Blimey! This was a bit old school! Piper at the door, dark wood everywhere, pictures, trophies, stewards in uniform; lots of money here. Very, very old golf club, so stuck in the past they probably don't even allow women members.
Hadn't been invited to the church service, why would I be? Friend of a friend of the bride; although I had actually met the bride, Jane, a few times at get togethers, pub outings, BBQs and the like, we'd even chatted once or twice but wouldn't say I knew her well. I'd just happened to mention to my friend that I'd be in Edinburgh the weekend of the wedding. So I'd received an invitation to the reception on the Saturday evening.
Friend had said, "Only problem is it's black tie."
"Not a problem at all," says I; I actually like wearing black tie, so here I am suited and booted.
Seemed that every Scotsman present felt it was compulsory to wear a kilt, but then that was better than the other end of the scale where some people, mostly men it has to be said, no longer knew, or just chose to ignore, what a dress code was.
Dinner and endless speeches go ok, sat at the far end of a long table making small talk with the neighbours. The only relief has been some interesting eye contact with an attractive 50s something with short dark hair sat on the next table over, couldn't see much of her over the shoulders of those between, but more than one look from her had implied a little more than a passing interest, might be worth exploring later.
I manage to suppress the occasional yawn of boredom, some don't bother, but eventually the speeches and dinner ends; the smokers make a dash for the exits; others more concerned about the possibility of not getting a drink for ten minutes, scramble for the bar and in the ensuing melee, I lose sight of dark hair, so I also head for the exit to get some, in my case, smoke free air.
Spend about 30 minutes sat outside in the warm evening air at one of the many covered tables set up on the extensive lawn before I decide it's time to head back inside. The room has been transformed, gone are the long tables and bright lights, a dance floor is now exposed at one end with individual tables on three sides. The lighting is much more subtle, brighter over the dance floor but fading to almost complete darkness at the back. Groups of friends stand or sit round tables as the band begins to play and the bride and groom step up to get things going.
Drink in hand I spend the next half hour wandering around the building; clearly been going for a couple of hundred years and with a real men's club atmosphere about it, bit stuffy for my liking but if you're into golf, which I am not, then probably as good as it gets.
Back in the reception and things are already getting loud. Think about finding the friend of a friend and making my excuses but decide it's a little too early for that, even for me, so I move towards the darker tables to find somewhere to watch proceedings. As I turn I spot 50s something looking directly at me. As we make eye contact she smiles and turns back to the group of people she is chatting with, hmmm even more interesting.
I make a detour and walk close behind her. Good figure, tall, slim, nice bum, firm legs with good calves, works out at a guess; the mid thigh, high necked, sleeveless sparkly black dress shows her figure off well. A very good choice.
I carry on, threading my way through the tables, passing groups of other guests who are either deep in conversation or just watching the antics of others. I aim towards a couple of empty tables right at the back of the room that are lost in the gloom, turn and sit.
Quite amusing, wedding receptions, seems to be the place where guys think it's ok to forget the niceties of good behaviour, drink as much as they can and then act the fool, then wonder why others get annoyed with them! It was clear that one or two had already overindulged in the free bar, one was being asked to leave and a couple of others were heading that way.
Then, there she was, weaving through the groups of people, occasionally stopping to chat to those she recognised but definitely heading my way. Without a word she steers around the back of my table and stands at my shoulder, a slight contact with her hip. A hand settles on the back of my neck and lightly strokes, I continue to watch the dance floor.
Dropping my own hand I begin to stroke her ankle and foot through the sheer nylon, can't do much from that angle but just return the contact. She moves round to face me and, pulling up a chair, sits to my right, thigh to thigh. Locking eyes I lean forward and lightly kiss her; her lips are full, moist, soft, receptive; I push my tongue forward and lick her lips, gently probe, they part, I feel the point of her tongue, they dance, twirl. The kiss builds in intensity, lips push together, our heads turn and twist, passions rise....
Her hand settles on my inner thigh, forearm resting, fingertips stroking.
Our mouths break contact and we sit back, panting slightly, looking at each other, my own hand settles on her knee, fingers tracing small circles. Her eyes close, a dreamy look on her face, I glance over her shoulder, confident that we can't be seen in the dark.
Still tracing slow circles my hand opens and strokes up her inner thigh, the electric feel of her skin through the nylon; her legs part, my hand passes under the hem of her dress; the thicker band tells me she's wearing stockings, I reach her smooth skin, a barely perceptible tremble starts, her mouth parts.
Her skin is soft, so soft I can barely feel it; like milk, like cream. Tiny swirling patterns with my fingertips. Wider circles, knuckles breathe across the crotch of her knickers, she twitches at this briefest of contacts, tiny circles again, her skin flickers, I can feel her heat pushing out.
I lean to her ear, "Take them off, give them to me."
Without hesitation she half stands and reaches under her dress, pulls them down and takes them off, then hands them to me and sits back down. I put them to my face, breathe her in, she moans, squirms a little, I put them in my pocket.
I put my hand back on her leg, my fingertips continue their dance, her leg trembling; her hand back on my thigh the other gripping the edge of her chair. My knuckles brush her labia, skin to skin, no hair, moist, hot, she squirms a little, eyes squeeze and she bites her bottom lip, tenses, squeezes her thighs together, bucks, gasps and cums, only a small one but unmistakable. Almost as quickly she relaxes, comes back down, settles back in her chair, sighs and smiles.
I give her a minute then my fingers brush up, nails gently dragging across her lower tummy, then down to her sex, touch her, she whispers something, too quiet to understand, the fingers on my thigh start a light tap.
Fingers stroke down her puffy outer lips. Back up, no pressure just a light stroking, she just sits, head down, fingers still tapping my thigh. My fingers stroke up one more time, middle finger extends slightly, barely enters her, becomes slick with her juices, keeps going to find the little hood of flesh and, just touching, stops. She's quivering again, almost with anticipation.
Start the tiniest of movements against her clit, gentle rubbing, no pattern no stopping; it is small and smooth with a hard core, hot, infused with blood, I imagine running my tongue around it, sucking it into my mouth, teasing it back and forth. I can hear her breath rasping through her teeth as her trembling increases, feet tapping, a quiet murmuring again, her head swaying gently from side to side, she seems to be holding it, savouring it; but I can feel it building within her, feel the pressure increasing, suddenly it hits her, her whole body tenses, the bubble bursts, she throws her head back and her orgasm sweeps through her, wave after wave crashes over her, feet arch, her thighs squeeze together trapping my arm, my fingers crushed against her sex, her hand gripping my thigh. I watch her, watch her face, envy her the intensity of that release, the sheer beauty of it, the sheer pleasure of it.
After what seems an age it slowly subsides, in steps, like slowly releasing a long held breath, she slumps, falls forward, her shoulder against my chest, forehead onto my shoulder. My fingers, released, open and rest on her leg, her breathing slows as small aftershocks catch her, eventually stopping.
We sit like that for three, four, five minutes, nobody bothers us. Then she takes a deep breath, head comes up, eyes open, she blinks and whispers, "Oh my god!" and slowly sits back. I take my hand away, we smile, lean forward and kiss, no passion now, just a soft, gentle kiss, a thank you kiss.
She stands, staggers slightly, adjusts her dress, grins down at me with laughing eyes, turns and walks away.
I watch as she drifts through the tables, slip my hand in my pocket to her knickers.....
Time passes; I have a wander, chat to a couple of people, even find my friend and his wife.
I'm starting to think that it really is time to leave when I spot, hard to miss in that dress really, the bride approaching.
