Katerina was hard to like when I first met her. Bossy and controlling, she brooked no argument about how our meetings were to be conducted. Organisation is a good thing but this woman had every second of the meeting planned. You spoke when it was your turn, everything was timed, the agenda must be followed.
Her clothing was elegant and in its own way so was her English. It was crisp and precise. There were the standard cases of unusual grammar and her Russian accent was thick and pronounced. I made my usual jokes to the others about her authoritarian tendencies being a Cold War hangover, and we laughed about her inflexible approach to business.
In those early days, she held no appeal whatever. In time, I would come to crave her body. Her accent would have me tingling. Her bossiness would make me hard. All I wanted to do was fuck her tight little body over and over.
Unfortunately, she was married.
The first meeting of our discussion group was held on a Sunday afternoon. It was a voluntary business training session, a kind of mastermind group. We met in a coffee lounge. Later, I told everyone that I couldn't face another. I thought Katerina was faintly ridiculous and out of her depth.
I missed the second meeting and the third. The fourth was cancelled at the last minute. So by the time the fifth meeting came around, I hadn't seen Katerina for nearly two months and I had convinced myself that this meeting would be my last.
But Katerina and I were the only ones there. I was sitting by the door waiting when she arrived. In the distance I saw her swinging down the street. She was wearing black leggings and a tight top that highlighted a pair of firm breasts. She wiggled as much as she walked. Sunglasses masked her eyes and she suddenly didn't seem so stern and austere. This was not like our first meeting!
We moved to a table outside and as she sat I caught a tantalizing glimpse down her top, a white shirt with buttons. The top button was undone and there was the hint of a firm, rounded breast, the suggestion of cleavage, the inviting allure of a black bra strap.
As we talked, I found my eyes drawn to the roundness of her breasts. I took in a pair of tits which were simultaneously pert and slightly large for her body. As her chest moved in gentle synchronicity with her breathing, I was reassessing my attitude to this Russian control freak.
And then I realised I was turned on by her accent. Suddenly, it was sensuous, sexy and suggestive. Alone with her, she was somehow different. With each other's undivided attention, she was infinitely more alluring, more human. She even smiled. As her lips parted a cute little dimple formed on her chin.
Then there were her fingers. Slim. Slender. Painted dark. So sleek and feminine. I watched as she wrote notes of our discussion. I watch female fingers all the time. I imagine them holding my face and stroking my cock. I imagine them wrapped around my balls. Now I was imagining Katerina holding my balls. Would she break them?
I was flattered when she told me she wanted my advice. When she stood and moved to one side to take a phone call, I noted the concave curve of her back which accentuated the roundness of her ass. She looked slightly cheeky, a touch provocative, a bit naughty. By the time she sat down again, I was conscious of a stirring in my groin. She spoke again and the accent suddenly seemed so damned sexy. I imagined her whispering dirty thoughts in my ear. My god, was this young woman giving me an erection? In a coffee lounge?
The rest of the meeting is a blur. I didn't want it to end. I had started mentally undressing her. My eyes were drawn to those firm, pert tits and that black bra. The thin strap snaked up over her shoulder and I could see myself pulling it down as I kissed her neck.
I began looking at her lips. A small mouth, but delectably red lips. I saw myself kissing her, our tongues wrestling, her breasts crushed against my chest, my hands clasping her firm, tight ass.
I looked into her eyes, too often and too long, I suspect. I was transfixed by the greyness of her eyes, the immaculate eyelashes, the curvaceous black eyebrows.
My head was swirling now. I had not expected this. Here I was with someone I had derided, a woman I had ridiculed, a woman I had thought was a bitch. Yet I was excited by her now, aroused by her accent, enticed by her body. Alone, I was making her laugh and seeing a side of her personality that I had missed before.
The coffee lounge was closing for the day but we hadn't finished. She lived nearby and we needed a computer so she suggested we go to her place. Surely it could not be this easy?
I watched her hips swinging in front of me as she walked up to her front door and inserted the key. The black leggings were perched sexily around her waist, visible to me through her white shirt, courtesy of the afternoon sun. My eyes dropped to her legs and noted the end of the leggings several inches above her ankles. Her skin sparkled. Gliding back up, I imagined the shape of her ass. With her arm raised to the keyhole, I glimpsed her ass and saw her tits in profile with just the hint of a nipple. My dick twitched and the head began to gently throb. I was willing it not to get hard, not yet.
"What's your husband's name?" I asked her.
"Valery," she replied. "He's interstate until Tuesday."
My heart jumped at that last statement and my eyes darted around the room. A grey leather sofa caught my attention.
We sat at her desk, side by side. My right knee bumped her left. Her left arm brushed my right. I could smell her perfume: understated, sweet, intoxicating. I was conscious of her black hair cascading around her face. Her fingers looked so sexy as they manipulated the keyboard and brought the screen to life.
I turned to look at her up-close. Her delicate neck beckoned. Her lips shone. Her hair glistened. My heart thumped.
It happened when our hands collided on the keyboard. I picked up her hand and placed it to one side, conscious that as I leaned towards her my arm rubbed along the curve of her breast. Without thinking, I enveloped her hand with mine and squeezed it as I placed in on the desk. The silence was heavy with expectation. Had I overstepped the mark with this married woman?
The answer was swift and unambiguous. In one rapid movement, she turned, moved her hands to my face and kissed me full on the lips.
Our tongues grappled. I ran mine along her upper teeth, then the lower. I licked her tongue and then snapped playfully at her lips.
And then she said something in Russian. I don't know what it was but it suggested sexual ecstasy. I looked into her eyes, silently asking the question.
"Fuck me," she commanded and we were both on our feet, groping for each other. I rubbed her tits through her shirt and ran my hands around the base of her neck. She was ripping at my pants, reaching for my dick. She was almost violent, pulling at my belt and muttering to herself in Russian. The urgency took hold of me too and I ripped at her shirt, sending buttons flying. "Katerina, Katerina," I whispered at her.
She was wearing an expensive bra with a delicate, sexy frill around the cups. No matter, I thought, using both hands to rip it apart from the middle. She gasped as her tits spilled out into my hands. I hungrily mauled at them as she found her way into my pants and I felt her soft warms hands surround my stiffening dick. What a beautiful, greedy little slut you are, I thought to myself.
Our lips were locked together as my hands groped her tits and her hands slid up and down my cock, alternately grabbing my balls and rolling them together. Those wonderful, slender, feminine fingers were working their magic on my balls. It was exquisite.
Then she ripped my shirt as I had done to hers and her fingers were running around my chest, playing with my nipples, pulling at the tufts of hair that surround them. Christ, she was good at this.
"I have to fuck you," I told her, somewhat redundantly.
"On the sofa," she responded, pulling me by the hand to the grey leather. "I want you to fuck me." And then she brought her face close to mine and hissed at me: "Hard." My cock throbbed.
