the helmet of his cock into my ass opening. I could feel the coldness of the ring. I whimpered and complained under him as he worked to gain entry. I wanted love; I wanted him to make slow, sensual love to me, not just to ravish me. His cock was huge, and my whimpers increased to gasps of pain and objection as he pushed insistently into me a few inches. He stopped the assault, giving my ass canal a chance to adjust to the size of his cock, and then, punctuated by my exclamations in French, obviously not caring about how he was using me, he thrust into me to the hilt. The cock ring caused my ass walls to ripple and tremble as it drove up my canal.

But this was what I wanted. And as my ass accommodated his billy club, the pain subsided and the pleasure flowed in. My objections turned to moans and sighs and more accommodating French phrases, as my tight little ass opened to him. He began to slowly pump me.

He dug his hands into my pecs and pulled me up to his hairy chest. The silkiness of his hair on my smooth back was sensual. Acknowledging my sighs, He turned my head to his, and we kissed. I looked at him with a dreamy expression and searched for the English that would express what I was experiencing; I certainly couldn't express myself in Russian.

"The cock stud," I said. "The feeling."

"You like?" he asked.

"Yes, I like very much," I said. "Please. Can you fuck harder?"

"Sure," he said, although he didn't respond immediately. He twisted my torso so that he could get his teeth at one of my nipples, and I gasped and moaned at the attention he gave me there.

After a few minutes, he let my torso descend back onto the table top. But then he was trying to turn me onto my back on the table. In his urgency and realizing that he wouldn't be able to strip off my practice leotard over my skates, he lifted his own skate-clad foot and sliced through the crotch of my pants, freeing my legs. Then he slowly spun me around on the table top on the spit of his still-buried cock, turned me on my back, and lifting my legs in the air with his hands. My hands fluttered up his torso, following the silky trail of the hair, and he began to deep fuck me. I was letting out little yelps of pleasure and whispering sweet nothings to him in French. He seemed not to be listening to me, to only be tuning in on his own cock. I then began jerking myself off, pushed by the need, but disappointed that he was only thinking of himself and his own needs. I was beginning to cry. This wasn't the romance I had expected from my long-anticipated lover.

When he was about to cum, he pulled out of me and shot off across my belly and up into my pecs. He buried a fist in my long blond hair, lifted his head to mine, and gave me what he obviously intended to be one last, deep, brutal, good-bye kiss. But, while we kissed, I took his cock in my hands and pulled his still-hard dick back into me. I was desperately trying to get him to focus on me; to give me some love, not just a fuck that would relieve his own