‘That’s … Oh, that’s really nice. That’s so sweet.’
‘What about you? You are yourself with me?’
We are at the schoolroom door now, ready to enter.
‘Never more so,’ I say, meaning it.
‘Good.’
The schoolroom is cold, but Dimitri has a solution for that involving lips and tongues and wandering hands. When the hands wander under my skirt and find my lace-covered bottom, I shiver and tense.
He breaks off, resting his forehead on mine. ‘This really is scary for you? Why?’
‘I think it will hurt.’
‘I use lube. Lots of it.’
‘All the same, I don’t see how something that size can ever fit.’
‘You are not made of wood, malyshka. You stretch. Like a rubber.’
My entire body convulses with dread.
‘To talk will not help,’ he decides. He peers around the room. ‘I wish I book the boudoir. This room not so comfortable for anal sex.’
Do you need special furniture then? He drags out a padded bench, like something from a school gymnasium, and removes one of the wooden blocks, lowering its height. ‘This may be OK,’ he says, stroking his chin. ‘You take off your dress and lie down.’
I stare at the makeshift bed.
‘Lie down, Rosichka,’ he says, unbendingly.
‘The thing is,’ I pipe, half turning, voice shaking. ‘You wouldn’t do this with a client, would you? So should you be …?’
‘I do this with clients but I use plugs. Only difference, with you I use my cock. But if you like, I can use a plug instead.’
‘No.’ I surprise myself with the speed and conviction of my reply. ‘Don’t use plugs. I want you. If I’m going to do this, I want it to be with you. Not some object.’
‘OK. So then …’ He flaps his hands, as if to ask why I’m still clothed.
I set about pulling my dress over my head while he inspects the contents of the front desk. He finds what he is looking for – a bottle of lubricant – and pops it in his shirt pocket. Then he is behind me, his hands over my upper arms, his lips on my neck.
‘You are my brave Rosichka,’ he says. His hands scoop up my breasts in their flimsy bra, kneading them gently. The tingle transfers, slowly but inexorably, from my nipples to my clit. I push my bottom back into his crotch, feeling it harden. ‘You give me your ass, I will treat it well, hmm. You trust me?’
I am boneless in his arms, belonging to him already. ‘Yes.’
‘OK.’ He finds my mouth, dips into it with his tongue until I am hot and panting, keeping up the pressure on my nipples, grinding his pelvis into my bottom. ‘Now you are going to lie down on that thing, OK. I help you.’
I want him inside me, but not like that. I want to trick him into my pussy instead. While he aids me into the required position – stomach flat on the padding, legs dangling over the side, bottom up at the edge of the seat – I make plans.
My plans are probably a bit lame. I spread my legs and try to raise my pussy to his line of sight, but it’s already too late. He has taken the bottle from his shirt pocket with one hand while the other strokes my back and shoulder blades with his knuckles.
‘You can relax,’ he says, deep and low. ‘Relax and float away.’
He puts the lube down on a desk and moves both hands to my stretch-lacy bum cheeks, massaging them for a while before pulling down and removing the knickers. He goes back to the massage. It really does feel gorgeously sensual. I want him to carry on indefinitely, and yet I also want him to move lower, find my clit, find my cunt, use them.
‘Getting wet,’ he says. ‘Getting ready.’
The word ‘ready’ makes me tense again, barricading the passage.
He taps my bottom, very lightly, but with a purposeful authority that I have to respect. ‘No, that is not right. Don’t tense. Relax the muscles.’
Struggling slightly, I obey, glad he can’t see my grimace of effort.
He parts my cheeks with his thumbs. I inhale sharply, panicking at the sense of exposure. I can’t hide this secret any more. He has it in his sights. And what if he is disgusted by it? What if it turns him off and he makes his excuses and changes course?
This has been the fear, much more than any pain or discomfort it might involve. The real fear of losing him.
‘Hello,’ he says. I feel his breath, warm in that intimate furrow, telling me that Dimitri has bent his head and is close to his target. ‘Here we are. Let’s get you ready.’
I let out the breath. No disgust there. Just avid lust. Dimitri won’t be going anywhere, and neither will I until he has taken that last bastion of my ever-fading virtue. I squirm with sudden shameful joy at the thought.