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He Promised... Part 1

He promised not to break her... (No sex in this part. More like an intro)
I met him when he approached me at a night club. I had noticed him watching me earlier as I walked about with my friends. I smiled to him once as our eyes met. His features were obviously Slavic and I was instantly enticed. To some French is a turn on. In my case, to hear a man speak Russian or Estonian, even three seats away in a subway train, sends shivers all over my skin. If one were to speak to me directly, the tremors would be inside me, originating from where I wanted him to be inside me. A mere accent has the same effect. I’ve always had Slavic classmates. Yet this fascination has never faded and these men with their sexy languages remain ever exotic and tempting.

He introduced himself as Vanya, which, I remembered, is a petname for Ivan. We went through the basic routine; are you here with friends, have you had a nice evening, do you come here often. He acted casual but there was something utterly seductive about him and I quickly found myself seriously aroused. I must have seemed a bit flustered as I had difficulties making my brain work. The sensual sounds of his accent, and the movements of his lips with them were profoundly erotic. We were both interested in nature and talked about plants, birds and fishing though he only knew the names of the species in Russian and I in Finnish. Save that, he spoke Finnish very well, but he had this air about him and an intense glare that made me a little wary of him.

Our friends were growing restless. My friends never approved of my interest in Slavs; they saw all of them as rogues or criminals. They tried to pry me away from him to dance. His friends wanted to move on to another club. Vanya wanted to stay and had a heated conversation with his friends. I had taken courses in high school , but only recognized random words like went, us, tomorrow and understood nothing. I had forgotten much of the little I learned five years ago.

In the end he gave in and agreed to leave with his friends. Russian men are very polite in courtship. They never presume to touch a woman without permission. Vanya came to me and asked “May I?” I was confused of all that was happening and blurred “Yeah,” without thinking. Before I had time to savour it, he kissed my cheek teasingly just beside my ear. He whispered good night and something in Russian, of which I understood only sorry, go, want. His kiss left me trembling in desire.

My hands shook as I finished my drink. I felt terribly empty. I was sad and disappointed; we didn’t even get a chance to dance. I was wet and stirred and wanted to be pressed hard against his body. I dearly wanted to kiss him, have his large hands fondle me roughly. And now I lost him. My pussy didn’t feel just empty. It felt hollow.

***

I was moving between racks of skirts when I saw him. It was two weeks since that night at the club. He stood there, smiling at me, just three racks away. He looked less ominous in the daylight but had lost none of his charm. I adjusted my previous guess to him being about 35. He greeted me obviously happy of running into me. I was so glad I stuttered when I tried to say hi. My surprise spread as tingling to every part of me.

I had thought of him a lot and all the shameful things I had wanted him to do to me. Now that he was in front of me, I felt naked. The little hairs on my skin stood up and my nipples hardened visibly. I was sure that with those intense eyes he could see all the scenes in my mind. I looked at his hands and saw them grabbing me by the hair while he’d fuck my mouth, clasping my wrists together, forcing painfully into my pussy, pressed against my mouth to stifle my screams. I knew I was dirty, but I didn’t want him to know that. He’d be disgusted.

We talked silly nothings for a while and decided to meet the next evening for a walk in Kaivopuisto, one of the city’s most famous parks. The more he spoke with that accent, the slicker my pussy got. His appearance did not go unnoticed by my friends further away in the department store. I was eager to meet him where my friends wouldn’t be rolling their eyes behind us. Suddenly he picked a fallen leaf out of my hair, gently brushing his hand against my neck as if he didn’t mean to. He was so close to me I could smell the warm luring scent of his skin. “Birch,” I stuttered. We said goodbye and I started waiting for the day to end so the next could come.

I lay in bed that night, restless and aroused, with his smile and scent in my head. I could still feel my skin smouldering where his hand had brushed it. I reached down, parted my legs slightly and started massaging my clit, moaning softly. I was so worked up that I came, whining, after just a minute of quick strokes. I rested, caressing my breasts, until I quit panting and began again to stroke myself, pinching my nipple with my other hand. I started slowly; my clit was so tender right after coming it barely stood touching. As the tenderness eased, I stroked faster and pressed down harder. I opened my legs wide and imagined, how it would feel to have Vanya pull my legs apart as far as they would go, and shove himself all the way in me in one cruel thrust.

I couldn’t bear the aching hollowness in my cunt anymore. I fetched my favourite dildo and fucked myself with it, hard enough for it to hurt and leave behind a steady pulsing ache. I pushed the dildo in until I could feel it pressing against my cervix. I squeezed my thighs together to keep it in and resumed rubbing my cunt, holding my breath, waiting to cum and for the tension to ease. This time when I came, my spasming pussy cramped on the rigid dildo inside me, and the ache gave way to a sharp pain. I wailed in lust and panted heavily. I gradually slowed my hand down and finally stopped. The seething ache was sweet and cured the cold hollowness. I masturbated myself to three more orgasms before my body relaxed into deep sleep. Each one took a longer time rubbing my hand in circles, each time a shorter pause for my clit to suffer new stimulation.

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