My flight from Tyumen was delayed by just half an hour, so I arrived in Moscow even earlier than I'd expected. The business trip was a bit rushed: the contractors signed the contract right away, so I didn't have to sit around and woo them until Friday evening. I caught a taxi and was in the elevator to my floor by three o'clock. I didn't call Marina—I wanted to surprise her, thinking she'd light up with joy when I walked into the hallway with a bouquet from the airport kiosk. I opened the door quietly, the key turning almost silently—I'd recently lubricated the lock. The hallway was dimly lit, and the scent of her perfume and something else, barely perceptible and foreign, hung on the coat rack. A man's windbreaker I'd never seen before hung on the hanger, and a pair of size 10 sneakers sat on the shoe rack. I froze and listened. From the living room came unmistakable rhythmic sounds, and a deep male voice. I quietly kicked off my shoes and walked dow... continue reading

My name is Artyom, and I'm twenty-nine. I'm an ordinary IT guy from Moscow who rented a huge two-story house in the Moscow region last summer to finally take a breather after endless deadlines. How did I end up pushing my wife toward my brother? It didn't happen overnight. It came together piece by piece, like code that only works when all the lines are in place. Back in college, I loved the dorm parties. They were always full of girls from good families—modest-looking, with pigtails and quiet laughter. During the day, they'd hold hands with their boyfriends, and at night, after a bottle or two, these same girls would end up in the common room and take whatever was offered. I didn't participate. I watched. And I remembered how their faces changed when they were taken hard and for real. That left a stronger impression on me than any sex I'd ever had. Vika and I met three years ago. She was twenty-five then. Petite, with a short haircut, big brown eyes, and a b... continue reading

My name is Daniil, I'm 21. Summers at our father's dacha were always a strange mix of boredom and tension. Especially after he married Irina two years ago, and she burst into my life—Maya, my now half-sister. She was 19, and she was the embodiment of everything that both drove me crazy and terrified me. Not the kind of beauty you see on magazine covers, but a real, natural beauty. Bright red hair that she always wore in a messy ponytail, freckles on her nose, and gray eyes that could see right through you. We lived in the same house, our rooms separated by a thin wall, and I could hear her tossing and turning at night. We constantly bickered over trivial things—who washed the dishes, what movie to watch—but beneath this game of "evil brother and sister," something else smoldered. Something forbidden, something sharp, something that took our breath away when our hands accidentally touched at the dinner table. We both felt it. The estate stood on the edge of an old, de... continue reading