Canadian Affair

-Just a quick splash and a change of clothes would be good thanks Vicky. This morning was a while ago, and I've been stuffed in a plane seat for several hours too long. Give me fifteen minutes. Where do you want to eat? I'll go with whatever is best for you, and the budget's not an issue. I'd rather like to indulge the lovely woman who's saved me from a solitary night in an airport hotel. So you choose where, and phone to book a table.

-That's rather a dangerous thing to say to me Sandy... that the budget's not an issue...

-Not dangerous at all lassie. Need to pamper you for your kindness.

-Oh my, pamper me indeed? So stop wasting time, go and freshen up. Pampering me takes lots of effort. D'you think I should change for dinner too?

-Mamselle, you're fit to be taken anywhere. I can't imagine that changing could make you look any better. So no, please: remain as you are.

*****

Fifteen minutes later, they were on their way. She'd told him they were booked into her favourite Greek place, a fifteen-minute walk away. The evening was pleasant and Vicky was happy to hoof it. Sandy was glad of the opportunity to stretch legs which had been cramped in economy class for most of the day. Vicky had oohed delightedly when he'd appeared from the shower-room in his kilt. Sandy wasn't sure where the evening was going with this distinctively attractive woman, but as they left her front gate, he extended his arm round her shoulder tentatively. A charge ran through him when she reciprocated with her arm round his waist. Fuck... his lover's mother... but he daren't hope for anything. She was a most flirtatious woman, and it would take a while to read her properly. He was more than happy that she was content to be so close to him.

The restaurant was busy, and they were squeezed side by side on a cushioned bench, facing most of the room. Vicky squeezed his hand as they slid into their places, a slight crease of concern on her brow:

-This place look OK to you Sandy?

He returned the grip on her hand, and continued holding it:

-It looks and smells perfect Vicky, so stop worrying your pretty self.

He drew breath, twisted his head round, and kissed her forehead:

-It looks better without the frownlines, lassie. I find it hard to believe we're about the same age. You look years younger than me.

Her head tilted up and their lips met. Just a gentle feathering. As they kissed, her free hand settled on his knee:

-Do you know, I don't think I've ever kissed a kilted Scotsman before, Sandy. Can I be greedy and have some more?

His heart soared as she used both of her slender hands to draw his face to hers. A long lingering kiss. Jesus, this woman was intensely sensual. Sandy felt his sporran shift from the pressure beneath it. They were interrupted by a judicious cough; a waiter bearing two menus:

-Good evening madame, sir. Can I get you drinks whilst you look at the menu?

He was young, just a teenager. Unlike most Greek waiters at home, there was no trace of the Aegean in the man's voice. Pure Canadian, as far as Sandy could judge. He waited for Vicky to order:

-Water for me please, please? Zaros. A litre.

-A half-carafe of house retsina for me please? And a small bottle of Zaros.

-Of course, madame, sir. But... - he peered at Sandy's lap - you're Scottish? Hey, welcome. Your drink orders will be here shortly.

Sandy turned to Vicky, squeezed her knee:

-What a lovely lad. The enthusiasm of youth is so invigorating, isn't it?

Her fingers returned his gesture deliberately, her eyes piercing his:

-The experience and wisdom of maturity can be at least as stimulating, don't you think Sandy?

-I'd like to explore that idea further with you tonight lass.

His fingers slid a few inches up her thigh, over the silkiness of her dress. Her eyes were a wicked glitter now:

-Maybe I'll let you, you evil man. I'm glad your flight was delayed. You've turned an ordinary evening into a special one.

*****

Well over an hour later, the couple wandered hand in hand back to Vicky's place. There was no rush. Both knew the inevitability of what was to come. She turned to him once the apartment door was firmly locked behind them:

-Go open the living room window and smoke your last cigarette of the night Sandy. Come into my bedroom when I call you.

And she swished into her room, closing the door behind her. He rolled his fag, opened the window wide, and looked out over lower buildings opposite, east to the deep gorge of the Don. Scots names were everywhere in Canada. A freight grinding up the gradient by the river broke the city evening hum with its mournful horn. He was strangely at peace in his over-tired condition, his body-clock five hours ahead of the relentless metronome of the grandfather clock. He was glad he wasn't sharing a room with the intrusive chronometer.

And strangely excited that tonight he would learn the secrets of this intriguing woman's body, knowing that in twenty-four hours he'd be in her daughter's cunt. He'd thought he had experienced every sexual depravity he wanted to explore, but this was completely new ground.

Not something he'd ever fantasised about, fucking both mother and daughter, until Melinda had told him something of her mother's sexual history, months previously. Sent him photographs of her. And arranged for him to stay with Vicky on his return home to Scotland. And now, he was about to experience the sensuous older woman before he'd even met his lover. The wee blue pill he'd taken with a last sip of water before they left the restaurant was at work. Hard at work...

Vicky's call broke his reverie. He stubbed out the fag, let the butt roll down the roof to the gutter. Closed the window. Stepped across the living room to her door:

-May I enter now Vicky?

-Right now, yes.

The door opened silently when he turned the handle.

The bed took up most of the room, wrought-iron head- and foot-boards casting strange shadows in flickering candlelight. She was naked on top of the quilt, slender pale body spreadeagled on her back, ankles secured by silk scarves to the corners of the foot-board. Her cunt glistened in the candlelight, an aroused pink flower between delicately haired pouting labia. One wrist was tied to the far corner of the headboard, and a scarf was attached to the free wrist. A blindfold concealed her eyes. Her body could have been that of a woman twenty years younger than he knew her to be. He was thrilled by the completely submissive presentation of herself; the most arousing piece of theatre he'd seen. He began to undress silently.

-Sandy?

-Yes Vicky?

His voice was different now, she knew from just these two words. She'd been aware of his power before, but until she'd entered her bedroom, it was she who'd been calling the shots. Now she knew she had measured him correctly. This was as it should be between man and woman; his new voice confirmed that. He was the right guy for her, for now.

-Undress, then come here.

He hung his kilt and shirt carefully. Stepped up to the bed, bent over her, now as naked as she was. His tumescence prodded her lips:

-Take my cock in your mouth, Vicky. Serve.

Fuck, his voice. Her soul melted. But she needed one more thing:

-Secure my free wrist to the bed-head. Then I can properly serve you.

She was his now, unable to prevent him doing as he wished. She was leaking from her arousal. Her lips opened as the aromatic glans touched, every remaining sense honed by her lack of sight.

He sighed as her lips closed round him, her skilled tongue teasing and twisting, seeking and finding every jangling nerve end with unerring accuracy. She would make him explode in seconds if he allowed this to continue. That wasn't what he sought. He withdrew from her mouth, watched as she tried to raise her head to follow him. She allowed herself to sink back on the pillow, blonde hair haloing her face. She knew exactly what she was doing. She knew precisely how to get what she needed, to arouse him beyond reason, make an animal of this man. Her voice trembled, the barest rasp in the awed silence of the night:

-Rape me.

A shiver ran through him. He'd never imagined he would hear these words. Was immobilised for slow seconds, the ticking of the clock in the next room a faint but relentless foundation for his rising lust. He moved silently to the foot of the bed. Knelt and took the big toe of her right foot in his mouth, sucking wetly. Watched her cunt spasm. He had her measure. Knelt between her immobilised legs, his dripping cockhead resting on her clit. Reared back, ready to plunge, to give her what she had asked for...

-Sandy. Wait. There's... there's something you should know about me... before... before you go any further.

-Yes?

She heard the ice in his voice. She should have told him before; hadn't had the courage. But she was now fairly certain, from careful questioning over dinner, that he was going to fuck her daughter. She couldn't do this to Melinda:

-I have... an infection, a virus. Not a dangerous one. But an inconvenient, and sometimes uncomfortable one. And it's incurable.

She felt him rise from the bed.

-Which virus?

His voice could have crushed granite.

-Genital herpes. So sorry. There are workarounds, however. I so want you.

Her voice was barely a whisper. He responded with barely-contained fury, his words clipped and cold:

-Jesusfuck Vicky, you could have told me before we got to this stage. I'm desperate for you after your... your piece of expert sexual theatre. Fucking cockteasing bitch. You planned the whole bloody thing, didn't you? Is this how you get your kicks? Well, here's what's happening. I could leave you tied to the bed. In fact, I could re-tie each fucking knot, so you'd never be able to get out of them. But you're Melinda's mother, and I couldn't do that to her. So...

He moved to the headboard and untied her wrists. Ripped the facemask off her head:

-I'm getting the fuck out of here. I'll find a hotel room and a whore to take care of my needs. After your performance, I can't not fuck some cunt tonight.

His eyes and words frightened the hell out of her. She had a long and varied sexual history, some of it unsavoury. She had suffered sexual and physical abuse at the hands of too many men. But she had never once in her life been as utterly terrified as she was now by this gentle caring man, with whom she'd shared the loveliest evening she'd enjoyed in a long time. She hadn't really thought it through, and regretted her impetuous behaviour. Still, she was so attracted to him, and wanted him to take over... just not like this.

He was releasing her ankles now, attempting to ignore the delicious aroma of her arousal as he bent over her torso. His cock remained rampant, dripping on her cunt as he loosed and released the knots:

-You're free now, slut. Get some fucking clothes on; I've seen and smelled enough of your temptation for tonight. Cover it.

-Sandy, please, listen to me...

He was buttoning his shirt, pulling on briefs and stockings, carefully arranging his kilt:

-Don't you think you've done enough for tonight, bitch? What the fuck is there to listen to? You've had your fucking prank. I've no intention of remaining the victim of your misandry. I'm off to find a hotel. Do you have a taxi number, please?

But despite the gravel in his voice, and the insolent way he spat out 'please', she noted that he hadn't yet moved toward the door. His eyes were still glowing with rage, but they were locked on hers.

-Look Sandy, please listen for a moment? Please? Five minutes, that's all. There are thousands of hotel beds in the city; hear me out, then go find one, and fuck a whore if you need to. But... I really, really hope you don't do that. I want you, are you listening? I want you. In me. And there are safe ways to do it. I...

He watched in amazement as her voice broke, and she dissolved into tears. He didn't understand why she'd behaved as she had, but realised that he'd misjudged what she was about, with him. His anger melted as quickly as it had flared; he sat beside her, his arm round her, cuddled her into him. He knew she'd had a hard life, had sacrificed much of herself for her children. And fuck, he wanted her. He lifted her chin, kissed her weeping face. Everywhere. Licking her tears, kissing her eyes, nose, eyebrows, cheeks, ears, down her surprisingly unwrinkled neck and throat... and her breasts. Fuck, her beautiful tits, medium-sized and surprisingly pert, almost as firm as his lost lover's had been, and she was fifteen years younger than Vicky. His teeth closed round a nipple, none too gently, and she moaned. They were different than Melinda's - Vicky had breastfed at least once, and it showed. He tugged more firmly, teeth sank deeper into the nipple. Her moans rose in pitch, became wails. Her hand took his, and placed it between her legs. Fuck, she was soaking, and getting wetter...

-Hurt me. Sandy. Take me. There are condoms in the drawer, get one on. There are no lesions just now, you're safe with a condom, I promise you. I know you're going to fuck my daughter - she felt his jolt at these words...

He released her. He undressed as she opened the drawer, extracted a condom, opened and unrolled it on his fiercely throbbing member. Felt in the drawer again, handed him a collar. Then nipple-clamps. All in silence.

His fingers trembled as he fastened the collar round her neck. It was precisely sized, closing with a small latch. Attached the clamps; vicious crocodile-clips whose serrated steel edges bit deep in her flesh. Panting, low wailing.

Fuck, she was perfect. He removed the strap from his sporran, showed it to her. It was part leather, part steel chain. She nodded. He raised the chain section before her eyes. Another nod.

-You sure, Vicky? You're collared. What's your safeword? It's the only thing that'll stop me.

-Melinda.

-Melinda's your safeword?

An emphatic nod. She lay back on the pillow, and the movement stretched her breasts. The wailing rose in pitch as the steel sank deeper into her nipples. Her face glowed. He knew where she was heading.

-Open your legs wide Vicky. You need punished for teasing your master.

His hand went again to her gaping cunt, labia engorged, clit erect. Fuck, just gorgeous. He knelt over her torso, arse to her face, and raised the sporran belt. Leather first...

Her hips jerked as it kissed her cunt harshly. The next stroke was harder, the next more vicious still. Her hips were writhing constantly now, so he could no longer aim accurately. His arm stilled. Not a sound from her except gaspy breathing.

When she ceased squirming, he used the chain end. One stroke. A long eerily high-pitched scream, hips twisting and jerking. And a long gush of fluid squirted from her cunt. He bent forward and licked the aromatic liquid from her belly and upper thighs. Ejaculate, not urine. She was so beautiful. He lifted himself off her, stood gazing at her face. Eyes open, only the whites showing. Her features a mask of tranquillity. He reached into his rucsac, withdrew the camera. Normally he asked permission before taking a photograph. With Vicky, he knew he didn't need to.

First shot was of her face. Her eyelids fluttered with the flash, and he really noticed her lashes for the first time. She might dye her hair out of vanity, but the lashes were naturally blonde. Slowly, her irises rolled down into view. Another photograph of her beautiful face as she emerged from wherever she'd been, her eyes smiling deep into his soul. He stood back, got his angle right, took a whole-body shot, bloated red cunt between legs spread wide, nipples distended by the wicked steel clamps.

He put the camera down carefully:

-Your master needs to fuck his slut now, Vicky. Rape you. Till you scream. Lift your arse, bitch.

She did, and he slid two pillows under the tightness of her buttocks. He'd have her arse later. Right now, he needed to plunder that hot swollen cunt. But the clamps had to come off before they did her permanent damage. She screamed as they released her nipples, blood rushing back into tortured veins.

He climbed onto her. She was his to use - she'd made that abundantly clear. He'd seldom in his life felt so aroused. Thrust his hips hard. She screamed as he sank into her remarkable tightness, gripping him almost as close as a virgin's arse.

And raped her brutally. Except it wasn't rape. She'd asked, no begged for this, and their needs were frenzied, wickedly in synchrony. He wasn't going to last, whispered that to her as his pelvis repeatedly crushed her clit. Her hips were thrusting up to his strokes, seeking release.

-Now. Bitch. Slut. Whore...

a syllable croaked with every lunge into her depths. He lost it, grunting, pummelling, not caring for Vicky or her needs. Total selfishness. And she responded in kind, a high ululating wail broken by her urgent movements as their loins sought release.

And found it in each other, fusion of two souls, violent contractions of muscles, internal detonations... till finally they lay quivering together, still welded, pouring sweat, gasping as their mouths sought each other, sustaining fading madness in mutual exchange of oxygen.

She smiled, the agonisingly beautiful face expressing ultimate physical and emotional satiation. Totally at peace. The face of a woman half her age. She made as though to speak, but his mouth closed on hers, imprisoning her thoughts:

-No words, darling.

They dozed together, still fused, till at length blood returned to their brains and he slipped from her. Moved onto his side, one arm round her back, the other feathering her face, soft whispers as he licked the shell of her ear, tracing her features as though to imprint them on his memory.

Her gentle breathing deepened. She was asleep. He lay with her, suffused in wonder at the beautiful, incomprehensible need that they'd shared, the awfulness of what he'd done to her, the profound masochism which drove her to lust for it. For as long as he lived, he'd never be able to understand the whys. He only knew the terrible beauty which could, once in a long while, be experienced with a similarly lost soul. Vicky and he had found and shared what they needed; a contact so rare that few could begin to imagine it. He reached to the foot of the bed, drew a richly imagined quilt over her grace.

*****

And woke to this goddess standing naked above him, studying him, sated, total contentment in her eyes. She nodded towards the bedside cabinet:

-Guessed you might want tea, being a wild Scotsman?

-You guessed right, my princess. Isn't that daft, that a lifelong Scots republican can't find a better word for his treasure of a woman?

Her laughter pealed through the morning, more melodious than the finest ring of bells in a medieval cathedral. She stilled slowly, quivering yet with aftershocks of mirth. Sank on the bed beside him, lifting the quilt away to expose him to her eyes, as she was already naked before his:

-Now Sandy, make love to this old woman, before you have to leave for Pearson, and the bus to take you to my daughter's bed tonight.

Wordlessly, he drew her to him. Whispered love as he licked her ear, laved her face with his tongue, kissed her eyebrows gently, fingers trembling on her erecting nipples, then down to her core as blood was drawn to their genitals, fuelling their rising needs. He rolled her onto her back:

-Condom, slut-lover. Nothing else, just you and me, and clinical protection for your daughter's health.

She started at this, his first admission that he was going to fuck her Melinda, but relaxed as quickly. It was inevitable, she knew. She rolled the condom on as the thoughts flashed through her mind.

His lithe body folded between her legs. He ached to taste her, but knew he couldn't. Raised her legs over his shoulders. And eased himself into her. Slow gentle loving movements, probing and seeking, moving her body so his rod was pulsing repeatedly against her spot.