Moscow Meeting [MFF] [Mild BDSM]

Ewa had been in Moscow for a couple of months, settling in to the subtle and not so subtle changes in culture. She was immersed in summer, now, and the days were long, hot and dry as a bone. In the evening, the heat hung in the air, not cooling but thickening. From waking up to falling into bed, she spent the day glazed in sweat and would duck into a shaded cafe, bar or awning like it was a pool of ice water. That day, Ewa was wearing a light, summer dress with thin shoulder straps. The straps sat neatly in the groove of her strong shoulders and the dress was tucked in the back, so it hugged the dramatic curve of her spine and the muscular curve of her hips. She’d walk around naked if she could, but it was a compromise between comfort in the heat and inviting stares and cat calls in the street. This happened anyway, of course, and she did her best to shrug it off. Somehow, cat calls in Russian retained enough novelty to mask the buzzing nuisance. By contrast, she didn’t mind the attention she got from other women, who, she noticed several times a day, couldn’t help but glance at the sweat running from her collar bone, down the gentle valley between her small, firm breasts, or at the way her skirt hung off the round shelf of her ass, the hem clinging to her thighs when she walked.

It was the early evening, when people started to emerge onto the street, like crabs scuttling from under rocks, testing the heat of the air. Ewa had found a small yoga studio near her apartment, populated by women who continued to wear makeup and designer sportswear while adopting warrior pose. She did her best to ignore them and enjoy the relative cool and quiet of the studio, and the long, high windows leaning over the street below.

That day’s session ended, as it always did, with a period of meditation, a deep bow, and a thickly-accented “Namaste”, which always forced Ewa to stifle a giggle. Gathering her things, she decided to shower at home, since she’d only build up a sweat again on the journey back. The short brown hair on her temples was dark and wet from the workout. She could feel the sweat running in thick drops down her spine and into the groove of her ass, and her pussy was damp and prickling from the sweat on her thighs. As she pulled her bag on to her shoulder, she told herself it would be worth the discomfort for the relative relief of a cool shower at home.

Ewa was leaving the yoga studio, bracing herself for the scowling determination of the commuters outside, when the receptionist noticed her and called her over. She’d never exchanged more than two words with the perfectly manicured receptionist, but she went over, curious.

“Someone dropped this at reception for you, earlier”, she said, passing Ewa a padded envelope with her name on it, held delicately between long, midnight blue nails.

“Who?”, Ewa asked, taking the envelope, tentatively.

“I don’t know. I wasn’t on shift. Some guy. It was here when I arrived.”

Ewa thanked her quietly and, standing outside in the stifling air of the street, her brows knitted as she opened the envelope. Inside was a black, leather bit gag. It looked awfully familiar, and when she looked closely, she could see small tooth marks pressed into the flesh of the leather, like inverted braille. Hanging from the buckle of the gag was a brown paper tag. It said, in small, bold letters, “Get in the taxi”, and then a number plate. Ewa looked around, tucking the bit gag under her arm, in case anyone spied it.

A car horn cut through the air like a sudden slap, and Ewa jumped, shocked out of her racing thoughts. Across the road was a taxi, bearing the number plate written on the tag. The driver was a woman, unusually. The surreal envelope, the familiarity of the bit gag, the air of threat hanging in the air and her lightheadedness, post-yoga, made this all strangely dream-like. Maybe that’s why Ewa walked across to the taxi and got in, despite her common sense glaring at her sternly. She sat in the relative cool of the air conditioned cab, and waited quietly, her hands turning the envelope over and over like the mechanism of a watch. The driver, middle-aged and with a wide, friendly smile, said in English, “Hi there. This is for you”, and handed her another envelope. Fumbling it open, Ewa found a keycard with a number on it: 111. She glanced quizzically at the woman, who said, “Want to go? Up to you. I can take you home if you prefer”.

Technically, Ewa knew that she should get out and go home. Maybe even call the police, though the thought of trying to explain this to the Russian police almost made her laugh out loud. She definitely knew that she shouldn’t go with the driver. But as she said, “Yes. Thank you”, she felt a sense of inevitability and the feeling of lightness that comes with relinquishing control, as when she would allow the ocean to toss her to and fro.

Some time later – time had slowed to a trickle in Ewa’s mind, like a heavy trip – the cab arrived outside a mid-sized, boutique hotel in a quiet side street. Rather old-fashioned, faded glamour, but well-preserved. Her driver smiled affectionately and said, “Have fun.”

Ewa climbed out, and started to walk slowly towards the entrance of the hotel, gazing up at the lightly fluttering curtains of the many open windows. She thought she saw a figure looking down at her from the first floor, but she couldn’t be sure. Everything felt so heavy and unreal, like wandering a film set. As she walked into the hotel, her thighs and her pussy felt hot and damp, and she realised, flushing invisibly in the heat, that it wasn’t from sweat.

Ewa walked into the dimly lit foyer of the hotel. An old-fashioned ceiling fan was spinning, slicing the warm air, the only sound in the room. The space behind the reception desk was still and empty. For a moment, she came back to reality, and a rush of questions poured in, holding up what she was doing like a stolen apple. But before she noticed what she was doing, she climbed the softly carpeted stairs, which muffled her hesitant steps, past framed and faded photos of old Moscow. Arriving on the first floor, she counted the doors: 101, 102, 103… through the doors she could hear quiet sounds, muffled voices that sounded like moaning, whispers of music. Ewa arrived at room 111, and knocked gently.

There was no response.

She knocked again, more firmly. But there was still no response. She gazed down at her feet, sinking into the thick carpet like wet sand on a beach. It was cool in the corridor, but she felt feverish and realised her lips were dry from breathing heavily through her mouth. She pulled the key card from her pocket and pressed it gently against the door handle. The light winked at her, red to green. When she pushed the door, it seemed to swing open of its own accord. It opened into a narrow corridor, lined with candles, and a dark, ornately tiled bathroom off to one side. There was no other sign of anyone inside. Ewa walked slowly into the room, her fists gripped tight, her shoulders hunched under the straps of her thin lycra top. There was very soft music playing, though, gentle and warm, strings and snares, slow. It planed some of the tension from Ewa’s furrowed brow as she moved deeper into the room.

She rounded the corner, into the bedroom. It was wide, high-ceilinged, ornate. The kind of room that would have been used for important politicians and cultural figures in the past, now too ornate and dark for today’s rich and famous. The room was dominated by a huge bed, covered in dark green, silky sheets, reflecting the flickering candlelight. At each corner was a bulbous, carved wooden bed post. A large, carved wooden headboard loomed over a figure on the bed.

The figure was a young, slender woman, blindfolded and gagged with a silk scarf. Her limbs were spread, each extending to a corner of the bed, where her ankles and wrists were firmly bound with red ropes. She was wearing a silk shirt, buttoned from her pussy to her long, slender neck. Seeing the mass of brown curly hair and the flash of a colourful, geometric tattoo, Ewa realised with surprise that it was Laura. Ewa hadn’t seen her in months, since they had said goodbye to each other, sitting on the edge of her bed in London. Then…

First a sensation, then a gentle scent, grew in her mind. She remembered the sensation of a thick, leather rod in her mouth, that felt larger than it could possibly be. The smell of new leather climbing from between her soft lips and bared teeth, and the sight of Laura, gripping her short hair at its longest point and holding her gaze, while Chris fucked her slowly and deeply from behind. Amidst the heat and blur and soft folds of their shared bed back in London, Ewa called up the image of the leather bit gag, lying on the pillow where it had fallen after the shivers of her orgasm had subsided.

Before Ewa could arrange the memories around some kind of conclusion, she felt two hands grip her, firmly. A low, familiar voice – Chris’ voice – whispered in her ear, “Long time, no see…”.

Ewa froze, trembling, but a grin broke out across her face. A soft, silky hood was slipped over her head and gently tightened around her neck. She felt her arms pulled behind her and bound with a leather strap whose texture she recognised, bringing back more memories and a rush of warmth from the base of her skull, down through her belly, settling in her aching pussy. The leather strap, still marked like the bit gag with the trace of Ewa’s teeth, was Chris’ belt.

Chris gripped her firmly and lead her to the bed, then paused at the edge. Laura could hear that Ewa was now in the room and began shifting her weight in excitement, bringing her stiff, warming up her stiff, waiting muscles. Chris slipped the straps of Ewa’s top from her shoulders so that they dropped lightly to her elbows, then pulled it slowly down, watching emerge from inside. It stuck where her sweat had soaked the fabric. Then, her bright, lycra leggings came away from her ass like peel from an orange. Chris let them drop to the floor, and ran his tongue from the top of one thigh, over Ewa’s ass and up the small of her back and her spine, tasting the salt of her skin. Her body shivered, from a blend of Chris’ tongue, the anticipation and the relative chill of the room. Ewa could smell the sharp scent of her pussy and feel, as Chris kneeled and his lips brushed her stomach, how she had soaked through her underwear already. Chris left Ewa’s shoes on and pushed her towards the bed, until she was kneeling on it, sinking into the thick, soft mattress, and positioned between Laura’s long, open legs. Neither Ewa nor Laura could see anything, only sense the closeness of each other and the weight of Chris’ touch. Chris lifted the hood over Ewa’s mouth but kept her eyes covered.

“You’re going to unbutton Laura’s shirt with your teeth”, he said, firmly, his rounded, North England accent cutting through her chattering thoughts after months of hearing only Russian.

All Ewa could sense, from inside the hood, was Chris’ hand gripping the leather belt around her wrist, and his other hand on her sternum, pressing up against the sweat between her breasts. Her arms were lifted higher behind her back, forcing her torso forward and Chris bore her weight in one hand. She was tilted all the way forward, her knees driven into the thick bedding, against Laura’s inner thighs. Ewa knew her face must be hanging over Laura’s; she could almost sense the closeness of Laura’s body on her lips. She could taste her smooth skin on the tip of her tongue, even without touching it. Ewa felt herself lowered gently, positioned over Laura’s waist, at the lowest button of the shirt, until she could take the delicate plastic disc between her teeth. Using her tongue to find her way, Ewa tried to push the button down, through the tiny hole beneath it. It slipped from her mouth and she moaned slightly in frustration.

Ewa gasped as she felt Chris’ hand drop her arms and connect, fast and hard, with her soft ass, which was forced upwards, into the air.

“Don’t fuck it up again, or I’ll spank you again”, rumbled Chris.

Ewa whimpered as she felt the burn of the slap melting into her ass, then dissipating. Working slowly, moaning with the effort, she managed to flip the button into the hole. Then, with her teeth, she tugged the hem of the shirt upwards, freeing the button. Laura quivered beneath her, like a purring cat.
“Well done”, Chris whispered, now gentle, and he slipped two fingers into Ewa’s pussy, which was already sending drips down her inner thighs. She gasped, but before she could enjoy the sensation, Chris took his fingers away.
“Next button”, he whispered.

Ewa understood the game, now, and went about the next button eagerly. She felt herself slip comfortably into the role, the part she had played a handful of times with Chris and, later, with Laura too. A thought, a moment of defiance flashed through her mind, and she deliberately fumbled the next button, then braced herself for the hot slap across her ass.

“You did that on purpose”, Chris growled. He dropped Ewa’s hands, and she held her breath waiting for the palm of his hand, but instead he reached quickly underneath her and pinched her clit between two fingers, then twisted, hard.

Ewa squealed in pain and tried to pull away, but Chris held her firmly and whispered, fondly, in her ear, “Don’t fuck up on purpose, again. I know you.”

Her cheeks flushed beneath the hood and Ewa, obediently, took the second button in her teeth, the third, the fourth, slipping each free with her teeth and lips and receiving with each the sensation of Chris’ fingers sliding inside her pussy and gently stroking the soft ridges of her g-spot. Ewa began to lose herself in the rhythm and the rewards of the task but, as Chris lifted her body higher and higher up Laura’s chest, her lips were now slick with saliva, which dripped off her bottom lip and onto Laura’s warm skin as she revealed it. Ewa could feel the heat pulsing off Laura’s body and, through the hood, hear her soft moans. For a moment, Ewa lost focus and the last button, just above Laura’s breasts, slipped from her mouth.

Chris hoisted her roughly up and let Ewa’s face fall into the crook of Laura’s neck and her soft fountain of curly hair, so that Ewa was now lying fully on top of her, Laura’s warm, now damp body pressed against her own. She could hear Laura’s heavy breathing and whimpering, muffled by the scarf in her mouth, against her ear. Ewa’s knees were together, thighs pressed against Laura’s hot, slippery cunt, and Laura was was doing her best to grind her clit, desperately, against Ewa’s skin. This was what had made Laura such a rare discovery: her joy in waiting; her the ecstasy she felt in denial.

In this position, her ass raised up in the air, Ewa’s glistening pussy was fully on display, and Chris stood back and took a moment to appreciate the scene he and Laura had planned, finally come to life.

He returned and removed the leather belt from Ewa’s wrists, the blood rushing back into them, sending electric shocks to her fingertips.

“Do what I say, now. You are not allowed to touch yourself. You are not allowed to touch the bed, or any part of Laura, except her pussy”, Chris commanded, emphasising the last word heavily. Laura heard him, too, and writhed beneath Ewa, pushing her hips upwards.

Ewa dropped her arms in front of her, and allowed her fingers to walk down Laura’s hips, around her inner thighs and down to her warm pussy. She parted her labia, delicately, and began to gently massage her, letting her fingers be coated in Laura’s wetness.

The palm of Chris hand impacted on Ewa’s raised ass, hard, with a loud crack. The force of it pushed her face into the bed and her fingers slid up, into the entrance of Laura’s pussy. Ewa’s high gasp was balanced by Laura’s low, loud moan and a muffled “FUCK”.

Before Ewa had time to breath in, Chris’ hand collided again with Ewa’s beautiful ass, and again, and again, building a firm, steady rhythm that set her rocking on the bed, her face rubbing against Laura’s through the hood, driving her bunched fingers deeply in and out of Laura’s open pussy. Again, Ewa lost herself to the rhythm of this, her ass becoming hot and then numb, the pain transforming into a wholly different sensation, muting thoughts and dissolving her into myriad physical pressures, dancing over her body.

Ewa bent her fingers a little, so that they pressed more firmly on Laura’s g-spot as they slipped in and out, in and out, and caught on the ridges of her cunt like a hook. Laura squealed, managing to free her mouth from the gag, and immediately began gasping a stream of desperate, pleading filth into Ewa’s ear.

“Fuck my hot, wet cunt, you fucking slut… make me come… break your fingers on my pussy if that’s what it takes… do it, do it now, fuck me… do it now…”, she gasped, her breath hot and wet, swirling around her particularly private school accent.

Ewa curled her aching fingers harder around Laura’s pussy, driving the tips deeper into her flesh as Chris beat Ewa’s ass harder and faster with both hands, until she felt like her fingers would be pulled off and then Laura came, hard. As it began, she went quiet, the only sound was her breathing. The shaking started quietly, softly in her thighs, traveling up her hips, until her back arched, over and over. Her mouth now free, Laura sank her teeth deep into Ewa’s shoulder and as she gasped, Ewa felt Laura’s pussy clench around her hand, trapping it deep inside her. Her entire body began to shudder as her teeth broke Ewa’s skin.

Ewa had been so preoccupied by what was happening beneath her that she hadn’t noticed Chris cease the spanking of her swollen ass, numb as it now was. She felt the bed behind her sink as it took his weight, and the thick, hot head of his cock pressed against her pussy until it gave way and he slid inside her, until his stomach was pressed hard against her ass. Chris fucked her with hard, steady thrusts, the head of his cock sliding smooth over the roof of her pussy and punching her cervix. They both felt her pussy swell around his cock, smothering it, as underneath Ewa, Laura came again, and Chris gripped Ewa’s hips, hard, driving his cock deeper inside her as he came close to filling her with his cum.

Chris suddenly bent forward and, with one hand, lifted the blindfold from Laura’s face and then the hood from Ewa’s head, and her flushed, agonised face came into sharp focus as her eyes adjusted to the dim light. Chris leaned back and fell again into fucking Ewa, harder and faster, his breath heavy and animalistic. The sensation of Laura’s shaking body beneath her, and Chris’s tight spasms as he poured his come deep into Ewa’s cunt, made her orgasm hard, almost painfully. Her back arched downwards, pushing her tits against Laura’s, and she cried into Laura’s ear as she panted heavily into Ewa’s, in return. Ewa’s body shivered, becoming one long, warm vibration, stretched to breaking point, and then snapped as Chris pulled his cock from her tightening cunt, sending a jet of warm liquid onto Laura’s stomach, which dripped slowly down to her aching pussy.

Ewa and Chris collapsed in a heap, silent, their hands gently running over each other’s bodies, seeing each other for the first time in months, until Laura whispered to them,

“Can you guys untie me now…?”

Chris and Ewa laughed, breaking the heavy, sleepy silence in the room. Slowly, tenderly, they each began to loosen the knots and slide the ropes smoothly from Laura’s wrists and ankles. Once free, she threw her long arms around Ewa, squeaking and holding her tightly.

Lying in the deep folds of the bed, entwined again after months apart, Laura said excitedly, “Ooh, Ewa, where are you taking us for dinner?”

“Me? Taking you for dinner?”, said Ewa, mocking.

“Yeah”, said Chris, adopting a beleaguered tone, “I spent this month’s paycheck on the flights over here…”

Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/c95meu/moscow_meeting_mff_mild_bdsm