1. An American Swallow


    Date: 8/27/2015, Categories: Historical, Author: VirgoGo, Rating: , Source: LushStories

    “I’ll be fine. But kiss me for good luck.” He lifted me up onto the bureau, and kissed me with the ferocity I craved. He then pushed my knees apart, and pulled me tight against his bulging pants. My fingers quickly unzipped and unbuttoned him, and we both felt relief when his cock was freed. “Maybe I should fuck you for good luck.” “Maybe you should.” He never took off his pants. He just lifted his shirt, gripped my buttocks, and pulled me onto him. I sat balanced on the edge of my bureau, while his cock pummeled me. His shaft was engorged and purple, and my lips were moist and desperate. Between thrusts, Edward applied his thumb to my clit, making circles and driving me mad. I had to clutch his shoulders, the sensations sweeping my body were so shocking. Edward had just proved that sex coupled with danger was as intoxicating as I had dreamt. Edward cleaned himself with a towel and then pointed me towards the shower. “You need to cool down.” I smiled. ~ The Occidental was built in 1906, only a few blocks from the White House. It was known as a place where Presidents could drink and statesmen would dine. Its Truman bar was paneled in mahogany and it exuded power and masculinity. I imagined my father coming here with his colleagues after Yuri Gagarin’s successful launch, and debating how to crush the Soviet space program. I sat at the bar, slowly nursing my Old Fashioned, waiting for my Russian to arrive. I didn’t wait long. Dimitri looked just like his photo, only better, ...
    when he walked in. His aristocratic heritage meant he was tall, lean and elegant. He had dark, wavy hair, piercing blue eyes and delicate cheekbones. This Red Army officer was no Soviet thug. He sat down beside me, and without saying hello, he recited Pushkin: “A magic moment I remember: I raised my eyes and you were there, A fleeting vision, the quintessence, Of all that’s beautiful and rare.” He then took my hand and kissed it. I was disarmed; I’d heard Russian men were prone to heady, romantic excess, but I’d never experienced it. Fortunately, I knew some Pushkin, too: “I pray to mute despair and anguish, To vain the pursuits world esteems, Long did I hear your soothing accents, Long did your features haunt my dreams.” He looked astonished. “What are you, a Russian scholar? How do you know our poetry?” His beautiful blue eyes stared at me in disbelief. I blushed. I wasn’t accustomed to the attention of a man like this. He was restrained and refined, but he was also a killer. You don’t get through officer training without learning a dozen ways to destroy your enemy. “ Nooooo , I’m not a scholar, I’m actually still in college. But I took a class on Russian literature last semester. I love Pushkin. He’s so romantic…his poems practically sing. Are you Russian?” “My dear, you are a student! I loved being a student. Everything is ahead of you. Everything is possible. You can study poetry one minute and chemistry the next. I miss university… And yes, I am Russian!” He rolled the “R” ...
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