Moscow Romance

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
My debut erotica about two lonely people in the world finding themselves within warmth of a cold cold night.

Submitted: June 27, 2015

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Submitted: June 27, 2015

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June 28th 2015 2:18 am It was a cold evening in Moscow. The convention may have had our company's best products but it was a total bust. "Coldest city in the world right now and I can't even find a hottie." I muttered to myself. The pub crawl felt hopeless as I was barely buzzed from any of the White Russians here. Gee, thanks Jeff Bridges. Ready to retire for the night, my body collides into a busty broad. Her eyes, hazelnut. Her hair, short but bouncy with flair. Ruby. Red. Lips. This Russian Runaway pardoned me in what sounded like the most alluring of tone as she traversed past the bartender into the restroom. After several minutes of waiting for this fair maiden, I started to hear a somber wailing. I gestured to the bartender; he was just as confused as I was. Opening the door, I saw this damsel in distress as she sat in a puddle of her own pristinely shining wallowing. Her fair complexion flushed in a matter of seconds that would've brought shame to the toilet. "Hard day. I leave now." Said she in broken English. But whatever was going on, I could not let stand! This poor innocent women wasting her youth feeling sorry for her--fine--ass? "Would you like some company?" A beat. A bite of the lip. God she looks so sexy contemplating. "Sure." Bringing my coat around Joanna, I escorted her outside as we conversed in gentle banter past the snow. Her story? Earlier that day, Joanna abandoned an arranged marriage to the son of the Prime Minister of France. She came from a low-income family and worked as an architect for the government when she began courting this young fellow. What she soon came to realize was that this man exemplified himself as an impatient, rude and condescending masochist. "Sounds like a dick," I frowned. "Why would you hitch with him?" She replied with a meek, "I'm getting to that." Apparently, her mother was so enamored by his connections, professionalism and overall cash flow that she seduced the Prime Minister into decreeing a royal wedding. However, due to marriage laws in Rochelle, this was moved to be in the old country. "But I have standards." she said. And in spite of all the planning, she ran off, hesitant to go back. Nonetheless, I decide to cheer her up and buy her some coffee. The night is still young and in spite of these mishaps, she too retains a youthfulness to her. Like the way she laughs makes her whole body dance in a resounding signal of praise. When she parts her classy hair, the world freezes. And that walk! I fall into the rhythm of following her legs up to the hotel room where I stay. "Have you ever been with a Russian girl before?" "I have not." "Well it's nice." Elsa. Elsa starts curving her palms through my hair and on my cheek. She kisses me. "We are... how you say?" From cheek to neck. "Very sensual." From there, her lips do all the talking as she envelops me in bliss. Her tongue rolling around, leaving no space dry. I decide to take control of this cold war and mount her against the wall, using my legs as support. She wraps hers around me as I submerge into her vast seas of feminine beauty. Needless to say, her pink fortress is well infiltrated and as the battering ram strikes nearer and nearer, she moans louder and louder, words I have no idea what they mean, but still sound sexy in Russian. Like, "? ???? ?????." Tell me that doesn't get you Rosetta Stone hard! Anyway, I wrap my mouth around her succulent breasts as she and I jostle in synchronized passion. We move from the wall to the sheets as I throw her down and make my saliva travel towards those fit long legs of hers. As I remove her stockings she gets a headstart on the stimulation. Meanwhile, me and my foot fetish suck on those ankles of hers that just add to the sultry being she is. Next, I squeeze a bottle of coconut-palm lotion on her and caress her hips with wide hands, eventually making my way to her bra and--SNIP! She giggles, and removes my shirt, shimmying down my waist where I experience the waves of blossoming discovery enravel my most prized posession. As she bobs back and forth, I stroke her hair and hold her head with a friction that is only matched by my mounting of her again. This time she's on top and pardon if its rude but I can't help but be amazed at the slight vibrations of our romance trembling through Elsa's hourglass figure. Considering she can handle such brute force as I rocket into her atmosphere, amazes me. At this point, "euphoria" doesn't come close to what we're experiencing together. As if a plane crashed on an island I've been marooned on for years emerged with Elsa as the single survivor. She'd find me in the lagoon near the waterfall and just wrap her arms around me, pulling her in like a vortex does to a hellbent barracuda. Everything around me gets wetter by the minute. She parts her hair as she bounces upon me, giving a smile of delight. She enjoys my torque and velocity. Finally, after a good hour and a half of cycling under the moonlight, we both intertwine our breathless moans as she drives her nails into my back and I thrust far into her rear before pulling out and giving her a gift that every girl enjoys. The next morning, she left with breakfast, kasha and eggs, but also a note. "Danny, thank you for cheering me up last night. I know your flight back home is today and we probably won't, but if you are ever in the area, do not hesitate to remind me what we did last night. -Elsa. (P.S. Thank you for the pearl necklace.)

 

 


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