under duress Erotic Stories

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,&#3... continue reading

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

A centuries-old, gloomy forest stood like a wall on either side of the rutted road, sunken by recent rains. Spruce trees, like black guards, locked their shaggy paws overhead, not letting through even a ray of the midday sun. Only occasionally, somewhere high above, a solitary bird would cry out anxiously, and in the distance, an invisible quagmire would hoot heavily and piercingly. It was a godforsaken, remote place, the kind of place people used to say: "Here the devil would break his leg, and a man would lose his head." A lone carriage trundled leisurely along the bumpy road that wound through these gloomy thickets. A portly dapple-colored gelding, his ears twitching, lazily flicked his tail at horseflies. The coachman, a sleepy man, languid from the heat and the forest air, nodded off every now and then. Inside the covered carriage, upholstered in leather darkened by time, sat a young woman on embroidered cushions. Her name was Marfa Andreyevna Volkonskaya, wife of the S... continue reading

I learned a long time ago: all women are the same, some just hide it well. Especially those who pretend to be untouchable and "faithful wives." My older brother, Gena, apparently never understood this. Six months ago, he married a girl named Lera. According to him, she was an angel incarnate: she cooked, cleaned, and, of course, everything was magical in bed. He even invited me over to get to know him, and I finally made the time. I arrived at their country house. They greeted me warmly. Lera really was pretty—short, well-built, with heavy breasts that she was clearly embarrassed to show, but which still drew the eye. She was wearing short shorts and a tight T-shirt, no bra. Her nipples were clearly visible. While Gena set the table, I undressed her with my eyes. My cock stirred inside me, as usual. We were sitting on the veranda, drinking wine. Gena kept praising his little Lera, how she was so good at housekeeping. She sat there, blushing and pouring us more wine. I joked... continue reading

Igor had only worked in the sales department for six months and quietly hated his boss, Alla Borisovna. She was forty-eight years old, tall, with a heavy gaze and a habit of muttering her words through clenched teeth. She dressed strictly—knee-length skirts, buttoned-up blouses—but even through this shell, her powerful figure was visible: a wide backside, impressive breasts. In the smoking room, the guys joked that having sex with such a woman was like hugging an iceberg, but Igor sometimes dreamed of her in the most obscene positions. And then there was this remote worker. Alla Borisovna complained that her work laptop was slow and the system administrator couldn't be reached. Igor volunteered to help—the sales quota was hanging by a thread anyway, and a little sweetness wouldn't hurt. On Saturday morning, he was already standing at her door with a flash drive and a bunch of software. The apartment turned out to be unexpectedly cozy. The boss's husband, some important c... 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

Maxim was returning from a business trip in his old but well-maintained Toyota. The highway was deserted, the stereo was playing retro rock softly, and his thoughts were focused on a hot shower and a soft bed. He was already anticipating turning off the interstate onto the familiar dirt road leading to his village when he spotted a silhouette on the side of the road with a raised hand. Slowing down, he narrowed his eyes and whistled. It would be a shame for a fellow traveler like her not to stop. She looked like she'd stepped off the cover of a magazine someone had accidentally left behind at a gas station. Tall, with a shock of red hair pulled back into a messy, yet all the sexier bun. She wore skinny jeans that hugged her long, slender legs and curvy hips, and a light white T-shirt that revealed her firm, full breasts, devoid of a bra. Her face had sharp, slightly predatory features, green eyes, and bright, luscious lips, which she nibbled every now and then, apparently nervou... continue reading

Marina froze, clutching a duster in her hand. Her husband's voice was heard from behind the office door. "Thanks for staying late, Stas. Let's go over the estimate again, and then I'll let you go. Lenka's probably waiting at home, and she's probably pissed off." "It's okay, Sergeich," Stas replied. "Lena can wait. It's important." Marina was kneeling before the director's desk, completely naked except for rubber gloves and a headscarf. This was exactly how she was supposed to look on Fridays, when she came to "clean" her husband's office after hours. Only her husband didn't know this. He thought the cleaning lady came on Saturday mornings, and that it was some Aunt Zina from the cleaning company. In reality, for six months now, Marina had been coming here every Friday, undressing in the utility room, and getting down to her duties. But instead of a mop and bucket, she was given a different task. Sometimes it was... 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

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

I'd been playing "Tanks" for three hours when another burst of laughter came from the kitchen. My mother and her friends, Natasha and Irina, were celebrating her fortieth birthday. I popped in to congratulate her, drank a glass of cognac with them to their health, and retreated back to my den—sitting with three forty-year-old women and listening to them talk about men, diets, and bosses was more than I could handle. She's twenty years old, after all, and has her own interests. Around eleven o'clock in the evening, the laughter died down. I went to investigate. The kitchen was piled high with dirty dishes and empty bottles. Mother and Aunt Natasha were asleep in Mom's bedroom, the door ajar—I heard their synchronized snoring. But Irina was nowhere to be found. I walked into the living room and saw her. She was lying on the sofa, on her side, her legs tucked under her, covered only by a light blanket that had slipped halfway to the floor. The light from the str... continue reading

Third week with a new trainer. I signed up for him myself, having seen him on Instagram: tall, broad-shouldered, with a look in his eyes as if he already knew all the most embarrassing things about me. Vadim Romanovich. A former champion in some martial art, now the most expensive personal trainer at the Platinum club. They said he's tough. They said he'd show results within a month. They didn't say anything else. The first training session is hell. The second is a humiliating hell. He doesn't ask, he commands: "Five more," "Faster," "Are you weak?" And the worst part is, I do it. I can't stop. He looks at me, corrects my technique, places a heavy palm on my lower back, and a treacherous warmth spreads in my lower abdomen. I started wearing the most protective clothing so as not to give myself away by shaking. This morning I broke my diet again. Just one croissant and a latte with syrup, but he always knows it with some kind of animal inst... continue reading

He had an important dinner with his partners, and he repeated a hundred times: "Be home by seven, don't let me down." And as luck would have it, I was stuck in a meeting, then traffic jams, my phone died... I burst into the apartment just after eight, sweaty, in a business suit, in heels, and from the moment I stepped inside I knew there was going to be a storm. He was sitting in the living room, in the semi-darkness. He wasn't shouting. He was just looking. His gaze made my insides clench. I started babbling about a meeting, about traffic jams, but he interrupted me very quietly: "You've embarrassed me. I've called ten times." "I tried..." "Shut up. Go to the bedroom. Stand facing the wall and wait." Goosebumps ran all over my body. I took off my shoes and walked wobbly to the bedroom. I stood up as he told me. My heart was pounding somewhere in my throat. A couple of minutes later he came in, and I heard him lock the door. I could te... continue reading