head Erotic Stories

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

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

The phone rang at half past ten in the evening. Marina was already lathering up in the shower when the phone vibrated on the shelf. The screen read, "Viktor Petrovich – Dima's boss." - Hello? - Marinochka, hi. Are you still awake? - No... what happened? Is Dima okay? "Everything's fine with Dima. Almost. It's just that there's something we need to talk about, and it's better not over the phone. Could you come to my office now? It concerns his promotion. And your future, too, by the way." Marina froze. Her husband had been waiting for this position for three months already, and Viktor Petrovich was a real dog, everyone in the department knew. But she couldn't refuse. - Okay... I'll be there in forty minutes. She quickly pulled on black lace stockings with a wide cuff, a red thong, a short dress, and heels. "Just in case," she thought, though her insides were already clenching with anticipation. The office was almost empty. Only the... continue reading

Do you remember that corporate party I was planning for so long? The black dress, those heels I could barely walk in? You know, the one you couldn't go to because you had the flu. So... Sit down. I need to tell you something. It all started with wine. Lots of wine. That idiotic chanting contest, Sergei Mikhailovich, my boss, that mustachioed goat that everyone complains about, he was sitting next to me. He kept pouring me more. He said that I was the most beautiful today, that he hadn't even noticed such an assistant in his office. And he kept staring at my cleavage. I saw where he was looking, damn it. Then the music started loud, dancing. He pressed himself against me in the crowd, I felt his palm on my lower back. So hot, so heavy. I tried to move away, but he didn’t take his hand away. He whispered: “Let’s get out of here, it’s too noisy here. Let’s go to my office, I have some good cognac there.” And I... I knew that I shouldn’t. But the wine in my head was like a fog,... continue reading