*~The First Lesson~* (.cont.)
The second coat came free much quicker, and the third. Satisfaction in the waiting eyes of my audience, Masha’s hands making quick work of hanging my coats and scarves while Mikhail readied his camera. The music melted into my mind, washed over my senses and caught me up in a rip current of swaying motion. It was easier to focus, and in the tide of sound that flooded my ears, I found the courage and pomposity I had felt at the bar.
One button down, twenty-four to go. Hips swaying, crashing slowly on a musical shoreline. Sixteen buttons to go. I felt the material slide from my shoulders. My skin prickled as the air hit me, while still warm, it was much cooler than the air beneath my clothing had been. A foreign audible click at first, over and over, it’s own drumbeat I soon picked out as the camera. No flash. Ten buttons. Five. Transformation, no longer a dress but a cape now, sliding away from my body, air touching my bare breasts. I closed my eyes and hummed along to the music, reality wavering at the edges of my trance, threatening to strike with frightening reality.
Count the clicks, hips moving in time with the music, cotton against my bare skin, I could hear them mumbling about my panties. White cotton, boy short cut, clearly not the lingerie he had hoped for. Arms above my head, a nervous tick as I ran my fingers through my curls, just short enough in back. Short enough for Floridian summers, angled cut, the sides of my neck were always warm, the back vulnerable to all weather, especially in Russia. I could feel his eyes as they trailed from my finger tips, knotted in the curls of my hair, to the back of my neck, down the fine line down the center of my back, and back up, lingering at the swell of my breast and ribs. Warmth spread through my blood stream, and I fought hard with my shy nature to obtain control. If I had control over this situation, it would run smoothly, and quickly.
Eye contact. My best attempt at meeting his wild, savage gaze, shattered as I closed my eyes to the music feeling both of their eyes trailing my body. Jaw, throat, breasts. More clicks, the shutter speed picking up, catching my every move, every ripple of muscle, every breath on film. Thumbs hooked in the waistline of my panties, a tease at first. Slowly over the rise of my hips, to my thigh, clamped shut around the thin material keeping them bound at my most secret parts. A gentle slope of the body and I pulled them off, cold air caressing vulnerable flesh.
I caught his gaze, the hungry look in his eyes and felt suddenly vulnerable. The gnawing feeling at the pit of my stomach returned and feebly my arms went out to cover my nudity. I cupped my breasts, covering both small mounds with my forearm my second hand nestling between my legs. Soft flesh, freshly shaved that morning. A small caress and I felt my body jerk to attention, purring in its own internal way at the attention.
Each motion caught on camera. Gentle steps towards the bed. The feeling of silk, brocade, cotton, washing over hyper-sensitive skin. Everything I touched became it’s own reseviore of pleasure, a new sensation burning in the pit of my inner most being. Move your hands, spread your legs. His growl of a voice urged me, somewhat gentle considering his demeanor. The throb in my stomach became a dull ache, fiery hot at the touch of my hand against tender flesh. Refusal. Acceptance. A few more minutes of posing and I was running short on seductive looks, resorting to coy, shy glances at him through soft eyelashes.
A moment between he and Masha, and Masha disappeared. Regain focus, think about the music, relax. His warmth was closer now, Masha had taken back her position, the camera ready, her dark hair spilling over her shoulders. He was snapping photos, closer now, from above. Smooth heat, much like the feeling in my belly as he approached. With deer like reflexes I felt my muscles tighten at first as if I might spring out of this little box, this close quarters with my predator.
The camera made a heavy thud-clunk as it rested on the table near the bed. Mind racing, senses heightened, seething hot fire inside me, my body becoming a battlefield in some foreign land, unknown to my mind. Jeans in a heavy denim pile, the creases and folds careless and quick. Chilly air, my hands had fallen away from their protective posts, I rested on my elbows now slack jawed and terrified as I looked up at the exposed man at my side. Much larger than I had ever seen him, more terrifying and exciting than I had ever imagined.
Worlds crashed around me. Strong warm hand, squeezing my wrist. Fear. Flight. Twisting and pulling, the perfect, un-mussed linens on the bed now becoming a twisted torrid mass of cloth. Fireworks in my flesh, soft quilting, calloused rough hands, their strength like viper bites. Freedom.
He was on me in an instant, his weight squared on the small of my back, arms pulled back painfully close together, and I imagined this must be what a butterfly on a pegboard feels like. Surely he local fire department had registered the heat I felt inside me, threatening to light me up, I was sure I was glowing. Sure that if I looked towards my belly it would be warm and golden, like an ember. A tremble as he spoke, his rough chin hair scraping against my jaw, and neck, his lips pressed against my ear. The cotton of his shirt was sending sparks dancing across my back, lighting me up in the most peculiar and terrifying way.
I can make you feel good Moki, or I can break you. I felt tremors shoot from my finger tips to my toes. His voice boomed in my head, so powerful and seductive. Surrender. My mind was screaming warnings, sirens ringing behind my eyes, my body completely surrendering to the predator on my back, his rippling thighs pressed painfully against my ribs, pinning diminutive frame beneath his. Freedom. I heard the shift of his shirt peeled away from his body, the slide of his shoes on the polished stone floors. Bare flesh on mine, hot and rough, amazing.
