Borderland

Chapter 1: Seduction

Here in the borderland, any place with more than 5000 people is called a city. Small cities probably have an annual budget smaller than mine. On the evening this story began, that amounted to another three or four days before my pockets ran dry. The credit cards in my wallet had expired long ago.

I sat at a table beside a picture-window. Before me, an empty plate. I had eaten soup and vareniki; I chose these for cheap sustenance, not because I love the taste of potatoes and dill-weed. Outside the window, the city street-lights made a pretence of festivity: white, yellow, orange, green, red and blue, twinkling through a thin fog of smoke. I guess the city buys job-lots of cheap lightbulbs, price more important than colour.

The evening coal-train groans and clanks through the valley, heading for the coast. Night-birds churr and screech. The warm spring sunshine has given way to night. Typical evening in the borderland rust-belt.

The waitress approached. Wordless, as always, she gestured at the empty plate. She made a mime of drinking. After four nights in this hotel, she was accustomed to my preferences. They built these rat-holes for the occasional visiting apparatchik, and nowadays a guest is a rare and memorable creature. She took the plate, and returned with coffee and a small flask of Armenian cognac. It's fire-water, but it helps a man to sleep.

Bored with the vista, I looked around the room. The only other guest that night was a serious-faced brunette woman, maybe 45 years old, whom I had passed in the lobby earlier. She sat alone at a table behind me, also beside the long window. She was eating one-handed, in the American manner. Beside her plate of food lay a thin sheaf of papers, which she was reading as she ate. Her shoulder-length hair was loose, and hung like a curtain against her face. I could not see her features. Her white blouse, black skirt and charcoal-grey hose made it plain, she was travelling on business. I turned my gaze back to the window. Nothing had changed out there. I had been out here, in the shittiest parts of what used to be the Soviet Union, for almost 5 years. Waiting for something to change. Exactly like the locals. All of us waiting for something to change.

As I tipped the last measure of cognac into my glass, I felt a presence at my back. Turning, my eyes met those of my fellow guest: dark, very dark brown eyes. The colour of rosewood. Rosewood eyes, set in a face the honey-colour of well-aged sitka spruce. She smiled at me. Small, even, white teeth behind pretty lips. Yes, she had a few wrinkles around the eyes. But I can hardly make comment on that, with my face almost as creased as my scrotum...

I rose to my feet, she put out her hand and spoke:

"Good evening!" Her voice had that richness of intonation unique to the Slavic women. A musical quality, with none of the abrasiveness which can pervade Russian voices in any other language. The kind of rich music you get, from a sitka-rosewood guitar.

"Perhaps I may join you?" I gestured toward the chair facing me, and she seated herself elegantly. As she crossed her legs, there came the subtle rustle of silk.

"You travel here on business?" she said. "I too. My name is Irina. I work in medical technology and pharmaceuticals. Today I think I had big success. I will know for certain in morning. Tonight I wish a small celebration, but I am alone. Perhaps you will celebrate with me?"

Stranger, if I am honest I was not in a mood for celebration. I did not particularly want company. But there was something about the woman... maybe those dark eyes. And it would be pleasant to converse with a fluent English speaker.

"Yes, thank you Irina. It will be my pleasure to celebrate with you, I'm happy you had a good day. My name is..."

At that moment she interjected, with a smile, "your name is Andy. I know this. I know many things about you, Andy. I do not choose my companions at random. A woman must prepare, and keep herself safe in places such as this. People can disappear, in these borderlands". She waved her hand - she wore no rings, I noticed - and the silent waitress appeared beside us.

"Champagne, cognac, two Americano, and bring an ashtray" said Irina. The girl nodded. As she turned away, I noticed that she too had dark brown eyes. Common enough, in the Slavic races, and very attractive.

The order fulfilled, Irina drew a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from the slim black bag she had laid on the table. "Prilyuki". The brand I habitually smoke. She shook one out with an elegant hand movement. She closed her lips around the protruding tip of the cigarette, and slowly drew its length from the pack. She took it between thumb and two fingers of her left hand, almost stroking the paper cylinder. With her right hand, she struck the lighter. Her eyes met mine and held my gaze as she brought the flame to the cigarette, and drew it into crimson life. She took it from her lips, formed them into an 'O', and blew a lazy smoke-ring into the air between us. Then she passed the lit cigarette across to me, still holding my eyes with her own, with the words "yes, dear Andy. Many, many things I know. You will pour some champagne, please? I wish to toast your health and happiness, dear Andy".

I broke eye contact, turned away to open the bottle which lay in the ice-bucket beside me. I poured two glasses of the chilled, effervescent wine. I looked back, she leaned forward across the table to lift a glass. As she did so, I realised that her white blouse, previously buttoned to the collar-bones, was now opened almost to the breast; the tanned skin of her cleavage was exposed to me, framed in the white lace edging of her bra, and the cool evening air had raised the soft, downy hair upon slight goosebumps there. I felt my own skin forming goosebumps, and the slow stirring of an incipient erection. She remained in this pose, and raised the glass: I lifted mine, and our eyes met once again...

"Do you enjoy the view?" she asked, a tremor of smile on her lips. "The city at night, I mean?" Her voice was soft, almost like honey or velvet would sound.

I touched my glass to hers. "This city is full of beautiful sights," I replied.

As the champagne bottle neared empty, I realised that she had somehow persuaded me to tell my whole life story. How I came out here, paid by Swiss capitalists to find investment opportunities in the newly-liberated nations. How I had first found some successes, up on the Baltic. How I decided to search out more prospects on my own account. How I kept moving, trying always to stay ahead of the pack. How my links with home had gradually broken down. How the opportunities became fewer, and less lucrative, as time went on. How my work permit, and later my residence permit, lapsed. How I had no plan, how my diary was empty as the steppe. How I was pretty much on the last throw of the dice.

She listened. She looked into my eyes and listened. She spoke only to prompt me. She poured cognac into my now-empty coffee cup, and she listened as I talked.

She rose to her feet. "Excuse me, just a few moments, please" she said. My eyes followed her as she walked to the ladies' room. The black skirt was tight across her ass, which moved easily as she walked. She wore just enough heel to give her a sinuous wiggle. The semi-erection I had been feeling for the last hour began to harden. I took another mouthful of cognac, and looked out of the window once again. "Maybe my fortunes are changing", I thought...

A few minutes later, she emerged and returned to the table. I detected a certain playfulness in her manner as she sat down. She reached across the table, and opened her balled hand. Onto the place-mat in front of me dropped a scrap of white silk and lace - a pair of very elegant panties. Despite my tobacco habit, I thought I could detect a slight, distinct aroma. I felt my hard-on setting as the pheromones hit my system.

"A little dessert?" she murmured. "With much sweetness and cream? And perhaps some more champagne?" She ran the tip of her tongue between her lips, oh, so sensually. "I hope to know much more information about you, my dear... intimate information..."

By now, my balls were aching. My rational thought? Nothing to lose. My animal desire? Everything to gain.

"Irina, shall we go somewhere more private and enjoy each other's company?"

"Naturally, my dear - tonight you will come for me..." it was the first slip in the accuracy of her English. Or so I thought at the time.

We rose to our feet. She stepped close beside me, and took my arm. Those rosewood eyes flashed, her cheeks were flushed. I caught the scent of expensive perfume, with a distinct undertone of pheromone. She too was aroused. We crossed the room, I trying to disguise the hard-on tightening my trousers as we approached the silent waitress at the desk beside the door. I guess I failed: the girl's eyes were unmistakably fixed on my crotch.

At the desk, Irina paused. She spoke a few quick sentences to the girl, who nodded affirmation. The language or dialect was unfamiliar to me. I recognised few words as being Russian, but completely failed to comprehend what was said. Not unusual: the former USSR has many local languages.

"She will bring for us some champagne, some desserts."

In the lobby, Irina released my arm and gestured me toward the wide staircase. I waited there, studying the ornate brown balustrade - the classic "Soviet Baroque". Irina had crossed to the reception window, and was speaking rapidly to the sour-faced manageress of the place. Again I understood nothing. Irina returned and took my arm again: "I requested that we have privacy, and room-service if we want. It's unusual in this establishment, but I visit regularly. It will be so."

At the head of the stairs, I hesitated. Irina steered me to the left, towards her room I guessed. My room was to the right of the stairs. We reached a door at the end of the landing, she unlocked and opened it.

Oh my word. A large, spotless, comfortable, Western-style en-suite duplex. Fitted cabinets with magnolia facings and simple, tasteful décor. Wall-mounted flat-screen TV. A subtle abstract painting on the opposite wall. A large mirror behing the built-in dressing table. Large bed. Modern-looking cream leather lounger-style divan, Scandinavian design. Glass-topped coffee table. Two tub-chairs matching the divan. The contrast between this and my own dark-brown broom-cupboard, or any other low-budget small city hotel room out here, was infinite. She closed the door quietly behind us, leaning against it. That sexy little smile again played on her lips.

"Surprised? This the best room in the hotel. Best room in city. My company has a share in hotel. This room, only for us. Company paid for this. Special. Correctly appointed, for the work."

"It's beautiful, Irina... so are you..." I approached her, reaching out to pull her close. She giggled, and slipped aside.

"Not yet, my dear! All must be perfect, all prepared and correct."

OK, I thought. That's how she wants it to be, I won't argue. Long, slow and comfortable is nice.

She opened a mini-bar. "Cognac, my dear? Yes, yes. Now, please remove all your clothes for me..." she handed me a glass, she sat down on the divan and watched me. A very sexy woman, awaiting her entertainment. Well ok, Irina, I'll play your game. I took a slug of cognac for courage, and slowly unbuttoned my shirt.

Stranger, here's a question for you. How can watching a skinny guy in his fifties undress, be sexy? I weigh around 145 pounds, the muscles of my younger days are no longer taut and defined. Just skin, bone, scars and dangling genitals. I could not imagine a less arousing vision. But I tried to look alluring. At least I was spared the embarrassment of hopping around on one leg to remove my socks: the evening warmth meant I had been barefoot, in sandals.

She watched me intently. Down to my black cotton underpants, I paused and took another slug of cognac. My erection had subsided a little, but the head of my cock had protruded above the elastic at my waist. I felt both aroused and embarrassed by the situation I was in. The gaze of this elegant, sexy, fully-clothed woman as I stood near-naked in the centre of the room made me feel both proud and shy. She simply smiled, and gestured to me. A clear instruction - off with the underpants. I stood before her, naked to the skin. My balls were throbbing, my erection was again hardening and it stood out in front of me. As the glans swelled, I felt my foreskin easing back from its tip.

Another slug of cognac for courage. Why should I feel embarrassed? I'm not a big guy in stature, but I've been blessed with a slightly above-average cock. I tried to adopt a confident pose, despite the incongruity of the situation. I forced myself to look directly into her eyes. A touch of pride: a challenge.

She looked at me intently. She sipped her cognac. She lit a cigarette. She waited. I felt anticipation - my erect cock twitched.

She smoked that damn' cigarette right to the butt, all the time looking at my naked body. I felt only her gaze, and my cock growing harder as the minutes passed. I went to move to her. She held up one hand, in a clear "stop" gesture. It felt like an eternity. I felt a little pre-cum seep from my cock. I forced myself to ignore it, and hold her gaze.

Abruptly she stubbed her cigarette into a marble ashtray. She stood and walked towards me, smiling. She walked slowly around me, as I and my cock stood there at attention. She stopped, behind me. I felt her hand touch my ass. I felt her fingers slip between my legs, and touch my balls. My cock began to twitch more violently: the fingers ran backward, upwards, across and beyond my asshole. She once again stepped in front of me.

"Andy, you surprise me. In a satisfactory way. You will please me I think. I have only one complaint. The hairy I do not enjoy. In the bathroom you will find Gillette, shaving-foam. Please go there, shave. All. I will prepare the room, and prepare myself. I think the night will satisfy." She casually flicked my cock with her fingers. It stung a little - but it felt good. As I turned toward the bathroom, she had her back to me. She was beginning to remove her blouse. I entered the shower and opened the faucet, letting cold water run across my cock and balls. I wanted to save it all for her.

A few minutes later I re-entered the bedroom, a white towel around my waist. Irina was again reclining on the divan, facing me. She was dressed in a white satin wrap-around gown, mid-thigh length, belted at the waist. It clung to her curves. She had removed her bra, and the curves of her breasts were outlined: the hardness of her nipples was evident, and I felt my cock swelling again. I moved quickly toward her: again she stood up, with a playful giggle, and dodged my attempt to catch and hold her. I had been distracted - as she swung her legs from the divan, I had caught a glimpse of naked, shaven pussy. The lips were dark pink, and glistened slightly.

"Not yet, impatient Andy! My turn for bathroom. Here. Give me towel - thank you - now lie here and relax. You need energy, stamina. Here some cognac for you. Drink. More in this flask, drink if you want. Here cigarettes. Smoke. Relax. I will be soon..."

I followed her instructions, lay down naked on the divan. It was comfortable. My cock was lazily heavy. She briefly ran her fingers over my bald, shining ballsack. "That is nice. Better for me. And here?" The fingers quested under my balls and felt around my asshole. "Ah... yes... well, ok..." As she withdrew her hand, her fingers gently encircled my cock and slid up its length to the tip. It twitched, and the ache in my balls began again.

She handed me a tumbler of cognac, and turned toward the bathroom. As she went, she let her robe fall from her shoulders. Her back, her ass, her legs - all perfect. I took a long drink as she closed the door, and I heard the sound of running water. Oh yes, I thought... this will be a night to remember! I topped up my glass, lit a cigarette, and lay back to wait.

For some time the sound of water continued. I began to feel strangely tired - no, not tired. I don't know how to describe the feeling. My mind was acutely awake, but my limbs felt heavy. No matter. I could feel the vigour of arousal in my cock and balls. That was what mattered, tonight. My mind wandered. I want this woman, I thought. Maybe, for more than only this one night...