My name is Seryoga. My partner, Dimon, and I work at a 24-hour supermarket on the outskirts. I'm a security guard, he's a loader. It's a night shift, from ten to eight. The job isn't particularly grim: you only get a couple of drunks a night, but you can grab something from the shelves in peace while no one's watching and spend some time on your phone. The only downside is the cameras, but we know the blind spots by heart. Our administrator's name is Vika. She's about twenty-five, and has a stunning figure. She always wears a tight skirt that falls just below her butt, a blouse a couple of buttons unbuttoned, and underneath, she wears obviously expensive lace lingerie, which Dimon and I noticed a couple of times when she bent over. She has slender legs in heels, and plump lips painted scarlet. Her hair is dark, shoulder-length. We called her "Star" among ourselves. Because for us, ordinary working people, such a woman would never be in our future.... continue reading

Château de Valmont, hidden in the dense vineyards of the Loire, was transformed every April into a temple for the most discerning collectors. The stone vaults of the main hall trembled with hushed voices, and the air was thick with the aroma of aged Cabernet, old oak, and expensive tobacco. I, a twenty-four-year-old sommelier, was working at this private auction for only my second time. My task was simple and honorable: introduce the lots, describe the terroir, pour into glasses, and ensure that not a drop was wasted. None of the guests noticed how I nervously twitched my fingers behind my back as the price of yet another bottle of 1947 soared. The auction proceeded as usual—the gavel banged, the glasses clinked, and I stood at the long table with decanters, smiling and nodding. No one suspected that below me, two floors down, in the ancient wine cellar, a completely different game was already underway. After the last lot, as guests began to disperse to the terrace with cigars, the... continue reading

Ira fundamentally disliked visiting the Mukhins. More than that—every such trip evoked a dull, gnawing irritation in the pit of her stomach, which, as a well-bred woman, she had spent years learning to disguise behind a polite smile. The source of this irritation had a specific name: Vadim. Her husband's old college friend, and also the main witness at their wedding, was the man who had once committed an unforgivable act against Ira, which she preferred not to mention to anyone, not even Oleg. She simply shoved the incident into the back of her mind, sprinkled it with everyday life, and pretended it never happened. It worked poorly, however—whenever they were in the same company again, everything would come back to her in detail: the scent of his cologne, his sticky gaze, and her own humiliating numbness. But Oleg adored these forays of the "old guard"; for him, they were a breath of fresh air amidst his dreary accounting, and refusing him meant causing a scandal with un... continue reading

Lisa entered the small office at precisely eleven o'clock. The door clicked softly behind her, cutting off the noise of the night city. The air was thick with warm aromas—sandalwood, lavender, a hint of patchouli. Several aroma lamps flickered on shelves along the wall, casting soft orange reflections on the cream-colored walls. In the center stood a wide couch covered with a fresh white sheet, and next to it stood a small table with oils and towels. Quiet instrumental music flowed from hidden speakers, like the breath of the space itself. Olga Viktorovna greeted her with a slight smile. She was forty-one, her dark hair pulled back into a neat low bun, her eyes a warm green, and her voice smooth and confident, like someone who knows exactly where every touch leads. "Lisa, right? Come in, strip down to your underwear, and lie down on your stomach. Today we're having a deep relaxation session. No rush, just you and your body." Liza nodded, feeling the familiar knot of... continue reading

Katya and I were that "perfect" couple, the kind everyone sighed about: "How lucky you are." I was a thirty-four-year-old owner of a small construction company; Katya was twenty-nine, a former gold medalist with honors, and now a happy housewife who managed to run the house so well that even my mother couldn't find fault. Katya always did everything right. She cooked right, dressed right, had sex right. We both came almost on schedule, after which she would gently dry herself off, kiss my cheek, and whisper, "Goodnight, honey, you have to get up early tomorrow." I adored her. And at the same time, I was suffocating. Because behind this correctness lurked a woman who, back in college, secretly read Fifty Shades under her desk and blushed to the ears whenever I accidentally caught her doing so. She'd quickly close the tab and say, "That's stupid, I was just curious." And then we'd make love missionary style because "it's safer an... continue reading

My first girlfriend was Sveta, a 23-year-old girl from Krasnodar who came to Gelendzhik for the summer to visit a friend. I was nineteen, working as a lifeguard on one of the beaches between Kabardinka and Gelendzhik. I'd spend all day hanging out on the tower in just shorts, looking at the sea and the girls in bathing suits. Sveta showed up almost every evening after six, when the sun was less scorching. She rented a room in a private house nearby and came alone, always wearing the same red bikini that barely held up her breasts. She wasn't a model, but she had the kind of body that immediately got me hard. She was about 5'6", with heavy D-cup breasts, with noticeable nipples that always poked through the thin fabric. Her waist was narrow, but her hips and ass were wide and luscious, so wide that when she walked along the pebbles, everything shook and swayed. I silently gave her 95-68-105, and every time she passed my tower, I pretended to stare at the sea, but out... continue reading

Lyokha and I have been friends our whole lives. We shared desks, girls, then the army, and then problems. He married Svetka before me. She's a real beauty. I even had a crush on her at one point, but Lyokha got his bearings quicker. I'm not offended; my life has worked out just fine: Lyokha, two kids close in age, a mortgage. Lyokha is a classic proprietor. While he himself occasionally had affairs, he kept a tight rein on Svetka. She works as a nurse at a clinic, with a schedule of 24 hours on and 34 hours off. Lyokha has been traveling frequently for work in the past year—he's been working on construction projects in the region. So we're sitting in his garage one day, drinking beer, ogling his new car. Lyokha hesitated, then blurted out: "Listen... You're on good terms with Svetka. You could stop by and help out with some small things. What I'm getting at is... I've got an idea. Check it out." I almost dropped the bottle. - What? "Well, try... continue reading

My name is Pasha, I'm thirty, and I work as a plumber in a private office. I'm 187 cm tall. I have strong arms and a broad back. And I've got a pretty big dick, too (22 cm)—women are always stunned when they see that thing for the first time. Thick, long, with a red head, like a fist. Basically, a monster. A woman named Tatyana called, her address was in a new building. She said the pipe under the bathroom sink was leaking, and the neighbors downstairs were already knocking. I grabbed my tools and headed over. The door opened—a blonde woman, about thirty-five, with a striking figure. She was wearing a short, silky blue housecoat, tied at the waist. Her legs were long and smooth, clearly someone who took care of herself. Her breasts were prominent beneath the robe; she must be a C-cup, at least. “Come in,” she says in such a sweet voice, “I’m already exhausted, the water is dripping.” Her name is Tanya. I went into the bathroom. The room was small, bright, clean everywher... continue reading

I met her in the park completely by chance. It was July, hot, and I was sitting on a bench in the shade, drinking kvass and staring blankly around. She walked past, and I didn't even remember her face at first—I rarely remember faces when I see something that blows my mind. She was wearing white high-heeled sandals. The straps were thin, wrapped around her ankle, the soles were red, and her toes—neat, with a scarlet pedicure—were just visible from beneath the straps. And her gait. That gait when a woman knows she's being watched. Her feet were planted firmly, her heels touching the pavement first, then rolling smoothly, her calves tensing, her tendons taut. I watched her go. Then I saw her sit down on the bench next to me, take out her phone, and scroll through something. She crossed her legs, one on top of the other, her shoe dangling from her toes. I watched and felt my mouth go dry. I should have been drinking valerian root, not kvass. My name is Vika, twenty-six, a haird... continue reading

I still get a twinge in my balls when I think about that Tuesday. No, seriously. In my line of work, of course, you see all sorts of things. Women look at you completely differently when your man isn't home. But not like THIS... I was invited to a job site at 14 Lenin Street. It was a woman with a... you know, languid voice. She said there was a leak under the sink, I had an adjustable wrench, but my hands weren't in the right place. I'm a simple guy, 35 years old, I've been doing renovations since I was twenty. I'm used to women either turning up their noses at me or, on the contrary, clinging to me, because a man in the house is a man. The entrance is a typical Khrushchev-era building, third floor. I ring the doorbell. She opens the door. And then I froze. About twenty-five, no more. Her dark hair was pulled back into a bun, with a couple of loose strands falling down her neck. She was wearing a short, terrycloth robe, blue and worn, tied at the waist. And that... continue reading

This story began when I was working part-time as a taxi driver. I pulled up to a café where, apparently, some corporate event was taking place, a pretty woman of about 35 climbed in next to me and, sitting in the front seat, slurred her way through the address. It was a long drive, 30 kilometers, and delighted with such a good order at the end of my shift, I drove to the address. During the ride, the drunk woman began complaining about her life: her husband wasn't paying attention, her lover didn't need her anymore, and she was still in her prime, and so on and so forth—whatever else men want. Upon closer inspection, I realized she was indeed quite attractive, with a C- or B-cup bust, slender legs, a toned figure, and not an ugly face. We chatted for about half the ride, and then something happened that I'd heard about many times, but had never experienced with me. She asked for a light, and since I don't allow smoking in the car, I had to pull over and we got out to... continue reading

My name is Elena. I'm thirty-eight, and I had everything a decent woman should have: a successful husband, a daughter, a cat, a mortgage on an apartment in a decent neighborhood, and a lingering melancholy that I hid behind new curtains and the scent of expensive candles. Our marriage had long since become a comfortable cohabitation. Sergey and I had been sleeping in separate rooms for two years now, and his touches, when they happened, were quick and businesslike, like signing a contract. I felt drained, withered, like a houseplant that had been forgotten to be watered. The Energy gym became my escape. It was where I escaped thoughts of unwashed dishes and silent dinners. It was where I felt alive, if only from the muscle pain. And then he appeared in the gym—the new trainer, Alexander. Not a muscular boy, but a man of about forty, with such a calm, confident gaze and hands that seemed to understand the strength and weakness of every muscle. He didn't shout or offer idiotic... continue reading

Late Friday evening. Anya finally broke out of the apartment. The door slammed loudly behind her. Dima yelled after her: - Where did you go, bitch? Come back, I said! She didn't come back. For three months now, he'd been monitoring her every move: where she was, who she was texting, what time he'd be back. He checked her phone every evening, demanding she delete photos from her stories if they were "too revealing." He said he loved her. He cared. But in reality, he was simply smothering her. Today Anya couldn't stand it anymore. She said: — I'm going for a walk. He grabbed her hand, squeezed it until it bruised, hurt. She punched him in the face, broke free, grabbed her bag, and ran out. "Let him scream. Let him ring a hundred times. He deserves it, the lout." I arrived at the Night Surf club, where I used to go with my friends until Dima banned me. The security guard at the entrance let me in without asking any questions: — Come in. Inside there... continue reading

It was one of those night shifts that starts out like any other. A hospital after midnight is a world unto itself. Silence punctuated by the beeping of machines, dim light in the hallways, and a feeling as if the rest of the city had died out. I, Sveta, had been working here as a nurse for five years. I knew every corner, every creaking linoleum. That evening, there was a corporate party celebrating some anniversary of the head physician. A modest drinking session in the staff room on the second floor. Champagne, cognac, cheap snacks. I sipped a little, then another, the tension of the shift slowly dissolving in a light, pleasant alcoholic haze. I wasn't completely drunk, but rather warmed up. My body felt light, my cheeks were flushed, and playful, warm shivers ran through me. I threw my white robe over the short black dress I'd worn underneath—I planned to pop into a club after my shift. The robe came unbuttoned, revealing my cleavage and the slightly trembling, firm breas... continue reading

"Darling, get ready quickly! We're going on a yacht!" Innochka excitedly rushed around the room, packing her things into a large beach bag. Towels, swimsuits, various creams, a hat! Innochka put on her hottest swimsuit... two white triangles on her breasts, one on her pubic area, and the rest of it just strings. Shorts on her butt, and she's ready to go. I was captivated: a slender body, small breasts, but with sharply protruding nipples, visible through the contours of a mini-swimsuit, which emphasized her assets even more clearly. I constantly wanted to look at her and admire her. Slender with very long legs, a thin waist and a delightful butt, she looked sexy! Her boss's jeep pulled up to the house! Deputy Chief Sergei was driving, and Second Deputy Chief Viktor was in the back seat. I was seated in the front seat, and Innochka in the back seat between Viktor and Pyotr Petrovich! Sergey turned up the music and pressed the gas pedal! And with the music so loud,... continue reading

I met him (I'll call him Alexander) at one of those special private parties thrown by a good friend of mine, a lover of BDSM and other perversions. He'd taken a not-quite-spoiled young woman as soon as she'd stepped foot in the "modeling" agency, and had played with her—me, that is—to his heart's content. The circle of guests was relatively small, but it was hard work, as they say, and the pay was quite decent. I worked with my friend Angela. She played the top, and I the bottom. Something between a themed session and porn theater. I won't go into detail, as that story is about something else. I'll just say that by the end, securely restrained, I was being fucked in all three holes by everyone who wanted to. It wasn't exactly a crowd, but it wasn't easy to endure it all, especially anal, no matter how thoroughly Angela lubed my ass beforehand. During the session, I don't think I ever truly came, but afterward, when they untied me, finished... continue reading

The last bus from the city to my remote district center. Ten o'clock at night, exhausted beyond belief. The bus was half empty—a couple of students with headphones in the front, an old woman with bags by the driver, and me in my usual window seat at the very back. Rain streamed down the window in slanted streaks, the streetlights flickered like garlands. I buried my face in my phone, thinking only about getting there and collapsing into bed. At the stop near the business center, she glided onto the bus. She walked unsteadily, holding onto the handrails. She wore an expensive burgundy coat, a pencil skirt, and heels. Her gaze was empty, slightly glassy. The air smelled of frosty air, perfume, and... whiskey. She walked slowly across the bus, swayed, and plopped down on the seat next to me, even though there were plenty of empty seats. “Sorry,” her voice was hoarse, tired. “I’m just... here. Okay?” “Yes, of course,” I moved towards the window. She shrugged off her coat, crumpling... continue reading

The New Year's office party was at the penthouse on floor forty-five, and I was late, as usual. The black dress I'd bought with my last money turned out to be a weapon of mass destruction: it hugged every inch of me, and the neckline was so low I could feel the air conditioning blowing in the most unexpected places. The elevator—the only way up—gleamed like polished steel. I flew into it in high heels, almost tripping, and heard a calm male voice: - Allow me. He was already inside. Tall, in a perfectly tailored dark blue suit, jacket off, his tie loose around his neck. His gaze was appraising, but not insolent. I nodded, slipped into the corner, and pressed "45." His long, neatly manicured finger reached out next to him and pressed "48." We stood with our backs to each other, reflected in the mirrored walls. He smelled of something woody and cold, like a winter forest. The elevator slowly rose. I adjusted a strand of hair and caught his gaze in the reflection... continue reading

There's a darkness within each of us. For some, it's thicker, while for others, it's a barely perceptible, yet still dirty, cloud. Some hide their dark side from society, while others are mostly pure and bright, but somewhere deep within them lie hidden actions that are best left unseen. This story centers on an ordinary married couple. The husband, let's call him Nikolai, the wife, let's call her Nina, and a son and daughter, whose names are of no use to us. And then something happened in their lives that could tear the family apart. His loving and beloved wife, in every sense, was recovering from her second childbirth, and Kolya couldn't be happier. She was becoming more beautiful, and most importantly, the spark that had once attracted him was rekindled. Nina was regaining her usual self-confidence, her easy smile with or without reason, and her love of sex. The latter had been difficult for a long time. Before the children arrived, she was an uncontrollab... continue reading

I've been dating a girl for two years now, we live together, and I've started getting turned on by the idea of cuckolding, like having someone fuck her, preferably hard. But she's pretty shy; I'm only her third boyfriend. It's just that during sex, I imagine someone just fucking her or about to fuck her right after me. It really turns me on. One day, I was staring at my phone, and she was taking a bath and called me over to get her a book. I walked into the bathroom with her book and phone in my hands and I really wanted to take a picture of her. I turned on the camera, wanting to take a picture, but she noticed, quickly covered her face with her hands and asked what I was doing. I managed to take one photo and replied, "Just a photo." She was surprised, asking, "Why do you need a naked photo of me, etc." We chatted for a bit, and she realized it was just a photo, let me take a normal photo of her in the bathroom, even posed for a little, and it... continue reading