A Visit to Prague

There are just some things that shouldn't be talked about out loud, out in the open. Somehow, wanting something didn't mean she could talk about it -- ever -- not in the circles where she operated. She had sophisticated friends, who went on about politics and music and wore expensive clothes to brunch. Admitting what she wanted sexually, no matter how open minded they were, would make them secretly think she was a freak. But she could think about it, and even act on it, all in a discreet, not-in-my-neighborhood sort of way. Every once in a while she would take long cab ride to a far part of town to meet new people, find a random one-night stand with a weightlifter, or some other meathead, or better yet, she would find an eager couple wanting a third. Couples were always so loving and eager, and most importantly, discreet.

It wasn't that she was ashamed, it was that she thought very highly of her friends. She was one of those people who worked hard at everything, a true perfectionist. She chose quality people for her life, the kind who read important books, understood philosophy and politics, had complicated lives and good taste. She picked perfect people, perfect parties, perfect men. Sometimes too perfect, too in love with themselves.

That perfectionism was also part of why she was so damn pretty... and unapproachable. She worked very hard at her body, way harder than her flabby socialite friends who got by on expensive Italian couture and eccentric personalities. While they were nursing hangovers at brunch, she'd be running up mountains, dancing all night, almost passing out in demolishing yoga classes, pushing herself in cardio and sculpting classes to points that would flatten most girls halfway through. And it showed. She had the body of a superwoman, and the genetics to match. At 5'11" she was just a little bit taller than most girls and shaped like a Barbie but with more muscle. Long runner's legs, elegantly flared hips, a high, iron-hard ass, a tiny 24" waist, short torso with a full set of 34DDs, the long neck of a dancer, and the shoulder and back muscles of a surfer. Below the neck she was downright striking in that way that is hard to hide. On a Saturday night, add a "pinup" look in stilettos, satin short shorts, and sassy halter tops, and it was hard not to stare, and that wasn't even at her face. She had striking European features, high cheekbones, darting dark eyes and glossy brown hair, and that full, pouty mouth that begs to be kissed ... or something else.

Girls like her weren't supposed to go after what they wanted, they were supposed to wait until it came to them. And that was the problem, it almost never did. She was that kind of pretty, where men were afraid to even start the conversation with her. Men that she wanted, anyways. She had a unlucky penchant for big, strong, silent types. Men that were monsters but in some way handsome, and shy, often unable to fit in with the regular guys, maybe because they were a little intimidating, maybe a little too strong, too silent. But that was exactly the kind of guy she craved. There was so much mystery, they were such a challenge.

In her social circle, the overeager, chatty, socialite types were always the ones who came after her, like butterflies. Too self-absorbed, always in love with themselves, always (ultimately) interested in her because she was a trophy, she made them look good, get noticed. It was an inescapable loop. Pretty girl attracts pretty boy, pretty boy turns out to be a bore, pretty girl: 0, pretty boy: 1.

After a long, interminable summer of this same frustrating pattern, she was finally fed up and she still hadn't really found what she wanted. After one too many bleary-eyed hookups with just the wrong sort of fellow, already too drunk to realize he was afraid of her, she was still bored, full of desire, full of curiosity. She decided to take matters into her own hands.

With much careful and discreet planning, she took action, and booked a solo trip to Prague with just one plan to execute. The men she really liked were the giants you only sometimes spot in an American nightclub, usually lurking in the dark corners, unnoticed, massive, and awkward in a gentle, forgivable way. She had a weakness for them -- tall, broad-shouldered, ruggedly handsome with square jaws and strong Slavic features, eager, broad mouths that were sternly quiet. In Prague, she had heard that these types were as common as pigeons, and nevermind the language barrier. Most of her fantasies involved three or four of them, so the odds were far in her favor. Before her flight, she printed just 25 discreet notecards with simple instructions translated into Russian. It read,

You get one chance to have me. Be discreet and clean. Be gentle yet firm. Come prepared, eager, and alone. No danger, no strings attached. Hotel Europa, 9th Plaza, Room 131, key at the desk.

She hoped the language barrier and the strange city would help her fulfill her darkest wishes without interference, once and for all. It was risky, but there was no other way.

Once checked into her hotel room downtown, she scouted out the best nightlife the city had, and there was a lot more than she expected. Everything from shy, loungey mixology bars to sweaty, thundering underground dance clubs was there for the taking, only now she did not have to keep up appearances with her friends, or even hold halting, awkward conversations with strangers, which was just as well. She hardly spoke the language enough to catch a cab.

To compensate for her limited Russian, she developed a sort of system: she would dress with just enough foreigner glam to drop every jaw and turn every head, enter each place at its busiest time of night, with a swish to make an impression. The pinup look was still new to Prague and she was definitely working it, her endless legs towering in platform pumps, her full breasts spilling just slightly out of prim little halters. Then she would settle into a lonely spot in the club, order up her favorite drink, (expensive, dry champagne) and carefully, calculatingly scan the crowd. Her mystery, aloneness, and perfection formed the perfect bubble around her, and hardly anyone worked up the nerve to approach her. This time, that was exactly what she wanted, it gave her space to make careful selections. With only 25 notecards and only 5 days, she was very, very picky; every candidate had to meet exact requirements, had to be just right. She watched how they dressed, how they moved, whether they could dance, or flirt, how much they drank, the shape of their hands, their hygiene. There could be no unpleasant surprises. It was sort of a fun game, sizing up men this way, guessing what they would be like in her hotel room. They would eye her warily, feeling watched. Then, when she was certain of her picks, she would deftly hand them each a note and before they could respond, she'd be gone.

Compared to her usual "waiting for it to come to her" method, she reckoned this would be as easy as shooting fish in a barrel, shy men were kind of pitiful in how eager they secretly were. They would make responsive, willing lovers. But even with this overt, calculated approach, she had to wait several days for a response. Prague had its share of beautiful women, but the culture was not used to this, and these strong silent types were not used to being picked by beautiful women.

From her quietly smoldering corner at the dance club for the night, she had found just one candidate. He was even bigger than most of her picks, but there was something about him that made it right. Maybe it was his reluctance to dance until an absurd amount of vodka brought him out of his shell, maybe it was the lumbering, heavy-armed way he moved that told of hard physical labor and a lot less socializing and brunching, or maybe it was just his perfectly rough, square jaw and the determined way he crossed the room as if he could care less if he fit in. He flirted with the pretty girls around him in that uncomfortable way that men do who aren't used to it. It was like watching a prize fighter humor lesser opponents. He casually caught a small girl by the waist on the dancefloor (she must have known him), and easily swung her around, his hands covering the small of her back and almost frightening her. She looked absurdly small next to him, like a child. But his gentle smile squeezed a giggle out her as he put her down, and then he turned to wave to his DJ friends now on the decks. He must have had a rare night off from whatever manual labor job that made him such an awkward giant in the dance club. She imagined herself close to him, he was just the right kind of big. Seconds later, our intrepid traveler bypassed the local girls, deftly slipped a notecard into his palm and left, only this time, she would get a response, perhaps more than she bargained for.

Later that same night, she was showering off the smoke from the club, her hair clipped up on top of her head to keep it dry. A shaft of light in the bedroom signaled that someone was there, entering the room. She saw moving shadows and heard muffled voiced, she guessed that one of her candidates had finally come but had been too afraid to come alone. She wondered which one it was, was it the blonde one with the tattoed arm? Was it the dark-skinned one in the overcoat with the scar on cheek? Maybe it was the one she saw earlier in the night at the club, the especially tall one... they were all so perfect, so specifically her type in that random way, it almost didn't matter which one it was. It was crapshoot, maybe it would be horrible, maybe he would be dangerous, maybe they were all here to rob her and kill her, or, maybe he would be everything she wanted. Its was impossible to know, impossible to get her heart out of her throat.

Tiny butterflies fluttered in her pelvis as she forced herself to stay calm and act as if she was alone. This was her fantasy after all, she just wasn't used to getting what she wanted. She lathered here neck and shoulders, peeking out the corners of her eyes to see a large hand push open the door and swipe off the light switch. Standing there in the darkness, breathing in the steam and the mystery, she thought she could hear her heart pounding over the shower; she was eager and terrified.

Her knees almost buckled as she felt someone come into the shower with her, and she frantically started to wonder if she had gotten herself into some sort of trouble. What if he is too rough, or too self-serving? Her mind rattled. What if he is into something scary? What if he beats me? But before she could panic, she heard the shower water hit his body, and a massive, rough hand found hers in the dark, giving a reassuring squeeze. He was whispering something in his slavic language, sounding like he was trying to calm her, and just the sound of his voice was enough. He knew she was afraid, naked, surprised. The tall man in her shower drew a little closer, towering a little over her (a rare thing for a tall girl), and a second hand rested heavily on her shoulder. It reminded her of those awkward, shy dances in high school, only this time there was nothing awkward or shy about it.

Her breath caught in her throat as the whispering, reassuring lips found her neck, and as they kissed and breathed, a massive arm wrapped around her, engulfing her and drawing her closer. She felt his chest hair tickle her nipples, sending tingling all over her body, and she was engulfed in his powerful build, almost too heavy around her, as her breasts smashed cool and soft against his body. She had wanted this -- no, ached for this, for far longer than she could remember, and there surely was no backing out now. This so different than those featherlight city hunks from home, with the personal-trainer bodies and their smaller frames, and all their narcissism. This one was simple, eager, sexy, a tamed beast, naked in her shower, doing what she had asked him to do, tuned into her at a much simpler, animal level. It was already so good, so completely perfect, she was going to have to let her guard down now, one skin cell at a time. Now two arms were around her, pulling her against him, hot and wet under the shower water, and she let him, pressing her body against his, loving how small she felt in his arms, how his hands almost palmed her breasts, sensing his eagerness and his struggle to be gentle and not frighten her.

The moment seemed to go on forever but really it was rushing by, both of them were so hungry for each other. She dropped the last of her usual decorum when his lips found hers and she lost all sense of time and space, lost in the moment and breathing his scent, feeling his hulking body, nothing else but this existed. A massive hand effortlessly lifted her off the ground to kiss her at his level, up by one thigh and deftly over his erect cock, just barely brushing it against her leg, and perching her firmly on his hip. She knew he was being a gentleman, waiting for later to fuck her, waiting for her to give in, and she wrapped one long leg around him and used the other to prop herself against the shower wall. He shifted and she was sitting in his right thigh now, in the crook of his hip. This was easy for him, a position she'd never been in, lifted, controlled, like a plaything. He was easily 6 foot 5, maybe taller, and marble-hard all over with the muscles of a wrestler. In the dark it was hard to tell just how tall he was, and from the roughness of his hands she knew he worked with them all day, so different from all the fancy boys back home with their tech jobs and stocks. A huge thumb slid down her thigh to cover her clit, while thick fingers explored her cunt, testing it, examining it almost clinically, spreading her almost uncomfortably wide, now stroking, then zeroing in on her buzzing clit, which sung and surprised her off balance, but he steadied her, shifting a hand to cup her ass and control her even more.

She was giving into him now, telling him what he could do, it made him want to size her up, see what she could handle, test that this was really what she wanted. Kissing her, he eased his cock in between them, as it touched her, she flinched only slightly. Using the hand under her ass, he slid her up and down its underside, hinting in the only way he knew how, like an animal, that he wanted to penetrate her. She might as well have been riding a Sybian, her skin tingled, electric and hot in the steamy shower; she panted, holding back gasps, as her leg squeezed him closer, telling him it was just what she wanted. But even with her eagerness, she was a little afraid that she might get more on this night than she had bargained for. His cock felt much bigger than she expected, the strokes up and down seemed very long, and this scared her as much as it intrigued her. It was something she had always wanted to try but now faced with the reality she was unsure.

She was stronger than he thought, propped tensely against the shower wall, and he hoped she would let him take this further. As he kissed her and pawed at her deliciously sudsy breasts, he imagined what she must look like in the light; she felt more athletic and shapely than any woman he had ever been with in Prague, most of the women he had know were soft, their bodies squished and gave under his weight, they felt delicate and passive. This American woman, her body felt in some ways more like his, muscled and able, powerful the way a strong horse feels, but long and womanly, with incredible softness here and there. What a mystery that she did not speak to him, what a relief. He never knew what to say to women. He wanted to fuck her, he wanted to take her now, overpower her, conquer her, gather her under him and own her body. Covered in suds, she was too slippery for him to handle, and he could sense her readiness. He lowered her back to the ground, and they quickly rinsed and toweled off. It was time for the next step.

She lead him out of the bathroom and onto the end a long bench in front of a dressing table in her suite; he was so tall that even seated, he was eye-level with her breasts, she felt him breathing in the dark, anxious, willing. Sliding his hands up her legs, he buried his face in her breasts, sucking first one nipple and then the other, making her ache for him even more. It was deliciously mindless, no pretense of love, no having to sort out issues, no conversation, just two perfect bodies given over to each other on a cold night in Prague. Leaning over him, her mouth devoured his, and without thinking she found herself climbing over and past his cock, onto his massive, muscular legs, and kneeling wide-kneed on them if he were some sort of furniture. He grunted and murmured gruffly in Russian, his low voice telling her everything she needed to know. Now eye level and giving him her full weight, she sucked his lips and reached down behind her to stroke his cock, encountering it in its entirely for the first time. It was now burning with eagerness, pulsing under her palm, imposing and demanding, bobbing up at her like an obedient dog.

He leaned back, and she shifted her feet to the carpet on either side of him, bent over him, her perfect ass hovering over his cock, just inches from pleasuring him and sending pangs of desire through her cunt in the dark air. Her hand just fit around his cock, it was indeed much thicker than any she had ever fucked before, and it felt longer too, maybe 10 inches, maybe more, in the dark it was hard to tell. He buried his tongue in her mouth and she forgot her worries as he pulled her closer to him, a broad hand palming her ass again, making her feel so oddly delicate and small. She nuzzled her face in his deep, lightly haired chest, loving his scent, it hinted of gunpowder and diesel, and in the dark she thought quickly. It was just the two of them and he was so much stronger, she had brought him here, induced this state, tempted him, conceded, there was no way she could deny him.

The tension in the room was electric, every sound, every smell, every taste was stronger, and her body felt both powerless and invincible, able to do anything, take anything, give anything. Now the firm hand palming her ass was truly insistent, forcing her cunt down towards his keening cock, and she gave in involuntarily, resting just on the tip. It already felt like too much and he wasn't even in yet, she was not sure what if she could handle this. What if there is only pain and no pleasure? Maybe if she could work down past the tip it wouldn't be so bad. He was now whispering to her in his rough, guttural tongue, she did not know what he was saying but it sounded reassuring, coaxing. The hand pushing her down on him was now iron and unmitigated, even her strong legs strained but could not win.

She eased down on his dick carefully, unsure if she could handle what was next. She gasped as it finally entered her, pressing into her, stretching her more than she could imagine. He was playing rougher now with her clit as it tongued his shaft, making her burn inside, want more of him, and she could feel him breathing hard, probably resisting the urge to slam her cunt all the way down onto his cock. But he was steeling himself in that way that only these strong silent types could, holding himself back, letting her hover over him, feeling just the tip inside her as she gasped in mild terror and pleasure. Her imagination ran wild, she imagined what this looked like, her perfect ass poised over his huge body, straddling his enormous, throbbing cock as it thrust up into her, his hands crushing her breasts, her ass, making her look small in them, and both of their eager, superhuman bodies struggling to meld together into one, trying to overcome this one obstacle between them.

Sensing her fear, perhaps knowing from previous experience, he pulsed up into her, gently easing deeper with careful, small thrusts. Their position on the bench gave her almost perfect control in taking him into her. The sensation was overwhelming, painful, delicious. Both his hands were now around her tiny waist, carefully but insistently pushing her onto him, a little deeper with each stroke. He whispered beseeching mysteries into her neck, sat up and nibbled on her earlobe, and as the second third of his cock entered her straining cunt she cried out in surprise. She could feel it pressing her apart, pushing against the insides of her hip bones, stretching her lips to their limit. The gentle, insistent thrusting continued, this was going to take patience and time, and she was willing. He grunted steadily, lifting her up till she nearly cleared the tip and then plunging her down onto him again, ever so slightly deeper every time, every added centimeter a strange new rush of overwhelming pain and pleasure. He had obviously dealt with this problem before, perhaps with smaller women who didn't stand a chance of satisfying him, leaving him hungry for more. She guessed that he was hoping he had finally find one who could take the full length of him, maybe even withstand a rough, deep fuck. That was, after all, what all men wanted, small and big alike. They liked to feel their power, rape-like, forcing themselves into women like marauding cavemen. Still, barely 3/4s of the way mounted on him as he pulsed into her, her legs quivering, and she barely imagine who would be able to do this. Maybe her desire for it was the cavewoman in her, the part that wanted to flex and widen her birth canal for his babies, enslave her cunt to him, open her forever to him. His large hands slid up her back, warm and almost tender, resting her body on his chest where she could feel his low heartbeat, bringing her mind back to the present.