Journey into Melanie's Reality Ch. 03

*****

They ordered sandwiches, a half-bottle of Moet, and coffee from room-service. It was the first time he'd ever used such a thing; his Australian publisher was paying, so why not? Finishing the last of his coffee, he said:

- So darling, we have the afternoon free, then a boring reception this evening. What d'you want to do with the next few hours?

- Apart from sex, you mean?

- Sweetheart, you know perfectly well that I need recovery time. I'm not as young as you are, and it so happens I'm male.

- Ohh, shame. But master, maybe I need you?

- When you use that term with me, you define yourself as my sub. Your needs can wait. This is a world city, and we only have a couple of days in it. This afternoon you're my tourguide. Tonight you're my sub.

- Is that so? OK, I'm your sub tourguide this afternoon. But don't assume I'll be your sub anything this evening.

- I want a slutty tourguide. Dress accordingly.

- You sure master?

She selected some clothes from her case and disappeared into the bathroom. He gasped when she emerged. He'd been half-kidding when he said he wanted her slutty. He had no idea she had clothes or makeup like that.

- Will this do master?

She pirouetted and the short skirt flared to reveal her nakedness beneath. Under the sparse frilly top she wore no bra; her nipples pouting through the cotton. Black fishnet thighhighs, heels. Bright red lipstick and mascara completed the picture. The vision of a streetgirl seeking business. He'd had no idea... restrained his comments, adopted dom mode:

- You'll do. But can you walk in those things?

- This girl prefers to be taken by taxi. To the cruiseboat. I'm feeling lazy today master. And my cunt is soaking. Lick it. Taste.

She raised the skirt as he knelt before her. Some sub this. He lapped, smelled her need:

- On your back, on the bed. You deserve to cum my sweetness.

He ate her out hungrily, till she was writhing under him:

- Fingers master. In your sub's arse.

His fingers plundered her there as he laved her cunt in mouthworship. She heaved and ignited under him suddenly, his face drenched with her fluids. He licked her dry:

- Now let's go.

They were both scented with her sex. She gave instructions to the taxi-driver waiting outside the hotel and sat demurely in the back, legs tightly together:

- You go in the front darling, you'll get a better view.

- Not of you I won't...

- You're a tourist, remember? You'll see all you want of me later.

He sat in front. Noticed the driver paying a lot of attention to his rearview mirror; didn't dare glance behind him. They were at a line of cruiseboats in five minutes, on the east side of the Harbour. The driver refused a tip:

- Yer sheila's all the tip I need mate. G'day.

He wondered, but said nothing as his lover drew him toward a floating palace, where they found an open top deck seat in the bow. He'd learned his lesson; applied suncream liberally.

- Oh darling, you don't think I might burn you?

His oiled hand slithered up her thigh, into wet cunt:

- I'm learning that you have many abilities darling, but I don't think you can do that. Coffee or wine?

- Um, we're going to a reception in three hours love. It'd better be coffee. And, as he rose to go for it -- for you too?

- Yes sweet.

When he returned with two coffees and a daft mock-nautical cap, there was a man sitting beside her. She shooed him away as he glanced into Sandy's distinctly unsmiling eyes. He turned to her:

- Who's your new friend?

- He offered to help me apply the suncream. I turned him down darling. Oh, is that hat for me?

Christ, she was like a wee lassie sometimes. He adjusted the cap to a cocky angle on her, and as the boat moved into the harbour, she snuggled into him:

- My sweet Sandyman. How I love being with you. We're a real couple at last.

He pulled her tightly to him, possessive. The boat surged east under the bridge, and he moved to concentrate on photographs: bridge, city skyline, Opera House; tourist stuff. God he loved being with her. Told her so. She pointed out landmarks: she'd been a student in Sydney and knew it well. She understood his interests. There were a lot of photos by the time the boat returned to its berth. Back at the hotel they had an hour before the reception began.

- I need to shower and tart myself up for my performance darling. This is the first time I've ever attended a reception in my honour. My Scottish publisher didn't do one for me. Um, and maybe you should get into something more... demure and literary? You're going to get a lot of attention love. I hope you've brought a few volumes of your poetry with you?

She slapped his face playfully:

- Dillbrain! Course I have. I'm not going to bask in your reflected glory all evening.

*****

Heads turned when they entered the reception, Melanie in a breathtaking evening gown, Sandy in full Highland dress. But without a tie, so his chain was on view. He wanted it to be unmistakable that they were a couple, in their first formal public appearance together.

There were maybe thirty folk in the room. A short slightly plump woman strode purposefully towards them as they hovered uncertainly at the door:

- Hi, I'm Karen, your Australian publisher. You have to be Sandy? And this is...

- My partner Melanie. A poet. Good to meet you Karen. What's the drill this evening?

- I introduce you to the gathering... she glanced at Melanie with a smile -- both of you. You say a few words. We eat and drink. Then we get down to business. You do your reading, and field questions. You've excited a bit of interest: we have respected critics here from a good range of the media. Opinion-formers. Then we mingle till the booze runs out. You know journalists!

- Hey... careful what you say here! I'm a journalist as well as a poet.

Melanie was smiling, but her voice had been careful, controlled. Karen moved back a fraction, hand on chin, head cocked quizzically:

- Melanie who? You didn't say.

She told Karen as Sandy drew a slim volume and a pen from his briefcase, passed them to Melanie. She scribbled something on the fly-leaf, and handed the book to Karen, whose eyes were widening:

- Yess... you won a prize, I remember now. Paris, wasn't it? Thank you so much for this, I haven't read you yet.

Karen kissed her. Melanie blushed at the recognition. And the contact:

- It was such a shock winning the award. But the real prize was that we met there.

She took Sandy's hand.

- I'll chat to you later Melanie, introduce you to some people. I know how lonely it is being a poet. But we must get on with the show. Would you both step over here please?

There was a low stage in the corner, with table and lectern. Karen introduced Sandy, graciously including Melanie as his partner, mentioning her work. Sandy spoke a few carefully-chosen phrases.

The company parted with a patter of polite applause, allowing them first access to the buffet. Plates laden, Karen led them to a large circular table near the centre of the room:

- Sorry the budget doesn't stretch to a formal dinner Sandy, you're not in those elevated ranks yet. Maybe next time... Now, I want the two of you to sit apart, so you don't monopolise each other.

Sandy smiled at a memory. It was how they'd first met in Paris, at opposite sides of a large circular table for a meal. But this was a much more relaxed affair.

The seats beside Sandy were soon taken: an older academic-looking man, and an over-perfumed and under-dressed young woman. He watched as Karen guided a man and woman to sit either side of his lover. Suspected they were carefully chosen.

Perfume monopolised his attention over the meal. Academic was literary editor for the Sydney Morning Herald, and seemed content to wait his turn. The gushing woman was presenter for a late evening TV talk-show. By the end of the meal, with too much wine in her, she'd pinned Sandy down to dinner before an appearance on the show the following evening:

- You MUST wear this sexy outfit Sandy!

She stroked the kilt over Sandy's thigh and kissed his mouth, not lightly, before rushing off to prepare for that night's show. Academic turned to him:

- Well, you made an impression on her! Congratulations. She's a bit of a celeb. Lots of folk would give their eye-teeth to get on that show; it has huge viewing figures. But don't imagine she's a dill-brain. She's a very sharp young woman, and has embarrassed more than one of her guests before live cameras. Be careful.

- Thanks for the tip, I'll ca canny.

- Sorry?

- Uh, Scots. It means take care.

- Thanks. I love the diversity of language!

- Yes indeed, I've learned a wee bit since I got here.

- How long're you in town? I want to interview you, lots of interest in Scotland here, and I really like your novel.

Munching cheese and crackers, Sandy agreed to be interviewed the next morning in Academic's office. He would be photographed: Sandy should wear the kilt. The man shook his hand and left. By now the table was near-empty, and Melanie was engrossed in discussion with Karen and the man who'd sat beside her for the meal.

The wine on the table was finished and he'd been careful, had taken a glass of water for each of wine. He still had to read. He fetched a whisky from the bar, went onto the balcony. Rolled and lit a fag, content that the evening had been both pleasant and productive so far. Looked over Darling Harbour, glass and steel blocks east of the water catching the sunset. He liked what little he'd seen of this city, an architectural melange from colonial Georgian and Victorian to self-confident modernity. Total contrast with Canberra, almost provincially reserved despite the trappings of a capital. He liked the Australians he'd met too, open and friendly.

He scented her before her hand fell on his arm.

- Thought you'd be here. Where's your briefcase, I need a couple of my books?

- Oh my love, how's your evening been? Um, your books are here. How many d'you need?

She smiled entrancingly, kissed him:

- Both pleasant and useful darling. Maybe four?

Karen appeared after he handed Melanie the books:

- Cmon star, you're on now.

He'd done a few readings, knew exactly which short chapter caught the essence of the novel. His reading was modulated, clearly Scots-accented, and he glanced at the audience over his specs between sentences. Noticed Melanie was still beside the man from the table. The applause when he sat was warm. Most of the questions were intelligent and friendly, and Karen had to intervene to bring the formal proceedings to a halt:

- Sorry folks, time's running out. Sandy's agreed to stick around till the bar's finished, if you want to talk to him.

Melanie waved him over, introduced him to the man with whom she'd been talking:

- Darling, this is Steve Hanlon from the Australian Literary Review. He wants to talk to you. And... her grin was as wide as he'd ever seen it -- he's interviewing me tomorrow for an article on my work!

*****

It took an hour before the last guest left the room, leaving Karen, Melanie and Sandy. He turned to his publisher:

- Karen, thank you for a wonderful evening. Apart from anything else which might come of it, I have three newspaper and two radio interviews, as well as a television show. It feels like a very successful launch to me. It can't hurt our sales...

Melanie interrupted:

- And my thanks too Karen. I've an interview with the ALR from your kindness and care. Imagine, the ALR!

- Hey you two! It doesn't matter how hard I work unless I have quality material. They loved you Sandy; it was all my pleasure. You were charming and professional: a winning combination. The kilt was inspired! And I hoped that you might interest Steve, Melanie. He's a fine critic. But it doesn't hurt that you're an attractive woman. He has a bit of a name, though. Take care with the interview...

Sandy thought carefully. He was desperate to be alone with his lover. But Karen had been the consummate professional: they'd both warmed to her as a person, and she was a key figure in his literary future. He looked at his lover, inclined his head to Karen, eyebrow raised. Melanie nodded:

- Karen, now that business is done, we'd like you to join us in our room for champagne.

The woman glanced at her watch, looked at Melanie:

- I'd love to. If you're sure...?

Melanie took her hand:

- Please do, for both of us Karen. You've been a great help to me as well as to Sandy this evening. But excuse me, I'm bursting. A giggle - way too much wine...

Karen watched her arse as she headed to the toilets, turned and touched Sandy's arm. Looked up at him smiling:

- You lucky man. She's gorgeous. Now that she's gone, maybe you could thank me properly...

There was no mistaking her meaning. He didn't hesitate: who knew when he'd need this woman's help?

- Thank you properly, my delightful publisher...

She gasped at the sexual intent of his kiss. Jesus, properly indeed. Was still breathing heavily when Melanie's hand found hers. Sandy went to the desk to order champagne.

- I'm guessing that he kissed you?

Karen blushed even pinker:

- Um, sorry, did sort of ask for it...

Melanie's laughter pealed:

- As long as I get to kiss you later too.

They followed the porter carrying the bottle of Moet to the room. Inside, Sandy drew his lover to him, embraced her ardently, knowing Karen was looking. Shrugged off jacket and wescot:

- I know they look good, but you've no idea how uncomfortable they are. Now scuse me...

He disappeared into the toilet.

Karen stood diffidently. Melanie's arms went round the publisher:

- My turn now...

Sandy's cock was tumescent as he peed. He and Melanie had discussed threesomes endlessly, but never experienced one together. He couldn't pretend Karen didn't interest him, a warm attractive woman. But their relationship had to remain professional. He wasn't surprised to find the women locked in embrace when he entered the bedroom. He was surprised at his excitement:

- Champagne, anyone?

- Not too much for you sweetheart. You know I need this... Melanie's fingers stroked his kilt -- very soon.

They sipped bubbly, a slightly uncertain silence. Melanie touched Karen's arm:

- So, you know a bit about us. Who's this lovely publisher we've found?

By the end of the bottle they knew a great deal about Karen. She rose unsteadily:

- Umm. I really mustn't outstay my welcome. Much... she giggled -- as part of me'd like to. Thank you for a lovely evening Melanie, glad it's helped you along. I look forward to learning you from your poetry... she kissed Melanie warmly, turned to Sandy -- And thank you too...

She was surprised at the ferocity of his embrace, in front of his partner. Returned it, churning in her guts at the unexpected way the evening had transpired.

- Really must go now. I'll see myself out. Goodnight.

They didn't speak of Karen. Didn't have to as they hurriedly undressed each other. No preliminaries... fell naked on the bed, desperate to fuck. She felt the insistence of his rod, opened to him. Slow and languorous, twined in love, arcing and twisting together, Karen a new spice between them, his cock throbbing its way into her soul, god she loved this man, needed more, gasped:

- Arse now. Fuck my arse.

He knelt back to look at his lover. Deliciously splayed wantonness. Lifted her knees over his shoulders. Plunged in, eyes on hers, watching her eyeballs roll up, the beauty of his mate, their feral need, taking her harder, mouth on pointy nipples now, enveloping focus of purefuck, his darling, his woman... he felt her convulsions, cock sphincter-strangled, now oh jesus... now.