Sunday, 19 June 2011

Two Fucks, One Suck and a Spanking, Part One

As the summer of 1989 reached its height my course was about to come to an end and with it the state's largesse, so I needed to decide what I was going to do for money once that terrible day of reckoning arrived. Rosa offered me a job at her college and told me that I could use the little flat, which was nice of her you have to admit. I was mulling the idea over when the gates of hell opened to release several demons all of whom were carrying large buckets of shit which they then proceeded to pour all over me.

Shit Day, as I now call it, began normally enough with me returning from my shower in my bath robe to find Svetlana in my room, smoking one of my cigarettes, having helped herself to a coffee from the percolator that I kept on my writing desk.

"I vish to go to Brighton. How far is Brighton?" Say what you like about Sveta, but she never beats about the bush.

"I dunno, a couple of hours from London by car," I told her.

Svetlana pursed her lips, and then considered her position for a moment. Finally, her mind made up, she reached inside my bath robe and took my cock in her hand. With a few expert pulls she quickly had me standing to attention and then she set to work with a good steady stroking rhythm that made me groan with pleasure.

"You gif me ride to Brighton and I gif you good hand job."

"Fuck that - I give you a ride and you give me a full fuck. A ride for a ride, darling."

"You haf condoms?"

Of course she had her own as a trollop without condoms is like a carpenter without his saw, but it was worth a try on her part. I was about to push her away and tell her no deal when she came up with a decent compromise.

"I gif you blow job and swallow the come."

"OK, and I give you a ride to Brighton but you pay the petrol."

"Nyet, but I gif you extra blow job in car going to Brighton."

"It's a deal - get sucking."

Thus are matters settled by two people who understood each other perfectly. Sveta got on her knees, gave me back the remains of my cigarette and then swiftly sucked me down the road to glory. Her tongue flickered over my cock head and then she took the whole shaft in her mouth in one deft deep throat move, before moving on to let her tongue slither along the canal that runs along the  underside of a man's weapon. I suppose that most men have been sucked off by their wives and girlfriends, but trust me when I say that unless you have placed your tool in the mouth of a genuine professional then you have really never been sucked at all.

I tried to hold back the tidal wave, but Sveta was too cute for that. She had been fondling my balls throughout and when she felt them begin to move as the hot syrup inside them began to boil, then she redoubled her efforts until the gates opened and the surge began. And I came...

Svetlana climbed to her feet and we arranged our little Brighton trip. Once she had left I quickly got dressed and had breakfast before wandering off to the car park to pick up my vehicle and drive it over to Rose's college. The plan was to teach a class and then give Rose a lesson of a more intimate nature. With that in mind I fired up the engine and slipped the car into gear and headed off to the college.

To be continued

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Re Svetlana, I think you'd get a kick out The Exile (a English language paper published in 1990s Moscow). Here's an excerpt from the Vanity Fair story about them:

"Stepping out with the Exile crowd meant invitations to the newest restaurants and nightclubs—including, one surreal night, to the grand opening of the Chuck Norris Supper Club & Casino, where the star of Walker, Texas Ranger and Braddock: Missing in Action III was, apparently, asking why they didn’t show—but Ames and Taibbi usually rejected those to throw their own debauched Exile parties or to get back to their regular hangout, the Hungry Duck, a place Ames, not given to squeamishness, describes as a “vile flesh pit.” Ask Moscow veterans about the bar and the most common response is a long, regretful groan. “Everything you’ve heard about it is conservative,” Peter Lavelle says, a hint of fear in his voice. “That place changed people.”

According to Doug Steele, the bar’s Canadian owner, “at the Duck you got laid even if you didn’t want to.” On Ladies’ Night, the doors opened at seven p.m., but the only people let in were women, as long as they were at least 16 years old. They’d drink for free. At nine, the men were allowed in. It wasn’t until the metro stations opened the next morning that it ended, and in the meantime, anything went. “Orgiastic” is an insufficient description. The only appropriate word seems to be Caligulan, and not just because the Duck was situated steps from Lubyanka, the former prison and Soviet torture chamber that now housed the F.S.B. The action was mostly elevated, according to Vlad Baseav, an early Exile general manager, with women and men alike dancing on the bar and on the tables, disrobing on the bar and on the tables, having sex on the bar and on the tables, fighting on the bar and on the tables, and then crashing in various states of undress onto the floor scrum. “They would get up and continue dancing, blood everywhere,” Baseav says. Steele recalls a night when the deputy head of a Moscow police unit, drunk beyond all reckoning, emptied his pistol into the ceiling and made everybody lie on the floor for three hours. Lavelle claims he saw a man stabbed to death next to him one night. “No one thought it was unusual.”..."

Really, it sounds like a whole other world. But it does give some idea of where Svetlana might be coming from, culturally speaking.

Karl Friedrich Gauss

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