Melanie Ch. 04

Author's note: Thank you, all of you, who have posted such encouraging comments, and contacted me directly. I am so sorry for the long delay, but life got in the way. A new university course, family, work, that sort of thing. All good things, if this story is a good thing, take time.

Chapter 4 was going to be the last, but it just Topsied, so tis penultimate now. But 5 is nearly done, so not long to wait for it.

A loving thank you to my muse, who has not only inspired, but has also edited everything for me. Any problems, blame her!

If this is your first encounter with Melanie, you might like to read the earlier chapters first.

*****

[Sandy awakes after their second night together in Paris]

The exquisite sensation on his cock roused him from the sensual dream. As he moved in his awakening, her eyes rose and met his.

She raised her mouth from him to speak: Good morning darling. I hope you don't mind, I was feeling hungry. Now just lie back and let me feed, and waken you properly. He groaned as her mouth resumed its devotion to his penis.

- Sweetheart, please move round so I can pleasure you too? Ahhh...

Her head rose again: No, I need to focus on you right now. Just lie back and allow me, please?

Her head bowed again and he grunted as she opened her throat and his cock disappeared into her. This was a new sensation for him: never had a woman taken him right down her throat before, and the feeling was intense as her muscles closed around him, embracing his sex and his entire being. He momentarily wondered how she was breathing, before surrendering himself to her exquisite ministrations. Throat, tongue, lips, suction and teeth combined to take him soaring, and his hips began moving under her face, driving himself up into her. As her finger slid into his arse to stroke his prostate, his balls tightened, the electricity rose through him and he fucked wildly into her, seeking release.

Her teeth closed on him and his spunk pumped into her throat. He lay quivering as she continued sucking, drawing the last of the semen from him. Eventually her head rose, last loving licks, and she crawled up the narrow bed above him, her breasts hanging over his chest as she lowered her head to kiss his mouth. Then she settled on him, her thighs spread over his so her wetness was on his limp prick.

- You taste delicious, my darling man, and very nutritious too. She raised her head now and smiled into his eyes.

- You never cease to amaze me Melanie. I can't remember ever experiencing such intense sensations. He was still panting, as she was, her face moulding into the most beatific smile as he spoke.

- I'm so glad sweetie. It was all for you, but it gave me great pleasure to make you that gift. In fact -- her hips wriggled on him and he felt her wetness spread on his groin and thigh -- I'm very wanting now, perhaps...

He kissed her quiet as his fingers ran over her arse and curled round to cover her engorged peach: Mmm, there does seem to be a wee problem down here. I think I need to investigate. And he rolled her gently off him and onto her back, left the bed. Knelt beside it and lowered his face to her groin, easing her pussy wide with his fingers. Moved his face closer to sniff: Ah yes, madame, definitely matters requiring attention here. You require a slow careful treatment.

He moved to kneel at the foot of the bed and raised her left foot to his mouth. Pursed his lips round her smallest toe and sucked wetly. Watched her eyes widen as he worked his way along her foot, sucking each toe in turn and licking between them, fingers stroking her calf the while. Completed his mouthworship of her foot and laid it down to start on the other. Melanie was wriggling on the bed now, and her fingers moved to her cunt.

- No lass, you're not allowed to touch yourself. I'll get there in due course. Just a wee bit patience please? Presently his mouth moved to her left calf, licking the top of it wetly up to her knee, then bending her leg over her shoulder to lick up the muscles at the back. He allowed his fingers to trail slightly over her labia as he did this and she trembled. He could scent her arousal now, tongueing into the softness behind her knee.

When he had kissed every inch of her lower legs he laid them on the bed and started on her thighs. Spread them wide to focus on the soft skin of the inner part, closing his teeth to nip the flesh as the scent of her arousal became overpowering. She was moaning and twisting and he had to hold her thigh firmly to treat it.

Her flower was completely open now, a tracery of pink wetness, and the temptation to move his mouth there was as strong as her obvious need. He watched fascinated as he licked closer, at the wee tremulous nerve movements in her folds. When the fronts of her thighs had all been kissed he allowed his tongue to trail lightly down her outer lips, then the inner ones, but was careful not to touch her clit. She moaned and bucked her hips at this but he raised his head and lifted her body from the bed, flipping her over onto her belly.

- The backs need attention now, he growled. She was squirming harder as his tongue laved the backs of her thighs, and her hand slipped under her belly. He grabbed it out before she could touch herself and slapped her arse hard twice, once on each cheek.

- No you don't, sweetie, no cheating. It's my job to give you pleasure, as it was yours to pleasure me. Now, hands behind your neck please, and raise your hips high. I need to get in to treat your arse.

She didn't say a word but obeyed, clasping her hands behind her neck and shuffling onto her knees so her arse was raised before him. He licked her fine muscular architecture all over, biting into it a couple of times, before instructing her to pull her cheeks wide for him. His tongue delved between the spread cheeks and he inhaled her forbidden anal aroma, till his tongue was probing into her and she was twisting and bucking under him.

- Sandy, eat my pussy, she needs you...

He stretched his body over hers then, resting on his arms, and bent to lick the back of her neck, in behind her ears: Say please, my sweet slut?

- Please. You bastard! She giggled and twisted her head round so she was profiled against the pillow. He studied her distinctive face, knew he was more deeply in love than he'd ever been. Lowered himself to kiss her nose.

- I have to taste you now darling.

She giggled and her arm reached down to pull at his cock, now erect again. She wasn't gentle and he cried out. But she silenced him:

-Eat me, you bastard. Then fuck me, if you can.

He rose from the bed, turning her onto her back, and gazed deep in her eyes: I want you Melanie, now and forever. I know I can't have you forever, not after we leave here. So -- his grin was wicked -- I suppose I'd better eat you now, if that's what you want.

His lips had hardly closed over her labia and she was bucking and writhing under him, thrusting herself onto his mouth. He slabbered her wetness greedily; knew she was close after all the teasing. His lips pursed round her clit as his fingers entered her and her panting quickened. He was with her now, part of her world as he felt her rise under him, knew she was transported and he was travelling with her, soaring upward. His fingers moved to a blur at her cunt, pressing up into her gspot, and his teeth closed gently round her clit as she rose to him, a high prolonged wail now. As her body convulsed sharply his face was drenched by a jet of cum.

He rammed his cock hard into her and erupted as she was yet shivering in her orgasm.

They lay entangled and panting, drenched in sweat and their juices. It was some time before either could speak. Then she smiled with her whole being: I never squirted before my love.

- Never had my face so deliciously wet, he smiled. Ach, my dear, what am I to do with my love for you?

- Treasure it and remember it, she whispered. It won't go away, but there's not much we can do with it after we part, my sweet. But it has reminded me that I am a desirable person, and my world is better for knowing how wonderful you are. In my rational head I know there's not much point in even keeping in touch with you when we leave here, but I know I'll have to.

He sighed, tears threatening to well: Aye, I know. Now -- he glanced round at the alarm clock -- are we going to have breakfast, cos if we are we'd better move? He rose from her, wiping his eyes, and drew her up from the bed.

*****

There were two final sessions of the event after breakfast: a reading by the US poet Jorie Graham, and the announcement of the Festival awards. Melanie had read Graham's work and was enthusiastic about hearing her read, otherwise they might have followed his inclination and returned to the bedroom.

The lecture theatre was full when they entered and took their seats. Graham was escorted on the stage by a couple of dignitaries from the University, and addressed the gathering first in fluent French, then in English. She was a woman about his own age, Sandy reckoned, a thought confirmed when he read that she'd been expelled from the Sorbonne in the aftermath of the famous événements of May 68.

She read for an hour. Her earlier stuff was discursive, sometimes wandering a bit self-indulgently, but Sandy felt himself warming to her as the words sank in. It was clear from her work that she had a left/green agenda, and he wasn't surprised she was a controversial figure in a country in which this was considered extremist by some. She read well, and her words had depth and poignancy for him. By the end of her reading he was glad he had attended it. Both he and Melanie bought copies of her newest volume when the session finished.

Over coffee afterwards they chatted about the poet, and knew both had been similarly affected by the reading. Melanie's eyes sparkled as she spoke of the impact of some of Graham's work on her, and how it had affected her own writing. They inscribed the two volumes they'd bought, each for the other, and exchanged them.

At eleven they rose to go to the final session, joining the queue of participants to enter the theatre. Melanie wore the same understated, elusive scent she had the first night they'd met, and as he stood behind her in the line of folk Sandy was suddenly overwhelmed by all that had happened between them. He stroked her shoulders lightly, the silk slipping under his fingers, and she shuddered before turning to him.

- Kiss me Sandy. She moved into his arms and he melted as their lips touched, then fused. They were parting the next day, probably forever. There were tears in both their eyes as they drew apart, other participants brushing past their embrace, occasional words about them audible.

As they parted, Melanie's hand knocked Sandy's down as it rose in a V-sign at the back of a particularly unctuous French gentleman who had muttered his view of their behaviour: Silly, what does it matter what he thinks? She laughed at Sandy and he knew she was right. But what right did the old bastard have, to pass judgement on them?

They took their seats in the theatre. There were three prizes to be announced: for best novel, short stories, and poetry, from the authors invited to participate. The gathering hushed as the hosts assembled on the podium. After some formal and slightly pompous meanderings from the platform, the Malian woman next to whom Sandy had sat on the first night, rose and moved forward to receive the award for best novel.

As her applause faded, a Vietnamese man was invited up to receive the short story prize. He was about Sandy's age, small, and walked with difficulty, with a pronounced limp. He was a veteran of the war, on the Vietnamese side, and after he'd received his award Sandy couldn't help but notice that a few in the gathering didn't applaud him, including the US couple with whom he'd lunched on the first day.

Then the poetry award was being announced. The speech from the podium was long-winded, but Sandy was listening carefully to the French diction.

He slipped out of his seat and gave Melanie his arm, to help her rise. She was trembling, not quite believing what she'd just heard.

As she moved to join him on the tiered aisle of the theatre she whispered: Sandy, I can't get down there on my own. Help me please, darling? They descended slowly, arms around each others' waists, and she stepped up to the podium alone, bowed, and received the envelope she was given by the dignitary.

She was sobbing as they stepped together up the aisle, his arm firmly round her shaking body. Please, let's just leave now? she whispered.

Outside the theatre she collapsed in his arms. He stood in wonderment, holding her tenderly, licking the tears as they streamed down her cheeks. Sweetheart, he said, I just don't understand why you're upset? You've just won yourself a considerable literary distinction. And from what I know of your work, it was entirely deserved. These things don't just get handed out, you know that.

She looked into him: Sandy, did you see that some of those Americans refused to applaud the Vietnamese guy? I've read his stories, he's a decent human being and an incredible writer, even in translation. He was just a conscripted soldier then, he didn't have any choice. And unlike the Americans in the war, he really was fighting for his country. It was directly threatened. Vietnam never threatened the people of the USA. It wasn't his tiny country that invaded the USA, it was they who invaded his. How can folk be so hurtful?

*****

As they entered the refectory, Sandy noticed the Vietnamese man sitting on his own. He nodded to Melanie and they approached the table, asked the man in French if they could join him. Over the meal Sandy felt himself warming to the man. He had been a student in Lyons when he was conscripted, and had abandoned his studies to return and fight for his country. And received a leg injury which had left him crippled for life.

He had been nonplussed by the capitalisation of his country during recent years, and had retreated into writing, shifting in some disillusionment from the larger stage of politics to the smaller but more immediate one of interpersonal relations. By the end of the meal he was firm friends with Melanie and Sandy, and, taking them for an established couple, invited them to visit him in Hanoi. They embraced in the warm French manner when they parted.

The rooms in the residence had to be cleared by two pm and as they walked back to the building through the gardens in warm afternoon sunshine, Sandy was struck forcibly by the fact that he and Melanie had only till the next morning together. She had booked into a pension in Montmartre for the last night before her flight back to Adelaide, and Sandy had altered his Eurostar booking to the next day so that they could have this last night together.

He drew her to a stop in the gardens and turned her to face him.

- Not long now, my sweet woman. How do you want to spend our last afternoon together? They embraced softly. Then she drew back from him a little, gazing into him. The tears were running down both their faces.

- We need to get our luggage to the pension. Then just be together in this strange and wonderful city. Darling -- she fell against him -- I don't know how I'm going to get on that plane, but I know I must.

He nuzzled her to him, arms tight round her, fingers stroking her back: Aye, I know. Just as well our departure times are so close. I couldn't bear to be here without you. His Eurostar left Gare du Nord at eleven the next morning, in time to get him to London for a mid-afternoon train to Glasgow. She had to leave at the same time for her flight to Singapore from Charles de Gaulle.

They gathered their luggage and hailed a taxi to Montmartre, booked into the pension. It was three by the time they were finished.

Melanie drew him to her, her bodyscent flooding him as they kissed in their room in the pension.: Sweetheart, there is one place I'd like to go. Her teeth nipped his earlobe.

- Hmm?

- When you took me to Notre Dame, on our first day, there was a painting I liked on the stall above the quais. Remember, you were so desperate for a beer that you pulled me away? She giggled and he responded, and they collapsed against each other, shaking with laughter.

- I remember love. I didn't know that you had your heart set on a painting though, or I wouldn't have been so inconsiderate.

- Well, that's where we're going now. I want it.

They caught the Métro to Cluny and emerged on the south bank of the river under the classic art-nouveau arch over the station stairway. Melanie soon found the stall above the quai, and her painting was there yet. Sandy donned his reading-glasses to peer at it. It was a simple water-colour, one of hundreds sold each day to tourists, almost off an artistic production line.

But something held him. It was a representation of the famous rose-window of Notre-Dame, from inside the cathedral. The colours glowed, almost iridescent, hard to achieve in a cheap water-colour. The artist had caught something of the transcendent beauty of the window. He remembered the moment when he and Melanie had looked at it, and had become aware of the other's absorption. The pricetag on the painting said a hundred Euros.

- It's worth it darling, he whispered, kissing the tip of her nose. It's so lovely.

- That was the moment I knew I loved you, when we looked at that window together, she smiled. That's why I want it.

- Well, I must buy it for you darling. He found a hundred note for the stall-keeper, and the painting was rolled into a cardboard tube.

- So, love, what now? I've got my shopping! She drew him to her and they kissed, breath coming faster it deepened. Her fingers were on his bum, drawing her hips on his thigh, and his were stroking her breasts, feeling the nipples hard through silk.

- Luxembourg, he said simply, taking her hand and drawing her south, up Boul'Mich.

It was quiet when they entered the famous gardens, only a few folks about. His recollection was clouded over four decades, but he had a memory of a corner here, largely hidden by hedges, where he had fantasised about taking his brief Paris girlfriend, all those years ago...

They wandered a bit, chatting and touching, and eventually he found it. It wasn't quite as he remembered it, but, he thought, it would do. He had told Melanie nothing of his intentions, but her eyes were alight as she turned to him in the corner of the hedges.

- I know what's on your mind, my sexman, she smiled, and leaned over sideways. It took him a moment to realise that she was removing her panties, stepping out of them. She leaned over the back of a bench, facing in the direction of any possible intruders, and lifted her silk dress so her arse was bare in front of him: I need you Sandy. Our last al fresco Paris fuck, please?

He stood transfixed for a second, Melanie's delicious arse before him, the lips of her cunt pouting below. But only for a second. His trousers and underpants were down and his erection nudging her, almost before he had time to think.

- Our last al fresco Paris fuck maybe my love -- his cock sinking into her warm wetness -- but not our last. He moved in her for a while, their excitements building, but he knew this wasn't right.

- Now darling, can we change round a bit. I want to see your face as we make love? He withdrew from her and moved to sit on the bench. She looked round nervously, then drew up her dress and straddled his knees. Their lips met as she impaled herself on him, and they knew each others' need. This was deep and complete love, carnal yet so much more. They moved slowly and slightly at first, tiny shifts of texture and need as their mouths clung together, eyes in each other.