Grant and Irina

I have to admit, I kind of loved it.

"Do you want beer?" I asked.

"What do you have?"

"I'm not sure," I said, reaching into the fridge and withdrawing a bottle. "But it's some sort of beer, I guess."

"I'll take it," said Grant. "Now come sit."

The table had been set, and the bacon and egg were waiting for us. They had looked so deliciously fat unhealthy that I had forced myself to cut some fresh cucumbers and tomatoes as sides. Grant had already seated himself and was busy filling his plate up. I opened the bottle and poured him a glass.

"You don't drink?" he asked.

"Not really."

"And in general?"

"That's an entirely different matter," I said. "I like my liquor, for the most part. Not beer though. I never really got the taste for it."

"So you're a seasoned drinker I take it?" he shook his head. "I didn't take you for a drinking gal. You must've been a blast in college."

"You know what they say -- still waters run deep."

"Then what's your poison? Could it, by chance, be vodka?"

"Just because I'm part Russian doesn't mean I drink vodka," I said, feigning indignation. "How dare you be prejudiced. I drink whiskey too!"

"Then what's the problem?" he smirked. "Come on -- eat."

I tilted my head to the side. "Aren't I the one supposed to wish a Bon Appetit?"

"But you didn't. You can say it if you want, though."

I stuck out my tongue at him. "It's too late now."

"Come on now," he said, smirking. "Just say it and get it over with. I know you want to."

I sighed. "Bon Appetit, Grant. You may stuff your face now."

"Don't mind if I do."

The food turned out rather well. Bacon and eggs are hard to get wrong, but it would have been typical if I managed to ruin them. Small blessings, I guess. I didn't each much, though. I hadn't been hungry to begin with, and I only needed a few bites before I felt full.

"How long do you think you will be staying?" I asked, leaning on my elbow.

Grant smiled. "You already want to get rid of me?"

"I'm just curious."

"Ah. I'll be going down to Germany at the end of next week. Got a plane ticket on Sunday."

"Work?"

"Amongst other things."

I nodded slowly, looking down at my plate and moving of egg over with the fork. "I see," I said. Then, after several seconds of silence, I asked, "Another one of your girls?"

"Perhaps," he said. Then, after several seconds of silence, he added, "Are you jealous?"

"No. Should I?"

"If you want to be."

I sighed. "No, I am not jealous. Just... its weird."

"What do you mean?"

"It just is," I said, waving my fork in the air. "Today has just been so weird. Today -- right now -- you're here. With me. For real. But in a week, you're going to somewhere else. Maybe with another woman."

"You knew that getting into this. When we began talking."

"I know," I said. "It's just... weird."

"Life is weird sometimes. Would be boring otherwise, don't you think?"

"Yeah, probably," I said, chuckling nervously. I brushed the hair from my face and threw it across my shoulder. My heart was beating harder and faster in my chest, muddling my attempt to find the right words.

"You have beautiful hair, Irina," said Grant. "You know that?"

"Thanks," I said quietly.

"Long and raven black. I like it."

"Oh, you're quite the flatterer. Thanks. I just... I just want to say that I am... happy."

He watched me intently. I tried to meet his gaze but couldn't keep eye contact for long. I felt silly. Like a schoolgirl fawning over her crush. I breathed deeply and shook my head, as if to clear it from all those thoughts that made it hard to speak.

"I felt like an idiot earlier," I said, my voice still quiet. "The past week, and now when I was waiting for you at the airport. Like I was making the greatest mistake of my life."

"Depending on how you look at it, it might be."

"Very funny," I muttered. "But you're right. Maybe it is. Let's be honest, it probably is. But you know, I realized that I don't care. I'm happy." I laughed. It was a weird, nervous laughter, but I couldn't contain it. In the end I simply covered my flushing face in my hands, and slowly shook my head. When the giggling finally subsided, I shrugged. "I'm fucking terrified, you know. But happy, too."

I took a deep breath. My heart was pounding hard, and I felt a lump in the throat. It almost felt as if I was about to cry. Cheeks burning, I forced myself to look at Grant again, meeting his eye. He was still watching me, elbows resting on the table. His expression was thoughtful; eyebrows furrowed; head slightly inclined. "Sure it does," he said.

"Does it?" I asked. "Because I didn't really understand it myself just now."

"The idea could certainly use some polish," he said with a smile, "but I get the gist of it. And it's fine. You wouldn't be the first one."

"Oh sure," I said dryly. "You've done this too many times to care, no?"

"I care. I'm just more used to it. But I care."

"You're used to fucking your way across the world, you mean."

That made him chuckle. "Well, I have done a lot of that. But that doesn't mean I'm not excited about it. Or nervous. And I am happy. I said before that I was proud. And I am. You're a beautiful woman, and I'm honoured that you'd agree to meeting me."

"Right."

"Irina..." Grant pushed his chair back as he rose. I remained seated, watching in trepidation as he walked around the table. He stopped next to me, placing his hand on my cheek. I shivered. Then, obeying an impulse from somewhere deep inside of me, pressed myself against his palm. "Look at me," he said.

I obeyed. When I raised my eyes, the first thing I saw was the towel around his waist. I could smell him through it; even now, with him freshly showered, I could still sense the fragrance of his musk. And I saw the bulge.

"You're very romantic," I said. I had hoped that my voice would be casually dry, but it turned out little more than a whistle. "Aren't you? Pushing a lady's face in your crotch?"

"You don't seem to mind."

My face must have been a mask of barely contained delirium; eyes half-closed, mouth half-open. His hands moved in under my chin and forced it gently upwards, making me look into his eyes. I smiled. "No," I said, "I guess not."

I pressed my hand against the towel covering his manhood. The thin fabric, still humid from his shower, did not leave much to the imagination. My fingers found him and traced down his shape. My God, he was big. I heard his voice somewhere above me, coming from far away. "You can take a peek if you want."

I felt wobbly as I got on my feet. He pushed the chair away and laid his arm around my back, pulling my closer. I leaned forward, letting my head rest against his chest. He was warm. So warm. The wiry hairs covering his pecs tickled my cheek, and I felt his scent even clearer than before. I breathed it deeply, all while my hand explored the outside of his towel. My nails ran across the moist fabric, tracing the outline of his sex. Grant pulled me closer, pressing me against him. His hand gripped mine by the wrist and brought it to where he had tied the towel. Fingers awkward and heart racing, I undid the knot. The towel dropped around his feet.

"Oh Jesus," I said as I averted my eyes. "Really."

"What?"

"You're just ridiculous," I said, feeling strangely light-headed. "Seriously."

"Are you surprised?" Grant chuckled. I thought you'd be well used to it by now."

"Yes, but, I mean - I am. But fuck, man."

I said before that he was big. And he was. But seeing it like this was something else entirely. A great tower of hard flesh, pointing almost straight forward. My hands reached out on their own. I was little more than an observer at that point; noticing the movements of my limbs but without control. One hand stroked down his belly, the other grabbed for his cock, wrapping around his girth. Or it tried to -- my fingers did not come close to reaching all the way around. For several heartbeats I stood there in silence, staring like a simpleton at his cock in my hand. It was hot. So very hot. His skin was soft and smooth and yielding, but beneath it was rock hard flesh. I could feel his pulse, pounding rhythmically through the shaft. I felt the veins beneath the surface, and the thick dorsal vein which ran from the head to his ballsack. He was circumcised, and the large bulbous cockhead was laid bare before me. A drop of greyish precum was pooling at the thin lips, growing larger. My hand -- it looked so small and pale now in comparison -- moved up the shaft, fingers gingerly brushing the skin. It was as if I was trying to convince myself through touch that it was real.

Grant brushed my hair away from my face. He was smiling softly at me, his eyes glittering. "So?"

"So?" I echoed him, probably sounding dumber than I felt at that moment.

He didn't say anything more -- he just smiled. Then he grabbed me by the waist and hoisted me over his shoulder with ease. I only had the time to yelp in surprise. When I managed to straighten myself with my hands against his back, he was already carrying me through the apartment; one arm holding my waist and one my ass. It was like I was nothing but a rolled-up carpet. I was about to protest but bit my tongue. It wouldn't be worth the effort. He wouldn't listen. At that moment, I didn't want him to listen.

My bedroom was tiny, and yet I had made great efforts to clean it up that morning. I had vacuumed the carpet and changed the sheets, making the bed as neat as humanely possible. I had even hung up new white curtains. Grant pushed the door open with his foot, and without warning he threw me. The bed springs squeaked in protest when I landed on it, and the pillows I had so carefully arranged scattered. I pushed myself on my elbows, brushing the hair from my face and throwing it back over my shoulders. Grant was standing at the end of the bed. I looked at him, and once again my mouth felt dry.

He was glorious. The afternoon light filtering through the curtains cast his body in a soft, gentle glow, accentuating his toned, muscular form. Arms, shoulders, torso, neck. My eyes slid shamelessly over him, taking every part of him in. I could see the delicious movement of his muscles beneath the tan skin. His cock towered over me, twitching slightly in cadence with his heartbeat. He saw that I saw, and he grinned and me. I felt warm. Warmth was radiating from somewhere deep inside of me and flowing into every cell of my body. It was between my legs.

"Are you wet for me?" Grant asked.

I could only nod, biting my lip as I watched him. Grant stepped closer, and his cock wobbled before him. He leaned in over me, and I gasped for air when he touched me. His hand pressed down between my thighs, hauling up the dress skirt and revealing my black panties. My legs instinctively pressed together, clamping down on his hand. Smirking, he pushed my thighs aside, once again revealing my underwear. My heart skipped a beat as he cupped my crotch. For a moment I could only feel his touch, and the great heat inside of me. He squeezed lightly, and I breathed out through my teeth. Our eyes met again, and his smile grew wider.

"You're practically dripping," he said. "Is that all for me?"

It wasn't a question, not even a rhetorical one. It was a statement, and I knew that he was right. I didn't even need to feel my panties to know that they were soaked. I guess it shouldn't be surprising; I must have been leaking for the better part of an hour. His hand slid along my bottom and upwards, his fingertips brushing my belly just above the panties. Then, just as I thought he was going to let go, his fingers slipped beneath the black fabric.

"Oh," I gasped.

He didn't answer -- he only moved his hand deeper inside my panties. Only when his fingers brushed down through the short hair covering my mound did his expression change slightly. He paused, and I thought he would withdraw. But I was wrong. I only realized what he was doing when I heard the rip of the thin fabric. The remains of my panties were torn from my hips and thrown across the room. Again I wanted to close my legs, but his hands held them open.

"You haven't shaved," Grant said quietly.

I couldn't tell if it was admonishment in his voice, or appreciation. I cautiously nodded, and whispered, "For you."

"Good girl,"

It's hard to explain, but his words -- which I had heard them from anyone else I would've found impolite -- made my heart jump with happiness. His hand engulfed my sex, and his touch was featherlight. His finger slipped across my slit, and I stifled a moan. I was wet. So very, very wet. I stared up at him, waiting for what would come next. Grant's fingers glistened in the daylight when he held them up before his face. His eyes were burning when he looked back down at me.

"Take it off," he said quietly. "All of it."

I obeyed him immediately. Had it been a matter of life and death I don't think I had done it quicker. The destruction of my panties was already a distant memory. I didn't care. I grabbed the skirt of my dress and pulled it carelessly over my head, balling it up and tossing it at the floor. I could almost physically feel Grant's gaze as he observed me. With my dress gone, all that remained was my bra. I reached around my back and fumbled for several seconds with the hooks for several seconds like a girl trying on her first brazier. Finally they gave way, and I slipped them down my arms. My C-cup breasts spilled out from their confines and came to rest with a little bounce. My nipples, surrounded by large pink areolas, were already hard. I ran my hand across a breast, picking away a stray strand of hair. The little nub felt hard enough to cut glass. The bra too joined the ruined panties in the corner of the room. I was completely naked now; the flow of my black hair offering the only modicum of cover. I had never felt so exposed in my entire life.

Grant sat a knee down onto the edge of the bed, shifting the mattress with his weight. I watched his cock bobbing in the air in front of me in all of its masculine glory. The drop I had seen at the cockhole was gone; in its place was only a strand of greyish slime. I realized that I was staring silently only when Grant cupped my cheek in his hand.

"You can touch it, you know," he said amusedly. "It won't bite you."

I touched him a second time. Grabbed him and tried -- and failed -- to grasp his shaft in full. He was so warm. Warmer now than before. I squeezed him gently, moving my hand back and forth. I traced the dorsal vein downwards and reached his balls. Large and rounded, suspended in a large sack of wrinkly skin. I cupped it with my left hand and marvelled at the weight of its contents. Grant hummed with contentment. When he did, I could have sworn that his testicles relaxed and became even heavier in my palm.

"I guess you like it," he said.

"What?"

Grant chuckled and repeated, "You like it," he gestured down at his sex. "My cock."

The question caught me off-guard. My mouth opened and closed while I searched for the right answer. "I... guess so?" I blurted after several seconds. "It's... very big."

"It is, isn't it?"

I continued running my hand over his cock, exploring it with touch just as I did with my eyes. Greyish precum was bubbling at the tip. The first drop was running down the head, and when I brought my hand up around the cockhead it dripped onto my thumb. I could still barely believe it. I had seen him before, but this was real. The awe had yet to wear off, but there was no fighting my curiosity. I let go of his member and brought my hand to my face. I licked the smear of his precum. It was salty, but less overpowering than I had expected. Neutral and almost oily, the tiny droplet was quickly lost in my mouth. My heart beat faster as I grabbed him again, holding the shaft with both hands and leaning in closer. More precum dribbled from the tip, coaxed out by my squeezing fingers. Grant's hand, now at my neck, tightened when my breath washed over his cock.

I kissed the head, running my tongue over the its prodigious shape. A second later, I took it my mouth. Grant gave me an appreciatively hum. Encouraged, I pushed onwards. His cockhead filled my mouth up almost completely. I sealed my lips tight around it, drawing it further and further in, until my tongue was sliding along the downside of the veiny shaft. He was hard, but around the iron core the skin was soft and yielding. He tasted of sweat and male musk, and the scent of him filled my mouth and nose both. My teeth pressed down where the cockhead meets the shaft, and I felt a little sputter of fluid on my tongue. Encouraged, I slithered my tongue over the lower half of his cockhead.

"Yes," Grant muttered, "just like that."

I slid my tongue upwards again, brushing wetly over the cockhead slit. His precum mixed with my saliva, and I used them to gently polish him. As I worked my tongue around the cockhead, I realized that I barely need to suck in my cheeks to put pressure on them. He was so, so big. The great warmth of his cock filled my mouth, merging with my other senses.

I had run out of air when I finally had to let him out. Forgot to breathe through my nose, I guess. I breathed out, and his cock slapped me across the face as it popped out of my mouth, leaving warm wetness on my cheek and lips.

"I knew you'd be a good little cocksucker," Grant rumbled appreciatively. "You're a natural. How'd it taste?"

"Good," I said. "A bit salty. But good."

"Good." He patted me on the cheek -- a gesture which was both loving and surprisingly paternal. "Now lie your pretty ass down."

I shuffled backwards on the bed and laid down on my back. My breasts were heaving with each breath, my nipples pointing straight out. The bedroom ceiling above me was dark and shadowy. The bed creaked as Grant got down on the bed next to me. I turned my head and saw his cock come closer. It glistened, freshly coated with my spit.

Jesus Christ. The realization that he was going to enter me -- that his cock was going to go inside of me -- hit me out of nowhere. After so long thinking and fantasizing about it, it was finally going to happen. I looked back up at the ceiling, listening to my heartbeat. Its pounding sent slightly tremors through my breast. My hands creased the bed cover beneath as I felt Grant's weight move across the bed towards me. I held my breath.

"Relax," he said.

"I am," I whispered.

"Doesn't seem like it," he said. He lowered himself, and suddenly he was laying on his side next to me. His cock was poking my hip smearing spit and precum over my skin.

"I am," I said, and again I lied. Because I wasn't. I was burning with desire. I was horny and I was sopping wet, and I was terrified. That is a lot of things -- but not relaxed.

Grant kissed me. His lips caressed the corner of my mouth, and I turned my head towards him. Our lips met softly, his tongue slipping into mine. I was used to it now, and I greeted it happily. Even after our meal, he tasted good. Maybe it was all in my mind, but he was better now than he had been an hour ago. Or maybe it was just I who was going mad without him.

"Part those creamy thighs for me, baby," he rumbled.

His hand was already between my legs, nudging them apart. I wasted no time spreading them, opening myself for him with a lustful sigh.

"You knew what I wanted," he said in my ear. "You kept yourself all natural for me."

I had. I have never been very hairy, and what little hair I grow on my body I make sure to shave. I like it better that way. But for Grant, I had let my pubic hair be. There wasn't much of it, and what there was I had carefully trimmed. But the triangle of black hair was there. His fingers brushed through the bush as he moved them towards my pussy. I closed my eyes, letting myself enjoy the unfamiliar feeling.