Choma's House

A story of the building up of sexual tension and its inevitable explosion between a runaway and a man who takes her in. This grew in the telling so for those in search for a quickie, scroll down to chapter eight for the first intercourse.

Chapter one

Siri's life wasn't actually a life as much as it was an Easter egg, carefully painted layers of chocolate to cover all the things that should have been there and weren't. She'd dreamed of leaving since she was fourteen and after ten years knew exactly where she'd go - Eastern Europe. To be sure, it wasn't the safest of destinations for a woman travelling alone, but an ideal choice for anyone hoping to disappear. At Helsinki West Terminal she boarded the M/S Baltic Princess with the firm intention of never to return. What ever she would decide to do Siri was confident that no one could trace her from a country like Belarus or Slovakia and she would be in peace.

***

As it was 2000s Siri had expected to get by relatively well with English, but she didn't. Neither did her moderate skills in Russian help her as much as she had hoped for. In addition the rather romantic expectations she'd had of her chosen refuge to large extent proved to be misconceptions. Eastern Europe was loud, pushy and restless and the gypsy life proved more taxing than she'd anticipated. She took in the flood of people, colours and sounds without resorting to her medicine, however, after the hustle and bustle of Warsaw she was in desperate need for silence.

She changed busses at the Ukrainian border and in a few hours felt the tightening in her chest ease as she gazed out the window at the fields, moors and lakes of Shatskyi national park. After a careful study of her map Siri got off the bus seemingly in the middle of nowhere. From where she stood stretched out a ten kilometre hike to one of the smaller lakes of the area, hopefully a paradise of peace and quiet.

She skirted fields and crossed through thickets of deciduous trees among open fields of short grass. The ground was even and the day wasn't particularly hot but the marching tired her out quickly. She reached the lake hours later than she'd estimated, sweaty and utterly spent. Feeling faint she struggled to put up her tent and fell asleep as soon as she had her sleeping bag and mattress unrolled.

She slept fitfully, shivering from cold, drifting from one terrifying nightmare to another. Every time she stirred she gulped down large amounts of water, and eventually she had to pee. Too spooked to unzip the door to the unknown she urinated into the bowl of her Trangia, too befuddled from fever to feel the slightest bit silly.

When dawn chased the darkness away her fear let go and she slept for a few straight hours. Besides that the morning brought little in the way of relief. By ten a.m. the temperature inside the tent had climbed to uncomfortable levels but Siri was too sick to move her bed outside. She had only one litre of water left which meant she would have to move before it ran out completely. In one of the Shatskyi lakes the water was said to be safe to drink, but it wasn't her lake.

It was near eight p.m. when Siri forced herself up on wobbly legs and left her camp. She staggered towards the road, but the whole world was gibberish. She clung to her map and compass but couldn't bring her sluggish brain to remember how to use them.

Dusk fell and her unease returned. Startled by every sound and shape she hurried on, consumed by her fear. Tears streamed from her eyes and she talked to herself in whispers, hanging on to the last semblance of self control. She had long finished the last of her water when in the looming darkness her eyes suddenly focused on a tiny distant light.

Hope went a long way. She let her backpack thump on the ground and ignored her thirst, aches and fever. She kept on for another two hours until the light went out and the house that had emanated it was swallowed by darkness. In an instant the hope that had sustained her died and took with it all her strength. She took a few hesitating steps but her knees bent and she collapsed. Just before fading into nothingness, she saw the first promises of a new sunrise in the horizon.

Chapter two

Choma carried the girl in the house and laid her carefully on the sofa. He might have walked right past her had his ears not picked up the sharp wheeze of her breathing. The girl looked like death and his mind was in shambles. He knew the first priority was to get off her wet clothes but it didn't feel right to strip the poor girl naked. He needed help. Larisa would know what to do but he didn't like leaving her alone in the state she was in. Yet, too worried not to, he covered her in blankets and hurried to his battered old truck.

***

"What is she doing in those wet clothes?" Larisa exclaimed walking in the room. "Choma Danylovych, what on earth were you thinking?" It was the first time in years Choma heard Larisa swear. "You old fool, it's the wrong bloody time to be a prude." Choma hung his head. Larisa was right and he was ashamed of his earlier sheepishness. "Off with you then. Put water to boil and bring her something dry to sleep in," she said hurrying to remove her clothes.

Choma returned with a long cotton shirt. "You'll have to help me. I can't dress her on my own. Don't be ridiculous, Choma, God knows it's not the first time you see a naked woman." This isn't a woman, she's a girl, he thought dismally but didn't contradict.

"Prop her up," ordered Larisa and Choma slid his hands to the small of her back and pushed. As her body rose into a sitting position, the blanket slid down and Choma saw her beautiful round breasts with tiny half erected nipples. His thoughts instantly wandered to what they would feel like in his hands, how would it feel to press his lips to that soft flesh.

As soon as it had appeared the sight was gone; Larisa had gotten the girl's hands into the sleeves and buttoned the shirt up commanding him to carry their patient upstairs. Her body felt soft through the thin fabric and, shivering, Choma took her into the small bedroom and lay her on the mattress. There was something disturbingly erotic in her unconscious form on the bed before him, but Larisa's voice woke him to reality. "Bring some juice and all hot water bottles you have. And a decent book if you don't mind, I'll get under the covers to warm her up."

"Will she be ok?" asked Choma.

"I honestly don't know," answered Larisa shaking her head.

Choma tried to go about his work but was plagued by images of the girl's naked breasts and the two women huddling tightly against each other under the blankets. He couldn't concentrate and spent the day walking around aimlessly, his thoughts constantly on the room upstairs and the sick girl within. In the evening Larisa took her leave imploring him to vigilance, "She has a high fever, keep a close eye on her. I'll be back tomorrow to see how she's doing."

Choma sat with her the whole night wiping her face with a wet cloth. Larisa had remade her dishevelled braid, and it ran on the duvet leading Choma's eyes once more onto her chest. He tucked the coil of hair in with the girl to rid himself of the image of her breasts. Choma expected to unravel her mystery but though she kept murmuring and babbling it was impossible to make out what she was saying. At times she woke up from a nightmare, eyes wide in terror, but when he tried to talk to her she didn't respond and fell back asleep.

Choma took pity on her. She was restless, tossed and turned, kicking her duvet aside. Dutifully he tucked her back in, each time trying to ignore her pale legs and thoughts of placing his hand on her thigh and sliding it up along her soft skin all the way beneath the hem of her shirt. His solitary life had mellowed his passions, but to have someone enticing and vulnerable there for his taking rekindled the needs he'd long subdued. No, he said to himself countless times during the night, don't even think about it.

Come morning he woke up from his chair, every muscle stiff. The girl looked angelic in the soft orange light. Choma reached for her braid and slid it in his hand; his crotch stirred and so did his quilt. It was wrong of him to desire her. Too young, he chided himself and snorted, too unconscious. Still, he neglected his work and hovered over his little patient, stroking her brow and soothing her when she got restless.

More than once her distress had a wanton shade and she grasped his petting arm, writhing against it, trying to push it down towards her crotch. When she got like that it took all his self discipline to pull his hand away and leave the room. It would have been so easy to convince himself then that she was willing and use her inert body to sate himself.

He said nothing of those moments to Larisa when she arrived to check on her as promised. However her remedies didn't extend much beyond common sense and there was nothing more she could do for the girl. They would have to let the fever run its course.

Chapter three

The first thing that registered was the smell of an old house. Knowing she wasn't at home, she sat up slowly to find herself groggy in a strange dark room. She had shattered recollections of someone holding a cup to her lips, of fleeting voices and a rough hand stroking her forehead. She looked around her and listened - nothing. She wasn't in a town or a city, for there was no light coming from the windows or any sounds of traffic. Fear swelled in her chest, fear of dark and of strangers. They've taken care of me this far, she reminded herself but the fear ran deeper than that.

Her hands shot up to her chest to fumble the long white shirt that covered her down to her thighs - it wasn't hers. Feeling small and very much alone she saw in her mind a vague human shape stripping her, cruelly stealing from her the privacy to her own body. Her hands sought out her braid to hold on to something familiar, but she could tell at once it wasn't of her own making.

Sitting still was impossible. She had to know where she was. She eased herself off the bed and on her shaky legs. Cursing every creek of the floor she shuffled to lean on the wall and opened the door. Behind it was a landing with stairs going down and two other doors. She detected a weak source of light from downstairs and proceeded to the first step. It took a moment to think up a best way to climb down and finally she sat down on the first step and one step at a time slid herself down.

Roaming in a strange house made her feel guilty but she didn't want to announce herself just yet. She wanted to know who her hosts were first. On the last step she reached for the railing and pulled herself up. The hallway seemed to spin around her and she leaned against the wall, willing the world to stay still while she made her way towards the light.

She peeked into a cosy living room with an old fireplace and shabby furniture, a man sat in a chair facing the fire. His hair was touched by grey and his skin darkened by a lifetime spent outdoors. With her legs inevitably tiring, Siri studied Choma's profile holding her breath. It's his shirt. He's touched me. Her nipples hardened and she realized she had no underwear. Has he used me? Her pussy tingled but there was no pain. Would I feel it if he has--, while I slept? Siri saved herself from the stain of the word. Christ, there may be semen welling in me right now. What will he do to me? Oh, I have to get out of here!

She meant to get her things and run but Choma had sensed her presence and looked up from his book. Surprised to find her up he hurried to her. Siri felt surreal for the man's speech sounded like Russian but she couldn't understand any of it. She closed her eyes in brink of tears and cowered against the wall. "No, please, no," she pleaded when he approached.

Choma, ignoring her silly fear, put a hand under her arm and led her a few clumsy steps, sitting her down on the worn sofa. Disoriented and scared, the girl recoiled from him and backed in to the corner of the couch. Hoping she would snap out of it, Choma stepped back from the trembling girl.

Waiting for his little ward to wake up he'd done what he could to make himself presentable and thus was a far neater looking man than the unkempt near hermit that found her. He'd shaven, trimmed his hair and found some clothes that hadn't seen too many runs in the workshop. Still, he was a rugged, serious looking man and the long years alone hadn't improved his social skills. He tried his best to look unthreatening but doubted his success.

He crouched to be on her level. "Listen, you're safe here. I'm Choma, this is my house. I found you when you were sick." She snatched an old quilt and covered herself. Choma was disappointed, he had expected a more cheerful moment than this. With his hands held up he rose and moving slowly past the girl sat down on the armrest of a chair next to the sofa. He kept his tone calm trying his best to reassure her but the confusion following her awakening was persistent and hard to penetrate. She starred at him with eyes bright with fever, her hands clutched the quilt and she cowered if he so much as shifted slightly.

They sat there a long while, her shock lessening and her breathing slowing down. As the minutes passed, and the man seemingly didn't intend to harm her, Siri's tense muscles loosened up. She closed her eyes and finally her brain picked words she understood. He said 'my name is'. "Choma," she murmured sleepily and, as the drowsiness of fever flooded her head, added, "I'm... Ya Siri."

She stirred to his hand stroking her hair. Choma was standing right next to her, smiling a warm smile that deepened the crow's feet at the corners of his eyes. That particular touch had since childhood been a promise of love, shelter and caring and Siri gave in to it. If Choma had wanted to hurt her he could have done so. With her eyes half closed she leaned her head against her rescuer in a silent plea for solace. When he slipped his hands under her arms and hauled her up she didn't question it.

Choma led the woozy girl back to bed. Siri was unsteady on her feet but Choma kept his strong arm around her and didn't let her fall. He tucked her in and she muttered, "Hyvää yötä," good night, her eyes already closed. "Na dobranič," he replied automatically and sat down on the little chair in which he'd lately spent so many hours.

Siri fell asleep quickly, too tired to be aware of strangers or danger. Choma watched her. His flesh throbbed where she had laid her head. That intimation made him feel even more protective of her than before. Yet at the same time the image of her cowering form, bare legs and frightened eyes harried him. Her small hands had squeezed so hard on the quilt which she had trusted to hide her vulnerability.

He had wanted to give her a reason to fear, to be the man she had thought him to be. Those legs had led not just his eyes but also his imagination to the secrets hidden in the shadows under the shirt. Choma imagined her face if he had taken the blanket from her and cupped her little pussy in his hand. His penis swelled and bent uncomfortably in his trousers. He grunted softly and shifted to let it bounce straight. He looked at the sleeping form of the girl, Siri, and gathered his strength of will to exit the room.

***

She was floating in shallow water. Their faces hovered over her. She tried to explain but they wouldn't listen. They wanted her to swim where the water was so dark she'd be drawn in to the abyss. A weak current tugged at her feet. "I don't want to," she whispered at the faces, but the current got stronger and pulled at her body. "I won't! You can't make me!" she yelled, petrified of the unknown. The faces closed in to devour her and she screamed.

Her dream was penetrated by whispers and shushing. A warm and real hand stroked her clammy forehead. She noted a faint rustle of clothes and sensed the man standing right beside her. Choma's hand rested on her cheek and he leaned closer. In a heartbeat all traces of sleep were gone. He brought his nose to her neck and breathed in her scent. Oh, god. She nearly twitched when the nausea hit her. What happened while I slept? Frozen still she waited for Choma to crush her beneath his body and force himself inside her. Her terrified mind could feel her legs already spread and a man between them. Not this. Please.

She wanted to plea but as long as he thought she was asleep there was a chance it would all go away. Her chest was tight as she desperately held back a sob; she could almost feel his hands roaming her defenceless body and his fingers parting her nether lips for his cock. If he raped her, she had no choice but to lie down and let him. He was too strong to fight and besides, where would she run without clothes. She didn't even know where she was. Before a tear escaped from beneath her closed eyelids he stepped away from the bed and left the room. She heard a very heavy sigh as he closed the door.

Chapter four

In the morning Siri felt a little better and sat on the bed plucking up courage to leave the room. Her clothes waited on a chair, washed clean, panties and all. She remembered some flashes of last night and was uneasy to face the man again. She desperately wanted to wash. The not knowing of what he had or hadn't done to her while she was out ate at her. Her cunt itched and wouldn't let her mind rest. The doubt of having been soiled was unbearable. Stupid, stupid, stupid! Stop thinking about sex! She wondered if her mind was racing so because she had gone off her medicine or was it her instincts crying out to warn her.

She found him in the kitchen preparing what turned out to be a rather awkward breakfast. Choma, although trying hard to hide it, resented that Siri was still obviously afraid of him. He wanted to be understanding but her suspicion made him feel stupid for looking after her. Her memory, on the other hand, was coming back and she knew she was in Ukraine, but not getting any further answers was infuriating. She was grasping at straws trying every language she knew and a few she didn't. She kept coming back to English and Russian but the man didn't show any signs of recognition. Siri buried her face in her hands, hot tears burning in her eyes, and Choma took pity on the disheartened girl. "Larisa will be glad to see you up. Larisa is my friend." Siri looked up. "She helped you too." He felt stupid talking to her as if she was a lackwit, "Larisa will come visit."

The woman Choma later led to the living room was in her fifties and emitted purposefulness that bordered on intimidating. Not bothering to slow down her speech, she greeted Siri kindly introducing herself as Larisa Ivasivna. She shooed Choma out of the room and prompted Siri to take off her shirt and bra. She was embarrassed but Larisa laughed it away and assured her in a no-nonsense voice. Gingerly Siri undressed and the older woman looked her over front and back. Feeling fragile and exposed Siri's thoughts wandered to Choma and his visit during the night.

Siri couldn't understand what Larisa was saying and her imagination conjured up one scary explanation after another. She was stiff with fear, sure that Larisa was a brothel keeper here to buy her. The thought of strange men looking at her nakedness burned and froze her simultaneously and her nipples hardened. She stared at the ceiling willing what ever was to come to be over soon.

Siri's breath caught in her throat when Larisa pressed an ear between her plump breasts. It was humiliating to be naked in front of a stranger and shocking to be touched. Larisa said something and exaggerated her own breathing and Siri resumed taking in air. The woman straightened her back and turned Siri around. An ear pressed against her upper back and Siri dutifully breathed for her nurse. Larisa started chattering and though Siri didn't understand the words she recognized the tone from a hundred check ups, after which followed the doctors statement of everything being ok.