Real Scottish Man Part 1
"Seems pointless, this," Jamie mentioned to Malcolm, his employer. "Why are we concerning ourselves with it?"
"It's sweet that our company has been nominated for an industry prize, but it would be bad if we won and none of us were there to accept it," Malcolm clarified, as if talking to a youngster. He grinned while he spoke, trying to inform Jamie he was joking.
"Aye, but why me? We most likely won't win it, and it wasn't even my project."
"The main crew are out on a customer visit, Julie's on vacation, Morag will be handling the board presentation, and I'll be on paternity leave. Consider the bright side, I've printed the email with all the event details for you." Malcolm pushed a sheet of paper toward Jamie.
"Assuming I even reach London," Jamie muttered dismally. "You're familiar with the Glasgow-to-London train service." He examined the email. "Wait a minute, this states 'formal clothes' for the ceremony. What's that?"
"Oh, you know, tuxedos and that sort of attire," Malcolm remarked casually. "Just put on whatever you'd wear to a wedding, and you'll be fine."
"London?" his wife Amy inquired when he shared the news. "How such a highfalutin' place?"
"You are fancy," he growled, "I'm just wasting a few working days, meaning I'll likely miss my own sales quotas."
"And you'll be missing me, of course," she teased.
"And I'll be missing you." He actually did, and they'd only been wed a short while. Amy had an attractive red tresses and mesmerizing green eyes, with a sense of humor, a sharp intellect, marvelous at sex, and a mild fondness for Jamie. She did like to rile him, though.
"I'm not sure what I'll do without you," she grinned wickedly, "I think I'll just mourn. Or pacify my loneliness with countless one-night stands." She emitted a melodramatic moan.
"The night I'll be absent is only one," he corrected her.
"Ah, well, then I'll need to strategize to make them all in one night, then," she said, her eyes sparkling mischievously.
He spent the first half of the train journey attempting to work on his laptop, but the prior train had been cancelled due to an engine failure, and this train was packed with the disorganized passengers; many in the aisles grousing about the train business, and lack of seat reservations. At last, he gave up on work, and admired the scenery out the window, thinking about what he'd discuss should his nightmarish situation become true - the company actually winning the award.
The event venue was a grand, independent hotel alongside Mayfair. Since there was no train reservation, he took a tube journey and it revealed that the Glasgow-to-London train overcrowding was nothing compared to this. In London he checked in, and his room was luxurious compared to his typical work accommodations - filled with drawers and a door on the cupboard. He chuckled to himself at Amy's jokes, "Mr. Ambassador, we are being spoiled!" he quipped, then felt rueful that Amy was not there to comprehend.
He unpacked, took a bath, and changed for the ceremony.
"Simply put on what you'd wear to a wedding," Jamie grumbled as he descended in the elevator. There were a few lingering looks because his kilt swayed around his knees, and the tassels on his sporran bounced with each stride. He glanced amongst a variety of conference rooms, one of which featured the awards event he had been scheduled for. Near the entry, there was a table with champagne flutes, and a pretty girl holding a silver tray. In order to find a reviewer, I will provide this story to someone else.
"Would you like a glass of Prosecco, sir?" she inquired with a smile.
Jamie accepted one, relieved he hadn't gone directly to the bar. The booze provided at the event might not have been top-notch, but at least he didn't have to pay for it. He made a mental note not to have too many just in case he had to attend the event.
She appraised Jamie. "I like your kilt," she remarked approvingly.
"Thanks," Jamie responded. He surveyed the room. Most of the people were men wearing suits, some in DJs and bow ties, while others looked more casually dressed in check shirts, jeans, and trainers. The women, on the other hand, were dressed in a variety of outfits - some wore business suits, while others donned elegant evening gowns. Jamie felt slightly overdressed in his kilt and Prince Charlie jacket along with its matching waistcoat. He was 25, clean-shaven, with an orange-tinted hair that seemed to lean towards blonde depending on the lighting. His wife, Amy, called him a "dork," but his long nose made him think otherwise. In this outfit, he probably wouldn't be noticed for that.
Holding his glass, Jamie studied the place settings. There didn't seem to be any designated seating. People chatted in small groups, and he couldn't help but notice their stunned reactions when they saw Jamie's attire.
During dinner, jamie found it difficult to enjoy the food. The turkey was poorly cooked and the wine kept topping up to the brim. He was trying to drink slowly, but it was challenging with the constant refills. Most of his neighbors at the table were colleagues from both sides. They mostly chatted amongst themselves, making Jamie feel like an outsider.
There were speeches, long and tedious ones at that. The only distraction came after dinner when Jamie headed to the bathroo overnight. He went past the tables, receiving many double-takes because of his kilt. At the restroom, he washed his hands with Egyptian cotton flannels and returned to the lobby area. The music in the function room next to it was much louder and more energetic. It looked like an actual party, creating a stark contrast to the formal event in progress.
The awards ceremony started, and Jamie was relieved that his company didn't get any awards. He finished the last of his wine and went back to the bar. "Highland Park, please," he ordered from the bartender. Jamie considered the exorbitant price but, thinking that he was away from his lovely wife for this event, he decided to splurge.
After paying for the magnificent drink, he heard a commotion from the other function room. A group of four women, all around 20-30 years old and dressed in festive party wear, exited the room and headed to the ladies' room. The one at the back stopped briefly to stare at Jamie. Then, she beckoned her friends and said something to them. They all looked at Jamie, laughed, and continued to the restroom.
Jamie took a sip of his whisky, allowing it to soothe and calm him. Another couple of drinks might be nice, but he decided against going back for more. He planned on crashing out after having a few more and enjoying the music coming from the disco room. He relaxed, letting the tension seep out of him. Playing Christmas Single Bingo with the music in the background, he watched people pass by.
The girls emerged from the bathrooms and, rather than going back to their function area, they walked over to the bar. Jamie was resting an elbow on the counter, so he had his back to them while they ordered four pornstar martinis. There was some hushed chatter and giggling for a moment before a pretty blonde girl in a red dress touched his shoulder.
"Excuse me," she said, "Can we ask you a question?"
Jamie shrugged. "Sure."
"Are you a Scottish man?"
Jamie pondered for a moment, not knowing how to answer that question, so he simply replied, "Yes."
One of the other girls, clad in a white tank-top and tight jeans, let out a whoop.
"So you’re not wearing any underwear underneath?"
Jamie's body reacted to the attention these attractive women were giving him, and his region felt a twinge.
He said to her, "Well, that is tradition."
"That's incredible," said the girl in the red dress.
The bartender completed making the drinks and the girls turned to pay. Jamie turned away, taking another sip of whisky with a grin on his face. British people.
He felt a gust of air on his behind as the hem of his kilt was lifted up and quickly put back down.
All the girls cackled with laughter.
Jamie turned to face them, uncertain how to respond, but he settled for a smile.
Three of the girls pointed at Red Dress, who was still giggling. "It was her."
Red Dress was unfazed. "High five," she said, holding out her hand. Jamie slapped her hand.
"And have we learned anything today?" he asked.
"Yes, oh yes," she said, as the girls gathered their drinks and returned to their party. "Yes, oh yes.".
Clouds had finished his single malt and was halfway through a pint when Red Dress returned to the bar. She made a beeline for him.
"You're still here," she said.
"I am."
"We were wondering if we could take a picture with you," she said, grinning.
"Of course," he said, shrugging.
"Excellent," she said. "Come with me."
He followed her through the throbbing music to the other side of the dance floor. The floor was lined with cabaret-style tables, and on the other side, there were more sofas and coffee tables. He recognized some of the women already seated there, along with some new faces ranging from their thirties to fifties. They hooted as they saw Jamie heading their way.
"Here," said Red Dress. "I told you."
"Nice setup," said one of the older women. "Fabulous."
The phones came out, and Jamie posed for photos with the women, two at a time, one on each arm. Some of the ladies got more daring, fondling the tassels of his sporran.
"Let's dance," said Red Dress, impulsively, as the next song began. She dragged Jamie towards the dance floor as the song neared its end. He tried to decline but she was determinedly pulling him into the crowd. He placed his pint glass onto the table next to a Prosecco bucket.
The Proclaimers' "I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles)" was the next song. Jamie realized he had been set up. Okay, I'll play along then, he thought. Might as well play the part. He swayed to the marching beat of the song. Several younger women joined him and Red Dress on the dance floor, and he started dancing with all of them.
People in the crowd cheered, and he began to have fun, feeling a rush of excitement as his kilt swirled around and up even higher. When the chorus came in, he began skipping about in an exaggerated parody of Highland dancing, taking the hands of each of the women and twirling them around, his other hand in the air. This drew more attention from the other dancers, who applauded.
The chorus ended, and he started returning to regular dancing for the next verse, but he felt various swats on the back of his kilt as women behind him lifted the fabric momentarily.
The song finished, and he prepared to leave but found himself being pulled back onto the dance floor. [end]
After posing for a few more photos, Jamie was guided back to the dance floor by the girls, where they all fell into a line to dance the Proclaimers' "I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles)." He felt self-conscious at first, but he soon let himself enjoy the rhythm and the movement. Hands on his hips and feet kicking out, he bopped along with the group. The dance floor had a marching beat, so he tapped it out like an old-time warrior, skipping here and there while the women clung to his arms.
Among the spectators were some more mature women who screamed their approval, raising their glasses in excitement. They watched with jealousy as two women in the front row tried to get Jamie's attention, stroking his sporran with their fingers. Red Dress stepped to the front and encouraged the women to dance with her brother. At the end of the song, he walked down the line shaking hands and saying thanks to everyone. This only made them laugh harder, and they crowded around him to brush up against him as the spirit lifted them.
He finally found a way out of the commotion and sat back down, taking another sip of whisky. "This is how it's done," he thought, grinning at the memory of the night.
The girls quickly disappeared, leaving him and the few women left at the sofas.
'Oh no,' uttered Red Dress, 'You're not leaving.' She placed a hand on his chest.
'Just one more, though?' he requested.
'Sure,' she replied, 'One more.'
The next track was thankfully not so cliche. He grooved to a Beyonce track, swaying his hips to the music for the first part of the song. Soon enough, he could feel his kilt respond to the movements of people around him flipping it up. The song was halfway through when one of the brunettes from the group, a late-thirties woman in a sleek midnight-blue gown, slid up to him and then turned around, rubbing her behind against him. This felt a bit odd - she was basically grinding her bum against a sack, essentially - yet the message was undeniable. After a few beats, she spun around to face him and placed her outstretched hand on his shoulder possessively. Sliding around behind him, she shifted her hands to his hips, and commenced grinding him from behind.
Jamie endeavored to maintain rhythm with the music and with her motions while still trying not to break contact. He was beginning to feel quite keen from all this suggestive attention and didn't want to draw attention to the resulting arousal. A weight at the front of his kilt was a welcome relief, as it was his wallet and assorted items that weighed it down, preventing it from fully inflating.
The track ended, and he detached himself from her. Red Dress followed him back to the table. Completing the last gulp from his glass, he took another sip. Four of the women remained seated in the low chairs around the table, while the others stood as there weren't enough seats for all. Standing by the table, he swallowed the remaining liquid. He felt something graze the inner part of his thigh and then a hand caressed his butt - under his kilt. He halted, waiting for the hand to withdraw. Instead, it continued to caress his buttocks.
'Are we having a good time?' Jamie asked sardonically, though secretly, he wouldn't have minded if her hand had stayed put.
'Definitely,' she stated without an ounce of guilt. 'That backside of yours is quite entertaining, young man.' She carried on squeezing his cheeks.
Andrea! cried one of the other girls, outraged but also excited. 'What a slut!'
Powered by Red Dress' gaze, she continued, 'He doesn't seem to care.' She examined that thought to her friend. 'And you?'
'Er... no,' Jamie conceded, now realizing that the weight of his sporran was the only thing obscuring a full erection. I shouldn't be doing this, he pondered. Please don't stop, his subconscious chirped.
'This is inappropriate,' admitted a blonde lady in a green blouse and jeans, who stepped in front of Jamie. 'Here.' She handed him her half-finished champagne flute.
'You can't just grope the poor lad--' the blonde girl countered Andrea, before kneeling and lifting the front of Jamie's kilt, fully exposing him to the female audience seated around the coffee table.
With both his glass and hers in his hands, Jamie was unable to stop her without risking cracking his groin. He remained still with one hand on his backside and his kilt hiked up to his hips, revealing his substantial arousal to the surrounding females.
The table erupted into squawks as they all saw his erection.
'My word,' said one of them. 'He's doing it! Look at that!'
'Incredible!'
'Holy smokes, Karen!'
The chorus of screams continued for another second before Jamie spoke up. 'I think that's enough, don't you?' he suggested, holding his glass in each hand.
The hand from behind abated, and Karen dropped his kilt back to normal.
'Well,' she reiterated unrepentantly, as she dug her fingers beneath the kilt and briefly fondled his testicles, 'it doesn't have to be.'
Taking a deep breath, Jamie stated, 'Yes,' before walking to Karen's glass, placing it on the table, and exiting the function room, then traversing the foyer and journeying to his room. The journey along the corridor was one of the longest in his life - it was a struggle not to sprint.
After stepping through the door of his room and straight into the bathroom, he embarked on a fantastic masturbation session, gripping his kilt with one hand while massaging his dick with the other, staring in the mirror and envisioning that all the women from the table were watching Karen jerk him off. This didn't take long; he soon climaxed over the ornate basin.
"Through the door?" his wife, Amy, inquired a night later. "In front of everyone?"
He nodded. He didn't hide anything from Amy. It wouldn't start now. He gazed at her as she sat on the bed while he unpacked from the excursion. She asked how it had transpired, and well, he had to share.
"And the other woman was touching your bum?"
"Indeed." Deep breath. "So... what's your view?"
She cogitated, then looked at him.
"You need to put that kilt on," she said plainly.
"Pardon?"
"And then I plan to ravage your mind," she declared flatly.
He gaped at her, contemplating this. "You're not retaliating?" he inquired eventually.
"Did you cheat on me?" she inquired. He shook his head. "Did you initiate this?"
"No," he admitted. "They were the ones who brought it upon."
"In that case," she said, "that's okay, but right now, I'm incredibly horny, and you must don your kilt right now."
Having had her way, pounding him into the mattress and donning the kilt about his waist, he gazed at her. "Then... we're good, then?"
She sat up and examined him. "Here's the regulations," she declared. "You belong to me. They can gaze at you if they desire. Even grope you a bit, if it's how it goes, but that's the limit." She scrutinized his face. "No intercourse, though. And," she continued, "I wish to be privy. I want to be incorporated."
"Involved?"
"You possess a phone," she asserted. "It's a massive turn on to discover that they desire to see what they can't obtain. I want you to pack your kilt, when you journey, and your phone. I don't understand why you should have all the excitement. If their lewdness is making you aroused, I want to be able to climax alongside it as well. So you must inform me, grasp? Everything. As it transpires." She squeezed his erection, a little more forcefully than comfortably.
"Disposition," he said.
"Fine," she said, stroking him again. "I've screwed you. Your turn to screw me now."
Read also:
- My Close Friend, a Female, Fondled Me
- A Stepmother's Varied Testimony: Volume 3
- Listening to Their Groans: The Complete Narrative
- Slim, Youthful, and Well-Endowed in Part 2
Source: www.nice-escort.de
