As preface, see first story,
Tamara & Mr. Ivanov: The Seduction
* * * * *
"Tamara, we are going straight to Saks. I will buy you any shoes you like, no matter the cost, even two or three or however many pairs if you cannot make up your mind quickly. However, you will leave the stockings to me. Then I will bring you to my home and fuck you like a madman."
I was fastening my seatbelt when he said that, and fumbled with the buckle so that the strap escaped my hand.
"Let me. Do calm down, darling. We are only going shopping."
He laughed heartily and quickly pinched one of my breasts before taking hold of the gear stick. I felt my clit swell immediately but I also felt confused and started to giggle, something I rarely do.
Once more, my mind was emptied but for a single word.
Fuck
".
* * * * *
One of the salesmen, in a Russian accent, greeted Mr. Ivanov. I couldn't help blushing at the way the man looked at me, slowly and deliberately, top to toe and back again, all indecorously minded.
"Ah, Sergei, I am glad you are here. This is my precious niece, Tamara. Bring us, please, your best selection of evening shoes, and—something special. You know what I like."
I had fun trying on such expensive shoes. I even enjoyed modeling them for my
uncle
, and walking about in front of the mirror, where I noticed Sergei and several other men about the area ogling me with a shared enthusiasm. I felt amazingly desirable, and pleased at the eroticism of the whole scene. I nearly pranced back to Mr. Ivanov.
"Darling, I was certain you would take to exhibiting yourself for me, but not quite so naturally and publicly. How you continue to please me. I am certain Sergei would love a whiff of your pussy. Spread your legs and let him get closer when he fits the next pair on your feet."
Blushing again, barely able to keep from giggling, I did as he requested. I discovered the unique satisfaction of the tease.
"Ivanov, with your permission—your niece has such delicate feet for her stature, feet about which Pushkin might have written poetry. Ah, this style enhances her instep, yes? I am so painfully envious of these shoes."
Instinctively, I lifted my foot roughly out of his hands. I felt repulsed by his familiarity and overt lewdness. When the he inhaled deeply at the moment the stiletto heel scratched his palm, I laughed derisively. Mr. Ivanov laughed too and whispered into my ear.
"My dear, you are the highlight of the pervert's day, perhaps his week, or month. How amusing. Do enjoy the power of your sex. Always take advantage of it, especially with me."
I chose a pair of black satin t-straps, not too high. He chose a pair of dark-red, suede ankle boots with four-inch heels.
A woman behind the lingerie counter also recognized Mr. Ivanov, and spoke a Russian greeting.
"Madame Kokhlova, how lovely to see you. My niece needs stockings for a dance, and other occasions. You understand. Give us a nice variety, an even dozen. Garters too."
As with Sergei, I knew the Russian lady did not believe I was Mr. Ivanov's niece. That excited me too. She treated me like a princess, though, and I began to act like one.
"You will keep the boots at my home, they are only for fucking. When you wear them out, or I get bored with them, we will go shopping again."
He laughed as I felt the heat return to my cheeks. The sound of the word,
fucking
, hard and vulgar, embarrassed me. But again, I understood more. I knew he saw it. I began to wonder how very much more there was yet to discover about my body, about myself.
* * * * *
I stood at the foot of his bed, which had been stripped of everything but the fitted white sheet. A shiver raced down my spine when he told me there would be blood, that he wanted to see the stains clearly.
I was naked but for thigh-gartered, sheer black stockings and my new ankle boots. My nipples were puckered, my legs tense, but I held myself erect, glad finally for the good posture I'd been taught as a young girl. I was anxious, afraid, excited, and had never felt so tall and proud.
He walked in still fully dressed but barefoot, smiling and speaking Russian. 'Dirty' Russian, I could tell. It made me relax a little, and smile back.
"My dear, you are ravishing, enticing, perfect. Now, sit on the edge and lie back, like with the table. Lift your arms over your head. Don't be so nervous—though I must admit it contributes to my desire—I have your pleasure in mind, but deflowering must needs be somewhat painful. I cannot tell you how much, perhaps very little, but no matter—I assure you it does no harm, will not last, and soon enough becomes a lost memory, the pain, that is."
He repeated the previous afternoon's play with my nipples—the sucking, pulling and letting go—but this time his left hand caressed my belly, my hips, my pussy. His fingers proved as expert as his lips and tongue. I felt as if there were some alien creature between my legs, a little squid, a
thing
