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Misha is fed up with being good; she’d very much like to be bad instead. Not awful, undermining all her hard work and diligent study had achieved, but please, just a little bit naughty. Far from the repressed Asian woman of out-dated stereotypes Misha was bought up in a liberal home where girl’s educational attainment was encouraged by her parents, if not some older family members: “When are we going to get grandchildren?”
When I’ve had a life, thinks Misha, who secured excellent school grades and success at University and got a job sufficiently well paid to allow her to live independently.
Misha is, she believes, passably pretty, (a more objective view is extremely attractive). Dresses fashionably and thoroughly integrated with the diversity of modern Britain.
She’s had boyfriends, her own choices, albeit she reflects ruefully, not wise ones. The problem with being a goody two shoes is you tend to keep similar company — no one remotely edgy. Not much chance to indulge any bedroom wickedness.
Her last serious partner, Ashok, was good-looking but genuinely shocked when she initiated intimacy. Misha bailed when he insisted she meet his parents and the relationship thankfully fizzled out.
Since when there’s been a couple of unsatisfactory flings that did nothing to satisfy the erotic desires her vivid imagination conjures. She’s bought a vibrator, working overtime lately but no substitute for the real thing.
Unsure what really satisfying sex is like, Misha’s certain it isn’t staring at the ceiling while a pair of buttocks bounce ineptly between her legs.
Thursday at work, the weekend almost in sight when the company MD, Bob Denton, springs an unwelcome surprise.
“Misha, I’d like you to meet a business delegation flying in from Pakistan tomorrow.”
“Me, why?”
He looks perplexed, isn’t it obvious? “Well I thought since…”
“I’ve got brown skin? Hardly gives us much in common. They’re Muslin — my cultural background is Hindu, oh and I don’t wear saris.”
“But surely you speak…” Already in a hole her boss keeps digging.
“Spanish fluently, French passably and to specifically address your point basic Hindi.”
“What language will the delegation..?” Denton is floundering, out of his depth.
“Sylheti, in which I can just about get by,” interjects a male, Sahabet north American voice. Mina looks around to discover a broad shouldered, fair-haired hunk has joined the conversation.
“This is Brad,” explains her boss, “over with us for six weeks from the Vancouver office.”
“I spent a fair bit of time in Pakistan when travelling a while back,” reveals Brad. “I’d be happy to come along tonight and provide some moral support if it helps?” He’s been quietly observing Misha whose boring business attire can’t conceal a lithe and sensuous body. She casts an equally appraising eye over him and definitely approves. Some immoral support would be fine as well, Misha thinks.
“Sounds good, I’ll certainly take you up on the offer,” she smiles.
“Excellent,” says a relieved Denton, “there’s a restaurant table booked for 8pm. I’ll email you both the details.”
Against the odds the meeting goes well. Most of the group have excellent English and seem delighted to employ it during their London stay. Brad skillfully fills the linguistic gaps while Misha proves a consummate host. Contacts are made, professional networks extended, and trade discussion dates agreed. Guests departed the pair can finally relax.
“Fancy a final drink?” Brad enquires.
“As you may have noticed this evening I don’t drink alcohol and – just to cement the killjoy image – smoke or do drugs,” Misha waves a finger in mock admonition.
“What do you do?” He raises an inquisitive eyebrow.
“Why not invite me back to your room and I’ll show you?” Wow! Misha has never been so bold. Or, mind you, dated a white guy. Who it appears is equally enamoured. A mutual attraction, simmering all evening, becomes electric. They take a cab to his hotel; ardently kiss in the lift and tumble awkwardly entwined into Brad’s room. A confusion of hastily discarded tights, knickers, tie and trousers mark their route to the bed.
Where Mark goes down on her, adept tongue lapping her wet slit. Misha enters seventh heaven, every fibre of her body tingles with arousal. Pleasurable minutes later she reluctantly pushes Brad away.
“Please, if you continue I’m going to come and I so want to feel you inside me first,” she explains. He rolls a condom onto an impressive erection; at least in the throes of lust one of us is being responsible, thinks Misha Sahabet Giriş appreciatively.
“You go on top,” suggests Brad, laying back, upright cock swaying tantalisingly. Misha straddles him, circling the tip and lubricating his shaft with her juices. Gratefully impales herself, willing him to fill her completely as Brad’s girth slowly stretches her to accommodate it.
She looks passionately into his frank blue eyes as Brad thrusts upwards making Misha gasp ecstatically; oh it feels so good. Rocks back and forwards, rhythmically clenching her pussy, riding him towards a climax. Brad grabs her bottom, pulls her clit hard against him, fucking faster. Misha’s fingernails dig into his shoulders and he squirts deep inside her vagina, catalyst to an intense release that almost makes her swoon.
“Amazing,” he groans happily.
“I’m not normally so forward,” Misha feels a need to explain.
“Really? Could’ve fooled me.”
“Yes, really,” she answers indignantly. “I don’t know what came over me.”
“I know what came into you. When can we meet again?” Brad enquires, already besotted. Slightly abashed by their spontaneity the pair don their respective clothes.
“Come to mine tomorrow evening and I’ll cook: says Misha, taking the initiative. This man knows what he’s doing, ensured she felt safe. Perhaps he’ll also know how to deal with misbehaviour?
Brad arrives promptly at her flat and chivalrously brings flowers.
“Thank you,” she says warmly, “the food will be ready in about half an hour, have a glass of wine while we wait.”
“You’re wearing a sari,” observes Brad,
“Quite so,” says Misha boldly.
“Having told the boss you don’t.”
“I lied,” Misha answers shamelessly. “In my defence I seldom do except for family celebrations, and, it turns out, you.”
“I’m honoured.”
“You should be it’s a right faff to put on,” she sticks her tongue at him.
“Why did you do that?”
“I’m teasing, trying to be naughty actually, totally fed up with being good.”
“What do you think happens to bad girls?”
Misha views Brad through big dark eyes, voice scarcely audible, “I think they get spanked.”
“Do you indeed,” the idea seems to meet with his approval.
“I mean I’ve had no direct experience,” she gabbles nervously in response Sahabet Güncel Giriş to his implied question. “The idea turns me on, I don’t know why, it just does.”
“Well I usually spank to make bad girls good,” he replies laconically, “but it seems tonight I’ll make a good girl bad.”
Just as Misha hoped Brad takes charge of the situation, carefully unwrapping her like the best present ever until she stands uncertainly in just knickers and a bra.
“Right young lady,” he says briskly pulling her across his knee. Hands pinned behind her back unable to escape – not that she wants to – Misha experiences her first bottom warming. A man of few words Brad begins slowly spanking every centimetre of her buttocks, brown skin growing progressively redder with each slap. Struggling is clearly pointless and he continues until Misha’s bottom is positively radiating heat. Nothing else in the room exists; she’s focused entirely on her two burning orbs and the urgent sexual signals they’re transmitting. At some point her skimpy knickers are pulled down, a largely symbolic gesture given their brevity yet clearly reinforcing her submissive situation. Brad is entirely in control.
Misha knows she’s getting wet, a fact amplified when Brad’s fingers first stroke then enter her vulva. Spanked and teased, a confusion of conflicting emotions overwhelms the novice ingénue. Eventually Brad lifts her effortlessly to her feet.
“Kneel on the sofa and push that bottom out,” he instructs. Misha pouts in mute protest until a meaningful glance disabuses her of the idea of resistance. Large hands caress her hot red cheeks.
“Since this is your first time I reckon you’ve been spanked sufficiently,” Brad murmurs. “Besides, we’ve both a more pressing need.”
He enters her from behind, squeezing Misha’s sore cheeks in time with each thrust eliciting yelps of shock. Gradually Brad picks up the pace, pushing forcefully against her hot cheeks, inexorably taking Misha towards an unstoppable climax although she so wanted them to orgasm together. With a shriek she comes and unable to take any further pounding slips to the floor. Kneeling Misha grasps his hardness, encompassing it between the soft pillows of her boobs, presses them together and slides up and down until with a groan of surrender he comes copiously over her tits.
“Where did such a goody-goody learn that trick?”
“Told you I was trying to be bad,” says Misha smugly. “Did my homework, men aren’t the only ones who watch porn.” She looks up hopefully. “Disgraceful behaviour, I expect after dinner you’ll have to punish me again…
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
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