Journey into Melanie's Reality Ch. 05

Author's note: As with all chapter stories, it will help you to follow this if you read the previous chapters, though it might work as a standalone.

My thanks to my muse, without whom this wouldn't have been written; to raconteuse for her most competent editing, and to my readers for their continuing support, and encouraging posts and emails.

I hope you all enjoy this. The sixth and final chapter is being edited, and will be posted as soon as it's ready.

*****

He wondered about the evening as he walked back to the hotel. To his surprise, he wasn't in the slightest bit jealous of Melanie. Knew he would've been if he'd left her with an attractive man though. Probably couldn't have done that. He examined the rationale of her near-encouragement for him to fuck Karen, and could only conclude that it was an edge of her masochism. How would she have really felt, watching his cock sink into Karen? He was very glad he hadn't accepted his publisher's invitation to sex.

For once, he was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

Sexscent intruded on his forgotten dream. His eyes flickered open. Focused on wet cunt hovering over his face. Melanie. His arms moved, drew her into contact with his mouth. Lapped and suckled, adoring her, her need, her everything... She bucked and twisted on his face, wanking her clit on his nose, hard. His beard was sodden with her orgasm. She squirmed off him, wriggled into his arms, wet crotch on his thigh. He glanced at the clock; two-thirty am:

-So my love, a pleasant evening?

Her lashes fluttered at him, almost coy:

-Very pleasant darling. She's a remarkable woman. Perhaps a new friend, though I'm not sure about that....

-And lover, mayhap?

He knew he shouldn't have asked so blatantly, couldn't help himself. She'd tell him everything in her own time:

-Sorry sweet, I shouldn't have asked...

-Dill! I know your curiosity is raging... the answer's... sort of.

-A sort-of lover? What's that when it's at home darling?

-Um, well, she invited me to her place... seems she lives near where we were. I turned her down, not because I didn't want her, but because I didn't want you waking alone. So she asked if she could come back here. I thought about that, very carefully... but said no. If she'd come here you wouldn't have been able to resist her, and you'd decided, determined, not to have sex with her. I didn't trust her not to tempt you... and knew you would succumb if she did. Christ, I wanted her, though...

He feathered the fine down in the small of her back:

-You still haven't explained sort-of lover?

-Um. We were both desperate... we got each other off, just fingers, in the toilet... jesus, so deliciously dirty... never in my life done that before... a fitting aftermath to our beachfuck.

-Never had sex in a toilet darling? What about our trainfuck? Or had you forgotten that in your excitement...

-No love, hadn't forgotten. How could I? But this was different. By the time we wanked each other I'd realised I didn't like her very much. That I was driven by pure sexual excitement... and need. I'm amazed you could resist her when she was yours to take.

Her mouth closed on his, long and wanting. Her hips moved against his thigh. He licked her eyes, her brow:

-How interesting. Maybe next time we meet her, my resolve will waver... she's certainly a bundle of unbridled lust. I was close to orgasm just watching you dance with her.

She pushed him gently from her face, her liquid brown eyes in his:

-Darling, there won't be a next time. Well, not on this trip. She's on holiday when you leave Sydney. Sorry, looks like you missed your chance with her.

He knew his face must have fallen, tried to rescue the situation:

-Sweetness, you know I want only you...

-I know you're a poor liar, sweetness. But now, I need cock. Yours. Lie back.

Her tone brooked no refusal... as if he could refuse her. He obeyed.

She fucked him. Used him for her own pleasure, as a man might a woman. After her fifth orgasm, she whispered:

-Um, and you might have realised I smoked some weed with her...

-I'd worked that out by your third. Now, my turn to fuck you. Need to spunk in your cunt. On your back woman.

She squirmed onto her back, raised her legs so her sex gaped invitingly:

-Will you imagine you're fucking her?

He drove into her hard, teeth at her throat. He was angry, at himself, not at his lover. Wasn't sure why.

She felt his mood; he rarely treated her as a body to fuck. Sensed the source of his anger too. Realised she wouldn't cum this time. He always made her cum, his love was part of that. She was excited, strangely excited that he could use her in this way. Wanted it for him. She didn't have long to wait as his ravaging became faster, more brutal. Felt the electricity as his balls tightened. Felt him hovering on the edge, for a long time. Then he grunted, and his spunk surged in her:

-Jesusfuck, you filthy slut Karen...

He collapsed on her. She clasped him tightly as the sobs wracked him, tears wetting her neck and shoulder. After an eternity he moved, struggled to support himself on his elbows as his eyes pierced her bruised soul:

-Oh my love. I've never ever used you like that before. I'm sorry...

More tears.

-Hush love, I'm fine. Let's get some sleep.

But she wasn't fine at all. She'd seen a new side of him, and she didn't like it. His breathing told her he was asleep, but her brain was in turmoil every time she shut her eyes. Then she realised: she'd seen a new side of herself too, one that had been dormant for years. The one that, for an evening, had just craved sex with someone new. She'd been able to be like that because of his unconditional love: it released something in her. She was glad he'd restrained himself with Karen. Peace finally overtook her.

*****

Morning sunshine saw them walking round Darling Harbour. She suggested the aquarium, but he muttered something about animal rights, so they headed on past the row of tethered cruiseboats, ancient and modern. She guided him inland a bit, cutting off Miller's Point. He hadn't spoken a word since the aquarium. As they faced the long piers of Walsh Bay, she took his arm, drew him to the tables of a quayside cafe:

-Spit it out love. This is our last day in Sydney. You will not spoil it for both of us with your self-indulgent moroseness. So get it out of your system now please...

She turned smiling as the waitress approached, ordered for them both. Wherever his head was now, his choice of coffee was predictable. Her eyes returned to his.

-I'm... I'm so sorry sweetness. I'm drowned in shame. What I did to you last night was unforgiveable. It might have been better if I'd been honest and given in to my lust. Accepted her invitation and fucked her. That way, at least I wouldn't have treated you as... well, as just a body to spunk in. I've never used you that way before. Hope I never do again.

-Darling mine. My poor man. Look, it was a strange evening, and with the wisdom of hindsight it was always going to be. I behaved completely out of character too... well, the character I thought I'd become. When she and I wanked each other in the toilet of the club... and in all that passed between us before that point... I was a woman my memory barely recognised, but who had existed in my body a long time ago. When you used me last night, you became for a few minutes the old irresponsible, promiscuous you. The one you thought had disappeared. Sweetness, we need to know all of each other. Last night was part of that process. That's all. Je ne regrette rien. Neither should you. I love you more for it sweetness... for your resolve not to use her, and for carrying it through. I never thought you'd manage to resist her. After all – blushing as she giggled – I didn't. I'm proud that you did.

Her kiss confirmed it. They sipped coffee and chatted lightly. He slowly returned to something nearer his normal self as they walked, arms around each other's waists. Paused under the harbour bridge whilst he consulted his guidebook:

-Ah, look darling, I always thought there must be a connection!

-Sweetness, this riddle's lost me. Connection?

-Aye, between the Tyne Bridge in Newcastle, and this one. I know this one's much bigger, but it's essentially the same design. They were both built by Dorman Long. The Tyne Bridge opened earlier. Must have been a sort of test run for this one...

She chortled:

-Well sweet, for once you're not trying to tell me that something Scots was first...

-Hell, Newcastle's as near as dammit in Scotland...

Still laughing, she clutched him to her:

-Glad you're back to your old self again. Now let's move, you must see the Opera House.

She spoke in a hushed voice of her research into Australian war veterans as they walked the curve of Circular Quay. The song sprang to his mind and he began singing, low and gentle. She joined on the contralto part: he'd never heard 'The band played Walzing Matilda' in harmony, and her voice was perfect for it. When the song was done he drew her to him, kissed her with all the love he felt, irrepressible:

-Darling mine, I'd never thought of it before, but isn't Eric Bogle the perfect link between Scotland and Australia?

She pushed him away, smiling:

-Um, apart from us you mean? Yes, he's a lovely connection. Now come on, the next tour of the Opera House starts in ten minutes.

She drew him past aboriginal musicians, performing and trying to sell CDs and crafts to the throngs of tourists:

-I know where we'll find better love, later. Trust me.

He was awed by the building as they followed the guide. As awed as he'd ever been by medieval cathedrals in Europe. He couldn't speak, hung onto every word the uniformed man uttered. At the end of the tour he felt dazed, slightly out of this world:

-My love, this is truly the most amazing modern building I have ever visited. I'm completely awestruck...

-What, better than the Scottish Parliament building?

He smiled, said nothing.

-We can have lunch here, fancy that? It's a bit pricey, but on our last day in Sydney... my treat, OK?

Melanie explained something of the social geography of the city as they ate, a sweeping view of the North Shore across the harbour before them. For once he didn't speak for a long time. It was after one by the time she asked the waiter for the bill. He was horrified, moved to draw the wallet from his bumbag:

-Darling, I can't allow you to pay all of that...

Her hand stilled him:

-I offered to buy you lunch and you agreed. You'll earn it in childcare when we get home, Phil has to leave to attend to the farm for a bit, and I need to get my head into work. So, this is my treat. Please?

*****

They wandered up the hill and into the parkland around Government House. She paused in the shade of a huge tree: the sun was blazing:

-Maybe we should take it easy for a while love, digest lunch? And time for some suncream, for both of us...

She took the towel from the rucsac, stretched herself on the warm grass. Slipped her scant tshirt off as she turned onto her belly:

-Do my back and shoulders. Legs. Everywhere.

He never for a second tired of the sight of her, of being with her. Watched entranced at the boldness of her self-exposure before he removed his own shirt and knelt beside his beloved, reaching in the rucsac for the cream. Crouched over her, his tumescence on her back through his shorts. Began the slow firm massage she loved, working cream into her skin. She groaned occasionally, her body shuddering with each sound. When he'd done with her shoulders, neck and spine, his fingers moved to her flanks, working scented slitheriness there. Did the backs of her muscled legs, but left her sandalled feet for later. He was panting now, glanced around them. Nobody was near, but his heart was in his mouth as he whispered:

-Time to turn over sweetness. Your tits need attention.

It was years since she'd done this, exposed her naked breasts in a truly public place. Her groin flooded as she decided, rolled over. Felt the ache in her nipples as they sprang to attention, released from the pressure between her body and the ground. His oily hands moved to work them, all over her breasts, her belly, down to the waistband of her shorts, lingering there, before returning to the elongated grapes of her nipples. She felt her eyes glazing, hooded.

He glanced up. An elderly man walking a dog detoured slightly to come closer to them, his eyes wide. Sandy oiled his hands once more, worked on her breasts again, teasing her teats:

-There's a guy watching us darling, to your right...

She moved her head, saw the harmlessness of the old fellow, smiled at him. He turned away abruptly, calling his dog, his face reddening. She focused on the sensation of her lover's hands on her, sensed the wetness must be seeping through her shorts. Her entire body was twitching now, small movements she knew were arousing her man. She sighed as his hands moved from her breasts, fiddled her sandals off. His mouth on her toes, ohchrist ohchrist... then oiled fingers, probing her soles, manipulating her ankles, sliding up her calves.

His hands left her momentarily as Sandy knelt back, glanced around. Only sacred ibis, foraging nearby, no other living being. She felt abandoned for those seconds, before the fingers, the palms, returned, oiling and massaging her thighs now, glazing her senses with their lubricity. She begged him in silence as he eased under her shorts, fingertips stroking gently as they feathered labia unencumbered by underwear. Gasped as they entered her. Then withdrew as quickly as they'd arrived. She opened her eyes, glanced at him, beseeching, but he was just changing position, lying on his side now to protect her from inquisitive eyes, her other side partly shielded by the huge trunk of the gum.

Felt his fingers seeking the button and zip. Part-exposing her weeping cunt. She was past caring about anything. Just needed him. Ohsweetmary motherof god... His fingers curling into her... he knew exactly what she needed, this beautiful lover of hers. Felt his eyes burning, flickered her own open. Saw his love as she felt it in her cunt, her need rising, begging fulfilment, ohjesusfuck, felt herself engorging in his adoration, the absolute purity of their lovelust, she felt almost virginal in the beauty of it. His hand moved faster as her eyeballs turned up. Flames ravaged her as she abandoned herself to the joyous inevitability. And it hit her so she clawed the ground frantically, her entire being pressing the long series of squirts from her cunt. He was licking as her hips finally shuddered back to earth.

She felt him sliding her shorts down her legs, and off. Then the sound of his zip. Jesus, he was going to fuck her in public... the tensile potency entering her, claiming her, making her his, her hips rising to meet his every tempestuous movement, knowing his love as he groaned his seed in her womb, her muscles spasming around him, taking him as hers.

They lay together, sweating heavily, their pungency hardly displaced by the light breeze, till she heard something. Glanced around. Fuck, a drooling Labrador, trotting towards them, a young couple not far behind. She scrambled to pull her shorts on, heart thudding, as Sandy fumbled with his zip. The lab managed a lick on her breast before she had the tshirt on. The couple whistled and it bounded away skittishly. She looked in his face then, a radiance there she'd never quite seen before. Managed to whisper:

-Oh sweetheart, how beautiful.

She was aware of the inadequacy of her words as she uttered them. Just couldn't get her head into gear to find any better. Was glad of his quietude, his inarticulateness. They lay together for minutes. Silence spoke their love more eloquently than any words. Eventually he looked at his watch:

-Darling, it's well after two. What happened to my tour of the sights of Sydney?

She smirked lewdly:

-Haven't you just seen the finest sight anywhere? And experienced it in every possible dimension?

He slapped a light coat of cream on his face, neck, and arms:

-Come on, tourguide, you've work to do.

Yes darling, the most beautiful experience on earth. But this city's waiting for me, and it's our last afternoon here.

They wandered hand-in hand. She pointed out the Music Conservatorium, to which she'd won a scholarship she hadn't been able to take up, as a teenager. He marvelled again at the remarkable range of her achievements: truly renaissance woman.

Parliament House, the State Library, then the openness of Hyde Park, the Georgian grace of St James's church, Victorian neo-gothic opulence of St Mary's Cathedral. Portraits of Melanie in front of every notable building. They paused for a beer in the park, briefly. Time was running out on them.

-Um sweetness, I want to show you a shopping centre. A good place to find presents for your family.

He had a vision of some modern concrete structure, but a few yards walk took them to the Victorian Town Hall, with an elaborate turn-of-the-century red sandstone building opposite it. More photographs.

-So where's this shopping centre love? It's nearly four, the train's at six...

She led him across the road to the large sandstone structure:

-Sydney's finest; the Queen Victoria Building. Bookshops, music shops and craft shops aplenty, just what you need?

The interior was even more impressive than the outside. It had been refurbished, but in sympathy with the richness of its late Victorian charm. Shop-filled galleries towered above them, and the building stretched for hundreds of yards. When they emerged nearly an hour later, the rucsac was bulging with books, CDs, bits of jewellery and aboriginal craftwork. He was expounding the virtues of the place, but she stopped him, knew how he could go on if something caught his interest:

-Later sweetheart. We have to move; just over an hour before the train leaves, and we need our cases from the hotel. The monorail'll take us there.

Fifteen sweaty strap-hanging minutes later, they were in the cool of the hotel foyer. There was time to walk to the station, both their cases had sturdy wheels. They even had time for a beer on the terrace. He glanced at her as he pulled on his pint of Victoria Bitter:

-Shouldn't we get something to eat on the train love? I'm getting hungry after all our exercise.

-There's hot food on the train Sandy. Hardly gourmet, but it's OK. Rather better than the microwaved crap we had between Glasgow and London...

He didn't rise to it:

-Great. Time for another pint then, want one?

Her hand moved over her half-full glass.

*****

The train was busy, few vacant places. For this trip they had aircraft-type seats, so a modicum of privacy. They slumped into them, exhausted with their busy day, after less sleep than both were accustomed to. She leaned into him, kissed his cheek, her fingers playing with their chains:

-Sweetheart, I hope you don't mind, but I need a nap. Remember to wake me at Campbeltown: I'm wet at the thought. Fuck first, an appetizer for dinner?

His fingers moved up her thigh, into her shorts. He placed her hand on his erection:

-Yes darling. Can hardly wait...

He opened his Tim Winton as she nuzzled into him. When she woke, he was sound asleep, the novel on the floor. She glanced through the window; they were well past Campbeltown. Disentangling herself from his arms, she reached up for the rucsac, withdrew the timetable. The next longest time between stops was after Bundanoon: just short of forty minutes to Goulburn. But they'd have to eat first, the buffet usually shut at Goulburn. She worked her hand under the waistband of his shorts, fondled him to life. Whispered in his ear:

-Well darling, I know you weren't dreaming about Karen. Or even me.