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Am I really that deprived?It’s been weeks since I’ve been with anyone, since Santorini, and I tell myself it’s just that. In my past life, I wouldn’t have gone so long without getting laid. I had my own secret apartment–or at least I told myself it was secret–away from my family’s home where I technically lived and away from prying eyes. I paid for it with money sequestered away from my ballet salary, and I used it not only for my own escapes, but also for taking men home with me.
As my father’s daughter, theonlydaughter and heiress to the Obelensky fortune, I’d been expected to remain innocent and virginal, clinging to my maidenhood in order to gift it to the husband of my father’s choosing one day. As old-fashioned as my father was, I think he’d expected to go through the entire archaic rigmarole, bloody sheets and all.
Fuck that,had been my silent response. Sheets could be faked, and I had no intention of forgoing pleasure in order to stay pure for some future unwanted marriage, especially when my ballet career meant that marriage was delayed. No, if I was going to eventually be handed over like a broodmare to some man–whether I liked it or not–I was going to getcopiousamounts of dick of my own choosing before that.
And I had. I cut a swath through Moscow, enjoying the favors of men as I pleased, choosing the ones I wanted and high-handedly rejecting the rest. It was easy to play the demure heiress whenneed be, pleading innocence and the need for marriage if I wasn’t interested, and easier still to lure them in if I was. Most of them were average at best–both their cocks and their skills in bed–but it wasn’t so much the physical pleasure of sex that I was after. That could be achieved with the myriad of sex toys I kept at that same apartment–all long gone now, much to my dismay. My absence meant the apartment was no longer mine, and by the time I came back to Moscow, everything I owned that was in it was gone as well.
The thrill of those men lay in the middle finger that I gave my father every time I took one of them to bed. I might eventually have to give in to the cage of marriage in order to keep my inheritance, I reasoned, but I was going to make sure that I was as far from virginal as possible. In fact, there’d only ever been one thing I hadn’t done, more out of lack of interest than anything else.
So, yes. It’s been a while. And you always did like men with a bit of an edge to them.I tell myself that as I walk up the stairs to my apartment door, keeping my head on a swivel as I fumble for my keys, looking for anything out of the ordinary.It’s just horniness and nothing else. He might not even come back, and then you won’t have anything to worry about.
I lock the door behind me–all four locks–and drop my keys and the cash on the nightstand by my bed, stripping out of my jeans and t-shirt as quickly as I can and tossing them in the basket next to it. I always want a shower first thing after coming back from the club, but tonight I want one even more so than usual. I want to wash off the way Mikhail made me feel, that clinging, sticky sensation ofwanting.
Turning up the water as hot as I can stand it, I look at myself in the mirror, still unused to how strange the reflection is. My facelooks starkly pale with the dark hair framing it, and I find myself missing the softness of my old blonde, the natural sheen of it.
No use wasting time wishing for something you can’t change.Maybe one day, when I’ve earned enough to get out of Moscow and far away from my past, I’ll be able to go back to myself. Maybe I’ll even dance again for something other than the pleasure of leering men.I could teach ballet,I think to myself as I step beneath the steaming water, losing myself briefly in a fantasy of an unknown future.I could have a small apartment of my own, nicer than this. A neighborhood where I feel safe walking around. A job I enjoy.
It’s astonishing how much a person’s priorities can change after such a drastic shift in circumstances. There was a time when I would have been horrified at the thought of teaching children, being satisfied with a small and simple place to live, or finding such relief at the thought of having a place to live where I feel safe. But I’ve now seen how far it’s possible for a person to fall.
Even just this, standing in a hot shower and scrubbing myself clean with drugstore products, feels like a treat after the day I’ve had. The steamy air is full of the bubble-gum, synthetic scent of fake strawberry, the water swirling around my feet is tinged with the run-off from my hair dye, and I’ve never felt less like myself. But the heat loosens my tense muscles, and the soap sloughs off the lingering scents of sweat, other’s cologne, and the tang of alcohol. I feel myself relaxing by degrees.
With that comes the sensation of arousal again, sliding over my skin as I wash, heating my body from the inside out. I don’t miss Adrian himself, not after our last fight, butgod,do I miss being in bed with him. He had a sizeable cock and knew how to use it, along with everything else, and I’ve felt a lingering craving forthat pleasure ever since I left. Not for the man, but for the way he made me come.
Tonight’s encounter with Mikhail only intensified it.
As I get out of the shower and dry off, even the rough fabric of the towel feels too much on my over-sensitive skin. I let out a low, frustrated groan as I toss it aside and walk naked into my bedroom.
I’ve been too exhausted lately to do much other than fall into bed and pass out after shifts at the club, but tonight I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep unless I do something about this. I stretch out atop my bed, letting my hands drift lazily down my bare breasts.
My entire body thrills to the touch, even just mine. I’m so keyed up that even my own fingertips trailing down my skin, circling my tightening nipples, leaves me twitching and breathless, my hips arching up and wanting my fingers elsewhere.
As much as I hate to let him back into my brain, I try to think of Adrian. I focus on black hair falling into my face and green eyes glinting wickedly down at me, of olive-skinned hands sliding over my breasts, cupping them, sliding down my waist as he maneuvered between my legs, his tongue wetting his lips in anticipation of tasting me.
“Ohh–” I moan softly, letting my legs fall open as my hand slides down my belly, brushing over the bare, shaven skin just above my pussy. I can feel how wet I am without touching, the inside of my thighs sticky with it, my clit throbbing with anticipation. Gently, I dip a finger between my folds, sliding it down to capture some of that wetness, and drag it back up to my clit, trying to simulate the soft wet heat of a man’s tongue licking me there.
What I wouldn’t fucking do for even one or two of my old drawer full of toys.In my old apartment, I would have already had something meant to do exactly that pressed against my clit, lapping at it with faint vibrations that would have me hurtling towards my first orgasm, and a thick dildo ready to push into myself after to give me a second. Instead, I’m left with only my fingertips swirling around my clit as I imagine strong, long-fingered hands spreading my thighs apart as icy-blue eyes look up at me from between them–
A jolt goes through me, shuddering down my spine.Green. Green eyes.I’m imagining Adrian, remembering that last good fuck before we’d fought for the last time…
My fingers move more quickly, sliding over my swollen clit, as I try to force my fantasies into submission. But the eyes remain stubbornly blue, the face pressed between my thighs the smirking one I saw tonight in the club, as he groans low and rasping in his throat, his tongue flicking over my clit.
I’m so close.I’m already on the verge of coming. My thighs start to tremble, and I can’t bring myself to chase the fantasy away. My mouth drops open as my hips arch upwards, my fingers rapidly rolling over my clit as I come closer and closer to the edge, and all I can see is Mikhail’s arrogant face as I imagine a hot tongue licking me, stroking me, sending me over the cliff into the release I so desperately need–
I let out a shriek of pleasure as I come, my clit throbbing beneath my fingertips as I buck my hips upwards, rubbing hard and fast. “Oh,god, oh–” I come just short of moaning his name, the spasms wracking me as I throw my head back, my fingers still moving throughout the entire climax, and I already know before they even start to fade that I’m not done.
I almost always come twice alone before I’m satisfied, and tonight is no different. My fevered imagination conjures Mikhail moving up between my thighs as I arch into him, that thick cock that I saw beneath his pants, freed, hard and dripping pre-cum for me. I reach down, spreading my folds with my fingers as I imagine the blunt head pressing against my entrance.
“Fuck, fuck–” I gasp, pushing two of my fingers inside of myself as I keep circling my clit, brushing against the outside of it now to give myself a moment to recover. My own fingers aren’t enough, nothing close to the thick toys I had before, but it has to be. I need to come again. Once is never enough.
I want more. I want the thick heat of a cock,Mikhail’scock filling me up, and I’m lost in the fantasy now. Those full lips are on mine, those tattooed hands pinning me down by my wrists while he thrusts into me, long and slow at first and then faster, stretching me, forcing me to take every inch of his monstrous dick. I push a third finger into myself, scissoring them together, thrusting in a poor mimicry of what it would feel like to be getting fucked as hard as I want to be right now.
My body is buzzing with it, vibrating with the need. I roll over onto my stomach, face pressed down into the pillow as I imagine a hand at the back of my neck, holding me down. My fingers find my clit again, rubbing, my pussy so drenched that I can hear the wet slapping sounds of my own fingers as if there really is a cock pounding me right now.
If only.I imagine Mikhail kneeling behind me, forcing that thick cock into me from behind, one hand on my ass as the other pins me down by my neck.Rub that clit for me, lyubov,I hear him murmur in my ear.Come on my cock the way you came on my tongue.
“Oh god–” Another sobbing moan slips out of me, muffled by the pillow as I arch backward onto my hand, needing to come more than anything now, more than I need to breathe. “Ohfuck–”
I shove my fingers inside of myself as deeply as they can go, pushing back onto the imaginary cock, rubbing frantically at my clit as I curl them, sending myself that final step towards bliss as I come, clenching and moaning, legs spread wide for the cock that I so desperately wish I were coming on right now.
