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Apartment Eight Has A Golden Ticket

Apartment Eight Has A Golden Ticket

It's Carie's turn to use her golden ticket.
Sunday morning...

There were very few things in life that surprised Vasily anymore, and fewer things that got a rise out of him. Snow in June, zombies on bicycles, flying pigs...none of those would give him pause. If you Googled the words “rock” and “poker-face” you would likely see his stoically monkish --albeit broodingly handsome-- mug pop up on your screen.

He once won $1000 answering a call for a random dial-up morning radio show contest.

“Gooood morning, Vasily...Vasily...oh jeez...Nesyvy-vy...Nesyavati...?” The host sprained his tongue trying to pronounce his name over the phone.

“Nesyvyatipaska,” Vasily said.

“Hey, yeah, buddy! None for me, thanks. I’m driving!”

“What is you want?”

“This is Chuck and Buck On The Air and you're our $1000 wake up call!”

“What?” Vasily asked with a thud.

“You've just won a thousand bucks...but not Chucks! What do you think of that? Better than a morning shower, huh?”

Five seconds of dead air later, Chuck --or maybe Buck-- chimed in, “Vasily? You still there, guy? Don't make us say your name again! It hurts the ears of all the dogs that are listening.”

“I come now.”

“Uh...okay,” the host stammered, “Your excitement is's like a brick, Vasily. Amazing. So how about telling everyone what's your favourite morning show...”

Click. Vasily hung up the phone and was at the radio station within twenty minutes to pick up his cheque. He cashed it at the bank next door, bought a breakfast sandwich at the cafe next to that, then went home and back to bed.

Nothing ruffled the furry face of the Ukrainian ex-pat. Nothing.

Yet this Sunday morning, he had managed to surprise himself. This morning he stood motionless in the middle of his apartment floor, arms folded across his broad chest, clutching a bottle of aromatherapy oil in one of his granite paws, with his bushy brown brows pinching heavily downward between his eyes as he punched a hole in his front door with his stare. The curious club-bouncer stance wasn't what was surprising. It was the stare that was the most telling.

Vasily was bothered. He was bothered a lot. Nothing ever bothered Vasily.

The subject of his consternation was on the other side of his apartment door, across the hall, and through the peephole of Apartment Eight.

Where was she?

* * * * *

The past Monday evening...

Carie walked down the corridor of her apartment building, a bag of take-out sushi dangling from her teeth, as she dug around in her purse for her apartment keys. By the time she reached her door, she was still rummaging through it to no avail.

“Goddammit,” she hissed through her teeth as she flipped back her long, dark hair.


Carie turned and jumped, her back bumping against her door. “Shit!” The bag of sushi dropped out of her mouth to the floor, maki rolls tumbling onto the carpet. Swallowing her heart back down into her stomach, she gasped, “Jesus Christ! Vasily! What the hell?!”

Her neighbour in Apartment Seven across the hall stood in his doorway, filling it with his blocky frame. Wearing plaid pyjama pants and a stretched out tank-top, Vasily glared at her, unmoved by her look of shock.

“Where is tee-kit?” he asked.

“What?” Carie replied, her eyebrows twisting together.

“Is Monday,” Vasily continued.

Carie nodded. “Yes it is,” she replied, still in bewildered-mode, “Did CNN tell you that?”

“It's been over two weeks since you received it .”

Carie closed her eyes and shook her head. “'It'? What are you...?” She paused, her mouth rounding open just as her eyes did. “Oh. Ohh! The ticket.

Vasily stood quietly, waiting.

Carie rolled her eyes to the side. “You remember writing that? It was like a message written by someone who had just been hit over the head with a hammer.” She immediately winced, realizing that probably came across as kind of insulting. “Sorry,” she said with a sheepish shrug.

“I am ready,” Vasily said, filtering out her comments about his writing skills, “You want to redeem now?”

Now? I just got home from work.”

“Perfect,” he said, clapping his hands like two steaks slapping together. “I make you relax with Vasily massage.”

“I haven't had any dinner,” she replied, bending down to pick up the bag and scoop sushi off of the floor. She peered into it --rice and raw fish in a jumbled mess-- and sighed. “I don't have any dinner.”

“Good.” Vasily nodded curtly towards her door. “Go get tee-kit then come back.”

“You mean I still have to get the stupid ticket?” Carie dropped her arms, perplexed.

He looked back at her very matter-of-factly. “Of course,” he replied. The he disappeared into his apartment closing the door behind him.

Carie stood in the corridor, still holding her bags, gazing at his closed door. She shook her head and smirked. “I never should have let him into my apartment,” she sighed. Then from somewhere deep behind her tired chest, a hearty giggle came forth. “Yes, as if letting him into the apartment was where you drew the line with him,” she thought to herself.

Damn what a silly, strange, scruffy man...and a brilliant fuck, she couldn't deny it. Behind that stoic veneer was a very driven and determined young stud when given the proper motivation. Carie was a decent incentive if she did say so herself.

“You are totally hopeless, Carie,” she mused.

Once in her apartment, she scampered to her bedroom and changed into her black and pink, short kimono robe. She found the makeshift ticket for Vasily's Lounge where she had left it a week ago after receiving it, on her nightstand beside a used up ticket for Chez Carie.

She wasn't sure why she had waited to “redeem” it...or maybe she just didn't want to admit to herself how much of a tease she could be some times. Well, it had taken Vasily long enough to notice her, that's for sure. It was the big lug's turn to wait on his heels for a little while.

A quick stop in the bathroom to brush the life and silky shine back into her hair and pinch some rose into her cheeks and she was at Vasily's front door within ten minutes. She gave it a whimsical rap of her knuckles.

Vasily opened the door. The aquatic hues of his blue eyes still looked as impassive as ever.

Carie smiled and did a little playful curtsy with the skirt of her robe. “I am here for my complimentary massage, m'sieu.”

He held out his large palm.

“But of course,” Carie replied. She reached into the pocket of her robe and handed him the post-it note “ticket” with Vasily's hand-scrawled advertisement: "Come to Vasily's Lounge. Only deal for woman in apartment eight. Ticket is good for six massages generously for free. Big hands. Big everything! Try Vasily's Special. You come 24/7 including Christmas. We make satisfaction for sure!"

Vasily stepped aside as he took the ticket from her and stuffed it into his pocket.

Carie walked by him. She couldn't deny that she was a little giddy entering Vasily's apartment for the first time. That balloon of anticipation was popped the moment she stepped onto an empty water-bottle, the plastic crunching and wrapping beneath her heel. The glimmer in her slender dark-brown eyes dimmed with the frown that fell over them as she quickly scanned the interior of his apartment.

“Holy hell,” she murmured, unable to hide her astonishment. “When did the bomb drop?”

She had been expecting a young bachelor's pad; perhaps a bit spartan, a bit lacking in refinement with a jumbo screen television as the centre-piece of the decor, and maybe a few magazines and clothes laying around with last night's dinner still in the sink.

What she had just stepped into though...she didn't want to say it, but she did. “This is like a war zone.”

It was almost an indescribable mess in Vasily's apartment. Wall-to-wall litter on the floor, spaghetti and meatballs-like wires and dismantled electronics on every counter and seat, a small fort of books and magazines and CD and DVD cases by the was endless. Carie didn't even want to turn her head to look into the kitchen; the foul whiff of air made her think better of it.

Vasily was a little rough around the edges, true, but it added to his rugged allure. This was like steel wool being dragged across her eyes, however.

Carie shook the bottle off of her foot. “Vasily, why is it so messy in here?” she asked as gently as she could.

Vasily looked around as if he were watching a pachinko board, then back down at her. He said nothing.

Anxiously, Carie asked, “Do you ever clean your place?”

He shrugged his broad, tattooed shoulders. “I clean.”

“I meant this decade?” Carie snapped. She waved her hand around towards the enclosed dump. “It's such a....I don't know where to begin!”

Vasily remained still but an ebb of concern started to seep to the surface of his face.

Swiftly Carie looked back and forth toward the apartment and up at the stoic man standing beside her. Her stomach gurgled. She suddenly remembered that she hadn't had any dinner and now she was really, really hungry. Finally, feeling deflated, she tightened the sash of her robe and proceeded to walk back out into the hallway.

“You go?” Vasily asked, confused.

“I go,” Carie grumbled. She turned on her heel to face him and held out her hand.

Vasily stared at her.

Carie tilted her head slightly, arched her brows upward, pursed her small pink lips and gave him an insistent bob of her palm in front of his face. “Tee-kit?”

Hesitantly, he reached into his pocket and produced the ticket. She snapped it from him.

Carie stepped backwards, waving the little piece of paper in her fingers. She pushed open her apartment door and stepped inside, still looking back at him. “Word of advice: Next time, be a bit more prepared when you ask young women of certain finesse over to your place, okay?” She slipped the ticket under the collar of her robe, beneath her breast pocket.

Vasily's mouth hung slightly ajar, his squared, stubbly jaw shifting to the left.

“Good night, Boris,” Carie said and then shut her door.

* * * * *

Sunday morning...

Vasily stared at his door for a few minutes longer then checked his watch and sighed. She wasn't late; he was early. A frown twitched onto his face and he finally relaxed and put aside the bottle of oil. He did another check of his apartment; everything looked okay. He sniffed the air; no pervasive odours. Checking himself in a mirror, he rubbed his fingers across his clean shaven jaw and through the short crop of hair on his head. He looked presentable, acceptable.

Grabbing a banana from his kitchen counter, he chewed on it as he went to his apartment door and peeked through the peep-hole; Apartment Eight's door remained shut. After a minute, he shook his head. He wasn't annoyed that she wasn't coming out, yet. No, he was annoyed with himself.

Going back to the thing about him rarely even being surprised, it seemed like over the past couple of months, it was happening a lot...and he was causing it himself.

Starting back when he found that post-it note on his door, that “Golden Ticket”, he didn't know why he didn't just throw it in the recycling bin along with the rest of the junk mail. He knew who it was from. It was from her, the young woman in Apartment Eight.

Ever since he moved into the place, he hadn't really paid much attention to her. Sure she was cute and he could have been pressed into admitting that she was attractive. But she was so petite and slender and so...delicate. It was an inherent bias he held towards Asian girls. He was used to associating with women made of heartier and sturdier stuff, women who could handle his tendency not to be so...delicate.

She was also very cheerful and chatty, like a bird on his window sill in the morning chirping away endlessly. No matter how often he would brush it away, it would just come back even more chipper and somewhat feisty. It puzzled him. Bears usually weren’t so preoccupied with little birds flitting about.

Then the next thing he knew, he was actually walking across to her apartment, ready to present his Golden Ticket in exchange for a promised shave at Chez Carie. Part of him was fully expecting her to just laugh in his face and he was already scolding himself for falling for her little joke as he knocked on her door. Yet, she let him in...and she shaved him...with her pink razor.

The first time was out of necessity; he had a meeting with a client that day and had run out razors. Yet he couldn't explain to himself why he had gone back again and again, just as he couldn't explain why she would so dutifully shave him again and again.

He found himself almost reluctant to hand the ticket over again for the sixth time, the last time, one Sunday morning. It was the start of a series of surprises that quickly escalated and relentlessly caught him off guard: seeing her in that short kimono and colourful leggings, the immediate stir that caused within him, her methodical motions and look of intense concentration as she shaved his head with the electric clippers, then the way she sculpted the shaving foam on his face before slicing it off with confident strokes of the straight razor. It was so invigorating watching her do this, moving so close to him, her sweet flowery scent around him.

His hand dropping and brushing against her bare thigh was an unconscious act, he truly believed that. To be clear, she actually made the first move, almost climbing on top of him to shave him; his response was definitely reactionary to her unpredictable manoeuvring. What happened immediately after that was much, much more deliberate but no less unexpected. Before he had crossed the threshold into her apartment that morning, he really had no idea that they would end up having an exhausting screw-fest before lunch.

Topping it all off? The little bird took the bear's best...and she gave it back to him, relentless, feisty. There was nothing subtle about their heated session in her apartment and, to his surprise and explosive satisfaction, Carie wasn’t nearly as delicate as he thought she would be.

He had really enjoyed the way she said, “Fuck.”

Vasily leaned away from the peep hole and grimaced. He felt flush around his neck, all over, in fact.

He checked his watch again. He had time for a quick, cold shower.

* * * * *

The past Tuesday evening...

Carie walked down the corridor of her apartment building this time with her keys hooked around her middle finger and a plastic bag of fried chicken and coleslaw hanging around her wrist. As she approached her door, she heard a loud bang behind the door of Apartment Seven. It didn't make her jump but the rustling and the scuffling noises that ensued, punctuated by some grunts and what sounded like grumbling curses, piqued her curiosity enough that she had to pause and lean in for a good listen.

Suddenly, the door opened and some junk fell at her feet. Carie did a quick-step backwards on her high heels as an empty can rolled towards her.

Vasily grumbled like a hungry wolf. He emerged from the door, his long arms overloaded with bags and boxes and what looked like half the contents of his home. He used his brick-like chin to steady a stack of magazines tucked underneath.

She leaned back against her door and crossed her arms. She smiled and asked, “Rummage sale?”

“Cleaning,” he grunted.

Carie nodded. “Good for you. Do you need a hand?”


“Knee? You need a knee?”

Nee. Is 'no'.”

“'Nee' is 'no'? Ah! Is 'no'!” Carie coughed back a chuckle behind her smiling lips. She said, “Oh nee nee, I insist.” She bent down and daintily picked up a can with two fingers. Leaning on the toes of one foot, she placed the can on the top of the stack of magazines, right by Vasily's nose.

Vasily said nothing. Instead he turned carefully and baby-shuffled his way down the corridor; likely it was one of many trips he was making to the apartment garbage chute. As he ambled away, he reminded Carie of those circus dogs balancing on the balls on their hind legs. She did admire the little wiggle of his strapping behind, though; dogs wished they looked so good in denim pants.

“I guess no massage tonight, either,” she commented to herself. She went into her apartment. The chicken smelled really good.

* * * * *

The past Wednesday night...

Carie put the leftovers of her dinner in the fridge. She knew she shouldn't have ordered the burrito with double-meat, but she was just so damn hungry at the time and her inner carnivore needed to be satiated. As she threw back another shot of tequila she heard a knock on her door, like a ham thumping on the wood. She swallowed hard, the alcohol burning her throat, and rolled her eyes.

Not bothering with the peephole, she opened the door and was greeted by the looming shadow of Vasily.

“Yes? May I help you?” Carie asked, leaning against the door frame; she felt a bit tipsy.

“You are free now?”

“Maybe,” she replied with an indifferent shrug. “Is your apartment clean?”

The big man noticeably paused, his eyes trailing off to the side momentarily. He looked back at her, “Yes. Clean.”

Carie's long lashes pulled together, darkening her eyes to narrow slits. She stared at him for a few seconds but then gave up. Getting him to sweat from her glare was probably asking too much; can't get perspiration from a statue.

“Okay,” she finally sighed.

“You bring...”

“Yes, yes. I'll go get the ticket.” Carie gave her head an exaggerated nod. It didn't help the alcohol-induced swirlies she was experiencing.

Within a couple of minutes, she was passing through the door into Apartment Seven again. Standing in the foyer she did a quick check of the surroundings and whistled. The apartment was practically laid bare, as if some black-hole had opened up and sucked everything away. All that was left was a sofa, a cheap wooden coffee table and, of course, a jumbo screen television and entertainment unit. It was likely everything he had arrived with when he had first moved into the apartment a few months ago.

“That's some major excavation you managed to pull off, Vasily,” she commented.

“Do you have tee-kit?”

Carie handed him the massage ticket. Still gazing into the apartment, she twisted her lips aside and frowned. “So,” she mused aloud, “Where am I to receive service?”

Vasily paused then said, “Bedroom?”

“,” she said flatly. She looked up at him with a discerning eye, considered his rather unfazed expression, and asked, “I am getting an actual massage, aren't I? That's why I'm here?”

Once more, Vasily's blue eyes withdrew toward an empty corner as he thought. Just as quickly he looked back at Carie and nodded. “Of course,” he offered, his hand gesturing toward the sofa, “There.”

Carie hesitated and then finally made her way to the sofa, a grudging drag in her step, Vasily following close behind.

They stood in front of the sofa, facing one another.

Carie waved her hands indifferently. “Should I lie down or what?”

Again, Vasily gestured for her to have a seat.

With a heavy sigh, Carie plopped herself down onto the sofa. As Vasily sat down beside her, she turned away and pulled her long hair over her shoulder across her front, exposing her neck and back.

“You want to take off shirt?” Vasily asked. He had already suffered a small disappointment when she came over still dressed in her work attire.

“Not really,” Carie remarked.

With her back towards him and motionless, Vasily allowed a puzzled expression to draw itself on his face. After a long moment, he placed his hands on the back of her shoulders and started kneading. It actually felt kind of nice pushing her soft skin beneath her blouse, but he'd be lying if he said that this what he was expecting to be doing tonight with her.

Somehow, Carie sensed that. As his heavy hands massaged her, she couldn't relax. She grimaced and winced as if someone were prodding her with a broom handle, her body swaying and pushing this way and that without any soothing rhythm.

After a few minutes of the awkward silence and even more awkward massage, she finally said pointedly, “Okay. That's it.” She stood up.

Vasily's hands were still raised as he looked up at her. “We are done?”

“Mm-hmm,” Carie replied, adjusting her hair back behind her shoulders.

“You want to go to bedroom now?”

She cocked her head back and frowned. Then she laid into him, “No, I don't want to go to bedroom now. I want a frigging massage!” It seemed like the tequila had a delayed effect on her temper.

“I give you massage,” Vasily insisted.

“A proper one,” Carie corrected, “Just like I gave you a proper shave. Six times! Six times I foamed you up and shaved you! I even used a straight-blade for crying out loud. I could have slit throat!”

“You did not slit my throat.”

“So you noticed!” Carie jeered. She poked him on the shoulder. “I took care of you, Vasily. Boy did I take care of you! I turned that scouring pad you called a chin into a smooth baby's bottom!”

Vasily inhaled and held his breath, freezing the confused look on his face.

“Vasily's Lounge, right? Vasily Special, my ass,” Carie continued with her whirlwind tirade, continuing with the accentuated finger-pokes. “Where's the massage oil and towels? The comfy table or futon or...whatever that thing is called? Where's the ambiance, the candles...the Peruvian flute music?”

“Per-Peruvian flute...?”

Carie snatched up his wrists and raised his hands in front of his face. “Look at these hands,” she insisted as she shook them, “They're big and strong and beefy and warm. You should be able to sculpt manna from manure with these hands! Instead it's like you're squeezing out a mouldy sponge!”

Vasily shook his head. The little bird was chirping way too fast now.

“Learn how to use these hands properly,” she said, her grip tightening on his wrists, “I want you to learn how to fuck my back and neck and shoulders and legs with these hands, do you understand? I want my skin to have freaking orgasms, got it?”

He understood the word “fuck”. His eyes shifted between his hands and her very pink-flushed face. Feisty, she was definitely feisty.

“Good night Boris,” she said decisively, and then stumbled her way out of his apartment shutting the door behind her.

Vasily remained on the sofa, his hands still raised, uncertain of what had happened, what she had said, and what he was supposed to do next.

Suddenly the door swung open. Carie stood unsteadily in the hallway and stuck her hand out towards him.

“Give me back my fucking tee-kit,” she demanded.

* * * * *

The past Thursday evening...

Carie dragged her feet along the carpet of the corridor. It had been a rough day starting from the morning when it felt like her head was filled with cement as she tried to raise it from her pillow. The Mexican food and tequila from the night before had erupted like a volcano in her tummy and filled her dreams with chaotic images of dogs balancing on balls amongst a wasteland of garbage; certainly someone's vision of hell.

It didn't really help her day at the office, with the constant threat of her leaden cranium crashing down upon her desk. It was rough seas, yet, somehow she managed to pull through.

Tonight's dinner was a dry garlic-poppy seed bagel from the bakery around the corner. She didn't care if it fell to the floor.

As she moved like a tortoise through the corridor, she heard heavy footsteps come up from behind her. She raised her head enough to catch Vasily walk up beside her. She cringed, recalling bits and pieces of the previous night...something about fucking her with his hands? Christ.

“Hey,” she said, her voice brittle.

Vasily acknowledged her with a silent nod.

“ massage or whatever tonight, okay?” Carie added.

“No massage,” Vasily remarked, “I have work.”

“Oh...okay. Good,” she replied. That was easy.

As she watched him enter his apartment and close the door without another word or even a glance towards her, Carie wondered if maybe she had gone too far.

The next night, she didn't run into Vasily at all and it was very quiet in his apartment. Possibly the black-hole had opened up further and sucked him in as well?

When Saturday arrived, all day long she just missed him coming and going from his apartment. She wasn't even sure if she heard him leave the apartment but she sensed that he must have sneaked out at some point in the day; she didn't expect a man of his size to have a stealth mode.

In the evening she was almost tempted to go across the hall, knock on his door, and insist he honour the 24/7 policy he had etched onto the stupid Golden Ticket, just so she could see him again. Yet, part of her still expected the man to walk over and command her to come in his typically charming way. So she waited...and waited, all the while staring at the ticket for Vasily's Lounge lying on her nightstand.

It was 2 a.m. when Carie awoke to the sound of a soft knock on her door. She squinted in the dark on her bed uncertain if it was a dream.

Maybe it was zombies...

“Oh for shit's sake, enough with the zombies!” she cursed in the dark. Throwing the covers off, she marched out of the bedroom.

She peeked through the peephole and opened up the door. The corridor was empty but she knew immediately to check the front of her door. Just as she expected, there was a post-it note.

It read: “Sunday. 10 a.m. Vasily's Lounge.”

Carie's bottom lip curled into her mouth as she grinned to herself. She closed the door and went straight back to bed. She needed a good night's sleep.

* * * * *

Sunday morning...

Though she was heartened by the invitation, Carie was still a bit wary of what to expect as she walked up to Vasily's door. She hesitated for a moment, staring at the number eight on the front, then finally shrugged to herself and knocked.

After a moment, the door opened. Carie's cashew sloped eyes widened for a second then quickly narrowed into a bemused squint. Vasily stood before her clean shaven, only a fine layer of hair upon his scalp. The tall man was dressed in a white t-shirt and what looked like linen relaxed yoga pants. His big, clod-hopper feet were bare.

“Welcome to Vasily's Lounge,” he said.

Carie paused, stuck on Vasily's appearance, though she wouldn't call it unwelcoming, not at all; she already knew that the clean shaven look definitely worked his mojo. Then something else grabbed her attention. She sniffed once, then twice, her nose twitching, and asked, “Is that incense?” An aromatic scent swept towards her from the apartment and finally lured her in through the door and past Vasily.

“Oh,” Carie breathed.

The look of surprise didn't subside from her face as the door shut behind her. Vasily had been doing some redecorating it seemed. Linen drapes fell across the windows, filtering the morning sunshine to a soothing glow. Candles upon chargers were lit on the floors and on the counters providing additional soft light and warmth. The fragrant smell had come from a couple of wicks of incense burning on a tray.

A pleasing, inoffensive, water-ripple type music played gently on the stereo. Carie's mouth slipped open, curling into a smile of disbelief. “You actually got the Peruvian pipe music.”

“I think it is Japanese, maybe?” Vasily said, standing behind her. “Is from YouTube.”

“Whatever. It's freaking pipe music.” Carie's eyes finally settled on the main addition to the room. “Is that an actual massage table?”

Vasily nodded. “Yes.”

Carie looked back over her shoulder. “Where...?”

“Craig's List.”

She frowned. “Craig's List? Is it...?”

“It is clean,” he confirmed, “Is used from legitimate place. No rub and tug. I made certain.”

Carie nodded. She'd have to take his word for it because she was just too damn excited by the lengths the big doofus had gone through to appease her.

“So,” Vasily said, “You like, then?”

Carie was about to throw him an enthusiastic thumbs up but stopped herself. Instead she gave him a coy glance and said, “It's nice, but you can make any crappy tasting cake look good with some decent icing.”

Vasily's deep blue eyes didn't blink.

She sighed. “I'll let you know after the massage.” Then she started towards the table.

“Carie,” Vasily said.

She pivoted and looked back at him. “Hmm?”

He crossed his arms and grimaced.

“Oh. Right,” she said and reach under her robe's collar to take out the ticket and hand it over to him.

Carie made her way to the table and stood before it still having to hold back her amazement.

Vasily himself was keeping his own looks of contentment in check. He could tell she was pleased. It was surprising to him just how good it made him feel to know that. However, his stonewall veneer didn't crack. Now wasn't the time to stop to admire his initial success. There was a job at hand.

“Take off clothes now,” he said.

Carie blinked. “What?”

“This is professional A-1 massage,” Vasily declared, “You take off clothes and lie on table, of course.”

“Oh...of course,” she replied. It wasn't as if he hadn't ever seen her naked before. His terseness was a bit unexpected though. It sounded like he was actually taking this seriously. She snickered to herself. Okay. Whatever.

With a flirtatious grin, Carie bent down and slowly rolled one of her long leggings down her smooth legs, then the other. Just as deliberately, she reached underneath the skirt of her robe and shimmied her hips as she tugged her panties down to her ankles and kicked them aside. Then she stood upright. To her dismay, Vasily's back was to her as he shifted around some towels and bottles on a small table.

She frowned. “I'm going to take off my robe now,” she announced to his back.

He didn't turn around.

“It's a good thing it's warm in here because I'm buck naked underneath, nary a stitch upon my body.”

Not so much as a grunt.

Carie's mouth opened to say something again, but then she just rolled her eyes, surrendered, and undid the sash of her robe. She tossed the short kimono on top of her stockings and panties, efficiently bundled up her hair with a band, then slid onto the soft linens covering the cushioned table, head towards the window. She folded her arms beneath her chin.

After a moment, Vasily turned around and was greeted by the lovely bare backside of Carie as she lay on her belly on the table. The distilled light from the windows and candles wrapped around her milky, velvety skin in the most tantalizing way. The stiff line along his lips shifted a little to the left. It almost pained him when he covered her bare bottom with a folded towel; but he was determined to do this properly.

Like pushing through molasses, words finally escaped his mouth. “Are you comfortable?”



Carie shook her head a little. “Nope. It's fine.”

Vasily nodded once. “I'll begin, then.”

Despite her anticipation, Carie tensed when she heard a bottle of liquid being shaken, a slight flutter in her heart. She flinched a little when she felt the drops of oil fall on her back and frowned as she listened to Vasily rub his hands together. Within a moment, she could feel his palms an inch away from her skin. Allowing for her giddiness to subside, she asked, ”Uh, you do know what you're doing?”

Vasily paused, his hands hovering just above her back. “I know.”

“Because I've heard people can suffer nerve damage from an improper massage.”

“I won't damage nerves,” he declared, “I watch on YouTube how to do this.”

“YouTube?” Carie said, lifting and turning aside her head. “Are you sure you're supposed to....oh! Uhh! Mmm!”

Tired of the chatter, Vasily put his hands to work already, his silent way of saying, “Quiet!”

Within seconds, Carie's concerns melted into a warm, buttery puddle of delight. Her head dropped back down onto the table and she shut her eyes.

Vasily applied gentle pressure with his fingers and palms upon the soft skin around the back of her neck and shoulders. His large hands provided ample reach and coverage across Carie's petite body, and he quickly kindled the massage oil to a soothing warmth with his body heat.

Carie inhaled deeply, taking in the aroma of the oil. She had been correct thinking that Vasily's big strong hands would be well-suited for this type of thing. As she felt his fluid fingers work deeper and deeper into her skin, the curl in her lips became more and more pronounced.

Vasily circled his thumbs outward across her shoulders, then back toward her neck. Rhythmically he worked his way down the side of the trench of her spine. As he kneaded and rubbed her back, he could feel her muscles relax beneath his touch, knots and kinks easing. The softness of her exposed skin, shimmering from the oil and light, was a heady temptation, yet he maintained his measured strokes and pressure.

As she felt him spiral further down her back, Carie sighed, contented. Who knew that Vasily had it in him? Vasily was more jack hammer than paint brush, she always imagined. The sex they had in her apartment, glorious though it was, sort of re-enforced that notion. Yet the jack hammer was certainly painting a lovely portrait on her back at the moment.

“Vasily,” Carie said with a dreamy voice, never opening her eyes, “What do you do for work?”

“Computers,” he replied.

“Figures.” Alright, a bit stereotypical work for a young eastern European man, but it possibly accounted for his talented fingers.

Vasily moved around the table, continuing his diligent and silent work on her arms and fingers. He slid his hands down the sides of each of her legs, oiling her soft thighs and calves with slow, concentrated strokes. It was almost mesmerizing watching the peach flesh shift and move at his touch. It was pleasing, but he remained focused and serious, taking his time. He squeezed and rubbed her feet and pinched and wriggled each one of her toes. It was a pleasurable, ticklish sensation for Carie.

At some point, the music had stopped. Neither were aware of it, though, just as they were unaware of the time. Carie listened to Vasily's deep breaths, his long exhales each time he reached the end of a long stroke, and smiled again. The man was working it, that's for sure.

Vasily wiped away a small droplet of perspiration on his temple. There was almost a grim look in his ocean-blue eyes as he returned his attentions to Carie's back for a second go around.

“Mmm. Unn.” Carie grimaced. She felt Vasily's fingers stiffen against her, focusing on pinpoint spots on her back. His pressure intensified, each spiral of his strong digits eliciting a tingling charge beneath her skin. She shifted slightly, the smile fading as she pulled her lips into her mouth, sucking on them subtly.

Vasily's palms flattened against her back, as if to hold her down, keep her still as he worked his fingers deeper and deeper against her flesh. He moved downward, toward the small of her back where it just began to curve upward toward her towel-covered bottom.

“Uh. Uhn,” Carie continued to gasp quietly. Now she was chewing on her lower lip, feeling the electricity build within her. The oil's dual effect of warming her body and filling her lungs with its jasmine aroma, was intoxicating. As she felt him work her lower back with incessant circles of his strong fingers, the tingling sensation spiked out to her fingers and toes.

Good Lord, he was doing it; he was fucking her skin with his hands.

The subtle twists of her body Vasily observed as she lay before him, and her growing languid and sultry sighs of pleasure did their damage on his concentration. He stood back and inhaled deeply, taking in the oiled up young beauty on the table. He needed a moment just to reset.

Carie was hurriedly pressing her own inner reboot button. That had been much better than anything she had expected. She wondered what other ideas he had gotten from watching YouTube.

It was during that second of wistful thought that she felt the towel covering her bum suddenly get yanked away and tossed aside. A squirt of something thick, which she hoped was the oil, fell upon her butt cheeks, then two large hands encompassed them, stiff fingers digging into the pliant flesh.

“Still tight here,” Vasily noted.

Carie grinned crookedly. His sense of humour was like a crate of hammers.

Vasily aggressively smeared the copious amounts of oil he had poured around her butt until it was glistening like a roast. He slid his fingers through, revelling in the firmness of Carie's fine bottom. He pinched and squeezed as he continued to delight in her touch.

Carie giggled. It was as if Vasily was playing in a mud puddle, unable to control himself. She asked, “Are you enjoying yourself?”

Then she felt his fingers slide down the trench of her crack, past her anus and up underneath her crotch.

Carie gasped, her pink lips rounding wide like her eyes, caught off guard by the sudden, provocative slip of his fingers.

Vasily pressed his hand against her crotch, dancing his oil-slicked fingers along the outer line of Carie's sensitive lips. Gently he massaged them apart, exposing the petals within, the tender folders enveloping his stiff digits. He swirled the tips of his fingers on the hood of her clit, drawing approving sighs and quivers.

The stunned look on Carie's flushed face hadn't faded as she gasped and swallowed, licking her small, pink lips. Going from the unexpectedly relaxing massage to this sudden moment of illicit ecstasy almost gave her psychic whiplash. Again, Vasily's fingers worked their way deeper and deeper, but this time time they went beyond the outer realm of her body. She almost lost it feeling him sink his large middle digit deep inside of her.

Vasily maintained a hand on the back of Carie's shoulder, keeping the young woman's upper body steady on the table. He reached deeper between her legs, delving and stroking his finger upward and further into her soft inner flesh. As he did, her hips rose off the table, adding a seductive curve to her back as she wriggled and squirmed at his touch.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked.

Carie frowned momentarily. Bastard.

Her face was turned to the side, pressed up against the small pillow. She cocked a brow to look back and up towards. Vasily gave her a hard, almost stern look even as he continued to plunge his finger faster and faster into her. It was such a fucking sexy gaze.

Higher and higher her hips raised up from the table as she drew herself to her knees. She reached a hand down, meeting Vasily's hand at her crotch and teased at the top of line, swirling her fingers on her tingling clit.

Vasily continued to press his advantage, feeling her drip upon his fingers and palm, her liquid warmth mingling with the oil on his hand. He drove his finger deep into her with pulsing, quick thrusts. Sounds of her wetness and aching gasps filled his apartment to his satisfaction yet he wanted to hear more.

He wanted her to say it.

Carie tensed, pinching her lips with her teeth. She held her breath for a second then burst, “Ohh...fuck!”

His fingers soaking, Vasily withdrew and stepped back leaving Carie, still with her face on the pillow and propped at her knees, hitching and heaving on the table. During the frenzy, the band that had held up her hair had given way, her long black locks falling across her glistening face.

Vasily was barely able to keep the satisfied grin on his face hidden, revealing only a stoic glance toward Carie. He only wiped away the beads of sweat on his forehead as he turned away and did his best to keep his breaths quiet and steady. Diligently he worked over a small side table, wiping his hands with a towel.

Carie was having none of that steady and cool bullshit of his, though. He had charged her up. You don't boost a battery unless you're going to go for a ride. A look of determination drew upon her own, glowing face as she slowly slid off the table.

Vasily had just dropped the towel onto the table when he looked down and saw two hands reach around him from behind. He didn't move as nimble fingers undid the waist-tie of his pants. The light, linen fabric fell to his ankles. The same fingers took hold of his cock.

“Do I have your attention?”Carie asked as she shifted forward and pressed her nude body up against his back. “Wait, nevermind. I think I can guess.”

Her soft fingers and palms glided up and down his length, raising it, and guiding it to rigid attention.

Vasily gritted his teeth as he looked up at the ceiling and breathed deeply. He felt her firm grip on his shaft, pumping it within her fist as her other hand curled first around his inner thigh, caressing it, before curving inward to cup his scrotum. Her fingers played along the base of his cock.

After a few minutes of rhythmic stroking, Carie tip-toed around to his front, looking up at him with a playful, yet devilish gaze. She pushed him back with two fingers on his belly until he was leaning against the massage table.

How was it that such a petite, “delicate” woman could command him with such little effort, Vasily wondered. Bracing himself at the edge the table, questions like that were flushed out of his soon-to-be preoccupied mind as he watched Carie crouch down on her toes and swiftly gather his stiffening cock into her hands once more.

Carie, with Vasily's familiar, hard length in her grasp, smiled and looked all the way up at the tall man into his deep blue eyes. She kept her own slender eyes on him as she flicked out her tongue like a snake once then again, slinking it around his bulbous tip. She continued to attack him swift flicks and licks until his reddish-purple head was shining with her saliva before slipping her lips over him.

Only in his tank top, Vasily still felt warm, so he pulled it off and tossed it aside. His mouth drifted ajar as he looked down past the rise and fall of his stomach. He watched, fixated on Carie as she burned her seductive gaze upon him even as she inhaled his cock deep into her moist mouth. Her slender eyes narrowed, revealing a gleam in her dark brown pupils. He stroked her hair; it was even softer than he remembered it, the fine, black angelic strands falling between his fingers.

Carie shifted his cock in her mouth, pushing his head against her gullet before drifting it against the inside of her cheek. With sopping gasps she wrapped and swirled her tongue around, pulling off momentarily to swallow before dropping upon his length once again. Feverishly she bobbed her head back and forth, her hand pumping at his base, feeling his cock steel against her palm.

Vasily shut his eyes as he sucked in oxygen. His lips drew to a grim line, but his breathing was audible through his flaring nostrils. His rugged muscles were all alight and tense.

Carie pulled off him with a hard, loud suck. Still glazing his cock in her hands with her saliva, she rose to her feet and said, “Made you blink.”

Vasily eyed her.

She grinned crookedly, her pink lips glossy. “And I didn't learn that from YouTube.”

The moment after she reached up behind his neck and pulled him down, they clenched in a heated embrace and savage kiss. Their tongues traded fire as much as they traded saliva, swirling, tangling, and wrestling for position. Vasily planted his hands on her back and butt, fingers digging in, not to massage her but secure their hold upon her, pull her soft body against his hard frame.

Carie wiggled her body enjoying his protruding, hot shaft rub against her belly. The throb she felt beckoned to her, yet it wasn't as if she needed much cajoling in the first place. With a quick shove, she broke from the kiss, and took a step back.

“On the table, Vasily,” she commanded, sweeping her hair back over her shoulders.

Like a giant mastiff, the big man obeyed and climbed on to the table, lying on his stomach. In his pointed “condition”, it wasn't as comfortable as he thought it would be.

Carie rolled her eyes. “On your back, dummy. I'm not giving you a massage.”

Without a word, Vasily flipped over. He watched as Carie joined him on the table, throwing a leg over him. As she straddled his thighs, she gathered his cock in he hands once more and resumed pumped him up.

So much for the table not being used for a rub and tug.

Carie shimmied forward, just up to the base of his tummy. She massaged his broad chest, kneading her fingers into his pecs. Vasily returned the favour, reaching up and cupping a supple breast in each pg his warm hands. When she leaned forward, he rose up and helped himself to hungry, messy sucks of her dark nipples, motoring his tongue along the nibs until they were tight and strained.

Carie pushed him back down. She raised herself up on her knees, offering Vasily a lovely view of her nude body. She grinned and reached down, taking hold of his cock and guiding it into position.

“Time for Carie Special,” she said through a sharp grin.

“Vasily Special,” he corrected, nudging her tender opening with his rugged tip.

Carie rolled her eyes. “Whatever,” she said, “Just fuck me, stupid.”

Vasily obliged, propelling his hips upward, thrusting his ample length into Carie with one steady stroke.

“Ahh.” Carie's head listed downward as her chin dropped. His thick cock spread her wide, as she clenched her thighs against her torso and braced her hands against his chest.

Vasily grabbed hold of her waist and rolled his hips with an undulating rhythm. In and out his cock surged, moving like a fine-tuned piston. As Carie found her own sensual rhythm, lifting and dropping herself, he watched his dark length withdraw and then rush into her tight, moist snatch.

Carie leaned back, rolling her smooth, creamy belly, her riding her heated stud with an assured cadence. She ground her crotch against his and clenched, feeling the pulse of his cock deep inside of her.

Vasily tightened his grip and strained his ripped belly to fill her with stiff, turgid thrusts, rattling an extended quivering moan from Carie. His hips pitched hard upward, slapping his crotch against hers nearly vaulting her off to her ecstatic delight.

“Ah fuck!” Carie groaned aloud toward the ceiling.

That was it for Vasily; his veneer cracked. The pale skin on his face and around his neck was pink like a spanked pig, framing the purple-blue maze of tattoos on his upper back and shoulders. The hard line on his lips had long been broken by exposed gritted teeth or wide-mouth groans. His chest was heaving and he was breathing hard as he moved Carie off of him, sliding off the table with her to stand on the floor. He kissed her hungrily from her lips to her trembling breasts before spinning her around and pushing her up against the table.

Carie barely managed to grab hold of the edge before she took another broad thrust from behind, chased by a growling grunt from Vasily. Her head snapped back then forward as he filled her with rollicking strokes.

Vasily had a secure hold on her lithe frame, one firm hand on her shoulder, the other solidly on her waist as he pulled her in, slapping his crotch rigorously against her behind, rippling the flesh along her round bottom.

Carie hung on, bent over the table, shocked that the item purchased on an internet want ad site was holding up so well against their sexual duress. Yet while it shook and creaked and pushed along the floor, it remained standing. It was more than she could do, her own knees beginning to buckle.

Vasily didn't make it any easier for her, turning her slightly and raising her leg up, draping it over his forearm. Now with Carie standing on one foot, a hand bracing against the table, the other holding tight against his elbow, the two of them crested higher with sharper, quicker thrusts of Vasily's swollen cock. They stared at each other, lurid, lustful looks in each others eyes. Both of them dripped sweat, their fine tuned bodies glistening with perspiration and oil.

Carie never felt so carnal before, not that she could recall anyway. This was twice now with Vasily, both times on a Sunday morning of all days. What did she used to do on Sunday mornings? Oh yes, either sleep in or go to church. Well, she was still saying “Oh God”, but now she added something else to that quick prayer.

“Harder,” she groaned, between her dry panting, “Come on, Vasily. Give me your 'Special'.”

Overheated and overworked, Vasily had to hear her repeat the request a few more times before it actually sunk in. This soft, slender, delicate woman wanted it harder? It already felt like his muscles were tearing themselves apart. Yet, each time she said it, the throb in his cock seemed to intensify, rising to the challenge.

Vasily leaned down and now hooked both her knees over his arms and raised her bottom upon the edge of the massage table. An unexpected advantage of the design: Carie sat at the perfect height to take his thrusts. Keeping her legs spread over his arms he powered his hips forward, driving his cock deep into her, pushing and pulling her in and out, in and out, relentlessly with stiff strikes.

“Ah. Oh, fuck!” Carie called out before wrapping her hands around is shaved head and tugging him down for a sweltering kiss. As their lips mashed and folded desperately she continued to hum and groan, “Mmm! Oh fuck. Fuck me, baby. Mmm.”

The table continued to inch across the floor with each of Vasily's hard strokes until it backed against the edge of his sofa. It felt like it was going to tip over. Vasily really didn't care at this point. The surge he felt raging in his body wouldn't be denied even if the floor of his apartment gave way...which was a distinct possibility.

If the floor had fallen out from beneath them, Carie was damn sure they would fall fucking all the way down to the street below.

Finally their lips parted, their open mouths an inch apart trading hot breaths and their eyes trading even hotter stares. His thrusts shortened, quickened, both of their cores a jangle of nerves and fire.

“Uhn-nn!” A groan swelled from Carie's parched throat as his motions sharpened, shaking her body. She wrapped her legs around his strong waist and locked her ankles against the small of his back.

Vasily crunched his abs a hundred times per second, bolstering the blood surging through his hard shaft. His mangled, deep groans reverberated on his bare walls.

Taking one last probe of his cock deep inside, Carie threw herself forward and clutched hard against his body. She moaned languidly as she shuddered and trembled, spilling a tantalizing wetness over his thick length. The flow was overwhelming, electric, Carie couldn't stop shaking, couldn't stop groaning.

A moment later, Vasily froze, his brows twisted above his glassy eyes. He felt Carie's cinched heels dig into his back and pull him in. “Ahh-uhn!” With his cock still throbbing within her, he jetted a hard stream of his rich cream with intense satisfaction. Every following pulse shot more as he came in full release of every fibre in his body.

Carie leaned back, her elbows on the table, still feeling Vasily throb within her. She admired the way his puffed up muscles glowed red, each seeming to pulse and move on its own.

Vasily stepped back when she finally released him from the clutches of her legs. He withdrew, his cock dripping with their mingling fluids. He blinked, refocusing his sights on the dark-haired beauty gazing up at him with a teasing grin and a disarmingly energized look on her face. It was a sexy look, no denying it, but it was still surprising to witness it. He was used up. The bird had exhausted the bear.

After a moment of silently exchanging looks and catching their breaths, Carie smiled and said, “So Vasily, what else have you learned from watching YouTube?”

The big man paused then flashed what could have passed for a crooked grin. Without a word he climbed onto the table with her and the two lay down locked in a sensuous embrace and kiss. The table held their weight admirably. He couldn't think of a better investment he had made in the past year other than moving into Apartment Seven.

An hour later, after having a very late brunch in his apartment, Vasily escorted Carie into the corridor. She turned around, tightening the sash of her robe.

“Ahem,” she cleared her throat and held out her hand.

Vasily handed her the Golden Ticket.

Carie looked at with a big smile on her pink lips. She looked back toward Vasily and said, “Five more massages.”

Vasily folded his arms and eyed her as he stroked the fine stubble on his chin. “No. Not five. Four.”

The trim brows over Carie's eyes knitted. “What do you mean? It says it's good for six massages. Today was the first one.”

With a quick flash of his hand belying his huge stature, Vasily snatched the ticket from her fingers. Carie was left blinking and empty-handed.

“Yes,” Vasily said through a sharp grin, “And now is second.”

Still blinking, Carie said, “Now?”

Vasily took her out-stretched wrist and tugged her back into his apartment, nodding and grinning.

The door closed and the morning turned into an afternoon of surprises.

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

Copyright © All stories, characters, and situations are works of fiction and owned wholly by the author F.P.Rollins. The story in whole or in part may not be reproduced without the author's permission.

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