The presence of Tom Fisher, the game-keeper's son, at the wedding of his master's niece, Cecily, caused the loins of various females present (who either knew from personal experience, or had been told during those moments of female intimacy from which men are excluded) to moisten and itch. His mistress, Lady Astley, had had her itch 'cured' in the last two hours, but the Bride, who had been whirled round the ballroom by her new husband all evening, had an itch too, having noticed the size of Tom's equipment during a dance, and hadn't devised any way of having it seen-to, yet.

Shortly afterwards, her Maid of Honour, Susan, had excused herself from the festivities for a quarter of an hour, and Cecily, to her intense frustration correctly reading her flushed face and happy smile when she returned, realised she had had her itch scratched. This only made her own worse, and she considered briefly whether to give her husband the surprise of his life by dragging him off into a quiet corner somewhere and ripping off his trousers, or whether simply to go in search of Tom herself, casting her wedding vows to the wind, and get first hand experience of the young man with the enormous reputation in his trousers.

Her annoyance was increased moments later, when she noticed her chief bridesmaid staring at Susan's radiant features, and obviously drawing the same conclusion as herself. Cecily watched helplessly as Miss Alyson Buchanan excused herself from the dance and made a beeline for the garden exit. Before she could betray herself, it was perhaps fortunate that her lack of attention to the dance caused her foot to linger where her husband didn't expect, so he trod on it, bringing tears to her eyes, and allowed her to vent her anger and frustration on him in a screaming outburst that he felt was out of all proportion to the offence.

In the stable block, Tom Fisher was trying to ignore the agitated stamping of the stallion in the adjacent stall and recover from his encounter with Susan Yeardley. Being a well-bred young woman, she had cleaned him up after use, with a lithe tongue, which she had used on his softening implement, until not only had she licked off the coating which covered it, but also left it semi-erect, needing very little fanning to get the flames burning brightly again. In this condition, Tom was trying to tuck it back into his trousers, when Miss Buchanan, drawn by the noises coming from the stables, came upon him in the stall so recently the scene of Miss Yeardley's satisfaction.

Miss Buchanan had a soft Morningside burr. 'You must be Tom, ' she said, smiling. Caught in the act, with his ever-ready part in his hand, Tom started, having not heard her arrive. He froze, and stared at her in some trepidation. Had he, he wondered, crossed some line he'd never heard of, but which the upper classes took for granted? But she was smiling.

'Aye, miss. How may I help you?'

Alyson's gaze was riveted on the thing in his hand. Already several inches long, she felt instinctively that with a little encouragement on her part, it could be even longer, and fatter.

'Perhaps I can help you, Tom. Were you trying to put that away?'

She swooped to his side and grasped his treasure, at first handling it clumsily, but as she had hoped, her touch caused it to lengthen and swell as if by magic. It forced itself upwards, until the deep red tip was lying by Tom's belly-button. Tom lay back, and let her have her way.

'Tsk, tsk!' she muttered, 'fancy you trying to put this away.' She leaned forward, and, holding Tom's instrument of pleasure in both hands, she allowed the flexible tip of her pretty little tongue to explore it from base to tip. Gratifyingly, it plunged and throbbed several times while she was doing this, threatening to tear itself from her grip. But Miss Buchanan had not lived most of her young life in the land where they toss cabers without learning how to control the wayward behaviour of a mighty pole. She clung on tightly, and concentrated on the task in hand. Without missing a stroke, she rearranged herself until she was kneeling, her legs either side of Tom's. He lifted himself up on his elbows and, balancing on one, used his other hand to rub the nape of the girl's bobbing head.

'If you don't stop soon, miss, I shall go off, ' he warned.

She lifted her head off him, grinning. 'This would be a good time for me to go back to the reception, then, ' she teased. 'Ah, but, I've heard about you, Master Fisher; your reputation precedes you. And I am not going back to bonnie Scotland without seeing what an Englishman can do for a wee lowland lassie!'

'It — it will be my pleasure, miss, ' stammered Tom.

She raised an eyebrow at him, wryly. 'I confidently expect it to be mine also, ' she said, reaching behind her back as she spoke, and loosening the bodice of her dress. As she shook her breasts loose, she looked down at Tom. 'I realise I could be accused of a breach of good manners, Master Fisher, but I have to be fairly speedy, as I might be missed, and someone could come and find me before I'm quite ready, if you see what I mean.'