Melanie Ch. 05

Author's note: You are all wonderful people. Thank you for your support.

Thank you to my muse, who has not only inspired, but has also edited everything for me.

If this is your first encounter with Melanie, you might like to read the earlier chapters first.

This is the final chapter of Melanie.

*****

They settled in a pavement café on Boul'Mich, a bottle of Chateauneuf du Pape between them.

- Tell me more about your family Melanie? he asked softly. How will you be able to get away? Your husband, your kids ...? And how do you really feel about us? I mean -- he hesitated -- up till now it's been, well, it's been ... one of these things that can happen between a man and a woman, when they're away from home, and there's a spark, a bit of chemistry. But now, if you're coming to Glasgow ... that puts it in, umm, a different category?

- I should slap you hard for saying that. I thought you loved me? But she was smiling. 'One of these things that can happen...?' Sandy, you know I've never done anything like this before, allowed myself to ... oh christ, TOUCH another man, let alone fall in love like this? But yes, I know what you mean. Until now, we thought we'd never see each other again. Now we know we will. So it's different. Yes.

Sandy had rolled a cigarette whilst she spoke. Watched her eyes as he lit it: Yes, it is. I thought we'd just part and it'd be terribly sore for a while, probably a long time. But that I'd never see you again. I can't imagine ever having any business that'll take me to Adelaide. But Melanie, you know I love you deeply, that there is some impossibly powerful force between us. Tell me more about your husband? Please, darling?

Her face shadowed. He could see her struggling, a turmoil in herself, and he knew better than to press her further. But he needed to know more about her life, hoped she would be able to talk to him about it. Eventually her face composed itself.

- George has MS darling, multiple sclerosis. A rotation of carers look after him: I did it for years, but it got far beyond my abilities, lifting him and so on, long before he got the care package he needed, and should have had a long time previously. We're friends, we still share a lot -- not least our littlies of course -- but we haven't been lovers for a very long time. He just can't, progress of the illness. It's a disease of the nervous system and sex is often one of the first things to go. In his case quite a lot has gone. I -- she looked in his eyes, tears in hers -- I'm not sure how much more I can tell you.

- And your bairns, he asked gently, how are they? She saw only compassion in his eyes, smiled into him as she paused to think, irises moving sideways and up as she focused her thoughts.

- They are normal lovely children. They love him to bits, and of course they don't really understand that it's unusual to have a parent with a progressive disability. It's their life, their normality. But physically I suppose, and maybe emotionally, I work hard to try and compensate for what they can't get from their dad. They are OK, just lovely decent small folk. They are my life.

He leaned to her and stroked the lines engraved on her brow: I can see that darling. It's written all over your face. Thank you for helping me understand a wee bit more.

They sipped wine and spoke more of their families: Sandy's all grown up and in charge of their own lives; Melanie's still young and vulnerable. Swapped tales of children's idiosyncrasies and parents' foibles. Laughed together till the tears ran down both their faces. It was nearly seven when he next glanced at his watch.

- Sweetheart, it's getting near dinner-time, are you hungry?

She smiled in his eyes: I was so carried away with our chat, and the wine helped too. But yes, I'm getting hungry. Where will we eat?

- There's somewhere in Place Mouffetard, maybe ten minutes walk. It used to be wonderful, but I don't know that it's even still there now. If it is, it might be a suitable place for our last dinner in Paris together.

They wandered through backstreets in the warm evening, nineteenth century tenements towering over them. They breathed the distinctive scents of the city. Then they paused outside a sex shop, a fairly upmarket one, a bit like a French Anne Summers, Sandy thought. Melanie took his hand, whispered: I've never in my life been in a place like this darling. Always wanted to look, but never had the courage, on my own.

They wandered between the displays of lingerie and sextoys: Anything you want love? Sandy asked. She drew him back to the display of bondage toys, fingered a soft black leather collar with interest.

- Sandy?

- Yes darling?

- How do you think this will look on me?

His mouth fell open, and he leaned to kiss her. His heart was pounding suddenly. He had had no idea ... but his cock was rigid at a vision of her naked and collared before him. He drew the soft leather artefact from the display and took it to the desk. As they stepped from the shop she drew the bag from him and removed the label. Stopped outside in the fading Paris evening. She fastened the collar on her neck, her eyes on his. Moved back from him and turned on the pavement.

- Does it suit me? she husked.

He moaned incoherently and drew her in his arms, scenting the fine leather as he licked her neck: It's perfect my love. I need to fuck you now, but waiting will only make it better when we do. His fingers slid under her skirt and she was wetter than he'd ever felt her.

*****

The wee restaurant was still there. It didn't offer a big menu, but once he established that the chef he knew was still in charge, Sandy was confident that everything would be good. He chose the traditional rabbit stew after they shared fragrant garlic escargots; Melanie went with lamb cutlets. He had insisted on a bottle of Moet, over-riding her protests at the extravagance: This is our last night in Paris, darling.

As they ate she spoke more of her family, the nature of her husband's illness, and Sandy was humbled by her trust in him. It was clear that she loved George: clear too the enormous stress his awful illness had placed on her over many years, intensifying as his condition worsened. Sandy's friend's wife had MS and he had watched in despair as two lives imploded, so he had some understanding of how Melanie's world must be.

Meals finished and dishes cleared from their table, he held her hand as she finally broke down sobbing. He stood and moved behind her, kneading her shoulders gently through the silk.

- Darling, do you want coffee? A liqueur? To finish our evening?

She turned and looked up at him, tearstained: I think I just want to go back now Sandy.

In the taxi she cooried into him, clutching him tightly. He sat holding her, watching the Paris evening pass through the windows of the vehicle, overwhelmed with love for this woman. A love which he knew, her visit to Glasgow notwithstanding, was quite unsustainable. He couldn't share her life, help her with her husband and children. But he ached to be able to do so. Ach, the world is so fucking hard sometimes. He stroked her hair with one hand, the other feathering her face.

Then they were in Montmartre, outside the pension. When they were out of the taxi she whispered: Sandy, could we walk for a while before we go in?

He took her hand and led her through quiet lanes behind the bustle of the Folies Bergere, knowing what she needed to see. Then they were in the Place in front of Sacré Coeur and her eyes lifted to the neo-classical splendour of the white basilica: What is this darling?

He explained the history: that the church had been conceived as part of the right-wing reaction to the Paris Commune of 1871. As a socialist he was equivocal about its genesis and history, but there was no doubting the immense architectural impact of the domed building, atop the highest point in the city. It was built on the graves of thousands of Communards who had been entombed in the old mines below, as right-wing forces crushed the Commune. It had been until its brutal repression, the first-ever government in the world to attempt to represent the working-class majority.

- Isn't it strange that something so beautiful could be built to celebrate the destruction of such a brave ideal? Her eyes were in his and he leaned to kiss her.

- Ach, love, so much of our built heritage, almost everywhere, celebrates the achievements of the rulers of societies, and rulers have almost always been a minority who gained their wealth and power at the expense of the poorer majority. Tis how the world is, and unfortunately I see little sign of it changing soon, anywhere. But you have to admit, it is a very powerful building?

Sacré Coeur shimmered white, high above the bustle of the city, rising over the glow of streetlights, up into the darkness. Kissed by the faint light from a crescent moon peeping through clouds, eerily illuminating its sepulchral paleness.

She shivered and turned to him: It's getting cooler and I'm tired. Let's go in now? She stood on her toes to kiss him and it was his turn to shiver. She reached into parts of him he hadn't known existed before. His hands went to her silk-covered arse and he felt her tremble in her need. He kissed the collar on her neck.

- Aye, let's go in.

The door to the tenement opened to her key and they nodded to the concierge before climbing the two flights of stairs to their landing. Slipped into the room. Between a couple of buildings the dome of Sacré Coeur was partly visible through the window. Melanie gazed at it before shutting the window and drawing the curtains, then turned to him.

- Sandy?

- Yes, love?

- I noticed the bath when we dropped our stuff off earlier. It's very big. Can we share it? Come and have a look!

The ensuite bathroom indeed had a big bath, a corner affair, triangular and spacious.

- I think there's room for two there, he breathed. Enfolded her in his arms, fingers going to the buttons at the back of her dress. She fumbled with his cufflinks and shirt buttons as the dress fell to the floor. She wore no bra and he knelt to suckle her proud breasts as she lifted his shirt off. Their breathing was coming faster now and his hands went to her silk panties, stroking in her groin through the sleek fabric.

She twisted to put the plug in the bath and turn the water on and his mouth went to the sweet arse now before him. Just began licking it through the silk when she straightened and turned back, and his mouth was tasting cunt through silk. He looked up at her.

- Melanie, I have never felt as close to another human being. Ever. His fingers moved to pull the scant silk garment down and she sighed as his tongue licked into her groin, flicking round the trimmed bush atop her mons, then moved down, into the crease between thigh and trunk. He tasted her sweat and looked up. Her face was drawn with want, mouth slack, eyes hooded. He knew she needed his love now. Stood and hastily removed the remainder of his clothes as she watched.

He checked the bath and turned the taps off. Rolled her stockings down. Kissed her hungrily, then sat in the bath.

- Sit on my cock darling? Please? She stepped into the bath and lowered herself onto him. As his cock sank into her he removed the leather from her neck: I don't think this wants to get wet?

She moaned and rose on her powerful thighs, then sank on him again. He bit her throat as she juddered, his cocktip brushing her gspot. Then she pushed him back against the end of the bath and fucked him hard. In seconds she was a shuddering mass of womanflesh, her irises so upturned they were invisible. When eventually she came down from her climax he kissed her fluttering eyelids, cock still hard in her. He didn't want to cum then, needed to wait. Started washing her gently, soaping her upper body, then nudged her up so he could attend to her arse and thighs. Soaped and kissed her.

Finally she was clean and she took the sponge to attend to him. When she was done they rose from the bath, both trembling with the intensity of their togetherness. He moved to the washbasin and got his shaving gear ready, knowing his face was rough now. Melanie bit the back of his neck.

- Don't start yet love, I need the camera. She returned seconds later and as he lathered himself to trim round his goatee, she busied herself taking pictures. As he finally splashed cold water on his face she kissed him. She took the collar and fastened it round her neck, her eyes piercing his. She was naked and collared before him. She bent her head.

- Take me to bed Sandy. Use me. I'm your slut now. All yours.

He gasped and took her in his arms: No slut darling, you're my lover, my treasure. And he took her hand and led her to the bed. She crawled onto it and crouched in submission, folded arms behind her neck, arse in the air, peach pouting beneath her parted bumcheeks. Then she reached back and pulled the cheeks wide.

- In my arse Sandy. Now.

He eased forward and his cock slid into her moist anus. He grunted in amazement, thrust hard. She moaned gently and her fingers slipped to finger her collar: Use me Sandy, I need to be used darling. By you, always by you.

He was in a frenzy now, hot animalfuck in this beautiful woman's arse. Lost himself totally, his existence nothing but cock in her, surging, needing, demanding release from his near-agony. As she moved and sounded beneath him he knew she was in the same place. They were together, utterly. His balls clasped tight to him and the long slow buildup continued, hovering on the edge, moving slowly in her now, feeling her need build too.

Then the explosion was there, and he felt her muscles grasp him as she screamed. And he voided in her.

He kissed the collar as they sank back onto the pillows, eyes searching each other, questioning, loving. Sleep came as he stroked her back, knowing nothing but the purest bliss with this wonderful woman.

*****

He stroked her cheeks after he placed the cup of Darjeeling beside her on the bed-table: Morning now my darling. Her eyes fluttered and he kissed them, exuding love.

- What an incredible experience, she muttered. I've won an award, and even better, I've found the most wonderful man in the world.

- You stole my line sweetheart. You are a terrible thief. But I know you stole nothing to create your poetry, so I forgive you. In her awaking tiredness she laughed, and he smothered her mouth with his. She pushed him off.

- Stop this Sandy, I can't breathe properly!

He withdrew and gazed on her face in adoration: You know I love you? And bent to take a soft nipple in his mouth, felt it harden as he sucked. She still wore the collar and he touched it.

- Take it off and put it on me? he whispered.

She looked long and clearly into his eyes. He felt her penetrate his core. She smiled shyly and her fingers went to the buckle at her neck.

- This is mine, she smiled. Why should I put it on you?

- Because you have to? You at least need to know if it fits me? Otherwise -- he glanced at the clock -- we might have to go back and get a bigger one? But my neck is just a fifteen-and-a-half, so it might fit?

- Lie down man. She was unbuckling the collar: I need to fuck you.

She rose and as he lay back on the bed, she fastened it round his neck. Then she hesitated.

- I've changed my mind, there's something I need to do first. Now that I know I own you too, I need to give you a present. I hope you like it. Come with me.

He rose, collared, and she led him to the bathroom.

- Lie down in the bath. He obeyed her and slithered down in the bath. He had no idea what was coming but was very excited, trusting her completely.

He watched entranced as she stepped into the bath, her cunt stretched open to him as she lifted her legs over the side. She placed her feet outside his thighs and squatted over him. His gaze flickered up and down her from her glowing excited face to her open cunt, and his cock was rigid. Christ, how he loved her!

She crouched over him and kissed his mouth, her breasts hanging over his chest. Then raised her head from him, and her face tensed.

Then he watched in awe as the stream of piss jetted from her urethra and sprayed his cock. It took him a second to realise what was happening: Ohh, Melanie!

The scent of her pungent urine filled his nostrils as he watched and felt the splattering spray move up his belly to his chest. Then it became a dribble, slowly spattered back down his body. The last few drops landed on his cock and he looked directly in her eyes.

- Oh my darling Melanie. Thank you for your beautiful gift. I have never felt so close to anybody before, nobody has given me that. I... I need to lick you dry now. Please stand love.

She stood on shaking legs and he leaned forward to lave her thighs with his tongue, up into the folds of her cunt, lapping the liquid from her.

- Now you do me Sandy, please. His brow raised a question but she held his gaze and he rose, understanding. Stepped behind her and she took his place in the bath: Piss on me Sandy, I want this. On my cunt. All over me.

He was in shock, but excited at the strange intimacy she had performed on him. Excited by the lingering scent of her urine. This was somewhere he had never been, never even thought of. He aimed his cock straight down at her cunt and released. Watched her eyes as the piss splattered between her legs, saw them glaze and hood as he directed aim on her clit.

- Tits now, on my tits.

He couldn't believe this was happening but it was, and his cock was hardening now so the stream inexorably rose up her body. He had to bend to lower his aim and stop it splashing her face. She smiled as her hand went to her piss-soaked cunt and wanked, still watching his eyes. He stood transfixed, hard cock still in his hand, as her excitement rose to her own ministrations.

- Wank for me darling. Wank. Cum on my face.

His hand began moving on his cock. He was instantly hard and in seconds electricity flashed through him, balls to cocktip. He felt the spunk rising.

Watched her face as it contorted beautifully, her orgasm imminent.

- On my face .Now. I want your cum.

He aimed as well as he could and the spunk pumped from him, miraculously spattering her face as it spasmed.

*****

Once they were cleaned up it was time to pack and head out. During their dressing she removed the collar from him and fastened it round her own neck again.

The taxi took them to Gare du Nord through the heat of a fine Paris morning. The exciting city was all around but they had no eyes for it, so consumed were they in each other. They had exchanged email addresses before the taxi dropped them in front of the fine nineteenth-century façade of the station.

He noted from the station clock that they had half-an-hour before her train left, and cursed himself that they hadn't stayed longer in the pension. He wanted her again now, needed her fragrant cunt. Three months was a long time, he reflected ruefully.

She excused herself to go to the toilet and when she returned he held her to him, breathing her bodyfragrance: Sweetness, I need to kiss you. They embraced and felt the warmth of each others' bodies close, and when they drew back from the kiss his cock was hard against her again. As she looked at him, her eyes were hooded. He shivered, glanced at his watch. Just twenty-five minutes before she had to catch the train to the airport, and his Eurostar was soon after.

- We need to find somewhere to fuck, he said. We need to fuck again before we part. She nodded acquiescence. Then she looked up in his eyes.

- I imagine that Disabled toilets are unisex here, as they are at home?

His mouth dried. He needed her again, this last time: I imagine so. They are in the UK anyway. There's certainly one in the station.