I spent two days in Edinburgh, visiting the castle, the royal yacht, galleries, and museums. Each day, I received a WhatsApp from Michael and another from Terri, and both implored me to extend my vacation to spend time with them. I explored the city, constantly wondering whether I would take up one or both offers from two lovely, kind people, each quite smitten by me. I was bemused as to how a well-built sixty-eight-year-old woman managed this feat.

But my schedule was fixed; the next stop was Balmoral, the Highland home of the monarch for more than a century. 

Driving north, after Perth, I was struck by how quiet the road was—an easy, fast route through increasingly mountainous scenery.

Near the castle, I parked and walked along a lane, pausing on the bridge over the Dee before passing through the gateway to the Balmoral Estate and paying my entrance fee. I walked through the woods before coming out onto a large grassed area, across which was the castle. The house was not open for visitors, but I enjoyed wandering around the gardens.

The treat of my day was at the end of my visit when I saw a fine sight: a bagpiper in full regalia, kilt, sporran, and tunic immaculately presented. He was just about to start playing, and I stopped to listen as the initial dirge morphed into a series of beautiful pieces. At the end of his recital, he marched off, one arm swinging exactly parallel to the ground. I applauded enthusiastically, together with about a dozen other visitors.

I needed to get back on my journey as there were nearly two hours more driving ahead of me on the road to Inverness. In love with the Dee Valley, I decided to make a short diversion along the lane where I walked to and from the car park. I set off in high spirits, enjoying slow progress along the winding single-lane road. There was no other traffic until a huge SUV roared around a corner ahead of me. I panicked, confused with everything being on opposite sides, and drove off the tarmac onto soft ground and bashed into a tree. Luckily, it was low speed, and I was shaken but not hurt. The airbags inflated with a loud bang, and I realised my car was not driveable. The other car disappeared in the distance, and I tried to reverse back onto the verge but found my wheels spinning madly and the car going nowhere.

I picked up my phone, intending to call the rental company. However, I discovered there was no signal. I locked the car and walked to the roadside, wondering which direction was best for me to trek to help. The answer to my prayers came almost immediately; an old battered Land Rover came into sight, then slowed down and stopped a few feet away. When the driver got out, I saw it was the bagpiper who had entertained me a while before.

"Och, are ye alright?"

Standing before me, resplendent in his attire, my knight had arrived.

"Yes, I'm OK, but my car is stuck and was damaged when I hit a tree. There's no signal for my cell, and I need to call the rental people."

"Naw problem, lassie. Get your stuff, an' I'll tak you to ma hoose. Maddy can make you comfy while we sort things out."

I had great difficulty understanding everything he said—his accent and language were nothing like the Scottish people I had met in Edinburgh—but I got his meaning, thanked him, and then took my case and other stuff out of my car, stowing it in the back before I climbed into the cabin.

During the ten-minute trip, I found my knight was Hamish, and Maddy was his wife. While we drove, he regaled me with a string of stories about his piping career and service in the army before we finally pulled up outside a stone cottage in Ballater village. Strangely, it had no front garden, and the front door opened to the footway.

Hamish held the front door for me, then called inside, "Maddy, we have a guest."

I walked directly into their living room. The lounge area was at the front, and a dining table was at the back. A woman appeared through a doorway, smiling shyly at me—short and rotund, with jet-black hair—whom I took to be Maddy.

"Welcome, dearie."

There was something about her accent that I could not place; it seemed a bit foreign, not Scottish or English.

"Hi, Maddy, I'm Dorothea, and I am so grateful to Hamish—he rescued me from an awkward situation."

"Aye, love, she ran off the road, bent her motor, and had no mobile signal. Dorothea will try to contact the car hire people now, and we would both like a cuppa."

"Of course, my laird."

Laird, I thought—what a strange way to talk to your husband, and he was so brusque to her.

Reporting and arranging a replacement vehicle took a long time and multiple calls. I felt I was shunted around from pillar to post. During this seemingly unending process, Hamish invited me to stay overnight, so I happily accepted his kind offer. The hire people eventually agreed the car would be delivered to Hamish's house the following day in the mid-morning. Lastly, I called the hotel in Inverness, apologising that I would miss my first night's stay.

Hamish settled down to read something on a tablet, so I picked up the empty tea cups and took them to the kitchen, where Maddy was busy preparing dinner. After putting the dirty dishes in the dishwasher, I propped myself up against the counter and watched her at work.

"Maddy, when I met Hamish, he had a strong accent, but he's different here."

She turned to me, smiling.

"That's because I wouldn't understand him. I'm Italian, Madalena. I came to the UK for work years before Brexit and met Hamish. When we go to the pub to see his friends, I cannot understand their chatter because, although my English is perfect, Scots is another matter....".

Her voice tailed off, then she shrugged her shoulders and laughed aloud, her belly shaking from her pleasure.

"Ah, I see—but why do you call him your laird? I thought that meant lord."

"Because our relationship and love have been built around his dominance. I submit to him willingly in every way."

She unbuttoned her blouse and pulled the neckline away from her skin.

"See this?"

I nodded, looking at the black line of leather circling her neck.

"I am collared; that means he owns me completely."

"He is my laird, and as his guest in our home, you are my mistress."

I laughed, "Does that mean I can order you around?"

"Yes, and I have to obey—otherwise, Hamish will punish me."

I wondered what she meant by punishment but felt it safer to change the conversation to mundane subjects, so we chatted on and on as she worked. I liked her: sweet-natured and convivial, the opposite of sophisticated or glamorous. I felt completely at ease in her company.

After a while, I left her to cook and wandered back into the living room. Hamish had changed from his regalia and wore a plain plaid kilt and a t-shirt. He looked up from his reading and offered to show me my room. Upstairs, he led me to a small bedroom with a dormer window facing out over their garden.

"I think the meal should be ready in about an hour."

"Thanks, Hamish, where's the bathroom, please?"

To my surprise, it was downstairs, a tiny space with hardly any open floor. There was no shower, so I ran a bath and relaxed, wallowing in the warm water, before returning to my room and dressing in clean clothes. Later, I went downstairs to find the table neatly set for dinner. Hamish was sitting there and offered me a glass of Chianti, so we sat together, sipping the soft wine, just before Maddy appeared carrying plates heaped with food.

"It's venison; we get it from the estate's hunting parties; they kill far more than they consume, so some goes free to workers, like me, and the rest gets sold to pubs and restaurants."

The meal was delicious, and the Chianti was a perfect match for the meat—a second bottle was followed by a third—if there had been a dessert, we never got to see or taste it.

Sated, I staggered across to their small sofa. Hamish took the single armchair; Maddy disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a cafetiere and mugs. She settled on the couch next to me; this tiny rotund woman occupied all the remaining space, jamming us together, hip to hip, as we drank, chatting amicably. Later, Hamish left the room for a moment, then reappeared carrying a bottle of whisky.

"Ye'll have to try this, Dorothea. A single malt from the Royal Lochnager distillery. It's horribly expensive, but I get a hefty discount, so you can enjoy the same whisky as the King drinks!"

As the evening passed, I lost count of the times either Hamish or Maddy refilled my tumbler. While I sat on the sofa, everything seemed normal until I went to the toilet for a wee. As I walked to and fro, I realised I was drunk; every step seemed to be an effort in control, and perhaps it was no surprise that, upon returning to the living room, I stumbled and knocked into Maddy, who was standing by the sofa holding the whisky bottle.

We fell to the floor, a tangle of arms and legs, and then I heard Hamish's voice. 

"Ye clumsy boot, you've dropped the bottle, an' you're spilling the malt."

"Oh, my laird, please forgive me."

She scrabbled around, found the bottle, and set it upright on the floor. We disentangled, and I hauled myself back onto my side of the sofa. Maddy stayed on the floor, looking disconsolate.

"Ye'll need to be punished, wasting our best malt."

"Of course, my laird."

"Strap or tawse?"

"Strap, please, my laird."

Something about her abject submission encouraged me to speak out, ignorant of the consequences that would follow.

"Hamish, it was my fault; please don't punish her."

He glared at me.

"Ye'll tak her punishment?"

"Aye. Isn't that what you say here? Aye."

Like any drunk, I became belligerent, and reason left my mind. I glanced down at Maddy, still on the floor, with her mouth wide open in shock, seemingly unable to grasp what was happening.

"Ye'll address me as your laird now; failure will mean you'll have to take more punishment."

"Yes, my laird."

"Good; put your hands behind your back, fingers clasped."

I felt him touch my wrists, then something cold on my skin, followed by two clicks, and then I realised my wrists were trapped in handcuffs.

"Get over the sofa armrest, feet on the floor, head on the seat."

Lowering myself was difficult without my arms for balance. Somehow, I got down safely, with my face pressed into the seat cushions that were still warm from my body heat. I felt my skirt hem lift and then drop over my hands. I felt my panties and tights pulled down, exposing my bottom to the air and Hamish's gaze.

Maddy shuffled over and sat on the floor next to my head and started kissing my face, little delicate pecks everywhere. Something soft slipped across my buttocks, and then it happened again, and as I felt this gentle, sliding sensation, Maddy kissed me full on the lips. There was a second of pressure before her tongue thrust into my mouth, and then I flicked the tip with mine, enjoying the sensation of kissing a new woman.

There was an almighty crash and a terrible pain all over my ass. I screamed in agony, but the sound was muffled inside Maddy's enveloping mouth. 

Our lips parted, and then Maddy resumed her little pecking kisses while her hand stroked my hair.

"Oh God, Maddy, that hurts so much. How many more will I have to take?"

"He normally gives me six, so you have five more to come."

"I don't know if I can take them."

"I'm here; I'll help you through."

Her lips crushed mine again, and our tongues danced for a second before the next lash of the strap pummelled my cheeks; again. I screamed into her mouth, but this time, tears welled up in my eyes. So much pain, but I was doing it for Maddy.

I wondered how she coped with the constant threat of being beaten and why she did not leave him.

Maddy sat, kneeling upright in front of me, one hand massaging her ample bosom, rotating and pushing it around while her other hand was down below, nestled in her crotch. 

Without any warning, the third blow smashed down on me.

This time, unrestrained screams echoed around the room, and my tears blurred my vision, but I saw enough. Maddy had one arm inside her blouse, and I could see her fingers playing with a nipple.

Her other arm was shaking as her fingers rubbed vigorously between her thighs.

Suddenly, enlightenment dawned—her submission was sexual, not abusive.

Maddy was aroused by pain, whether inflicted on herself or someone else. She was living my pain and enjoying it while thinking I had volunteered for the same reason.

Another strapping landed; my backside was on fire, and through my tears and sobs, I decided to become part of their game, to join the fun rather than be an unintentional participant.

"Maddy, you bitch; I hate you; you get to cum, and I get the pain. I hope your pussy is nice and wet, but I'm going to give myself to Hamish. When he's finished, he can fuck me, not you."

She paused her movement, then knelt up and shuffled towards me, lifted her skirt, and then pushed her wet panties onto my face.

"Puttana! Do you want to whore yourself with my husband?"

I couldn't answer with my mouth jammed against her pussy, and she was frotting herself hard against me. The smell of her sex was overpowering and arousing.

This was nothing like the tender lovemaking I had experienced with Terri—this was raw sexual power, and I was just a device being used to satisfy these two—dare I say it—perverts.

Thwack, thwack.

My screams were lost in the folds of her pussy, and my tears soaked into her panties. I felt Maddy's body shaking around my head and knew she was in orgasm.

Gradually, her shuddering body quietened, and she lowered herself to kneel on the carpet. She was gasping from the effort, and I was gasping for air after having my mouth and nostrils blocked by her sopping wet panties. My backside was as sore as hell, but I wanted to push them to see where their limits were.

"Is that it, my laird? Is that your limit, the dirty half dozen?"

His answer came immediately, hit after hit on my poor, inflamed flesh.

There were six in a row; I thought the pain was bad before, but now it was unbearable, and I was sobbing my heart out, tears pouring down my face.

Lying there, I really regretted my silly attempt to goad Hamish; I had overplayed my hand in pretending to be a pain slut like Maddy, who cuddled me, stroking and kissing me tenderly as I quietened.

My ass hurt, and I thought I wouldn't be able to sit on it for days. My thoughts were interrupted when I felt Hamish's hand touching in between my thighs, then slip further down, gently massaging my pussy. The moment his finger touched my clit was electric; the jolt of pleasure was so unexpected, and I discovered the strapping had aroused me—I was a pain slut, just like Maddy.

I pleaded, and my voice sounded different, like a child, "Please, Hamish, don't stop."

He did not stop as his fingers explored my pussy and found their way between my lips and then into the well that was oozing my juice before slipping back to stroke my clit again.

Being masturbated like that, bent over the sofa's arm, my wrists handcuffed, and with my legs constrained by the panties and tights around my ankles, was quite out of my sexual experience. I was so aroused; every touch felt exquisite.

My arousal was so great that I started to hump the sofa arm. Maddy placed her cheek against mine, breathing into my ear while she nibbled the lobe. All I wanted was release, and when it came, I felt a surge of pleasure spread out from my clit and race the length of my body, culminating in a flash of white in my head.

In this state of ecstasy, I felt him enter me, his shaft filling my vagina and sliding deep inside. Maddy sat back, looking into my eyes as every thrust by her husband pushed me towards her. I sensed she was masturbating again, little jerks of one shoulder from the movement below.

I could not have cared less; all I wanted was to have my second orgasm. Every smack of flesh on flesh was taking me closer, and every time, I grunted loudly. Hamish knew what I wanted; his need was as great as mine. He roared, and then I felt his cock jerking inside just before his jet filled me. Two thrusts later, I came, jerking uncontrollably on his shaft, my eyes unseeing, my brain a vortex of pleasure.

Panting from the exertion, I felt Hamish slide out.

"Dorothea, you are a complete slut. Welcome to our little bit of fun."

With that, he spanked me hard with the flat of his hand six times. Surprisingly, there was only slight pain. It stung but was a feeling of warmth, almost pleasurable. After a few extra playful pats, he moved and stood by me. I twisted my neck and looked at his erect cock, glistening with my juice, then saw him grasp Maddy's head and thrust the full length into her mouth.

"Drink her, taste her, Maddy. Suck it all off."

Once again, I saw the vibration of her shoulder as she rubbed her clit, and to me, it seemed no more than a minute before she came, her heavy body shaking while she groaned around his shaft.

Hamish stepped back, his cock gradually softening, and then tilted Maddy's head back so she was looking up at him. Then, swiftly, he slapped her face, alternately on each cheek. Each one seemed louder and sharper than the previous one. It was her words that shook me.

"Thank you, my Laird. Punish me. I am not worthy of you."

I could see tears streaming down her face. It must have hurt dreadfully, but she did not flinch from the blows. When Hamish finished with Maddy, he stood above me, and I tensed, expecting more pain, but instead, he lifted my hands and removed the cuffs.

"I'm gonna take a bath."

With that, he left us alone. I pulled myself upright and then sat on the sofa again. Maddy took the other seat, just like we had after dinner. I wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. Cuddled together, I felt her warmth while my chin rested on the crown of her head. Sisters joined by a shared sexual experience.

==

The next afternoon, sitting in a car park halfway along the Great Glen, I stared out over the loch, thinking about my dilemma. One man, one woman, and one couple. They had all asked me to spend time at their home. 

Michael, in his quaint Rose Cottage?

Terry, at the gay resort of Brighton?

Hamish and Maddy, submitting in the Highlands?

Which one, Dorothea, which one?