Is that your willy?" she asked Jamie. "It looks really nice."

"It feels really nice, too," one of the others said. "Nice and hard," she added, smugly.

"God," the one with his phone said. "What's your wife like, if you're doing this?"

"Why don't you ask her?" Jamie suggested, while his stiff member was being rhythmically squeezed by the girl sitting next to him. "It was her idea, after all." The woman on the other side massaged his testicles.

"Good point," the one with the phone did.

It was a while before Amy replied. In that time, they'd taken turns, swapping seats so that each could have a turn copping a feel. When Amy did finally reply, she apologised.

"She said she's bin dancin'," the girl who currently had his phone announced to the table at large. "She said she's really sorry, but she hopes we're 'avin' a good time wiv 'er 'usband's todger."

"No complaints here," one of them said.

"I still wanna suck you off, though," another told Jamie. "She wouldn't know."

Jamie just shook his head; they'd already had this conversation a couple of times.

"Hey, I still wanna fuck his brains out," another said. "But Kilt Boy is too well-behaved."

"You're talking about a bloke who's getting his knob played with by complete strangers," the first said reasonably. "Not that well-behaved."

"Yeah, but he's not cheating, is he? It's not cheating if she's telling him to do it."

Another of the women looked sad. "I'd love to bend him over the table and fuck his arse with me strap-on. That wouldn't be against the rules."

"Yes, it would. It says 'no intercourse'."

"Arse-fucking doesn't count."

"'Course it does! It counts double!"

"You could ask her."

"Have you got your strap-on? Like, with you now?"

"No."

"Then what does it matter?"

"I just wanna know if I'm missing out."

"You're just obsessed with fucking every guy you meet with your strap-on!"

"Fair point. But you haven't tried it. If you had, you would be, too."

Once all the women had done all the groping they wanted to do, they let Jamie leave. As he slid out past the strap-on obsessive he leaned in and said, "Just so you know: I'm pretty sure she would have said 'yes' to the strap-on."

He heard a chorus of "no way!" and "what the fuck" from behind him as he walked away, smiling.

****

Amy and the rest of the hens were rocking the dance floor. The club had several rooms, with urban/rap in one, house/rave/trance in another, and contemporary/pop in a third, but they were in the fourth room: retro. They'd toured around the other rooms in twos and threes, spending a little while in each, but their booth was in the retro room, thanks to Maeve's planning skills.

"Me mam's not gonna know anything in any of the other rooms," she had explained, "but you just try keeping her off the floor when they play Livin' On A Prayer or Dancing Queen."

"Mam was in nappies when that stuff came out," Siobhan said.

"Oh, Mam'll get up to Disco 2000 too, but she loves that Eighties stuff. And besides," she said, "it's the best place to be for a fun dancing night."

And Nuala wasn't fussed, though Saoirse seemed a bit offended.

Maeve didn't care. "It's not about you, love," she said, refusing to budge.

And Maeve was right. They were all having a great time, knocking back the prosecco and pornstar martinis, and not giving a shit how silly they looked while dancing their tits off to anything they recognised. Consequently, Amy missed quite a few texts from Jamie's phone.

When she next checked her messages, she grinned.

"What's up now, yeh shameless hussy?" Nuala asked her.

Amy's grin widened. "Elvis is in the building," she said.

****

Last bar.

Last club, really. This was a full-on, no-messing-about nightclub, with a variety of rooms. But it was the last venue of the night. Somewhere in here, Amy and Nuala were causing general chaos and mayhem with the rest of the hen party. Jamie knew he was supposed to meet up with them in here, but Amy hadn't been specific. "We'll find you," she'd said dismissively, "or you'll find us."

He'd barely walked past security when one woman grabbed his kilt and whipped it up. "Wheee!" she said, giggling, before giving him a high-five and walking off.

He found the nearest bar and ordered a Glenfiddich, then wandered, poking his head into various rooms. He dismissed the rave room. He was looking for the disco-y stuff. He'd learned that that was what hen nights went for, so that was where he'd probably find Amy.

He spotted a young, thin woman with dark, straight hair, a Scottish Rugby top, mini-kilt and rugby socks. He knew that the theme of Amy's evening was mini-kilts, which Jamie found immensely sexy — it was only the fact that Amy had just banged him that stopped him from jumping on her as soon as he saw her in the outfit — so he guessed that this might be one of the party. So he followed her. She went into a room that was pulsing with a hip-hop beat, and a dance floor full of grinding, writhing bodies under low lighting. She moved around the dance floor, and went to a booth full of others in identical dress.

So, not Nuala's party, then. Nuala's party were more of the white-shirts-and-stockings style. He didn't recognise any of the women from when he'd seen the party at the massage place in the afternoon. Plus, no Nuala, and no Amy.

He was about to turn around when hands encircled his chest from behind.

"Mmm," a voice said in his ear. "Just love a man in a kilt." The woman strolled around to his front, so that he could see her. Bronze hair in a sharp, asymmetric bob, and piercing brown eyes. Mid-thirties. "Or, in your case, out of it. Aren't you delicious?" Like the others of her group, she was in a mini-kilt and rugby attire. "I hope you're wearing that thing properly — however temporary that state of affairs may be."

Jamie gave a weak smile as his penis started to perk up again. Go on then. One more time. He handed over a card.

She gave it a read-through twice, flipping it over several times. She smiled at him. "Come on, then," she told him, nodding towards the rest of her party. "Let's give your wife what she's after."

The others at the table cheered when they saw Jamie being led over, and a couple of them immediately made up motions with their hands. Bronze Hair was only too happy to oblige: she stood Jamie in front of the table, grabbed the hem, and lifted the kilt, to cheers and screams of joy.

"Aren't you a lovely boy?" one of them asked, happy with what she saw.

"That's not all," Bronze Hair said. "Check this out." She handed the card over.

"So we can play?" a short blonde woman asked.

"Oh, I think we have to. It's practically required."

There were hands up the kilt, on his butt and on his shaft and balls. There were selfies sent to Amy, until they'd had their fill. Bronze Hair made sure everyone was played out, then she grabbed Jamie's hand again. "Come on, you," she said. "My turn."

She pulled him away from the booth through the sprawl of clubbers, and onto the dance floor. "I want to dance," she said, looking at him with glittering eyes as she backed into the swirling mass.

For the second time that night, Jamie found himself out of his depth as a sexy girl pushed herself up against him, moving seductively in time to music, making him feel like an uncoordinated lump. Bronze Hair pressed her chest into him, her hands up behind his head, staring into his eyes.

"Mmm, you are just so sexy," she murmured, her lips close to his ears. "I'd love to throw you onto my bed and ride you with your kilt bunched around your waist. I could, you know," she added. "If you want."

He gave a minor shake of his head.

"No? Then I'd best make the most of this, hadn't I?" She twirled against him, rolling herself so that she was facing away, and worked her toned backside against his sporran. "Is that a sporran or are you pleased to see me?" she said, leaning back into him. "Let's see!"

She slid down him into a crouch, her knees wide, then came back up again, her hands reaching back to slide up his hose and bare thighs, under the kilt. It bunched up somewhat, hidden by her body and the low lighting.

"Oh yes," she said, as she grasped his erection behind her. "That's nice and hard. Sure I can't do something about that?" She squeezed his member and his balls.

Jamie looked around to see whether anyone had noticed; there were lots of people dancing nearby. Most of them were oblivious, but some of the rugby girls were watching. One was holding up his phone.

Bronze Hair moved one hand to adjust her own kilt, so that his erection was pressed up against her underwear, as she moved her butt up and down against him with the beat. "Oh god, it feels so good to feel your hard cock between my arse cheeks. Do you like that? Imagine what it would feel like sliding into my arse from behind. Just think, you could be taking me here in front of all these people right now, and none of them would know."

She reached down behind her and pulled Jamie's kilt up further, pulling it closer to her and bending forward, so that it draped over her like a blanket. She reached underneath and pulled Jamie's penis down and through, so that it was sticking between her thighs, rubbing against her vulva. Again, she moved back and forth in time with the music, her eyes shut, her face turned to the camera on Jamie's phone. "Mmm, like that. Just like that." Her lips parted, and she let out small moans. "You could be fucking me right now, just like that." She opened her eyes, looking into the camera. "Maybe he is fucking me right now," she said to the camera. "You'll never know."

She stepped forward, letting Jamie's kilt fall uncomfortably onto his massive hard-on. She turned and blew him a kiss, then disappeared into the throng.

****

"What a tart!" Nuala said, as the video call ended.

Amy was thinking the same thing. And she was thinking: could I get away with wanking myself off under the table?

"She wasn't really fucking him, was she?"

"No," Amy said. "No way. Jamie wouldn't do that." She paused, thinking of the first time that a group got carried away with Jamie. Not if he could avoid it, anyway. "I should really go find him," she said, absently.

Nuala checked her phone. "Oh, god, yes! It's nearly time."

"What? Oh yeah, that too."

Nuala looked at her. "Why, what were you thinking?"

I was thinking I need to get him to drag me into the Gents to give me a good, hard fucking right now.

"Oh, nothing."

****

Having established that Bronze Hair was not a member of Nuala's hen party, Jamie was wondering where they could be found. He was just debating whether to wander the halls and rooms looking — and potentially having more encounters — or simply text Amy and ask. Before he could decide, a young woman with straight Eighties-metal blonde hair and the correct kilt outfit came over to him.

"Excuse me?" she said. "It's Jim, isn't it? Amy's friend. We met this afternoon at the massage session."

She looked familiar, but he couldn't remember her name. "Oh, yes, right. It's, er...."

She shook her head. "Oh, don't worry, I don't think we were introduced. I'm Charlie. I used to be Nuala's landlady while she was at university." Jamie was surprised at this statement, but now that he looked more closely, she was a lot older than he'd have first guessed. She still looked amazing. "Um, I know this is a bit of a weird question," she said, "but, if you don't mind me asking: did you know that woman?"

Ah, so she saw that, did she? Jamie gave an ironic smile. "Never met her before in my life."

"Only, she seemed very friendly towards you. That was quite something to see. I didn't think you could have something hotter than the massage session but apparently I was wrong."

He gave a little nod of his head in acknowledgement. "Well, what can I say? Some women can't resist a kilt. And they often ask the same question."

"Are you a true Scotsman?," she guessed.

"Bingo. And when they do..." He pulled out one of the cards from the now quite-depleted set, and handed it to her.

She read it through, both sides. "Oh wow. Your wife is something else. She likes this happening to you?"

Jamie waggled his hand from side-to-side in a sort-of gesture. "She said she got turned on by the thought that other women were excited by her man in a kilt, but couldn't have what she could have. But, honestly," he admitted, "I think she's more into my frustration than the other women's. She likes me being excited when she's the only one allowed to give me relief."

Charlie looked surprised. "And that doesn't bother you?"

Jamie gestured with his finger towards the doors to the corridor, and to his ear, indicating that they should move to where it was quieter. She understood, and led the way. Once through the doors, he responded. "Well, like you saw, it's fun for me. And I love my wife. She's amazing. And this does make her very turned on, which of course is a win for me."

She still looked dubious. "You don't feel like you're being sexually assaulted in public? Sorry if it's a personal question, but I do have a good reason for asking. And besides," she gave him a wry glance, "I think we're past 'personal' being a concern."

Jamie considered the question of assault. "Sometimes women can't resist getting hands-on. We — guys — don't get that kind of response from women very often, unless we're wearing a kilt, and I've never felt physically threatened. As long as everyone's a consenting adult, and my wife is happy that it's happening, what's there to complain about? Though I am looking forward to the end of the night."

"Oh?"

"She likes to keep me wound up so that she can be the one to do the grand finale, as it were. And I'm probably ready for that now."

She paused for a second, considering, then apparently made a decision. "One last favour before you do?" she asked, in a hopeful voice.

He sighed inwardly. "You want to take me over to Nuala's party, right?"

She looked sheepish. "Well, given everything you've told me, I'm sure you'd be making your wife very happy."

"I can honestly say that I would," he said. "And how can I say no to that?"

****

Charlie led him practically by the hand. "I don't want someone else grabbing you and dragging you off," she explained. He thought she'd be taking him to one of the dance rooms, because he knew that the party had booked a booth, but she led him through a side door that was labelled "Karaoke Rooms."

"Nuala wanted to finish on a bit of sing-along," Charlie explained, as she pulled him through another corridor and finally opened a door. "Look who I bumped into," Charlie announced to the room, presenting Jamie proudly. "Amy's friend Jim!"

"Whoo! He's wearing a kilt," one of the girls said, excitedly. "That's the second one today!"

"That's the same one," another replied, levelly.

Charlie quickly went round the room pointing out each of the women, giving their names. The two who'd just spoken were twins, Siobhan and Saoirse. He already knew Nuala and he'd met Charlie. That left Maeve, a sister who gave off a competent air, Mary, the mother of the bride, who looked just as good as her beautiful daughters, but with the years of experience visible, and two other non-redheads. Simone was a quiet-looking woman, tall, with long dark hair, a long-time friend of Nuala, while Niamh was a gorgeous blonde with a fabulous figure who positively glowed. When she greeted Jamie, her voice was like a good single malt, smooth and rich, with complex undertones.

Jamie was looking around the room; Amy was missing. "Where is Amy, anyway?"

"She was here a minute ago. Probably just popped out," Nuala said. "I'll text her."

"Tell her to hurry back," Charlie said. "She won't want to miss this. Jim has a freaky wife." Charlie handed Jamie's card to Maeve. "Check this out."

"Sure, and my wife would like to know what you think..?" She looked puzzled. "I don't get it."

"Oh, come on," Charlie said. "You look at him, what's the first thing you want to know?"

"Can I keep him?" Siobhan said instantly.

"No," said Charlie.

"Don't see why," Siobhan muttered to herself. "He's practically followed me home...."

"How big's his willy?" said Simone.

"No."

"Is he wearing any boxers?" suggested Niamh.

"You're all doing this wrong," Charlie said, exasperated. "What's the classic question you ask a man in kilt?"

Mary and Saoirse both answered at once: "Is he a true Scotsman?"

Charlie did the finger-on-nose-while-pointing gesture from the game of Charades. "Now read the card."

"Sure, and my wife would like to hear what you think. Borrow my phone to.... Ah, I see." She flipped the card, and continued reading. "Rules: Looking and touching is fine. No hand jobs, blowjobs or intercourse. Have fun, but not too much fun. Holy shit!"

Niamh looked shocked. "Is that for real?"

"I can promise you," Charlie said passionately, "it absolutely is. You wouldn't believe what was going on when I found him out there."

Saoirse looked thoughtfully at Jamie. "Okay, then: phone." She held out her hand.

Jamie unlocked his phone and handed it over. To his surprise, she simply glanced at it, gave a small grunt of satisfaction, and offered it back to him.

"Let me take that," Nuala said quickly.

"Well, I'm very glad to properly make your acquaintance," Siobhan said, approaching Jamie offering her hand. As he went to take it and shake it, she avoided his grasp, dipping low, under and up, and grabbed his package in a single motion. "Very glad."

****

Amy had spent a few minutes looking for Jamie, and had just realised she should simply ask him where he was, when her phone pinged.

It was Nuala: "Charlie's just turned up with Jamie. My sisters are FRISKY. You'd better hurry if you want to get back before they wear him out."

Typical.

****

Siobhan held his package, massaging him for a moment, giving him a wicked grin as she did.

"Siobhan, you wicked child! What d'ye think yeh doin'?" That was her mother, looking somewhat shocked.

"Ah, Mam. It's fine. His wife said so. Besides," she said, looking back at her mother devilishly, "we all had a feel earlier today, so we did." She turned back to Jamie. "Right then, Jim me lad. Let's be having' a look at yeh." And with that, she released his shaft and balls, and pulled the front of his kilt up in a business-like fashion. Jamie was half-erect, pointed out horizontally.

"'Tis a beautiful knob yeh have on yeh, Jim. An' it'll be all the more beautiful when yer properly hard." She looked around the room. "Who's gonna help him?"

"I don't think he needs any help," her twin said, as Jamie's tip craned ever skyward.

I'm surrounded by some of the sexiest women I've ever seen, all staring at my naked groin, Jamie thought. What did you expect?

"I'll help," Niamh said. She stepped up and knelt in front of Jamie's stiffening penis, her face a mere inch or two away from it. Then she looked up at Jamie, with her beautiful, heart-shaped face, golden curls and bright blue eyes, opened wide and innocent. She parted her lips, sensuously.

That was it; Jamie's penis reached full erection.

"There!" she said brightly, and stood again, having not even touched it.

Siobhan nodded approval. "Not bad, yeh go, girl!"

All the women had a clear view of Jamie's rock-hard member. They stared at it for a few beats, before Nuala said, "Well, I'm not going to waste the opportunity." She came over and grasped Jamie, one hand around his penis, the other around his balls, making him moan. And she winked at him. She squeezed gently with both hands, making him moan more loudly. "Mmm, very nice," she said, as she released him.

That broke the dam, and over the next few minutes, each of them took turns to get hands-on with Jamie. He was stiff as a rod throughout, and leaking pre-come as they squeezed him, or trailed fingertips along his length, or gave him a couple of firm strokes before stopping. Siobhan looked like she was struggling to hold back; Mary was hesitant, and regretful when she let go. Saoirse, Niamh and Charlie were all confident in their grip, but appreciative. Maeve closed her eyes, shivering at the touch.

Simone was taking her turn when Amy came back in. Simone was wide-eyed, hesitant at first, and then she tenderly enclosed Jamie's penis as if afraid it would take flight at her touch. She simply stood there for a moment, looking down, as if she couldn't quite believe it was her own hand holding his erection.

"Hey, Amy," Saoirse said dryly, as soon as Amy came into the room, "look who it is — your 'friend' 'Jim'."

To Jamie, Amy looked a little unsure about what to do, but Siobhan stepped in. "Amy! Just in time! It's your turn. Jim's wife is awesome — look!" And she gave Amy the card that Amy had written and printed and given to Jamie, before Jamie had given it to Charlie.

"Isn't it great?" Siobhan continued. "Simone, let Amy have a go."

Simone blinked, as if coming out from a daze, and let go of his erection. She smiled shyly at him and moved away, her arms close around herself.

Nuala was the one holding Jamie's kilt up at that moment. "Hey Amy," she said.

"Hey Nuala," Amy replied. "Hey, 'Jim'. You've had a busy day, then?"

Jamie eyed her warily, wondering how long she wanted to keep 'Jim' going. "There have been ups and downs."

Amy put the card down onto a table, took hold of him, and started to stroke. "We're in one of the 'ups', I see."

"Uh, hold on!" Siobhan warned. "We're not allowed to give him a hand job."

Saoirse waved her glass airily. "I'm sure Jim's wife will let it go, just this once." She gave Amy a level look.

Nuala looked like she was sensing trouble in the air between the twins. "Now that we're all here," she began, "we should get started. We have less than an hour before they'll kick us out of this room."

"More singing?" Siobhan looked crushed. "Can't we just play with Jim's willy?"

"Only if you'll share," Saoirse muttered.

"I don't mind more singing," Niamh said.

"Of course you don't," Siobhan said. "You're bloody brilliant. You're, like, a goddess. Us mere mortals are pathetic next to you."

"Siobhan, dear," Mary said with menace, "be nice."

"And anyway," Maeve said, "Nuala specifically asked for the karaoke room, didn't you?"

"But not for singing, right?" Saoirse interjected.

Maeve gave her a baffled look. "What else would it be for?"

Saoirse rolled her eyes, and looked at her elder sister. "Do you want to explain, or shall I?"

Nuala looked at her for a moment, then at Amy. Amy just shrugged in return.

"Busted," Nuala said. "All right. Look, the reason why we have the private room is, well—" And she gestured at Jamie.

Maeve looked offended. "But I thought you wanted to sing? You can't just spend the next hour fondling the poor man."

"Oh, we'll do more than that," Nuala said, which came as a surprise to Jamie.

Mary was shaking her head, though. She snatched the card up from the table where Amy had placed it. "You'll not be taking advantage of this young man beyond what's on offer."

"You could ask his wife," Saoirse said, reasonably.

"Yes!" Siobhan said, clutching at opportunity. She turned to Jamie. "Phone!"

"No," Saoirse said. "You can ask his wife." She nodded at Amy. "She's right there."

Everyone looked at Amy, and at Jamie, and back to Amy. "Uh, hi," Amy said, waving feebly. "This is my husband, Jamie."

Instant pandemonium.

"Hold yer feckin' horses!" Nuala called. "Don't ye all be havin' a go at Amy like that. This is a thing that Amy and Jamie do, right? And I asked them to come here and do it for us, tonight. So don't ye all be getting' yer knickers in a twist. So calm the feck down." The ladies fell silent. "Thank you. Now, if ye give me a moment, I'll explain. Amy and I have an arrangement...."

****

ONE MONTH AGO: AUGUST

Amy was on the phone with Nuala, despairing that, no matter what Amy tried, Jamie's "kilt nights" had a tendency to get out of hand. Jamie had suggested that Amy accompany him, as a solution. Nuala had shared Amy's withering opinion of this idea, until Nuala had suggested that Amy bring Jamie along to her hen night.

But with a twist.

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

Amy paused. "What do you mean?"

"Oh," Nuala said, airily. "Just that, us bein' besties and me bein' so amazingly accommodating on what is, after all, my hen night, I just think that yeh might be willing to make some special dispensations."

Amy narrowed her eyes. "Such as?"

Nuala told her.

"You think you'll be able to get away with that, with Eoin?" Amy asked, surprised.

"Pfft," Nuala said confidently. "Piece o' cake."

A couple of days later, Nuala called Amy back to confirm. "Eoin's on board," she said.

"Really?" Amy was surprised. "How did you get him to go along?"

"Ach, it were easy," Nuala said. "It's in his own best interests. I told him we needed to talk about the arrangements for the stag and hen nights."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, 'cos Paddy O'Riordan is his best man. I dunno what me big sis is cookin' up fer me hen night, but I'm pretty sure I know exactly what Paddy's got in mind fer the stag do, an' I'm not having Eoin fork out for six hookers from the wedding budget so that Paddy an' his pisshead mates can have an orgy."

"You're kidding."

"The wee shite's done it before. Anyways, I told Eoin this, and he was probably about to give me some big promise about restraint, but I flipped it round on him. I said that I wanted our weddin' night to be special, and I was worried that Eoin's performance was gonna suffer if he was too busy thinking that the last time 'is brand new bride got nailed, it was being bent over a cabaret bar table by an oiled-up Chippendale wi' huge muscles and a massive, eight-inch dong during her hen night."

Amy had been taking a sip of tea; she struggled not to spray it everywhere, laughing at this image.

"But I also said I wasn't expecting him to be a choir boy," Nuala continued. "I mean, the whole point about these things is that there's a bit of debauchery, right? If I tried to make him be an angel, turning down all temptation, he'd never manage it. Plus, I wouldn't put it past that fecker O'Riordan to slip a roofie into his drink, and the next thing my man knows, he's waking up tied naked to a bed while a hooker rides him like Bradley Wiggins going down a flight of stairs. So, I said," Nuala said, warming to her theme, "Boundaries. I wanted us to agree to lines that we could go up to without feeling like we were cheating, as long as we didn't cross them. I said I wouldn't ask him — what happens in Vegas, and all that — and that I could trust him. But what's good fer the goose is good fer the gander, as they say."

"And you're the goose here?"

"Don't you be calling me a goose, my girl!"

"Just wanting to be clear," Amy laughed. "And the line you proposed was..?"

"Oral," Nuala said. "Getting hands-on was allowed, and so was oral, but not beyond that. No intercourse. No insertion of one set of genitals into another. Or anal, for that matter."

Amy considered this. "Okay...." She still wasn't clear how this related to Nuala's specific plan for her hen night.

"Well, like I said, it's my hen night, and since oral is allowed...."

****

NOW: SEPTEMBER

"You can look and touch Jamie all you like," Amy told Nuala's family and friends. "But you can't make him come. Only I get to say when that happens." She let that sink in for a moment, before she hit them with it. "But the reverse isn't true. As a special favour to Nuala, Jamie can make you come—"

Wait, what?

"—but not from intercourse. Oral is the limit. He can go down on you, and he's quite good with his hands. But absolutely no fucking."

Jamie's mind was a whirl. Amy was offering him to other women — without even checking with him first? He was outraged. But also hugely turned on. He hadn't thought he could be any more erect, but he was now almost painfully hard. His erection was covered up, as his kilt had been dropped during the uproar, but he was tenting it impressively, as the sporran had shifted around to the side in all the groping.

"Of course," Amy said, "Nuala gets to go first."

"Hold on," Mary said. "Yeh can't be doin' that, Nuala. What would Eoin say?"

"Nothing," Nuala said, "because he's probably too busy getting one of several blow-jobs right now." She looked smug. "We had a talk, beforehand. We came to an agreement. So I'm good."

"Well, you might be," Maeve said, "But I'm already married, and I can't be 'avin' some stranger — no offence, Jim — I mean, Jamie — going' down on me; me hubby would hit the roof if he knew."

Nuala shrugged. "Not my fault yeh didn't plan ahead." She went over into the corner of the room and pulled out a bag. "But if yeh want to take care of business, these might help." The bags, it turned out, contained a couple of fully-changed wands. Nuala looked at Amy. "Told yeh I was gonna make feckin' sure I had some vibrators on me hen night."

It was a common story. In the end, only Nuala, Charlie, Simone and — to no-one's surprise — Siobhan felt able to take Jamie up on Amy's offer.

Nuala went first, by common agreement. She removed her shoes, tights and underwear, and sat on the edge of one of the padded benches that ran around the room. Leaning back, she spread her legs and looked at Jamie intently.

Jamie looked at Amy. Are you really okay with this?

She put a hand on his shoulder, and smiled. Yes. Go on.

Jamie knelt in front of Nuala, between her knees, and leaned inwards. He filled his nostrils with the scent of another woman's sex. There had been other occasions since Amy had first started pushing them in this direction, but this was the first time he was there to give full attention, with Amy's knowing and explicit support. The first touch of his lips against hers sent an electric shock through him, making his erection even harder. At Amy's direction, Niamh knelt behind Jamie, lifted up his kilt, and played with his shaft and testicles while he thrust his tongue into Nuala. It wasn't long before Nuala was shuddering beneath him, clamping his head within her thighs.

Siobhan was next. Standing with legs spread, she bent forward over one of the bar tables, her tights and briefs pulled down to her thighs. Jamie knelt behind her and buried his face into her vulva and arse cheeks, while she lent on one arm and rubbed her clitoris with the other hand. She came loudly, making Jamie thankful for the soundproofed room. Elsewhere in the room, Saoirse and Maeve made the most of the vibrators, as their sister quivered at Jamie's touch. Simone held Jamie's shaft as Siobhan's climax hit her.

Jamie was looking forward to Charlie. She'd seemed friendly when they'd chatted before she'd brought him to this room. But in the moment, their roles had reversed. She'd removed her footwear, tights and underwear, and she leaned back against a pillar in the centre of the room.

"Kneel," she'd told him, in a tone that brooked no argument. "Lick."

Standing there, her back to the pillar, she made Jamie work for it, as he lapped away at her lips and clitoris. If he brought a hand up, she slapped it away. demanding only his tongue. Soon, she too was spasming as her orgasm exploded over her, gripping Jamie's hair with both hands and pulling him into her, while Niamh brought about her own climax, and Mary rolled Jamie's testicles in her fingers.

Simone was next. But Simone was nervous. She whispered her concerns to Nuala, who translated. "She's had bad experience with boyfriends. She doesn't want to expose herself, but she doesn't want to miss the opportunity. Can he use his hands, instead?"

***

"Ssh, it's okay," Amy said to Simone. "Of course he can, it's fine." She hadn't known this poor, sweet girl long, but she was happy to provide this pleasure in a safe, controlled way. And she knew that Jamie could deliver what Simone needed. And she longed to see Simone writhing under Jamie's touch, while Jamie himself was still reserved only for Amy.

To Jamie, she said, "She's nervous. I'll guide you." She brought Jamie up behind Simone, and had him caress her shoulders and her body, moving his touch down to her hips. "Close in on her sex," she told Jamie, "but gently." And she watched, pleased, as Jamie stood close to Simone, chest to back, and his fingers moved over her body until they inexorably moved closer to her mini-kilt.

"Can I hold him?" Simone asked, quietly.

"Of course," Amy said. She pulled up Jamie's kilt again, and guided Simone's hand to his solid —and, frankly, delightful — penis. Simone gave a shudder as she touched it; so did Jamie. "Remember," Amy said to both of them, "Jamie is not allowed to come."

She could see that Jamie had taken the initiative now; he'd lifted the front of Simone's mini-kilt, and dipped his left hand down the front of her tights and panties, and was now fingering her clitoris. With his right, he played with her breasts, her flat stomach, her neck. and he pulled her close to him. Simone, for her part, was now stroking Jamie.

"She's so close," Amy whispered to Jamie and to Simone, as the girl quivered against his body. "So close. It feels so good. But Jamie must not come."

Amazingly, Jamie managed to hold on, and Simone spasmed in his grip as her climax took her, until she was spent and limp in his arms.

"Anyone else?" Nuala asked. There were no more volunteers.

"Right, then. On the floor, Jamie me lad," Nuala told him. "On yer back. And get yer shirt off."

****

Jamie lay down bare-chested as instructed, wondering what was next, and then he felt Nuala push his legs apart, and lean in to begin stroking him.

"Come on," Nuala said to the other ladies, "ye can all join in."

And so they did. Nuala, Siobhan and Charlie stroked his erect penis, while Mary, Niamh, Saoirse, Maeve and Simone trailed their fingers across his bare torso. Amy knelt at his head, and stroked his forehead. Nuala played with his testicles, too, pulling gently. The sensations were incredible. If he opened his eyes, he was looking up at more than half a dozen of the most attractive women he'd ever met, as they played their fingers across his body. If he closed his eyes, he could concentrate on the feelings, and on the scent of the musk from three of them, mingled on his face.

Nuala was controlling the stroking. It wasn't slow and gentle any longer. It was determined, with a definite aim. Any moment now, Amy would have to step in and tell her to stop. His abdomen was quivering. He struggled to keep his hips from thrusting in time with their strokes. "Please," he said, "I can't hold out much longer. Please." He didn't know whether he was asking them to stop, or to keep going.

Amy leaned in close, stroking his forehead and temples. "Ma bonny boy. Ma beautiful bonny boy. You've been so good for me. For all of us. You can have your reward. You can come. Come for us, Jamie."

And she clamped her hand over his mouth.

Jamie erupted in their hands, his back arching and his chest and arms locking in tension as he let go, thrusting up again and again and again. He seemed to go on forever without even taking a breath, he was so rigid with the force of it. As the initial crest passed, there were follow-ups, as the hands kept stroking him, smoothly, slower now, and he shivered and thrust with each one, a muffled moan escaping through Amy's fingers.

Still the fingers traced over him, feeling so delightful.

"Mother o' god, it's feckin' everywhere," he heard one of them say, eventually.

Then he heard Nuala say, "Like I said, it is my hen night," as some of the hands released his penis. He opened his eyes, letting out a long sigh, just in time to see Nuala lean in and take him into her mouth.

Amy leaned in, too, and whispered to him. "You can manage one more for my bestie, can't you, ma bonny boy?" And she kissed him on the forehead.

After that? Jamie thought to himself, his mind reeling from Amy's continually-shifting boundaries. I'll be lucky if I can even stand.

But Amy didn't need him to stand; she raised herself up onto her knees and moved forward so that she could sit on his face. At some point, she'd removed her tights and underwear, so she must have been planning this. She lowered herself onto him, mingling her juices with the others, and Jamie gave himself over to the task he loved; making his beautiful, amazing, enchanting wife howl the rafters down as she orgasmed.

With his face buried in Amy's vulva and Nuala working with her mouth and hands, Jamie was soon hard again. He could hear the sounds of buzzing, and he knew that others in the room were using the wands. The thought of these gorgeous goddesses getting off over the sight of his wife and the bride-to-be taking advantage of him only made him harder, and he renewed his efforts. Soon Amy ground herself down onto him as she tipped over into ecstasy, her fingers digging into his chest as she came. That was enough to send him over the edge once more, and he let out a long groan as he climaxed too, while Nuala continued to suck at him.

"Okay," Maeve said. "I can see why yeh weren't that fussed about singin'."

****

The walk back to their hotel was quiet. For them, at least. It was chucking-out time for the clubs, and the streets were full of inebriated young people drifting towards the kebab and fish-and-chip shops, or hunting for a taxi. There were lots of yells. Discarded takeaway wrappers drifted along the pavements. But as they walked arm-in-arm along the street towards the turn up the hill to their hotel, no-one bothered Amy and Jamie. As she'd predicted all those weeks ago, even as pissed as they were right now, none of the women were leaping on a guy in a kilt if he already had a woman on his arm.

Part of Amy was tempted to hang back, watching Jamie run the gauntlet alone, getting that vicarious thrill as women pounced on the sexy Scotsman. But she knew that would mean waking alone herself, and she wasn't that stupid. And besides, she'd had her fill of Jamie as sacrificial offering. She was just enjoying being with him now, feeling her husband's arms around her, holding her close. Her bonny boy.

They went straight to sleep, once they were back at the hotel. Both of them were already spent and tired, and it was nearly four in the morning by the time they were under the covers.

****

Jamie woke the next morning with an erection. In part, it was because of the dreams he'd had, inspired by the previous evening's events. In part, it was normal morning wood. But mostly it was because Amy was already awake and going down on him. She looked up at him with those beautiful green eyes when she saw that he was awake, and released him with a pop.

"Good morning, ma bonny boy," she said with a smile, then returned to her activities, brushing her long, red hair from her face. She continued the blow-job for some highly-pleasurable minutes before she straightened and got off the bed. She turned and faced the wall, leaning into it and pushing her arse back at him. As they were both naked, she looked fantastic.

"I can't forget how hot you looked when you were going down on Siobhan from behind last night," she said. "I want you to do that to me, too."

"Your wish is my command," he said, only too eager to serve. He got out of the bed, his erection bobbing, and knelt behind her, burying his nose into her wetness. While he was going down on her, Amy was telling him how sexy he'd been the night before, as she'd watched him go down on Nuala's friends, and how he'd made them all come.

"They were so pretty, weren't they?" she said. "You were so good, making them all orgasm with your tongue and fingers. But I bet you wish you could have fucked them. Wouldn't you have liked to fuck them? Didn't they all look so sexy in their little kilts, while they played with your cock and balls?"

Jamie let out a groan of arousal, his erection even harder, while he worked his tongue up and down her slit and along her clitoris. He licked her until she was getting close, then she told him to stop.

"Enough of that," she said, looking back at him over her shoulder. "Now fuck me. Fuck me like you wanted to fuck Nuala and Siobhan and Niamh."

Jamie was happy to comply. He grabbed her hips and thrust into her from behind, quickly building up a hard and fast rhythm, and soon they were both gasping as their orgasms overtook them.

Amy hung her head, panting, arms still stretched out, holding herself up against the wall, as he softened inside her. "That's ma bonny boy."

****

They showered and dressed. Jamie was back in his kilt, but with a casual polo shirt again. They checked out of the hotel, skipping breakfast, as Amy had other plans. They were to meet the rest of the hen party for brunch at a bar near the station.

Jamie wondered whether the meal would be awkward, given the intimacy of the previous night, but his fears were unfounded. The ladies were all delighted to see him, and the night's events was the main topic of conversation. Amy and Jamie both passed their phones around continually, so that the photos could be seen, and the text messages — though Amy was clear up-front that her phone wasn't to be passed to Jamie, as some of the women had deleted messages from Jamie's phone before giving it back to him. She said this was to respect those ladies' wishes; Jamie suspected it was to tease him some more.

Jamie recounted the events at Bad Wolf, to a great deal of amazement and amusement, since Amy and Nuala hadn't gotten all the background.

Charlie spent some time talking to Jamie, about his experiences with women while wearing his kilt. She wanted to know how he'd felt when they'd been paying attention, taking liberties or groping him. She also wanted to know whether Jamie was special in his responses, or whether this was a common response for men. She seemed especially focused on this, beyond mere curiosity, so he asked why. She waved this away, only telling him that she'd been inspired by what she'd seen, but wanted to be sure she wasn't misunderstanding things. She wouldn't explain why, but did mention it was a business matter.

****

Charlie also found time to corner Amy for a quiet chat.

"You need to think carefully about this game you're playing with your husband," Charlie said.

Amy didn't need to be told twice; although Jamie's recounting of what was now forevermore known as The infamous Bad Wolf Incident had been hilarious, Amy had also been scared by it. Like a previous outing, it so nearly got out of control.

But when Amy explained this, Charlie shook her head. "You're not wrong," she said, "but that's not my point. Why are you doing this? What's behind it?"

Amy felt a little embarrassed. "I, well, I like the thought that other women are getting turned on by my husband, when they can't really have him."

"No, that's not it," Charlie said. "That's what Jamie said you'd told him, but he's already figured it out."

"What do you mean?"

Charlie looked at her. "It's not about what the other women feel. They're just the method. It's about what Jamie feels. You like to torture your husband."

"What?" Amy was shocked. "No, I don't, I—"

Charlie held up her hand. "Easy, easy! I don't mean torture in a bad way."

"There's a good way to torture?"

Charlie rolled her eyes." All right. Poor choice of word, perhaps. Would you accept tease? You like to know that Jamie is getting worked up, but can't get off. Not without your say-so."

Amy paused, then took a deep breath, and nodded. "All right. I'll give you that. And can you blame me?"

Charlie held up her hands. "Hey, not me. But look: it's clear to me that you guys have moved into a femdom-slash-sub relationship, and you haven't realised it — or haven't admitted it to yourselves. I'm saying you should look this stuff up, and understand what you're getting into, before you cross some lines you can't uncross." She arched an eyebrow. "For fuck's sake, at least talk to each other about it."

Amy felt like she'd just been told to go to the naughty step. And for the life of her, when Charlie put it like that, she couldn't say that Charlie was wrong. Reluctantly, she nodded. "Okay, yes, we will. And — thank you. For the advice."

"Hey, you lent me your sub and let me use him to get off. The least I can do is tell you that that's what you did."

It wasn't long after that that Amy and Jamie took their leave of the group; they had a train to catch back to Glasgow. They all stood and hugged.

"If yeh ever want to send Jamie round the streets of Dublin in his kilt," Siobhan said, hugging Amy tight, "yeh call me, right?"

Niamh and Maeve and the others all made equal promises: Amy had wingwomen spread across Britain and Ireland, should occasion demand.

"Thank you," Amy said, touched. "Never say never, but I think we're done with this — for a while, at least." She turned to Charlie, arms open. "Thank you," she said again, as they hugged once more.

"No problem, girl. You ever near Coventry, you look me up. If Jamie's near Coventry, you send him my way."

Amy had to laugh at that.

"And listen," Charlie said to her quietly. "You've got my number. This journey you're on? I can help. Call me."

"I will."

And then Amy had hugged them all, and Jamie had hugged them all, so they picked up their bags and left the bar and started the walk up the hill to the station.

Eyes on the hill ahead of her, Amy said to Jamie, "When you hugged them all, they all copped a feel, didn't they?"

"They absolutely did," said Jamie, evidently walking up the hill with a huge stiffy under his kilt.

Amy kept walking, a huge smile on her face. "Ma bonny boy!"

****

EPILOGUE

The train was on time. They got their seats. They were underway, back to Scotland and real life. Amy was staring out the window. Jamie was reading stuff on his phone. And Amy's phone buzzed.

She looked at it. She looked up at Jamie.

"What?" he asked her.

"Remember Megan and Audrey?"

Jamie gave her a withering look. "From the train journey down? Amy, that was yesterday. Of course I do."

She shrugged. "A lot's happened since then, and for most of that time, all your blood was in your willy. I have no idea whether that thing you call a brain still works anymore."

"Yes, I remember Megan and Audrey. What about them?"

"They're doing a tour of Edinburgh next month, and want to know if we would like to meet up with them."