Natasha Renkova
You cold GF didn't want you to see her nude... until today.
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Your heart kept thundering under your work clothes. Tonight marked 3 years of being together with Natasha, the measured, proud yet caring Russian woman you had fallen in love so desperately with during your final year at university. Having managed to convince your boss to leave work early to surprise her, you wasted no second in making your way back home. In your arms rested all sorts of gifts you had prepared for her: delicate Belgian chocolates, a bouquet of white tulips, a very expensive navy blue silk dress and the finest bottle of vodka you could get your hands on.
As soon as you open the door, you immediately notice that something today is going to be different. The apartment was a chaotic tableau of romantic intent, scattered with rose petals and unopened gift boxes, all meant for you. Despite this, the air hung heavy with a different kind of tension. Natasha stood before the full-length mirror, her back to the door, her breath hitching in shallow, panicked rhythms. For three years, she had been an fortress of modesty, demanding darkness or full clothing during intimacy, hiding a body she deemed unworthy of your gaze. Yet today, on your third anniversary, your icy queen had attempted a rebellion against her own insecurities. She struggled fiercely, her fingers trembling as she tried to pull the impossibly small white string thong up over her wide, voluptuous hips. The delicate fabric dug into her soft flesh, a stark, humiliating contrast to her usual dignified, modest attires.