Anya woke up in the morning; her husband was already at work. She lay in her white bed, wearing a black nightgown with thin straps, naked, her nipples protruding. Anya picked up her laptop, opened it, and went to the website of the café where she'd been married the day before yesterday. She opened a photo of herself kneeling in a white wedding dress, a white veil covering her head, surrounded by Caucasian men. She stared at the photo and recalled how this group of ten men had fucked her mouth, how she'd taken turns taking black cocks and sucking their heads. The girl's left hand moved down to her smoothly shaved pussy, and she placed her palm on her already wet pussy and began to caress her labia, brushing her clitoris with her index finger. With her right hand, she exposed her right breast, which lay over her black nightgown, and with two fingers began to squeeze her pink nipple, occasionally making circles with her fingers over her pink areola. The girl remembered how... continue reading

The story was written to order for my beloved reader and published with his approval. Background: The Perfect Cell Yana married Oleg at twenty-two. He was ten years older, confident, and as steady as a Swiss watch. He was the epitome of success: a burgeoning career, an expensive car, a spacious apartment in a prestigious neighborhood. For many of her friends, she had won the lottery of life. But after three years of marriage, Yana realized she'd won a ticket into a gilded cage, albeit a cage nonetheless. Their life was scheduled down to the minute: Oleg's work, his business dinners, their rare social outings where he'd talk business deals and she'd have to sit there, smile prettily, and nod. Her own life, her dreams of something more than decoration, were slowly fading. Oleg loved her, but he loved her as a valuable possession, as part of his successful image. He adored her beauty, but he took it for granted, like a pretty painting on the wall, something he could occ... continue reading

Almost two months had passed since that unexpected, heady, risk-filled sex with Misha in the movie theater and my provocative naked stroll under a down jacket. During that time, we met at our rented apartment only a couple of times, and our encounters began to lose their former intensity, becoming a predictable ritual. First, Misha would perform oral sex on me, which greatly aroused me, his tongue tracing leisurely circles on my clit, making my whole body shudder in anticipation. Then he would put me on all fours on the bed and, firmly gripping my hips, fuck me for about 30 minutes with his thick cock, accompanied by my moans and screams. Each thrust echoed like a dull thud in my uterus, and a burning heat spread through my back and buttocks. Then he would come on my back, and I would feel hot streams of sperm spreading across my skin, leaving sticky trails. Then we would go to the shower, where we would wash each other. Hands sliding over my wet body washed away traces of passion,... continue reading

One night, I hadn't gotten much sleep from watching porn until midnight, so I decided to go home to catch up on some sleep, going to my tech room when everyone else had left. After walking a bit down the street, I returned to the entrance, climbed the stairs to my apartment, opened the door, and then heard my mother's voice a couple of floors below. I dashed into the apartment, tossing my jacket, boots, backpack, and bag with two shoes into the built-in closet in the hallway and darted in. The closet doubled as a storage room and was quite spacious. I hid behind the hanging things, and almost immediately the door to the apartment opened, and I heard my mother's softly cooing voice and a man's voice talking to her. - Oh, Yanka, you're such a bitch! I'll eat you right now! - Yes, I am! I'm going to eat you right now! My mother flirted back! I couldn't believe it! She's certainly a beautiful and sexy woman, and men like her, I could see it perfectly.... continue reading

The end of 2224 was unusually rainy and gloomy. Outside the window of my home office, located on the hundredth floor of a skyscraper, gray streams tirelessly drenched the neon-lit night city. The streams of water blurred the lights of flying cars lining up in endless glowing lines, transforming the futuristic landscape into a melancholic watercolor masterpiece. I moved away from the massive holographic screen displaying the complex molecular diagrams of my secret project and stretched, feeling the stiff muscles in my back and neck protest the hours of sitting motionless. My back creaked, an eloquent reminder of long years spent in a static position, researching and experimenting. I removed my thick-lensed glasses and carefully wiped them with a special cloth. Without them, the world instantly blurred into a shapeless blur, where light bizarrely merged with darkness, depriving me of the ability to discern not only details but the very essence of the objects around me. A congenital an... continue reading

Introduction from the husband Recently, while talking about memorable and unusual sexual experiences, my wife reminded me of another adventure in a train compartment. Wow, I'd completely forgotten about it. She started recalling details, and I remembered some of them too, so I decided to commit the experience to paper. As I was writing, I realized it would be easier for me to persuade my wife to write the part of the story about the events that took place without my presence. I would then write the introduction and then describe the events in which I had already participated. So, it all started like this: my wife and I had already bought train tickets to St. Petersburg—we were planning to go to another meeting at a higher-level organization. Yes, it was May! Then I got a call, first from the head of the repair department at the head office, and then from the deputy director of the representative organization in the Moscow region. The problem was this: the Muscovites needed to ha... continue reading

My heart was pounding wildly, a dull thud echoing in my temples. I looked in the rearview mirror at my reflection: out of breath, with an unnatural flush on my cheeks and overly shiny eyes. I was now biting my lips, which I had so carefully lined with ripe cherry-colored lipstick, until they hurt, trying to push back the obsessive thought: “You're a traitor. You're a bitch. You're doing this.” Rain splattered the windshield, turning the city lights into blurs. The car smelled of my perfume—Black Opium, his favorite. My phone, lying on the passenger seat, vibrated again. I glanced at the screen: "Husband." A breath caught in my chest. Just a couple of hours ago, I'd been kissing this man, my husband, cooking him dinner, listening to him talk about a boring day at the office. And now I was racing to the outskirts of town, to the cheap Eden Motel, which smelled of despair and lust, not paradise. "Meeting with Lenka, I'm running late, don't wait up, k... continue reading

My head felt quite heavy, and my thoughts were all jumbled up from the alcohol. Several months had passed since Ira and I broke up, but no matter how hard I tried not to think about her, it just wasn't working, so I drowned my obsessions and nagging thoughts in cognac. I lay down on my couch when I suddenly heard a knock at the door. I reluctantly stood up, walking from the living room into the small hallway where the front door was. I looked through the peephole and couldn't believe what I saw. I opened the door, and there stood Ira, still as beautiful and sexy as ever. She was wearing short black shorts and a crop top that barely covered her pink, erect nipples. Ira is a petite 23-year-old brunette, 155 cm tall, with a pretty face, small but graceful breasts, a thin waist, and a rounded bottom. "Hi, Pash!" Ira said shyly, looking me in the eyes. "Will you let me in?" “Hi... yes, of course, come in,” I barely managed to get the words out, trying to collect m... continue reading

Ira and I had a complicated relationship; we were on and off, though we kept in touch for several years. One time, when we broke up again, I decided that was it and I needed to start over. I messaged my friend and we went to a nightclub, ideally to pick up some chicks, but as it turned out, just to have a drink and have a good time. We started with one, then another, until it was late at night and we were standing at the entrance to yet another, quite drunk. My friend decided he couldn't continue our "crusade" any longer and called a taxi. I was about to leave, but something seemed to draw me inside. I walked into the club, the stairs leading straight down. Upon entering, music and the murmur of people became immediately audible. Couples stood along the steps in the semi-darkness, enjoying each other with rapture. I went downstairs and found myself in a large room. The music was loud, and the flickering, dim red lighting created an intimate atmosphere. I went to the bar,... continue reading

Life, like a river, flows along its course. At first, a turbulent, swift current sweeping away everything in its path, then a broad, full-flowing current, calm and predictable. But sometimes, beneath this apparent calm, deep and dangerous whirlpools arise. I'm thirty-seven. My name is Elena. My husband, Grisha, is forty-three, and I have been together for fifteen years. During this time, we've experienced everything: poverty, the first modest joys, arguments, reconciliations, and the joy of owning our first apartment. But our greatest asset, our shared project, into which we've poured our hearts, are our two children. But this story isn't about them. It's about Grisha and me. About that quiet, almost invisible crack that was slowly but surely spreading across the façade of our well-being. It all started around the time I turned thirty-five. I began to notice a strange, almost animalistic restlessness within me. It was as if a beast had awakened within, dormant al... continue reading

As you get older, you begin to truly appreciate the simplest things. For example, a solid, regular male erection. Now I think back to my youth—what a fool I was... How many guys I shaved. How many orgasms I missed... For some reason, I grumbled at my husband, who always needed something. And then... Then it turned out that I lived for several years without an erection. Fingers, vibrators, colorful dildos, even vegetables and fruits... What hasn't happened to me over the years... But it's all wrong. Nothing compares to the magic of a real, erect, and therefore valuable, male end. And yesterday I finally got that ending! I'm speaking in verse now because I'm happy. I've been working towards this for a very long time, and here it is! It's happened! To be honest, Petenka was drunk. I tried my best to make it happen at the office party. I shouted toasts, topped up his glass, offered him another drink. And when he was drunk enough, I offered to take him home in a t... continue reading

My husband and I have a good relationship, great sex, but... But for years now, I've dreamed of feeling like a slut, of being fucked like a total whore by a stranger. Or even several times... Alas, the prerequisites never materialized—first, the cushy love affair with my husband, then the birth of our daughter. And for a long time, I couldn't imagine a real situation where I could step outside the bounds of morality. However, I would start to cum around any even remotely attractive man, imagining how I'd take him in my mouth and then spread my legs for him. So my husband and I, leaving our daughter in the care of her grandmothers, went to a provincial town to settle some matters with the inheritance left after the death of a distant relative. We stayed in a hotel, considered the best, but with the kind of service and furnishings I imagined the Soviet era. However, this archaism was nothing compared to the ordeal of dealing with the inheritance. And so, on the second day,... continue reading

Moscow in October smelled of wet asphalt and the smoke from the chestnuts roasted by the babushkas outside the metro. Anna walked along Tverskaya Street, her heels clicking on the tiles like a metronome counting down to the next casting. Her long black hair, pulled back into a loose ponytail, swayed in the wind, and her ivory coat accentuated her figure—the kind that made men turn their heads and women purse their lips ever so slightly. She was twenty-five, and she still believed that beauty wasn't a curse, but simply a fact, like rain or snow. At the agency, they called her a "gentle muse," but Anna knew that tenderness was a mask concealing the weariness of endless "turn around, smile, look just below the shoulder." At home, in their small apartment, whose windows overlooked a narrow courtyard dotted with stunted linden trees, Valera was waiting. He was ten years older, a manager at Sberbank, with a neat beard and eyes that always held a lurking smile—not ironi... continue reading

My wife, Tonya, and I have been living as husband and wife for a whole year now. My name is Igor, and I'm thirty-two. My wife, Tonya, is only twenty-seven. There's a five-year age difference between us, but we don't feel it at all. I don't feel older, and she doesn't feel younger. We're just living. After my grandmother died, I inherited her one-room apartment in an old panel building. That's where Tonya and I are living. My wife doesn't want to have children yet. She keeps telling me that first we need to get back on our feet, pay off the loans, and do some renovations. Well, I'm not rushing her. I understand her concerns, so I don't bring it up myself, so as not to put unnecessary pressure on her. Tonya and I met under somewhat odd circumstances. She came to work for a new assistant. Our team was mostly male, and almost everyone was married. Tonya was young, vibrant, and immediately attracted attention. But she ignored the advances of single... continue reading

Four in the morning. The brokerage app made me sick. The red numbers stubbornly slid down, like beads of pus from an unhealing wound. I closed it and opened Instagram. The first photo was of Karina. She was sitting on the windowsill in my shabby room, the dank courtyard, a well of damp brick, behind her. But she looked like an alien who had wandered into a dump. Dark hair pulled back into a careless bun, eyes that knew the value of their beauty. Cunning, damn it. Followers in the comments called her "angel" and "goddess." They didn't see the way she looked at me when she wanted to. VKontakte was buzzing with memes about deadlines and perpetual poverty. I scrolled through them like shuffling my bare feet across a dirty floor. Then I switched to Telegram. Karina shared a sticker—a lewd anime hentai where the character's eyes were the size of her own breasts. And the caption: "Miss your boobs?" The air in the room was stale, smelling of dust, cold tea, a... continue reading

— Fuck, yes! More! Fuck me like this, deeper! My nails dug into the cool plastic of the kitchen countertop, and my entire body arched in a silent scream from a new, crushing jolt that echoed deep within, causing my insides to clench in a delicious spasm. Sweat trickled down my back, mixing with the tears of madness that rolled down my face. Strong, young hands gripped my hips, pressing them in with such force that there would definitely be bruises tomorrow. Bruises that I would proudly examine in the mirror, a crazy thought flashed through my head. "Mommy's just an insatiable whore," a low, commanding voice rasped right next to my ear, its roughness making me shudder with desire again. "It's been forty minutes, and you're still thirsty. There's already a puddle under you, see?" I lowered my head, trying to catch my breath. The floor did indeed glisten in the light of the kitchen lamp. A puddle. From me. From what he squeezed out of me again and again.... continue reading

My mother-in-law recently moved in with us. Antonina Gennadyevna is 56 years old now. She spent her entire life as the head of our foundry. She definitely didn't look 56; you wouldn't put her past 40. She had a big, toned butt, matching breasts, a stern face, and her hair was always pulled back into a ponytail. So my mother-in-law moved in with us. And as the old joke goes, she has already eaten away at her son-in-law’s, that is, me, brain. - I'll give your mother a punch in the face soon if she doesn't stop! "Seryozha, please forgive me, just be patient a little longer! She'll buy herself a new apartment soon and move out." "Yes, yes, then she'll need repairs, and who's going to help? Her son-in-law is a klutz, of course." - Well, Seryozha... Dasha kissed her husband's neck, then climbed under the covers and placed her husband's rather large penis in her mouth. She began sucking him vigorously, bringing him to bliss. Powerful stre... continue reading

Mikhail, a 25-year-old guy, immediately got a job as a security guard at a large corporation as soon as he returned from the army. For the past year, he'd been working as a driver for the CEO of this corporation, and it so happened that while driving his boss, he sometimes entrusted him with driving his wife to the gym or the spa. So they began an affair, during those days when he'd take his boss's wife to the spa or the gym, supposedly. They'd either rent a hotel room, or Misha would drive out into the woods outside the city, where they'd have sex like rabid rabbits. Natasha gave Mikhail a blowjob in the back seat of an expensive Maybach. — I witnessed a conversation here, the chief accountant needed a driver and security guard all in one for some business trip, I recommended you. Natalia said, pulling away from the member. - Why? I'm not bad here either, when such a milf gives me pleasure. Natalia was 13 years older than Mikhail. She was madly in love with... continue reading

- Kolya, you idiot, let me through!!! I'll be late for work!!! Kolya was, to put it mildly, a bad neighbor, and if not mildly, a jerk! Constant drinking, partying, music, and shouting until the early hours. And this very creature lived below us. And the worst part is, he was constantly picking on me and picking on me! At first, he just made stupid jokes and offered dubious compliments. Even though I'm 41 and he's a 23-year-old bitch!!! But no, he never let me pass in peace, I have a feeling that he constantly smokes in the entryway, 24/7, the asshole!!! And now, the bitch knows my husband left 30 minutes ago. And I'll tell you right away, I didn't say anything to my husband; this Kolya is as healthy as a battered horse and just as smart! And you can't report him to the police, what am I supposed to say? He won't let me go down the stairs? We live on the fifth, top floor, and he lives on the fourth. And now he's standing between the floors and won'... continue reading

The scent of pine and steam hung in the air, mingling with the aroma of chilled beer. The sauna was dizzyingly hot. I sat on the bottom bunk, my back against the rough wooden wall, watching drops of water roll down my husband, Igor's, bare chest. His friends, Sergey and Anton, lounged nearby. We were all naked, covered only by small towels that had long since ceased to conceal anything. The idea of coming here, to this male citadel, had seemed daring and piquant at first. Now I realized it was a trap I'd fallen into. My friends' gazes, heavy and gliding like oil, lingered on my hips, my breasts, and between my legs. I tried to cover myself, but it was useless, and it seemed to only inflame them—and me—even more. "So, Lerka, isn't it too hot?" Sergei, the most brazen of them, asked hoarsely, his eyes fixed on my chest. I felt my nipples swell under his gaze, hardening treacherously. "It's okay, bearable," I managed to say, taking a sip of beer. T... continue reading