tagMatureThe Russian Romp

The Russian Romp


Tatiana had lived in the United States for only eight years when her husband and sponsor died of a massive heart attack on New Year's Eve, 2004. A mail order bride from Russia, she was already 45 years old when she crossed the Big Puddle to start her new life in America. She arrived with little money, poor English, and great expectations. She was an eclectic personality. In winter she was the epitome of the classic Russian snow bunny, all bundled up sexy-like in her babushka boots, heavy black wool coat, mink scarf, and black gloves, her golden blonde curly locks tossed by the bitter wind. But spring and summertime were when her exhibitionist side took over with her tending garden and doing yard work in seriously short and tight Daisy Dukes and colorful tank tops and sports bras. She seemed unconcerned with the fact that the rest of her neighbors were considerably more conservative in their dress. I couldn't decide if she was shameless or culturally clueless.

I'd occasionally found myself watching her with interest from my living room window, seeing her trying to dig in the garden wearing skin-tight leather pants or mow the lawn in pumps and wondered, "What is this ditzy woman thinking? Doesn't she own a pair of gym shoes?"

Her husband had died the year I had moved in across the street. Since then, she'd assumed the mantle of head of household and caretaker to a seriously scraggly dog with an arthritic hip that she let hobble around her front yard trying to piss on every flower until it finally went to that big canine hotel in the sky. Recognizing she was a widow, and a foreigner, I extended my hospitality and generosity to her almost immediately, insisting that she ask me for help with projects around the house that were too much for her to handle. A proud, hard-working Russian, she assured me she could handle it. Eventually, she came around and I began spending time at her house digging out flower beds for her or helping her move furniture inside the house. Fixing a leaky faucet, replacing a broken window pane, and attaching new shudders to the front windows were just a few of the odd jobs I did for her, uncompensated at my insistence.

She was certainly an attractive woman, and I had no doubt she had looked bombshell gorgeous in her twenties with her beautiful blonde hair, cool blue eyes, flawless complexion, and trim figure. She had a warm smile and tried hard to be gracious and appreciative, but her language skills often presented problems for her. Whenever I could, I tried to help her with her English, and I'd seen some improvement. She had strong, toned legs and somewhat wide hips, but a firm, full butt that screamed for mercy in those jean shorts she usually wore in the garden. Her only drawback was a flat chest, but that was a minor deficiency considering her other admiral attributes.

Now 52 and still a hard working woman, I realized that this lady had a promiscuous streak in her when I would notice her wearing a hot pink lace bra beneath a white shirt or she would kneel down and I'd catch a glimpse of the top edge of a pink lace G-string peeking up from her waistband in back. That she didn't, in fact, own a pair of gym shoes and that most of the things in her wardrobe were fashionable told me she was concerned with her looks and liked to look good in front of other people.

I found myself in her living room on a spring Friday after work, as I'd promised to stop by and put the finishing touches of some molding around the baseboards in her living room. Not having a miter saw, she couldn't make the cuts clean enough by hand and had asked me to help. Sure thing; anything to get another good look at that rear end.

As I completed the quick job and took a seat in the kitchen, she walked in from upstairs wearing those jean shorts and a white T-shirt. A blue sports bra was visible underneath. My eyes were riveted to the shorts as I watched her walk by, those beautiful cheeks swaying back and forth, stretching the denim, those dangling strands of fabric no doubt tickling her legs as she moved....

"What?" She'd caught me staring.

I averted my eyes and shook my head. "Oh, nothing."

She grinned a little and glanced over her shoulder. She swung her hips toward me. "You like?"

"You're an attractive woman, yes." It certainly didn't hurt to toss out a compliment.

"Hmmmm," she purred, and moved on into the kitchen. "I am old and not as pretty as I used to be," she said, pouting.

I watched her at the counter with her back to me as she pulled silverware out of the dishwasher and quietly put it away in a drawer. "You're very pretty, Tatiana. You shouldn't be so hard on yourself."

She turned around. "You think so, hmm?"

"Yes." I began to wonder how many times I would have to keep trying to buoy her self-esteem before she finally caved.

A sneaky grin flashed across her face for a fleeting moment. "You have time to stay, yes?"

I nodded. "An hour or so. Why? You have something else you want me to work on?"

"Come with me," she said, motioning for me to follow her. We stepped from the tiled kitchen onto the hardwood floor in the living room and into the soft light flowing in through the large patio door. The view through it was of her relatively shallow backyard and a wide utility easement that ran between the yards adjacent to her property. Her house was the only one on the block that didn't back up directly to someone else's house, so she didn't have to worry about nosy neighbors peering at her from their back windows while she gardened in leather pants and hot pink sports bras.

"I know you said you no want pay," she said as we stopped in the middle of the room, "but I not feel right to not pay you somehow."

I sighed and felt exhausted at having to explain the definition of generosity to this Russian babe yet again. "Tatiana, I...." But before the words could come out, she stepped into me and pressed a finger to my lips.

"Shhhh," she whispered. "I show you my...appreciation," she said after searching for the word. "I like you helping me and I like you. I think you like me, too. I know...the way you look at me. A woman knows. It's been long time for me. Just let me work on you, now, hmm?"

How could I resist?

Tatiana slid down my front with all the allure and seductiveness of a snake slithering across the ground. She didn't drop to her knees, but knelt like a catcher at the plate, showing me her thick, strong triceps, her freckled skin stretched taut. I followed the V formed by her legs to its fulcrum, past the stringy, ragged cuffs of her Daisy Dukes, and saw that the button was already undone. That would make it all the easier to get those things off when the time came. I was feeling my animal instinct coming on, and she was doing a good job of bringing it to maturity.

She took her time, looking up at me all the while, opening up my cargo shorts and slowly pulling my penis out. Half-erect already, she purred at the sight of my hot, eager flesh and patiently drew me into her mouth as she slipped a hand around the base of my shaft. A little twist of her head and before I knew it she'd taken me all the way in and held me there for a moment, letting the warmth and wetness of her mouth soak into my cock which was rapidly filling with blood and stiffening. She didn't restrain me and backed off to let me finish growing as the moisture left on my shaft evaporated in the cool air conditioning and heightened my arousal. She worked my manhood with deliberate patience and methodical skill. I could tell she took great pleasure in what she was doing, and I quickly overcame whatever anxieties I might have had and started to get into the rhythm. I bent my knees a bit and gently thrust my hips forward to encourage her, but she needed no encouragement. I grunted and groaned and gave her my approval to keep going.

Now that I was standing at attention for her ministering, she moved her hands about my hips, thighs, and ass, massaging me softly as her wet tongue danced delightfully across my head and corona, stimulating the army of nerve endings there and bringing me closer to explosion. She ducked down and tickled the base of my shaft near the scrotum with the tip of her tongue and my body jerked in response to the sudden overwhelming sensation. She giggled playfully and ran her tongue up the length of my shaft, lingered at the tip, and in one fluid motion drew my entire length into her mouth again.

I shut my eyes but the sensation was too intense and I knew I didn't want to pop yet...not without fucking her. I wanted her pussy...wanted to feel that ass...but the oral was becoming intolerable. I opened my eyes and tried to focus on something else to take my mind away for a few minutes and give her some more time to savor me. I looked out the patio doors and watched the some guy laboring to push a lawn mower through the grass of his backyard fifty yards away. Sucks to be him, I thought. Much as I liked mowing the lawn, getting blown by my sexy Russian neighbor beats yard work any day!

Hard as I tried to sink into a mode of just sustaining my erection and not absorbing the stimulation, I couldn't resist this new sensation with my new lover and I realized if I wanted to finish off properly inside her, I'd have to get her to stop. I looked down and watched her head bobbing and twisting as she labored over my thick inches, glistening with her saliva.

I reached down and touched her shoulder, hoping she'd take that as her cue for an interlude, but she was fully absorbed in her work now. So I simply reached down and scooped her up by her arms, turning her around to where she could bend over and hold onto the back of a nearby sofa while I swiftly reached around, unzipped, and pulled her jean shorts down to her ankles.

She purred expectantly and braced herself against the back edge of the sofa as I slipped my fingers under her orange satin G-sting, rolled it off her hips, and peeled it from between her cheeks. It dropped to the floor and she gingerly stepped out of it, tossing her head and waving her hair as she spread her legs, arched her back, and prepared to be taken.

My hands slid over her smooth, round, tight ass. I didn't need to guide myself in; I found her wetness immediately and with a gentle, driving thrust slid into her warmth.

She gasped and groaned as she felt my inches fill her tender vagina, relishing the invasion of hot, hard flesh for the first time in years. I felt her body shudder and I grasped her hips to hold her and began stroking her delicate flower, grinding my hips against the soft flesh of her butt, bracing my legs against the back of hers, watching as she arched her back and pressed herself toward me, angling herself to take me in as far as I could go.

I worked up to a decent pace, pounded hard for a moment, then abruptly backed off as I felt her orgasm soaking me. I barely heard her screaming in ecstasy as her climax swept over her, stiffening her nipples that she reached up with one hand to stimulate herself. I moved my hands off her hips and placed one on her stomach, the other on the small of her back, and held her tightly as I delivered my peaking thrusts and felt my load burst free. My scrotum kept contracting and releasing as I pumped this sexy lady full of warm, sticky semen. My mind was racing as my orgasm washed over me and I felt my legs trembling from having tightened my muscles in anticipation.

Tatiana was barely able to hold herself up, and she collapsed over the back of the sofa, breathing heavily, but eager to keep me inside her while we each simmered in the afterglow. After several minutes, we finally separated and sat together on the sofa in each other's arms.

"You Americans...," she said in wonderment, gazing at my half-flaccid cock with the awe of a teenage girl on prom night.

I smiled at her and pushed her curly blonde locks off her forehead. "You like my hospitality, hmm?"

She smiled back. "I like having you as neighbor."

"So I can come again?"

She twisted her face in dismay. "Now? So soon? You not want rest?"

I laughed. "How about next Friday?"

She relaxed and grinned at me. "Anytime, neighbor."

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