by Mike Alexander
(05/29/02)
Her stockings were midnight blue. And expensive. On special nights, Mariyana only wore the sheerest and the best. As she was growing up in a bleak Ukranian flat, she'd dreamt of wearing them. They would have bought a week's food for her family then. Tonight they would match her classy 3-inch stilettos. Should there be a man lucky enough to explore underneath the long black sequined evening gown she wore this Friday night to the opera, he'd find a matching silk blue French teddy, trimmed with lace.
Despite Glasnost, you still couldn't get underwear of this quality in Moscow shops. But Mariyana's step-father Mikkel was a training Commander at the Nakhimov Naval Academy in Leningrad. He had contacts abroad who, when he pulled Mariyana's picture from his wallet, would smile and nod in understanding.
To say she felt sexy this night was a serious understatement. Yes, of course dressing expensively contributed to that. Her hair had taken most of the afternoon in the hotel salon, and now sported a blue bow that held her brunette locks in a pony tail at the back. Not her normal style -- but this was not a normal night. Tonight she would have made Mikkel proud.
Her panties looked so tempting in the mirror as she dressed for this important occasion that having stepped into them, she stood in front of the full-length mirror and rubbed the vee with her right middle finger in a familiar circular motion until the feeling between her stockinged legs became too nice to ignore.
She quickly removed her panties and lay on the wide bed, reaching into the bedside draw for her two treasured vibrators. Then she assumed her favourite position. Keeping legs together, Mariyana drew her knees up towards her, crossing ankles and rocking back onto the pillows to expose her shapely bottom to the mirrored wardrobe opposite. She could see the target framed by dark blue stocking tops, and spreading the folds of her labia with one left hand, gently guided the slim tip of the first vibrator inside her.
With eyes shut tight, she bit her bottom lip, hovering on the edge of pure pleasure. For a moment, her aching hole felt the tip moving in and out just an inch. She wanted to feel plastic fantastic so badly. Let go. In.
East met West as Mariyana sank the vibrator deep. It was the finest feeling. Cool, white ribbing gliding inside and expanding her love tube with a fullness quite exquisite. For a moment she lay on her back turning it inside herself. Slippery. Then, next step to paradise. Deftly, she turned the dial on the base and the vibrations began, on the lowest setting.
The background noise of Moscow traffic wafted through the billowing net curtains to mix with the sound of her passion as Mariyana gently made love to herself. It was bliss for her. Love juice bubbled from her quim, dribbling down her bottom onto the sheets. The vibrator glided in and out so easily. Was this better than a man, she asked herself? It was like a great meal, she thoughts. Why go straight to the main course when there were starters and desserts?
Spreading her long legs wide, Mariyana splayed open her vaginal lips with one hand and increased the vibrations with the other, whilst gently peeling back the folds to expose her engorged clitoris, which she rubbed around, sending shockwaves of pleasure that seemed to reach to her toes and fingers. Time to move to the next level.
She slid the hard length from her tight hole with a sucking plop, rubbing its length, then transferring the slippery juices to its shorter, fatter friend -- a battery powered butt plug. She slipped a pillow under her back to lift herself a little, then pulled her cheeks apart to open wide her crinkled anus to the moistened tip of the plug. One hand pressed the tip of the plug against the opening, while her slender fingers splayed the tight hole wider. Press, relax, gently does it. Mariyana's mouth dropped open with joy as the thicker plastic entered her bottom. Sliding deeper then...ooooohh.
She felt so lovely. So full. Spreading her long stockinged legs wide, she reached for the slimmer toy. With her bottom so full, Mariyana felt her vaginal walls pressing against the hard plastic as she slid the slimmer vibrator back into herself until just the dial protruded. She turned it carefully with her long fingers until the buzzing was just right. With both her anus and vagina deeply penetrated, she reached beneath her bottom and managed to turn the red knob on the end of the butt plug. Adjusting it to match the vibrations of the humming rod inside her slippery cunt, Mariyana's eyes widened as she wallowed in the pleasure.
Both toys felt exquisite. She pushed the ribbed toy deep inside herself and held it there with one long index finger as the vibrations buzzed and love juice leaked from one opening to the other. Feelings this beautiful could lead to only one conclusion. She sensed a deep electric climax approaching. It was building within her. The plug in her bottom felt so big. So nice.
Oh God, she was coming. How long could she hang on? Gently moving the vibrator in and out, Mariyana could see her clitoris poking through lips, pink and erect. So inviting. Reaching forward towards her carefully shaved Mound Of Venus, she pointed a red nailed index finger lightly towards her love button, touching a manicured nail across her pleasure trigger.
Teetering on the edge of paradise, she held off for a moment and the gorgeous feelings gently subsided -- but she couldn't resist tickling that love button with her nail.
She was going beyond the point of no return. The eruption began. She was losing control. The Russian beauty's mouth opened wider as the gloriously intense whirlpool of pleasure she had carefully orchestrated between her open legs sucked her downwards into one almighty convulsive spasm.
Fireworks lit up behind her tightly closed eyes as the overpowering orgasm shot through her body. Then time itself seemed to slow. She was wide open and floating. Shockingly beautiful feelings pulsed from her crotch and shapely bottom up the arched spine to the pleasure centre of her brain as she spasmed upwards in sheer joy.
Drawing the vibrator quickly out of herself, she saw an intensely pleasurable squirt of come shoot outwards onto her blue stockings and the pale pink silk sheets below. She sank down and slid lower. This pushed the butt plug harder into her bottom and set off a second unexpected pleasure wave which made her tremble with its intensity, before sending her upwards again into delirious, gooey sex heaven. The butt plug was buried deep inside her anal canal, and its vibrations were like nothing this experienced girl had ever felt before. With her stocking tops wet, it didn't matter that another lovely gush spurted onto her legs and the sheets. Oiled by her wetness, Mariyana finally sank back -- pleasurably spasming in her own come as the multiple orgasm slowly left her body.
She took a long breath. There was always that guilt feeling afterwards. Why? Her eyes slowly re-focused on the clock by the bed. Oops, time to move. She eased the toys from herself, stood up, and walked shakily to the bathroom. The rollercoaster ride of pleasure she had just taken left her a little giddy. After washing carefully in the bathroom she dressed quickly, checked her flushed face in the mirror, and threw a fur over her shoulders as she headed for the door. It would be very cold outside.
Stepping out of the lift into the lobby of the Hotel Intercontinental, Mariyana was aware she was not the only one who recognised her sex signals. Clicking across the marble floor with diamonte handbag clasped to her bosom, she smiled at a man with his wife walking the other way. Both met her eye contact and nodded in the way that well-off people do who see style. But the man turned and watched her backside. She could feel his eyes burning into her shapely bottom as she walked toward the doors.
Twenty minutes later, a black Zil limousine swept across wet cobbles and tramlines out of the square and into the Moscow night towards the Opera House, carrying Mariyana to her date. The driver had the radio on a local pop station playing Kylie Minogue. Very uncool. She spoke in her Ukranian clipped tones to him. He switched it off, driving in the sulky silence taxi drivers have when they don't like you.
She relaxed and used the darkness to her advantage. Mariyana had been brought up as an only child by her mother in Dnepropetrovsk, a city in the Ukraine. From about the age of eleven, when she was feeling sad, she'd discovered touching herself gently between her legs was very pleasurable, free and if not always easy at least worth the effort. When the mood came upon her she had determined it was better than conventional sex -- whatever that was.
Despite numerous affairs with men and one spectacular lesbian relationship since, she had been left disappointed with all their efforts. Now, fifteen years later, she was a master of masturbation, and no-one else came close. Mariyana had privately accepted that she was married to her own long, delicate fingers. And it felt good.
The buzz of her recent orgasm had left her still flushed to the point some quick make-up had been required to hide the blush in her cheeks. Lifting the dress hem underneath her fur coat she began to explore her panties, checking that she was clean and dry. It was a short step to pushing the elastic back, Her lips were a little tender and still pulsating. She parted her lovelips carefully, inserting that all important middle finger. Deep, and rest. Then in...out...round her clitoris. She may only have come half an hour ago, but in the dark back seat of a taxi, alone with a stranger not knowing? The danger made her feel sexier by a factor of ten.
She uncrossed her legs and spread them wide under the voluminous material. All that organza, silk, and elastic made her feel so gorgeous. The sheer nylons and silk dress allowed her to sink down easily out of sight of the driver on the fake leather seat. She would pleasure herself here, and this man would never know.
As the sexy feelings spread, her heartbeat increased. She knew she was being a bad girl again. This was purely clitoral stimulation and yet her cotton panty vee felt so damp. She could hear herself at confessional. "Oh Father, I have sinned..." Mariyana whimpered as she approached the point of no return. Should she come? It would be a secret. Yes, why not. Coming quietly in a taxi under your dress was, was...ooh, soooo nice.
A middle finger played in a circular motion under the lace and silk. Her eyes stayed open, watching the driver for any signs that he had noticed. The light at the junction changed to red, and the taxi slowed but the music on the car's radio masked any telltale sound as she masturbated under the satin folds of her outfit. The thought occurred that had she been a man, coming would have been a problem here. Men had to make such a noise and a mess. But a girl was never expected to want sex so badly, was she? There was no wild jerking up and down, and no sticky semen to deal with. Just pleasure under your dress. Rubbing your clitoris was easy -- and God it was so lovely.
Several fingers pressed harder now. Legs wider. Appearing to stare out at the wet streets, she made no sound but whispered in her mind "Oh God, I'm, I'm...mmmm" Oh, she was wet. There was room for more fingers...
You would be a keen observer had you noticed anything different about the girl in the back, but experience kept Mariyana still as a lovely orgasm shot out from her crotch and dampened her expensive underwear. The only evidence was her pink lips shaped into a silent "ooooohh."
The lights of the Opera House came into view. Adjusting herself, she looked at the eyes of the taxi driver in his rear view mirror. They were black but not blank, and they danced between her and the road ahead. Laugh lines were unusual in these guys, from her experience. She took a perfumed wipe from her bag, and as the cab dodged the potholes and tramlines, adjusted her underwear and repaired the damage.
It was too late to worry about what he may have seen. The cab pulled up and she paid him more than he was worth. She stepped from the vehicle and was greeted by a lacky under a large umbrella. Once inside she allowed her fur coat to be removed by another, with a strict instruction to him it should be looked after. Real silver fox fur she could not afford to replace. .
She clicked across white tiles and onto the carpeted reception area of the Opera House, a modern affair no doubt built with Russian mafia money. The way their government was going, they could never afford to build a new place like this. She took a glass of champagne offered to her.
The mixed advantages of beauty include never being alone for long.
"The Prince is over there if you're interested," said a voice at her elbow. "Hello Felix, what brings you out of the Casino." Mariyana was genuinely suprised to see her editor in black tie, smiling. "Oh, you know, culture, Mozart, gossip, free drink..." replied her US boss, smiling dryly. "Going for the kill?" She looked at Felix, tilted her head to one side and raised an eyebrow. "Now, would I do that?" Felix examined the bubbles in his glass. "I think so." He seemed almost nervous. "Look, I know I always say this to you, but just don't get caught. I shall deny I knew anything." The two stood in silence for a moment looking at the scene of milling glitterati moving up the two staircases towards the auditorium. "Don't you always, Felix. Now shall we do it, or go home and play Scrabble...or something?"
They looked at each other and knew it had to be so. Felix was like most gay men in his thirties. Thin, passably handsome, but sporting one gold earring and that silly tash. So 70's. He was driven by his latest readership figures, Mariyana by her public ambition and private sex-drive that was quickly becoming more than just office gossip. Her regular wanking sessions in the upstairs filing room of the glossy magazine were more well known to selected employees than she would wish for an ambitious girl.
"Try not to get it on the carpet," he said, giving her a fixed smile and melting back into the melee.
This was no time for negativity. Shoulders back, chest out. She pushed forward towards Aleksandr, Prince of Monrovia, who stood at the foot of the stairs, exchanging platitudes with the hangers-on, but also staring when he could into the crowd. Her partner might be minor Liberian royalty, but he was also reported to be seeing someone not unconnected with Monaco. Mariyana decided he was a looker in that white uniform.
She waited without trying to push through, waiting for his eyes to catch hers. She loved this part. Contact. Her target suddenly became more animated, and disengaging himself from the crowd, took her gloved hand and kissed it most romantically. Some of the crowd around Maryiana gasped and clapped. God, she hated their fawning pretentions.
Photographs were taken at the foot of the stairs that would soon be shooting around the world to gossip magazines in minutes.
Mariyana and her beau took seats in their reserved private box as the lights dimmed to black. Opera could be entertaining, but when nothing you saw or heard made sense, it was hard to stay focused. In the blackness she squeezed her legs together, feeling wet. She had a job to do, to expose this man with sleaze allegations, but as the performance dragged on she wondered if, bored and alone in the dark with an attractive new man in uniform, she wouldn't have considered unzipping him anyway. Her research showed him to be a sportsman, a playboy -- basically a lazy aristocrat, but not a bad man. Did he deserve to be branded a sex maniac? Defrocked and exposed? But then there was that red sports car she'd seen in her company's magazine recently. What to do.
What the hell. She reached across and let her hand drift onto his lap. An encouraging hand was placed upon hers. It lay there for a moment as they both watched the Diva's entrance to Mozart's Marriage Of Figaro. As the powdered wigs surrounded the main players and a handsome actor began to sing, Mariyana slid her hand down the Prince's fly. Neither of them appeared to take their eyes off the stage.
Her long fingers slid through the material and explored the end of his cock with the tips of her squared white nails. She was initially amazed that there appeared to be little reaction from him. In the darkness, she continued to gently massage and rub his expanding manhood to the beat of the music. Then it began. She felt movement. A hand reached across and gently lifted her dress, fingering her suspender belt for a moment before finding the silky bullseye of her crotch. The hands were delicate and careful. Trembling. Mariyana felt a twinge of regret.
It brought back intense memories of her first date in a Leningrad cinema when a similar thing happened. That should have been special, but turned out to be a fumbling Russian farmers son's idea of romance, not hers. Tossing off some foreign blue-blood for a story was in a different class. But he had been an innocent too.
The danger made her very randy. In the blacked-out theatre this spunk trumpet she was playing was making overtures to her she couldn't resist. Her hand gently stroked his fat penis in the darkness and felt his fingers exploring her sex, gently probing and rubbing. The music was getting louder, and the action faster on stag. Her legs spread wider under the voluminous folds of material.
His fingers rubbed round and round the edges of her lips -- then deep. Her hole was now slippery and pliable. As hard as it was for her, Mariyana moved his busy right hand from her own pleasure zone to his while quickly slipping her wanking hand under the hairy balls to his anus. She inserted her long index finger deep inside. It's a place prostitutes know of. And caring wives. All men -- whatever their nationality -- spunk with intense pleasure at this point. The Prince was no different.
She detected there was room for her middle finger too. As the Prince's hand bounced off his belly, she eased it inside him and scratched her nail inside him. Too much. His face contorted with pleasure in the gloom as he pulled back on his cock and let fly. Copiously. As the chorus on stage reached their climax, so did our happy couple. The white semen shot upwards. As she felt the Prince's erect member pumping into space, her own left hand middle finger drove deep inside herself to find the perfect spot.
Triggering her own orgasm, she smiled and closed her eyes in anticipation, succumbing to the rush from within which burst through her love lips as she came. The Prince groaned and spunked beside her in the darkness of the crowded Opera House.
By sheer chance of timing, her cry of ecstasy was hidden by the orchestra's own crescendo.
High up in the Gods across the auditorium, a video camera supposedly there to record the events onstage was fitted with night vision infra-red. It was pointed at the box where Prince and partner cavorted in the darkness. "Hot ash tray action," thought the cameraman in the pay of the magazine. Perhaps even hotter copy.
The curtain came down, and applause erupted. In their box, the spunk showered everywhere. The Royal organs had obviously not been exercised for some time and it shot in all directions. Over the edge of the box and down on Mariyana's expensive outfit. She relaxed back into her seat, suprised at the intensity of her coming after pleasuring herself earlier.
Watching in an almost detached way, she saw the white globs of Princely semen dribble between the sequins of her silk gown, competing with them to reflect the lights which came up as the performers took their first bow. "Christened," Maryiana whispered to herself, before standing quickly to join in the applause.
Her partner lay on the floor of the box in disarray. She stole a glance towards him. Males. So much power diffused so easily. It was almost a minute before the Prince could get on his feet and join in with a kind of glassy-eyed stare only his partner could see close up.
Next morning she lay in just her blue silk teddy poring over the papers spread across the bed, examining the concert reviews. "A Triumph of Art over Avarice" said one headline. The opera critic of "Pravda" was puzzled.
"The Crown Prince Aleksandr of Monrovia seemed so overcome by the emotion of this performance, he did not stand to applaud for several moments."
Mariyana closed the paper, leaned back and replayed the moment in her mind. She pushed back the sheets, splayed her legs wide and opened her vagina, teasing the clitoris from between the pink lips of her pleasure hole. Touching her lips very gently whilst reaching across for her vibrator with the other, she then drew both knees upwards to expose the tight openings between her legs to that slim toy.
Rubbing the tip against her moist lips was heaven. And, and...in. Not too deep, just an inch in and out. Then half way. Cool, hard, ribbed, lovely. She replayed the scenes of last night in her mind and felt so nice between her legs. Wider. Sliding deeper now. Much nicer. Her clitoris was calling. Now she was rubbing and sliding and rubbing and, and....
2 p.m. next day. Smart black business suit. Skirt two inches above the knee. She had decided to wear pantyhose, but to keep her panties in her handbag. Felix looked up from his computer to see her striding through the office towards him. She bent across to place her copy on his desk, lifting one leg up to give those paying attention their reward.
"Did you get your shots"? Mariyana asked him.
"Yes. I see you got yours."
His gossip columnist studied her stilettoes for a moment. She paused. "Shall I take that remark as a compliment, Felix?"
"I think you should -- as long as it didn't land on the carpet."
Marianya opened the door. "No, just on their imperialist heads."
Story filed, she left the building with a feeling of satisfaction but also with a full bladder. Going to the toilet was secondary to filing the story, but now that was done she realised out on the street weeing was a priority. She hated public toilets in Russia. They were always so dirty. But she did want to go now. Oh, but where? It was a Sunday and so many places were closed. There was a bar -- and it was open. She rushed across the road to the island in the middle, pressing between her legs to hold the increasing need to pee as the traffic sped by. Then across and through the drinkers into the empty ladies. Locking the door, Mariyana pulled up her short white skirt and tugged her pantyhose down her thighs before sitting down on the bowl. Then a naughty thought occurred. She lifted her legs and opened them wide. She badly needed to go and knew she would pee all over the cubicle. Her stomach muscles relaxed and the explosion began.
Piss shot everywhere. Eyes tightly shut, she concentrated on the relief as the wee cascaded onto the door and walls. This was what it must be like if you're a man having an orgasm she thought as the liquid spurted from her cunt and splashed onto her pantyhose. What a mess and such a wonderful way to relieve yourself. The pressure of her need caused the pee to spray all over the cubicle. Then eyes wide, she pulled open the lips of her pussy and the pee concentrated into a jet which, as she leaned back and directed upwards, arched before falling and splattering onto the tiled floor.
It was just as well the bathroom was deserted.
Cleaning herself with a toilet roll, Mariyana took a clean pair of panties and hose from her bag and changed. She always came prepared for little accidents. Even intentional ones. Drying carefully around her hole with the tissue, she felt the familiar sexy feelings as the dry material touched her clitoris. The weeing episode had made her feel quite randy and, just touching her damp love button felt really lovely. It was poking out between the folds of her lips at the top of her vagina and was quite irresistible -- as usual.
The word "nymphomaniac" in Russian is quite undecipherable to Western minds, and as this attractive lady sank back onto the toilet to masturbate again, the reader may find themselves wondering how she had become so sexually self-obsessed. Now there is a story.
