Knocked Up By the Russian Boss by Bella King
Chapter 18
IVORY
Iwas able to complete some of my homework before I left tonight. Not enough to get a good grade, but enough to take the edge off my nerves. It wasn’t to my usual standards, but I just needed to have some ground covered. I couldn’t live with myself knowing I was slipping behind and didn’t try to fix it.
My town car drops me off at my apartment, and as I walk through the hallway, I smell the distinct scent of Maxim’s expensive cologne. It’s unmistakable, and I’ve never smelled it here before he had visited me. It hurts to admit that I enjoyed the smell so much that I wanted to keep it suspended in the air forever so I could return to it whenever I wanted.
The apartment feels more lonely than usual tonight, especially in comparison to Maxim’s presence here earlier. This place has always felt too big for me, but seeing him here with me felt right for once, like he really fits here.
When I climb into my bed, I can’t help but imagine how Maxim would hold me if he were here. Would he be the type to grab onto me and hold me in a headlock while we slept? Would he be more gentle? Maybe he would stroke my body while I fell asleep.
Why am I thinking about this so much?
He’s way older than me, but he doesn’t look as haggard as I imagine men his age to be, at least men who haven’t grown up and existed in complete luxury for their entire lives.
Maxim seems like a real person somehow. I bet that if he ever had to go to one of the formal dinners I’ve had to attend all my life, he would start a fight or absolutely raise hell.
That’s not to say that he’s a wild animal, but that’s what I like about him; he’s subdued, but I know he’s got something in him that wants to tear the world apart. He isn’t like the other guys I know who would fold at the slightest provocation.
Thinking about him this way has stirred something in me, a feeling I’ve never really been able to differentiate from being over-caffeinated or on the cusp of a fever. Now though, it feels natural and inviting, like I could have something blissful and beautiful if I would allow myself to get past the uncertainty of it, not to mention how dirty it feels.
I really fucked myself over by not exploring this more before I got wrapped up in my university studies. Now I’m a college student who can hardly look at her own vagina without blushing, much less play with it when I feel horny.
The image of the toys in my bedside table drawer float in and out of my mind as I close my eyes, attempting without luck to remove the deepening warmth in my belly. I barely use them, even though I swore I would when I got them.
What am I so afraid of?
Every time I masturbate, I feel like I have to relearn what my own anatomy feels like. I can feel that my panties are wet already without even touching them.
My heart has started to race, and even in my fully supine state, I’m unable to calm it.
Before I can talk myself out of it, my fingers are working their way into my panties from the side, pulling them over and exposing me the way I wish Maxim could, maybe on a train or in a restaurant.
I’ve always wanted a man to touch me in public, trying and failing to conceal my pleasure as I get closer and closer to orgasm. I’ve always loved the idea of going out in a short dress with no underwear, pretending to accidentally show off my pussy to unsuspecting men like Maxim who can’t help but look, even though I’m so much younger than them.
My labia are so soft and fleshy between my fingers as I start to play with them, not quite ready to dive in all the way. The warmth of my hand under the blanket causes my pussy to swell a bit, tempting me even more to reach for one of my vibrating toys in the drawer to my right side. I’m so sensitive that I have to start by touching myself with my hand. The toys are too much too fast, almost always.
Everything feels so soft and wet that I forget my reservations about Maxim completely. Right now, he’s just an incredibly sexy older man who makes me feel innocent and small but in the best way. He could easily be one of my professors, somebody I could easily tempt into having sex with me even if it was so wrong of him.
I imagine myself as the other woman, the younger, perkier mistress to a man who has forsaken his wife in secret. Maxim would be my lover, teasing me and touching me all over until I opened my legs for him and let him taste me. To feel his mouth on me through my panties would be too much for me, but I wouldn’t want him to stop.
His tongue would fight against the fabric, flicking my clit ever so slightly so that I’m nearly dripping through. Maybe he would stroke my hips or my legs while he did it, gently coaxing me further into his mouth until I can’t resist the warmth, the heightened pulse, the fevered waves.
My fingers mimic the motion of what I imagine a tongue would feel like, interspersed with kisses all over my pussy and thighs as I beg for more to the point of tears. Maybe we would be somewhere where we could get caught, and I would have to hold my moans back, nearly unable as my legs quiver.
Oh god, the shame of being the stupid, naïve woman with her pussy in a man’s mouth, somebody who almost certainly has bad intentions for her. To be so desperate for sex that I let someone much older than me have his way just so that I can feel wanted and beautiful.
The thought sends me over the edge, nearly too intense for me to handle, and Maxim’s name slips from my mouth as I whimper breathily into the air of my empty apartment.
