Tamara And Mr Ivanov First Time

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

that mated with my cunt as if created for that purpose.

"I love your heat and wetness, dearest. Let me tell you what I am going to do. First, I will bring you to satisfaction, especially to have you as lubricated as possible, to make the penetration easier. I will penetrate you instantly, ram fast and hard without respite or mercy, until I finish. Then, I will comfort you, hold you, kiss and caress you like a little girl. Time permitting, we might return to more mutually satisfying play. More fucking, Tamarushka, more fucking!"

Fucking

. He seemed to adore me, had waited years for me, but he stuck to 'fucking'. I realized 'making love' would not be proffered—fucking would be the operative word between us. Still, I merely loved the discovery of myself and my sexuality, and the real pleasure this 'old' man knew how to create with me. He made me feel like a grown woman, made me believe I was beautiful and alluring. And, he would fuck me like a madman, a great madman—an artist.

He took off his trousers and shorts, and I had my first view of his cock, of any cock. I laughed out of anxiety and self-consciousness.

"I'm sorry. I'm nervous, and I've never seen a man's, his—."

"Cock. Don't apologize, dear. Say it. Say, cock."

Cock

—I love the word.

He pulled the foreskin further back, unsheathing nearly all the smooth purple head.

"My cock is only at half-staff, my darling. Not bad, eh? Just so you know, I am above average in length, but nothing abnormal, nothing to fear. See the little bead of white cream at the tip? It is a prelude, if you will. Ah, I have an idea. Help me a little."

He crawled on the bed next to me and aimed his penis at my face, pulling back the foreskin again, holding the shaft in his hand so that the head was nearly touching my mouth. I gasped again but could not take my eyes away from the little monster.

"Lick the head, Tamarushka. It will taste like nothing, just a drop of dew. Now wrap your lips around it and try to poke the little eye with the tip of your tongue. Yes, yes. Lovely, my girl, lovely."

It felt strange, unseemly—so completely foreign, new to me. I'd done nothing more than rub Brad's penis through his jeans. I had not thought yet of looking at it, or touching it, let alone putting it to my mouth.

"You're so gentle, my darling. It won't break. Poke it hard, slap it with your lovely pink tongue."

We both laughed and he pinched a nipple with his free hand, several times until I moaned.

"Look, Tamara. See how you've made it grow."

I gasped (yet again). It seemed nearly twice as long, and fatter than any sausage I'd ever seen. It had one especially large vein running nearly the length of it in a crooked line. Another translucent drop of white appeared. Somehow I began to feel calm.

He tapped all over my face with his cock, making me laugh as he spoke Russian again, made the words sound as lascivious as what he was doing. I was surprised at the softness of the head's skin, silky really. I wanted to kiss it more, lick it all round, caress my face with it. I felt calmer still.

He lay alongside me and kissed me, fucked my mouth with his tongue really, while returning his tentacle-hand to my pussy, concentrating finally on my clitoris, making me scream out my orgasm, call uselessly to god for mercy.

"Oh god, that's enough. I can't bear it, stop, stop, please god."

He rose quickly and stood between my legs, continuing to fondle and tickle me down from my climax, talking sweet-sounding Russian all the while. I closed my eyes, stretching my arms as if awakening from one of my dreams, only this time very satisfied and content, happy even.

It happened without warning. In an instant his cock stabbed into me with a shocking ferocity. I screamed piercingly, in a hot electric pain, then groaned and began to weep as he pumped in and out of me without mercy. I could not say a word, not even 'stop'.

"Look at me, Tamara!"

His voice shocked me out of myself. I witnessed his face in seeming pain. He grunted deeply, half-coughed, sputtered Russian words, rolled back his eyes and moaned as if in agony. I thought of scenes from horror films, the faces of terrified actors being tortured or killed. I felt his cock spasm deep within me, then a warm liquid leaking out of my cunt, dribbling down to my ass and the sheet. The sounds faded and his face softened. He sighed a bit, grunt-coughed a few more times, then eased out of me and lay beside me, whispering sweetly in Russian. I realized my pain was gone.

"Now you are my whore, Tamara—my exquisite tsarina-whore."

Whore

—I love that word too.

"I am your empress-whore, your very, very, very serene highness of a whore."

He yelled his laughter and moved me up to lie fully on the bed, kissed my face all over and tickled my belly and ribcage. We exhausted ourselves laughing.

"Tamara, my darling, we shall have the most wonderful times, you and I.

"Let me get the duvet, we will rest a little in each other's arms. I will bathe you, and if you want, pleasure you again—so you know everything is fine. Perhaps we fuck again, perhaps not. All is well, Tamara. All is well.

"Now, take off your shoes."

* * * * *

More to

come

.