My company sent me to Budapest for a few months. I didn't speak Hungarian, but being unattached and knowing that a majority of the recent porn stars came from Central and Eastern Europe, I was looking forward to the trip. I arrived in late spring at Ferihegyi (the airport outside of Budapest), made my way through customs, and took a taxi to the apartment that my company had rented.
The taxi driver spoke some English, so he gave me advice on things to see while in country. As he navigated through the traffic, I kept getting distracted from the conversation by the women walking on the sidewalks. The fashion that spring seemed to be a white cotton dress which fell smoothly to just above the knee and a white thong. From the way their tits swung as they walked, it was apparent that most of the women were not wearing bras.
We reached the apartment, I unloaded my bags, paid the driver and collected his business card. After figuring out the locks on the door, I took the lift up to the second floor (three floors above the street, because Hungarians count "Ground, 1, 2,..." when numbering floors) and found my way to the apartment. The building was constructed around a central courtyard. The lift and a set of stairs were at one corner of the courtyard. Each floor had an open air walkway that ran around the courtyard and provided access to the apartments. My apartment was caddy-corner to the lift, so I had to walk halfway around the courtyard and past other people's apartments to reach mine. Amazingly, I managed to unlock the apartment door and turn off the alarm system on the first try and without rousing the locals. That taken care of, I examined my home for the next few months.
Two bedrooms, the equivalent of two full baths (Hungarians have one room for the shower/bath and another room for the toilet with a sink in each), kitchen, dining room, and living room. Hardwood parquet floors throughout, plaster walls, somewhat older furnishings but a high speed wireless internet connection. The windows of one bedroom and the living room faced the street. The window of the other bedroom, the kitchen, and the dining room faced the courtyard. It'd do. Having found through past travels that the best way to cope with jet lag is to stay up as long as possible, I showered to remove the stink of the trip and then went out to find something to eat and drink.
The apartment building was on a street with a variety of stores, everything from a bakery (closed at this hour on a Sunday) to an electronics shop. I went into a bar, sat down, and ordered dinner and a beer. A few beers later, I'd come to the conclusion that the best one available was Leffe blond, a beer made in Belgium. Afterwards, I returned to the apartment and unpacked. As I switched through the TV channels available, the only ones in English were the BBC, the music channel, and the travel channel. Having gathered all of the news that I could stand during my journey, and not caring for the crap on the music channel, I left the travel channel on while I read. At the top of the hour the Travel channel turned to porn! Some of the scenes were in English, some were in Hungarian, most were pretty graphic. regardless of language, it made for relaxing watching prior to bed.
The next morning I got up, showered, and decided to go to the bakery for breakfast. I walked in and joined the end of the line, observing the customers in front of me closely to see if there were any peculiarities in ordering that I should follow. I couldn't help but notice the young woman who was working the counter. Golden blond hair that fell in curls to between her shoulder blades, grey-blue eyes, a strong nose between high cheek-bones, and full lips above a well defined jaw were just the beginning. She had a dancer's grace as she moved between the pastry case, the coffee pots, and the cash register. Her full, round breasts moved slightly beneath the white button down shirt and the globes of her ass caused her black skirt to sway as it fell to her ankles.
When my turn came, I greeted her in Hungarian, and ordered coffee and a croissant in a mixture of Hungarian, English, and gesture. She smiled at me as she got my order together and asked "British?"
"Nem, America-bul," I replied.
She nodded and told me the amount due in perfect English. I pulled bills from my wallet and handed them to her. She wished me a good day as she returned my change to the saucer on the counter. As a few of the other patrons had done, I left the change as a tip. She smiled again and thanked me as I turned away. I took a table that allowed me to watch both the people passing on the street outside and the girl behind the counter. It was a delight.
As I finished my breakfast, the line of customers disappeared and she began moving around the small cafe area, collecting used dishes. She stopped at my table to ask if everything was okay, "Very good," I replied. "What is your name?" I asked.
"Kriszta," she replied. "And yours?"
"I'm Jim," I said. "You speak English very well."
She smiled, "Thank you. How long will you be in Hungary?"
"A few months," I said. We continued chatting for a few more minutes. I told her about the apartment across the street, what my company does, where in the US I'm from, etc. I did my best to pay attention to the conversation and not her proud breasts (which were just above eye level) or her spicy perfume. As she was getting back to work, she smiled and said, "I'll see you later." I watched her ass as she swayed to the back of the shop.
I spent the rest of the day in a haze of horniness. The women in their on the subway going to and from work, the secretary in our branch office, and the waitresses and patrons in the bar at dinner all served to tune me up to a sexual frenzy. All of them were attractive, many of them were dressed provocatively by US standards. That night, however, it was Kriszta who filled my fantasies.
Imagine my disappointment when I entered the bakery the next morning and realized that Kriszta was not the girl behind the counter! Swallowing my chagrin, I greeted the girl with a smile and ordered my breakfast with the same combination of english, hungarian, and gesture that I'd used the day before. Although, not as classically good looking as Kriszta, this girl was very attractive. Petite; dark brown, almost black hair to the small of her back; small perky breasts; and a full round ass. She gave me a sweet smile and wished me a good day as I paid for my meal and left the change once more as a tip. I sat at the same table as the day before, with one eye on the women passing in the street and the other on the girl behind the counter. The bakery's uniform of white blouse and long black skirt suited this girl as well as Kriszta.
Once again, as I went through my day I was subjected to the delightful torment of Hungarian women. Two of the five people in our offices were women, Mia and Natasha. Both had brown hair dyed blonde and were well formed. Mia was slender, her hair to her shoulders and dyed completely blond, blue eyes, perky tits and a heart-shaped ass. Natasha had larger breasts and wore her hair longer but she, too, had blue eyes and a heart-shaped ass. Monday both women were dressed relatively conservatively and were all business. By Tuesday, they had begun to let traces of humor through.
I had lunch that day at a sidewalk cafe. On the way to the cafe, I was distracted by the secretaries, sunning on their lunch breaks. At the cafe, I watched as a fellow diner dropped her napkin and bent over to pick it up, her micro skirt riding up to expose a white thong to the world. On the street and on the escalators to the subway the bright summer sun shone through white cotton dresses, often outlining a woman's thong-covered mound and dark nipples to my eager view.
That night Kriszta once again filled my fantasies. Wednesday morning I went back to the bakery. Kriszta wasn't working, but the same petite brunette was. I found out her name was Jana before sitting down at my now customary table and enjoying the scenery as it moved past.
That day, Natasha wore a white, button down blouse and a dark skirt that came to just past the middle of her thigh. In the morning she came into my office to chat. We agreed that I should learn a new Hungarian word every day and started with "lashban" or "slowly" as in "speak more slowly, please." Natasha spent most of the time we were talking with her hands up "fixing" her hair. Since this position emphasized her large breasts and her blouse was unbuttoned in order to display a significant amount of cleavage, I quickly came to the conclusion that this girl liked to be watched.
All five of us went to lunch on Wednesday, and again I was surrounded by women wearing clothes that did little to conceal their charms. That afternoon, Natasha bent over to pick up something she'd "dropped" in front of my office door, exposing the top of her black thigh high stockings to me. I pretended not to notice her noticing me looking, while I enjoyed the brief glimpse of black lace and pale flesh.
By the end of the day, what with one thing and another, I was wound up tight. Masturbation wasn't going to cut it anymore, so I decided to go to a strip club. Maybe not the best idea - going into a strip club alone in a foreign country where you don't know the rules and can't speak much of the language. But I figured the worst that would happen is I'd get rolled for a few bucks and at least I could get the girls to spin around "lashban." I paid the $10 cover in Hungarian Forints and went in.
