Strangers in Moscow

"Oh yes, yes," Anna moaned as I slowly slid up and down the length of her squishy, pouting lips, rubbing her slit and her clitoris with the full length of my hard cock. She was delicious.

But after several minutes she found the position tiring and dropped her backside lower which pushed the tip of my cock up against the little opening of her vagina. I held it erect against the entrance, the tip pushing very slightly against the small gap, as I moved my fingers up to her clit and began rubbing it.

I expected Anna to move her pussy hole away from the hardness of my pressing cock, but she held it firmly against it and I pressed a little further. My cock wasn't inside her, but soon its first half inch was surrounded by her wet lips, and I felt the slight indent leading into the opening of her vagina. Anna still held herself firm against me, and I kept the pressure of my cock against the narrow entrance to her tunnel, and leaned forward against it. I made tiny in-out thrusting motions, and after every half dozen strokes, I felt the very tip of my cock snuggle a little deeper inside her pussy lips, beginning to partially spread the stretching opening of her wet tunnel. But it was safe, and not actually inside her pussy.

I reached my hands under Anna's backside to hold her harder against me as I continued the small thrusts, massaging the tip of my large cockhead tip against her small wet opening. As I made the tiny thrusts, I felt her tight wetness edge further and further up the rounded tip of cock, and then, quite suddenly, her opening widened, and the head of my cock popped inside.

Her pussy muscles gripped its tip, and I held it there a moment. Then thinking of what she'd said about getting pregnant, and cursing not having a condom, I withdrew my reluctant cock from her pussy opening's clench. But Anna put her hands around my butt and breathed, "Do it some more. It's big but it's not really hurting. It's ok if you push it in just a little way, but make sure you don't get any cum inside me."

I edged in further, and she moaned loudly and wriggled, but kept her open hole against my cockhead, and her hands around my backside. "Be gentle. Your cock's so big. Go slowly."

Now it was a little easier. Her white slippery juices had lubricated my dick, and with the first inch in past the mouth of her clasping tenderness, I rocked back and forwards, and couldn't help pushing an inch, then another inch, deeper inside her slowly yielding hole. Anna wriggled against me and groaned as I plunged further, her inexperienced pussy clamping tightly around each glistening inch of my cock, as I pressed it further down the narrow channel and into her depths.

I was now deep enough for my balls to begin sliding against her asshole which was slippery with the creamy nectar that leaked out of her channel each time my cock slid back. Anna was not skilled at lovemaking, but she didn't need to be because her pussy alone deserved a Triple A rating. She was as tight as any first time virgin, and as I pushed my cock down its gripping velvety softness, it felt like masturbation from an angel.

I pressed my tight-squeezed cock as far down into her vagina as I could, and its throbbing head bumped against the protuberance of her cervix .She cried out loud, and began to come noisily again, pushing, squirming, and bumping and mashing the tiny opening to her womb again and again across the deeply implanted slithead of my cock. Her pussy walls sucked around my tingling member. She sobbed, spasmed, and wriggled underneath me, ecstatic and out of control.

My cock hardened still further and I felt my orgasm gathering. I knew I was only a few strokes away from totally losing control, when my juice would come rushing up my cock and spurting into her. With its tip snuggled against the opening to her womb, my sperm would penetrate her deeply.

They say a cock has no conscience, and this is almost true. I knew I would likely never see or hear from Anna again, but I didn't want her to end up pregnant. Reluctantly, I slid my throbbing cock back up out her channel and held it against the outside of her warm entrance, so I could come over her smooth stomach.

But Anna grabbed my backside and pulled me towards her again, whispering: "I just finished my period so I'm probably okay. Put it back in. Don't worry about it. Push it in all the way. I want you to fill me up."

"But are you sure? You'd said you didn't want..."

She put her hand around my cock, pressed its head back against her hole, and pushed against me. I hesitated again. "Please Peter," she sighed. "Don't stop now. Just fuck me. I want you to finish what we started."

We were both out of control. I pressed against her pussy hole again, and my cock burst through her entrance, and pushed straight down through the rippling walls of her grasping cunt. She screamed and bucked against it, and my balls began to spasm. As she moaned, pulling me hard to her, my jerking cock began to pour burst after burst of my spurting cum into her sweet depths.

I've never come so long and hard before or since. It was tender and hard, emotional and raunchy - a fuck of a lifetime you'd never be able to forget.

Later, she lay half on top of me while we talked softly to each other, her creampie of cum leaking over both of us as she stroked my hair.

xxx

We forgot about time and her early flight, talked, had more of our unprotected sex, and talked again.

It was five in the morning when I walked Anna back down the corridor and past the security desk where an old babushka who'd taken over the late shift made a scowling show of taking notes on us. We made no attempt to exchange addresses because back in 1975 you felt you were returning to opposite, uncontactable, ends of the world.

Outside, in Manezhnaya Square we embraced, and I put her in a cab. The last I saw of Anna was her face turned to smile back towards me through a frosted window, as she was driven away.

Sadly and filled with regrets, I walked back into the National, took the elaborate lift to the third floor, and walked past the babushka to my room. I closed the door, sat down on the rumpled bed, wondering what might happen with Anna and me if we were given the chance. Then, from the wall behind the bed, I heard some scuffling noises .Then voices of a man and a woman started to groan loudly, and the couple repeatedly thumped and banged against the wall, as they marched themselves to a lengthy and outrageously vivid orgasm. When they cried "Oh Peter," and "Oh Anna," as they apparently climaxed, the penny dropped. I wasn't overhearing two people making love in the next room. The thin wall I'd noticed when checking for microphones was actually a partition concealing a gap created between rooms for voyeur snoops.

But were the listeners just giving me a contemptuous send-off on my last night in Russia, or was this what the embassy first secretary had warned me about? Was Anna not who she'd seemed? Was she a very convincing participant in the kind of honey-trap I'd been warned about? Suddenly I didn't know. "Nobody can deceive that well," I thought, and then began analyzing the situation we'd met in. It could easily have been staged.

Furious with her, I ran to the door, and looked up and down the corridor for the entrance there must be to the spying nest. But of course there was none I could see. Seething, I walked back inside and began bashing the wall. "Piss off you miserable bastards," I yelled. But the walls had turned dumb.

I poured myself a vodka shot and agonized. Was Anna the delicious reality she'd seemed or had she set me up? I'd received the honey-trap warnings, there was a large amount of money and technical knowhow at stake in the contract, and the blondes in the foreigners' bar had certainly given me chances. And I'd been watched carefully through the whole business trip.

But on the other hand I wasn't married. There was no adultery with some younger woman, no wife to receive photos showing a cheating husband, and nothing taboo like gay sex. Who could they blackmail about my having a one night stand with a stranger? I thought about how I could be damaged, and then realized one possibility did stand out. That was my boss. He was a stiff no-fun Puritan descended direct from one of the first families -- a set of lurid pictures and tapes of Anna and I might possibly convince him I'd somehow compromised the company.

But worrying overnight was useless. I'd find out the truth the next morning when we sat down to finalize and sign the contract. That was the time they'd make their move. There'd be new demands, and a privately delivered threat. Suspicious and hurt I decided to dump an extra million into the price to test them further.

xxx

That was a long time ago. The Russians signed up paying the extra million, there were no hitches, and I never heard anything more from them. Or from Anna, who I realized was not only innocent but exactly the sweet country girl she'd seemed to me. I felt ashamed that I'd doubted her

Life's treated me well in most respects. I keep an apartment in Manhattan for city life, but live on rural acreage in an upstate New York hideaway. I've been married, but am now divorced, and while there were no children to make the separation complicated, it leaves an empty, lonely spot in me. I've thought of Anna sometimes over the years -- she'd got into my mind and stayed - and wondered again if it may have become a romantic love story if we'd met in a different time and place.

One evening I was clearing my emails.

In the background the National Geographic channel was talking about a matriarch and her daughter running a huge sheep ranch in the high country of New Zealand. I looked more closely and saw two trim figures on horseback, helped by their cattle dogs, herd a flock into a pen, and canter up to a camera.

Straight off I recognized Anna. In check shirt and jeans she was still the quiet country beauty, but clearly at home with herself, and easily in charge. Anna, the girl who'd kept her sexy little black dress and high heels stuffed in her traveler's backpack. The woman whose memory I'd never quite gotten out of my mind.

The camera moved across to the younger woman, her daughter. She looked a little like Anna but when the camera moved into close-up, her features were suddenly very familiar. I looked even harder, and calculated her likely age. Surely ...??? My heart lurched, and I felt sick. It had to be. But why hadn't Anna searched for me? Surely I wouldn't have been that difficult to find. Or had Peter, her one night stand in Moscow, meant no more than that? The interviewer began to talk to the younger woman.

"Peta," she began.

Peta!

In the days that followed I thanked god for Google, and when I found Anna, for Skype as well. We'd never known each other's surnames. She'd thought it unlikely she'd find me, so didn't try. After our third hour-long talk I told her "I've got nothing happening -I can fly over and visit next week."

"No way," said Anna, and my heart went through my boots. "Forget it. Save your money. You're not coming"

"But..."

"Look, your daughter and I have never seen New York. It's about time."

xxx

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