Cultural Exchange

She lifted the duvet back off herself. She was naked, except for a wide smile. Paul's eyes took in the exquisite length of her: those long, long legs, pussy shaved smooth; flat tummy rising to those perky round tits. And her face, lit up in pleasure at his arrival. His dick was hard immediately, pressing against the rough towel.

She patted the bed beside her, and nodded to the space. "We might have all night, but don't just stand there. Come to me."

Paul was glad that his hindbrain took over, that something in his lizard cortex was still functioning, because all his conscious brain had the capacity for was to think 'wow', over and over again. How could he ever have thought Annabelle was her daughter? Sophie was... Just stunning. He only had Annabelle and Zee, and a few dirty magazines, for comparison - but there was no comparison. He took the few steps over to the bed, and just stood there, looking down at her.

"That looks uncomfortable," she said, reaching for the towel. "I don't think we'll be needing that anymore." And she pulled at a loose corner until the towel unravelled and fell away. His dick flicked up, standing hard and proud to his bellybutton. Sophie smiled, grabbing his arm, and pulling him forward onto the bed, on top of her.

Their bodies pressed together, skin to skin. Paul was deafened by his heartbeat, could feel her soft warm skin all along the length of him, his dick pressing into her hip, her legs starting to entwine with his. She looked up at him, had her hand in his hair, and pulled him in for a kiss.

Their lips touched, and time stopped. Sophie moistened both their lips with her tongue, and pressed harder against his mouth... And he flinched.

"Ow! Shit, sorry. Still so sore."

Sophie looked briefly disappointed, but it passed quickly. "Sorry I hurt you. But never mind. It's not your mouth I want, anyway." She rolled him onto his back, gently kissed his cheek, then started to slowly kiss her way down his neck, over to his chest. Her fingers were already making a trail across his abdomen, teasing his nipple, then walking further down.

"There's no rush," she said. "You can sleep tomorrow, on the plane." She licked his nipple, rolled it between her lips, as her fingers finally reached his cock. "And I'm under strict orders to make sure you stay awake after your concussion." Her lips traced a path down to his stomach, and further.

Paul had been lost for words; fortunately, they didn't seem necessary. And then conversation became impossible, as Sophie's mouth had more important things to do, and Paul was incapable of anything except moaning, gasping and growling.

Sophie had real talent orally, he thought. Annabelle had been all urgency, trying to bring him off as quickly as she could. Zee had been very talented, but Paul was already so far gone by the time she'd started that he didn't get to fully appreciate that talent. But Sophie... She kissed him, gently; licked and stroked and teased him, watching his reactions and adapting her technique based on how loud he moaned or how deep he growled. Her hands roamed his abdomen as she worked her mouth over him; sometimes nails dragged over skin, sometimes fingertips brushing lightly, sometimes circling over his inner thighs.

He could feel his release approaching. "It's not going to be long now," he said.

Sophie nodded; lips tight around him. She knew, she could taste how close he was. "Come for me," she said. "In my mouth." And she resumed her slow, tortuous stimulation.

It was building, slowly but surely. He looked down at her; cheeks sucked in; eyes wide, red lips wrapped tightly around him. Felt her nakedness pressing against his legs; firm breasts on his thigh. The pleasure and anticipation just kept building, until he thought he'd pass out. It had never felt this intense before... Then, with a jerk, it was happening. He came, harder than he could remember ever coming before, legs twitching almost uncontrollably as he filled her mouth. He could feel her, humming her delight, drinking him down, watching his pleasure.

At first, he wondered if he would ever stop coming. But eventually his balls had to relent, and he lay on the bed, panting, his softening cock slipping from her lips.

"Fuck," was all he had the capacity to say.

Sophie smiled, slithered back up the bed, and draped herself across him. She stroked his chest as she spooned into his side, gently kissed the side of his face.

"Thank you, for taking a stand for me."

Paul looked down at her, amazed. He hadn't done it for the reward. "I hate bullies." He put an arm round her, stroked along her arm, trying to assure himself this was real. She fitted against him so perfectly.

"Well, you are very sweet. One day you will make someone very happy. I hope for you that it is soon."

Samantha. She means Samantha, he realised. For the first time, he struggled to picture her. He'd held that torch for so long. Maybe too long. What was the point in holding out? He'd missed his chances with Zee, had actively turned down a sure thing, not once but twice - although her brazenness had scared the hell out of him. As in his dream, he wouldn't make that mistake again.

"I want to do something for you," he said. "Show me. Show me how to please you."

She looked down at his dick. "I think it's a little soon for that."

Paul shook his head. "Not what I meant. And I'm afraid my mouth is too sore. But I have these," and he wiggled his long fingers at her. "Show me how to use them."

"With pleasure," she said, and guided them between her legs.

"No rush," she said. "Take your time, be gentle, until I demand more. Like this," she said, placing her fingers over his, showing him how to touch her, where, how to move, how much pressure to apply. "Watch," she encouraged him. Paul raised his head, shuffled down the bed for a better look at her pussy, easier follow what was happening.

Her lips and folds were slick with juices; his fingers slid effortlessly over the frictionless surface. She was a deeper red inside, like a rose whose outer petals had faded in the sunlight. But no rose had ever been this soft. She drew his fingers through her slit, drew back her lips and teased his fingertips over her clit. "There, right there," she said. "Firm but gentle, over and over, yes... Yes, just like that... Oh, oh, oh..." With her hands she pulled herself open for him, left him to touch her unaided. "A little firmer now, no not too fast, just keep that rhythm. Mmmm,..." then she started to mumble under her breath, light words, in French, as he stroked her, over and over.

After a while, she could tell his fingers were getting tired. Maybe a change would stop him cramping.

"Okay, now stroke a finger through me. Up and down... that's it, draw it through me and over - merde! - yes and back down, just curling your finger, up and down..."

Her eyes rolled back. He could feel her getting even wetter. Longed to plunge his fingers onto her warm depths; the urge was almost unbearable, but knew he must wait for her command.

"You have two hands, yes?"

He moved, tracing fingertips over her thighs.

"No, up here," and she drew his hand to her breast. He cupped her, felt the soft flesh give in his hands, stroked the skin, felt her heart beating in her chest.

She took his hand, brought his fingers to her lips, sucked them into her wet mouth, then drew them back to her nipple, making him stroke the dampness over her there in rhythm with those between her legs. She gasped as he caught the nipple, flooding more.

"Blow on it," she said; the cool air made the nipple hard, more sensitive, as he took more saliva and painted her areola with it.

She was so wet now that his other fingers were scooping into her; there was no resistance left. Her panting called to his animal nature; on the next slide, his two middle fingers slid half into her.

"Ah, oui, oui," she moaned. And the next time, he slid his fingers a little deeper, then back up over her clit; again, and again, until he had nothing left to give.

Her eyes were closed now; she cupped her own breast, stroking her nipple with her thumb. "Curl your fingers slightly," she ordered. "Pull them along the front of me as you slide out."

Her back arched the first time he did so; she raised and bent her legs, feet flat to the mattress. Now he could work his fingers deeper. He stopped withdrawing; instead he brought his other hand down, teasing her clit with the one as he worked inside with the other.

"Oh, oh, oh," she panted, taking shallow breaths, face and chest flushed, legs starting to twitch. Paul was wet to his wrist, his cock achingly hard, but that would have to wait.

She opened her eyes. "Harder," she demanded. He pushed his hand deeper with each stroke, finding her limits, brushing her cervix with his fingertips.

"More! Faster!"

The time for delicacy was clearly over. Paul stiffened his fingers and started to drive them into her, his palm slapping into her clit with each powerful stroke.

"Faster!" She demanded. His wrist a blur, his eyes torn between her panting face, bouncing tits and soaking pussy, he drove her towards her inevitable climax.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK! Fuck!" She was splashing, squirting jet after jet over his hand, folding herself up into a sitting position, her pussy convulsing round his fingers. "Stop, stop, please!" Paul slowed the pace, but kept his fingers inside her, not wanting to lose this feeling, as the ring of muscles grabbed at him, juices running over his palm and knuckles. He looked at her with adoration in his eyes; she looked back, somewhat unfocused, with pure lust. "And that is how you make a woman come," she said, falling back against the pillows, and pulling his head onto her chest.

That was amazing, he thought. It was the first time he'd really felt like a man, having brought so much pleasure to a woman. He wanted so badly to see that look in her eyes again. His fingertips trailed across her glowing skin, skimming her breasts, her waist, her hips.

Her hand mirrored his, trailing down his chest, over his abs, and lower. She took him in hand. "That feels painfully hard. Let me soothe it for you."

"But haven't you just..."

"I can keep going all night. Girls' privilege. And after coming like that, this is the best time for you." She pushed him up onto his arms. "Take me. Now."

"Do you have any... you know..." he nodded down to his dick.

"Condoms?" She was amused. Even now - naked, towering over her, having brought her so spectacularly with his fingers, he was still so shy. "No need. I'm on the pill. Now, don't make me beg."

He climbed over her leg and knelt between her thighs. He glanced down to position himself.

"No, look at me as you go in," she begged. "I'll help you." And she took his cock, brought it to her entrance, guided him in.

He slid into her, just the tip. Warm, wet. One, together. Home.

She gasped, feeling him stretch her back open, still pulsing from the come down from the previous orgasm.

He watched her snatch a breath; eyes smiling, then her mouth joined them.

"Oh, yes..." She took his butt in her hands, pulled him into her. She watched his face as he slid deeper inside her - lust, wonder, pleasure.

Paul didn't even attempt to talk. Words no longer had any meaning. All that remained was to feel, and to watch her. He lay across her, touching from chest to knee; felt her mould to him, breasts flattened against his chest. He began to move, sliding back and forth inside her, almost overwhelmed by the sensations. Yet, incredible though this was, he couldn't help but feel there was more.

"Up on your arms," she pleaded.

Dammit, I must be crushing her, he realised. Ten stone weakling as he was, he knew he wouldn't be able to take his weight on his forearms for long - but given how amazing his cock felt inside her, it would probably be for long enough. As he raised himself, she shifted her thighs out and up, so he took more of his weight on his knees. With his next thrust, he found he had so much more to give, and pushed deeper inside until the root of him was flush against her.

"Better," she said, although whether a question or a compliment he couldn't tell. He was too busy trying to hold himself back from the impending explosion.

"Drive hard, and come for me," she begged.

"Come with me," he pleaded. But she just smiled, stroking his chest.

His orgasm was now inevitable, so he thrust for all he was worth, watching her breasts ripple with each roll of his hips; then he was lost, fire burning from his loins into her core. He let out a primal cry, as his arms gave way and he collapsed onto her.

"Did you?" He asked, knowing in his heart he hadn't brought her, feeling like a disappointment to her.

She just kissed his forehead. "We have all night." She rolled him off her, and snuggled up to his side.

Later, moving together, they had the conversation they should have had after karaoke. As he moved gently inside her, Paul asked why she'd slapped him. "I thought you hated me for taking advantage."

"It ws JP. He saw us, and was not impressed. I didn't want him reporting me to Mum. I thought if I ended it, he'd keep quiet. Then... I should have said something to you. But then you started acting all weird to me." Now of course she realised what her mother had been up to, and that Paul had been getting mixed signals, not understanding what was actually happening. Never for a moment had he considered the possibility that it was Annabelle visiting him at night, not Sophie.

The cycle of confusion had continued all week, keeping them apart and out of sync with each other. What a wasted opportunity! So, they made up for it, for the rest of the night. Soft words, gentle hands caressing willing flesh. Paul watched her ride him as dawn broke, buried deep inside her, grinding her pelvis over his, until his final orgasm brought her for the last time before exhaustion finally claimed them.

///

Annabelle had waited until nearly midday before daring to rouse them; they needed to be back at college by 2pm ready for the coach to take them to the airport.

They all came to wave him off, to say goodbyes as the class were boarding the coach.

"Good luck buddy." JP shook his hand, then pulled him in and slapped his back. "Hope you learned a few things on your trip."

"Did I ever." He turned to Annabelle. "Thank you for having me," he said, not noticing the double entendre until the words had already left his mouth.

She hugged him, whispering in his ear "I'm sorry I took advantage of you."

"Don't be; I'm not," he replied.

He turned to Zee. He realised that he didn't even know her real name, but the moment to ask had long passed. "Thank you, so much, for bringing me out of myself," he said. "I owe you a debt I can never repay."

Zee punched his arm, playfully. "Just go get her. Don't let me down."

Finally, there was Sophie. There were no words; they just hugged for the longest time, then gently brushed lips before pulling apart. They'd said all there was to be said, in word and deed, the night before. She messed his hair, playfully, then stepped back.

"Au revoir!" He waved, climbing up the coach steps. "I'll write!" He hoped that wasn't an empty promise.

He waved again, as the coach pulled away, and wiped away the tears; thinking of the difference they'd made to his life in just a week, and knowing he'd likely never see any of them again.

///

THE FLIGHT HOME

A couple of hours into the flight, and it was dark; the crew tacitly encouraging the passengers to sleep, as they were easier to deal with that way.

Paul couldn't sleep on the plane. Too noisy, too cold, and the movement troubled him. He'd been dumped in the back row, no-one wanting to sit with him. But he was used to that and appreciated the time by himself. He'd taken the window seat so he could look out as they flew over the city, leaving the aisle empty. But now the blinds were closed, and there was nothing to see out there in the darkness of the mid-Atlantic, so he left the overhead spot switched on and continued with his reading. He was travelling home with some interesting memories, at least.

"Hey," said a voice. Paul looked up, and was somewhat surprised to see Samantha standing in the aisle beside him. "Mind if I join you?"

He sighed, braced for more teasing; yet he had hoped for this chance to talk to her properly. "Sure, go ahead." As ever, his emotions were torn - waiting for the abuse, but still thrilled she was next to him. She looked perfect as ever; a form-fitting top that stretched over her curves, and a short miniskirt.

"Thanks. I wanted to talk to you," she said. Paul looked sceptical. "No really, properly talk, while the others are asleep."

I understand. You wouldn't want them to catch you talking to me. "Okay."

"That was a really nice thing you did for Sophie last night," she said.

"I shouldn't have got involved."

"Well I'm glad you did. It really pisses me off when boys think it's such a joke to go around groping us. Like, we have feelings too, y'know?" She paused for a beat. "So, from womankind, thank you. I think you're very kind."

"It was nothing. And I'm used to getting beaten up."

"I don't think that's fair either. You're so sweet." And she leant over, and kissed him, on the cheek.

Paul froze. She kissed me. Samantha kissed me. On the cheek.

He turned to look at her, stunned.

"What?" she asked, confused.

"You... Kissed me," he said.

"It was part of the thank you."

Paul was trembling, terrified of what would happen next. Would she accuse him of something, cause a scene and get him in trouble? Was this going to be the next joke that went around the year group?

"Yeah I'm a bit cold, too," Samantha said, noticing him shaking but not understanding why.

Paul snapped back into reality. I'm not surprised you're cold, he thought, you're hardly wearing anything and this aircon is brutal. He could see goosebumps all up her arms, her things, her cleavage... Got to stop looking there before she slaps me. "Would you like my blanket?" he offered.

"We can share it," she said, and pulled it round them both. Paul was equal parts freaked out and pleased - they were under the same cover! But at least he was no longer distracted by all that skin on display.

"I'm sorry we've been such bitches to you. I get it, you're just trying to be nice, trying to be a good boy, but the others can find that so bloody infuriating. I'll see if I can get them to leave you alone."

"Thanks." Paul kept his eyes forward.

"What's wrong?" Samantha sounded concerned. "Paul, look at me, what's wrong?"

"I..."

Then realisation dawned. The songs, the nervousness, the avoidance... "Oh, my god. You like me, don't you." There was no answering that. "Shit, we all thought you fancied Izzy! Or you were gay, and had no interest in any of us. But that's not it, is it? It's me, isn't it." She blushed, and that made her look all the cuter. Paul found it almost unbearably attractive. "Fuck, fuck, fuck! God, I'm such an idiot! That's why you won't talk to me." A beat. "Please, look at me. I'm so sorry if I've scared you. But I'm just a person, like you. I'm a no-good fucked-up stupid girl just trying to get through each day."

"You're beautiful," Paul muttered, before he could stop himself.

"Say what?"

Maybe the plane would crash, right now, and this would never have mattered, Paul thought. But traitorously, the plane continued on, smoothly, not even a flicker of turbulence. Well, fuck it, he thought. There's no-one here to tease him now, it was just the two of them, and he was sure she'd already heard.

"You're the most beautiful girl I have ever met. I've wanted you since we were fourteen and I still can't believe you're still here talking to me."

"I am not beautiful," she said. "I'm fat and I'm freckly and my hair is a mess and..."