Friday. On the way home from the supermarket, as usual, I stopped by my old friend Sylvia. Sylvia, a bright brunette, with curvy figures and a rather narrow waist, is a gynecologist, 36 years old woman. The white robe hugged her huge full breasts, the nipples of which stuck out under the fabric. Sylvia rarely wore bras and once admitted to me that she enjoyed having her nipples rub against the rough fabric of her robe. We had been chatting for half an hour, but there were still no visitors. Finally, there was a knock on the door.

Sylvia put on a gauze mask.

"Yes Yes".

A young girl of about eighteen or nineteen appeared at the door. The thin dress hugged her small, but firm and protruding breasts.

“Come in, don’t be shy,” said Sylvia. "What are you complaining about?"

“I’m fine,” the girl answered and then blurted out...

“My hymen has burst, and I need a certificate stating that I am a girl. I have a very strict dad. And I’m going to get married... Here... I will pay you as ... continue reading

I had to undergo a medical examination at a commercial clinic in the direction of the organization in which I then worked. There were no queues here, and after going through almost the entire list of doctors in the slider, I ended up near the urologist’s office. I knew firsthand what happens to men with such a doctor, because... He himself underwent several courses of treatment, having been diagnosed with chronic prostatitis. Therefore, fearing unpleasant executions this time, my mood dropped.

The prospect of a manual (fingers) examination of my prostate through the anus did not please me. But thinking: maybe it will blow by, I knocked on the door and, hearing a laconic “yes,” boldly entered the office.

Throughout my short history of prostate disease and during all the courses of treatment, the doctors have always been men, and when I entered the office and saw at the table a very impressive brunette, about 35 years old, in a light white robe, with a deep neckline, I doubted that s... continue reading

I haven't done this for a very long time. Either you can’t be left alone, or you’re not in the mood. And then last Wednesday I found out that on Friday I would be alone all evening and all night. What had accumulated recently exploded at that moment in me almost to the point of loss of consciousness. I received such an all-consuming wave of desire that I could barely hold back a groan and catch my breath. My heart was beating wildly. I realized that the hardest thing now would be waiting for Friday. I spent the rest of Wednesday, all of Thursday and all of Friday until the evening as if in a dream.

Knowing from experience that in such cases you cannot immediately discharge yourself, because when necessary, the proper excitement and, accordingly, the expected result will not come, I arrived on Friday evening in such a state that, in comparison with me, the string of a drawn bow would seem flabby, a limply hanging rope. And now I was left alone. I didn't want to rush. I was going to ge... continue reading