Stories in madam
10 stories · Page 1On a business trip, I was sitting in my room for the third evening, completely at a loss for what to do with myself. I was fed up with TV, and so was my correspondence with my wife. I opened a website and scrolled through the profiles. One photo showed a girl of about twenty-two, thin, smiling, and wrote, "gentle, uninhibited." I messaged her. We agreed on an hour, I sent her a deposit, and gave her my number. Forty minutes later, there was a knock. I opened the door—and it wasn't her. About thirty-two years old, plump, short hair, a leather jacket, and a shoulder bag. She was definitely different from the photo. — Are you Andrey? - Yes... And you? — It's me today. A photo for those who are afraid. If you want a sweet girl, I'm not her. My rules. If you don't like it, the door is behind you. I stood there in my shorts and a T-shirt; it was already stupid to try to win back. The money was gone. I nodded. - Then close the door and take everything off. Don't
Andrei rented a one-room apartment on the fifth floor with no elevator. The building was old, paneled, with a perpetually smelly entryway and neighbors who listened to the television as if it were on full blast. The apartment was lousy, but cheap. And the landlady—a woman with a heavy gaze—wasn't intrusive into his life. Or rather, she wasn't until he stopped paying. At first, he just delayed it for a week. Then two. Then a month. He had money, but he squandered it: bets, beer, some idiot from a dating site who squeezed everything he had on his card out of him. And then she came. Tamara Ivanovna. 45 years old. Plump, with wide hips, a bob haircut, and arms that could clearly carry bags and much heavier objects. She didn't yell from the doorway. She walked into the kitchen, sat on a stool, and crossed her legs. Her high-heeled pump swung in the air. "Two months," she said. "Plus utilities. Total sixty-four thousand." "I don't have any right now,
My Svetka is a normal woman. She was. We knew each other well. She was studying to become a teacher. I was a metallurgist. My teacher used to say, "Not everyone can dance ballet, someone has to smelt metal!" Yes. I work as a foreman at a metallurgical plant. Svetka teaches geography. When we met, she was a normal girl: not a party girl, not a slut, calm, sensible, not brazen... Not a beauty, but quite pretty for my taste. We got married, and before graduating, Svetka gave birth to my daughter. My father-in-law and mother-in-law are truly wonderful people. Following the principle of "let the young live for themselves while keeping the family strong," they took in their beloved granddaughter. My wife and I live alone most of the time. My parents contributed and bought us an apartment. Svetka is a good housekeeper. We have regular family sex without any perversions. After college, my wife went to work. And then real hell began. At school, it was either you or the other.
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
A warm summer evening enveloped our apartment balcony in a soft, velvety air. The city below shimmered with lights, and the starry sky stretched overhead, with only a gentle breeze occasionally carrying distant voices from the neighboring floors. You settled into a wicker chair, relaxed after a sultry day, wearing a thin silk robe slightly open at the hips and cozy, soft-lined slippers. I quietly walked out to you, without turning on the light, and knelt down on the cool tiles of the balcony. Your slippered feet were so close, so inviting. I carefully removed one slipper, inhaled the warm, slightly salty scent of your skin after a long day, and pressed my lips to the instep. Slowly, reverently, I kissed every inch—from toes to heel, enveloping them with my lips, sucking lightly, running my tongue along the curves. You smiled slightly, watching me, and placed your other foot on my shoulder, allowing me to remove the other slipper as well. I buried my face in both feet at once, inhali
A warm summer evening enveloped our apartment balcony in a soft, velvety air. The city below shimmered with lights, and the starry sky stretched overhead, with only a gentle breeze occasionally carrying distant voices from the neighboring floors. You settled into a wicker chair, relaxed after a sultry day, wearing a thin silk robe slightly open at the hips and cozy, soft-lined slippers. I quietly walked out to you, without turning on the light, and knelt down on the cool tiles of the balcony. Your slippered feet were so close, so inviting. I carefully removed one slipper, inhaled the warm, slightly salty scent of your skin after a long day, and pressed my lips to the instep. Slowly, reverently, I kissed every inch—from toes to heel, enveloping them with my lips, sucking lightly, running my tongue along the curves. You smiled slightly, watching me, and placed your other foot on my shoulder, allowing me to remove the other slipper as well. I buried my face in both feet at once, inhali
The next evening, when Alyona crossed the threshold, Andrei barely recognized the woman who had left that morning. A different being appeared before him—domineering, transformed. Her posture and gaze radiated an icy arrogance that took her husband's breath away. He was accustomed to the role of subordinate, but now that role was imbued with a new, intoxicating meaning—he stood before not just a wife, but a mistress. With a slight movement of her hand, she indicated that he should kneel. Then she revealed part of her body to him. Andrei pressed himself to her hungrily, tasting the unmistakable traces of another's presence in his mouth. His furtive glances at her face were met only by a cold disdain, visible in the upturned corner of her lips, making his heart beat faster. "Enough," came a voice from above, and he immediately pulled away. Alyona, adjusting her clothes, got on all fours, arching her back. "You know what to do." "Of course, my love." He p
Under the shadow of her grace Exactly one year had passed, long and thorny, since the moment Anna, my sun and my torment, left for another. His name was Artyom, a self-confident senior, and I, just her timid classmate, watched their happiness from the sidelines, like a bright but inaccessible picture. My whole world narrowed to her smile, her laughter, the flicker of her chestnut hair in the college corridors. By spring, a shadow of thoughtfulness had settled in her eyes, always so clear, and her laughter had grown quieter. The story unfolded itself, harshly and routinely: Artyom, having graduated, had left for his hometown without proposing marriage, or even a heart, or even a seat next to her on the packed train. He had simply vanished from her life, leaving silence in his wake. But autumn brought other changes. Returning to school, I saw that Anna had been transformed. A smooth, careful grace had appeared in her gait, and the contours of her figure revealed a soft, rounded line o
I've been working at this office for six months now. During this time, I've never received a reprimand and have always performed my work with excellence. I'm almost 23 years old and eager to advance my career. I've been in the office of my boss several times, a woman whose name many colleagues were afraid to pronounce out loud. Vera Nikolaevna, a 38-year-old woman known for her strictness. A tall, stately woman with long legs and ample D-cup breasts, her red hair and green eyes intimidated many, especially when she lost her temper. When Vera Nikolaevna was angry, it seemed as if lightning flashed from her beautiful eyes, especially if one of her coworkers made a mistake. I was captivated by her as a professional and as a woman. When I brought her reports, I noticed how carefully she studied me. She never raised her voice at me and was always satisfied with my work. I like older women. With them, I can not only discuss various topics but also enjoy a unique sexual exp
I love it when men talk about their dreams—the Beautiful Princess or Queen they want to serve. For many, this remains just a fantasy, but for me, this dream has become reality. I am a Mistress, and one man gave me seven years of his life—seven years of devotion, pain, trust, and submission that have become part of my soul, part of my world. Our acquaintance began timidly: he came to test himself, his limits, to understand how much he could trust a woman who takes complete control. In his gaze, I noticed a mixture of timidity and quiet delight, a desire to surrender, trembling and tension, but most importantly—a willingness to be mine. The first punishment was a test. I made him kneel before me and selected a whip, a belt, and a cane. "Lower your head," I ordered, and his voice trembled: "Yes, Mistress." Strike after strike fell on his skin, leaving stripes and marks. His breathing quickened, his body tensed, he fought back a scream but did not beg for mercy. "Say