Russkaya Rapunzel

Part Three and Epilogue

I pause outside the door to the room. It has a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign hanging on the handle. I check the number again. Yes, this definitely is the right room and she will be inside, waiting for me. She says that she thinks she might love me. Oh, how much easier it would be for me if I had the safety of such uncertainty, for there is no doubt that I love her, and I think this has been so for many months. It was those first photographs of herself that she sent me, that pushed my rather silly infatuation for a woman I knew only from her paintings, into an obsession. And during the last months we have talked, and laughed, and had fun, but through it all my desire for her has become overwhelming. And now, what happens behind this door in the next hours will dictate the path of my life, and hers too perhaps, forever. It should be that being here like this would be a joyous moment for me, but the truth is, I have a heavy heart, for I fear that this will be the last chapter of our romance. I have never lied to my dear Rapunzel, but I am guilty of deceiving her in a way that I feel is most despicable, for I have allowed her to carry an impression of myself that is not true, and have done nothing to correct it. I can defend myself by saying that if I had painted for her an accurate picture, then we would never have got to this moment, but then it is probable that we should never have got to this moment. My guilt over my deception, when she has showed such trust in me, is a heavy load. But what is done is done, and all I can do now is to make these next hours the most joyous and happy that she has ever known, so much so that she might find it in her heart to change herself and love me.

 

I wish I had a definite plan as to how to proceed here tonight, it would have made it so much easier for my nerves, but there is no way to know how the events they will go beyond this door. I consider knocking before I enter, but no, that would not be right. She is expecting her master, not some timid boy. I open the door and l look into the room. There is a short passage past what looks to be a bathroom before the main part of the room and I cannot see very much of it. I walk inside and the room opens and I see the bed. It is as she said, big, with four posts and a top. And lying in the centre of this bed is the lady I have come all this way to make love to. And the sight of her truly does take away my breath. I have seen the pictures of her lovely body, but they did not prepare me for the wonder that is the true sight. She lies on her back, her legs straight and together, her arms at her sides. I can see her chest rising and falling as she takes very fast and short breaths. Her breasts look firm and round and her nipples stand erect. And of course above this wondrous sight is the hood. It still feels somehow wrong to consider her beautiful when her head is hidden from my view, for I know the beauty that lies beneath and the crime of hiding it, but I cannot help the feeling that fills me as I look at the black outline of her face and the hair that spills out on the pillow beneath her. And see, here she has placed ropes upon the bed beside herself. She tells me with these ropes that she wants to be tied, but she does not presume to tie herself, for that may not be her master’s wish. She leaves it to her master to decide. She is perfect. Completely perfect.

 

I see the way forward begin to show itself. I will tie her, so that her hands cannot explore this old body and discover its secret before the time is right. And then I shall enter her and she will have her first pleasure in a simple and uncomplicated way. And then I shall add more and she will explore the other sides of herself that I am sure she has never experienced. And when she is done in every way, then I shall reveal myself to her and place my fate in her hands. But first I should let her know it is me that looks upon her, and not some accidental discoverer, for I can see that she has heard me enter and knows that someone is here. Her head moves in quick, sharp movements, as if her senses are telling her to look, but of course there is nothing for her to see. I could speak to her, call her My Rapunzel, but it would be better for me to remain quiet, for the sound of my voice would surely give me away. I will kiss her instead. A kiss on the lips, through the leather of the hood will be most arousing for us both will it not? I will kiss her and then tie her, and then I will undress and prepare myself.

 

I kneel on the bed and lean over her. She quivers as she feels the disturbance. She knows she is about to be touched and yet she does not move. Her arms remain at her sides. I press my lips to the leather below the two tiny holes through which she breaths. I can feel her lips try to respond to mine, but they must be held squeezed against her teeth as the hood is firm, almost hard over her mouth. A delightful moan escapes through those tiny holes. And as I raise my head, a packet of condoms I notice that she has placed beside the bed. Once again she sends me a message. She gives her permission for me to enter her if that is my will. As with the ropes, she defines her boundaries, for although she will soon be tied and helpless, it is she who is really in control. I am only here to serve her need.

 

I lift a hand from her side and kiss it gently. As I let go of it, she keeps the hand still, holding it at the point I left it. She knows it was her master’s will to have her hand there and she does not presume to remove it just because he lets go. She is wonderful, is she not? I take one of the ropes and wind it around her wrist six times and tie the knot. Then I lift the other hand and she holds it up for me while I bind its wrist too. She knows that she will soon be tied, but she does not struggle or resist. She is calm except for her breathing which is still fast and shallow. I take the first hand and draw it towards the post of the bed. The bed is so big that I leave a good half meter of rope and tie the knot around the post. I do the same with the other hand. When I repeat with her feet she will be stretched tight, and this she must know, but still she does not move without my touch. How much trust must she have in her master to do this? A master who has not been honest with her.

 

With her now secured, her lovely, firm leather mouth I kiss again, and then strip myself of my clothes. I do this quickly and without ceremony, for I have to prepare and I cannot leave her waiting too long. I can tell that her body is almost ready and it must have the attention it craves soon. I put on my harness and wonder if she can hear the tinkle of the buckles through the hood. What thoughts would it stir if she could? I will use the twenty five centimetre penis on her. It is a most realistic shape and with its length, she will not feel the harness against her lips or mound. I think that it is some considerable time since she had a man and hopefully the memory of the feel of a real penis is somewhat faded by the time. And by her leaving of the condoms, I think a rubber-like feel will not be entirely unexpected. I push the penis into myself with considerable ease for I am wet and prepared, but my own state of arousal is not important. Tonight is about her needs, not mine. Although I cannot take its full length, I will keep most of the penis inside me for some time. It must not be cold or dry when she first feels it.

 

My preparation has taken some minutes and as I return to her, I can see her testing the tightness of the ropes. She does not struggle to get free, she just wants to know the level of her restraint as I have left her for long enough that she wonders what is happening. I climb on the bed and kiss her mouth again. It seems a nice way to say “Hi, I am back”. I continue to kiss her and start to pinch her erect nipples with my fingers. I must be careful not to let her feel the length of my nails. I can feel her respond to my touch. Her nipples harden more and I move my mouth to them, holding them in turn between my teeth while my tongue dances across them. My hand descends to her crotch, parting her lips and seeking out her clitoris. She is wet and soft, ready to receive, but I will continue like this for a while longer so that she has only a short distance to go when she feels the penis.

 

I am feeling that now is the right time. I lift myself from her and withdraw quickly the penis from myself. I screw it to the fitting on the harness and raise myself over her. She is squirming and wriggling as she is nearly there. I part her lips and slide the penis inside her. Despite its width it enters with little resistance. Slowly, slowly. Keep it slow to start with. She has not far to travel, she does not need to arrive early. Then I build the pace and push it deeper. I allow myself the little self-indulgence of letting my nipples brush against hers as I move, but I must be careful to keep it a very light touch. Delightful moans escape from the hood. She is close. Almost there, so now slower. Keep her there, where she wants to be. And here I have the advantage over a man as not only can I read my fellow woman’s body better than any man could, I also do not have to worry about my penis losing its size or strength. I can slow down, or even stop if necessary without fear of failure. I can keep her just at the edge and then choose when to push her into the abyss.

 

And now I think the time is right. Go deeper again and increase the speed. There she goes. I can feel the bed quiver as her joy spreads out from her and into the mattress. And into me as well, for this is my task here tonight, and as with her joy from her tasks completed in the last months, now the joy of success is for me. I am enjoying the sounds that escape from the hood, but they warn me that she would perhaps be a very noisy woman if it were not for her silenced state. I make a note of this for any future time when we might make love in a dangerous location. I hope that there will be many future times for us. And now she is done and I must let her rest, but only for a short time. She has many more mountains to climb tonight does she not?

 

So she has had her first pleasure and now it is time to demand more of her. I go to my bag and remove from it the nipple clamps. It will be a challenge for me to get the pressure right as she cannot tell me about the pain and I cannot judge it from her face. I kiss and suck her nipples to get them fully erect once again and then apply the clamps. I tighten the screw until I see the jaw squeeze into her flesh. With each clamp she moans through her hood, but it is not a shout of agony. I think I have them right. But I have more to come for her. The top of the bed, it has wooden boards that I tie a string to above her breasts. Yes my dear, you breasts are going to be lifted, but of course you do not know that yet do you? I run the string through the ring on the clamps and tie a slipping knot. Then I slide the knot up the string, shortening it, lifting her nipples, and then her breasts, but only a little. I am here to stimulate, not torture her. And now I untie her feet from the bed posts, but her limited freedom is only for a short time. I pull her feet upwards, towards her head and past the string that holds her breasts. She lifts her bottom from the bed as she is folded in two. I tie the ropes from her feet to the posts to which her hands are tied. Her crotch is displayed for me and at a convenient height for me to work on. Her next pleasure will be a little more demanding for her, but her reward will be the greater for it.

 

I go to my bag again and remove the box of bottom plugs. I am thinking that she has probably never had anything in her bottom before so I select only a small one. I remove also the bottle of oil that caused me some embarrassment at the airport security. It is ridiculous is it not that I could blow up the plane with a bottle of sex oil? I do not think I will really need the oil as I will wet the plug with her own juice, but I think that the feeling of the cold oil on the anus will tell her what is going to come and allow her some short time to prepare herself. And when the plug it is fully installed, I shall make her bottom a little red with my hand and then let her wait a while before I once again fill her with the penis and she will have her pleasure.

 

 

oOo

 

 

I have built here tonight many mountains for my lovely Rapunzel and she has climbed every one of them. And from the summit of each she has taken perhaps a new view of herself. But now I think in every way, she is spent. She lies upon the bed most quietly, breathing easily and in a manner most relaxed. Her legs are free but her hands are still tied to the posts of the bed, as they have been for more than two and a half hours now. The colour of her hands is good and she moves her fingers easily, but I know I must release her soon for it is not possible to remain in such a position for so long without a small amount of pain. Pain that serves no purpose now that her mountain climbing is over. And now I must confront the next part of my purpose here tonight. The part I fear the most. I must reveal myself to her and accept her judgement of me. I do not know if my efforts at concealing myself have been successful, but I can tell that she has not been unwilling in any of our activities. Although she has been tied and her hood prevents her expression, I am not a novice at this game and I would know if she were not a willing partner. As to the true nature of her master, either she does not know, or she does not care.

 

And again a plan begins to show itself to me. I will keep her tied a little longer and lie quietly beside her with my arms around her. She will feel my body against hers, not now its stimulating and arousing touch, but just a quiet presence. And through that feeling of my body, perhaps some suspicion will form inside her as to the nature of her master. If the seed of the idea is planted early, then will not the shock itself be lessened when she looks upon me? And when that happens, and her eyes tell her that what she might suspect is actually true, then I will make light of the situation, like it is ‘no big deal’. I will say things like “Oh this is how everyone on the mainland of Europe makes love these days. You British are so old fashioned”. And then perhaps that might just hold her for long enough, until her heart tells her it is okay and she can love me. Or perhaps her heart will tell her it is not okay and she will hate me for what I have done to her. Soon I will know.

 

I remove my harness as it would not be good for her to feel it. I decide also to release my hair from its clamp and let it flow freely around my shoulders. She will not feel it through her hood, but its touch on her arms and shoulders might create the spark of doubt I seek. I actually prefer my hair now that it has gone grey. When I was younger and it was blonde, people used to say I looked like that woman from Abba, and to tell someone from Copenhagen that they look like a Swedish person, well that is an insult most severe. My breasts are not large and will not completely betray me if she feels them against her, but again, they might create the spark. I climb on the bed and lie beside her, taking her in my arms and holding her tightly, but keeping my knees forward so that she does not feel my crotch and its missing equipment. I kiss her leather head and she moans a most contented sounding moan. Either she does not know, or she does not care.

 

I would like very much to remain like this for all the night, but it is time. She will need to move her arms, and drink, and maybe relieve herself soon, and I need to get this over with first. I climb away from her and take some moments to make myself look my best. A little make up and lipstick, and brush my hair. I think I will wear my bra and the harness too, and should I attach the penis for her to see? Perhaps. I will have my stockings as well. It is unfortunate that I have flown here and limited myself to that which will fit in my small cabin-luggage bag to avoid the tedium of the baggage reclaim lottery, otherwise she would get to see me in my Arollo Overknees. She has proved that a woman over forty can look good in thigh boots, but I can prove that same feat is possible for a woman just slightly over fifty. But alas, today, stockings and boots only halfway up to my knee will have to suffice. It is good that my stockings are of the type that hold themselves up, as my waist would be rather congested with the straps of the harness and the straps for suspending the stockings too. And the penis? Yes I think she shall see me with the penis. So now I will lower the lights so her eyes will not hurt and then the deed it will be done.

 

I place my mouth right against her ear so I can whisper most quietly and my voice it will not be revealed.

 

“Are you ready my Rapunzel? Ready to look upon me?”

 

There is a long pause and I think that she has not heard me, but then she moans and nods her head. I reach behind her neck and untie the lace. I will keep her hands tied for now, so she cannot run away if the shock is too much. Of course I shall have to release her if she demands it, but in those few seconds it takes to do that, she might calm enough to stay and let me speak to her and there will perhaps be a chance to turn her anger. I pull the lace free and the leather of the hood it creaks and loosens. She moans again, but this time it comes from her mouth and it expresses her relief. And now I have a problem. When she first looks upon me, I want to be sitting between her legs looking relaxed and sexy. But from there I cannot with ease lift the hood from her head. I must compromise, and so I sit in the correct place and lean over her to reach her head. I pull the hood up quickly and use the few moments before her eyes can see properly to adjust myself into a sexy pose. Cool. Look cool. And relaxed. It is ‘no big deal’ remember?

 

I have some good luck as her ponytail falls from the hood and lies across her face. She has to shake it away before she can see, and that gives me a few extra moments to compose myself. It is however difficult to look ‘cool’ when I see the face of my lovely Rapunzel. She is so beautiful, and the crime that I have got used to, of covering her up, is revealed to me in all its shame. She looks at me as her eyes adjust to the light, and I meet her eyes with mine. And what is her expression? I cannot read it. Say something my darling. Say something so that I may reply in a ‘cool’ manner. Her eyes leave mine and she looks slowly to her hands. First to one, and then the other. She sees for the first time the ropes that have held her for so long, but she makes no demand to be released. And now she looks back at me. I see her exploring my body. She lifts her head to see over her breasts and I notice when the view of the penis meets her. Her eyes widen and her mouth opens at the sight of that which has brought her such joy only a few tens of minutes ago. Her mouth moves as if to speak, but no words come out. I feel I must break this silence so awkward.

 

“You do not look very surprised to see me, my dear Rapunzel. Your expression is one that might be useful if one were to find oneself in a poker game. It does not betray your thoughts and feelings. Am I as you expected?”

 

She looks back into my eyes, while her beautiful face still conceals the mystery of her thoughts. But at last she moves to speak.

 

“Perfume.”

 

“Perfume? I do not understand.”

 

“If you’re going to pretend to be a man, then you shouldn’t wear perfume.”

 

“Oh, how stupid of me. Such a simple oversight and you see right through me, even through the leather of your hood. So you knew from the start, and this explains your lack of surprise now?”

 

“Not right from the start. But I worked it out pretty quickly.”

 

“So I am a woman. And that is fortunate for you is it not? I remember when I used to have relations with men. They were such dirty, uncivilised creatures. Useful for sex, but for love and companionship, they were most unsuitable. Of course there are times when a woman still requires a man in her life, but it is best to restrict those times to those when one’s car is broken, or one requires and extension making for one’s house, or something else like that. And as you now see, with a few simple tools, a woman can take the place of a man for the purpose of sex with great success. And I flatter myself that you cannot disagree with that.”

 

“The only thing that scared me about coming here tonight was that you would turn out to be a man that I loved, but didn’t fancy. I think you’ve rather gone beyond that.”

 

“And so you have perhaps a scale that goes from zero to ten, and you think that as long as he is a five or more then that will be okay? But as we know from mathematics, when we look closely we find that zero is not at the end of the scale, but in the middle. And we can count in both directions from it if only we think to recalibrate ourselves a little. And where would I then fit on to your scale? Somewhere rather higher than a five would you not think?

 

“You knew though. You knew I thought you were a man. I called you ‘Master’. I trusted you completely and you tricked me.”

 

“I try here to be ‘cool’ and to make humour at this situation. And this I do to ease your shock at your first seeing of my true self. But you have cut through to the truth of the matter and wiped away my façade. I can say with all truth that I have never lied to you, and I never referred to myself as your master, and if this were a court of the law then the technicality of that fact might keep me from the prison cell. But this is not a court of the law. This right and wrong, and I am guilty of deceiving you in a way that is most wrong. I have always known that you assumed me to be a man and I have done nothing to correct this. And for that I am truly sorry. And it breaks me inside that I have done this to you, while you have showed such trust in me. I can defend myself only by saying that I have done this because I detected a sad and beautiful presence behind the paintings you showed, and when I started talking with that presence, I fell in love with her. And would you not have turned away from me if you had known the truth? How else could I have wooed my dear Rapunzel to this night here in this room?”

 

“Nadezhda.”

 

“I am sorry?”

 

“Nadezhda. My name’s not Rapunzel. It’s Nadezhda.”

 

“Nad-ezda?”

 

“No. Say it like there’s a ‘Y’ in the middle. Nad-yez-da.”

 

“Nad-yez-da.”

 

“Better. Now the ‘D’ at the end is more of a ‘dtha’. Nad-yez-dtha.”

 

“Nad-yezdtha?”

 

“Not bad.”

 

“And my name is Sophia.”

 

“Sophia.”

 

“No, no. Like the Italian car, but without the ‘T’.

 

“Sophia.”

 

“Well that is good. But you sound like a pig farmer’s daughter from Ebsjerg. If I worked on you for, shall we say the next forty or so years, with much discipline I think I could make you sound like a lady of sophistication from Copenhagen. That is, if you would allow it of course.”

 

“Hmmmm. That strap on. It’s huge. How did that get inside me?”

 

“Ah, strap on. So that is the name for it in English? Well if we are properly prepared and enthusiastic within ourselves, is it not surprising what we can accommodate?”

 

“Apparently so.”

 

“And so my dear Rapunzel. I call you that for I feel your friends must call you Nadezhda and I do not yet know if you will allow me to be your friend. What happens from here it is in your hands. Can you tell me what it is that you wish for us?”

 

“Oh yes. I’ve had quite some time to think about this lying here, in between the times when I couldn’t think at all, and I know exactly what’s going to happen. First, you’re going to untie me and I’m going to go to the loo. When I come back from the loo, I will find you lying here in my place, still wearing that thing, and with your arms and legs outstretched, just like mine were. And here I’m going to tie you, stretched out nice and tight, just like I was. And then I’m going to put this hood on you. It’ll go on, although I doubt it will fit you as well as me, which is a shame because it’s yours. You paid for it remember? I’m going to lace it as tight as I can. And then, well, I know what then. But you will have to wait and find out. If you’re lucky, I might unstrap that thing from you and put it on myself, and then we’ll see how much of it you can “accommodate” if you’re “properly prepared and enthusiastic”. If you’re not lucky, I might just go home and leave you for the hotel staff to remove when they come to take the rest of the rubbish from the room tomorrow. What do you think of that Sophia without a ‘T’ at the end? Do you feel lucky? Do you trust me?”

 

“Ah so Rapunzel, you turn out once again to be completely perfect. Your proposal is a most suitable way to punish me for my deception. It would be unpleasant indeed to be imprisoned here and have the embarrassment of being discovered by strangers tomorrow. But that would be nothing compared to the years of my life that would follow without you in them. And yet you offer me the possibility that my deception it is forgiven and that you might consent to sharing your love with me. How can I refuse? If you will forgive me, I will visit the bathroom first, for it appears that in one of these two ways, I will be spending much of the rest of the night restrained on this bed.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Epilogue

 

I watch my father’s tears fill the deep wrinkles in his face as he stands and looks towards the river. For someone like me who’s lived her life in a small island country like Britain, where the rivers flow at most a hundred miles to the sea, and are therefore rather puny affairs, the sight of the Volga River is rather impressive. There is a bridge here, but the river is so wide, it might take me an hour to walk its length. More impressive than the river though is the statue behind us, “The Motherland Calls” with her raised sword and her face with the expression that once seen can never be forgotten. I’ve seen pictures of the statue of course, but it’s only when you see it for real that you realise just how immense it really is, and the immensity of the events it commemorates. For when my father lived here as little boy, this place had a different name to the one it has today. In those days it was called Stalingrad, and in the battle here in this one city, more people lost their lives than from the whole of Britain and America together during all of the World War. I’m lucky that I can only imagine the horrors that must be memories for him. It puts the past pains of my own life into some perspective.

 

I watch as my father reaches out and takes Sophia’s hand. It’s not been easy for him to accept her. He comes from a time when it was wrong to take one of your own sex as your lover. Indeed, for many in Russia, that’s still the case. But he knows that it’s her pulling of strings that’s allowed him to return to the place of his birth, one last time. She says that she has just called in a few favours, but she forgets that I used to be a spy, and though I was just a lowly, backroom translator spy, I saw enough of how the game is played to know that it takes more than just a few favours to cut through the layers of Russian and even old Soviet bureaucracy and get a man still listed as a wanted fugitive, a visa to visit, and a letter of immunity from prosecution, signed by the Minister for Justice himself. I recognise the hand of someone who is higher in the corridors of power than she lets on.

 

And Kristina is here with us too. She is skipping a week of her studies at university to come with her grandfather to see his Motherland and speak Russian with real Russian people. She thinks it is “cool” and is rather proud that her mother has taken another woman for her lover. How times change from when I was her age.

 

With my father’s new status, he has come out from behind the English name that MI6 gave him all those years ago. He is once again Alexei Totanov, which means that if I choose, I could now be Nadezhda Totanova, which might be rather dull here in Russia, but I think would sound pretty exotic and sexy back in Britain. But that would mean abandoning the name of my late husband and that seems a disrespectful thing to do when it’s just for the sake of my vanity. Of course if I were to get married again, then I’m sure his spirit wouldn’t object to me having a new name, but then would a sophisticated society lady from Copenhagen be interested in marrying someone who apparently sounds like a pig farmer’s daughter from Ebsjerg? I wonder if I can find a way to ask next time I’m wearing that hood.

Author's Note.

While I was writing this, I wasn't sure how credible it would be for someone to be tricked in the way I describe without realising what was going on, however imagine my surprise when just a few days after posting the story, an item appeared in the news that shows how real life can be just as strange and unbelievable as fiction.

www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-…