I'd been playing "Tanks" for three hours when another burst of laughter came from the kitchen. My mother and her friends, Natasha and Irina, were celebrating her fortieth birthday. I popped in to congratulate her, drank a glass of cognac with them to their health, and retreated back to my den—sitting with three forty-year-old women and listening to them talk about men, diets, and bosses was more than I could handle. She's twenty years old, after all, and has her own interests. Around eleven o'clock in the evening, the laughter died down. I went to investigate. The kitchen was piled high with dirty dishes and empty bottles. Mother and Aunt Natasha were asleep in Mom's bedroom, the door ajar—I heard their synchronized snoring. But Irina was nowhere to be found. I walked into the living room and saw her. She was lying on the sofa, on her side, her legs tucked under her, covered only by a light blanket that had slipped halfway to the floor. The light from the str... continue reading

That summer, my husband and I headed south for the first time in two years. Money was tight in '92, so a compartment was out of the question. We bought two tickets for a reserved seat carriage to Adler. I was twenty-four then. I had a shapely figure: a pleasant curve in my hips, a wasp waist, and neat B-cup breasts with very responsive nipples. I dyed my hair red back then—my husband absolutely loved it, saying I looked like a fox. The journey ahead was long, almost two days. We were riding on the upper side berths. A guy of about twenty-five sat down opposite us. He was dressed simply but cleanly: a light T-shirt and sweatpants. His toned physique immediately caught my eye—his sculpted arms and broad chest. He introduced himself as Dima. He was traveling to visit his parents in Sochi, having just been discharged from the army. My husband, Slava, a sociable man, immediately suggested that Dima and I get together for the three of us. We packed fried chicken, boiled eggs, tomatoes... continue reading

Hi! About six months ago, something nasty happened to me. On the one hand, it was quite scary and humiliating, but on the other, I still sometimes think about it at night and have already come several times while furiously rubbing my clit in the shower. That's probably why I finally decided to post it here. My name is Anya, I'm 23 years old, tall, slender, and brunette (177 cm tall), with long legs, a flat stomach, and a fairly athletic figure—I go to the gym a couple of times a week. My breasts are a C-plus size, firm, with small pink nipples that stand out clearly under my clothes. My face is ordinary but pretty—guys often stare at me on public transport. I work as a manager at a Moscow hypermarket, but I live in the suburbs, in a small village about forty minutes away by commuter train. Every day after my shift, I take the last "work" commuter train at 11:40 PM. It's usually almost empty—just the occasional passenger and me in my short sports skirt and tight,... 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

I hate reserved seats. That smell of boiled chicken and other people's socks, mixed with the vibration of the wheels. But cheap tickets to Adler left me no choice, and my husband, Seryozha, as always, insisted: "Why are you acting like you're not my family? Let's sit here, have some vodka, it's romantic." Fucking romantic. Seryozha was already drunk by the third stop. He'd grabbed a bottle of Belenkaya at the station and sipped it while eating dried vobla until his eyes went wide. Now he was snoring on the top bunk, his arm dangling, and I was simply embarrassed. Embarrassed in front of my fellow passengers. And my fellow travelers were distinguished. Down below, across from me, sat two guys. They were about twenty-five to twenty-seven years old. Muscular, clean-shaven, wearing tracksuits. Judging by their conversation, they were heading to Krasnaya Polyana, either to grill shashlik or for some shady business of their own. The big guy with the "Wind R... continue reading

Friday. That long-awaited day when the work week ends and two days lie ahead that can be spent on anything. We were sitting in the living room: me, my wife Lera, and two of my friends, Sergey and Igor. We'd known each other for what felt like ages, gone to school together, been hooligans together. Now, here we were, drinking beer together at home, lounging on the couch. There was a certain tension. And it was all Lera's fault. She was dressed in a peculiar way: a short black dress, barely covering her hips, which perfectly hugged her firm butt and small but beautiful breasts. She was braless. I'd noticed this earlier in the day, when she bent over to pick something up and her dark aureola showed through the thin fabric. Back then, it had only given me a rush of lust and the thought, "It's going to be hot tonight." But now, under Sergey and Igor's gaze, this thought became alarming. They stared at her without restraint. Igor, stocky and strong, his arms co... continue reading

Get-togethers with friends rarely end well. Especially when there are several empty bottles of whiskey on the table and your best friend has just left for the graveyard shift, leaving you alone with his exhausted wife. I stayed overnight on their stretched-out couch because I couldn't drive in my current state. My head was buzzing, my groin felt pleasantly tingly from the alcohol, and the whole world seemed a little blurry and malleable. Lisa fell asleep almost immediately, right there in the chair. I'd been watching her for the last half hour. The way her head slowly slumped onto her chest, the way her heavy eyelashes fell onto her cheeks. She was damn beautiful. Redhead, sprinkled with freckles, with a curve that made your mouth water. And her smile when she laughed... I'd caught myself staring at her many times. At my friend's wife, for fuck's sake. I got up from the couch and walked closer. She was fast asleep, breathing evenly. She smelled of whiskey and her... continue reading