Behind The Iron Curtains

(by rjmrjm, 25 September 2005)


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Behind the Iron Curtains
rjmrjm

I snatched a glance at the bedside clock, 6:32 am. The red glow of the dial 
seemed very pale against the early summer light that came through the 
window, the hazy light fell across the bed, lighting up the face of my 
beauty.

She was young, well younger than my 38 years; I had never asked her for her 
exact age, but she told me it was old enough. Her golden hair was spread out 
on the pillow; it caught the light, wispy strands of golden flax, not the 
cheap fake peroxide blonde of many prostitutes, but real golden blonde.
She had smooth skin, lightly tanned by the cold eastern sun, I watched 
closely as it pricked up in the cool breeze. She gave an unconscious shudder 
and pulled the bedclothes tightly around her. She was the most peaceful I 
had ever seen her, her face was free of worry, she looked so innocent, her 
cheap makeup had long ago rubbed off on the pillow, all that remained were 
her rosy lips and the delicate eyelashes over her eyes. She was a natural 
beauty.

I worried for her sometimes, when I was at home, in England. I wondered 
where she ate, where she walked, where she slept- and who with. I wished 
dearly that I could bring her back home, I wished that I could save her from 
the sordid world that she inhabited, the cold streets of Soviet Kiev were no 
place for an angel.

A truck passed by the window, the noise awoke her from her slumber. She 
opened her pale blue eyes, for a moment a look of worry crossed her face, 
then it softened and she smiled.

"John, what time is it?"

I told her it was early and to go back to sleep if she wanted to.

"Mmmm" she moaned softly as she fell back onto the covers.  "I wish that for
ever I may wake like this." She muttered, her Russian tinted voice all the
huskier for the previous night's revelries.  For a moment I wanted to take
her and kiss her soft lips, and tell her she could, that she could come on
the plane back to London with me - and leave cold Kiev behind. But I stopped,
too afraid - no ashamed - to bring her back, my Russian whore.

She rolled over and reached out to the cabinet for her cigarettes, cheap
rough tobacco made for a pittance and sold on the black-market. Real supplies
were hard to come by.

I reached over her and stopped her hand. I gently pulled the white tube from
between her fingers, she protested, but I placed my finger on her lips. She
reluctantly quietened down; she crossed her arms in a childish way and pouted
at me. I got out of bed and went to my suitcase; I pulled out 10 packets of
Marlboros. Her eyes lit up.

"Real cigarettes!" she cried, "John, thank you, I am loving those."

I smiled and tossed her a packet, I sat on the edge of the bed and watched 
her delicate fingernails scramble on the packet, the soft noise of the paper 
ripping and her exited breathing made me smile. She giggled when she finally 
reached the cigarettes, pulling one out and examining it closely. She played 
it between her fingers for a while before letting it dangle in her mouth.

"I am like American movie star, yes?" she asked, flashing her bright eyes at
me.

I nodded and reached out for her lighter. It was silver Zippo; I had brought
for her last time I visited, it had her name engraved on it - Nikole.  She
placed the cigarette between her red lips; she was not very used to smoking
with a cork filter so her lips covered the entire of it, I could already see
the cheap lipstick rubbing off on the filter as she moved it around her mouth
to its perfect place, slightly off centre dropping down slightly. She looked
at me, her big eyes pleading for a light. I obliged.


No matter how many times I see it, I am still slightly awed at her first 
drag on a cigarette. Most women seem to blow a little experimental smoke 
out, as if trying the flavour of the cigarette first, Nikole didn't. She 
sucked hard, her cheeks dimpling slightly as the cigarette bounced up, then 
dropped, then up again. She took another long drag on the cigarette before 
sliding it out from between her lips. Then she inhaled properly, pulling the 
two combined drags deep into her chest. I watched as her pert breasts, 
goose-pimpled but firm rose with her heaving lungs. She sucked the last bit 
of air between her teeth and closed her eyes a moment, savouring the smoke, 
before exhaling a huge cloud into the ceiling.


I waited in anticipation for the second exhale, I knew there would be one, 
and sure enough there was. And in a moment of sublime beauty, a slim stream 
of smoke was forcefully ejected from her mouth. It caught the thin beams of 
light from the window and seemed to hang there for a long time.

She licked her lips, the moisture gave them a glossy look.  She took a heavy 
breath of fresh air to clear her lungs out properly before subjecting them 
again to the dense smoke. She took another drag, slower this time. Her chest 
rose again as he inhaled, still holding the smoke in she lay down, the 
covers just down to her waist. She closed her eyes and exhaled upwards 
towards the ceiling, her lips pouting as the smoke rolled over them. She 
exhaled a last few wisps of smoke from her nostrils and de-ashed her 
cigarettes, holding it by her waist, letting it smoulder gently.

I lay next to her, she snuggled herself so that her breasts were next to my 
face and her head was resting on mine. I gently placed my arm around her and 
pulled her tighter. I could hear her heart pumping in her chest, slightly 
faster than average, I could hear he chest expand, and her lungs inflate as 
the smoke entered them. I remembered my professor in Oxford, Dr. James 
telling us that a skilled doctor would be able to hear the irregularities in 
heartbeat and lung movements caused by cigarettes, even in a teenager who 
had just started the habit. I could hear them in Nikole, it worried me 
slightly, but I knew she would be ok. Most doctors think that by the late 
90's non addictive tobacco will been engineered. Safe ways for these 
beautiful creatures to achieve nicotine satisfaction.

She took another drag, her breasts rose and gently pressed against my hair, 
they were warm and firm, I could feel her nipples become hard as she 
exhaled. I was becoming aroused with every breath she took. She soon 
discovered this when I felt her hand soft slide across my stomach and down 
to my crotch.

"Oooh," she giggled out a stream of smoke, "You are awake also. I thought I 
would, maybe, have to wake you up."

She was gently rubbing her fingers around the base of my dick, teasing my 
hair between her fingers; it was relaxing to have her warmth near me. Her 
breathing was quite gentle, quite slow. I turned my head and kissed her on 
the lips, I could feel her soft warm fleshy lips against mine. She ran her 
fingers over my head very sensually, keeping us pressed tightly together. 
She slowly allowed her lips to be pushed apart, I could feel her tongue 
stroking the inside of my mouth, I could taste her smoky breath - its 
pungent aroma making my own tongue tingle.

She rolled over so she was directly on top of me, her arms outstretched 
either side of my head supporting her body. She smiled, and the world 
seemed, for a moment, to stop. The morning noise outside ceased, the thin 
dancing column of blue/grey smoke coming from the cigarette cradled in her 
hand, hung in the air to the left of my head. Her grin faded slowly, 
replaced by a deeper, more meaningful gaze. I was ensnared by her wide eyes, 
I could see the smoky reflection of myself in them, I could see her chest 
rising and falling, her nipples hard and her tanned breasts pleasing.
I dragged my gaze away and looked down the bed, I could see her vagina, 
pink and inviting hovering over my erect penis. I looked up again, the 
sunlight caught her hair, like a halo, and the smoke that rose from the butt 
of the cigarette that was now hanging from between her lips was like divine 
incense. She exhaled towards my face before lowering herself onto me.

I first felt the warmth of her fanny around my dick. I shuddered as it 
penetrated deeper inside her. I could feel moisture wetting me as I entered, 
it was bliss. By now she had lowered her body onto mine; her breasts were by 
my mouth. I licked them and gently sucked her nipples, I rubbed them with my 
tongue and she responded by pushing her hips forward with great force, again 
and again.

Her moans became deeper and more protracted; she pulled herself up so she 
was almost standing over me, moving up and down rythmatically on my 
throbbing cock. Strands of her loose hair were hanging over her face, her 
eyes were closed and her mouth was clenched firmly around the cigarette. She 
would inhale, handless, occasionally. The cigarette rose up, its glowing tip 
enflamed for a moment. Her cheeks dimpled and she threw her head back in 
ecstasy, streams of fragrant cigarette smoke coming out of her mouth, either 
side of the ever present cigarette.

She pulled the cigarette from her lips, it was almost a butt now and blew a 
stream of smoke down at my chest. Then, in one last great effort, one dying 
orgasm of pleasure she sucked the last breath of smoke from the tube. The 
last strands of tobacco crackled, her lips were wide open, and teeth 
clenched sucking air down, deep into her aching chest. Her skin flushed as 
the last desperate rush of nicotine mixed with the intoxicating endorphins 
that raged through her body. Her chest expanded fully, her breasts seemed to 
swell with the immense aching pressure, she let out a singular distant and 
ecstatic moan of fullness, completion and satisfaction


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