The following evening Livia was already on her balcony when I went out onto mine. She was dancing again, in the same sinuous manner and I sat, sipping a nice rose wine and watched. For some moments she made no eye contact and I took in the sight of her. She was wearing a black slip, nothing else I was pretty sure, that reached just above her knees. The top was shaped to hold her breasts softly with thin, spaghetti straps one of which had slipped off her shoulder which was surprisingly sexy.
“You think anyone can see us?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Nor do I but people are being super-fucking-secret police and calling the KGB if they think the rules are being broken.” That was true. The police seemed to love the new powers they had acquired and the usual suspects were feeding them with whispers.
The people in flat 12 had visitors!’
The guy in number 63 doesn’t live here – it’s his second home.
Some of the whispers were true but a lot more were malicious, maybe settling old scores or simply have fun at another’s expense.
“Where I grew up, people were so used to informing they didn’t know how to stop when democracy arrived. Not that it ever really arrived, it sort of peeped from behind a curtain, didn’t much like what it saw and disappeared while the fucking politicos carried on as normal.” She kept dancing. “I loved coming here to England: no secret police; fucking girls was ok, mostly; money good; job good; everything pretty good; even the weather better. Then I meet my girlfriend and I stopped fucking everyone I could and started to be good woman. Then she goes back home for to visit her family.” She wiggled her fingers as inverted commas over the word family. “My friend says she saw her out dancing with some fucking rich bastard and she looked like she was not just his sister!”
“Some friend.” She stopped dancing and looked at me, questioningly. “Informing. Weren’t we just ranting about that.”
She smiled. “You’re right, Penny but she’s not so bad because I asked her to let me know if she saw Rosa.”
“Isn’t that what the police do?”
“Fuck you.” She turned on her heel and flounced back into her flat, slamming the sliding window shut behind her. Well, I thought, she doesn’t like being contradicted. Too bad. I sipped my wine enjoying the novel experience of silent streets below my balcony and watched to see if I could see anyone else. Not a soul. I allowed my mind to wander and realised that Livia was probably hurting about her girlfriend and I’d been bitchy when I ought to have been gentle. I went and got my laptop and returned, opening it and typing.
Livia. Forgive me. I should have known, respected that you are hurting about Rosa. I’m sorry. It hurts when someone you love cheats and I know you love her because you stopped fucking everyone you could for her. I was insensitive. I can only say I regret what I said.
A while later, in fact as I was about to go inside, I heard her window slide open. She emerged, still in the black slip and came to the railings, placing her long fingers on them and looking at me. I said nothing and we watched each other warily as if something might kick off.
“Nothing hurts as much as being told the truth when the truth is you are being a hypocrite. Your apology is accepted and I hope you will accept mine.”
I nodded. “I need another drink.” I stood, turned and walked to my open window.
“Penny.” I looked back over my shoulder. “Would you bring a glass for me too?”
“What would you like.”
“The same as you.”
A couple of minutes later I brought out the two glasses and put one on my table then went to my railings. She still stood exactly as before.
“You want me to drink it for you?”
“No, give it to me.” The distance between our balconies was about a metre. She extended her hand and hesitantly I reached towards her and her fingers closed around the glass and touched my fingers. We stood, like that, looking at each other. She tapped one of her fingers against mine. “That is your good finger, the one you put in your mouth to help me cum, no?”
“Yes.”
She smiled. “Is good. We have sex the second time we meet. Just like the old days before Rosa although I would probably have fucked you the first time if I’d been able to touch you. Now we are breaking the law together. We are fucking Bonnie and Clyde. Soon we will be robbing banks.”
“Which one is Clyde?”
She lifted an eyebrow. “Well now. What an interesting question. Maybe we will see.” We were still holding the glass and touching. She said, very quietly, “It is good to touch someone.” I nodded. “Maybe we should drink and then I can give you a glass?”
“Would that involve touching again?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. That is against the law. We would go to prison.”
“You’re right. We must avoid temptation.”
She leaned over the railings and came as close as was possible. “Fuck the law. Temptation is much more powerful.” With that she kissed my wrist, her lips lingering on my skin until with a sigh that could have been pleasure she eased the glass from my grasp and lifted it to her lips and drank. We drank, wordless, watching each other.
Suddenly she spoke again. “We had our first row. This is romantic I think?”
“Oh, God, yes. Nothing more romantic than a fight on our third date.” We both laughed.
“I will fetch us another drink. Give me your glass.”
A few moments later she returned and reached across to me with the glass. My turn to touch her fingers and, to show I was recruited fully into her criminal gang, I leant and kissed her wrist.
“Are you a slut with no panties again?”
I grinned. “No, I am more formal this evening.”
“Show me.” I lifted my skirt. “It is too dark. I cannot see properly.” She looked straight at me. Then she whispered, “Why don’t you come round? If we have the disease we will already have infected each other, no?”
“What about the neighbours?”
“I’m not inviting them too.” We both laughed. “I’ll keep your glass.”
I went into my flat, checked my hair and face and put some shoes on. I changed my top from the blouse with a reminder of my supper spaghetti on it and pulled a camisole on over my braless tits. My nipples were hard, very hard. I considered changing my knickers but decided not to. I knew I was clean for her.
Her door opened as I approached as silently as I could, like, I thought, a thief in the night. She stepped aside to hold the door and I moved in and heard the click as the door closed.
“Are we wicked?”
She grinned. “I hope the fuck we are. What’s the point of breaking the law unless it is to be wicked.”
There wasn’t more talk but we embraced swiftly, like two almost-drowned people taking their first breath when they surface. We kissed. Well, actually, she kissed me. I wasn’t exactly passive but she was definitely taking charge, her tongue forcing it’s way albeit gently into my mouth. After a few moments, probably longer, we came up for more air and I stepped back.
“You wanted me to prove I am not a slut tonight.” I lifted my skirt and if ever I have felt like a slut it was then. A gloriously liberated, horny slut with nipples like rocks having just had the Russian beauty’s tongue down my throat.
Livia lifted the hem of her slip and there she was, naked, the downy hair barely visible against the white of her skin.
She came close again, holding her slip up as I was holding my skirt up and she grinned like a tiger seeing a tethered goat. “You want another drink?” I shook my head. With one fluid movement she pulled the slip over her head then one arm went around my waist, the other around my shoulders and I thought, briefly, how good it was that I had worn shoes because it reduced the height deficit by an inch which meant kissing wasn’t too difficult. She possessed me, squeezed me to her, her tongue in me again and I gave myself up to her, there in her entrance hall.
Her bed was large, very soft and covered in exotically coloured material. I have only a faint memory of getting to the bedroom - a sort of dance with her leading backwards and I moving forwards and trying to keep in step and not tread on her bare feet.
Before we mounted the bed she undressed me. She did it slowly, easing the camisole up and while it was over my face I felt her kiss each nipple tenderly. She then cast it aside and moved in to unzip my skirt and let it fall. “You take them off, I want to watch.”
Am I alone in loving being watched? I slowly slid them down and kicked them off. She picked them up. “You are careless with your clothes.” Her grin made it gentle. She kissed me again and now, bare, our breasts touched and I felt that unmistakeable feeling of my cunt lubricating herself in anticipation of her, her finger, her tongue and whatever else she chose. She kissed me harder and the arm around my waist moved and suddenly her had was cupping me. With a little groan she whispered, “Fuck you are so wet!” and a finger slithered inside me. Two can play that game and I did.
“It seems we’re both wet.”
Her tongue pushed deeper and so did her finger. I bloody nearly orgasmed then and she knew because she said, “It doesn’t matter if you cum so quickly. You’ve been waiting too long, haven’t you?” Too true but I managed not to and then we were on the bed and I thought, you’ve been waiting too so I worked my finger deeper too, curling it and almost matching her movements. I forced my mouth from hers and took one of her nipples between my lips and squeezed, then sucked it and loved the noises she made. Her finger left me and I felt bereft. She pushed me away and I worried I’d done something wrong.
She touched a finger to my lips. “Don’t worry. I just want to savour this moment, having you here on my bed; your body, your smell. That finger slid down my chin, over each breast, each nipple, and her eyes followed its journey. When it reached my cunt, she looked up into my eyes and watched me as she entered me, slowly this time as if her finger was finding its way somewhere it had never been before. It made me arch my back and half close my eyes. That seemed to act as a catalyst because she went down on me then, two fingers deep inside me and her tongue unwrapping my clit from her hood and flicking her delicately, exquisitely. I lifted my knees and spread myself. Here you are, all of me, take it, do what you want. My fingers ran through her shortish blonde hair, shorter than mine anyway and I know I made nonsense noises that made perfect sense to her. Suddenly, without warning, a finger stroked across my arsehole and I nearly lost it. I did lose it when that finger pressed and my arse relaxed to allow it in. But it was the combination of tongue and fingers that worked the final magic and I almost lifted her bodily as the orgasm I had suppressed broke loose and made me scream with pleasure.
She licked me as I came back to the real world then, her chin resting on my mound she smiled at me. “You are one noisy fuck. If KGB are listening they will for sure know we are together. Let’s hope we go to same prison.”
I said a little hoarsely, “Get on your Russian back. If I am going to prison for fucking a spy, assassin and banker, I want to get the maximum sentence.”
“I am proud enemy of the state.” But she rolled onto her back anyway and shuffled up the bed. I kissed her mouth and then her chin and my lips and tongue traced the journey her finger had made down over my body until I was lying between her legs with my finger buried in her.
“Is that THE finger?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Is bloody good finger that one.” We both laughed. “Maybe I marry that finger.”
“Throw the rest of me away?”
“We’ll see.” She lifted her knees so I had better access and I knew she wanted me to touch her arse because a woman who makes the first move that way is always testing to see if you like it too. At least, that is my view.
I was right, my tongue did a good job, my finger in her cunt was doing ok too but it was the one in her arse that brought her over the edge and she bellowed, genuinely bellowed and she let go two streams One a stream of, probably Russian that I hoped meant, wow that was pretty damn good. The other stream was a thick, syrupy excrescence from her cunt, not a squirt, but a fast-moving glacier almost as if someone had emptied a bottle of lube in her. It tasted divine, salty and human and sweet and sour. I licked far longer than I needed to clean her up and she gave me a second orgasm as a reward.
“Fuck, we fuck good, no?”
“Yes we fuck good.”
“Wait here. I will get drinks.” I watched her dancer’s body as she moved, a glisten between and on her thighs. She came back a few seconds later with two shot glasses, full to the brim held in one hand and a bottle in the other. “Vodka. You are now officially Russian woman’s girl. I will call you ‘Bonnieski’ in our criminal gang.”
“And you are Clydeovic?”
“Da.” She handed me a glass and put the bottle down on the little chest beside her bed. Opening a drawer she pulled out a pretty red dildo fixed in a red leather harness. “I am part time Clydeovic. Drink to crime.”
She threw the glass of vodka back in one then watched amused as I did the same, spluttering as the neat, powerful spirit hit first the back of my throat and then my stomach.
“We will make you a better Russian woman soon”
“Cheers”
