Revolutionary Love Hot Make Up Sex

**Moscow, 1921**

Natasha knew Borya was in a mood when they left that Friday afternoon for their cabin. He grumbled about the latest crisis as the taxi drove them to the stables, then continued to vent his frustration as they rode their horses to the snug cabin tucked in a valley along the river. Once there, the horses were put away and they retreated inside to decompress from a very long week.

A fire was lit and the samovar was set to boil water for tea. Natasha was hopeful that once they settled in and relaxed, his mood would lighten. There was most likely little chance of that happening. The revolution Borya so desperately wanted had torn apart the country for three years now and he had found the people were not as willing to lock step to his plans as he had anticipated. There had already been several attempts on his life. His moods were worsening, the battles against his unpopular policies a daily event. His restless, analytical mind refused to let up even at a quiet retreat in the mountains.

Borya spent much of the evening at the table pouring over notes and periodically launching into complaints about people he deemed incompetent and their misdeeds. Natasha knew it was his foul mood that was being the judge of character tonight, prompting him to be particularly harsh. Lying across the bed, she quietly listened to him grouse as she busily sketched some new ideas for a painting. Eventually she looked over at him and gave a sigh. She set her sketchbook down, got up and walked over to him. She wrapped her arms around him and gave him a kiss on the neck.

He reacted immediately, taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly. Just her touch was enough to ease his troubled mind. He looked up from his notes and took her hand, kissing it softly.

"Natasha...I am so tired," he said with a weary voice.

"Come to bed, then," she said. She began to rub her hand over his chest, down his torso and to his crotch, which she cupped and squeezed his cock and balls gently.

"I know what will make you forget your pain," she whispered.

He shook his head and looked up at her with weary regret.

"I am sorry to report that I am absolutely exhausted, my dear. So very tired. You would have to tie a splint to my cock to get it upright."

She gave him a hug and went back over to the bed to lie down. Borya looked up with a bit of guilt.

"I hope you are not disappointed with me. My mind is with you, but my body refuses to follow suit. Tomorrow, I promise. I just need to get thru all of this damned paperwork and get a good night's sleep."

"We have all weekend," she said. "Finish your work and tomorrow will be our day...without stupid people and their stupid ideas," she said with a laugh, recounting his many complaints that evening.

Natasha was anticipating by morning his mood would have improved along with his energy reserves but her hopes were soundly dashed. The next morning they were having breakfast, discussing a propaganda pamphlet she had proposed writing. It was on a subject close to her heart. She described it to him with enthusiasm she thought certainly he would share.

"I am proposing that we create the pamphlet explaining Alexandra Konin's theories on sexuality. That sex needn't be only a feature of marriage but available to women whenever they feel the desire. It should not need to come with obligation or attachment."

Borya snorted.

"Alexandra's theories cheapen the relations between men and women!" he sneered. "She reduces the female desire to merely taking a drink of water whenever thirsty. That is un-Marxist and un-social!"

"All she is saying is that sexual relations need not come with all the many burdens."

"Burdens? You mean love. Is love such a burden?" Borya asked defensively. "The way you are speaking, you are suggesting people should be entirely free of any significant intimate connection to one another!"

"Why shouldn't a woman be able to satisfy herself with minimum connection or effort?" Natasha asked. "Why can't she have many lovers? Why can't sex be-"

"I know...I know!" Borya interrupted. "As simple as drinking a glass of water. But you say nothing about the actual quality of the connection! Tell me. Will the normal man in normal circumstances lie down in the gutter and drink out of a puddle, or out of a glass with a rim greasy from many lips? You are essentially telling women to pursue quantity over quality."

"Is quantity a terrible thing, if you require it?"

Borya looked at her with disgust. He knew she was very open minded when it came to sex as were many of the female Marxists. But he did not approve of their extreme points of view. More specifically, the thought of Natasha being a "loose" woman drinking down men like glasses of water was a threat.

It made him bristle with anger.

"You will not write such a pamphlet!" he said emphatically. "I do not approve of your theories and you are forbidden to promote such outlandish ideas!"

Natasha felt a flash of anger.

"You....forbid?" she questioned, her brow furrowed.

He leaned back in his chair.

"I forbid!"

She narrowed her eyes and spoke coldly.

"You are a closed minded hypocrite. You pass out whatever rights to women please you, not what they actually are asking for."

Borya was aghast at her accusation.

"I have given women more freedoms than anyone else in the history of this country!" he snapped back. "They vote, they can divorce, they can seek to terminate pregnancies if need be. We encourage them to get out of the house and work in factories, to educate themselves. We have women in Congress, Natasha. Take a look in the mirror-you might find one!"

He leaned over the table on one hand, pointing to her with the other. He continued, almost spitting out his words of frustration.

"However, it is not on my agenda to give women the right to be prostitutes! This government will not endorse promiscuity. You are to write that pamphlet in such a way that it promotes the societal obligation of love, marriage and family and nothing else!"

"Tyrant!" she cried, frustrated.

The moment those words left her lips he was filled with indignation. Why could she not see the wisdom of his guidance and his corrections to her thinking? And to call names, after her outrageous, unreasonable suggestions! His temper flared as he stood up from the table.

"A tyrant she says!" he sputtered. "Better a tyrant than someone who strives in life to be a good time girl! Why do I even bother trying to explain anything to you?"

He got up from the table and crossed the room to the coat rack. He took his thick fur hat and put it on his head, then reached into the trunk by the front door to get his fishing pole and box.

He then took hold for the door knob, stopped momentarily and controlling himself, speaking quietly, avoiding eye contact.

"You can have the place to yourself for the day. Do whatever you wish. I'm going to the river."

With that he walked thru the front door, shutting it loudly behind him.

Natasha sighed, walked to the window and watched him trudge down the path to the river, disappearing into the woods. She felt no regret in defending herself. She bent to his will often enough, rewriting her material and adjusting her speeches as per his input, her teeth sometimes grinding together in an effort to keep her mouth shut. But there were times, like today, when he crossed the line with ridiculous personal insults.

Borya made his way along the path to where the fish were plentiful. He would have much preferred to have her by his side as he walked instead of trudging alone, stewing over their latest clash. While her words rankled him, he knew the stirrings of need for her would eventually start to creep in once he cooled off. Ironically, it was her very nature-her independence, strength and ability to hold her own even in a roomful of opposition that thrilled and excited him. He had always admired strong women and now he had his hands full with a fine specimen.

He considered this as his thoughts drifted to her soft brown eyes, her warm, full embrace and comforting body. On those nights he was not with her, when he slept in his bed in a separate room from his wife, he longed for Natasha's big breasts and playful smile. Once his mind went down that path his body would follow, and he would not be able to sleep until his erection was satisfied. He would slip his sleeping pants down around his calves and take his swollen cock in hand and begin to stroke himself. Thoughts of burying his face deep between her breasts with his hands busy cupping and squeezing each breast would quickly trigger his cock into paying tribute to his amazing, sexy lover. Gritting his teeth he would allow the waves of a silent orgasm wash over him, shaking and panting as he milked his cock into a handkerchief. He would lie silently for a moment, sperm splashed inside the little white cloth, looking down at it and imagining it had all landed inside of her hungry mouth, where she would swallow it all, smile and then kiss him gratefully. Ahhh, Natasha.....

The object of his affection-and currently frustration- had meanwhile pulled out her journal and started to organize her thoughts about their current rift. She was never going to relent, she was never going to change her mind least of all because he was upset that she was not a perfect copy of him. How dare he expect such a thing! As if she existed simply for him to mold, form and orchestrate.

Yet still, she knew her beast. She knew, like now, he was often alone with himself because he was so impossible. He had few close acquaintances, very few people he asked to go hiking or hunting with or to simply relax with over a few beers and his behavior was a big part of the reason. People came in and out of his life, sometimes just to be close to the great leader and his ideas. Eventually his hard headedness would drive most of them away, or he would grow disenchanted or bored and move on. He would always end up retreating into his small inner circle of support, mostly the women in his family and female comrades. Natasha was front and center. It was a big job for her, being in the middle of his orbit as his closest friend and lover. Borya contained much venom and she was often in the line of fire. But her love for him provided the antidote she needed to cope when others could not. But how long could she keep absorbing his painful stings?

She continued to dissect what had happened that morning. There was much hypocrisy in his words and actions. They were having an affair with one another and she noted he was a willing participant, apparently more than happy to spend time with his "good time girl." With a wife at home and a mistress at his side, he seemed to be a man who would appreciate what she wanted to write in that pamphlet. Was he not going outside of his own marriage for sexual fulfillment?

But she knew when she dug deeper into her own feelings that this was all much more than a simple casual fling for both of them. The human heart is never a simple thing. She personally loved the idea of being free from attachment and care, but the truth was, she cared for him very much. And his intense reaction to the idea of women enjoying multiple casual lovers indicated her ideas clearly hurt his pride. How soon would it be before she tired of him, he may have wondered, tossing him away like a rag, and seeking a new suitor?

Natasha let out her held breath, wrote out the last words, looked at them, then shut the cover and placed it with her books. She then retrieved her long coat and scarf, and took they cabin key out of its box. Picking up her rucksack, she headed out the door into the morning light.

It took about twenty minutes before she spotted him, settled down at the riverbank where the water calmly flowed and the trout were plentiful. She walked over, stopped and stood about 100 feet from him, watching him quietly meditating on the river, his thick black coat wrapped around him, his shoulders of his compact body slightly stooped over. He looked so humble and ordinary, like a peasant, quiet and patient as he fished. Maybe, even only in her mind, she could believe for a moment he was not the proud and difficult man she knew so intimately. But then, would he also hold the same brilliance, stamina and vision if he was not?

Carefully she stole up behind him, one quiet step at a time. When she was just a few feet behind him, she crushed her foot into the gravel a bit, giving away her presence.

It took a moment for him to turn and look behind himself, and when he met her eyes, there was no warm smile there. He simply turned back to the river, saying nothing.

For a moment her frustration returned in the face of his stubbornness. But she had to keep calm, accepting it was going to take more than just her presence to call a truce.

She walked up behind him, and still he did not move, despite her knees nearly touching his shoulders.

"Borya..." she said.

Still no acknowledgement. Stubborn old goat, she thought.

She then sat down next to her grumpy lover who was unable to think peace at the moment.

"Any luck yet?" she inquired. "Will we be having fish for dinner?"

He drifted his gaze even further across the river, and gave a barely perceptible shrug.

Oh, what a sulky little schoolboy! This was just silly, she thought. She didn't want a war today, not here, not when they had made the effort to come here in horseback together to get away from the fighting and difficult business of revolution and to seek some privacy. She was willing to concede her points and let him have his way so that the calm could return. But it was going to take a bit more work to convince him to come around. Her words had been cutting.

She leaned over to his neck, just peeking out from his fur collar, and gently kissed it. Then she moved slowly up towards his earlobe, placing soft little kisses in a path up to just under his ear, which she knew he absolutely loved. She felt herself, at least, becoming aroused, something about his bare skin, his own natural scent, that intoxicated her.

"Mmmm....Borya...how I love to kiss you..." she whispered as she trailed soft kisses back down from his ear and along the muscles of his neck.

She began to sense him responding, trying not to perhaps, but unable to stop himself from sighing and involuntarily turning his neck slightly to expose more of it to her. She took this as a very good sign, the start of his submission to her cautious advances, and she began to very softly bite her way back up to his earlobe, taking it between her teeth and softly sucking it, making her way to his ear and just inside of it with her tongue softly flicking and swirling around the inside, which she knew drove him wild. She could hear his intake of breath as he struggled to control himself. Normally he would have let out a moan of pleasure as shivers ran thru him, causing his cock to begin to pulse, to come alive. He strained stubbornly against the tide of rising passion, still stupidly trying to cling to his unproductive silent treatment. His body and mind were aching to respond to her.

Natasha then got up and came around in front of him. She kneeled at his feet in the damp gravel, moving the fishing pole out of the way. She now had his full attention, his dark eyes taking her in, hungry for what her kisses suggested.

She reached down, unbuttoned her coat and then undid the top buttons of her blouse. She reached under each brassiere cup and lifted out first one breast, which sat proudly, sticking up and out towards him. She then lifted out her other breast, so that both nestled together side by side, her full bosom set before him. He could not take his eyes off of them. His mouth slowly opened to allow for his stronger breathing as he watched her swirl her fingers around each nipple, encouraging them to stand erect for him. She then cupped one breast and brought it up to her tongue tip, making him moan with desire as he watched her flick her tongue around the hard nipple. She had his cock straining at full attention inside his trousers. This woman! She had all the power over him, as much as he tried to distance himself from her. Their battle of wills seemed suddenly unimportant, a crime really...as his whole being filled with love, lust and need.

She leaned towards him, dissolving his thoughts.

"I'm sorry, Borya. I am." she said, gazing into his eyes. She meant it. She was offering a white flag. He gazed with wonder at this magnificent beauty with her bare breasts before as an offering of peace, gently caressing his face with an outstretched hand, her eyes filled with a compassionate gentleness he cherished and needed. All of his resolve to resist her evaporated. She had tamed her beast once again.

He leaned forward to hungrily kiss her as she caressed his face, succumbing to her offer of a truce. Every trace of indignation and defensiveness gone, replaced now with the desire she had ignited inside of him.

He reached for her bare breasts which hung before him, waiting for attention. He cupped them in his hands and felt their weight and softness, his cock throbbing. He caressed and kneaded them, delicious chills running thru his body as he felt her nipples respond to his touch.

Slowly he leaned forward, closed his eyes and began to nuzzle her breasts with his mouth and nose, rubbing his face and forehead against them, relishing their warm, yielding softness. Nothing in the world felt this good and so right. He then opened his mouth, searching for a nipple which he drew into his mouth. He moaned and began to suckle, whimpering as he latched firmly onto her swollen red nipple, nuzzling and nipping like a hungry little lamb. Natasha closed her eyes, feeling peace at last. The storm it seemed, had passed.

But after a few moments Borya released the nipple and looked at her with a mischievous spark in his dark brown eyes.

"You have been a very naughty girl," he said, slowly shaking his head. She opened her eyes and looked down at him curiously.

"Such a feisty creature you are, to challenge your leader...your "tyrant" as you refer to him," he said, his eyes narrowing. "We need to do something about that rebellious nature. Yes, indeed we do."

It seemed Natasha wasn't quite correct in assuming Borya was completely played out. Apparently he still had a hand to deal.

"Women like you need to be tamed and they need to be reminded who is boss," he went on. "And what better way to tame a woman but with her legs in the air and her panties pulled down around her ankles? Mmmmmmmm......."

Natasha's nipples tingled at his words. She closed her eyes as her clit throbbed in anticipation. He was tapping into the part of her that loved to be taken. As strong as she was, as much as she tried to hide that side of her, she could not hide the excitement she felt imagining the scenario. Borya detected her positive reaction to the thought.

"Ahhhh!" Borya said, his eyebrows raised. "You like the idea, don't you?"

He stood up and pulled her onto her feet.

"Come with me, my little she-devil. You wanted trouble, now you have it."

Leading her by the hand, they retreated a ways away from the river into a shaded spot under the trees. He removed his coat and smoothed it onto the forest floor, making a soft bed for her.

"Down on all fours," he commanded. She got down on her hands and knees, and he came around in back of her. He gently pressed her shoulders down so that she was resting on her elbows, her rear end in the air. He then pulled her dress up over her back, then her ruffled slip, exposing her rear end. He unclipped her garters one by one, then slipped his fingers under the waistband of her panties and pulled them down her thighs. She felt wonderfully vulnerable, knowing he was looking at her creamy nude rear end and pussy peeking out between her legs.