Around the World in Eighteen Lays Ch. 02

CHAPTER 2: FUCKING IN THE FALL IN NEW ENGLAND

John decides on Concord as a good place to harmonize. Melissa, having the advantage of the time difference, beats him to it and gets her first taste of pussy for months.

One final kiss and a squeeze from Canada and John was through the boarding gate for his flight to Concord, New Hampshire. After all, it was fall (as they call it there) and where better to fuck and be fucked but in New England? Where the fall colours can match the lingerie.

Not entirely exhausted by his last night's endeavours in Newfoundland, he had time to plan ahead. His mind and his heart had to be part of this adventure, as well as his penis, which was cosily nestling in his briefs, recovering strength. If it has to be a different position every night, he thought, he should give the woman the choice. Assuming an initial menu of eighteen (nineteen, if you included the missionary position with Melissa the night before he left), the lady of the final night would have no choice. It would be a bit like opening the windows on an Advent calendar. Well, she would just have to be his Christmas Eve. Maybe they could rehearse all eighteen positions on that night, somewhere in Europe with just a thousand miles or so back to London.

He would have his work cut out for him.

As the plane took its descent into Concord, he watched those magnificent colours and felt a stirring as he imagined red and gold picked out in lace. Would he be able to tell, when he made his choice, what she was wearing underneath? Was that a gentlemanly thing to do, anyway? And it was not the kind of question you could ask ahead of time. Briefly he wondered if he might have to go shopping, but he would have to have such a range of sizes and styles that, lightweight as they were, it would be awkward finding space in his hand luggage. He would have to take his chances. And in any case, if his bride for the night was taking him home, she would have a selection, surely? It could add to the fun.

These thoughts were giving an edge to his appetite. Lost in his fantasy, he hardly noticed the flight attendant leaning towards him to remind him to fasten his seat belt. The moment her voice woke him from his reverie and he opened his eyes, his mind was made up. Look no further. That smart uniform with its hint of sexy chic never fails, and it is not meant to. The airlines know all about the allure of the desirable woman who is just beyond your reach. But how would he step over that invisible line that keeps men in check and keeps the woman safe?

"Thank you," he said. "I must have dozed off."

She was the one to step over the line. "I hope it was a good dream. Don't let anything get in the way of that buckle, now."

She said it quietly, so that only he could hear. Was she teasing him, or coming on to him? Once they had landed, and he was standing in the aisle waiting to disembark, she was right next to him. Her shoulder touched his. "So what's your business in Concord, Mr Englishman?"

"Just looking around," he answered.

"Would you like some -- company?" The hesitation was stage-managed.

"Are you offering?"

"Meet me at the RT station as soon as you're through."

"Luckily I only have hand luggage."

"You're a lucky man, then." She gave his arm a squeeze and took her position at the plane's entrance. Her slim hips were neatly encased in her uniform's blue linen skirt. Melissa would like this.

Newfoundland Anna had obligingly shed her clothes for her photo, adopting the tried and tested leaning pose, with the arms retracted to do full justice to her bust-line. On the flight John had written up -- good God, was this a thesis? -- the details of their coupling, and now, before he made his way across the concourse to meet his new acquaintance, he pressed "send" and the email and its attachment was on its way.

When Melissa's phone pinged to register the arrival of John's mail, she was lying naked in bed with Antonia, the girl she had seen the night before. She had come looking for her in the same bar late that afternoon. They had had a first round of tumultuous sex -- Antonia was a demon of energy -- and Melissa was enjoying her lover's desultory loving afterglow touch on her pussy. When she showed Antonia the photo, the touch became more urgent.

"Keep going, pretty lady," said Melissa, yielding to the caress as one finger, then two, curled into her cunt, "while I read what he says."

"Ooh yes," said Antonio, relaxing into a luxurious slow pleasure-rhythm. "I love your voice and we can imagine fucking Anna together."

"OK, listen up: 'She got me down on her bed, stripped me slowly and folded my clothes in a neat pile on the chair nearby. You've got to be ready to fly in the morning, John dearest, was how she put it. I'm ready to fly now, I said, so she stretched my arms straight out in airplane pose and looked at me. Next thing her lips went down on me. Passionate as well as neat? It was all I could do to stop myself from coming right there and then.'"

"That's my cue," said Antonio, and got down between Melissa's thighs. John's girlfriend sighed contentedly as she felt that old familiar feeling of a tongue on her clit. John could do it, but a woman's tongue had a special quality that she longed for.

"On we go then, you clever woman: you go in and I'll go on. 'She had a good long lick of my cock, holding back when she needed to, working it all over lightly, then firmly, and then taking me right into her mouth for her lips to squeeze me and her throat to close in on my tip. I wished it was you, Melissa, but it was different and it was rewarding.'"

Antonia's tongue was darting into her cunt and Melissa had her hands on her cheek, guiding, encouraging, soothing, loving. Then she picked up the phone again and continued reading.

"'And then she took her clothes off. My namesake would say she discovered herself. She would have made the woman who stitched the lace on her bra proud of her handiwork, her breasts filled the cups so perfectly. She showed off her really pretty knickers, too -- panties, they call them over here -- before she got up onto me. She knows how to stroke a cock with her pussy. I could just lie back and think of England while she fucked me. Actually I was thinking of you, Melissa, and I wasn't even distracted by her tits swaying over me.'"

"I'll bet you he took notice, all the same," said Antonio, shifting her attention to Melissa's navel. "Let me look at the photo again? Nice. But I like yours better," reaching up to fondle them.

"Come up here, gorgeous. Let's have a better look at your girls now."

They were small, but beautifully sculpted. Melissa looked, she felt, she kissed, and she sucked. The nipples were taut. Beauty like a tightened bow, thought Melissa, reaching down to find Antonia's pussy. The warmth between her lover's legs and the compact neatness of her breast in Melissa's mouth made a combination for a connoisseur.

John's flight attendant, now in a chiffon blouse and hip-hugging navy slacks, was Barbara. "Call me Barb", she invited him, laughing, but he was English and wouldn't give up the ending in case he never got to see that article of clothing.

He could detect its shape, whenever she moved or turned, but could not be sure of the colour. No more navy blue, please, he pleaded to himself. Dark blue in a bra could arouse him, often had, but he was in the mood for autumn colours.

They walked in the park and stopped at a pavement cafe for an icecream.

"Where are you staying tonight?" she asked.

"Wherever you are."

So it was settled. She was a Concord girl, with a Concord apartment. She showed him the state capitol . They strolled past picture-postcard white timbered houses. She lived above a bookshop, so they browsed the shelves, holding hands when they could.

"Here are your poems," she remarked, picking up a slim volume of the Songs and Sonnets.

"You're familiar with them?"

"What do you take me for, Mr John Donne? I think it's time to make one little room an everywhere."

And so they did. It didn't matter that John was circumnavigating the globe. Time and space were forgotten once the love-making began. He knew it was going to be all right when he unbuttoned her blouse and sure enough, she was wearing deep red, with silk panels and lace insets. With one finger he traced the embossed patterns on the silk, enjoying the sense of her yielding flesh beneath.

Barbara's bra. Once it was off he took it in his hand for a moment and felt the texture between his fingers. She gently took it from him and crushed it around his cock as he thickened to her touch. "Don't ruin your beautiful bra," he said, feeling a mixture of alarm and pleasure.

"I won't. Just a little more." She massaged him through the lace and the silk and then put it aside. "Now then, what are my choices?"

He showed her the menu.

"This reminds me of Pompeii," she said. "You remember, the brothel preserved there where all the options were painted on the wall? You just had to point to the one you wanted."

"You want a volcano?" he asked. "All right, Barbara, what's it to be?"

"I think I'd like chair pose."

It was a beautifully crafted Shaker chair. She pressed her knees into his hips and tucked her feet against his thighs as she lowered herself onto him. Holding her tightly at the waist he moved her up and down, pleasuring her labia, then entered his whole length and brought her to the surface again. Their excitement mounted with every repeat, but with everything under control.

"Hey, I'm not a sex toy," she said at last. "Let's fuck properly, now." She adjusted her angle and took him deep inside her. "Beautiful," she acknowledged. "Now just keep it there and I'm going to come for you."

She did, moving deftly on him, with assurance. He could follow the progression of her orgasm as it rippled out from her womb. The ripples turned into waves and the waves became breakers. She lifted her head and called out in triumph.

"OK, now fuck me. Fuck me hard."

He went ahead, driving two, three times and then pumping hard into her, his cum spurting and splashing over her core of delight.

She looked into his eyes. "Welcome to America."

He wondered what Anna and her fellow-Canadians would think. It didn't matter. What's in a name? That silly innocent question Juliet asked. Little did she know. But John's work was done. When it was time, Barbara posed next to her chest of drawers, her hair carelessly flung back and her pussy hidden in dark red. For the record, John said.

"For me," said Melissa when she saw the photo, reaching for her vibrator.

Next time: Minneapolis proves a happy hunting-ground for John, while Melissa improves her relationship with Antonia.