group sex Erotic Stories

Marina Lvovna stood in the middle of her future office, wincing in disgust. Cement dust hung in the air. Two workers in stained overalls were laying wiring. More precisely, one, the younger, stocky fellow, was drilling into the wall, while the other, older, with a weathered, red face, simply sat on an overturned bucket, squinting at their boss. Marina was used to men in the office barely daring to look at her. She'd bullied them, fired them, and promoted them without a second thought. But here, in the dim light of the unfinished office, she felt uneasy. She was a queen here only on paper, but in reality, she was just a woman who got in the way of her work. The men smelled of sweat and burning, not expensive perfume, like her subordinates in expensive suits. "Well, mistress, we'll be done soon," the young man said without turning around, shouting over the noise of the drill. He didn't even look at her. It was annoying. Marina stepped around the construction debris... continue reading

Many different events have happened in my life, but I will never forget that day at the department, no matter how much time passes. It all started when I, as the youngest and most reliable lab assistant, was asked to stay after classes on Friday to help sort through an old archive. The lectures had long since ended, the hallways were empty, and the only people left in the building were me, the caretaker, Semyon Borisovich, two graduate students, Grisha and Tolik, and Professor Veniamin Arkadyevich, who had locked himself in his office and was said to be working on documents. We were sitting in a cramped, windowless utility room, sorting through dusty folders, and the air there was so stuffy and heavy it made my head spin. It smelled of old paper and something musty, like a cellar. I was wearing a light dress because I was getting ready for a normal day, not a cleaning day. It kept riding up when I leaned over the lower shelves, and I caught quick glances from Grisha and Tolik. At fi... continue reading

Many different events have happened in my life, but I will never forget that day at the department, no matter how much time passes. It all started when I, as the youngest and most reliable lab assistant, was asked to stay after classes on Friday to help sort through an old archive. The lectures had long since ended, the hallways were empty, and the only people left in the building were me, the caretaker, Semyon Borisovich, two graduate students, Grisha and Tolik, and Professor Veniamin Arkadyevich, who had locked himself in his office and was said to be working on documents. We were sitting in a cramped, windowless utility room, sorting through dusty folders, and the air there was so stuffy and heavy it made my head spin. It smelled of old paper and something musty, like a cellar. I was wearing a light dress because I was getting ready for a normal day, not a cleaning day. It kept riding up when I leaned over the lower shelves, and I caught quick glances from Grisha and Tolik. At fi... continue reading

The girls and I rented an apartment for the weekend to have a good time. We had it all: plenty of booze, revealing outfits, and no men within a kilometer, because we'd decided it would be just us girls this weekend. No sappy courtship or disappointments. We planned to chat until the early hours, watch porn, discuss our adventures, and indulge ourselves in every way. By Saturday evening, we were already pretty warm when we realized there was nothing left to eat. We ordered pizza and rolls. Well, ordering by courier is sacred; you can't drag yourself to the store when you're already in a robe and with a glass. When the doorbell rang, I didn't even think about putting on anything more decent. I went to answer it in a short silk robe with nothing underneath. And there was a boy at the door. Not a man, but a boy. Fresh-faced, about twenty years old, with such a stupid, confused smile. He saw me, blushed like a girl, and started mumbling something about an order. "Come... continue reading

I knew this visit would end badly. I knew it from the moment the guard at the tower's entrance looked at me the way one looks at a drowned man—disgusted and almost sympathetic. “To Mrs. Elena,” I said, trying to sound confident. The guard silently checked his tablet and nodded. The elevator took a long time to rise. The mirrored walls reflected my face—pale, with dark circles under my eyes from three sleepless nights. My jacket was awry, though I'd adjusted it a dozen times. The debt—a sum I wouldn't be able to raise in a year—was burning in my pocket like an IOU that too many people knew about. The penthouse greeted me with silence and cold light. Huge windows overlooked the city, but the sun didn't penetrate—the hue was gray, as if before a storm. “Alexander,” a female voice said. I turned around. Elena was standing in the doorway leading deeper into the apartment. Tall, wearing a figure-hugging dark gray dress, her hair slicked back. Next to her, slightly behind h... continue reading

Alisa, a graduate student in the Department of Social Anthropology, was in her third year of slaving away at her dissertation on contemporary ritual practices. The topic was tricky, reeking of grants and international conferences, but she was sorely lacking in material. She needed fieldwork—not a library or online surveys, but the real, living, sweaty core of the subculture she was studying. And when her supervisor, a gray-haired professor with a perpetually shifty eye, reluctantly mentioned the existence of a private club in the city called "Panopticon," Alisa realized: this was it, her ticket to big-time science. "Just remember, Alice," the professor mumbled, adjusting his glasses, "this is no place for young ladies of your upbringing. I've heard they practice... uh... physical hierarchies there. But if you insist, here's the phone number of someone who can help." The phone belonged to a certain Mark, possessing a soft baritone voice and, as it turn... continue reading

The sun beat down mercilessly, heating the asphalt so hot that the air above it shimmered and melted. Lera stood on the side of the road, her hand outstretched, her thumb extended, squinting in the blinding light. Next to her, Ksyusha shifted from foot to foot, fanning herself with her straw hat. They'd been stuck on this damned highway leading to the coast for a good hour, and in that time not a single car had passed by, only trucks pelting them with hot dust. "So where's your vaunted hitchhiking?" Ksyusha grumbled, adjusting the strap of her backpack. "You could be lying by the sea, but here we are, like two idiots..." "Be patient, friend," Lera smiled, but her voice also betrayed weariness. "Someone will stop soon. You'll see." And, as if hearing her words, an old, dusty pickup truck appeared in the distance. It was driving slowly, as if its owner were scanning the side of the road for something. The car drew level with the girls and st... continue reading

Vera and I are in our early thirties. We've been married for six years. She had two men before me, and I had a few women. Our marriage is like a well-oiled machine: sometimes it creaks, but overall it's a joy. We try not to stagnate in bed: toys, role-playing, light BDSM. But there's one taboo that Vera guards with the tenacity of a border guard. Her ass. More precisely, the entrance to it. My finger—go ahead. My tongue—for God's sake. But my dick—no way. "It's all tight down there, I'm scared, it hurts, let's not do it now." I didn't push. I waited. Sometimes we fantasized out loud before bed: I'd whisper to her how hot it would be if a third person, experienced and patient, took her there for the first time. She'd blush, giggle excitedly, and quickly come from these conversations. But it never went beyond fantasies. And then there was the district clinic and an appointment with a proctologist. Vera had been experiencing discomfort fo... continue reading

Hi everyone. My name is Kristina. I'm 21 years old. I'm a final-year student majoring in design. I'm of average height, with natural, shoulder-length blonde hair, gray eyes, and an athletic build—I've been involved in track and field for three years. I'm single and have been dating my boyfriend for a year. Last weekend, I drove from Vladimir to a small village to visit my grandmother—to drop off some medicine and groceries, and to check in. My car, a brand-new Kia Ceed, was bought three months ago on credit. I turned on the GPS, but, as often happens in the wilderness, it took me down a shortcut through the forest. The asphalt ended abruptly, giving way to a broken dirt road, and after the recent rains, the road turned into a mess of mud and clay. I still drove on. I'm not a timid girl, and it was a shame to abandon the car. I drove about three kilometers. Then the front wheel sank into a deep rut, the bottom sank to the ground, and the car began to hum helpl... continue reading

It was my first party at university, and I felt out of place. I, Vlad, a first-year student—skinny, shy, and bespectacled, who blushed at every loud word—had been invited by Lera. She was a third-year student and a real star in her department: a tall, brunette with a nose piercing and a perpetually mocking gaze. I didn't understand what I'd done to deserve the invitation, but I couldn't refuse the attentions of such a girl. The apartment where they gathered was a rented two-room apartment in an older building, but tastefully furnished. Besides Lera, there were three others: Katya, a redhead with freckles and a scattering of freckles on her exposed shoulders; Alina, a short, perky woman with a pixie cut; and Sveta, a taciturn, plump blonde with a huge bust who constantly munched on potato chips. The occasion was Katya's birthday. Someone shoved a glass of some sweet disgusting thing into my hand, and the evening went downhill. The girls chatted about their own things,... continue reading

All grown women have something to remember on a quiet evening... Hello. My name is Tamara. I decided to write something down while my memory is fresh. I'm 42 years old. My figure, as they used to say, is "blood and milk"—small but shapely, with heavy D-cup breasts and curvy hips that no skirt can hide. My hair is light brown, my own, and falls below my shoulders. I work as an administrator at a private dental clinic, and I'm used to being the face of the clinic—a smile, a manicure, a smart suit. I've lived alone: my husband died five years ago, and my son is in the army. Out of boredom, I sometimes allow myself small pleasures—wine on Fridays, dancing at an adult bar where you don't have to think about age. This story happened in November. I was returning from a company party. I'd stayed up late and had too much to drink. My boss offered to get me a cab, but I refused—I didn't want him to know my address. He'd been looking at my lap with unkind... continue reading

I was in a private room—luckily, my relatives had gotten me there. My appendix had been removed two days earlier, and the puncture site still hurt a bit, but it was already gone. It was night, quiet, and the nurses occasionally shuffled their slippers down the hallway. I was dozing off, sedated, but woke up when the door quietly opened. In fact, I was lying facing the wall, the blanket pulled almost up to my chin. The only light in the room was a nightlight above the door, so anyone entering would hardly be able to tell whether I was asleep or not. I decided not to move. “Come here, there’s no one here, this is a private ward,” I heard a young female voice, quiet, with a kind of nervous laugh. I carefully turned my head, millimeter by millimeter, so I could see what was happening out of the corner of my eye. Three people entered the room: Sveta, a very young intern, about nineteen; a thin brunette I'd seen during my rounds; and two doctors. One was a surgeon of about forty-five,... continue reading

The steam was so thick it was hard to see the face opposite. The guys and I had had a wonderful steam bath, drank a couple of beers, and were now lounging in the anteroom. My Verochka, my beloved wife, brought us some cold kvass. She was wearing only a short silk robe, which she pulled loosely around herself, barely covering her tempting breasts. My friends, Kolyan, Tolyan, and Seryoga, grinned lecherously. In the bathhouse, after the heat, the blood rushes, and desires intensify. Kolyan, the most daring of my friends, grabbed Vera's hand. "Why does your husband let you bathe alone, such a beauty? Let us at least check if you've washed properly." With these words, his rough paw slid under my wife's robe and greedily squeezed my wife's firm breast. Vera gasped softly, but didn't pull her hand away. She merely glanced reproachfully in my direction. But I pretended to be completely absorbed in my kvass. Then Tolyan, taking my silence as consent, came up behi... continue reading

Thursday. I stopped by to see my old friend, German Borisovich—we went to medical school together, but he'd later gone into private practice. He'd opened a small office on the outskirts of town, where he saw patients with the most delicate problems. German was a forty-five-year-old man, lean, with long, musical fingers and a perpetually squinting gaze that somehow made his patients uneasy. His white coat fit him perfectly, revealing a starched shirt underneath. I'd just dropped in for a chat, a cup of coffee from his old Turkish coffee pot—the office hours were already over, and he'd dismissed the nurse. We were chatting about trivial matters when the doorbell rang insistently. Herman winced and glanced at his watch. “Who’s going on there?” he muttered and went to open the door. A girl of about twenty-two stood in the hallway, wrapped in a long cloak despite the warm weather. Slender legs in black stockings and expensive shoes peeked out from beneath the cloak. Her f... continue reading

Night. The sound of the surf. Music somewhere in the distance. Liza and I walked away from the fire. The sand was still warm. There were two people nearby: Seryozha and Vlad. They brought champagne. Bitter, bubbling on the tongue. — Are you frozen? - No. - And you have goosebumps. - It's not from the cold. Liza is already kissing Seryozha. His fingers are tangled in her hair, wet from the bath. Vlad looks at me. For a long time. I take a sip straight from the bottle. I hand it to him. His lips are on the same glass as mine. — Do you want to take a swim? - I'm not wearing a swimsuit. - So much the better. We run to the water. The waves lick our feet. He catches up with me, already waist-deep in the sea. The water is warm, almost hot after the afternoon sun. His hands slide along my waist underwater. — You can't see anything here. - Do you want to see something? — I want to touch it. A palm falls on a chest. The nipples instantly harden. Not from the cold. Salt water on th... continue reading

I love to watch. That's my greatest thrill—to see my wife turn into an insatiable bitch under someone else's control, while still being mine. Lena and I have been together for eight years, and in that time I've realized: her sexuality is like fine wine, only getting brighter with age. Tall, with shoulder-length, wheat-colored hair, languid gray eyes, and long legs—she's the kind of woman that even women turn heads. But the main thing about her is her appetite. Not for food, no. For cocks. When we started renovating our new two-room apartment, I knew how it would end. Lena volunteered to oversee the process while I was at work, and I just chuckled to myself. She put on her favorite summer dress—a lightweight cotton one over her bare skin, the slightest movement clinging to her butt so tightly that the outline of her panties was visible. White heeled sandals, minimal makeup—and there she was, standing in the doorway, watching me go with a look in which I read anticipat... continue reading

My name is Igor, I'm 32 years old, and my wife, Katya, is 29. We've been married for six years, and over those years, I've come to think I know absolutely everything about her. But I'll never forget my last birthday. It all started on a typical Friday morning. Katya woke me with a kiss, congratulated me, and handed me an envelope containing some kind of travel voucher—honestly, I didn't even read it right away because she looked absolutely stunning. A light silk robe, barely covering her hips, her hair loose, the scent of her favorite perfume. I pulled her toward me, but she deftly slipped away, smiled mysteriously, and said, "This evening will be a real treat, don't even think about getting out of it." Honestly, I thought she was talking about some special lingerie or a romantic dinner. The day went by as usual—work, calls, bustle. Katya texted me to be home by eight, take a shower, and await further instructions. She generally loved to boss me aroun... continue reading

When Yulia told me she'd invited my boss to dinner, I didn't understand the implication at first. I figured my wife was trying to give me a career boost, feed him some homemade food, and win him over. I wasn't opposed. Viktor Sergeyevich, my direct supervisor for the past five years, is a generally decent guy. He's in his early fifties, with a hint of gray hair, a trim figure, and always smells nice. He's a widower. Yulia cooked all day. She twirled around the kitchen in a short robe, and a couple of times I caught myself staring at her bare thighs as she reached for spices on the top shelf. I also noticed something else: she had put on her robe without underwear. Her pussy, still untouched by the razor but already neatly trimmed, flashed with every careless movement. I slapped her on the ass, laughed, and said something about a horny housewife. She smiled, but it was a bit too mysterious. "Maybe I should walk around like this in front of the boss too?" s... continue reading

The highway was empty. I pressed the gas pedal too hard, rushing home after a bad date. Anger and frustration burned inside me, and I longed for speed. The red lights of a patrol car flashed unexpectedly behind me. I cursed under my breath and pulled over to the side of the road. The inspector approached slowly, the beam of his flashlight gliding across the car, across my bare knees. I rolled down the window. "License and car documents," the voice was low and brutal. "You're speeding by forty kilometers, citizen." "Sorry, I'm in a hurry," I handed over the documents, trying to speak softly. The flashlight still shone in my face, and then the beam slowly crept lower, down my neck, to the neckline of my light sundress. My breathing quickened. "The punishment for such violations is severe," he said, walking around the car and opening the door on my side. "Get out." I stepped out. My legs were shaking slightly for some reason. He stood ver... continue reading

Everything started to spiral when our Olimp chain fitness club was acquired by Golden Energy. For me, a Pilates instructor, it was a low blow. Rumors of personnel purges were terrifying: even star trainers were being fired. I'm thirty-two, I maintain the figure of a twenty-five-year-old, and this place was my bread and butter. Three days after signing the documents, the five of us instructors were called into the main hall for an "interview." The new manager, Denis, a strong, muscular man in his forties, sat in a leg press chair. Beside him stood his three assistants—equally muscular "muscle men." The conversation began with banalities: training plans, attendance statistics. Then Denis put down his protein shake and asked point-blank: — Tell me, Angelina, is this job your last chance? “Yes,” I exhaled, clutching my fitness tracker. "Okay. New rules. Your work attire is leggings one size too small and a sports bra with no support. You leave your bra in the loc... continue reading