Stadtluft macht frei, the words of the older man reverberated through Abigail’s head as they had done countless times, but today they meant more. Stadtluft macht frei, according to the old man, it was a law from medieval Germany, where if a serf managed to survive in a city for a year and a day, he was now free. 

“City air makes you free,” she said in the mirror as she checked her hair, she spoke in a conversational volume despite being alone in the tenement, checking for any vestiges her Baltic accent, and her hair for darker roots. There were none. 

Abigail Kent had a job in the secretarial pool at a law firm. Abigail Kent had light brown hair. Abigail Kent spoke only English. Abigail Kent never worked on a fucking potato farm in Belarus. Abigail Kent never had a matchmaker set her up with that butcher boy who always reeked of blood and manure. Unlike Anichka Kiselyov. 

But that didn’t matter. Anichka Kiselyov was dead. Or perhaps it would be better to say she never existed; little more than a half-remembered dream, a figment of Abigail’s imagination. 

Abigail turned and walked to her kitchen to put on a pot of coffee. That was another thing she had that Anichka didn’t. Anichka drank weak tea, not coffee with milk. 

While the water boiled, Abigail checked the time, mid-morning, in an hour or so, the tenets would be returning to the building from Synagogue; another thing Anichka did. Anichka woke up early on Saturdays to attend Synagogue with her family, but Abigail got to sleep a bit later on Saturdays, and Sundays for that matter. 

She checked her hair again in a makeup mirror, she’d need to touch up her roots in a day or so, her pubic hair looked fine though, she was less judicious about her dying her pubic hair, were she to get intimate with someone, she doubted anyone would notice that her pubic roots were darker, and if they did notice, she doubted they would care. 

Abigail poured coffee from the percolator, as well as a generous amount of milk. The milk was both to cool down the coffee, as well as an indulgence, she was adding more milk than was needed because she could and because Anichka couldn’t. 

Abigail turned on the radio; the dial was already set to a music station. She closed her eyes in contentment and sipped her coffee, enjoying the music and the lazy Saturday, contemplating what she would do the remainder of the day, as well as enjoying that the day was hers to do with as she pleased.

She finished her coffee and set about cleaning the percolator and mug, humming along to the radio. She was about to begin drying them when a knock came on her door. Abigail glanced at her wristwatch, another indulgence, tenets should have returned about half an hour ago. 

She opened the door to see a small child, no more than ten, who asked, “Are you Abigail Kent? The phone on the third floor is ringing for you.”

“Thank you-” Abigail began to walk out the door, but the child stopped her.

“Ain’tcha gonna pay me for telling you?” the child asked indignantly. 

Abigail sighed but reached into a jar with some nickels, normally reserved for the singers who stood in the alleyway belting out half-remembered lyrics from popular songs and shows, consistently out of tune, but decided to give one to the girl. She had no idea who could be calling her but decided to answer regardless. 

She walked up the flight of stairs to the third floor where the only telephone in the building was and took the phone from a woman, presumably the child’s mother. 

“Hello, this is Abigail Kent speaking,” she said into the receiver.

A semi-crackled voice came through the other end, “Ms. Kent, this is Charles Smith, from Rosenstein, Silver, and Kraus.”

Charles Smith was one of the younger attorneys for whom Abigail was part of the secretary pool for. 

“How can I help, Mr. Smith?”

“Well, you can start by calling me Chuck when we’re not at work, may I call you Abigail?” 

“Of course, Mr- I mean, Chuck.”

“Thank you. As for the purpose of my call, I was wondering if you would care to join me this evening for a Vaudeville performance, I find myself with an extra ticket.”

“That sounds delightful Chuck. I’ll be just a moment while I get something to write with for the time and address.”

“That won’t be necessary; I’ll pick you up in a cab.”

Abigail’s smirk widened but managed to hide it in her voice “Thank you very much.” A spare ticket? A cab? First names? Seemed to Abigail that Mr. Chuck Smith had a bit of a crush.

Abigail thought about how fun this could be. It was the 1920s after all, and Abigail was a modern American woman. Sure she wasn’t quite a flapper, but going to a club and dancing with some strangers was a good time. She hadn’t been to any petting parties, but that was more to do with most being invitation-only, and she couldn’t get invited. Smoking made her cough, 

Anichka never did any of that. She never got invited to a dance or to a show by a handsome boy. 

Chuck let her know what time he’d be arriving and Abigail said she was looking forward to it. Her mind was immediately flooded by ideas and goals for the day, and what she would wear. When she got back to her tenement, she immediately began going through her closet. 

Gloves were silly, but a sleek dress was a must. She picked a blue-green one with straps on the shoulders to show off her arms, with a medium neckline, low enough to be enticing, but high enough to not give too much away. The dress cut off above just above her knees, partially to show off her legs, but more on the chance they went dancing. Oxford heels, but ones with a bit of a sturdy heel, a bit thicker and lower than was typically considered the style, purely out of practicality. 

She briefly questioned whether she would wear jewelry, but opted against it. Abigail wanted to look good, desirable, and even sexy, but not quite put on the Ritz. This wasn’t officially a date, but if Abigail had it her way, it would turn into one, and maybe something more.

She finished off the ensemble with a cloche hat of similar color to her dress. It wasn’t a perfect match, but close enough for anyone to care. She walked over to a full-length mirror and gave a quick twirl to get a sense of how she looked, just about perfect. She then sat down to see how high up the skirt rode, just a bit up the thigh, enough for some handsome fellow to put his hand on her thigh, but low enough to not give too much away. 

Anichka never wore anything like that. She wore baggy dresses in dull colors, frequently dirty from farm work, and boots to protect her feet. 

Abigail sighed with contentment, this was the life, and it was hers. After a year and a day, city air had made her free, and there was no way in hell she would go back to… to something that didn’t exist. 

It was only a matter of time before a buzzer rang informing Abigail that she had a guest at the door. She quickly scurried down the stairs to greet her guest.

Upon seeing Chuck, Abigail was glad she had decided to dress up. Chuck was tall, just a hair under 6 feet, with dirty blonde hair and sparkling gray eyes. He was wearing dark gray slacks with a matching vest over a white collared shirt, and a simple fedora. 

“You look lovely, Abigail,” He extended his arm for Abigail to take it, “I have a cab waiting just outside, I hope you’ll forgive the jalopy.”

“It’s no trouble Chuck, and thank you for the invitation,” she took his arm as he walked to the cab, clearly a vehicle that had seen better days, and like a perfect gentleman, Chuck opened the door and helped Abigail in before walking to the other side and entering himself. 

They spoke idly on the drive to the theater, but Abigail noticed that Chuck kept making slight glances at her legs, which caused Abigail to suppress a smirk, this was going perfectly. 

The performance was a musical comedy in two acts that also included several escapology acts as plot devices, as well as a group of scantily clad women performing dance numbers and operating as a Greek chorus. The plot entailed an escape artist’s wife and her lover plotting to kill the escape artist so they could get the life insurance policy. However, as the oblivious and slightly buffoonish escape artist foils the assassination attempts, thinking they were all part of the act. It ends with the escape artist and his wife reconciling, and the wife’s former lover marrying one of the escape artist's beautiful assistants. Chuck and Abigail wouldn’t see the ending.

Throughout the first act, Chuck first put his hands on Abigail’s exposed thigh, then as the performance intensified, his hand crawled up her thigh. Abigail didn’t resist, in fact, she slightly encouraged it by shifting about slightly in her seat, allowing Chuck’s hand to move further upward. 

Thoughts raced through Abigail’s head with what to do, or with what the person she wanted to be wanted to do. 

She wanted to fuck Chuck. Not make love, not feel something good. She wanted fucking like a modern American woman, to take charge of the situation, and be wanted. 

To that end, she gently put her hand on top of Chuck’s, then guided down her leg and under her skirt.

Chuck took the hint and began caressing her pussy through the fabric, he was timid at first, seemingly unsure of himself, but Abigail's whispered encouragement urged him on. 

 The pleasure from Chuck’s fingers in her pussy made her wish she had started on this significantly earlier, as the performance was dangerously close to over, and she was nowhere near finished. She wrapped her arm around Chuck’s neck, tilting her head towards her much taller partner, she hissed, “let’s go back to your place.” 

Chuck swallowed hard and asked, “Wanna scram, catch a cab, and beat the rush?” 

Abigail nodded, and Chuck removed his hand from her pants and helped Abigail to her feet. Giddy with excitement, they raced out, hailed a cab, and entered. Chuck practically flung several bills at the driver, telling him to step on it with directions to an apartment uptown. Abigail recognized the region as a fancy one, but not quite where the Harlem Rich lived. 

During the drive, Abigail and Chuck engaged in serious heavy petting, breathing heavily on each other and rubbing one another over their clothes. Through the corner of her eye, Abigail could see the cab driver shaking his head. He was an older gentleman, clearly dismayed at the brazenness with which young people displayed their affection. 

Abigail was a bit clumsy at stimulating Chuck but attempted to do so with great interest, grinding her palm against his crotch, while Chuck groped one of her breasts through her dress, while simultaneously kissing her neck and using his other hand to stimulate her pussy. It was cumbersome for him to do so, as it required both reaching under her dress, and below her underwear, but he had long arms and somehow managed. 

When they finally arrived at his building, Chuck threw open the door of the cab and practically dragged Abigail out as she straightened out her dress. They opened up the building, with Abigail holding on to Chuck's arms as if for dear life. 

He lived in a modern building, complete with an elevator and a doorman. The doorman barely had time to look up from his newspaper before Chuck and Abigail had rushed into the building and an elevator. 

The two continued to kiss and grope one another as they rode up to the 9th floor and into Chuck’s apartment. Once inside, Chuck tried to undress Abigail and move her to his bedroom, but she resisted, instead she pushed him onto a chair in his living room. 

“No, I’m in charge now,” Abigail said with a wicked grin. 

Chuck swallowed hard but allowed it. Abigail stood in front of him and shrugged off the straps of her dress, and pushed it down to her thighs before stepping out of it. She then took Chuck’s hands from the armrests and placed them, on her breasts, relatively small and slightly sagging, but no less lovely to Chuck’s eyes. 

He took the hint and began playing with her breasts, leaning forward as she dropped to her knees to unbuckle his belt. Once the belt was undone, Abigail tossed it to the side before helping Chuck out of his pants, he had to lift his hips slightly to manage it. He was already hard and had been since their kissing in the cab. 

Abigail gazed at it for a moment, took two deep breaths before wrapping her head around his engorged member. 

Abigail held his cock in her mouth for a moment, not entirely sure what to do. She had never sucked a cock, and neither had Anichka. Ultimately, she opted to go with her intuition and began bobbing hungrily on his cock. Pre-cum began secreting from his glans, which she drank greedily. 

Judging by Chuck’s reaction, she was on the right track.

In between groans of pleasure, Chuck managed to choke out “Y’know, Abigail, I was stuck on you from the minute I saw you.”

After a few minutes of hungrily bobbing, Abigail heard Chuck say, “Oh, I’m about to come.” He tried to push her away from him, ever the gentleman, but she pushed his hands away. She wanted to taste him, drink his seed. With a short grunt, came, filling her mouth. The taste and texture were strange, but not altogether unpleasant; but more than that, driving Chuck to orgasm gave her a sense of control and almost dominance. She bobbed her head a few more times, trying to suck every last drop of cum out of him before popping his cock out of her mouth. 

As Chuck bathed in the afterglow, Abigail stood up to take off the remainder of her clothing. After the teasing at the show and in the cab, her undergarments were soaking wet and were almost difficult to remove, sticking to her on the way down. 

“You’re beautiful,” Chuck breathed as Abigail stood in front of him stark naked. He stood up, slightly unsteadily, his knees weak after his orgasm, and began raining kisses down her, starting at her neck before stopping to suck on a nipple, then kissing his way down to her pussy. 

Abigail emitted soft moans of pleasure, and placed her hands on Chuck’s head, pressing it closer to her pussy. As Chuck licked her and stimulated her clit with his nose, Abigail’s knees began getting weak, but she forced herself to stay upright, looking down on the up-and-coming lawyer kneeling before her. 

It didn’t take long for Chuck’s eating to drive Abigail to orgasm. She pushed his head away as she came, vocalizing her pleasure loudly, and immediately fell backward, gasping for breath. 

Now eye level with Chuck, she kissed him, trying to taste her pussy juice off his face and tongue. Like his cum, her juice had a curious but not unpleasant flavor. She had barely noticed that Chuck had taken off his shirt while he was eating her out. After a few moments of deep kissing, Abigail noticed that Chuck's cock had come back to life, and was pleasantly surprised by this. Anichka usually had to wait. 

Abigail grasped his cock and began loosely stroking it, and drawing to her feet, which Chuck followed. She pushed him back into the chair he sat in while she had sucked his dick and told him not to move. She straddled him and teased her pussy with the tip of his cock, enjoying his whimpers as he struggled to stay still, but desperately wanted to penetrate her. 

She slowly lowered herself onto his throbbing cock and held for a moment, feeling his entire length in her.  She wrapped her arms around Chuck’s neck and began slowly riding him. It was a bit awkward at first as she tried to get into a steady rhythm and maintain her position, but she quickly got the hang of it as pleasure and warmth radiated from her pussy. 

After riding him for a few long moments, she grasped the back of his head and guided it to one of her breasts. Chuck didn’t need verbal instructions and began greedily sucking on a nipple. As she rode him harder, her pace increasing with pleasure, Chuck wrapped his arms around her torso. Abigail was too caught up in the pleasure of riding his cock while he sucked one of her tits to be annoyed that he had moved without her guidance or instruction. 

The warmth and feeling of fulfillment of his cock, his hot breath and saliva on her nipple, the feeling of power and control and modernity swirled together, surrounding Abigail, body, and soul in radiant pleasure. She had no idea if she had been fucking him for seconds, hours, or years, time distorted itself. 

Abigail heard Chuck grunt and a slight spasm as he filled her pussy with his seed. He managed to stay erect for a few more moments, allowing Abigail to come to her next orgasm, she wasn’t sure if it was her second, third or fourth. 

Collapsing on him in a sweaty heap, they both gasped for breath, as Abigail thought yet again, city air truly makes you free.