“Oh God,” he murmured. “Anna, I’m so sorry, I’ll try not to hurt you baby. I’ll try to be gentle but you’re so beautiful... I don’t know if I can control myself.” As he spoke I felt his hard cock pressing up against me. It seemed so impossibly big, pushing against my wet hole; too big, and for a moment I thought I would never be able to take him in, then with a low groan he pushed harder and at last he was inside me. A burning pain ripped through me, making me cry out as he entered me, the shock of it catching me unawares so that I felt tears welling up in my eyes.
“Hush, my baby,” he whispered. “I’m sorry, Anna, it will pass I promise.” He pushed into me again, his eyes closed, his face taut with desire, and I could see he was holding back. This time the pain was less raw and I could feel the burn of pleasure following the initial agony. He stopped but this time I pushed up against him, wanting to feel him deep inside me, filling me with his beautiful cock. I wondered how many other virgins he had taken, how many times he had felt this resistance, heard the cries of pain and whispered that everything would be OK. His experience made me weak and I gave myself up to him.
His sighs and moans of pleasure made me feel beautiful and womanly, as I tried my best to please him, pushing up to meet his every thrust, wrapping my legs around him. My mouth found his, kissing him hard, urging him on, begging him to fuck me harder, deeper, needing him to fill me with his come.
He wrapped his arms around me and rolled onto his back, pulling me on top of him, the sudden movement making him cry out with pain. I kissed him to muffle the sound as he struggled to catch his breath, his face pale with the exertion. I paused briefly, wanting to make sure he was OK and he pulled me back down to him.
“Please,” he growled, “don’t stop.” Straddling him, impaled on his penis, I pushed my hands against his chest, tangling in the thick hair, and leaning back I rode him, my body slamming into his, every movement pushing him deeper inside me.
His hands found my breasts and he leaned towards me, taking each nipple into his mouth in turn. I gasped as I bucked against him, the angle pushing my swollen clit against his pelvic bone. He ground up against me and I could feel my orgasm building, my stomach fluttering, muscles contracting around him.
“I can’t hold back much longer,” he whispered, his breathing ragged. “My beautiful Anna, you drive me insane.” His eyes were closed, sweat clinging to his hair, his chest glistening in the moonlight that had stolen over the barn. “I want to come inside you,” he growled, his lips finding mine and I gasped, his words pushing me over the edge, my orgasm crashing over me, waves of pleasure rocking my body as I clung to him.
I knew that he was close, his body tensing under me. He pulled me tight against his chest and we rolled so he was on top of me again. I revelled in the weight of him, his strength as he pushed me down into the hay, my body still shaking from my release. Then with one move, he pushed my hands above my head, thrusting hard into me. His eyes were closed, his forehead furrowed with the exertion as he pounded into me. I whispered his name again, urging him on, begging him to come inside me, to fill me with his come. I told him how much I wanted him, how he would make me come again. I nibbled his earlobe, breathing how big he was, until he thrust up hard inside me with a low animal growl and I could feel his cock throbbing, his hot sticky come gushing into me.
Spent, he slumped on top of me, his weight pressing down on me, kissing my neck, my ear, my cheek. I ran my hands over his back, feeling the muscle across his shoulders. We came apart, our bodies chill in the darkness of the barn, and he searched for our clothes in the moonlight. When we were dressed again and warm, Dimitri pulled a blanket around us and held me tight.
I felt the tears slipping down my face and tried to rub them away before he noticed but he could see them glistening on my cheek and dipped his head to kiss them away.
“Why are you crying,” he asked. “Did I hurt you too much? I’m sorry, I wanted to be gentle with you, but you were so sexy, so beautiful I couldn’t help myself.”
I shook my head. “No, Dimitri, please don’t apologise. You were incredible, even more perfect than I had imagined. But now...” I looked away, my eyes filling with tears again, “now you... you have to leave, and I don’t know how I’ll live without you!”
He held me tight, kissing me gently. “Anna, I will never leave you,” he said, “never. If I have to go you will come with me. I’ll take you home to Russia, buy you a house; we will make beautiful children and I will love you forever.”
Even as he spoke we heard the barn door opening and leapt to our feet. Terror rushed through me thinking it would be Papa, that he would shoot Dimitri, and my life would be over.
“Anna? Anna, are you in here?” It was Mama. She came towards us and Dimitri instinctively pushed me behind him, protecting me from her anger.
“Mama,” I began but she hushed me, shaking her head. She held out a suitcase, my warmest coat and a small purse filled with money.
“Anna, you have to leave,” she said, and I could see that she had been crying. “Papa is coming for you both; Madeline’s talking to him now. She saw you through the window...” Her voice broke and she stepped forward, flinging her arms around me. “I knew you were here, I’ve known for days,” she said as I looked at her, so many questions running through my mind. “Anna, you’ve been so happy,” she said. “I can’t let him take that away from you. No matter who this man is. You have to go, he’ll kill you both. Please, take this and run, don’t make me watch him do it.”
She hugged me once more, turned and left the barn. I could hear Papa shouting and knew that she could delay him for only a few minutes. Dimitri took my hand and we slipped quietly out the back of the barn. I stopped for a moment, looking back at the farm that had been my home for so many years, tears pouring down my face. I pulled Dimitri’s hand. “Let’s get out of here.”
He smiled down at me. “Let’s go home,” he said.
Also Available from House of Erotica
Dirty Deeds
Victoria Blisse
Working for Mr Holloway wasn’t exactly fun but least the surroundings were pretty. I clean offices usually, and believe you me, one office just looks like another office and the endless wiping of computer monitors, hoovering of indiscriminate coloured floors and washing of humorous mugs soon becomes very, very boring.
That’s how I met Mr Holloway. He was in late one night and I had to clean around him. It was quite nice actually. He was something pretty to look at with his chiselled jaw and black, hand ruffled hair and I have to say a man in a suit always gets my motor running. So I didn’t mind him there for most of the time, but then I had cleaned every other inch of that office and he was still sat at that desk, paper overflowing from the bin and three different mugs all sat on the veneer without a mat in sight.
“Will you be going soon, Sir?” I asked after ten minutes of just hanging around. I couldn’t leave without cleaning his corner, it wouldn’t have been right.
“Pardon?” He looked up with a wrinkled brow and pierced me with wolf blue eyes.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Sir, but it’s just your desk is the only one I have left to clean and it is late. I was wondering when you were going to go home so I could finish my work.”
“Oh, yes.” He shook his head as if waking himself from a dream. “I’m going to be here a lot longer yet, erm... what’s your name again?”
“Emma,” I replied with a nervous smile.
“Emma, yes, well I’m very busy here so you can go home now if you like.”
“Okay, Sir, but can I just move those mugs and empty your bin? I’d not be able to sleep tonight if I didn’t.”
He smiled wryly.
“Of course, of course. It is good to see someone taking such pride in their work. Emma, you’re a star.”
“Well thank you,” I blushed and picked up the em
pty mugs in one hand and the waste paper bin in the other. “While I’m in the kitchen, would you like a brew?”
“Oh, Emma, you’re a life saver,” he said with a happy sigh. “A cup of coffee would be wonderful and please make it a strong one.”
I came over all funny that night in bed. I couldn’t sleep for thinking of him. He was handsome, though a little young for my taste; you should read that as he was young enough to be my son, but every time I closed my eyes I saw his face and I would trace his lips and imagine what his skin would feel like, how his big, soft hands would feel on my skin but I couldn’t imagine he’d want to touch me. I’m in my mid-forties, work worn and chubby. You’re not going to get a sharp, young executive lusting after someone like me, especially not when he’d only seen me dressed up in my horrific pink work overalls.
A few months later I was cleaning that same office but was surprised to find a new name on the table that I thought of as Mr Holloway’s. I should have been grateful; the new guy was far tidier and he never left half-eaten food on his table for me to clean up after him, but I was strangely sad to see Mr Holloway go. My fantasies of him had lost what tiny hope there was of coming true the day he left. I was back to cleaning another boring office filled with rows of boring desks once more.
Until one night, when Mr Holloway walked through the door.
“Ah, Emma, I’m so glad I caught you,” he said and let the door shut with a bang behind him. He brought in the chill of the autumn night on his thick, luxurious coat and his warm, masculine scent surrounded me. “I was afraid you’d have left already.”
“Hello, Mr Holloway,” I replied with a smile. “Can I help you with something?”
“You certainly can, Emma, I need a cleaner. My flat is a tip and I need someone to clean it for me. I don’t have time myself. You know I was promoted to head office, don’t you?”
“Well no, I didn’t actually, Sir, I just noticed you weren’t here anymore. I wondered where you’d gone.”
“Well yes, I got a promotion and I live in a flat in town now, not too far away from here, but I really need a cleaner and I wanted to ask you because I know you’ll do a proper, thorough job.”
I was already working every evening of the week bar Sundays and had enough on my plate, but I couldn’t say no to him. I think my stupid schoolgirl crush had gotten the better of my common sense.
“Oh, thank you. You can come over any time. If you buy yourself some cleaning products and give me the receipt, I’ll reimburse you.” He fished some keys out of his pocket. “Here’s the keys, I’ll write down the address for you and if you could start as soon as possible, I’d really be grateful.”
“Okay, what will you want me to do?”
“Oh, everything, Emma, I’m a complete slob. I will pay you well though. What days will you be coming to clean?”
“Well, let me think,” I shifted my head to the side and a length of curly hair broke free from its confines and trailed down over my cheek. I brushed it away under Mr Holloway’s intense stare. “I think Mondays and Wednesdays will be best for me, late afternoon or early evening.”
“Right, well then on Wednesdays I will pay you. Will eighty pounds cover it?”
I am sure the shock registered on my face. “That will more than cover it, Mr Holloway,” I replied, “but you know you don’t have to pay me all that money. I only get six pound an hour for working here.”
He laughed. “And that is why I want you, Emma. You’re honest. I will pay you what I have said, you deserve it and I will work you hard. I wasn’t kidding when I said I was a slob.”
“Well thank you, Mr Holloway, that’s terribly kind of you.” I was at loss for words really, eighty pounds would almost double my weekly salary. I was in shock.
“I’ll have to go, Emma, you have all you need now, right?” He passed me the keys and paper and squeezed my hand before he let go. “Thank you so much, you’re a lifesaver.”
“You’re welcome,” I said, the words popping out like a hoarse cough as I tried to cover the arousal I felt coursing through my veins and heating my face. He waved as he walked through the door and I dropped heavily into the chair behind me. In that moment I felt like Cinderella being told she could go to the ball.
He was right, he was a slob, but a rich slob and that somehow made it better. All his furniture and fittings were of the highest quality and the view from his living room window was breathtaking. The first week I cleaned for him I thoroughly deserved my wages; I won’t go into details but his cluttered desk had not prepared me for the mess I found in his kitchen the first day I cleaned for him. But as time went on I did less and less for my eighty pounds pay and had more time to wander around his home.
I rarely saw him. We mostly conversed via notes left on the coffee table. He might ask me to put things in the drier or to leave a certain pile of papers exactly as they were, and I would leave him receipts for dusters and disinfectant. I’d think about leaving lust letters for him, writing down all my secret desires but that was merely a fantasy.
I would occasionally lie on his bed and just drink in his scent, imagining him there with me. I would always feel so guilty afterwards though and would clean at double pace as penance thereafter. Mr Holloway became the number one fantasy in my life. Each night I would think of him as I brought myself to orgasm. It became the only way I could drift off to sleep.
I was obsessed with him and I felt a little disgusted at myself for that. I was his cleaner, he trusted me and I was far, far, far too old for him. The fantasy would never come to anything and yet when I went out for occasional nights on the town with my girlfriends I wouldn’t look twice at the men around me. I didn’t want them. Only one man would do.
One day in the middle of summer I arrived at Mr Holloway’s a little later than usual. The heat was a pig and I just could not cope with it. Mr Holloway’s place had air conditioning but the rest of the city didn’t, so I would leave a few hours later than usual to take advantage of the cooler evenings. I was still sweaty and sticky when I arrived and the hot weather had me in a bad mood.
The flat was in fairly good condition. It seemed Mr Holloway, or Jake as I occasionally thought of him as I would pick up his mail on the days I went in, had relaxed the night before because instead of scattered paper and an abandoned laptop his coffee table only had a solitary half-drunk glass of wine and a plate sat on it.
Before even putting on my uniform I walked over to the table to pick up the items and put them in the kitchen, but I miscalculated the distance to the glass as my attention was taken by a small plastic tube beside it. The red wine went everywhere, all up the skirt of my dress and over the table. I cursed and sprinted to the kitchen and back with handfuls of disposable but strong kitchen roll, and was incredibly relieved to see none of the liquid had dripped over the edges onto the light carpet beneath.
It seemed my dress had soaked up most of the mess. I couldn’t wear it and if I left the wine on it my favourite summer dress would be ruined. I stripped off without a second thought and ran to the bathroom where I placed it in a sink full of cold water. I mumbled to myself about an hour in there doing the trick, then I could wash it and dry it and be all done and dusted in a couple of hours. All the time I was shaking my head and becoming more and more aware of how I was half naked in my employer’s house.
So I went into the kitchen, put on my tabard and went to work. In the summer I would wear the apron that went over my head and just covered the front and the back of me instead of my all in one overall. It was cooler in one respect but the bright harlequin pattern of diamonds was seriously uncool in another. However, it was far more revealing and I wished my winter overall was hung in the cupboard instead of folded up back at home in my chest of drawers.
I was confident Mr Holloway wouldn’t be home whilst I cleaned. It was a Wednesday and he always worked late in the office on a Wednesd
ay. I knew that as I’d often come in on Thursday to do a little ironing for him and the flat was always in the same condition I’d left it in the day before, apart from the evidence of a slept-in bed. I still felt weird though.
I am not a woman who is comfortable being naked anywhere; even in my own home I wouldn’t think to walk around the house in nothing but my scanties covered with a brief overall. It didn’t help that I was wearing my best lace lingerie either. Sometimes I would. My outside would be as plain and boring as ever but underneath I would wear my best lingerie and on those times I’d end up in Jake’s bed, or I’d spot on a little of his aftershave as I cleaned his bathroom, or other such naughty and indiscreet things. Every time I did it I would swear it was the last time; it never was though.
After transferring my soaked and drained dress from the sink to the washing machine with plenty of powder, I set about tidying the living room. There wasn’t much left to do but I wanted to make sure the wooden coffee table was completely clean. I then remembered the mysterious tube that had so distracted me, and there it was. It had rolled onto the floor in all the hullabaloo of the spillage.
I picked it up and turned it in my hands. The liquid inside was clear and I couldn’t for the life of me work out what it was until I turned it over and read the label. It was lube. I am sure my eyebrows raised so high they narrowly missed hitting the ceiling. I was completely taken aback. So what had Mr Holloway been up to last night whilst drinking his wine? I sat on the sofa, lube still in hand and noticed it was a good position to watch the TV in, and a picture began to form in my mind of what exactly he’d been up to.
I imagined him sitting exactly where I was, drink in hand and porn on the TV enjoying a long, slow, leisurely wank. I felt horny and as I still had an hour at least before my dress would be clean and dry I let myself indulge in a little fantasy. I pictured him in my mind again, watching a buxom woman on the TV being banged for all she’s worth and then I imagine I am in the room watching.
Uniform Behaviour Page 3