Russian Resolution Ch. 03

For the second time, Dasha had brought me to the edge, exposed me in my excitement to other eyes, teased me, played with me, and then calmly said enough. I was pounding as we walked out of the garden, my penis still hard, sticking up in my pants where I had tried to put it away, aware all time of the woman watching from her balcony, and wanting desperately to stroke it and to cum, for her, for Dasha, right then and there, under the trees in the golden evening sun. But I didn't.

When we were out on the street, I asked her if St. Petersburg, or Leningrad, had always been so quiet. There were few cars, and few people. She said it was because of the neighborhood we were in, that the city had become more quiet after the Soviet Union had collapsed, but that if we went to Nevsky Prospect, even now there would be lots of people, couples, families, out promenading.

She asked me where I lived, and when I told her the address she said, "Well, then we're going the wrong way."

"But I thought we were going to your apartment," I said.

"Yes, well, no, I don't think so now," she said. "You, you're very excited. It's too much perhaps in one day. You are still, I see - aroused."

I saw her glance at where my hard-on was indeed still trying to push out, and she laughed.

"I will take you home, so I know where you live," she said.

"But is it all right for you, walking alone?" I asked.

"Don't be silly, sweet boy, of course it is. This is my city."

I asked her then about her husband, I don't quite know why, but she had talked about him so much, and about me being like him. She told me he had been a professor too. They had met as students, both going to teach, and had started that way, but then things changed. He was a rising star, but then he wrote an article that was not approved of, about a poet who was not approved, and she had been arrested.

"You? Why you?" I asked.

"Simple. To stop him from making the same mistake again. I wasn't kept long, a week, but it was enough. He learned his lesson, and to make sure he remembered, I was fired from the university."

Of course I had heard about such things, but still I was shocked.

"We were lucky," she said. "So much worse happened to so many people. So much worse. If only he hadn't gotten sick, our lives - were happy."

We had reached my building, and went in to the garden inside where the entrance to the stairwell was, went up to my apartment, and went in. She looked around quickly, nodding, approving, it seemed. Then she said, "Well, I will see you tomorrow. Come again to Pushkin, and we will have dinner."

She then stepped close to me, and put her hand firmly on my shaft, her fingers finding its shape, pressing.

"I know you're excited," she said. "But if you do that- " She rubbed her hand up and down slowly, just a few times, so slowly. "If you do that - I'm sure you want to - If you do it, you must catch all of the - all of your sperm, your semen, in a glass, a jar, and - bring it. You understand me?"

"Yes, Dasha," I said.

"Good boy," she said. "I'm going to trust you to be honest with me."

Then she kissed me. It surprised me. It was the first time, she was strong, the way she took me, her arm around me, and I held her too, my hand slipping down her muscled back to her waist, her firm butt - but then she pulled away.

"Not yet," she said. And she was gone.

Of course I did as she said, both when I jerked off right after she left, and again in the morning, when I woke, thinking of her, of Dasha, with her long red hair, her wide mouth, and her laughing eyes, watching me, hearing her soft voice saying, "That's right, jerk off you silly boy."

I went out again, walked aimlessly until I was supposed to meet members of the department at the university. It was warm, the sun came and went behind clouds, and there were a couple quick storms that sent me once into a bookstore, another time not a cafe, to wait them out. It was all still strange and interesting, the faces, the clothes, the voices and language, and by the time I got to the university to meet the department head, I was feeling very full of everything.

The school itself made me excited, the dusty, pale yellow and green buildings, inside the smell of age, of old books, of bodies. There were no classes yet, so there were few people, and the stair up to the second floor looked like a run-down palace. The thought that this would be my place, my home, pushed aside any anxiety I felt about how I would be able to teach in Russian. And constantly in my head was a glow from thoughts of Dasha, the way she looked at me, teased me, led me on. I had no idea what was coming.

When I got to Dmitri Mikhailevich's office, his secretary, a soft-faced woman with large glasses that didn't hide her pale blue eyes, her blond hair done up on her head, and a body of a strange soft amplitude, introduced herself as Lyudmilla Ivanovna, told me he was expecting me.

"Akiko is already there as well," she said.

I didn't know what she meant, but followed her in to the dark, bookshelf-lined office, with its tall windows looking out on the broad river. He was a tall, thin man, like me, but with little hair on top of his head, and a full beard instead. He rose, cigarette in his lips, said, "Ah, here you are, here you are," and came to shake my hand.

I noticed a black haired woman in the chair across from him, but only saw the back of her head until he said, "And this is Yosano Akiko, who will be your teaching assistant and first advisee, one of our most promising..." He trailed off, seeing I guess the flush of red that must have bloomed in my face when I saw her, mirrored by the hot blush in the Japanese girl's face as well. Of course, of all the people in the city, it would be her.

"What?" he said. "Do you two know each other already?"

She gave quick nod of her head, her thick black hair falling and then flowing back from her sweet broad face, red as a poppy.

"I -- I noticed him in the market yesterday," she said. "Maybe he noticed me noticing him."

Her voice was very soft. She was small, wearing a loose white shirt that she was lost in, and a long loose dark skirt.

"Yes, I did," I said. "I am - pleased to meet you."

The phone rang, and there was a knock on the door, and his secretary said the rector wanted to see him.

"Good, good," Dmitri Mikhailevich said. "I will leave you two to get acquainted, and Akiko, please show Dean around the halls, make him feel at home, at home..."

And then he was gone, and we were alone. Neither of us spoke, though I had to wonder if she could hear my heart pounding. Certainly, if she looked, she could have seen my cock stiffening, though why, when I felt shaken by shock, shame, embarrassment, I couldn't say. Not only had this girl who was to be my closest associate here seen me naked, hard, she had seen me having my stiff shaft slapped and teased by a woman in a market stall. And what was hardest to understand, what then I couldn't even admit, was that the realization that she knew this, that she had seen me exposed in that way, that she could reveal this secret, that she, my supposed subordinate - this sweet-faced, lovely girl - would have this power over me, that was why my cock had grown stiff, sticking out in the loose linen pants Dasha had given me.

Her face was half turned away, but I couldn't take my eyes off her. She was long, slender, her black hair to her waist. She suddenly turned her wide face on me, and her sweetness was suddenly fierce, the red blush a flame.

"And now?" she said.

"Do I have an office? Maybe you can show me, and there we can - talk?"

"What else can I do?" she said then. "I am supposed to take charge of you."

"Then you should," I said softly. "I am in your hands."

She led me silently out past Dmitri Mikhailevich's secretary who started to say something and then froze, her eyes caught on my immodesty.

"Dean, do you - need anything?" she asked then. "If you do, I can-"

"Thank you," I said. "Thank you."

My office was just a couple doors down, a smaller room, with no secretary of course, bookshelves that were mostly empty, a window on the river and rain now falling heavily, though it had seemed to be sunny when I came in to the building.

"Here it is," she said, her voice both quiet and fierce at once. "This is - there's a key, for you."

I took the key and we were both silent a moment.

"Why did it have to be you?" she finally said. "How am I supposed to look at you, to work with you, without seeing you - like that?"

"Don't be upset, please," I said.

"When I saw you the first time, it-" But she broke off, having somehow glanced down and seen how my cock was hard in my pants. "Is it - Dean is it - again?"

I nodded.

"Thinking of you seeing me, of - what you saw..." I said.

"How could you? How could you let her, let her do those things?"

"I don't know," I said.

"And then when you knew I saw. When you saw me - looking, you didn't even try to hide it or stop her."

"I couldn't stop her, and I - didn't want to, even - " I blushed harder again, and my cock twitched in my pants. "Especially when I saw you again, looking, seeing how she was - controlling me."

She looked away again, to the window I guess, and then tuned back, her lovely broad face red.

"You liked her slapping you - there?"

I nodded.

"And the way she, the way she bent it - it hurt, I could see that, but you - liked that? And me seeing you? You liked that too, that I was watching?"

"Yes," I said. "I hoped you - "

She quickly slapped my face. It was sharp, swift, not painful exactly but stunning, and then, just as quickly she smacked my hard-on through my pants.

"There," she said, and then she slapped it again. "You shouldn't make me feel this way. I've never ... When I saw her doing that to you, and you - looking at me like you wanted- It's not right. It's not fair."

Then she slapped my penis again and this time I gasped at the sharp jolt of it.

"Let me see it," she said. "Take it out. Take it out."

I quickly opened my pants, and then I just dropped them, let them fall to my ankles. She grabbed my cock in her slender fingers, pushed it side to side, then down the way Dasha had, until I arched my back and moaned with the ache coming up. She let it go, let it slap up against my belly, then she slapped it, slapped it again, and again.

"Akiko, please," I gasped.

"What? You want me to stop? It's OK for her, it's OK for Daria Nikolaevna, but not me?"

"Wait, wait, you - you know her?"

She nodded, her eyes still on my now red, swaying cock.

"Of course I know who she is. Everyone here does," she said. "Daniil Borisevich, he's - a hero here. So of course, we know her. And now you. How did they find you?"

"Me? Why?"

"You look - just like him, even your hair, the photos I've seen. Even-" she blushed, and then she sharply slapped my penis again. "Why don't you stop me? You'd let me do anything?"

"I don't know," I said. "Before yesterday, before she started, I wouldn't - I don't think I would have, but - now. You see how hard I am, and when you, when you smack it-"

She did it again, and I gasped again and felt my face all flush.

"You're supposed to be my boss, my advisor. I admired your work, when they told me, I was so excited, and now - this is not what I ever imagined," she said. "When I heard the stories about him, about them, about what she would do with him, what he would do - I always wondered."

"Wondered what?"

She looked away again a moment, her little nose, long black lashes on her heavy-lidded eyes, and the curve of her dark pink lips, her mouth. Then she turned quickly back on me, her sweet face ablaze.

"I wondered what I would do with such a man, how far I would go," she said. "And now -"

We stared at one another for what seemed like a long time and then she said, "I cannot do more. You have the key, you know where your office is. Tomorrow, maybe, tomorrow..."

Then she grabbed her bag from the desk, looked at me again and shook her head before giving my still stiff cock one last whack before she turn and hurried out. I started to take a step as she closed the door, forgetting my pants were around my ankles, and tumbled face first on the floor.

I was just starting to get myself up, my feet tangled, when the door opened, the secretary rushing in, "Is everything all right? What? Oh!"

I tried to say something, to say I was OK, to leave me, but she was already knelt down holding my arm, trying to help me, saying, "Oh dear, what happened how did this, how could you, and with your pants - oh my."

Try as I might, I couldn't manage to get to my pants to pull them up as she was gathering me, lifting me to my feet. I kept saying I was OK, she didn't need to help, but what could I do. She smelled like flowers in a field, her hands were soft, her voice, even with her size, her strength, was like birds chirping, and then I was on my feet.

"Oh, you must be so embarrassed," she said. "Whatever happened? Well, don't worry. I won't - "

She squatted down in front of me, and I realized that fortunately the tumble had at least let my penis soften a little, but there it was, exposed, right in her face.

She looked up at me, her cheeks pink, smiling, and said, "Oh you must be ashamed to be like this, but don't worry. I won't say a thing. I won't tell anyone. Let's, let's just get your pants up-"

She started to bring them up my legs, and I did feel foolish, helpless, my head spinning. She was looking at my cock, hanging heavy, and starting up again, growing. She didn't stand up as she brought my pants up, instead staying there face to face with my stiffening penis, saying, "Now Dean, don't be ashamed I found you like this. We'll just get these up, up. It's nothing to be ashamed of."

Looking down I saw her high-piled blond hair, and inside her blouse her large, soft breasts pressed by her bra, rising and falling with her breath.

And then she had my pants up around my hips, but my hard-on wasn't going to in without some help. She gave a little sigh, looking at it, glanced up at me with a laugh and said, "I'll just, just- It's all right-" And before I could say anything she had her soft hand on me, wrapped around, she murmured something, and started as though to move my cock inside my pants, but then squeezed it, and started to slowly turn her hand around it, her fingers playing on the shaft as she said over and over, "It's all right, Dean, it's - it's OK, it's nothing to be embarrassed about. I'll just - I'll take care of it. Don't be ashamed of it. It will never fit in like this."

She started to stroke me, her hand half spiraling as she went slowly, very gently up and down. If I had wanted to stop her, it was already too late. She caught my balls in her other hand, squeezing them, rolling them against one another, and I felt her warm breath on me, her face so close to my cock. She brought me right up to the edge of cumin, then stopped everything except pressure somewhere up between my heavy balls and my body, then after a moment, started again. She kept talking, her voice soft as her breasts looked, her round bottom, on and on and not being ashamed, not being embarrassed, and when I found myself murmuring her name, Lyudmilla, Lyudmilla, she laughed gently, and said, "Yes, Dean, it's me-"

She looked up at me and then worked the rim of my swollen head, still spiraling, squeezing and looking into her blue eyes, her pink cheeks and smile, I shot up a gush of cum, another, and she laughed, keeping up the motion, that became a kind of torture, gripped at me, as she whispered, "Let it out. Don't be ashamed. Don't be embarrassed. It's - so much, so much."

When I had finally calmed she stood up, showed me her cum-covered fingers and said, "What shall we do with all this?"

She sucked her fingers into her mouth, cleaning them off, then before I knew it, pulled my mouth to hers and kissed me, her tongue coming between my half open lips, her tongue loaded with my cum. I felt it, the goo, tasted something as she withdrew her tongue leaving the mess behind.

She laughed, so sweet, and said, "Welcome to the department."