I lived in pre- and post-fall-of-the-Wall Berlin in the late eighties and nineties. It lived up to its reputation as a wild, exciting, vibrant, eclectic and multi-everything city full of life, love and sex if you knew where to look. On one memorable occasion, it came looking for me. I lived alone in a nice rooftop apartment on Berliner Straße in Wilmersdorf. My love life had recently taken a turn for the worse when my German girlfriend met a man whose voice made her melt, apparently. But my sex life was fine. I worked for an airline which employed a constantly recharged supply of young women aged nineteen or older. I had recently enjoyed my forty-third birthday with a party at a local restaurant. About twenty of us enjoyed good food, good beer, some wine, and a cigar. I managed to persuade one of the girls, Isabel, to accompany me back to my place for a long, slow, not too energetic but ultimately satisfying bout of abandoned sex. She surprised me with her ability to deep-throat me, something her demure and somewhat reserved demeanor would never have suggested. After a quick fuck in the shower, she left the next morning, working later that day on a trip to Munich and back.

I sat with a coffee on my rooftop terrace, enjoying the warm spring sunshine, wearing just my pants. I got a text message from a colleague telling me he had a friend whose girlfriend wanted to improve her English. The friend hailed from Moscow, his girlfriend from Saint Petersberg. I had met them once before at a party in Mitte but only for a minute or two in among the throng of drinking party-goers.

I called my colleague and asked him about the guy. I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to get involved with Russians! Most of the stories I had heard about them involved crimes of one form or another. He assured me he was a straight-up guy and his girlfriend was a real sweetie. I recalled a petite, short-haired blonde with angelic features, looking like a less than confident teenager. My colleague, Tony, told me she turned twenty-three a few weeks previously. I told Tony to call them and pass on my number. I would arrange a time to meet them and find out exactly what they needed from me.

The next day, Max, the Russian, called me and we arranged to meet at my local bar in Wilmersdorf, close to my apartment, The Badenscher Hof. I arrived at the appointed time to meet them. They were already seated at a table near the front window. We shook hands and Max introduced me to Karola. Her handshake went almost unnoticed, her cool grip felt so delicate in my hand. The bar girl, Maria, brought me a Guinness, knowing me well from my regular and frequent visits.

Max and I chatted for a few minutes about nothing in particular until he said,

“So, Karola needs to learn English. Her German is as good as her Russian but we have a lot of English friends and she gets left out when we meet them. So can you help her? I hear you have been teaching a few others. I hear good things. I can pay you well. What do you charge for an hour?”

“I have been charging thirty marks for a two-hour lesson if that’s okay with you. Before we make a deal, I need to know if I can teach Karola.”

I turned to her and said, “Karola, my name is Greg. What is your name?”

She looked at the table in front of her. Max said something to her in Russian. She looked up and almost smiled.

“Me Karola. How are you do?”

"I'm fine, thank you. How old are you, Karola?”

Again, she looked at the table. Max spoke again, visibly frustrated. She withdrew into her shell even further.

“Max, can you get us all another drink?”

Max went to the bar. I spoke quietly.

“I want to help you, Karola but you have to speak to me to allow me to assess where to begin with your lessons. So, how old are you?”

“I twenty-six.”

“Tony told me you were twenty-three. Never mind.”

“Yes, twenty-three are right. Sorry. Me wrong.”

“Listen, don’t be afraid to be wrong. No more saying sorry, okay? I can teach you. When do you want to come for your first lesson?”

“Max, him say.”

Max returned with the drinks. He sat and I said, “I can help, for sure. When do you want her to come for her first lesson? I live almost next door, number 145. I have three days off starting on Monday so I’m happy with any time then.”

“How about Monday at ten? I’ll drop her off on my way to the bar in Wedding. I have to go and do an inspection and check the books, make sure they’re not stealing from me! She can find her own way home. So you want to do two-hour lessons? That’s fine. How do we pay you the fifty marks then?”

I didn’t correct him. I assumed he was prone to showing off his wealth and didn’t want to say anything to upset him or more importantly, Karola. She looked as if a stiff breeze might carry her away.

“After each lesson is best. Just give her the money. So, Max, what is it you do? Do you own the bar in Wedding?”

“I own four, that one, one in Mitte and two more in Charlottenburg. What do you do?”

“I’m flying for Air Berlin out of Tegel. I'm a Captain on the Boeing 737.”

We talked and drank for another thirty-five minutes. In all that time Karola never spoke a word. They left to meet some friends a little after nine. I stayed and ate a pasta dish and drank another Guinness before having an early night. I did not have high hopes that our first lesson would achieve very much. How wrong that prediction turned out to be!

The weekend flew by, literally, with trips to Hannover, Hamburg, Frankfurt, and on Sunday, to Palma and back. Sunday afternoon I played golf and in the evening spent a pleasant couple of hours with two friends in The Badenscher Hof once more. Monday dawned overcast with some drizzle. I ate a slow breakfast and watched the news on BBC World. Nothing too dramatic to upset the equilibrium, I decided. I opened the laptop at nine and pulled up my prepared lessons. I had taught several people, mainly flight attendants in the five years I had been in Berlin. I had managed to have sex with all of them bar one, the girlfriend of my best friend, Rafael. I had a feeling that Karola would be out of bounds. Max seemed nice enough but owning four bars in Berlin did not come easy. I needed to be wary of him.

Five to ten and my door-buzzer buzzed. Right on time. I spoke into the microphone, “Seventh floor, turn right. The door will be open.”

I heard Max translate my instructions before he said, ‘Ciao!’ and evidently left her alone. I waited by the door, holding it open. Karola emerged from the elevator, tiny, frail-looking, wrapped in a waterproof jacket with a waxed cloth hat, black jeans, and mittens. She carried a large leather shoulder bag, bulging with goodness knows what. I ushered her in and closed the door. The lock engaged automatically. I showed her into the living room and the dining table set with the laptop and two chairs side-by-side. I took her jacket and hung it on a spare chair, dripping a little onto the stone floor. I held the left one for her and she sat down.

“Would you like anything to drink? Tea, coffee, water, maybe?”

“Water very nice.”

I poured two glasses from the jug in the fridge and sat next to her, handing over the water. She sipped, almost as if she thought it might be hot. Her long, slender fingers tapered to fine pints, touching as she held the glass with both hands. She looked at my screen saver, a series of elegant models in lingerie and underwear hovered for five seconds each. She studied them as if waiting for one she might recognize. I made a mental note to change the screen saver when she’d gone. I drank my water and turned to her,

“So, Karola. We will begin at the beginning. The verb, to be. Okay, simple stuff. I am a man. My name is Greg. You are a woman, your name is Karola. Your boyfriend is a man. His name is Max. I am, you are, he is. First, second and third person singular. Okay so far?”

Karola nodded, continuing to sip her water.

“So, Karola, who am I?”

She studied my face, her eyes roaming all over it for several seconds as if seeking the answer on my skin. Her beautiful pale grey eyes mesmerized me, drawing me into her personal space, no, inviting me in, unabashed, tempting me with her gentle smile.

“You are a woman, your name is Karola.” she said, almost in a whisper.

She spoke as if she wanted to contemplate the words, to savour them, to remember them as her first line of English prose, to be cherished. She smiled and put the glass on the table. She held up her hand and pointed at the ceiling.

“Need toilet, please, Teacher.”

“Through there on the right.” I pointed at the door to the hall.

I watched her retreating figure, now wearing just her tight jeans and close-fitting T-shirt. Her figure curved in all the right places, but everything she displayed showed as a miniature of a grown woman. I guessed she weighed about forty kilos, maybe forty-two. She stood around four feet ten in her two-inch boots. She carried her shoulder bag in her hand and disappeared through the door.

I used the time to change the screen saver, finally displaying the verb, To Be. I drank the rest of my water. I did not have high hopes of making a lot of progress this morning. Several minutes passed and I began to wonder what was keeping her. I waited another minute. I checked the bathroom, and the door stood open, the room empty. The only other obvious place for her to be would be the bedroom. I opened the door and saw a tableau that shook me to the core! Karola lay naked on the bed, spreadeagled, her feet tied with men’s ties to the feet of the bed, her left hand tied to the top post of the bed. In her right hand, she held a vibrator about the size of my forearm, a Hitachi wand! She wore a black, silky-looking blindfold. She held the buzzing vibrator against her pussy, still, concentrating, focused on her task.

“Come, Teacher. Me want him watch me come. Me make him undress and getting him cock hard. When me come, me want him fuck me, fuck me hard, fuck me quick, make him come in your puppy. Me want baby.”

I stood for a moment, churning over her instructions. The getting-hard bit had already begun when I saw her on the bed, her hairless body white under the skylight above the bed. Her English had miraculously improved, her accent heavy but delivered in a sing-song cadence I found delightful. She needed to do some work on her pronouns though. Porcelain had never looked so delicate, so fragile, yet here she lay, the head of the Hitachi wand pressed hard against her clitoris, the buzzing audible even from twelve feet away as I stood by the door and watched. She reminded me of a magnificent sculpture by Corradini in the Capella Sansevero in Naples named The Veiled Truth. It has an almost translucent finish. Both are truly astounding.

She wants me to make a baby! Well, thee are some secrets best left unsaid. Why she had chosen me to be the father of her child left me somewhat bewildered. I had never encountered such a bizarre situation. What had she heard about me? Who had been talking? Do I have a reputation, a history of making babies? If I do, it is totally unfounded. I know this to be true since I had a vasectomy aged thirty-three and have only fathered three children, that I know of, prior to that. For a fleeting second, I thought about telling her but it occurred to my slightly confused brain that she might pack her bag and be gone if I spoke out about it. I most certainly did not want that to happen.

I considered my options carefully but an overriding force drove me to do what I did, lust, without caution. I undressed, quickly, releasing my now straining erection into the cool air of the room. I held it, hard, hot, powerful, seven inches of manhood, ready for action. Karola moaned softly, a cat-like mewling sound, delicate, as everything about her seemed to be apart from the intense pressure she exerted on her clitoris. I moved closer, standing beside her. Her breasts were nothing more than slight mounds on her chest. Her ribcage protruded higher than her breasts as she lay flat on the bed, her body arched to achieve maximum exposure of her clitoris!

I leaned and touched her left nipple, placing my palm over her breast. Her nipples stood erect but barely more than raisins on her flesh. I circled my hand, unable to grab any pliant flesh. She moaned once more and said, “Pinch that, hard. Pull that, twist that, hurt her!”

I employed both hands and followed her instructions. The intensity and volume of her moans increased.

“Take you cock, in him mouth.”

I moved slightly to the right, closer to her head. I leaned forward, she turned her head, opened her mouth and as if by magic, without adjustment, the head of my cock lodged in her warm mouth. She sucked, taking more, maybe three inches, her lips clamped around the swollen shaft. I felt her tongue go crazy inside her mouth. She flicked and licked and fluttered, all as she moaned in her throat, sending vibrations through the shaft of my cock into my belly. The sensation astounded me, shook me once again as I stood watching her beautiful little body squirm and thrash on my bed. Seconds later, she let go of my rigid erection and screamed, loud, long, a single wailing note of intense passion as her orgasm ripped through her delicate body with the intensity of a hurricane. She shook, vibrated, squirted a little, shuddered, a lot, and finally slowed, quieter, relaxing until she lay still on the bed. She smiled.

“Now, Teacher, fuck her, fuck my quick.”

"Can I eat your beautiful pussy first?" I asked politely.

"What? Max do not that sucky stuff. Says be bad tasting. If you like, go and head."

So I gave her head. I knelt on the bed and lowered my head until my face hovered over her splayed pussy lips. They glistened from her orgasm and smelled delightful, warm, clean, fresh and with a slight aroma of apple. I suspect she uses scented shower gel! I poked my tongue forward and made contact with the tip of her clitoris, tip to tip. Se screamed, shook and tried to close her legs. The ties prevented her and anyway, I had my hands on her knees and pressed hard enough to make sure she stayed splayed, her pussy displayed to my lustful gaze. I resumed, my tongue flat now and pressing oh so gently. She murmured and spoke in her own language. I lapped, licked, nibbled, and laved my tongue from the bottom of her pussy to the tiny bud of her clitoris and back down again. She moaned and kept up a monologue. She used a few English words; yes, fuck, going to, cumming, yes, fuck and maybe a few others but I applied my concentration to her swollen labia and her firm clitoris. sucked and applied the slightest pressure with my teeth. She howled and used her one free hand to hold my head, pressing me into her body, hard! I continued for maybe a full minute before she screamed, shook and came again, my face getting a splash of her orgasm for my troubles. I licked her clean and swallowed the delicately flavoured wine. Kneeling up, I surveyed her beautiful body. I felt empowered, strong, and ready for action.

Her swollen lips and reddened clitoris winked at me, pulsing in the aftermath of her orgasm. I edged closer, lowered my cock with my right and lodged the head at the portal of her vagina. Her lips enclosed the crown as I moved him up and down, spreading her lubricant and her cum over the head. Karola gripped the head of the bed with her right hand, all four limbs now attached firmly to the bed. I eased my weight forward, and my cock slid easily past the ring of muscle, burrowing deep inside her hot, pliant body. I kept pushing, determined to reach rock bottom and surprise her with the length. I pushed until I felt the firm resistance deep inside her. I knew from experience that many women like to feel the pressure of my cock when it is buried like this, as deep as possible.

“Push hard. Make deep, Teacher. Push. Can him bite your nipples?”

I leaned down but her short body meant her nipples were about level with my lower ribs. I withdrew a few inches but still, I couldn’t bend my head far enough. I resorted to leaning my full weight on her tiny frame and squeezing her nipples with my fingers, taking as much weight as I could on my elbows. I plunged in deep again, remaining still, holding the pressure. I could feel her pussy gripping and relaxing around the base of my cock.

“I want cum in she. Him can come inside yes? Make him baby, Teacher. Fuck she now.”

“Do I have to hurry? I quite enjoy making it last as long as possible, don’t you?”

“Max come one minutes, maybe less. Her only know quick fuck. Him fuck slow is nice, I think. Just be sure come inside, okay?”

“Okay, Karola. Do you want to take the mask off now?”

“No, have to not know who is making baby with she. Is secret.”

“Okay, fine. As you wish. Am I too heavy?”

“No, is fine. I like be held down hard. Pinch them harder, harder!”

I concentrated on the task, twisting and pinching as hard as I thought she could manage. I rocked my hips, drawing my erection about an inch in and out with each movement. She began to moan again. I kept up the pace, even, hard, deep pushes, out an inch, in an inch. Her moaning increased in intensity and pitch. I withdrew two inches now, now three. Her pussy gripped me hard, tight, not letting go. Four inches now, I wanted to see this. I pushed up on my hands, levering my body away from her. I looked down, now six inches shone in the bright sunlight, and the drizzle had gone. I watched my cock plunge in and out of her body. I felt her right hand on my shoulder, her nails pricking my skin. I kept up my relentless pursuit of our orgasms, pounding in and out of her glistening lips.

Karola’s hand moved from my shoulder, she eased the mask higher on her head, just enough to let her see where my body joined hers, the apex of our lust, the centre of our universe for that short moment as we approached orgasm. Her hand moved down between us, her wrist exactly the same size as my cock. Her fingertips flew across her exposed bud, her wailing grew, louder, more intense, higher pitched until I began to come. I told her, “Coming soon, close now, slowly, nearly there, fuck, you are so beautiful, so fucking sexy, so fucking hot, so fucking tight. Arghh! I’m coming, coming, now, now, now, here, coming! Arrgghh!”

She screamed and shuddered under me as I blasted five or six powerful jets of cum deep inside her body, basting the entire upper reaches of her vagina, her womb, and her tubes with sterile baby batter. She pulled on my neck, guiding my head down to hers. She kissed me, swapping saliva and sweat, pulling my weight onto her slender body. At eighty kilograms, I am twice her weight but she accepted me lying on top of her without any apparent discomfort. Her hand rested on my neck, her fingers twisting my hair.

Two minutes later, she shoved me aside. She undid the ties around her ankles and wrists, silk, of course, turned and raised her feet to the wall above the head of the bed.  

“Make baby this way. Him cum run to her egg this way up. Twenty minutes. Him have Champagne? We celibate now, okay?”

I chuckled and climbed off the bed. Yes, I had Champagne in the fridge. I always have Champagne in the fridge. Someone had been talking about me! Celibate we definitely had not been! A celebration seemed in order though.

“When you’re dressed, lesson one will be pronouns. Okay?"

The End