Lola Smirnova - Twisted

Wow…

His big, dark-brown eyes are charming and very naughty. He gazes into my eyes with a delightful and genuine smile, revealing a set of perfect white teeth. Apart from the looks, it is his sensational confidence that makes him a truly attractive man.

Hmmm… interesting…

I quickly scan the dwelling: huge, open-plan lounge with modern furniture and up-to-date gadgets. It looks like there is only one bedroom, so he definitely does not live with his parents. I also try to spot something to suggest a live-in girlfriend, wife or any other permanent fuck-mate, but fail to find anything – it is a typical bachelor’s lair.

Okay… let’s take the rose-tinted glasses off and think rationally about this. He is handsome, young, attractive, confident and rich. There’s got to be something wrong with him. What is it? A small dick? Some kind of perversion?

‘You look tired, Victoria,’ he murmurs, his voice full of genuine concern.

He is kind as well! Seriously – what’s wrong with this one? He can’t be this faultless. What’s it going to be?

I shake my head energetically. ‘No, not at all, I feel great, but thanks for asking.’ I try to add as much get-up-and-go to my expression as I can. He smiles again and requests me to take a seat on his stunning white couch. It’s in front of an enormous flat-screen TV that hangs on the wall. There’s an unusually designed white glass coffee table between them.

‘I have something more serious for you.’ He pulls a little plastic bag of white powder from his pants pocket. ‘I hope you will join me.’

Oh my fuck, he is perfect! It’s my lucky day…

Questions about what he does, or how he achieved all of this – especially considering his age – begin to climb into my curious brain. And I guess my face does not want to work with me, making my thoughts clear as a bell instead, as if they were written on my forehead…

‘No, I am not a successful businessman, or some talented artist… I am an average student in the Faculty of Architecture at Bosphorus University. For all of this –’ his eyes take a trip around the room ‘– I have my parents to thank. Fortunately or unfortunately for me, my mom and dad are wealthy people who love me and spoil me a lot.’ I pick up the sorrow in his words.

I sniff a juicy line with cold neutrality on my face while nodding vaguely. I always feel confused, angry even, when the rich and spoiled fish for sympathy about their lives that are ‘so hard’.

The next question that begins to bug me even more is why the hell would he call Alexandra in the first place?

‘I am not doing this because I need to pay for sex.’

Damn! What is it tonight? Is he some kind of psychic, or is it my face that keeps failing to cooperate with me?

‘I just like beautiful, intelligent and sexy women… women like you, who don’t think of sex as a duty they have to perform to reproduce. I mean, I like to be with a woman who sees lovemaking as a great gift that we, as humans, are blessed to enjoy. But, unfortunately, most women I meet just use sex as a tool that helps them to get married; or even worse – they are ashamed of it, as if it is something dirty.’

I try hard to concentrate on what Ali is saying, but the tender touch of his fingers, which play with my neck while lightly tousling my hair, makes my skin prickle and my brain freeze.

He is wearing a white T-shirt, loose light-blue jeans, and nothing on his feet. One of his legs is folded under his thigh and the foot of the other is feeling the wood of the floors. It is sexy… everything about him is extremely sexy, composed, seductive.

Ali leans forward. Without touching my body, he kisses me, passionately sucking and biting my lips.

Oh my… he is good…

No, no, no… what is it? Is he a mutant with two dicks? Or… is his tool missing? I wonder which of these would upset me more…

He stops abruptly and relaxes back, placing his arm again on the top of the couch so he can go back to playing with my neck. I sigh but don’t open my eyes, trying to prolong the unreal lust into which my whole body has just dived. It feels so heavenly and intense down my stomach. Eventually I open them. Ali is watching me with a contented smile on his face.

‘Have a drink, beautiful.’ His voice is calm and comforting. ‘Tell me more about yourself, your childhood?’

I begin the story about my sisters and their trip to France, which I couldn’t take with them; and how my friend Inna, who I bumped into about a month ago, is the reason for my being in Istanbul. He keeps asking leading questions, demonstrating his deep interest in my tale, pressing me for more details.

Without taking his eyes off my face, he slowly starts undoing the small pearly-blue buttons on my blouse, and pulls my bra cups slightly down, just enough to get better access to my nipples. He starts playing with them.

I automatically reach my arm out towards him, to answer his arousing strokes. Ali stops me, gently replacing my hand. ‘Don’t, beautiful… please continue… you were saying?’

No one has ever done anything like this to me before. Usually my sex-mates, clients or boyfriends lose interest in my boobies quickly, after a few squeezes and rubs. Men ignore them throughout intercourse, seeking compensation in the other parts of my body. Because of this lack of stimulation, I didn’t even know that my nipples were erogenous zones, capable of discharging so much warmth down to my crotch.

I understand that me talking at the same time as being stimulated so strongly is a part of Ali’s game. He gives me a simple task – to entertain him with some tales – and watches me fail to do it, because of the desire that fills up my body and mind. It’s pure amusement for him to see how, with only a few touches, he has changed me into his horny puppet. Without a doubt he can call the night a success, because my face is red, my voice becomes hoarse, my pulse and breathing quicken and all of my body tenses in its obvious plea to be fucked.

Some time later, when it turns into insanity and my pussy is swallowed by desire, and the only thing left in my entire world is how I’m dying for satisfaction, he slowly starts undoing his jeans. Next thing, he is tearing apart the foil of the condom. He rolls it over his not very long but thick and promisingly firm member.

My legs open slightly in irrepressible anticipation. My mouth opens to inhale deeply.

‘Lift up your skirt, beautiful. I want to see how much you want my cock inside you.’ I follow his instruction and reveal my splashing slit.

‘Good girl. Come here. Let’s see what I can do for you.’ He smiles, drags me up and places me on top of him. Then, tightly grasping both of my wrists behind my back with one hand, he searches through the layers of my skirt with the other, moves my panties to one side, grabs my ass, and nails me on his erection.

The flash of disappointment at being on top again dissolves in a loud, wild sound that breaks out of my throat, echoing the powerful wave of inconceivable pleasure that pierces my whole body, violently smashes into me, and scatters to my limbs like a million butterflies.

He straightens his back, making it easier for him to move me, control the rhythm, and suck and bite my nipples while keeping my hands still. One strike after another. Until I collapse.

For the next couple of days all I can think of is that night. It could hardly even be called a night – unfortunately it was over soon after I hit my really big O. But it was the night because of the divine sex I had with an awesome guy while consuming a perfect amount of the good stuff.

After I came, Ali didn’t give me much time to recover. My vagina was still convulsing when he brusquely lifted me up and put me back onto my weak, shaky legs behind the conveniently tall and wide armrest of the couch. Then he bent me over, throwing the white chiffon of my skirt over my head, and tugged my panties down to my knees.