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I eyed the rows of passengers warily as my wife and I boarded the tour bus. Sure enough, we had botched it by being late and there wasn’t a spot where two people could sit together. There he was, though, fifth row. Anton. He had one seat reserved with his backpack. Of course my wife, Natasha, sat with him. Damn. The feeling in the pit of my stomach was uncomfortable.
Our vacation had actually started pretty well. We had arrived at the hotel in Torremolinos in the south of Spain for a two week vacation on the Mediterranean. Being from the U.S., I was very excited to visit such an exotic location. A hotel on the beach, a clear blue pool, a wonderful bar for drinks, and two fantastic meals a day, all-inclusive. The men had to wear slacks in the dining area, no shorts. It was old-school middle class European tourism, casual with a touch of class and plenty of booze.
Natasha and I were on our honeymoon. She was from Ukraine, and she was beautiful. Blond hair, curvy, with a pert mouth and a wide Slavic face. When I’d first met her, we worked for the same semi-conductor company, but on different sides of the planet. We’d met when she’d come out for a sales and marketing meeting held in Las Vegas. She helped manage a team out of Kiev, and was thrilled to be able to visit the States on the company dime. She’d been to New York as a student, but that was it. We hit it off, big-time. It was a five day company meeting and even though we’d made love that last night, when the trip was up, she was gone.
I wasn’t able to see her again for a whole year when the whole process repeated itself. I was so busy I didn’t have time to meet interesting women. I wasn’t interested in barflies or pill heads, plenty of which I saw on the road. Natasha never left my mind. She had a Facebook account that she rarely used, but I’d still find myself trolling it regularly, looking for any excuse to chat or comment on her homepage. We agreed to meet early the next year to get some together time. I wasn’t entirely certain if she had a boyfriend but she claimed to not see anybody regularly. About a month before her arrival, I was jittery. I waited at the airport with 11 roses. The previous year she’d mentioned that an even number was bad luck in Ukraine, and she appreciated the gift and recalled our conversation. It was as if she’d never left. The first night we kissed on the observation deck of the Stratosphere, and I surprised her with a $500 helicopter ride to the Grand Canyon.
After that meeting ended, we made a pact to get her transferred to the U.S. office, even temporarily, and our effort paid off. She came, we dated, and after six months she was living with me. A year later we married. So from the time I met her to marriage, we’d already known each other for three years. Time flies when you’re having fun.
The first time I’d met Anton was before we married. He’d come with his wife, Sveta to a party we had hosted at our apartment, mostly attended by Natasha’s Russian-speaking friends. Natasha had really reached out to other Russian speakers since she’d arrived as she wasn’t comfortable making American friends. I’d found them interesting, and the women were usually good looking. Anton and his wife were invited because he’d known Natasha since elementary school, but had only recently came to attend grad school while his wife worked at a local technology firm. They were a great couple and very social. One weekend when Natasha and I were in Tahoe, they rang out of the blue to announce they were also in town and wanted to meet up for dinner and drinks. It was great. We weren’t exactly best friends, but we found ourselves invited to almost every party they hosted, which was seemingly once every few weeks.
Keep in mind Natasha always laughed at Anton’s jokes, enjoyed singing old Soviet Pioneer songs and dancing to Russian-language pop with him during our drunker late nights. I was too embarrassed to join my them during these moments, so they were a natural fit. It made me feel kind of funny in the pit of my stomach during these moments, but Anton’s wife was always gracious enough to sit with me and laugh at them together. So we’d chat while our spouses sang and danced and I never felt left out. Sveta was a great woman.
If I had to pinpoint when our relationship dynamic changed, it was definitely during a small get-together that we hosted. Anton, his wife, and another couple were there, six in all. We were drinking around a coffee table, when something amazing happened. The third couple’s wife was telling some crazy story in rapid-fire Russian and I thought I heard “lesbiyanka”, and everybody started laughing. When they settled down, she apologized and repeated the gist of the story in slightly broken English.
One time in Kiev, her work took her to a hotel bar where she was hosting three ladies, one of whom happened to be a lesbian. Ruthlessly, she wanted to fool her into thinking she was also a lesbian, and she did her best to pretend. As she was repeating this story, I looked at Natasha and smiled knowingly. She had admitted some attraction ankara eve gelen escort to particularly attractive female friends. We’d had great sex as she described looking at one of her friend’s naked ass from behind, how her eyes were drawn to her pubic hair and lips as she’d bent over a bathtub as they were getting ready to go out one evening. Now, listening to this lesbian story, I noted she wasn’t looking back at me. Her gaze was on the storyteller, and as she finished, Natasha asked a risqué question to which everybody laughed. How far, exactly, did she go with her lesbian act. The storyteller motioned for Natasha to come close, one thing led to another and as a “demonstration”, she kissed Natasha full on the lips. Natasha did not pull back but returned this kiss reaching out to cup the back of the head of her friend as they actively showed each other affection. We sat stunned. I glanced over and Anton’s wife had a look of disapproval but Anton was transfixed with gleaming eyes and a smile.
They kissed long enough and husband of the woman my wife kissed took a picture. Interestingly, months later his wife mailed a hard copy of the photo to us. I consider it a priceless if somewhat embarrassing treasure. The important effect was the kiss made Anton very horny.
More drinks were had, and late into the evening Natasha disappeared into the kitchen to wash up. Anton offered to help and followed despite her protestations. A few minutes later they rejoined us and we finished out the evening with aspirin and waters for everybody. My mood was electric. Even the hug from Anton’s wife as she left seemed to have deeper meaning.
We retired to the bedroom, she took my hand as we entered and said, “You know, he tried to kiss me and then tried to feel me.”
Then she kissed me.
My mind couldn’t process this new information, so I kissed her back for a few seconds before I withdrew and stammered out, “Huh, what?”
She smiled. “Between my legs, under my skirt!”
I felt kind of strange and didn’t know how to re-act.
“Did, uh, you let him?” I nervously asked.
“Oh no.” She replied, shaking her head and giving me a weird look. “I pushed him away and told him to go back to Sveta.”
I kicked off my pants and she eyed my boxers, my dong pretty much sticking straight out. We skipped the foreplay as she pulled off her panties and I could smell her sex as my dick easily slid into her. We fucked in the missionary position.
Is I fucked her, I felt the need to preserve my dignity and blurted out, “I better say something to him tomorrow, give him a call.”
I dreaded saying it as I spoke. I really didn’t want to have that difficult conversation with him.
Natasha just laughed, “Oh don’t worry about it. He’s European, you know how it is. It’s not a big deal.”
I was relieved if not a little puzzled, but accepted her words at face value. I just wanted to fuck, so I picked up the pace. I’d been horny long enough that I couldn’t just cum quickly, especially because Natasha was very, very slick, much more than normal. She just closed her eyes and moaned as I drove into her.
I stared at her and mentally re-watched my wife’s lesbian kiss. My cock was rock-hard, and it felt good, but I just couldn’t get that that orgasm started. My brain made a split second decision for me. I closed my eyes and allowed myself to imagine Anton trying to kiss my Natasha. Anton, who so rudely disrespected me by trying to kiss my wife and feel her up. I pulled out quickly, not wanting to get her pregnant, and jacked myself off with a funny feeling of guilt.
Natasha, frustrated as she wasn’t finished, balled up her fists and slapped my thighs as I looked down at her. She wanted more. I was already finished, but I lovingly tried to replicate her pleasure with my fingers. It didn’t really work and she pushed my hand away and quickly moved her own fingers over her clit to get herself off as she moaned out in frustration or orgasm. I couldn’t tell which and didn’t want to push it.
The next day she didn’t bring it up, but I couldn’t help but think of the prior night. Was I being sort of gay, imagining my wife with Anton in kitchen? It troubled me, but to that very thought I masturbated three times that day. In fact, the third orgasm was only a half hour after the previous orgasm. I hardly came at all and it was frustrating and as the helmet of my cock ached and stung a little from the friction. The next day I also jacked off and the process felt much better, but I also had an overwhelming sense that somehow I needed to lock Natasha down as my girl. It was a sense of foreboding.
That Friday I got off work early, grabbed a suitcase I pre-packed with items for both of us, and told her I had a surprise. We arrived in San Francisco after dark, the hotel bellman carrying our puny bag for us as we all stood in the elevator. He opened our door, I slipped him a $20 and suddenly he’s in the room, pointing out the amenities. Under normal circumstances I’d be grateful, gaziantep escort but in my current state of mind I wanted him gone. I breathed a sigh of relief as he left.
As the door shut I looked over at Natasha. She was gorgeous from behind. She had a chair in front of her that she held onto, one knee resting on the cushioned seat as she gazed out at the cityscape. Her body was slightly bent over, her dress hugging that beautiful round bottom as she admired the fantastic view from 25 stories up. I put my arm around her and she smiled at me as we stared at the building filled hills, the skyscrapers and bay behind it, everything bathed in electric light.
“It’s beautiful.” She said.
I reached into my pocket with my free hand and pulled out a small box. I opened it to show her the ring. She stared, a strange look on her face, puzzlement. I gulped as I said my next words.
“Will you marry me?”
Her eyes started to glisten. A smile on her face forming as her pert mouth, red lipstick, started to mouth, “Da, da da.. Yes. Or course!”
We both danced in a circle to an invisible tune, giddy and we pulled each other to the bed. We kissed passionately for a few minutes before she jumped up and excused herself to the bathroom, grabbing the small suitcase on the way in. She laughed loudly when she found some favorite lingerie I packed. She was a vision of ecstasy, standing at the foot of the bed, her straight blond hair bobbing around her shoulders. She wore sexy panties and which hugged her wide sexy hips. Her bra half concealing her pert champagne glass breasts, the hard nubs of her nipples stuck out. She bent down on the bed as I lay with my head on the pillow. She crawled up and grabbed my hard, taught penis. One lick as she eyeballed me. She grabbed the base of the shaft, firmly yet gently, and coaxed a ball of clear pre-cum out of the tip. She winked, opened wide and swallowed four inches of my cock, no teeth, and sucked. I could hear the vacuum being created as her lips ever so briefly vibrated as she suctioned tight on my hard penis.
Up and down he head bobbed, for maybe a minute until she got the urge to have her pleasure satisfied. She got up and kissed me, her saliva slick with my pre-cum, her tongue sliding between my lips, feeding me hints of my own sex. Then she broke the kiss and swiveled around on me into the 69 position. Did I mention those panties? My favorite. They were split in the crotch, and it wasn’t obvious at all until she spread her legs. She lowered her weight onto me, my tongue exploring her folds. My nose occasionally being pushed into the soft crack of her ass, denying me precious air unless I shifted or pushed her up. It was as close to nirvana as I’d ever been, without actually concentrating on my own cock’s pleasure.
The taught panties denied me the full pleasure of her crotch. I licked and kissed and sucked her magnificent pussy, but the cotton threads digging into my cheeks. I finally started pulling them down at the hips, my signal for her to remove them completely. She lay back on the sheets and complied, playfully flinging them at me. I slid my cock into her as she spread her legs. I looked over and noticed the wide open glass wall and it broke my concentration. Perhaps somebody out there could see us.
“Faster,” she said. “I need to feel you deep in me”. We fucked for a few minutes like this. She finally had enough and told me to get up. We decoupled and she got on her hands and knees, her ass high in the air and head on the pillow.
“I need to feel you deep in me,” she repeated.
I gently mounted her from from behind, but she just blurted out in Russian “Davai, davai! Come on! Faster!”.
I shoved my cock in, sliding all the way to my stomach which normally hurt her if it had been a quickie. She needed my cock deep and she moaned in a high pitch, hard each time I pounded her with my cock. She loved it. I was able to maintain my erection long enough for me to be sure that she’d orgasmed, and at that point I pulled out. I was terrified of pregnancy. I leaned back and jacked off as I focused on her pussy. She playfully rubbed it for me and that was enough to get me over the hump, my hot sperm splattering on my chest, the rest coating my palm and fingers as endorphins flooded my mind.
The sex had been border-line aerobic. I gathered my breath and she fell over onto her side. I hopped off the bed to grab some towels and threw one her way. She chuckled as it just fell on her without any attempt at a catch.
As I started the hot water of the shower I pulled out my phone to see if I had any messages. I decided to grab both of our phones to charge them, and pulled hers out of her purse. Right away I noticed a text to her from Anton. This was normal, but for the first time my sticky, flaccid penis stirred. The day before the infamous get-together, if I had seen that message, I would have plugged her phone in to charger, took my shower, and returned to Natasha. Something inside me really needed to see where this would go. ankara gerçek resimli escort I took the phone and gave it to Natasha.
“Looks like Anton is trying to get a hold of you.”
We both laughed at the obvious double entendre. I stood at the foot of the bed, obviously wanting to be in on their communication.
Natasha read the text and looked up. “They want us to come over for a barbecue tomorrow.”
Good, I thought. Wait, why was that good? I felt confused at the feeling, but knew I wanted to get us all together again. I realized my penis was getting noticeably hard and I was a little ashamed, so I fell down on the bed to mask it. She dialed.
They both spoke for a couple of minutes, and although I didn’t understand all of it, I got the gist that she was telling him we were in the city, and that she’d just accepted my marriage proposal. I could hear him loudly congratulating her. They agreed we’d meet up on Sunday instead.
When she got off the phone I practically raped her as she lay on her back, her legs spread. I still felt remnants of sperm on her belly as I held her close, my cock sliding into her. I had these embarrassing thoughts in my mind, but I wasn’t sure how to communicate them to her. As coolly as possible I said, “I can’t help but think about you kissing Anton that night.”
Wow, I’d said it. I’d opened the door a crack. I girded for her reaction. She opened her eyes and said defensively, “I didn’t kiss him. He was drunk!”
“I know,” I replied as I kept a steady rhythm. “I love you honey. If he does it again you have my permission to kiss him, a free pass.”
She closed her eyes and said, “Okay, that is weird. And what about Sveta, his wife? She’s a friend. It’s disrespectful.”
She played his marriage card. The tone led me to believe it would never happen.
“Oh honey, it’s just a little fantasy.”
I tried to end the conversation gracefully and picked up the pace.
She said, “Thank you honey. I’m so glad we found each other. I just want to be with you.”
I found myself losing my erection from disappointment. I’d never lost an erection with her. She was puzzled as I softened and withdrew.
“Did you finish? What’s the matter?” she asked.
“Don’t worry about it, I love you.” I replied as happily as possible, and started to get up. I felt like a liar, guilty that I’d brought it up, and unhappy that I’d botched everything.
As I got up and turned she stunned me. “Oh Anton!” she said in a sexy voice. I turned and saw her smiling, eyes closed, her hand between her legs going in little circles. She peaked out at me and patted the bed.
I’m not sure she came, but I did in about three minutes, me once again pulling out at the last second. I hopped into the now steaming shower and quickly cleaned up. That night we made two decisions. First we’d get married in a low key affair as quickly as possible. Also we decided to get on birth control pills. Early in the relationships I usually used condoms, but as the sex became routine we switched to the rhythm method.
That night I had crazy, lucid dreams, with the last one being very vivid. I was younger, maybe high school or college, and had been pursuing a girl who I recognized, but couldn’t place. She had been receptive to my advances, and I was even vaguely aware that I had cunnilingus with her. I was extremely horny. Eventually I stopped and she held my hand as we walked through the living room of my childhood home.
The girl morphed into Natasha. I wasn’t sure how and it didn’t feel like it mattered. I found myself in my childhood kitchen. Natasha was laying on the counter naked, while somebody mysterious, like Anton, but different, was furiously fucking her. I stared at his cock as it jack-hammered her pussy, which looked different, more clean shaven. I was masturbating to the scene, but I could not achieve a worthwhile erection. There was no sensation of pleasure that I desperately wanted. I’d felt disappointed that I’d lost her. I had the sensation that I should not be there, so I tried to slink into a corner, keeping visual contact. That’s what I dreamt as Natasha got off the bed at six in the morning and prematurely woke me.
The next day we found ourselves at the beach near Golden Gate Park. We were giddy all day, holding hands when we could as we walked through the Chinatown crowds and saw the sights. We’d made our way to the beach after lunch, and sat in the thick sand, our shoes off. Luckily the wind was low and the sun was warm enough to make the experience comfortable. The waves crashed mercilessly into the beach as they often do there.
We had an extremely intimate and romantic conversation. We recounted how we’d first met, how we’d fallen in love. We laughed over little forgotten details from our adventure together. At some point she snuggled up to me and asked when I decided to marry her. She’d unwittingly given me an opening to discuss her and Anton, something I’d refrained from doing all day.
“Well, I’ve known for a while that you were marriage material. But you know, I just didn’t really want to bring it up. It’s a tough choice, cutting myself off from all women.” I snickered as I said it, an obvious joke and she elbowed me in mock anger. “But the truth is, after you told me about Anton, I just had this feeling I had to claim your or I could lose you.”
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