Highland Fling Redux Pt. 03 

This is the third (much delayed) part of a four part story. It's probably best if you read Parts One and Two first but if you want to dive right in all you really need to know is that freshly dumped Chloe is rediscovering her sensuality at the weekend-long wedding of her oldest friend.

After making a connection on the sleeper train north with James, a much older guest, she catches the eye of the younger, musclebound, Viking-type Lachlan upon his arrival to the castle.

Then, later that night Chloe shares an intimate moment with her first love Emily, the Bride.

This all happens in the fairytale setting of a castle in the Scottish Highlands hired for the Wedding.

Part Three picks up the story on the Wedding Day. For the benefit of non British readers, a Ceilidh is the traditional Scottish version of a Barn Dance and Irn Bru is a popular Scottish soft drink with remarkable curative properties.

Chapter 4: The Bride and the Viking

At 3.25pm Chloe took a long breath and steadied herself against a side table, watching as guests mingled while the photographer's assistant called out names for the next set of pictures.

Through the French doors she could see Emily having pictures taken with the flower girls. She looked radiant, glowing with happiness as a newly married woman. The day was going to plan with no disasters, the ceremony was a success, the mums were crying happy tears, the guests were all enjoying themselves. And Chloe was exhausted.

"Miss Chloe, Chief Bridesmaid extraordinaire. Would you like a glass of champagne?" A tall, lean man in his late forties offered her a flute with the hint of a smile and a raised eyebrow.

All day James had shown an uncanny ability to appear when required, like a friendly wraith.

He had gently knocked on her door at 11am when tensions were rising in a room of women aged from 8 to 78 with a large pot of tea and biscuits on a tray and to reassure them that the groom and his party were present, sober and remained in possession of all visible body hair.

And then quietly, to Emily, "And he will be there waiting for you. There is no need for any nerves on that account."

He made himself useful as a courier between the brides room and the grooms party, ferrying buttonholes, orders of service and words of assurance between the riotous good humour of Emily's suite where three generations of women clucked around the Bride and the languor of the Best Man's room where Cameron and his groomsmen nursed hangovers with flat Irn Bru and bacon rolls.

"Look at you, hero of the hour. Have you got an eye on one of the Mums?" Chloe teased earlier as she escorted him to the door after he completed his second tea run.

"Ouch" James clutched his chest as if speared by her barbs.

"Not my first Wedding " he winked conspiratorially to Chloe. "Been Best Man a couple of times, an Usher a couple of times and a guest at more than I care to remember. And I'm not family, or close friends really, so I feel I have to work for my dinner."

"Ever been the Groom?" She regretted the words as soon as they left her lips.

"Once." He smiled sadly. "A lifetime ago."

Emily called to her from the bedroom and the moment passed. James parted with a cheerful offer to remain on call and Chloe tried to suppress the twisted knot in her stomach, putting it down to nerves on behalf of Emily, rather than the mix of emotions he stirred inside her.

When she returned to the room she saw Emily in her dress for the first time since they had bought it together. Her breath caught at the sight of her best friend and first love in her elegant ivory silk strapless wedding dress.

The bustier was simple, unadorned in silk satin, but the long flowing fishtail train made her look like a leading lady from Hollywood's golden age.

The hairdresser continued to spray and tease individual locks into the perfect shape but the effect was already stunning with Emily's dark golden hair worn half up half down, loose waves framing her heart shaped face.

Chloe's heart almost burst as Emily asked in innocence, "Do I look OK? The dress isn't too much is it?"

She blinked away tears and fussed with the buttons on Emiliy's dress, even though it fit perfectly.

"He's a lucky guy Em."

She gave a beaming smile and seemed to glow even more while Chloe fought back her tears and carried on with her duties, throwing herself into making Emily's day as perfect as it could be.

At the service she bade James sit in her row, holding on to her bag and phone while she walked down the aisle behind Emily.

Emily was her first love as well as her best friend. The girl she had lost her virginity to, the first person to make her cum, the first person she had made cum.

That had been a fun afternoon. She blushed at the memory.

Looking back on a series of underwhelming relationships Chloe realised that the beautiful girl standing at the altar was the only person she had ever truly loved. And she was watching her pledge to be with someone else for the rest of her life.

As she wept quietly watching Em say her vows his arm curled around her waist and her tears dampened the sleeve of his well-cut suit.

Did he know?

Surely he couldn't know what she was thinking but he had a sombreness as he stroked her back that didn't quite fit with someone sharing her happy tears.

She heard her name being called and came forward to witness the marriage as if in a trance, almost outside her body as she smiled and congratulated the happy couple and behaved as a best friend was expected to behave.

And now it was done and she was outside, gulping down fresh Highland air. She had made it through without passing out or causing a scene.

James handed her the champagne and lingered at her side in companionable silence. She leaned against him, allowing him to place a hand on her hip to steady her as they lingered in the formal gardens in front of the Castle, enjoying the afternoon sunshine.

She rested her head under his chin and she felt him kiss the top of her head. Chaste, but affectionate. As one would kiss a beloved daughter. She wondered if he was breathing her in as his scent filled her nostrils. Already it was becoming a familiar, reassuring sensation. And her leaning into him was becoming a habit.

She glimpsed their reflection in the glass doors, looking as comfortable in each other's space as an old married couple.

But they were a glamorous pair; with a flash of satisfaction she saw herself in the full length bias-cut silk halterneck dress that she felt clung nicely to her body, skimming the lumps she wanted hidden while hinting at the curves she liked.

Emily, ever gracious, had let her bridesmaids choose dresses that suited their body shapes, only specifying the colour scheme. The hairdressers had convinced her to wear her long dark hair down, simply gathered in a vintage silver clasp that had belonged to Emily's great grandmother.

And James was dashing in his slim light grey suit and crisp white shirt, the lilac of his pocket square matching her dress, his silver-streaked hair a little tousled, his short beard neatly trimmed. He looked for all the world like a rake on his best behaviour, or perhaps a reformed man, finally tamed by the glamorous brunette at his side.

Not bad. If you like older guys, she thought, not for the first time that weekend.

But the distant reflection could not capture his best feature. Those dark blue and hazel eyes that expressed so much emotion. Eyes she could find something new in every time she looked.

The photographer was calling for her now and she raised herself on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek.

"Save a dance for me later at the Ceilidh Miss Chloe?"

"Maybe. If you bring me another glass of champagne." She winked and turned to join the wedding party, wishing she could spend the rest of the day at his side rather than keep up her carefully maintained cheerfulness around a bunch of people she barely knew.

The photographer made the wedding party pose in various different groups. Including several with Emily's bridesmaids and Cameron's groomsmen. In the group shots she found herself directly in front of Lachlan, the mountain of a man that had so unnerved her on their first meeting. Like a modern day Viking warrior, his fair hair was shaved at the sides and worn longer and swept back at the top, their height difference such that he towered head and shoulders above her.

She had noticed him earlier, but her mind was on other things and hadn't really noticed how good he looked in a kilt. Along with the rest of Cameron's party he wore traditional Highland dress, in this case a mid grey tweed jacket, with a crisp white dress shirt and kilt.

He suited the look. The groomsmen all looked good but there was no question that the eyes of most of the female guests were drawn to Lachlan. 6"4 and broad shouldered, he filled the outfit nicely, and the female (and a few male) eyes, drank in the sight of him, from his well groomed fair hair down to his strong calves.

As they stood closely together he teased her about something she'd said earlier and placed his hands on her waist.

"I hope you'll let me get as close with you later C-Chloe. At the Ceilidh I mean," he smirked.

She was tempted. He was handsome and had a glint of the bad boy energy she loved so much. A part of her brain could not resist thinking about running her hands over his muscles, and the size difference between them. She blushed as she thought just how easily he could throw her around, or toss her over his shoulder and carry her to her room.

Then after what seemed like hours of photographs, came the formal dinner and the speeches raised tears and laughs without being too maudlin or offensive. Her work was almost done, Em's wedding was a success and Chloe's duties were almost over.

Her last official duty was to join the newly married couple on the dancefloor and help kick off the evening festivities. By tradition she was paired with Cameron's best man Fraser, his older brother, a kind, reserved man who danced respectfully if a little awkwardly.

Chloe saw out of the corner of her eye the Ushers now rising as one and striding across the dancefloor to take the hands of the bridesmaids and flower girls they had been paired with, relieved that she had avoided a slow dance with Lachlan in front of an audience of nearly a hundred guests.

She heard a girl shriek with delight and turned her head to see Lachlan spin one of the youngest flower girls, no more than ten, off her feet and saw the colour drain from her partner's face.

"Chloe, I'm so sorry, but would you mind if I swap with Lachlan and dance with my daughter? He means well and I'm sure she is loving being thrown around but Kirsty will kill me if anything happens to our wee girl."

And then he was dancing with her. This close he felt even bigger, his dress shirt failing to contain his muscles.

Whereas Fraser had touched her with fingertips only, Lachlan's huge hands gripped her waist possessively and moved her around the dancefloor. She realised with shock that his hands were almost touching, that he could fully encircle her in his grip.

"So here we are. I'm glad Fraz swapped. You're much more fun to dance with than a wee girl." He looked down at her with a wolfish grin.

She debated whether it was better to look up at him, and look like she was gazing lovingly into his pale blue eyes, those eyes that looked like the sea on a sunny day; or look straight ahead and see his pecs straining at the shirt's pearl buttons up close. She decided the latter was marginally preferable.

Then without warning he lifted her by the waist as if she was weightless and spun her 180 then continued their slow dance, to cheers from the sidelines.

She had never before felt so tiny, never so physically dominated by a man. She prayed for the dance to end and for her to have finally completed her duties but the band just seemed to go on and on as parents and wider family joined in the first dance. At least she was less exposed now, the dancefloor full but all that meant was Lachlan pulled her closer and they danced on the spot, like awkward teens at prom.

"Cat got your tongue? You've been lippy all day, giving instructions and bossing folk around.

"What's changed?" he teased, knowing exactly the reason for her silence. He knew the effect he had on women.

Finally it was over and they bowed to each other before she fled the dancefloor as quickly as she could without drawing attention to herself, nodding on instinct as he called after her, "I'm claiming you for another dance later C-Chloe, maybe the Dashing White Sergeant?"

And as her head cleared with distance she realised her core was pulsing and her heart was thundering at the experience.

And the friendly ghost appeared again with two glasses of champagne in hand, begging the leave of the widowed aunt he had invited up to join in the opening dances with.

"Need a breather Chloe?"

He took her by the hand and led her up to their secret place, partly secluded in the darkness at the back of the small minstrels gallery that overlooked the dance floor, where they could watch as the ceilidh swung into life now the sedate slow dances were over.

They sat together in comfortable silence on the worn wooden benches until she shuffled closer, slipped off her heels and his reassuring arm draped around her waist.

They talked a little, sharing stories from the day and she began to relax and realise just how tired she was.

"Shall we have that dance now Miss Chloe? Or stay here a little longer?"

She made a pitiful face. "Please just let me sit with you for five minutes?" and he laughed in reply.

"I cannot imagine anything better." He pulled her into his arms and kissed the top of her head again. It felt a tender, intimate moment, not quite how you would treat a friend, but not quite how you would treat a lover.

But she could worry about what they were another time. The moment felt good. She was wrapped in the arms of a handsome man that she might actually like, her duties were finally over, she could finally relax, dance a little, enjoy the free champagne and in a couple of hours would be in her silk PJs in a double bed for a hot date with a vibrator.

Had worse Saturday nights lately.

Five minutes became ten and fifteen and more and they talked a little less as she catnapped until he kissed her crown once more and told her he would be back with coffee and a slice of cake.

And then they spent more time watching the packed dancefloor as they devoured cake and sandwiches and downed strong black coffee.

She stretched as if waking and he sat up.

"We better think about heading down. Are you ready for that Dance now Miss Chloe?"

"Well I rather think I am Mr MacKenzie. That coffee and cake has hit the spot!"

She stifled a giggle, enjoying the company of a man who picked up on her Regency affectations and ran with them.

"Do you happen to know of an eligible gentleman who might be willing to partner me for a dance or two?"

They looked down on the dancefloor to see the unmistakable figure of Lachlan bowing to a giggling aunt he had spent the last few minutes throwing around the dancefloor before disappearing to the tables out of their sight.

"You like Muscles then? He is single I believe." James spoke in a level tone, neither judging her or encouraging her.

"I.... I.... I..., he's not really my type." she stammered, flustered at his directness.

"It was not a question Chloe, it was an observation." She hated that tone of quiet authority in his voice. "And I'm not sure how Type really comes into it when describing young, single handsome men with muscles like that."

"Speak of the Devil" she whispered under his breath as Lachlan emerged from the spiral staircase and James discreetly withdrew his arm.

"Found you! I'm claiming that dance now Chloe, if Mr MacKenzie does not object." His tone suggested there was no reason why the man old enough to be her father could possibly object.

She smiled awkwardly and before she could reply Lachlan was taking her hand, taking her back down to the dancefloor despite her half-hearted protestations.

****

He watched her dance a Highland Reel with the younger man, her dark hair flying as he spun her with more enthusiasm than skill, her head flung back in laughter, her teeth bared. She looked more like a wild nomadic princess of a far gone age than a London career girl.

She was a pretty girl with just enough curves in all the right places. But he had known many pretty girls.

She was different. She had a wildness inside her that could not be tamed. That he did not want to tame. To tame her would be to break her, to kill her inside.

He looked at the man spinning her around and idly fantasied about an earlier age where he could simply strike his face with a glove. Risky, true, but the younger man looked all strength and confidence and bravado.

His type were always the easiest opponents in fencing; let them rush forward, parry and when they're off balance deliver the coup de grace with all the poise one could muster. It was a pity you weren't allowed to run an opponent through in these modern times.

A different approach would have to be taken here. As his mind played out the possibilities, the pros and cons, and the most likely responses he did not notice a slender young woman approach him.

"Uncle James. You look miles away!"

"Livvy, I've hardly had a chance to speak to you all weekend". He smiled as the slight dancer folded her legs underneath her and sat on the bench next to him. "What's new with my favourite niece?"

*****

Whatever grace or skill Lachlan lacked on the dance floor he made up for in enthusiasm and energy and after two reels Chloe found herself begging for mercy and a drinks break.

She peeled away from him and scanned the room for James, only to find him still in the balcony sharing an intimate conversation with that young dancer, (Olivia?) their heads bowed close and at ease in each other's personal space.

Didn't take him long to move on to the next one. The sharpness of the thought surprised her.

She knew she should get some air, a break from the champagne, she couldn't remember how many flutes she had, which was never a good sign. She would catch James's eye and they would return to their quiet spot to watch as the night got messy.

She glanced in James' direction to see Olivia's hand on his knee as she tossed her head back in laughter at something he had said. Little Slut.

But then Lachlan was at her side and offering to get more drinks and the champagne bubbles were in her head and he was big and handsome with arms like tree trunks and who cared if he was a bit dumb and blunt he was here with her while he was away chatting up an even younger girl. And then she was following Lachlan's bulk as he plowed through the crowds to the bar and they were drinking and dancing and then he leaned in to her ear and pulled her close to him and his breath was on her cheek smelling of booze and vape, and there was a light drizzle of his spittle on her cheek and he was telling her she was beautiful and asking if she wanted to go and sit down while he got them a drink.

As she watched him walk away she looked round the room to find James, eventually finding him outside, on the lawn. She watched through the French doors, his arm around Olivia's waist as she leaned into him while he pointed at the horizon, presumably naming the western peaks silhouetted against the last of the light. Just as he had to her, only hours ago.

Something inside of her twisted and she couldn't quite name the sensation. She finished her flute of champagne, took a small compact mirror out of her bag to touch up her lipstick and smooth her hair.

She saw Lachlan come through the double door back to the ballroom. He was hard to miss, the largest man at the wedding by a head, carrying a pint of lager and for himself and her final flute of champagne of the evening. Her head was buzzy enough.

In London she would have been concerned that there might be something more than bubbles in her drink. But not here. Almost everyone important in his life was in this room, from his mother to his best friend.

And more than that, she knew his type. Unlike her, he was the hero of his own movie, not to mention other girls fantasy filmreels; handsome, charming, fun to be around and impressive to have on any girl's arm.

She knew his flaws, they were easy to see; vain, selfish, he was an overgrown boy. But he wasn't the type to bring a vial to his cousin's wedding to drug an unwilling victim. He would assume his natural gifts would lead to a pretty girl jumping into his bed anyway. And he wasn't wrong.

Chole, on the other hand, she thought ruefully, didn't even have a lead role in her own story.

She was the best friend, the other woman, the one night stand. The kooky girl that diverts the male lead before he meets the female main character and love interest. But perhaps this character actress might get her own scene with the handsome prince. Just this once.

He handed her a drink and sat beside her, turning his chair to face her.

An impish thought flashed across her mind.

"I've been meaning to ask all night, what do you wear under that kilt?" They sat unnoticed in a quiet corner on the edge of the ballroom, his legs spread, his kilt gaping, she was small enough to sit between his legs, her knees clamped shut, her head tilted toward him, ear to mouth to speak above the sound of the live ceilidh band.

He gave a deep wicked laugh, took her small hand in his big paw and placed it on his knee, "Why don't you find out?"

Her hand rose of its own accord and found his naked skin under her touch, up and up until her eyes widened and she felt two warm balls in her hand, moving slightly.

"What the f...! I thought that going commando thing was a myth?" His balls felt heavy in her hand and he laughed while she was frozen in shock, cupping a man's testicles, in public, at her best friend's wedding. She was no expert but his balls felt big, spilling out over her palm.

Gross. But she did not remove her hand. Her fingertips explored and found the base of his shaft, warm and hard. He gasped as her fingernails grazed the skin and he asked;

"So, do you want to go upstairs C-Chloe?" And she did. In that moment, she did.

She glanced around, the whole party seemed to be either in the ballroom or out on the lawn, enjoying the last of the golden summer light. As a Londoner she could scarcely believe it was still light this late here, almost pub closing time down south.

"Maybe? But uhm I have one request. Can you, um," she blushed and looked at her feet but she knew she might never get a better chance to fulfil a long held fantasy and the champagne and emotions of the day made her reckless enough to ask for what she wanted.

"Can you, ehm, carry me up to your room? Like, throw me over your shoulder."

He stifled his laugh when he saw she was serious.

His eyes were full of lust as he continued in a low voice, "Yes, lass. You're just a slip of a thing aren't you?"

She gulped and nodded. "You're like three times the size of me Lachlan. If you really want me I don't think I could stop you."

"No, lass, I don't think you could. I'll throw you over my shoulder and carry you to my room and ravish you." The edges of his mouth twitched and he broke into a goofy grim.

"I mean if that's what you want and you promise not to phone the Police on me." He was nervous now, and Chloe felt a warm flush at the realisation that he wanted this every bit as much as she did. She took a deep breath and spoke before her confidence abandoned her.

"So, here's what's going to happen. You go now, wander about saying hello to people for a couple of minutes, be visible but don't get into any conversations, if anyone tries to speak to you just say you have to go to the bar."

"That would seem like me." He nodded, impressed at her subterfuge.

"Go to the back staircase, not the grand staircase at the front, the one round the corner. Should be quieter."

"Got it Doll."

"I'll be there in five minutes exactly. If you want to see these." She brushed her fingertips and against the side of her small breasts.

"Then I want you to carry me up to your room over your shoulder, ignore me if I struggle and resist a bit. Ignore me if I say No or Stop. I want you on top and I want you to hold me down." She took a breath for courage and continued.

"And then I want you to fuck my brains out."

Her mouth was dry but she swallowed anyway waiting for the inevitable rejection, she could almost hear his booming laugh as he realised what she was offering him, then him calling out to the ballroom what the stupid titless English slut had said to him, and she scrambled to think of how she could believably deny and deflect.

But his eyes were as wide as his smile. "Yeah. OK Chlo, I can do that. Five minutes yeah?" he nodded eagerly.

And five minutes later she was walking down a long empty hallway in the bowels of the castle, her kilted Scotsman waiting at the end at the foot of the stairs. Her heart beat faster with each step, louder in her ears now than the sounds of the ballroom that echoed through the castle at night.

She swallowed hard, reached up to kiss him on the lips and said in a rush.

"OK, if i say a safe word you stop, can we say Orange is the safe word?" he nodded, eyes even wider than before.

Then, in a voice much more confident than she felt, "Lachlan McLean! I hope you have not lured me down here, away from all the rest of the wedding, where no one can see us, in order to try to seduce me?"

He towered a foot above her, silent, biting his tongue to stop from grinning. She reached a hand out to feel his bicep and her core pulsed when she realised her hand couldn't even close halfway around it. Her hand moved across his chest, tracing the contours of his muscles through the crisp white cotton. She bit her lip and gazed up into his eyes

Don't make me beg you big gorgeous man. Please don't humiliate me.

"Aye lass, so what if I am? Do you think you can do anything to stop me?" and before she could answer she was whirled into the air and he was carrying her up the staircase over his shoulder. She almost giggled in glee but bit her lip and half heartedly pummelled her small fists on his broad back instead.

"If you don't behave lass I'll have to gag you."

Oh Lachaln fuck yes, please gag me.

Then he was carrying her into his room and she was on the bed watching him take off his shirt and he looked even bigger than she expected. She parted her legs and he tutted and gathered the thin material of her dress into his hands with a tenderness she hadn't expected before gently easing the silky fabric up her legs until she was exposed to his gaze.

And as she felt smaller and weaker in his presence he seemed only to grow in size and confidence.

The semi permanent smirk from earlier was gone, replaced with a look of lust and hunger that made her stomach flip in fear but her pussy pulse.

He grabbed her pink silk thong with both hands and yanked it down her legs, the sound of the expensive material tearing in his grip not helping her heart rate. He stood at the end of the bed, naked from the waist up, her ruined panties incongruous in his fist. He took them to his face, breathed in deeply and growled.

"You're soaking Chloe. Don't deny you need this."

He placed his knees on the bed and leaning forward he carefully stuffed her wet panties into her mouth as a gag. She was so excited she started to worry she might faint.

Her heartbeat hammered in her ears as he kissed her neck and undid the knot that held her halterneck in place. His beard felt rough against her skin and his kisses hungry as he worked down to take her small breasts in his mouth in turn. She was panting now, like she was in heat, her hips were lifting forward, desperate for touch, for release, but he stood up and ran his hands through his hair. She gazed at his torso, sculpted by hundreds of hours in the gym: a six pack that tapered down to where a smudge of light hair poked up from the waistband of his kilt, his bulging pecs, shining with sweat, and those massive arms that could throw her around like a ragdoll.

She gasped and blushed in shame as he began to unbuckle the leather straps, held her breath as the kilt finally came apart and fell to his feet showing off his muscular thighs and a very satisfactorily sized cock. Not so big as to cause discomfort, but plenty large enough for a lot of pleasure. And most importantly, a good inch bigger than her ex's.

And now he was upon her, filling her field of vision as he rose from his haunches to loom over her, his cock proud, his hands roughly and inexpertly stroking her slit.

"You're soaking. Naughty little thing is going to get exactly what she needs."

His smile was wicked, his taunt thrilling and when he leaned forward, took her wrists in his big hands and placed them above her head in a firm grip she wriggled before realising she was completely pinned down to the bed.

And when he forced her thighs apart with his legs even though his huge thighs were only gently resting against hers, the weight of him was enough to fix her in place.

Again she struggled, only to discover what she already knew. She was utterly powerless under this man. And then she felt his cock against her entrance and rational thought began to slip away, her body relaxed with the sensation that this was exactly what she needed tonight, to be fucked, to be used, to be passive and physically dominated.

And then he was inside her and pushing deeper and she cried into the gag, and realising how much it muffled her moans she let it all out, all the frustration of the last few days and weeks and when he paused she opened her legs as wide as she could and wrapped her around his waist and pulled him deeper into her. And he fucked her like he was using her with no thought for her pleasure and she surrendered into it.

And then she realised her wrists were free and his arms were around her waist and he was lifting her clean off of the bed, holding her by the waist while still pistoning into her. She had never before felt dainty and petite but in that moment, held by a naked musclebound Viking, she felt like a doll.

And as if to show her just how much in his control she was he shifted to wrap one thick arm around her and held her suspected while he placed his other hand on her shoulder and pushed her down on to his cock, impaling her as he grunted, bouncing her on his cock like she was weightless.

She flung her head back and enjoyed the sensation until she heard his breath catch and a deep moan come from deep inside his chest and then she was falling back into the bed as her Viking slumped beside her.

His eyes were sleepy but open and she gazed into them.

"That was amazing. Did you cum Chloe?"

She smiled and kissed him.

"No you big oaf. But it was good. Thank you Lachlan," and she kissed him again, her tongue dancing against his.

"Uhm, i really really want to sleep here beside you Chloe and maybe go again but it will be noticed if we're not back downstairs for the final group dances. You can use my bathroom to clean up if you like?"

And so less than five minutes after being fucked she was heading back downstairs to the riotous last hour of the wedding, her make up quickly re-applied, fervently praying that no one could smell the scent of sex on her, and that her hair just looked that way after an evening of energetic Ceilidh dancing.

The whole wedding party was now in the Grand Ballroom, around half of the guests dancing one of the last reels while the rest crowded round the edges of the dance floor waiting for the traditional finale.

She felt a little used and felt she should be angry but couldn't summon the energy, and as she saw him back amongst his friends on the edge of the dance floor she couldn't help but smile.

He had been a good fuck. Not a great fuck, but a long held fantasy was ticked off and if he had used her then she had used him every bit as much. When she caught his eye he gave her a bashful smile.

Could she train him? Maybe. He was young enough and eager enough that the right woman could mould him. And with a few improvements maybe he could be a great boyfriend, certainly most women would be proud to have him on their arm. But he was dumb as a pile of bricks and the only person he would ever truly adore was himself. But still, he could be fun for a while....

Then she saw Cameron, stood adrift from the crowd, watching his new wife dance a reel with her father in law, the adoration in his face plain to see. That was the kind of love she wanted.

She became conscious that she was being watched in turn, and across the ballroom floor she saw James wave and playfully stick his tongue out at her and mouth;

You OK? Where have you been? And she felt that tightness in her stomach return.

James reached her just as the band leader was calling everyone up for the final dances, and moody teenagers were being dragged off devices and on to the dancefloor by uncles and parents.

"Have you done this before? No? So it's to the tune of Loch Lomond but ends up a bit like an 18th century mosh pit. Best hold on tight to my hand, try and stay clear of the young men so you don't get trampled underfoot but otherwise just embrace it and have fun."

"Have you had a good day Chloe?"

The question felt loaded with layers of meaning and she couldn't answer him for fear of tears and confessions so she nodded and let him lead her to the dancefloor for the final frenetic group dances.

Laying in bed later, Chloe tried to process the events of the day but it was too much, and she was exhausted, physically and emotionally.

She had a gnawing dread that she might just have thrown away a relationship that could have been meaningful for a quick shag. Although it had been a good fuck, and as she pushed her hand between her legs she felt her wetness and her ache.

Too tired for anything else, she reached into her overnight bag her fingers found the smooth latex of her hot pink pebble shaped vibe and she closed her eyes and let the pebble work it's magic while she replayed the feeling of being thrown over his shoulder and carried to bed, thrown down then pinned down, being held possessively, and then being fucked hard and used like a toy until she came, hard, her hips bucking against the vibe, her legs shaking, her heard thrown back in a silent scream.

And as she slipped into a deep sleep the thought flickered through her head that it was James she imagined using her, not Lachlan.

To be Continued in the fourth and final Part