Dev has been fucking me for months. Regular thing. Nothing complicated. He comes over, we fuck, sometimes Cole is there, sometimes he's not. Standard arrangement. I've written about it before. What I haven't written about is the conversation we had two weeks ago where I told him to stop pulling out. We were in bed after he'd just finished. He'd pulled out and come on my stomach like he always does because that was the agreement. I was lying there looking at the ceiling with his cum drying on me and I felt annoyed. Not at him. Just. Annoyed. "I want you to cum inside me next time," I said. He propped himself up on one elbow. "You sure?" "I wouldn't say it if I wasn't sure." "Kim." "Dev." He looked at me for a long second and then he leaned down and kissed me and his hand slid between my legs where I was still wet and sensitive and he said "Yeah okay" against my mouth and I felt my whole body light up. Next time was two days later. A Friday night. Cole was out so it was just us
Her dark brown eyes glistened with moisture as she choked on my cock, but she still didn't break eye contact. As the tip pushed against the back of her throat, she sat up and adjusted to let it slide further down. She began flexing and contracting her throat to massage my cock as it slipped as far down as it could go. She let my balls roll gently through her dexterous fingers while the other hand rested on my body. My eyes rolled into the back of my head and I gripped her hand. She pulled back up to catch her breathe, then went back to rhythmically bobbing up and down, twisting her mouth and flicking her tongue all over my shaft. It was wet, loud, and sloppy. "Oh fuck, I think I'm gonna..." I started. "I..." I could barely speak. She took one last deep breathe then pushed my cock down her throat once again. The combination of throat contractions and tongue stroking had me cumming in seconds. Each shot deposited directly into her stomach. My body tightened and lifted with each pump l
Why is it that when you're thirty-two, running a department, with your own apartment, car, and complete independence, everyone thinks you're deeply unhappy? Marina threw her phone down on the couch in irritation. Another "kind" friend had sent her a link to a dating site with the caption, "Well, at least try it, okay?" Try it. As if they were talking about a new kind of tea, not a real person. She walked to the window, hugging herself. Outside, November drizzled, gray and hopeless, making her feel even more miserable. Her friends had long since married, had children, and were now trying with enviable persistence to arrange her personal life. "Marisha, you're not made of iron," they'd say, sighing meaningfully. Iron. Maybe she was. In three years of running the department, she'd learned not to show emotion, not to trust first impressions, and not to mix work with personal matters. Especially the latter. At work, everything was stable and pr
My father married when I was already nineteen. I was a sophomore then, living in the dorm, and coming home on weekends—just to do laundry, get a decent meal, and so on. My mother had left us even earlier, three years earlier, and my father was alone for a long time. I got used to the quiet house, the smell of old books and his tobacco, the same mug always standing in the kitchen, and dumplings and beer in the fridge. And then he called and said he was married. He just presented me with a fait accompli. I didn't even know how to react right away. I just asked, "Who?" He replied, "Come over and meet me." Her name was Irina. She was thirty-two. I remembered the number because it somehow immediately stuck out to me—thirty-two, and my father was forty-eight. I thought then: well, it happens. Anything can happen. Maybe she needs an apartment, maybe something else. Anyway, I didn't really worry about it. I had enough of my own problems—sessions, a part-time job, I h
I was in college and had met a girl on tinder. We talked for a couple weeks or so and ended up meeting out at a bar one night (both of us 21). Her dorm roommate was there as well. We got some drinks, played some pool, had an overall good time. Things started to wind down and the girl I was with (Hannah) and I were going to walk back to her dorm room. Her roommate said she was gonna go by another friend’s apartment for a while. We get back to her dorm room and we’re laying on her bed watching a movie. It’s a standard small dorm room with her bed on one side of the room and her roommates bed on the other side. After some of the movie, bodies get closer, hands start wondering, and clothes start hitting the floor. After some foreplay we begin having sex. First in missionary, then to doggy. I’m not sure if it was the sound of the movie, our buzzed state, or just locked in the moment of sex, but neither of us heard the door open. Sarah - “Oh shit I’m so sorry” She was already a step or
If someone had told me I'd be spending the night on the veranda with two groomsmen at my best friend's wedding, I'd have been shocked. I've always been the good girl in our group. That is, the one who makes sure no one overindulges, collects everyone's phones and purses, calls taxis, and reminds everyone that they have to go to work the next day. Even the bride's mother praised me all evening: "This is someone we should follow." I smiled modestly and adjusted the strap of my dress. The dress, by the way, was mint-colored, with an open back. I spent three weeks choosing it and was unsure until the very last minute if it was too bold. Anya said, "Take it, you look like a queen in it." Anya always makes all the decisions around here. The wedding turned out to be a big one. Seventy people, a country house rented for two days, a tent in the courtyard, live music, a toastmaster with below-the-belt jokes that everyone pretended not to hear. I was run
I'll tell you how I fucked my former classmate, now a neurologist. It all started when I started having some strange pain in my groin. My wife said, "Go see a doctor, stop putting up with it." So, I made an appointment at a private clinic to avoid lines and prying eyes. I show up, sit in the hallway, and wait. The nurse calls out, "Come in, room twelve." I walk in and am stunned. Sitting at the desk is Olya Smirnova, my classmate about ten years ago. She's aged, sure, but not much. She still has the same bangs, but instead of jeans and a sweater, she's wearing a white coat. "Wow," I say. "Olya? Is that you?" She looked up, squinted, then smiled: - Oh, my God. I didn't think you'd end up here. Come on, sit down and tell me what's bothering you. I sat down and began to explain. She listened, nodded, and wrote something down. Then she said: - Okay, let's watch. Lie down on the couch and take off your pants. Well, I undressed.
Hello everyone. It's me again, and again, the story isn't about me. Or rather, it's about me, but not in the way you might think. This time, the story is told from the perspective of a man—an acquaintance of mine with whom I once got to talking about this topic. He allowed me to record it but asked not to use his real name. Let's call him Igor. He's 34, lives alone in a rented one-room apartment on the outskirts, and works remotely in IT. I'm quoting his words almost verbatim, only editing them a bit for readability. So. It happened last fall. I was working on a project, sleeping five hours a night, and eating whenever I had to. That night, I finished a call around twelve thirty, realized I hadn't eaten anything decent all day, and went to the app to order something. I opened it, chose burgers, fries, and a cola. I looked at the delivery time—thirty-five minutes. Okay. I ordered, went to take a shower, and then sat down to finish watching the series. The
Note: I have somehow been lucky enough to have a lot of sex, so I wanted to document some of these experiences. They are all 100% true (except names). Just as a point of reference, there is nothing at all special about me physically (6'1, 210, shaved head, blue eyes, tattoos, athletic build) But as my friends often say, i have fallen into more than my unfair share of sex than anyone they know- Julie and I had originally met at work, which is probably why nothing sexual had ever happened between us, that and a 15 year age gap. 8 years later and still just platonic friends, she had just come out of an ugly divorce, when she decided to have a baby on her own through IVF. After settling into new motherhood, we had made a plan for me to stop by so we could catch up, as we had both been busy. When I got there, we said our hello’s- damn I forgot how attractive she was. Julie is probably 5’5, 120 pounds, but with a really small waist and the type of ass that women all talk shit about and s
We moved into this house in May. It's a two-story building with four apartments, a small courtyard, and parking for two cars. Ours is on the far left, on the ground floor. The neighbor on the right is a man of about forty, lives alone. His name is simple, Sergey. He works from home, does something with computers. I've seen him a couple of times: going out for the mail, taking out the trash, sometimes smoking on the porch. An ordinary guy. Not fat, not thin, short, dark hair. Strong hands. For some reason, I noticed this right away—his hands. The first few weeks, we just said hello. "Good morning," "Good evening." Nothing more. His wife greeted him too, but casually, without stopping. Then one day, I came home from work, and she was standing next to him at the gate, laughing. He was telling her something, and she was listening. I walked over and said hello. Sergey nodded, saying that we had a nice yard, that it was quiet. I agreed. We went home. In the evening
Okay so this is going to sound insane to most people but to us it's literally just normal life at this point lol. So I live in a triple. One room, three beds, three girls. Me, Yara, and Delilah. When we first moved in we tried SO hard to be respectful about it. Like waiting until the other two were in class or showering or whatever to get ourselves off. But this is college and our schedules overlap constantly and the room is TINY and eventually we all just kept walking in on each other. The first time I walked in on Yara she had her hand down her shorts watching something on her phone with her earbuds in and she didn't hear the door and I stood there for a solid three seconds before she noticed and yanked her hand out so fast she almost dislocated her shoulder lmaoo. She was mortified. I told her I didn't care and that I'd literally been doing the same thing twenty minutes ago in the shower. After the third or fourth time it happened to all of us we just had the conversation. Yara w
I used to be SO embarrassed about this and now I'm sitting here typing it out with one hand between my legs so I think the embarrassment phase is over lol Quick backstory that matters: I was going through a rough patch and my best friend and her boyfriend let me stay at their apartment for a while. They gave me the spare room and didn't charge me anything and were amazing about the whole thing and I love them both for it :) What I did not anticipate was how OPENLY they fuck. Like I knew they had sex obviously but I did not know that "their apartment" meant "their sex was happening in every room at all times with doors open and zero concern about volume." The first week I was there I heard her cum through the wall so loud I thought she was being murdered. I walked out of my room and their bedroom door was open and I could see his ass in the mirror going to town and I just turned around and went back to bed and laid there listening and getting wet and feeling complicated about it. It
The festival had been going exactly as planned. We’d set up camp close to Louisa (18F) and her friends, partly because I’d been asked to keep an eye on her, and partly because my mates had immediately taken an “interest” in some of her friends. They were more than happy with the arrangement as we helped carry their alcohol from the car to camp. During the actual days everyone did their own thing though. We’d disappear into the crowds, occasionally see them all back at the tent to top up on alcohol levels, then head off again into the evening. It was just before the headline act when I went looking for some food and unexpectedly ran into Louisa. She looked slightly flustered having lost all of her friends and being unable to contact them. There’s like 100k people at the festival, so WhatsApp and texts just doesn’t go through until hours later. I got my food and waited for my mates with Louisa at a pre-agreed meeting spot. The main stage was filling up quickly, so we gave up after a w
The door opens, you come in with your suitcase, take off your coat without looking at me. It smells of the road, perfume, a foreign city. I stand in the hallway, waiting. You finally look—and I understand everything in your eyes. You're not tired. You're not missing me in a human way. You want to. You put down your suitcase, without taking off your shoes, and come closer. Silently. You take my chin and turn my face. You look. I remain silent. You run your thumb over my bottom lip, pressing lightly. I open my mouth. You smile—briefly, without warmth, rather contentedly. "Did you miss me?" you ask. Your voice is low, calm. I nod. You let go of my chin and walk into the room without turning around. I follow you. The suitcase is still standing in the hallway. In the room, you click the locks, lift the lid. You take out something wrapped in black cloth. You put it on the bed. You unfold it. A belt. Leather, wide, with a buckle. I look at it, then at you. You don’t smile.
There is this guy I have been hooking up with for about two weeks. His name is Reed. He has a girlfriend. I know that because he told me the first night when we were already in my bed and his hand was already between my legs and I said "I don't care" and I meant it. He tells her he is at the gym. Every time. He shows up at my apartment in basketball shorts and a hoodie with a gym bag in his car and he fucks me and then he goes home and showers and tells her he had a good workout. I find this very funny honestly. Reed is tall. Six three. Big arms. Big hands. The kind of body that makes you want to climb all over it. He fucks like he's running out of time which I guess technically he is. I guess he has only an hour. Maybe ninety minutes if she is not paying attention. So he gets to my apartment and we skip the small talk and he picks me up and carries me to my bed or my couch or once just the hallway wall and he fucks me until we are both done and then he leaves. Last night tho someth
I got out of the car first, without even turning around, knowing he was watching me. The evening air was cool, but I was still warmed by the champagne and his hands under the table throughout the banquet. My legs wobbled a little, not from the drink, but from anticipation. I took out my keys, swayed, and he grabbed my elbow. - Be careful, Natasha. His voice was low and calm, with that drawling quality that always made my stomach turn. Viktor Petrovich, my immediate supervisor, forty-six years old, divorced, with arms like an athlete, and such a master of the tongue that I sometimes forget my own name. I opened the door and immediately realized the light in the hallway was on. That meant Kostya wasn't asleep. Of course, how could he sleep when his wife was at the office party? I deliberately didn't tell him I'd be coming with someone. Why? Let it be a surprise. “Come in, Viktor Petrovich, don’t be shy,” I let him go ahead and slammed the door. Kostya stuck his head out of
My best friend is a nerd. Full on watches video essays about black holes, gets hyped for board game nights, owns multiple anime hoodies kind of nerd. We've been close since freshman year, completely platonic, never hooked up, never even came close. He's had maybe one girlfriend ever and gets flustered when anyone says the word "blowjob" at a party. It's cute I guess. Quick thing about me. I have great tits. I know that's a weird thing to announce but it's relevant lol. They're big, they sit nice, and multiple people have told me they're "distracting." I bring this up because this man has never seen them and they played a starring role in what happened. Thursday he texts me that he fractured two fingers on his right hand during a basketball game. Splint, painkillers, can't do anything by himself. I drove over, helped him eat, wrapped his splint in plastic so he could shower. Normal stuff. After his shower I heard him call my name from the bathroom. Quiet. Embarrassed. I opened
I live with two guys. I know, I know. I found the listing online when I was desperate for a place and it was cheap and close to campus and I figured worst case they’d be messy and I’d have to clean the bathroom twice a week. Best case I’d have two built-in friends. What actually happened was neither of those things. About three months in I lost my weekend shifts and couldn’t make rent. I told Emilio (the one whose family owns the apartment) and he said don’t worry about it, him and Callum would cover me until I figured it out. They didn’t even hesitate. Sweetest guys on the planet about it, no pressure, no weird energy, just “we got you.” I felt guilty. Started talking to Emilio about how I’d pay him back eventually, make it up to him somehow. We were on the couch drinking beer and the “make it up to you” part got flirty and the flirty part got specific and twenty minutes later I was on my knees between his legs with his cock in my mouth and my hand on his thigh and he was grippi
I'll say right away that this isn't my first story, but it's one of those that still pops into my head without any reason. It was about eight, maybe nine, years ago. I was renting a room in a three-room apartment on the outskirts of town because the dorm was a shambles and I couldn't afford a decent apartment. The landlady was forty-two, her name was Irina, and she lived in the same apartment, but in the back room. Her husband, Vadim, worked either up north or somewhere else—I never quite remember—because he'd show up every two or three months, for a week at most, and then disappear again. She rented out the room not because she was poor, as I later realized, but so she wouldn't have to sit alone in an empty apartment. At least, that's what she told me when I was about to move out. We met in a very casual way: I came to look at a room, she opened the door in a robe, holding a cigarette, and my first thought was that she was too well-groomed to be a studen
She arrived at nine, as arranged. The house stood at the end of the road, behind a high fence, and as she walked from the gate to the porch, she had time to think that she shouldn't have worn those old sneakers—the house probably had parquet floors, and she'd leave a mark. But the sneakers were comfortable, easy to wash and polish, so she decided not to bother. The door was unlocked. She hesitated on the threshold, then finally went in and called softly—no one was there. The house smelled of dust and something like old furniture. She walked down the hallway and peered into the living room. The huge sofa, the rug, the fireplace, the floor-to-ceiling windows—and everything was covered in a layer of dust, as if no one had been there for a month. She took off her jacket and found a bucket, rags, and a mop in the utility room. The work was familiar; her hands had done it themselves. She washed, scrubbed, wiped the windowsills, and wiped the baseboards. It was getting on for lunch