Kalani couldn't remember what she imagined would happen when she decided to see Europe by rail. Something exotic with quaint villages nestled in the snow? Interesting and unique people from the foreign land who could change her own view on life? What does anyone think will happen to them when they make their vacation trips? It's just a way to escape the norm, an easy path to find yourself and to make your ordinary, sometimes painful or pathetic life seem validated. Whatever notions she had before hand, her trip eclipsed anything else she'd done in her life. She could blame it on booking the trip in a state of emotional duress. But that was really a sorry excuse. In actuality she had never been away from home before, how could her limited experiences compare to her adventures?
Still, when you're born and raised on Maui, life is not really ordinary to begin with. Paradise. At least she thought so, and how many hundreds of tourists had to remind her every day? When one lives in paradise, where do they go to find themselves and get away? Some people would ask, 'why do you need to go anywhere else?' But, you cannot grow in stagnation, and you cannot grow without pain and change.
Her home on the island burning down was the catalyst for all the changes. She'd grown up in that house, inherited it from her father and mother when they died. All the memories and the life she'd built, gone. That would be rebuilt, but there was nothing that could mend or rebuild the relationship with her fiancé, Meke. Not even a month after the fire she walked in on her him fucking her sister on his kitchen table.
It changed her, not just seeing the act, but the fact that she didn't look away. It wasn't jealousy; instead another emotion, more forbidden swelled inside her and left her damp and aching. Laka, her darling little sister, far too young for Meke's advances, held down, rutted like a beast for his pleasure.
It was hard avoid the memory even now with time and distance softening emotion. The healthy bronzed flesh sprinkled with sweat, both her sister and her fiancé's. Her blue-black hair unfurled over the spilled dishes and crushed pies and cakes set out for Kalani's birthday celebration. Laka's young body taunt and writhing while her cries rose in pitch with each plunge of Meke's cock. Darkly veined and curved like a blade, his meaty dick winked out, drenched, almost to the head and then sliced in deep and hard once more making dishes chime and clatter. Breasts, smeared with white cake frosting, bouncing furiously with each pump of hips. Meke's big hands, crusted with the sweet cream had left messy handprints on Laka's ass where he'd grasped each tight cheek and spread her wide. He bent over her, growling as one hand wrapped the ass-length dark hair around knuckles and wrist and forearm, pulling the pretty face up so he could bite along her arched neck. The china and crystal jangled with each thrust, accenting the whimper and cry from Laka as her head was twisted back by the hair.
Stirring, Kalani groaned lightly, finding that her hand had slipped between her thighs as her thoughts wandered. Under her fingertips, she found herself wet, her juices soaked through both panties and slacks. Around her the train rattled over the rails, echoing the sound of dishes on the table of her memory. The movement of the coach reminded her that she was far from home. She'd escaped. Beyond the window the landscape was dark, gone from snowy sapphire to imageless black while her thoughts ran to her past. She imagined she could still smell the vanilla and coconut and the cum so fresh and hot. Those were memories, but the smell of her own hot pussy real as ever, and she was thankful that most of the other passengers had retired to the dinning car.
She made her travel plans in haste, booked the flight and the rail pass, packed and left within a few hours. Leaving a message to explain she was going on vacation and not to worry about her and she would return soon. This would be her first trip away from the islands, the first holiday alone. The travel agent looked concerned, asked if she spoke Russian, but what did that matter? She had her visa in preparation for a honeymoon and since there would be no wedding now; she might as well use it for a trip to do some soul searching. Russia and China were worlds away from anything in her life. It's just what she needed.
Perhaps having more than an airport purchased language 'how to' book and a tourist-map would have been the wiser choice, but there was no planning or thought to her escape. Getting from the Vladivostok International Airport to the Gavan hotel for her first night was quite an adventure in itself. The first bite of cold busted her little fantasy of her vacation and began to unravel everything. Nothing she'd packed would keep her warm in the ice-flecked wind that plastered her dress to her body. The cold of Vladivostok cut with a dry chill, so different than the lush tropical steam of home. And she thought she knew what a city would be like, but the swell of people and the foreboding sky with the ashen buildings hunkered over the colorless snow-swept streets, screamed how wrong her dilutions were. She hated it immediately.
She thought the cold would never leave her when she finally made it to the Gavan hotel. The weather had soaked through the three layers of clothing she thought would protect her. She might worn only the sun-dress, the layers of cloth seemed only to soak in the wet and cold and bundle her in heavy, sodden mess. In the lobby of the hotel she'd stay in for the night, she saw everything as a blur. Polished marble, a fire blazing there to melt the snow and ice on her clothes, tourists like herself ready to tuck into their rooms. It smelled of wood smoke from the fire and oiled hard wood and something spicy like cardamom. Inwardly, behind the chattering of her teeth, she laughed at the dolphins swimming on a marble bust along one wall. No laughing creature here but seriously poised in stone. "You will do as I say." A voice, though amused and bored, cut through the buzz of foreign tongues. English. Heavily accented Russian but still English. She looked up from writing down the check-in information and squinted in that direction.
There was a small group of tourists, two men and two women. The man speaking was clearly the eldest with his long white hair and a confident stance of someone used to taking charge. Kalani guessed him to be old enough to be her father, fifty or perhaps sixty from the lines in features, but he still had the carriage of youth. The broadness of his shoulder and chest and the twinkle in his pale blue eyes that spoke of life and adventure. He was speaking to a man who could have been his son, younger but with the same features and ice-blue eyes, save for blonde-red hair. The two women lingered by the elder of the men, looking bemused, one of them delicate and blonde, the other tall with fierce red hair. In the silence that followed the women exchanged an amused but otherwise unreadable look and the two men lapsed into a silent stare down, broken by the younger man as he jerked his head away and stormed across the lobby to throw himself into one of the seats by the fire.
