Cultural Exchange

"Your pussy's gonna be sore too in a minute," Simon said, pushing her back against the lockers and grabbing one of her tits with his spare hand, pulling the top down to expose her. She cried out, ashamed and frightened. Paul grabbed Simon by the shoulder, tried to pull him round and away from her, but Simon was so much stronger than he was. He grabbed Paul's hand, effortlessly lifted it off his shoulder, and started to squeeze, crushing his fingers.

"Oh, look at me, the big star," he minced, throwing his voice high-pitched in mockery. "Aren't I the greatest; love me! Please don't hurt me, I'm such a pussy!" Then he let his voice drop back to normal. "You just don't know when to quit, do you?" Simon taunted. Paul didn't see the swing coming; he just doubled over in pain and collapsed to his knees. "Now, where was I?"

Through hazy eyes, Paul watched Simon groping Sophie, pulling at her skirt, unzipping his trousers. But he couldn't breathe. "Help me..." he whispered, pathetically, using up what little air he still had. His brain swam in panic. This is how I'm going to die, he realised. On a school floor in Canada while my bully rapes my friend. He begged his stunned diaphragm to move, but it had checked out for the duration.

He looked back up, Sophie was scratching his face, trying to claw his eyes, but he grabbed her wrists and pinned her arms over her head. He stood too close for her to get her knee near his balls.

Do something, you pathetic loser, Paul urged himself. He managed to stand. Head swimming, he dragged in the shallowest of breaths. He stumbled towards Simon, who was so busy with Sophie he didn't even realise he was there.

"Fuck... You..." Paul managed, falling onto Simon, trying to push him away.

Simon bared his teeth. A fist was pulled back, then came at Paul's face faster than he could think. There was an explosion in his mouth, and his head snapped back into the lockers. Then blackness.

///

Samantha stood, stunned, unable to move. She'd come out to use the toilet, heard the commotion and came around the corner to see a winded Paul trying to stop Simon assaulting that infuriating French girl. Only when she watched Paul's head bounce off the metal and then slide to the floor did she run back towards the hall, seeking help.

///

Zee laid back, watching the hunk ploughing into her. The little party with the band had got her engine running, and when this buff British dude complimented her on her earlier dance efforts, she wanted to thank him. Perched on the edge of teacher's desk, holding her skirt up out of the way, she let him take her roughly, with no skill but plenty of urgency. At least he had a big cock.

Just as she was starting to get into it, feeling his rhythm and riding that wave towards her first orgasm, there was a loud crash from outside in the corridor. She thought she'd heard talking, but had ignored it while in the throes of passion.

"Hurry, I think someone's coming," she said.

"Yeah... Me..." said the guy. She didn't even know his name.

Then she heard a scream, and more shouting. Sophie's voice.

"Sorry, gotta go," she said, pushed him off her and ran for the door.

She took in the scene at a glance. Paul, unconscious and bleeding; Sophie, pinned by her wrists with her tits exposed; and some slimy fucker in front of her, obscenely pleased with himself.

Zee may have been short, but she was not timid. "Get off her, you fucker," she said, dragging Simon round and punching him in the chest. He reeled slightly, stumbling away from Sophie. Before he could regain his balance, Zee had her leg under his ankles, and he fell to the floor. While he was stunned, she flipped him onto his stomach and sat on his back, grabbing a fistful of his hair, ready to smash his face into the concrete if he so much as breathed in a way she didn't like. "Just try it, asshole," she growled.

"Thanks," Sophie panted, pulling her top back over herself.

"Don't mention it. Is he okay?" Zee nodded to Paul. There was blood all down his white dress shirt, and he still wasn't moving.

"I think so. He's breathing, anyway. Bastard winded him then smacked him in the mouth. Bless him, he was trying to protect me."

Simon fought, cursing like a sailor, but couldn't flip Zee off his back. It was just a matter of moments before Mr Martin and several of the local teachers came rushing down the corridor to take charge of the situation.

"Paul? Paul?" Sophie shook him, and slowly his eyes cracked open. He looked confused, but his pupils were even. No concussion, probably.

"Are you okay?" he asked her. "Sorry, I couldn't..."

"Am I okay?" She laughed. "That fucker didn't hurt me. Are you okay?"

Paul tried to stand up, but his legs weren't co-operating yet. "No," he admitted. "Give me a moment."

The teachers wanted to talk to them all, but it was clear what had happened. Zee, Sophie and Samantha's account of the incident all tallied well enough. Paul wasn't really in a fit state to be questioned. And Simon... His testimony was inconsistent and dubious at best, notwithstanding he was roaring drunk.

"You're in a whole world of trouble, boy," Mr Marin said. "I'll be reporting this to the head and the governors when we get back. Miss, do you want to press charges?"

Sophie shook her head. The last thing she wanted was for him to remain in Canada any longer than necessary. "No. Take him home with you, I don't want to ever see him again."

///

Mr Martin wanted Paul to get checked out in the hospital, but he insisted he felt fine. He didn't want to be held up in Canada either. And it was hardly the first time he'd had his lights knocked out by Simon or his cronies. "I'll be fine, sir. I just want to go home." Whether he meant back to JP and Sophie's house, or back to England, he didn't clarify. But Mr Martin was content to release him into Zee and Sophie's care.

They bundled into Zee's VW Beetle and left the prom; none of them wanting to stay any longer. JP was staying at Kat's tonight, so they didn't need to hunt him down. Paul lay across the back seat, slightly dizzy but recovering. He'd wiped the blood from his face - he'd cut his lips on his teeth, but fortunately none of them were loose. The shirt, however, was a dead loss, and the cummerbund probably was too; the suit might come good with some dry-cleaning, if he could find the money.

It was about ten minutes' drive back to Sophie's house from the school. Sophie kept turning around to check on him; he seemed fine, but quiet; withdrawn. Understandable, she supposed.

They drew up outside, and Zee killed the engine. "Do you want me to come in?"

"No, I think we'll be fine."

"You sure?" she waggled her eyebrows, nodded to the back seat. Remember our conversation, she implied; last chance for that threesome?

"This is hardly the time," Sophie said. "Besides, Mama will be wondering what on earth happened, and she won't leave us be." She leant over, kissed Zee on the lips. "Thank you again, babe. I'll see you on Monday."

They unfolded Paul from the back seat, and he put an arm over Sophie's shoulders to help him walk in. Annabelle met them on the porch, having heard the noisy Beetle pulling up. "Mon dieu, what happened?" she asked. Sophie relayed the whole story. "And you are okay, you're sure?" she asked.

"I'll be fine, Mama," she replied. "I don't let scum like that get to me. It's him I'm more worried about."

"Such a brave little man, looking out for my daughter," and she kissed him on the top of his head. "Thank you." Then she continued talking to Sophie. "He'll need to be checked in the night," Annabelle said.

"I'll be fine," Paul tried to assure them. "I just want to rest. Please, don't fuss over me."

They took him up to his room, made him take off his outer clothes and shirt before he climbed into the bed.

"Are you sure?" Annabelle asked him.

"Yes, I'll be fine. I'll see you in the morning."

"Goodnight."

///

She lay in bed, thinking about him. Thinking of how brave he was to stand up to the bullies to protect a girl he hardly knew. And of how, after tomorrow, she'd never see him again. Of how he'd felt when she'd touched him before. Of her need, her burning desire to be touched by him again.

She needed to check that he was okay, in any case. So she left her room, walked across the landing to his. Opened his door, slipped inside, and closed it again.

She saw his prone naked body in the darkness, admired him standing tall and proud, as if waiting for her. She thought of the nights she'd wasted not having done this with him already. No more. Sucking him off hadn't been enough. This was her last chance; tonight, she'd give him all of her.

She licked her lips, moved towards the bed, climbed onto it. She threw one leg over him, mounted him reverse-cowgirl style, grabbed his cock and lowered herself over him.

///

Paul held her hips tight, and ploughed into her, watching himself in the toilet mirror. He'd learned from his mistake, and so this time, he'd succumbed to Zee's temptation. She was screaming in pleasure, telling the world about how this was the biggest cock she'd ever taken. Then Paul noticed that the mirror above the sink was actually a window, and they were on a stage looking through at a huge audience. His Mum was in the front row, sadly shaking her head; Mr Martin was next to her, looking at his watch, as if bored. The door to the toilet opened, and Sophie stormed in, wearing full French-maid get-up. "What the hell are you doing?" She pushed Paul aside, pulling him out of Zee with a 'pop', then fell to her knees and sank his well-lubed cock deep into her tight throat.

His eyes flicked open. It was dark. And there was someone on the bed! He watched the blonde lowering herself over his aching cock. Slim hips snaked down as she guided him into her wet waiting pussy. At last!

"Oh fuck," he said, watching her back, as she rolled her pelvis and leant forward. Driving herself onto and over him. He caught a glimpse of the side of her tits, swaying as she worked herself over him, head down as she gasped and groaned. She said no words, just moaned in pleasure.

So this is sex, he thought. He felt so right, inside her. Her mouth had been magical - warm, with teeth to tease and a tongue to roll around and over him. But this... This was so obviously right. Where he was meant to be. She enveloped him, held him tight yet gently, with warm slippery flesh that moulded to his every contour and vein. He never wanted to leave. She touched every part of him in a way he'd never been touched before.

Paul ran his hands across the cheeks of her arse as they splayed around him; over the smoothness of her hips and round her narrow waist. He drew his fingers back down her spine, and heard her purr, clamping her cunt tighter around him. He watched her take a hand and bring it to herself; felt her fingers brush his balls as she teased at her clit.

"Turn around," he pleaded. "I want to watch your face." But she shook her head, and started bouncing her arse over him, slapping herself onto his cock, moaning and driving herself into a fury.

Paul wasn't sure how much more of this he could take. Should he warn her he was going to come? They weren't using any protection. What if she got pregnant, and he was back in England? He had to say something. "I..."

But then the door opened. "Paul? Are you awake? I just wanted to check you were... Merde! Mama!"

It was Sophie at the door, looking like a wet dream in red negligee. Which meant...

Paul felt her pussy clench, felt her jump and fall off him and drag the duvet over herself. It was, of course, Annabelle. He'd been fucking Sophie's mother! And that was the moment his balls boiled over, his first jerk flicked a stream of come high into the air that landed in a rope across his chest, and the rest drizzled out of his pulsating cock and pooled in his pubic hair.

"Please, Sophie, let me explain..." Annabelle began, but Sophie screamed back at her, in French so thick and fast Paul had no hope of working out what they were saying. They stood, inches apart, screaming into each other's faces. Like he wasn't there. Then Sophie stormed out, and Annabelle followed her, and he was alone.

Shit, he thought. Shit, shit, shit.

At least he was going home tomorrow.

He looked down at himself, ashamed. How could he not have realised? They were of similar stature, but seriously? He'd spent all that time with Sophie. How could he not realise it wasn't her? Then another thought: had it ever been Sophie? Was it Annabelle all along, each night? Fuck me, that would explain a lot. That's why she'd not turned around, never let him see her face. She was ashamed! It was why Sophie had acted so differently to him during the days from the nights - because it had never been her at night to begin with. She probably didn't think of him that way at all. She was just being nice, showing him the sights of Toronto and Niagara, and he'd completely misread the situation. #

Although if that were so, what was with the sex kitten outfit?

He ran his hand over his face, trying to wipe off some of the tiredness and shame. Brushed over his mouth and winced, opening the wound again and starting to bleed a little. He looked down over his cum-soaked body, at his softening dick still oozing into his pubes.

I gotta go clean up, he realised, before that dries in and knots my hair to shit.

///

Sophie had fussed around her room, fretting, arguing with herself. She imagined Zee laughing at her, finding the indecision funny. "What's your problem," she imagined her saying. "He's cute, he likes you, you clearly like him. And what's the worst that can happen? Turns out he's shit in bed and he goes home tomorrow, you come round here and we down a bottle of vodka and have a right laugh about it."

He was cute, too.

She admitted to herself that she fancied him, had since she watched him on stage at the karaoke. So confident, so smooth, and such fun to be with. She remembered how their bodies had moved together as they sang, and as the memories rolled, she slipped her hand between her legs. In her mind, the fantasy expanded; not only did he cup her tits, but he turned her round and lifted her top off, kissed her down her neck and over her tits, perched her onto a table, and took her right there, the crowd cheering them on... The orgasm rolled over her, a quick dirty surprise. She lay back on the bed, slowing the pace with her fingers, but not stopping.

Then there was Niagara; she was so happy to share her past stories with him. And then his sadness, as he lost his Mum's camera with all his memories on it. Well, not all. She reckoned some of his best memories of the trip were too private be captured on film. And with that thought, she realised she'd made up her mind. She wanted to be one of those memories.

He'd stood up for her, against that evil bastard. Even winded, choking for breath, he'd tried to pull the shithead away from her. Her heart had gone to him. Such a kind, sweet guy. Such a hero. Such a sweetheart. Such a poor lost little boy, hopeless when it came to talking with girls. Except for her. And Zee, of course, but then that was Zee all over.

She fished through her nightwear, looking for something appropriate. Something deliciously inappropriate, rather. If she was doing this, she was going all-in. A bright red thong, a wisp of thin red satin, and a nightie that was mostly lace, ribbon, and holes. She'd walk in there, pretending to check he wasn't concussed, and she'd take him. If he hadn't come before she settled onto him then she wasn't trying hard enough.

She cracked open her door. With JP out at Kat's, as long as they didn't wake Mama, they could be as freaky as they liked. Gently, she turned the doorknob and pushed her way in.

He lay on the bed, awake, and turned to look at her. Emotions flashed across his face - surprise, delight... And panic. She pushed the door further, looking down across his chest... And found her mother, naked, riding him, chest heaving as the orgasm spilled through her.

Sophie was screaming; in her fury reverting to her native French. Probably for the best, she thought; Paul doesn't need to hear this.

"What the actual fuck are you doing?"

Leaping off him, she grabbed at the duvet to cover herself. "Sophie, please, I..."

"You what? You slut. He's young enough to be your son!"

"I know! I know, I shouldn't have... But fuck, Sophie, it's been so long. Your father..."

"Oh no, don't you dare bring him into this." She stormed out of the room and down the stairs to the living area, but Annabelle followed her.

"Listen! He's never here! Always away on business, and I know he's got a sidepiece over there. Sophie!"

Sophie stopped, shaking. Her own mother. Jesus.

"Please, baby girl, come here." Annabelle wasn't screaming, now. "I know it's wrong, and I'm ashamed. But I was so very, very horny. And he was just here, you know? So young, so virile... I couldn't help myself. I couldn't just lie in bed, knowing he was here, knowing what we could be doing."

Despite herself, Sophie found it hard to argue with that. Hadn't she just been about to do exactly the same?

"Look, mum. I have no problem with you having a boyfriend. As long as you and Father are honest with each other about it. But please, someone a little closer to your own age."

They hugged. Annabelle stroked her back, grateful for the forgiveness. But couldn't stop herself from teasing her daughter.

"Just what were you doing, though, sneaking into his room?"

"Aren't you supposed to check concussion victims in the night, to make sure they're still okay."

"Uh-huh. And dressed like that?"

Sophie smiled. "Well, I needed to make sure his reactions were still normal."

Annabelle laughed. "Well, have fun, but stay safe. I'm off to my room, and I'm gonna put my earplugs in. And perhaps something else."

"Ewww!" But they laughed, and her mother went back upstairs.

Sophie went to the kitchen, poured herself a large glass of cool white wine from the fridge, downed it in one. Shit, what an evening. And what a night there was still ahead.

///

Paul shook the water from his head, rubbed his hands over his face and pushed the hair back out of his eyes. No tell-tale red stream ran down his body; his mouth still burned, and his jaw, lips and cheeks ached like a bastard, but it seemed the bleeding had now stopped. He'd cleaned himself off - no more nasty matted hair anywhere, all his bits and bobs freshened up - so he turned off the shower, and stood to drip-dry for a moment; puffing water away from his face, scraping his hands down his arms, chest and legs. For a guy who'd entered puberty late, he sure was hairy. He just wished it'd grow on his face as well as his orang-utan arms and legs.

Nobody had disturbed him in the shower this time. He had to admit he was somewhat disappointed, but not particularly surprised. Sophie and her mum had been tearing verbal lumps out of each other when he'd drowned them out with rushing water; but now, as he dragged rough towels over himself, he could hear nothing. Either they'd settled their differences, or they'd killed each other. Whatever had gone down, he'd only have to spend a few hours in their company tomorrow morning before heading back to the college to get the coach back to Pearson Airport. After that, he'd never have to see them again.

He dropped the wet towel into the wicker hamper, and took another to wrap around himself for the trip back to his room. He felt oddly reluctant to walk around the house naked, despite having been seen nude by all the women living here. He tucked the towel into itself and cracked the door open. Nobody about. He tiptoed across to his room, and opened the door.

The room was lit by candlelight; Sophie was snuggled under the duvet, just her head and arm visible. She raised her finger to her lips - sssh! - and beckoned him in. Paul gently closed the door behind him, then turned to face her, agog.