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*** It is 1917 in the heat of the Russian Revolution. In this chapter, we go back in time to when revolutionary leader Borya Petrov and feminist/writer Natasha Solokov meet for the first time. She shares his private desires with him as no woman ever had before.***
Natasha turned and faced the mirror, adjusting her hat. She had chosen her favorite, the one with the red feather. Tonight would be worthy of it. She was to have dinner with Borya Petrov, the outspoken, determined Russian revolutionary exile. She had been a regular contributor to his underground newspaper for a couple of years but had never met him in person. Since Borya had been cast out of Russia years ago, party rallies and meetings had to be done underground around Europe, and Paris, Natasha’s adopted city, was where they were to finally meet. He had several appointments lined up during his visit and dinner in the lobby of his hotel with Natasha to discuss an editor position for his newspaper was tonight’s plan. She had all sorts of ideas of what sort of man he would be in person as she arranged her stacks of notes on her kitchen table. They had only corresponded on paper and he came across as exacting, articulate and very attuned, if not obsessively so, to detail. She had never once seen a photo of him but he was described to her as having a small beard and mustache. Just like half the men in Paris, she thought. Well, he should be easy to spot then, she thought with amusement.
Gathering her papers and tucking them into a folder, she reflected on what originally appealed to her about his party. One important factor was the party’s willingness to address the dismal state of women in Russia at the time, and the necessity to grant them equal rights, to escape loveless, abusive marriages and pursue a proper education. Natasha was a forward thinking woman who was only glad to have set up an independent life for herself in both finances and love. In a way, she used the party and the party used her. This new generation of women believed in free love, the right to choose their lovers and whether or not to even marry. A bourgeoisie domestic life never appealed to Natasha and she wanted none of the emotional fuss and drama that relationships always seemed to dredge up.
Hailing a cab to his hotel she made sure she was in proper order in her red and black dress, her fashionable hat and folder with the correct papers in hand. Just before she entered the glass revolving door to the hotel lobby she dabbed on some of her favorite vanilla perfume.
She walked into the lobby and thru the doors of the restaurant. He had told her specifically where he was going to be seated so she moved forward thru the room of diners expecting to see him at a certain table. There was no man with a little beard and mustache, she thought. She then suddenly stopped, looking around a little lost. He wasn’t where he said he would be.
Had he stood her up?
From nearby she heard a voice call out.
“Natasha! This way.”
She turned and there she saw him, standing beside a table at the window. Here he was, waving her over, dressed in a simple suit and slightly crumpled coat, with a black cap in his hand. The little ginger beard and mustache was there as expected. What she didn’t anticipate was how short he was, and she noticed he had long ago lost most of his hair. Yet still, there an immediate charisma about him as she came over to shake his hand. His face suddenly contorted into a ridiculous scowl.
“I had to move tables!” he said with his hand shielding his mouth as if it was some dark conspiracy. “That damned cigar smoke was making me sick!”
Natasha burst out laughing and sat down.
“Welcome to Paris!” she said cheerfully.
There was something wonderfully awkward about Borya as he initially fumbled about looking for his reading glasses and making sure she had a menu. Suavely entertaining attractive and intelligent women was not on his list of talents. She found herself giggling at his self effacing muttering as he realized he had left his glasses back up in his room and that he would be lucky if he got any food into his mouth properly that evening.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Petrov, you can borrow mine.” she offered, digging into her pocketbook with a little laugh.
“Please do call me Borya,” he instructed. “And I’m glad at least one of us is amused at my embarrassment.”
Somehow they managed to order their dinner between one pair of glasses and he began to relax once his beer safely arrived. She was already finding him amusing in an endearing way and let him lead the conversation while they waited for their food.
He wasted no time diving into his favorite subject-politics. He talked as he had always written to her, precisely, intensely and persistently. They agreed on many points, and already had a few they did not, and she noticed how he would be insistent about it, then dismissive if she pressed her disagreement. By the time dinner arrived on the table she had likened sincan escort him to a goat butting at an opponent. She teased him for his stubbornness. He teased her about the red feather in her hat. She called him a billy goat. He complained about his overcooked beef. She offered him some of her chicken. They talked about her art, her writing, and what her job duties would be as editor of his paper. She mentioned that she had just gotten over a terrible cold. He launched into a medical report in regards to his frequent stress related stomach pains, headaches and skin rashes.
She finished her last bite of food and wiped her hand in her napkin.
“Thank you for saving the skin rash stories for the very end of my meal.” she said with polite sarcasm.
“But you have no idea how difficult it is bashing people’s heads in” he lamented a bit dramatically. “It’s the only way we’ll get this all done.”
“Head bashing is mandatory?” she inquired, pushing her plate away.
“You can’t make an omelet without breaking a few eggs.”
“Or heads” she added, wiping her mouth.
They were already talking to and teasing one another like old friends. She discovered he saw the world as very black and white. It was to be pounded at, relentlessly, until it gave. He found her filled with the open-mindedness of an artist who was far more willing to absorb other points of view. As they talked her brown eyes would blaze with excitement when she energetically expanded on a concept they both felt passionately about. It was when they connected that way that Borya found himself eagerly leaning forward in his chair to fully engage in the idea and really enjoying the company of this intelligent, articulate woman in person after at least two years of reading and publishing her work. That was what life was like for Borya, nothing but work. He had abandoned all of his pleasures to focus on nothing but the coming revolution. He no longer played chess or went for hikes in the mountains, and he couldn’t bear to listen to his favorite music for fear it would make him “go soft, and want to stroke people’s heads and say stupid things”- a comment which made Natasha burst out in laughter. When he frowned at her, she informed him that she was adept at both art and music and could play the piano quite well, for his information. And it didn’t make her prone to saying stupid things, just so he knew.
Now it was his turn to laugh.
“I’m going to accept that challenge, Miss Solokov. When we’re at the nearest piano keys, I shall test your I.Q.”
It had been a very long time since he had been in the company of such an attractive and interesting woman. As they spoke, he looked at her lovely auburn hair which was done up neatly under her hat he actually did like very much, despite his teasing. He admired her smooth milky white skin and generous cleavage, which any man could not help but notice. As they talked, he casually, or at least tried to in all his awkwardness, steal glances at her breasts as they spoke. These days he was in a passionless but enduring marriage and it had been a very long time since he had indulged in anything intimate, discarding that thought to the pile of other sacrifices he had made for the sake of the cause. But tonight, while talking and laughing and debating,…and glancing…he was starting to feel something deep inside, something he thought long since dead, awakening. For each push he gave, she pushed right back, and he found that both exciting and arousing.
What a strange and wonderful night, he thought. She seemed like some completely unexpected gift, some anomaly, a sudden bright splash of color in the endless grey of struggle.
After their dinner plates were cleared they looked at the dessert menu. He insisted on treating her to a crème brulee. Although neither knew it that night, this was to become their special shared pleasure once they were together, the quest for a great dessert to share on those nights they would return to her apartment to make love. Without realizing it, they were already beginning to form a foundation.
Over dessert Natasha suddenly remembered that she had brought her article outlines with her. She pulled out the folder.
“I almost forgot I brought my ideas with me, if you want to go over them.”
He took the folder.
“Not here. I’ll take them back to my room, and we can discuss them after the party meeting tomorrow. You are making a speech, correct?
“I’ve rehearsed it about a thousand times.” she said.
He reached for his pocket watch and popped open the lid, looked at the time then sighed.
“Speaking of the time, I am afraid, my dear, that I have a number of notes to go over and a stack of paperwork to tackle this evening. I have an early morning meeting so I’ll have to call it a night as much as I regret to.” He closed the watch and motioned for the check.
Natasha was hoping for a bit more time with him but knew he was extremely busy, and accepted his ankara escort fairly early departure as an inevitability.
“I can help out with the check.” she said, reaching for her pocketbook.
“Absolutely not. This is my treat.” he insisted.
She politely thanked him as they got up from the table. As they walked thru the lobby he stopped at the front desk and requested a cab for her. When he turned to tell her he had arranged for her transportation he found her standing by the hotel lobby piano. He walked over to join her.
With a twinkle in her eye she said “Let me play something for you…perhaps it will cause you to want to stroke someone’s head.” she laughed.
He rolled his eyes at her sarcasm.
“Oh Natasha, I feel your intellect has already been affected..”
She set her things down, then sat down on the bench and lifted the lid from the keys. She sat down with her back erect and her fingertips poised, then she began to play.
He could not believe at first what he was hearing. It just could not be true.
From her skilled fingers came Beethoven’s Appassionata. Standing transfixed, it was as if time had stood still. This was it. This was his most beloved piece of music, the sound that could bring him to tears, the sound that stirred his emotions so much that he wanted to bury it, never hear it again…how did she know?
How did she know?
He listened as if in a trance. He was no longer standing in a Paris hotel lobby with this beautiful woman playing his song. He was being carried away out into the world he would one day transform, becoming bigger and bigger until he had conquered everything. Then slowly, the music gradually led him back inside himself again, deep, deep inside, where there was a great hurt and pain as the sound wrapped itself around his heart and broke open every emotion.
Once finished, she stopped and placed the cover back over the keys. From behind her, she heard nothing. She turned to look at Borya who stood motionless, as if in some far off place.
“Are you… feeling well?” she asked. He said nothing. She saw tears in his eyes.
Finally, he sighed and spoke.
“Beautiful.” he said. ” What astonishing, superhuman music. It always makes me proud, perhaps with a childish naiveté, to think that people can work such miracles.”
There may be hope for him yet, Natasha thought.
They walked outside together and he waited with her for the cab. It was then that he again noticed a sweet scent lingering in the air he had noticed earlier.
“What is that lovely smell, like a warm pastry?”
“I think it might be me” she replied, and lifted her wrist to his nose so he could sample her vanilla perfume.
“Ah! You smell like a sweet little cupcake!”
“Mmm..you mean good enough to eat?” she said, smiling flirtatiously.
God, this woman! She was nothing but fantastic trouble. What a foolish and dutiful husband he was, not taking her up to his room that instant and showing her a proper eating, proper lovemaking. She would go with him, he knew it, and enjoy herself completely. How his heart started to pound in those precious few moments he could have taken advantage of his position and enjoyed the pleasures he had long denied himself.
“Ms. Solokov, mind your manners,” he said, managing to level his head. “Is that any way for my new editor to behave?”
Natasha leaned over to him and whispered devilishly into his ear.
“That is how a woman who is very impressed behaves.”
Her warm breath in his ear nearly made him swoon. He felt the stirrings of an erection, his cock knowing this was opportunity, right here and right now. The joys of passion could all be theirs instead of another night of tedious paperwork. In front of her he stood tongue tied between two worlds, one of duty and one of need.
The cab engine broke him out of his thoughts as it pulled up alongside the curb next to them. Glad to have something suddenly to do, he reached to open the door for her.
Natasha turned to him and held her hand out.
“I cannot thank you enough, Borya, for a wonderful evening and for the editor position. I’ll see you tomorrow evening. I am looking forward to it.”
“As am I” he replied, taking her hand with a firm shake. He lifted it up to his lips to give it a kiss. Then, closing his eyes, he took her hand and cupped it against his mouth and cheek, nuzzling against it, depositing little kisses onto her fingers. Natasha felt an immediate and wonderful tingle run thru her body. She had been curious what was going thru his mind. This act of affection spoke of what he dare not say to her tonight.
He released her hand before he was unable to let it go.
“Now into the cab with you” he said. “You know they are charging me for every second!”
Excuse me?” she said. “This isn’t your expense.”
“It is taken care of, little cupcake. Have a safe trip home.”
Borya gave the driver some money and closed the door. She gave him a wave, then etimegut escort the cab drove off and she was gone.
Suddenly he realized he was standing there like an idiot with an erection in his pants. Pulling his overcoat closed, he returned inside the hotel.
Borya entered his room then shut and locked the door behind him. He took off his coat and sat on the edge of the bed, looking at the folder she had given him. He ran his hands across it, then dropped it on top of his stack of papers then rubbed his temples as he tried to relax and come down a bit from all of the excitement.
Thinking about her leaving in that cab, he cursed the fact that he had become so good at denying himself anything that would make him feel remotely human.
What an utter and complete fool he was, he thought. Here he was, alone in his boring room with a pile of papers he claimed to be so desperate to get back to, when he could have brought her up here with him and could be undressing her at this very moment. Button by button, undoing the front of her dress, kissing her neck…yes…how nice that would be…to discover what sort of pretty bra was holding those delicious breasts up. He would reach around and unhook it, and she would sigh as it slipped off, allowing her breasts to drop and hang nude in front of him, ready for his eager mouth to ravish them. God! His cock was throbbing as he tortured himself with this scenario. Standing up, he unbuttoned his jacket and removed it. There was no sense putting this off. He removed his pants and underwear, then his waistcoat, shirt and tie. These were the only good clothes he had brought with him, and he didn’t want them getting soiled with what he had to do before he got to work that evening. He laid them over the top of a nearby chair and out of the line of fire. He then turned the light off and lay down on the bed nude, on his back. His cock was at attention, thick and erect, needing satisfaction.
He took his erection in his hand and began to stroke, relishing the new fantasies he now had to enjoy. He returned to the thought of her nude breasts. He imagined kissing her deeply and massaging her breasts and feeling their soft, feminine ripeness. His stroking increased in pace as he started to moan softly. He had to get his mouth on those nipples, latch on and begin stimulating them. It was a deeply ingrained need, his oral fixation, to have nice big nipples in his mouth he could tug and lick and suck. He then started to imagine her riding him as he lay on his back. She would be bouncing on his cock, and from below he would look up and watch her breasts bounce and swing above him. Mmmmmm, that would be wonderful..and look at how she enjoys it. She’s a woman who would proudly show off her body, he thought. His cock throbbed as he tugged and milked. Turning his head to the side he starting to pant as he could feel her pussy pulling and squeezing his cock. He let himself be a slave to it, helpless as her sweet pussy relentlessly tugged up and down on him. His hips started to thrust as he rapidly milked, as if meeting her stroke for stroke. He was panting quickly now, eyes shut, grunting as he let this beautiful woman take him, have her way with him, fuck him, drain him completely.
“Natasha, yes..yes…Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm Ooooooohhhhhh!!
He threw his head back and cried out, then clenched his teeth tightly shut to keep from being too loud. The entire 4th floor did not need to hear this. His cock spasmed with tremendous contractions, the pleasure wracking his body as he was held captive, his cock squirting again and again. Thick ropes of cream landed on his chest and stomach as he trembled and shook. His eyes stared out into that pleasure space where he was held prisoner as he moaned again and again, gradually quieting as he at last began to ease out of the overwhelming tide of sexual and emotional release.
His heart was beating quickly. His arms fell back on either side of his head, and he continued to stare out into blank space, his body and mind awash in complete relaxation and peace. He could not move, and had no interest in moving. His breathing became steadier and now his eyes were focused on the dark ceiling. For now at least, he had quieted his body and mind, and he could concentrate on the long night ahead. Although he still had no interest in moving, he made himself get up and fetch a towel to clean himself off with. He turned on the light and put on his sleeping clothes and was startled by a knock at the door. When he opened it, he found a hotel employee there with a tray of hot tea.
“The tea you requested, sir.” The employee said.
“Oh, yes yes…” Borya muttered, fishing into his coat for the man’s tip. God, if he had been only minutes earlier, what might the man have heard from behind the door. He took the tray and gave the man his tip, who thanked him and flashed Borya a small, wry smile before turning to leave.
Had the employee heard something, and perhaps waited outside the door for a moment? Borya shook his head and chuckled. Enough now, he thought. He poured himself a cup of tea and pulled out his papers. He curled himself over the desk and leaning his head on his hand, dove into his work.
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