Erotika (Pixiv Fanbox)

Inspired by a comment on fedi, I stayed up late to write this short story. Again, out of my depth by it was a fun change of pace from my usual content.

I'd catch her busking in Elektrozavodskaya station every Thursday morning. She'd stand in the same location beside a large gold and white pillar and torture her cheap violin for hours. Always the same black skirt, white tights, polished black shoes. Black at each end and humorless, legs taught like a solider. But her young face, sandwiched between her instrument and chestnut hair, was angelic. With careless eyes she'd glance at the money in her case, paid attention to little else.

Overcome with a desire to impress, I approached and placed a fortune in her case, several hundred freshly minted bills wrapped neatly in a bank sleeve. She came to a shreiking halt, her wide eyes dropped to the contents of the case and then up to me. I immediately regretted my decision, how could I be so wreckless? Her delicate face looked puzzled, then livid. We stood and stared at one another for a moment, shame faced, I slouched, turning to run, I heard, "Thanks. Idiot."

My Russian impressed her. We'd exchange a few words each Thursday morning thereafter. Soon she began to loosen up, she expressed herself in ways I could have only dreamed. She stood near and placed her hands on my stomach, she embraced me, I held her close, close to her chestnut hair, always before I ran to the metro and she'd return to her violin. I could tell our friendship exalted her playing, her stiffness gave way to a new lush and vivid tone, and it was ours.

One day, while playing the instrument under her chin, she smiled at me, head tilted. Something was different this time, her hair was thrown over her shoulder, revealing her little neck, a new world. Something in her eye gave me pause, she enjoyed watching me gaze at her bare skin, especially while she played. I invited myself into her trap, if I was a feature of her little plan, I'd resign myself totally. She signaled me to come close, smiling still, as if to tell me a secret -

A kiss on the lips, and she fled. The black and white soldier with chestnut hair had me under her thumb. One morning, the station was flooded with sports fans, a crowd like all of humanity crammed into the metro station. Many still drunk and wild after a night-long victory celebration. Yet there she was, amid the chaos, in her spot, playing her music to no one and everyone. I struggled my way to her and we were close again, somehow alone in the galaxy of wild celebration around us.

There in the station, hidden among thousands, beside the gold and white pillars, I lifted her little body to bring her face to mine. We kissed. She threw her legs around my waist. Now hanging from me, I shifted my hands to her butt, my huge palms enveloping her cheeks. She gave me her tongue with an intensity I didn't expect, I pulled away suddenly to find her eyes piercing and hungry. She unwrapped her legs and stood stiff on the floor, just as she used to. "Just this once, OK?"

She dropped to her knees, looked up to give me a final, loving glance. Could she really? I can say with certainty that I've never been more aroused, it was the threat of a dangerous public, close all around, discovering my activity, and there was the little chestnut hair girl petting the growing erection beneath my trousers. "Pull it out" I mumbled in Russian, which made her smile, before dutifully undoing the buttons holding back my eagerly erect penis.

It stood up straight and thick before her and without hesitation she began to work. Little more than the head could fit in her mouth, but somehow it was easy. Her face moved over it rhythmically, and with little chirps and gasps, it seemed almost musical - before she pulled it out. After several wet breaths she took to sucking my testes, and while her tiny hand ran up and down the length of my penis, her tongue played with my balls. That little violinist was heaven on earth!

I lost my senses, the wild crowd, the danger, all faded behind the violinists work. I was approaching an orgasm just as she placed it back into her mouth. Now with both of her hands on my hips, she returned to her thrusting, but deeper, more mechanically than before. I began to convulse with pleasure, but it didn't break her rhythm, "I - I - oh god!" I grabbed her shoulders, but she continued swinging, I let out deep moan, and then she held, held it still in her mouth.

Semen lept from my penis in huge streams and violent, choking bursts. She coughed and it jumped from her lips, splattering all around. She coughed again and it jetted from her nose. Throwing her head back, she gasped for air, flinging my cum all around and over her little black skirt. She looked up at me dazed, wet and breathless. I hurried to put away my member then helped her to her feet. Teary-eyed, she wiped her face with the inside of my jacket.

I didn't see her the following Thursday. Ashamed? To a degree I had never known. I couldn't imagine she felt any desire to meet again. The chestnut hair girl, the black and white violinist had returned to the remote and intractable beauty she once was. A chance encounter would be worse, I thought, so I gave it time and returned one Thursday morning the following month. Prepared to meet her again finally, and settle an awkward tie - gone. Of course! Once in a lifetime is too often.