Message-ID: <40443asstr$1042553404@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
X-AntiAbuse: This header was added to track abuse, please include it with any abuse report
X-AntiAbuse: ID = 948ab4c8608b1a0ba1fa7e3decf9f577
Reply-To: katzmarek@excite.com
From: "don james" <katzmarek@excite.com>
Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit
X-Original-Message-ID: <20030114111255.237881E4A1@xmxpita.excite.com>
X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Tue, 14 Jan 2003 06:12:55 -0500 (EST)
Subject: {ASSM} The Russian Girl (Part 13) (MF) by Katzmarek
Date: Tue, 14 Jan 2003 09:10:04 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
X-Archived-At: <URL:http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/Year2003/40443>
X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation <story-ckought69@hotmail.com>
X-Story-Submission: <ckought69@hotmail.com>
X-Moderator-ID: IceAltar, dennyw
The Russian Girl returns after a long break.
_______________________________________________
Join Excite! - http://www.excite.com
The most personalized portal on the Web!
<1st attachment, "The Russian Girl13.doc" begin>
The Russian Girl (Part 13)
By Katzmarek
Author's Note.
This story is entirely a work of fiction. It is for
entertainment purposes only and does not reflect the author's
views or attitudes. It contains scenes of sexual activities with
a minor and the author does not condone this. This work may not
be reproduced for profit without the author's express permission.
If you feel you would be offended by the content, or underage,
please proceed no further. . The Katz
The lights are dim in the cabin of the seven forty seven high
over the ocean. It's night out and the shutter is down over the
window. Everyone's mostly dozing around me but I am finding it
hard to sleep. My mind is too active thinking about life, and
loves and the weird direction everything's gone since I first met
Lina at my studio.
I think about the last time I was flying and the cute blond
teenager who had snuggled beside me, giving me hand-jobs. Now
she's off to the big time in Florida to be the next Melissa Joan
Hart or something. MJH with a Russian accent. On the way to LAX I
spied her tight ass on a billboard for that jeans commercial she
made. She is one hell of a fox I can tell you. A fox in a town of
foxes.
She was in Orlando when I left for Europe. A quick call on her
cell-phone to tell me about her movie and a hurried 'see you
later'. No 'I'll miss you' or 'take care of yourself and hurry
back'. Somehow her indifference hurt, even though I'd resigned my
self to a lowly position in her heart.
Janine had been more emotional, sobbing in my arms and telling me
she loved me. The only thing I felt then was sorrow for her
unhappy predicament and I once again urged her to leave her
husband.
Part of me kind of hoped she wouldn't though. As much as I liked
her I couldn't see us having a life together and I didn't want to
hurt her.
Even Christine, her daughter, had given me a long hug. She had
matured in the few months that I knew her. She was turning out to
be a real Californian fox as well. All that lifestyle advice she
was receiving at high school I suspect. I still felt the
impression her little pointy girlish boobs made in my chest.
Her father John though was a worry. He had grown angrier and more
resentful in the infrequent times I had seen him. I guess it's
the mid-life crisis shit. He seemed to loath his family, Los
Angeles, the Bank where he worked and me, or what he thought I
represented. You know, that brash, smart Alec, rich, extravagant
LA thing everyone seems to think is California. Beaches, broads
and making money.
I spied the dude, one day staring at his daughter with a look I
could only describe as old as time itself. How long he can keep
his grubby, cock-stained hands off her, no one knows. I'd given a
little warning to Janine about it but I don't think it
registered. Well! There's only so much you can do.
So! Here I am over the Atlantic on my way to a new adventure.
Making my movie idea a reality with a European consortium. They
hired me for three weeks to develop the script with their team.
It will consist of an historical consultant, a cinematographer,
and a script guy. All high-powered and vastly experienced.
I am having a lot of self-doubt whether I can cut it with all
these worthies. I just hope I don't make a fool of myself.
I'm also thinking I might stay on for a couple of months and look
around, treat myself to a holiday. Hopefully things will have
cooled down in LA by the time I get back.
The Lufthansa stewardess strolls by. There's not much for her to
do at this stage in the flight with most people sleeping. She
stops at my row, noticing I'm still awake.
"Not sleeping"? She asks.
"Nein," I reply, "Sitz du," offering the empty seat next to me.
"Komst du nach Deutschland"? She asks, sitting down.
"Miene mutter ist Deutsch,"
"Ah, Amerikaner"?
"Ja, Russiche/Deutsche Amerikaner," I reply.
You know that time you meet someone and suddenly you're sharing
your life's every detail as if they were an old friend. In about
twenty minutes we had shared our biographies in every detail.
Sophia von Wiener-Tretow was born of an Austrian Viticulturist
father and an Italian mother in Vienna Austria. Her Father's
family had long associations with the old Hapsburg monarchy and
had immigrated with the family to Rudesheim in Rheinland-Pfalz
State. There he worked for one of Germany's leading wine
producers.
Her mother had been a dancer and socialite in Vienna when she'd
met Otto. Sophia had little of the reserve associated with her
aristocratic lineage. I guess she inherited more from her mother
than dark Italian good looks.
Sophia is tall and slim, her long dark hair is tied up. She has a
Mediterranean complexion with dark eyes her professional make-up
can't conceal. Her speech suggests the best private school in
it's measured precision. She tells me she's 24 and joined
Lufthansa 5 years ago straight from Gymnasium (German High
School). She has had a few boyfriends but her job makes it
difficult on relationships.
I tell her all about Lina, Janine, the porn industry, and
California. She listens intently and doesn't make judgements.
(Unlike many Americans, I've found Europeans are far more
accepting of unorthodox lifestyles)
"You are in love with Lina," she says, as more of a statement
than a question.
"Infatuation from a guy who should know better," I reply.
"Ah! Ja, you go to Germany to cure yourself also"?
"Also", I agree.
"When you have finished in Frankfurt you must come down to my
Father's estate. I'm sure some of his best vintage will help to
cure you," she suggests.
"Will you be there"? I ask, smiling.
Grinning back she replies,
"See, you are feeling better already," and we both laugh.
Sophia's shift finishes in Seoul, however she is staying on the
flight to Frankfurt for two week's leave. She has been shuttling
around the world for 4 weeks, virtually non-stop, with maybe a
day between flights if she's lucky.
"When do you sleep"? I ask.
"When I can," she replies, "things are very tight now, the
airline is losing money and we no longer have long stopovers.
More work, but the same money. At least I have a job, some
airlines are laying off staff."
"You could always work for Aeroflot," I suggest.
"Gott no!" she looks aghast in mock horror, "At least Lufthansa's
aircraft stay in the air. Do you know Berlin held one of their
planes on the ground for a week because it had cracks in the fuel
tank. Can you believe that? It was leaking jet fuel all over the
tarmac and their Captain came out to look, smoking a cigar,
really! The Templehoff fire-crew dragged him away, four of the
biggest men it took, and they carried him between them." We were
giggling away together, uncontrollably, at the story. I could
picture the Russian Captain's sang-froid, very Russian that.
Sophia presses her face to my shoulder, an arm circles my neck as
she collects herself. She looks up and we stare into each other's
eyes for a second, which felt like forever. She shudders and
tells me,
"I have to go now, duties,"
"Ok," I say, "Thanks for the company, it was nice talking to
you."
"Yes, a pleasure," she agrees, "It gets very lonely sometimes on
this leg. See you."
She walks off up the aisle leaving me wondering whether 'see you'
had the hint of something more. Her parting glance had been
ambiguous.
In Orlando, Lina has started work almost immediately. Time is
money and the schedule is long each day. They shoot two episodes
a week, back to back, sometimes doing all the exteriors in one
go. Lina loves it all. This is her world, she thinks, and is
impressed by the film crew's efficient professionalism. At the
end of each day she returns to her apartment exhausted and
usually goes to bed straight away. She has a 6am call each
morning for make-up and after a hurried breakfast, starts
shooting around 9am. They are rarely finished before 10pm.
Of course that doesn't mean she's on the set all of the time, but
the times between Lina often spends learning lines with her voice
coach or on her own. There is simply no time to hang out with the
hunky guys she spots around the studio and in any case, with the
intensity of the work, she hasn't any energy for that anyhow.
In fact acting is all she can think about at present. She knows
that she kind of blew me off when I left for Europe but she
simply had no emotional energy to spare at the time. I should
have realized that I suppose.
Meanwhile, in Redwood Valley Janine is thinking about what I said
concerning John. She couldn't believe John would molest
Christine, but the way he'd been acting lately, she wouldn't put
it past him. It was getting harder and harder to cope with his
moods.
She should leave him but they had too longer history together.
She was afraid of the consequences. John would make sure she was
left without a penny, he was like that. His pride would be hurt
and he would make them suffer. He was suspicious of me and she
didn't want me hauled into the battle as well.
But, on the other hand, if it was true he was eyeing up their
daughter, she could not let it go on. Christine was at a very
vulnerable age and any of that sort of thing would destroy her.
She made sure that John was never alone with her but the strain
was telling on her. She wished I was next door so she could have
a refuge. As well as sex, of course, that great reliever of
tension.
I on the other hand was sitting in the airport lounge in Seoul
with a beer and a plate of noodles. We had a two-hour stop for
freight and passengers and it was good to stretch my legs. I
vainly looked around for Sophia but of course they have a
separate area for flight crews. I kind of hoped I could contrive
to sit together with her for the rest of the flight.
She was all businesslike the next time I'd seen her, as we were
coming in to land. They'd served breakfast and then assisted
passengers with their seat-belts and trays. I did notice a little
smile when she'd passed but then that's what they'd paid to do
anyhow.
I got the call and resumed my seat in first class. Company
personnel have to accept whatever spare seats are available after
the fare-payers have found theirs. I was grateful that 1st class
appeared to be half-empty. Sophia duly appeared and walked down
the aisle towards me. I was disappointed to see she was
accompanied by one of the flight crew. They sat together across
the aisle from me and began a conversation.
I decided to be bold.
"So Fraulein! Ich noch einmal siehen sie".
"Hi, Herr Bashoff, haben sie einen guten fruhstuck"?
"Ja gut, tu"?
"Ja, ja."
Meanwhile the guy she's with is shooting daggers at me. Sophia
tips her head towards him and mouths 'sorry' to me.
"Enjoy your flight," I say in English and smile. She smiles back
and just before she resumes her conversation mouths the word
'asshole' with the same tip of her head in her companion's
direction.
The flight seems to drag on. I muse how it would seem so much
faster with Sophia sitting next to me. About an hour into the
flight she gets up and heads towards the washroom. I wait 5
minutes and follow, hoping to catch her on the way back. I stand
outside the door for a minute or so, feeling stupid, when the
door opens and out she comes.
"I'm sorry," she quickly whispers, "They don't like us
fraternizing with passengers."
"I thought so," I replied, "Perhaps we could meet for a drink
somewhere after we land."
"I'm not sure... ," she pauses, thinking, "Listen! Can you do me
a favor"?
"Sure, " I answer, "What"?
"When we land, can you be my boyfriend"?
"Huh"? I reply startled.
"That man I'm sitting next to is a senior Captain. He has been
trying to date me and it's difficult to say no. When we get off
the plane, can I introduce you as my boyfriend"?
"Wont it be strange," I say, "that we are not ...friendlier, on
the flight"?
"Not at all. The rules are strict, even for boyfriends. He will
think we are just being discrete."
"Ok, sure, darling," I smile.
"When we land," she says, laughing, and returns to her seat.
For the rest of the flight I doze. I'm looking forward to the
little charade we are going to play and dream up a few lines.
When the plane descends for landing at Frankfurt am Main I'm full
of anticipation. I pass through customs and they are waiting just
beyond the barrier. The guy seems impatient and is looking
around, clearly Sophia told him.
"Hi babe", I say walking confidently towards them.
"Hello, Eric, may I introduce you to Captain Stresemann"?
He shakes my hand stiffly and murmurs a greeting, clearly not
pleased to see me.
"Eine moment," I say and before Sophia could react I pull her
into an embrace and plant my mouth onto hers. She can do nothing
but play along and kisses me back with the fervor of a long
absence.
When we come up for air she is flushed and speechless. I wonder
if I've gone too far. Stresemann looks at the ground in
discomfort and soon mumbles his good-byes and leaves.
"I'm sorry," I say, " was I a little over the top"?
"No, no," she says breathless, "You caught me unawares, that's
all. Anyhow, it worked."
"I guess so," I say, "now what? Do we have that drink"?
We have a quick drink at the bar before she has to catch her
train. She seems a little embarrassed about our role-play and the
conversation seems strained. Like there are dozens of things she
wants to say but is afraid to, perhaps. I share a cab with her to
the Bahnhof and walk her to the barrier.
"Well, will I see you again"? I ask smiling. "Meiner Fraulein"?
She chuckles, and takes a notepad out of her purse. She scribbles
an address and hands it to me.
"This is the vineyard, you can drop by if you like. I will be
there for two weeks then I'm back to work. Eric"? she's suddenly
serious, "Don't expect too much from me ok"?
"I have to start work next week," I reply, " perhaps I'll come
down for a day or two in a few days. As for expectations, I'll
take it as it comes."
"So I've noticed," she says winking, and goes through the
turnstile.
I grab a cab to the address I've been given by my employers. I am
greeted warmly by the company PA who has organized a place to
stay with the screenwriter. It will also be where I'll work so
full marks to German efficiency.
Jurgen Brunsbuttel (yep, that's his real name) was in his fifties
and had worked in film all his working life. He's employed by
Suddeutsch Rundfunk as a screenwriter but has worked with all the
great German directors. Truly a heavyweight by anyone's standard.
Despite his experience he is warm and understanding and
dismissive of my doubts.
We chat well into the evening about life and the project over a
bottle of whisky he insists we drink. He is straight down to
earth and after the fifth scotch I'm telling him about Lina,
Janine, Sophia and all the rest.
His English is very good, perhaps a hint of an Oxford accent.
"Have you been educated in Britain," I ask.
"Very good," he says, "Yes, England, Switzerland, I went to
SoCal, also, for a year to study film. I know Coppola, Spielberg,
Lucas. Good directors, but such money and resources...We could
make ten Titanics for the money they've spent on it. You know the
Russians make the best models in the world. There is this
workshop in St Petersburg. They are incredible in detail, you'll
see," he went on.
"So you'll be gone for a few days then, taking in the vineyards"?
He asks with a wink.
"I thought I might sample the local vintages," I replied.
"You Russians are all the same," he says, laughing, "can't keep
your zippers done up."
Later on we are discussing the film.
"We are making models of the Suvurov, Alexander the 3rd, Borodino
and Orel as well as the Nikolai 1 and Oslyabya, it opens up like,
a clamshell you describe," Jurgen says.
"Yes, it gets hit in it's bow-chaser 3 inch which explodes the
magazine. The explosion then opens the hull up, just like that,"
I agree.
"And rolls over and sinks. Franz wants to do that scene, he says
it will look fantastic on screen. Now, this character, Sergei
Witte, he is the loyal professional, right? Devoted till the end,
cool and efficient and in contrast to Admiral Rozhdeventski who
is impulsive and emotional, yes"?
"Yes."
"Good, I have it. Now I must go to bed because, as the English
put it, I'm as pissed as a judge." (Americans read; bombed,
wasted, blotto, tanked)
With that he staggers off to bed.
I think I'm going to like it here.
The next morning I wake with a hangover. It had to be a beautiful
sunny day so the sunlight is streaming in. I'm pleased to see
Jurgen emerge in a similar state and makes me some foul smelling
stuff he called, 'the hair of the dog'. It is not till
mid-afternoon, and a dozen Paracetamol that I find the courage to
walk outside in Jurgen's garden.
He really has a nice place, certainly in one of the leafier
suburbs, and has a wonderful view of the river Main. In the
garden, there is a rotunda with climbing plants growing up the
pillars. It is covered in a spectacular array of white and pink
blooms. I ensconce my self in the chair and Jurgen's housekeeper
is serving Coffee and Pastries. It really is a nice life.
Jurgen offers to take me to see the exteriors they are erecting
at Suddeutscher's back lot. They have only just started building
sets and Jurgen is keen to show me what they've done. I ask
whether it's usual to start building when they haven't even got a
final script and the Scriptwriter assures me it is entirely usual
when they are pressed by time and budget. I guess I'll have to
get used to the way they do things here.
I do the tour and meet some of the people. There is an Italian
named Tonio who is responsible for set construction and a Russian
everyone calls 'Oberst' (Colonel) who is one of the historical
consultants. He has a reputation of getting in the way and
shouting 'nyet, nyet,' while flapping his arms at some
inaccuracy.
Tonio and 'the Colonel' argue about everything, which leaves the
Germans quite nonplussed. Jurgen assures me he would be disturbed
if they didn't shout at one another and told me they are really
the best of friends.
"It is the creative process," he tells me.
In fact everyone here is expected to be involved in the whole
operation, unlike Hollywood where you tend to stick to your own
job.
"For us, the movie is the thing and we all work together to that
end. There is not as much jealousy I think between different
parts as you find in America."
"Yes there is a lot of jealousy in the American film industry," I
agree.
Everyone puts in their 10 cent's worth too, which is weird. It's
a wonder any work gets done, but it does. Sets get built and
films get shot. It seems to work.
The next day I catch the train to Rudesheim. It's about 8km from
Mainz on the east bank of the Rhein. The vineyard is only a short
walk from the train station and I find it easily. There are
grapevines as far as the eye can see. I walk into the yard and
find the visitor's center. It incorporates a restaurant in which
you can sample the products over a meal. I enquire at the desk
after Sophia and they suggest I have a seat while they send for
her.
A minute or 2 later a 'fraulein' comes out with a complimentary
glass of wine. I thank her, even though I still haven't shrugged
off the effects of Jurgen's scotch. I sip occasionally at it for
about 10 minutes until Sophia appears.
She is dressed in a pair of bibbed jeans and straw hat, looking
like a country maid. Her hair is loose, though and cascades about
her shoulders.
"So, this is the rich American I'm told has come to visit."
"Rich"? I ask, surprised.
"Lorie noticed your watch, a Timex, she judges everyone by the
quality of their wristwatch."
Sophia takes me on a tour of the Winery. It's industrial in size
turning out huge quantities of wine for export.
"This is our 'bread and butter'," she says, "We keep the best
stuff for the Boutique market."
I am finding it all a bit much and suggest to Sophia that I see
the rest tomorrow. She apologizes to me saying,
"I'm sorry you must be very tired after the long flight."
"Actually," I reply, "I am very tired after a long night."
Laughing she shows me to my room where I rapidly fall asleep.
It is dark when I dimly become aware of a light knocking on the
door of the guestroom.
"Eric"? comes Sophia's voice, "Are you awake"?
"Sure, come in," I reply and sit up feet on the floor. I'm
dressed in my underwear and vest.
Sophia comes in carrying a tray.
"I thought you'd like some...Oh I'm sorry," she says, blushing,
"I didn't realize...".
"No problem, here, I'll put a robe on."
"I thought you might like some dinner," she continues, "I hope
you like Pasta."
"Love it," I tell her, "Would you care to sit down"? I add,
noticing she was making no move to leave.
The Pasta is brilliant and I'm ravenous. I can even handle a
little red wine. She sits across the little table watching me
eat.
"Eric"? She says eventually. "I want to tell you something".
"Shoot," I say, suddenly interested.
"I have a very busy life... and I have no time for a real
boyfriend... it wouldn't be fair... No! let me finish.
You are a nice man... and I'm attracted to you... but I can't
promise... anything... understand. Perhaps I assume too much...
I'm sorry."
"What are you assuming"? I ask her, taking her hand. She looks
into my eyes for a long moment before answering.
"That... you want to sleep with me..." Kissing her hand I ask
her,
"Do you want to sleep with me"?
Still holding my gaze her answer is barely audible,
"Yes."
I stand up and gently pull her to her feet. Her hand presses to
my chest and she says'
"There is a shower... ," nodding towards a door. I take the hint,
I must be pretty smelly, and head into the washroom. Sophia
hesitates by the door, so I beckon her to follow.
I turn on the shower and hang up my robe. She watches me peel off
my underwear and vest.
"You have a nice body," She says.
I suggest she joins me but she demurs, preferring to watch me.
I shower with the curtain open while I watch Sophia, watching me.
She has a grin on her face as her eyes travel the length of my
body.
"I hope you don't think I do this with all the guys I meet on a
flight," she tells me.
"Only rich Americans," I counter. Laughing, she replies,
"They are usually fat and ugly." Describing a fat belly with her
hands.
Finished, I step out and begin to towel myself.
"Here, let me," she says, and takes the towel. I hold my arms out
as she pats the towel over my steaming body. My cock responds and
begins to rise. She notices and raises her eyebrows. I lightly
cup her face and run my fingers through her hair and around her
shoulders.
"You are beautiful," I whisper, intimately and bend to kiss her
on the lips.
I brush my lips across hers and she shuts her eyes. I nibble away
at her mouth as her lips slowly part. Soon our tongues are
dueling and our mouths are moving fiercely together. Drawing
apart, she breathlessly suggests we get more comfortable.
That means the bed, of course, and I'm glad it's a double. I lay
her down and we are soon squirming together, kissing and
caressing. She watches me undo the buttons on her white top,
breathing expectantly. Her bra conceals two apple size breasts,
nipples pressing up into the fabric. They need kissing, I
conclude, and nibble and suck on them, through her bra. She gasps
and holds the back of my head, pressing me to her.
She unclips the front-loader herself and reveals to me two
cone-shaped brown tits topped with darker, rigid nipples. Her
chest is heaving making them rise and fall. I stroke, kiss, lick
and pinch them, all the while she's gasping and moaning.
We roll over and she sits astride me, kissing and licking my
chest and nipples. She gradually travels down so that my erection
slides between the furrow of her breasts. She kisses my cock,
which throbs in anticipation. She seems to examine it closely, in
between little kisses and licks, until she encloses it in her
mouth.
Her mouth glides deliciously up and down my tool while she grips
the base with her hand. I think of Nome, Alaska on a cold day as
I struggle to control my feelings. She teases me with her mouth,
bringing me to a peak, then letting me fall back down. After a
while of this I can't take any more.
I grab her and wrestle her onto her back. I growl at her
humorously and she responds with a fake whimper. I undo her belt
quickly and pull down her jeans. Her white-lace panties follow
and I behold her brown bush. Growling I assault her pussy with my
tongue, seeking out the moist folds of her slit.
She's soon squirming and moaning and humping my mouth. I won't
let her have it that easily so I tease her the same way she
teased me. I flail my tongue at her clit until she's starting to
climb and then stop. After a little while she signals stop.
"Please, please," she pants, "fuck me!"
I figure I'd had enough too so I slide up between her legs and
she helps me find her entrance. At last I'm pushing my cock in
and out of her and she responds by locking her legs around me and
urging me to go faster.
I'm soon hammering away at her to the hilt and she's gasping and
moaning and humping me back just as quickly.
"Oh baby... oh god... yes... ooo... oh... make me... oh fuck...
OH... OH... YES... OOOOOOHHHHHH ... OOOOOOHHHHHH..." She grits
her teeth and howls out her orgasm. Her legs stiffen and grip me
like a vice as she spasms. A couple of strokes later I'm pumping
a couple of days of pent-up lust into her willing vagina.
Afterwards as we lay together stroking softly, I think what a
lucky bastard I am.
<1st attachment end>
----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------
Notice: This post has been modified from its original
format. The post was sent as an email attachment and
has been converted by ASSTR ASSM moderation software.
----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com> |
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderator: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d, look for subject {ASSD}|
|Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org> Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+