Strangers in Moscow

The sour faced Soviet foreign exchange teller was a bully.

"These dollars will only buy you one hundred rubles," he barked at the girl in front of me in a Central Moscow bank queue. "Don't waste my time. Buy one hundred now or go away. Hurry," he ordered.

Her shoulders shuddered as if she was about to cry. "But I can't afford to lose that much on the exchange rate. It's wrong. You're meant to pay half that again," she pleaded.

I'd recognized the girl's accent. Her English came from New Zealand, the small country where I'd been raised, but had left long ago. I listened to the official's belligerent tirade for another minute and eventually could no longer stomach it. I tugged gently at the girl's elbow, and whispered in her ear.

"I'm a Kiwi too. Don't make a fuss. Just stand here like you know nothing, and I'll get our Comrade sorted." She turned to me, her brimming brown eyes wide in astonishment. Her shiny dark hair brushed the collar of her thick coat as she nodded her pretty face. "You're quite sure?" she asked. "Thanks. I'm sinking here."

This was Cold War Russia in 1975, and it was surly. The bank stood just off the enormous expanse of Red Square where only a week before Party Secretary Brezhnev and his Politbureau heavies had stood on the dais, taking the salute as Soviet Russia made its threatening annual parade of troops, tanks and missiles. I'd been in Russia three weeks as a mildly feted guest of the communists, who wanted to do serious business with technology from my electronics firm. They'd entertained me lavishly, and watched me closely.

I saw she'd given the teller a fifty dollar travelers' check which was enough for three days tourist class travel if he didn't cheat her. Her hand brushed mine nervously as I leaned passed her and poked my head in the teller's window.

"I think you have your rates wrong, Comrade," I told him. He looked up at me angrily, his thick moustache quivering. "Who are you? Show me your papers. All of them - now," the bully demanded. He'd reacted as I hoped. I pushed him my thick credentials document, signed by several top party men, each of whom could send the teller-cheat to the gulags with no beg pardons. He glanced at them contemptuously. Then his eyes popped and his face turned ashen.

"Why, sir. Good morning and welcome. Let me have the pleasure of double checking," he stammered.

The teller made a show of thumbing through a small manual, before looking back up. "I'm terribly sorry sir. It's an honest mistake. It should be 160 rubles, not one hundred," he said.

"The lady's with me, comrade. She requires the diplomatic rate. You'll find that's 230." The official started, and then bowed. "Yes, of course," he said, and dealt out another handful of notes. I thanked him -- almost politely - and I pushed the bigger bundle of notes into the girl's hand. She blinked back the tears from the limpid pool of her eyes, and shook her head in disbelief.

"Wow, how on earth could you do that? Are you an ambassador or something?" she asked.

"No, they're just shit scared of New Zealanders," I told her. "They sit up at nights worrying we'll bomb them with butter."

Now she giggled. Her full lips transformed to a warm smile, and the dark eyes sparkled. "Sorry I was so pathetic," she said. "I've been here a week, and it's getting to me. The officials are sour, and the people intimidated. Thanks a million - and I 'm Anna from Geraldine," she said, naming a small farming town in New Zealand's south.

"Peter. A long time back I lived in Auckland. So what brings a country girl to faraway Moscow?"

"A farmer's daughter escaping," she said." My dad's getting old, I'm the only child, and he wants me to take over our family sheep station next year. I said I'll do it, but let me have twelve months seeing the world before I climb on your horse. So here I am in Moscow, with only Iran left to go, and near the end of my budget.

"And you just made it stretch a few days further, "she added, smiling wryly.

"In that case you must owe me coffee," I announced.

Outside it was ten below as we pulled on hats and gloves, and left the teller speaking more politely to his next customer. She was in her early twenties, with smooth olive skin, and classic wide cheekbones. I sensed the figure beneath the bulky full length coat was slim, but couldn't be sure. I figured a farmer's daughter travelling by herself in the Soviet Union in 1975 was gutsy. We chatted as we walked, and discovered for ourselves that Moscow then had no coffee shops. And I found that she, like me, was on her last day there.

"I think we're out of luck," I said, noticing she'd begun to shiver in the cold. "But there's a smart restaurant where I'm staying at The National. Any chance you'd have dinner with me tonight instead?"

She seemed unsure, but then agreed. "You don't need to pick me up, because I'm staying around the corner at the Hotel Russia," she said, naming a monolithic hunk of Soviet architecture the communists had built for their few tourists. We made it 7.30, and as I watched her walk briskly off huddled against the cold, I realized I felt lonely, and not just because Russia does that to you.

I headed back to my hotel for meetings. It had taken six weeks to work out our agreements to install electricity grid management technology at power sites in the Ukraine, Georgia, and around Moscow itself. Because the technology was categorized as strategic, we needed consent for the sale from the US Government, and when I visited the Embassy the First Secretary finished our meeting with a warning.

"They need your technology, but remember these guys always want more. We're sure the utility official travelling with you is actually a KGB major, and you'll be monitored every hour of the day. Some of the stories about honey-traps and blackmail are true. They're very skilled at it.

"Watch out particularly for any sexy stranger who appears out of the blue. Make sure you don't give them any way to compromise you -- it'll come back as nasty leverage. "

I'm a security geek and even then I carried a pocket sized sweeper. In three of my five hotel rooms I found listening devices, but didn't worry because group sex, bondage, or a gay affair weren't on my very straight agenda. I had no accidental meeting with the warned about sexy stranger. The best the snoops heard was snoring.

The hotels summed up the systematic incompetence of communist Russia. Baths has plugs the wrong size, cisterns didn't work, the curtains were measured for different sized windows, and anything electrical was at best a fifty- fifty chance of working.

At meetings, official dinners, and a conference, I pretended to misunderstand several veiled offers of personal bribes for a better contract - and finally arrived back in Moscow to put together the finishing touches to a successful mission.

The Hotel National was the first decent place I'd stayed in. It was a grand Tsarist era hotel the Russians used for VIP guests. Hitler planned to have his Russian campaign victory dinner in the National's elaborate ball room, but the Nazis were stopped 20 miles short of their champagne and caviar victory convention. I spent several evenings upstairs in a cosy foreigners-only bar meeting surprisingly big names from the West. All were relieved to be at last away from the Soviets and with people they understood. They got spectacularly drunk and chatted up the only Russians allowed in the place, all blonde save for one black woman, all beautiful, and all presumably on the game for both themselves and the government.

I expect anything and everything was available from that bar. A blow job, anal sex, any sort of oral sex. "Are you a voyeur or an exhibitionist comrade? You could watch me have incest with my brother. Would you prefer to stick it up my ass or his? Or fuck my big tits baby?" I've seen a bit when I travel, but actually I'm the quiet sort, and a bit unadventurous. So I kept to the bar drinking their imported Carlsberg, and remembered the First Secretary warning about blackmail and the snoops.

One of them sat at a large desk on each floor outside the lift well, keeping watch as guests came and went to their rooms. I made a point of smiling each time I walked past but the sentinels hadn't attended the Conrad Hilton School of Hospitality. Still, my suite was well appointed and looked out towards the red brick walls of the Kremlin. Everything worked, and when I swept for microphones the only unusual thing was one wall wasn't solid. I figured it was because of cheap renovation.

***

Anna called from reception at 7.30. "It's so cold I'm dressed like an Eskimo. Can I come up and get rid of the coats?" she asked.

At the lift I welcomed a rugged up bundle carrying a backpack. The security man barely noticed as I walked her past his desk to my suite.

"May I borrow it?" she asked, indicating the bathroom, and headed in with her backpack. "Won't be long," she called, but it was a good ten minutes before a slim long legged girl in lipstick, makeup, high heels and a short, clinging silky dress, walked back out. She was extremely pretty, but in a quiet restrained way. The dress was a knock-out.

"My traveler's roll up little black number -- the only proper dress I could pack," said Anna. "And my one pair of high heels. I won't need them in Iran so this is their last outing," she said.

"You'd get arrested if you did," I said, sneaking a second look at the shapely legs on view to half way up her thighs. "It's right for where we're going -- tonight we're doing Soviet flash."

The National's restaurant was a lavish reminder of Imperial days, with brocaded and mirrored walls, high domed ceilings, and galleries of chandeliers. We walked through its imposing entrance, and immediately it began to go badly wrong. We were shown to our table, but it was for four people, not the twosome I'd booked, and the stiff maitre d'hotel wouldn't change. Weary with Soviet hassle, we sat down with an Azerbaijan and a Mongolian who spoke neither English, nor the language of each other. An excruciating pall of politeness descended on the table as we all sat awkwardly. Anna fidgeted with the ornate menu, becoming still more embarrassed as the waiter told her this, that, and then the next of her half-understood selections were not available tonight. I had similar difficulties finding something on the posturing wine list that in fact existed.

Eventually I settled on Georgian champagne which was actually very good, and after the first glass she began to smile again. Then a fifteen piece balalaika orchestra marched onto a large stage and took their seats. The night was looking up? I'm afraid not. The orchestra sat stony faced, rigid, and unrelenting, drowning all possible conversation with a musical display that was both brilliant and joyless.

Russia, bloody Russia. The evening collapsed around us like a bad soufflé as the courses passed. Anna had cooled to me and I suspect we both felt disappointed in each other when eventually we rose, nodded to our silent companions, and left. Speaking only politely, we walked past the security desk and I thought: "You're not going to have much to tell your boss about. Quiet night, sir -subject takes lady to room at 10.05pm, returns her to front reception at 10.07pm. There's nothing to report." I opened the door to my suite and we stepped inside.

"A pleasure to spend an evening with someone from back home," I said reaching her coat down from the stand, and holding it open for her so she could put it on and leave. She slid her arms into the sleeves, and turned, her breast brushing my hand as she politely offered her cheek for a good night peck.

Fuck, I was sick of this. I felt lonely and I'd been looking forward to the evening, but it had fallen to pieces. "So take a risk," a voice told me. "She'll give you the brush, but what the hell, you'll never see her again anyway."

I slid my arms inside her fur coat and around her, moved closer, and kissed the offered cheek. Surprised, Anna half turned her face back towards me. I found her lips, and gave her a gentle, lingering kiss. Her body shuddered, and she sighed. Anna folded herself against me, her arms climbed up around my neck, and she nuzzled my face.

"But I thought you'd decided you didn't like me," she whispered into my ear. "You were so distant. I thought I'd blown it."

"But it was you went cold on me."

We looked at each other and smiled. "Can you stay for a bit?" I asked.

Anna wriggled her shoulders as I helped her slide her coat back off. She wound her arms around me, and pulled herself close. "I'm on an early flight, so it can't be long," she murmured. We kissed softly again, then more firmly. I could feel very firm breasts pushed up against my chest, and as we kissed more longingly, my arms moved down and clasped her backside. Her high heels lifted her pelvic bone to the height of my crutch, and as I massaged her ass through the fine silkiness of the black dress, I pulled her front against me.

My cock half hardened at the feel of her body and she must have felt its shape pushing into her. She let go slightly, and for a moment I thought I'd put her off, but she came up against me again. I caught her eye when we broke for a moment, and looked towards the bed.

Wordlessly we crossed to it, and as she helped me take off my jacket and tie, she kicked off her high heels, and then lay down on the hotel bed, facing me. I put my arms around her and she snuggled closer, gently running her fingers through my hair as we lay side by side. We kissed again, our tongues tenderly flickering, as we held each other. When I pushed my knee gently between her legs she tensed a moment, and then relaxed, opening them wide enough for me to move my thigh between. Its pressure made the silk dress ride higher up her nylons clad legs, and I stroked the backs of them, slowly moving my hand up until I felt the tight cheeks of her ass again. I pulled it more tightly towards me, crushing her crutch against the hardening bulge in my pants.

She whispered "no, I'm a bit old fashioned," but covered my neck and ear in small kisses as I found the zip on the back of her dress and slid it down to the small of her back. I went to unhook her bra and she pulled her shoulder blades together to make it easier for me, and then moved again, so that I could pull the shoulder of her dress and the bra down her arm, until one perfect white breast, with a jutting pink nipple, was exposed to me. Anna shuddered and her breath caught, as I began to softly squeeze and pinch it.

She began to undo the buttons on my shirt and when she finished, let me pull her dress down to her waist. Anna held herself lightly to me so that as she rubbed softly back and forth across my chest, her pert nipples brushed across it.

"I love your beautiful, pointy tits," I mumbled, and she smiled. "But I always wanted big tits. I thought big tits were what guys liked," she breathed. I wrapped my hand around one, feeling its smooth firmness, and squeezed it gently so that her nipple jutted further. She shivered as I put it between my lips and sucked it into my mouth, nipping it gently with my teeth as I worked around it.

Anna moaned, and I heard an excited rumble, then a second, inside her belly. "That's not my fault -- it's the awful Russian food," she giggled

As I kissed and sucked her other nipple, her silky dress rose still higher up her thighs, and I pressed my stiff bulge more firmly against her. I reached back under her backside so I could pull it still harder against me. Anna squirmed closer and we began to slowly dry hump as I kneaded her tight little buttocks, and my excited cock strained against my trousers.

As we kissed and rubbed against each other, I found the waistband of her pantyhose. Anna sighed, and lifted her ass a fraction off the bed, so that I could roll the nylon down. When her pantyhose got caught half way down her bottom, she reached under herself and I felt her nails brush my hand as she helped me pull them down past her panties. Then she lifted her knees and ankles so I could pull her filmy stockings free of her long legs.

I reached inside her now exposed thighs and ran my fingers up the soft smooth flesh, stroking her inner legs gently until my fingers reached the satin of her panties. Anna stiffened in resistance and again whispered "no." But a moment later she sighed in pleasure and her entire body quivered, as she gave her panty covered pussy to my fingers, and I began stroking up and down the puffy lips which I could feel beneath the satin. I gently stroked my hand along her pussy, and slid a finger under the elastic, past her pubic hair and down into her soft labia, which I found were already drenched and slippery with her running juices.

Again, she lifted her backside, this time to let me slide her lacey black satin panties down, and when I touched their insides, I discovered her excitement had leaked over them, making them wet and sticky. I moved my fingers to my trouser zip, opened it, pulled my cock out of the fly, and slid it up her thigh until I felt the beautiful soft wetness of her now exposed pussy lips against its throbbing head. She pushed quickly against it, moaning, but as I began to finger my cockhead along the outside of her pussy, her hand brushed my cock to one side.

"Have you got a condom? I'm not on the pill. I didn't know I'd meet you."

"Damn it, no I didn't bring any."

Anna groaned. "I can't wind up in Iran and find I'm pregnant. It's not worth the risk"

She sighed regretfully. "Maybe I can do something else to you," she offered.

"Yes, I guess so," I mumbled, disappointed. Not many girls knew much about things like oral sex, blowjobs or cunnilingus in the 70s. Figuring there'd be no fellatio and she'd maybe just masturbate my cock for a while, I unhooked my belt and pulled my trousers and underpants off. I was now naked except for my open shirt, and Anna had nothing on except a small pearl choker around her neck, and the little dress bunched around her tiny 18 inch waist. My cocked rubbed up her belly as Anna cuddled close against me. She seemed unsure what to do next, but as we kissed again, Anna moved her hand between us, and tentatively took my cock in her hand. She gasped, and let go of it.

"It's such a big cock. A huge cock," she whispered.

It's true, my cock is fairly large and its head is thick, but it was clear she hadn't seen many. She took it uncertainly in her hand again, running her fingers along its length and around its head. "I can't even get my hand round it," she said. "I'm not very experienced. I wonder if it would even fit inside," she said. "You can rub up and down against me outside, but be careful."

I needed no more encouragement. I slid my cock along her delicious wet lips and ran my forefinger down them looking for the entrance to her vagina, but it slid right past her opening and on to the edge of her asshole. Realizing I'd missed her pussy, I slid my finger back up her crack, and discovered her tight little opening. I probed my fore- finger against it, wetting it thoroughly, and then slipped it slowly down inside what felt like a close-fit silky glove.

She had a tight pussy, very tight. Anna moaned, and pushed against me as I slid my finger deeper and further into her tight little cunt. As I slowly moved it in and out, I rubbed my thumb against her swollen clitoris. She began to shudder and I wondered if she'd come already.

"Rub your big cock against me more," she said softly. "I want to feel it against me.

I lifted her ankles onto my shoulders, so that the entire length of her slit was pointed towards the ceiling. She opened her mouth to protest at her pussy being so exposed to my cock, but I said: "No drama I'm not putting it in."

I reached down, took the helmet of my cock, and began to slide it back and forth along her slippery labia, so that's it's head started its juicy slide at her asshole. Then as I stroked it upwards, my knob slid slowly along the entire length of her pussy lips, brushed across the top of her cunt hole, and glided over the hooded tip of her clitoris, which had swollen to the size of a small cherry. As my cockhead slid on further past her twitching clit and into the damp vee of her bush, my dangling balls followed, brushing along her delicious wetness.