Iron Girders and Steel Springs

"I didn't see you come off the bus."

The girl's hands gripped his shoulders and began to knead the flesh underneath. The soft flesh of her breasts pressed against the back of his head. There felt like an awful lot of it. Her hands rubbed down his front, searching for the bottom of his hooded top.

"It's not fair keeping yourself all wrapped up like this. It's a beautiful day."

Marshall pushed her arms off and jumped up out of the seat, surprising the girl behind him. She didn't take too kindly to it. Marshall turned and saw a gorgeous platinum blonde with a face and figure Marshall didn't think existed outside of the airbrushed pages of glamour magazines. Shock and anger flared in her blue eyes and her face wrinkled up with contempt.

Kath returned with two bottles of beer. The blonde turned and spat something at her in what Marshall presumed was Russian. He was even more surprised when Kath replied in the same language. Russian sounded very odd when spoken with a broad Scottish accent.

The blonde's face softened. She asked Kath something. Kath nodded. The blonde nodded back. She turned back to Marshall, all smiles now.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realise you were one of Miss Kitson's," she said. "I'm Maruska."

"I think it's my fault. I didn't mean to jump up and startle you like that," Marshall said. "I'm a little self-conscious about exposing my body. It's why Miss Kitson sent me up here. I think."

"Och aye," Kath said. He needs to let the Highland wildness soak into him and flush out some of those inhibitions."

"I'd like very much to help with flushing out...those inhibitions," Maruska said with a highly suggestive gleam in her eyes.

Marshall blushed. The girls were very direct in these parts.

Kath noisily cleared her throat. "Mine," she said.

"Don't be so territorial, Kisa," Maruska said. "That's his choice. Why should he restrict himself to playing with the runt of the litter, especially when we have so much more for him to play with?"

Marshall's Adam's apple bobbed up and down as Maruska cupped her hands under her breasts and smooshed them together. It was involuntary. Her boobs were natural and very large.

Kath sniffed. "I have my own talents. Some of us can get by just fine without having a pair of zeppelins attached to our chest."

"Ooh, she's so catty sometimes," Maruska said to Marshall with a wink.

"Shouldn't you be somewhere else," Kath said. "Like catering to the needs of your guest."

"My sister is keeping him occupied," Maruska said. "I doubt he's even noticed I'm not there."

The man was occupied, Marshall saw. He was lying on a sun lounger with a girl that was almost a carbon copy of Maruska lying on top of him. Even if Maruska was still with him, he wouldn't be able to see her as his face was currently buried deep in the equally generous cleavage of her sister.

Someone called out Kath's name. Marshall saw it was the tall girl with amazonian proportions, Vasya.

"Two vodka cranberries," she ordered.

"Right away," Kath said, placing the beers on a small table before rushing back to the bar.

Marshall was left alone with Maruska.

"You're lucky," Maruska said. "Most men are too stupid to give her a second glance," she glanced over to where Kath had disappeared in the direction of the bar. She leant forward and whispered in Marshall's ear. "She's a real wildcat in bed."

Marshall's blushed deepened.

Maruska's expression suddenly changed, became serious. "Stay close to her," she warned.

It was an odd moment—a strange bubble of gravity on an otherwise frivolous summer afternoon. Marshall felt like a cloud had passed in front of the sun, causing a sudden drop in temperature. The trees around the lake seemed to loom. No longer picturesque, it felt like he was alone, isolated; stranded in a wilderness far far away from any kind of human comfort.

Then it passed as quickly as a summer cloud scudding out from in front of the sun. Only there weren't any clouds, just a deep blue expanse stretching right up into the calm heavens. Marshall shivered. Where had that come from?

He watched as Maruska, all giggles now, rejoined her sister.

"Sorry about that," Kath said as she returned from her errand for Vasya. "I normally end up being the one who has to fetch all the drinks."

"How did you end up here?" Marshall asked. "You don't seem like the others.

"You're not Russian," he added hastily. He didn't want her to think he was disparaging her appearance. Which he wasn't. Couldn't. She might not have the big busts, silky blonde hair and long legs of the others, but she was beautiful in her own, different way.

That face for starters. So expressive. And her eyes. Marshall had never seen anything like them before.

"I turned up on the doorstep one day and they took me in," Kath answered. "A stray, that's me."

"Seems like an odd place to end up," Marshall said.

"Suits me perfectly," Kath said. "You don't need to worry about whether I enjoy the work or not. I'm a rabid nymphomaniac. If you don't defrost I'll be jumping the bones of one of the other men before the weekend is out."

"Nymphomaniac?"

Kath stared back at him with her big green eyes.

"Classic," she said.

Marshall laughed. "If you have an uncontrollable urge for sex I suppose it makes sense to get paid for it," he said.

"Of course," Kath said. "Like I said, we're a practical sort up here."

She clinked her bottle against Marshall's.

"Na zdorovje."

Marshall took a swallow. Good stuff. Rich. Strong flavour. He looked at the label and saw the picture of a medieval abbey.

"Belgian Trappist monks," Kath said. "No finer brewers on God's green earth."

"Amen to that," Marshall said, clinking his bottle back against hers.

They lay on the sun loungers and watched the other men and women splash around in the clear waters of the loch.

"Not interested in taking a dip? You'd have to take that off first," Kath said, referring to his hooded top.

Strip off here? In front of everyone? Not a chance, Marshall thought.

"Maybe later," he said.

"Don't blame you," Kath said. "I can't stand water. More beer?"

Kath came back with more beer. She told him stories of her youth in an out-of-the-way Highland village. She'd always been a wild child, she'd said, but once she hit puberty her sex drive went through the ceiling. Then had followed a whole series of misadventures—some funny, some not so funny—involving sex and boys. In return Marshall told her stories about some of his escapades while he'd been an active member of the fire service. Talking to her was easy. It didn't feel professional, even though he knew it was. It was like having a pleasant conversation with a nice girl down at his local pub, a girl—in Kath's case—who also happened to have an extremely saucy sense of humour.

Marshall had been here before. It always went well...until he took off his top.

Which was why, apologetic, he left her at the door of his cabin when he retired for the night. Nymphomaniac or not, Kath didn't seem to take any offense.

"Don't worry. I'll have you out of those clothes before the weekend is out," she said, giving him a little wave and then padding off into the night.

Smiling, Marshall shook his head and closed the door behind him.

Inari, Inari, he thought as he looked around the room. What have you got me into? He took in all the luxurious fixtures. Oh well, he might as well enjoy it now he was here. He was unlikely to find himself in surroundings as opulent as this ever again in his lifetime. Heaven knows how Inari had wrangled it.

He was in the middle of undressing when he heard a soft bump from above him. It sounded like something was on the roof. Must be his imagination, or the wood settling. He slipped into the large and extremely comfortable bed and thought nothing more of it.

Sometime in the night he dreamt he heard a wolf howl.

* * * *

Marshall was coming out of the shower the next morning when a tap on the small bathroom window made him jump. He hurriedly covered himself up with a bathrobe.

"Sorry, didn't mean to make you jump," Kath said, her face framed with her hands as she attempted to peer through the fogged up glass. "It's a beautiful morning. Do you want to join me for a walk up in the hills?"

"Sure. Let me get some clothes on first."

"Oh, you don't need those," Kath called out as he headed back to the main bedroom.

"Yes, I do," Marshall called back.

A few moments later, Marshall left the cabin and walked out into a lovely summer morning. Kath was waiting for him, naked of course. Without the other girls around, it was easier to notice what a good figure Kath had—athletic and well-proportioned rather than sluttily curvaceous. Her face, with its big green eyes and irrepressible smile, was what attracted Marshall most to her. The Russian blondes might have figures right out of the pages of Playboy or Penthouse, but Kath was the girl you turned to for a fun night on the town.

He noticed her nakedness extended to her feet. She wasn't wearing any footwear.

"Is that all right?" he asked, looking at her feet. "I thought we were off on a hike up in the hills."

"Oh, aye," Kath said. "Iron girders and steel springs, remember."

Marshall shook his head. Crazy girl.

They walked past the neighbouring cabin and again Marshall heard loud moans and sighs emanating from inside.

Kath shook her head.

"Insatiable, I told you," she said. "That's going to be one sore laddie by the end of the weekend."

She mimed a John Wayne bow-legged walk and Marshall laughed.

They left the camp and followed a path up through the trees and out onto a wide expanse of heath. The view was breath-taking. Marshall saw green hills dusted with pink clouds of heather rolling away into the distance. Below them, through the trees, lay the glittering waters of the loch, sparkling with reflected sunlight like the discarded mirror of some ancient Highland deity. Marshall couldn't see a single sign of human habitation. Even Gàrradh-Sionnach was hidden from view by the trees.

"Caraid-Faol is over there, somewhere," Kath said, pointing in the direction of the horizon.

"Isolated," Marshall said.

"That's how we like it," Kath said. "We don't bother anyone and they don't bother us. Really convenient considering our business requires regularly throwing some truly depraved parties."

"You can't annoy the neighbours if there aren't any," Marshall said. He thought back to his little box of a home, on a street packed with other similar boxes, and felt pangs of envy.

They stopped by a small tor of grey stone. Kath plucked a sprig of pink heather from one of the nearby bushes and ran it under her nose. She sighed.

"You need to join me for a frolic in the heather," she said, her green eyes glinting mischievously.

Marshall glanced over the lush vegetation carpeting the hills.

"Would that be a euphemism for something else?" he asked.

Kath smiled. "No trip to Gàrradh-Sionnach is complete without a good frolic in the heather. But—" she held up a finger "—frolicking is not permitted unless both parties are completely naked."

"Is that right," Marshall said, a wry smile on his lips.

"That's the rule," Kath said, putting on an expression of mock seriousness.

She cocked her head and glanced behind her at the open expanse of lush heath.

"So?" she said.

Fuck it, Marshall thought. Why not. He was single. She was attractive and—most importantly—he really liked her.

"Sure."

He reached down and gripped the bottom of his top. All he had to do was pull it up. Easy.

He looked at Kath's smiling face. He pictured it twisting up in an expression of pity and revulsion.

No, no, dammit!

His hands stopped moving.

He willed them to keep going, to grip the fabric and lift it up over his head. They disobeyed him. The top might as well have been bonded to his skin, as part of him as the shell of a tortoise, stuck to him forever and ever until he died, rotted and even then it would remain part of him, fused irresistibly to his mouldering bones. The fabric could have been weaved from iron and weighed a ton. His trembling hands couldn't move it at all.

Crestfallen, he looked at Kath.

She came up next to him, put an arm around him and rested her head against his chest. Marshall stood there, his ineffectual hands still clutched around the base of his top. He watched crows wheel through the upper branches of conifers lining the loch.

"Sorry," he said.

Kath gave him a tender squeeze.

"Tomorrow?" she said.

"Tomorrow," Marshall confirmed.

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Kath looked up at him, her green eyes flecked with steely resolve.

"I mean it," she said. "Even if I have to get you really drunk and I really hate getting the laddies really drunk as you wouldn't believe how difficult that makes my job."

"Promise," Marshall laughed.

Instinctively, he picked her up and started to carry her back down the path. A relic from his old days. He regretted it immediately and had to put her back down after a few paces. His breath dried up to short gasps.

"Are you okay there?" Kath asked.

"Yeah," Marshall waved her away as he doubled over to get his breath back.

"I should be carrying you," Kath laughed.

Marshall laughed with her.

Once he'd got his breath back they resumed their walk back down to the camp. In the middle of the woods Marshall was startled as an orange streak dashed across the path in front of them.

"Hey Tom, what are you so skittish about?" Kath called out.

She crouched down and held out her hand.

"Get over here, you silly old moggy."

An orange face with green eyes popped up out of the undergrowth on the side of the path. It stepped back onto the path and Marshall saw the face belonged to a big ginger tomcat. The cat was a little larger than the average house cat and looked lean and wiry. It came up to Kath and, purring, rubbed its head up against her hand.

"You don't see many of them around nowadays," Kath said. "They normally like to keep away from folks."

Marshall was confused. "It's a cat."

"Scottish wildcat," Kath corrected. "They're a different species. The scientists think they're endangered—too much interbreeding with the domesticated cat. Misses the point. Real animals don't care what fancy Latin name they are. As long as they're fucking and making babies, they're winning."

She rubbed under the cat's chin.

"The scientists worry about the wildcat being replaced by the domesticated cat. I see it the other way around. It's putting a bit of wild back into the domestic."

The extra meaning wasn't lost on Marshall.

"You really have a one track mind," he smiled.

Kath winked. "I did tell you I was a nymphomaniac."

They left Tom to his secretive pursuits and walked back down to the camp.

* * * *

"Still fully clothed, eh?" Figg said to Marshall as they sat out on one of the tables by the loch, drinking beer and enjoying the afternoon sunshine.

"I don't think I'm cut out for this nudism lark," Marshall said.

Figg shrugged. "You should let yourself relax and enjoy the view."

The fat banker leered at the naked girls splashing around in the clear waters of the loch in front of them.

"What a place," he said. "What girls."

The banker continued to ogle the naked girls. So did Marshall. He'd have needed to be gay, or castrated, not to.

"Hey, you don't have to spend the whole weekend with the waitress," Figg said. "You can borrow one of mine for a night if you want."

"Uh, thanks, but I'm okay." Marshall turned him down politely.

"Really? You'd be doing me a favour. They're insatiable in bed. Complete animals. I'm not even sure my heart will make it through the next two nights." He followed up with a deep belly laugh.

"That's what too many vindaloos and expensive German beer will do to you," Chris, sitting across the table from them, said.

A hush descended on the side of the loch. Vasya had arrived. She padded out across the boards like a queen, moving gracefully on long, rangy legs. The American followed on her heels like a faithful toy poodle.

Chris was entranced.

"You're not still thinking about that amazonian totty?" Figg said.

"Have you ever seen a body like that?" Chris whistled.

"Shame that Yank has already snaffled her up. Man who thinks ahead."

Chris looked at the skinny American.

"He's just a computer nerd," he said disdainfully. "I bet he barely breaks six figures."

Chris's lips turned up and his eyes went crafty.

"You know, I reckon she might be amenable to a trade-up. I think it's about time our American friend was introduced to the ancient English tradition of gazumping."

* * * *

Later that afternoon Marshall saw Chris sitting in the Jacuzzi with his arm around Vasya. A broad smile was on his face. He looked like a big fat cat with the world's biggest bowl of cream. The American was lying on a sun lounger on the other side of the decking. He pointedly refused to look anywhere near the direction of the Jacuzzi.

"Oh dear," Kath said. "I think someone isn't too happy about losing the alpha. Never mind, I'm sure Yekaterina will help to take his mind off her."

Marshall wasn't so sure about that. Most men of the American's appearance would be overjoyed to find themselves lying next to the statuesque brunette he was, but not the American. His thin lips were twisted up in a scowl that indicated he wasn't accustomed to coming second in anything and didn't like it at all.

Marshall was happy enough to spend time in Kath's company. She was beautiful, sexy, fun and great to be around. He couldn't ask for more, not at all. As the sun set over the loch they shared more stories of past adventures and misdemeanours. Marshall had plenty of stories from his time on the fire service and it sounded like Kath had a cut a swathe of sexual impropriety across the whole of Scotland.

As they returned to his cabin, Marshall toyed again with asking her in. He wanted to, he really wanted to...

Kath stood there patiently and didn't attempt to force his decision either way.

...but he couldn't.

"Sorry," he said.

"That's fine," Kath said, "But—" that finger came up again "—tomorrow is the last night. If you don't ask me in, I may be forced to break the door down."

Marshall looked at her pint-sized body.

"Iron girders," Kath said, flexing a bicep.

"Okay, okay," Marshall laughed. "Tomorrow."

"Just so we're clear," she said, wagging her finger.

"Perfectly."

Satisfied, Kath padded off into the night.

Idiot, Marshall thought as he walked into his cabin, alone. He looked at the luxurious bed and shook his head. Poor Inari, he really wasn't making best use of what had to be an extremely expensive weekend. He took off his clothes and climbed into bed. He ran his hand over the empty space next to him. He wished Kath was there. He wished he had the courage to ask her. He wished he had the courage to let her see this. He ran his hand over the rough skin of his side.

What a mess you are, Marshall thought as he drifted off to sleep.

Sometime in the night he thought he was woken by strange animal cries, but by morning he'd put it down to a dream.

* * * *

Marshall surfaced a little after noon on the next day. There was a strange air in the camp—a kind of eager, furtive anticipation. The others weren't even attempting to be discreet anymore. They fucked right in the open, heedless of who might be watching. There was a frenzied quality to the coupling Marshall witnessed, as if they knew this was the last day and they were determined to extract the maximum value from it. Marshall wasn't a prude by any means, but even he found the scenes of wanton abandon a little off-putting.

"Still fully dressed," Figg observed as Marshall sat down for breakfast at a table overlooking the loch.