Prelude to Wickedness

It was an old trick but it worked more often than it failed.

Trudy was immediately captivated with this strikingly handsome man. He looked and smelled beautifully masculine and imagined pressing her lips onto his as he undid her bra, letting it slip to the floor then roughly cup her breasts, thumbs stimulating her nipples.

She had found a possible candidate for her hotel fuck-buddy.

Still smiling and keeping eye contact with her, Tom took the brochure from her, but without looking at it, "I'd like a large Chanel No 5 perfume and a large Napoleon Brandy please..."

"A gift for your wife? she asked casually.

"Wife! God no. I'm single and plan to stay that way. No, they're a gift for my mother, a sort of family ritual I started whenever I came home on leave from the army".

She was bending forward now, reaching inside the trolley for the brandy while ensuring he had a good view of her figure, tight ass and shapely legs.

The electric blue skirt of her uniform stretched tight and she could feel his eyes inspecting her, confident her fit body could ensnare this prize guy.

Straightening up to put his purchases into a white airline carrier bag she had only a few moments to ask the essential questions.

"Do you live in Manchester?"

Tom smiled inwardly knowing the direction their conversation was headed.

"I live and work in Stuttgart, I'm over for three weeks vacation visiting my family who live not far from the airport." Which was a lie but an essential one if he was going to get into her knickers.

Why not? He wasn't expected home until later in the day, more than enough time for a few hours in her hotel bed. His already pleasant journey was looking even more promising than he had imagined.

Scene 5

As she parked the SUV in the short term car park she checked the time on the dashboard clock before switching off the engine.

She was early, it was only 02:46am.

Before reaching across for her pashmina scarf and puffer jacket she took the mandatory look at her face in the rear view mirror.

Not bad, she thought.

The surgery on her sagging lids and black bags underneath had made them disappear as if by magic. Looking back at her were the sparkling eyes of a sexually active thirty something.

Still, they would look even better with a little eye shadow and mascara.

And that hair, bottle platinum blonde of course, though it shone like burnished metal in the reflected light of the low car park. She would pin it up into a loose up-do, let the bangs hang loose over her ears - give herself an even younger look.

Those lips too would brighten her face with a touch of lippy, and perhaps a lick of gloss?

She had a lot to explain to Tom when he realised how different she looked from the last time he had seen him. Ten months ago she had been an overweight, mousy haired, middle-aged mum with crows feet around her eyes and a spreading ass that was a constant embarrassment to her.

Would he even recognise her?

Perhaps it had been a mistake to keep all the misery of the many small operations from him?

He phoned her several times each week, often she had been swathed in bandages and bruises, yet she had told him nothing of her gradual transformation.

Today would be her great reveal, from caterpillar to beautiful butterfly. She would have liked John to be with her, to meet their adopted son arm in arm, meeting up again to be the perfect family.

Yet here she was alone.

It was still incomprehensible to her why John had suggested all that cosmetic work, and given her half his annual company bonus to pay for it all, £120,000!

Unbelievable with hindsight.

He had been caring and supportive throughout, but it seemed all the love he had for her had somehow dried up, spent. They had not made love once in those intervening ten months.

Something, some event unspoken and unshared had driven a wedge between them.

They still shared the same bed, shared meals, she washed his clothes, they spoke civilly to each other and shared the occasional kiss, but nothing more.

He no longer sneaked up behind her, grabbing her breasts and pushing his huge prick between the cheeks of her ass, and waited till it got hard, then she would wriggle with pleasure, turn around to him and they would kiss passionately. Both trembling with excitement they would rush hand in hand to the bedroom, feverishly undressing each other before he fucked her hard, her legs wrapped tight around his waist before groaning aloud as he came hard, ropes of cum pulsing deep into her. Then she would come too.

Tears welled up into her eyes again and she felt like weeping. But that would never do. Tom didn't need to know of her personal emptiness, her yearning to be loved.

Grabbing her shoulder bag she stepped out of the car, the neat stiletto heels clicking on the grubby concrete floor.

After winding on her scarf and zipping up her puffer jacket she opened the rear passenger door and took out her cardboard passenger sign to hold up when Tom came out of customs.

Another family tradition.

Then she clicked the key fob, heard the satisfying clunk of the doors locking and made her way out of the car park, pausing briefly to collect her parking ticket from the imposing blue dispensing machine beside the automatic doors.

Through the windows she could see it was still raining hard and realised she would have to run the gauntlet across the road to reach the arrivals terminal.

Covering her hair with the cardboard sign she made the dash across the road, through the circular rotating door and stood, dripping wet in the large, mostly deserted atrium.

She knew her way around this space and without thinking walked across to the nearest flight arrivals monitor to check Tom's flight progress.

It was on time, due to touchdown at 3am precisely. Experience had taught her that passengers took around 20 minutes to leave the aircraft, wait for and collect their baggage before walking through customs into the arrivals hall.

So she had plenty of time to get a herself a coffee from one of the vending machines, go to the ladies facilities for a pee, put up her hair and put on her face.

A little after 3:15 am she strode out of the women's facilities feeling and looking a million dollars.

She'd done a good job of refreshing her hair and makeup. She knew how good she looked when two young men, she supposed recently arrived on another flight, gave her appraising looks, staring at her in the hope she would look back at them. After all those years she could once more turn men's heads, and it felt good, so good that she slid down the zip of her puffer jacket to reveal the tight 'T' shirt and stunning curves of her new tits.

What was it Dolly Parton had said, 'If you've got it, flaunt it'. She smiled to herself at the thought of both those young men getting erections just thinking about her.

As she walked along the atrium she became conscious of the sexy clicking of her heels on the polished floor and recalled reading that men responded to high heels and long slender legs. She began to feel sexy and desirable for the first time in months, in years!

Perhaps John had been right and known what he was doing when he gave her a second chance of happiness when he could no longer fulfil his marital duties.

Could she attract him back or did she need to learn the modern methods of courtship and return to a fulfilling sexual relationship?

But those thoughts soon emptied from her mind as she joined the dozen or so other people waiting expectantly opposite the arrivals gate.

Scene 6

Tom spotted his luggage as the two dark blue samsonite cases dropped one after another onto the slow moving carousel.

Glancing around to see if the cabin crew had yet left the aircraft he made his way to the mid point of the circular carousel and waited until his luggage reached him before swinging them both easily onto his trolley.

After quickly showing his EU pass he headed for the green lane of UK customs. As usual there were no uniformed officials there so he made his way directly to the exit gate where he planned to intercept Trudy and her friend as they made their glamorous way out of the airport. They would walk side by side, in step, both wearing full airline livery, heels clicking rhythmically, trying to ignore the appreciative looks of the waiting people. Their final display of peacock feathers and ass wiggling mating attraction for this trip at least.

Tom was electric with anticipation at the thought of spending a few hours in bed with the lovely Trudy, and who knew, perhaps her raven haired companion too, what was her name again, Analisa?

Why not both of them, he'd done it with two girls in brothels a few times and was more than confident of his staying power and ability to satisfy them both if it came to that.

He knew he was on a promise when Trudy had slipped him her card as they did the required meet and farewell for the red-eyed passengers queuing to leave the aircraft.

Waiting until he was in the baggage collection area he casually examined the card and read what she had hastily written on the reverse in biro.

Her airline card gave her name as Trudy Van Donk, senior stewardess, a company email address and an office where she could be contacted through the airline.

On the back she had written the name of the hotel in Manchester where they were heading for and, essentially, her personal email address and number of her cellphone.

Life felt good for Tom Cronin. Even if he missed Trudy leaving the airport, he knew where to meet up with her. And for once he wouldn't have to pay for the fuck.

Not expecting to be met at such a miserable time in the morning he didn't give the waiting group a second glance as he stepped through the arrivals gate enroute to the taxi rank.

He hadn't walked much further than 50 meters when he heard his name being called - at least he thought he did. He couldn't be sure. Besides it wouldn't be Trudy, he hadn't given her his name. Nor could it be Mum, she would have texted or emailed.

So he continued heading across the almost empty concourse, the rain still hammering on the glass roof above. If he moved quickly there might be a couple of taxis left at the rank, quite possible as there were no more flights arriving or departing until 6am.

Somewhere behind him he heard the click of stiletto heels moving quickly in the same direction as him, and once again heard his name called.

"Tom, will you slow down, I can't keep up you in these heels!"

He recognised the voice, it was Mum, why on earth didn't she tell him she would pick him up?

Stopping the trolley and applying the lever brakes he turned expecting to see his chubby Mum puffing and panting towards him.

Except it wasn't Mum, nor was it Trudy in her blue livery, hat and matching scarf.

It was Silki!

What in God's name was she doing in Manchester?

As his pursuer got closer he realised it wasn't his favourite German whore. Yet she had the same long shapely legs, platinum blonde hair in his favourite loose up-do, the same perfect makeup and that glorious pouty mouth he loved so much.

Tom felt a mixture of confusion, disorientation and plain stupidity.

Then she caught up with him, giving him a beaming smile and holding up a cardboard sign that read, 'Mr Napoleon Chanel', his and Mum's timeless joke about the duty free gifts he never failed to bring her on his visits.

He must have looked as confused as he felt.

"Tom, don't you recognise me? It's me, Mum?"

Tom did a double take, he sort of did recognise her and he didn't. This vivacious creature looked more at home on the cover of a fashion magazine than washing up in the kitchen at home.

"Mum?" He said in a querulous voice, "Mum, is that really you?"

"Of course it's me!" The woman said, her heels clicking sexily as she closed to within a couple of paces of him. "Yes it's me, at least it's the bits left behind by the cosmetic surgeon."

With that she dropped the cardboard sign, opened her puffer jacket and assumed one of those glamour poses, one hand on hip, weight on the other leg and one arm in the air like a dancer.

"Ta-Da" she said, letting his eyes take in her new tits, protruding nipples, waspish waist and those long slender legs. "This is the new me, who did you think it was?"

"Just for the moment I thought you were Silki," he said, realizing instantly it had been completely the wrong thing to say.

"Silki! You mean that whore you rave on about, the one in the brothel in Stuttgart?"

"Sorry Mum, but you did ask!"

Then without hesitation he stepped forward, sliding his arms around her slim waist, lifting her off the ground and spinning her around.

"You look amazing Mum, at least twenty years younger and really hot!"

A thrill ran through her body at his words, hot and twenty years younger. He had even mistaken her for his prize whore, and she knew he thought Silki the most beautiful woman he knew.

His strong arms were around her now, holding her tight, her breasts pressed close to his broad chest.

He was looking at her face, his eyes studying her new younger, bright eyes. He seemed to hesitate as he considered her pouty mouth, fresh and inviting with pink lipstick and lip gloss.

Then he took her breath away as he leaned his head forward and kissed her passionately on her lips.

She felt the unfamiliar roughness of his beard against her skin and tasted the fresh mint of his breath.

It was a strangely erotic moment.

After a few seconds she sensed the beginnings of his erection and instinctively pressed herself tighter against him. Then, as they were both lost in the most sexy kiss she could remember, impulsively raised her long legs, wrapping them tight as a limpet around his hips, almost making him stumble forward.

He continued spinning around with her clinging on to him like a limpet.

Totally inappropriate, totally unexpected and totally wonderful.

His kiss seemed never to end and she half wanted his tongue to slip between her lips and begin exploring her eager mouth.

But this was all wrong, sons don't get erections kissing their Mums.

Sons don't kiss their mums passionately on the lips.

Somehow they both had to break the embrace, she would have to unwrap her legs from his waist and he would release his grip on her, then they would have to confront what they'd done.

Then as they clung on to each other they became aware of the clicking of heels behind them, two heels walking in step and the sounds of luggage on wheels being pulled behind them.

Tom was the first to realise who the clicking heels belonged to, and hastily withdrew his lips from hers. As he turned his head the click of the heels paused close by.

It was Trudy and Analisa, looking incredible in their airline uniforms, pert little hats and high heels.

As he met eyes with Trudy he felt his mum unwrap her legs from his waist and he lowered her feet to the floor.

What a fuck up! he thought.

Now he looked slightly foolish, lipstick around his mouth and an unmistakeable hard-on trying to break out of his trousers.

He didn't know what to say. But it was Trudy who broke the moment.

"So this is your mum?" she said, a sarcastic edge now on her soft Dutch accent, "Yeah right!"

And with that, she and Analise stepped off together, heels once more clicking in unison, neat butts swaying in synchrony. Neither bothered to look back. He was already history.

Both Tom and his mum watched the two beauties retreat across the concourse until they eventually disappeared from sight through the distant revolving doors.

Mum began giggling first which helped break an otherwise difficult and embarrassing moment.

Then she reached into a pocket of her puffer jacket and took out a clean folded handkerchief. She held it to her lips, gently spit on it and proceeded to hold Tom's head behind his neck and wipe off the lipstick from around his mouth.

Tom stood still, like an obedient child until she was satisfied with her work, then she reached up and gave him a mother's kiss on his cheek.

Pointing to the far exit which had just swallowed up Tom's dreams of a sexy twosome in a warm hotel bedroom she said, "You and them?...Have I just messed up your arrangements for the night?"

" It doesn't matter Mum, I'd rather be at home with you," he said, trying for it not to sound like a lie.

"And I'm the tooth fairy!" she said, "Which of you guys wouldn't want to spent the night in bed with those stunning girls, and it's all my fault for not letting you know I would be meeting you off the flight."

It looked like Tom was going to blurt out something that he might regret. So after quickly retrieving the cardboard sign from the floor, she slid her arms through his.

"Is that gift for me?" she said, nodding toward the white airline carrier bag on the trolley.

"You know damn well it is Mum, I mean, who else would it be for?"

And when she looked up at him with a knowing grin and said, "Oh I could think of a couple of people!" they both roared with laughter.

Scene 7

A fly on the windscreen of the SUV would have had a tough time figuring out what was going on between them.

Tom drove, apparently in deep concentration, adjusting to the atrocious weather conditions and to driving on the left side of the road again. He hadn't turned on the radio, leaving the only sounds in the cabin of rain battering against the windscreen, the wipers struggling to clear enough water away to see the road ahead and the whir of the heater on it's maximum setting.

When they had arrived at the vehicle she had his jacket held over her hair, he was soaked in his white shirt which clung to his body, emphasising his taught muscular frame and sculptured six pack.

She was curled up on her seat next to him, knees drawn up beneath her puffer jacket, head on one side studying her son intently.

His face was serious and his body language spoke volumes of the dissonance that had sent his thoughts fizzing.

She continued watching her son closely, trying to read his thoughts. After their kiss he had seemed to adjust to his old self, they had chatted about this and that trivia until they reached the revolving door to the road they had to cross to reach the carpark.

Without hesitation he had taken off his jacket and given it to her to protect her, 'beautiful hair'.

After the dash through the rain he had been soaked to the skin but laughed off any suggestions of putting on her puffer jacket. He behaved just as they had educated him as a young man, that men must protect their women.

She watched as the car heater began to slowly dry out his shirt and trousers, steam beginning to rise from his body, causing condensation on the windows.

He had turned out to be almost everything proud parents could wish from a son.

Handsome, intelligent, physically robust, successful and charming, he was almost everything she could want him to be. Almost.

But there was a side of him she didn't, and probably would never understand. It wasn't his obsession with women so much, after all he was a beautiful man and a natural magnet for women.

It was his predilection for prostitutes and those German brothels.

Why on earth would a man given all the glittering prizes that birth and family could bestow on him want to spend all his quality time in the company of whores?

What could they give him that a stable relationship with a local girl couldn't?

Not that he had tried to hide it from her. Indeed he seemed more relaxed than ever after offloading everything she asked about the girl 'Silky', and the brothel where he visited her.

She had been surprised at his candour, and at her own relaxed demeanour as she prompted and probed him for more intimate information. More than that, she had been strangely fascinated with that darker side of his life, and had felt a thrill inside as he talked about making love to Silki so often.