Fuck, that was so wild. Even now, when I think about it, I get goosebumps and something deep down inside me clenches. My name is Lisa, I'm a second-year student, and just so you understand, I've always been a good girl. Until I met him. Andrey Viktorovich, our track and field coach. A huge man of about forty, with arms the size of my thighs and a mug that never smiled. He was a real dictator in the gym. If you were late, he'd run extra laps; if you missed a time, he'd work you off twice as hard. In short, he was a butcher, not a coach. Honestly, I was terrified of him. But I also respected him, because thanks to his methods, I really got into shape. And that's where I got myself into trouble. I was hanging out with my girlfriends, then my exams came, and I just ditched three practices in a row. I thought, well, I'll go, apologize, make some excuse. Who cares. He caught me in the hallway after class. "Zaitseva," he barked, making me jump. "I'll... continue reading

It happened to me a couple of months ago. I'm twenty-five, an ordinary guy, working in IT, living alone in a small apartment in the city center. I have a friend, Vitka, and we've been inseparable our whole lives, drinking beer and playing soccer together. His mother, Aunt Ira, is forty-five, but looks thirty-five: slim, with long brown hair that she often wears in a ponytail, green eyes, and a figure you can't take your eyes off. She has D-cup breasts, a narrow waist, and a round butt—she works as a fitness trainer, so her body is in good shape. I always sneaked glances at her when I visited them: she'd walk around the house in leggings or shorts, smiling warmly at me, sometimes joking about "young stallions." Vitka didn't suspect a thing; to him, she's just his mother, but to me, she's an object of fantasy. I imagined her seducing me, but I never thought it would become reality. It all started when Vitka went away on a business trip for a week—he... continue reading

I never thought I'd be fucking my best friend's mother while lying on a lounge chair in the middle of a pine forest, while the birds sang as if they were requesting a soundtrack. Seriously. My name is Alexander, I'm twenty years old, five feet five inches tall, I play basketball at the college level, and I'm used to getting what I want. But Anna... that was on another level. We went to Vitka's dacha for the May holidays. He, his parents, and I—like, to get away from the city, have a barbecue, go to the sauna. I'd known Vitka since first year, but I'd only seen his parents briefly a couple of times. He'd say, "My mom's strict, my dad's busy." Okay, fine. I thought it would be a classic woman in a robe with curlers. I was wrong. When we walked into the house, she was standing by the living room window, adjusting the curtain. The sun was shining from behind, shining through the thin knit of her housedress. Her silhouette was simply stunni... continue reading

Late Friday evening. Anya finally broke out of the apartment. The door slammed loudly behind her. Dima yelled after her: - Where did you go, bitch? Come back, I said! She didn't come back. For three months now, he'd been monitoring her every move: where she was, who she was texting, what time he'd be back. He checked her phone every evening, demanding she delete photos from her stories if they were "too revealing." He said he loved her. He cared. But in reality, he was simply smothering her. Today Anya couldn't stand it anymore. She said: — I'm going for a walk. He grabbed her hand, squeezed it until it bruised, hurt. She punched him in the face, broke free, grabbed her bag, and ran out. "Let him scream. Let him ring a hundred times. He deserves it, the lout." I arrived at the Night Surf club, where I used to go with my friends until Dima banned me. The security guard at the entrance let me in without asking any questions: — Come in. Inside there... continue reading

It was in Crimea, during that velvet season, when the main crowd of tourists had already left, but the water still retained its summer warmth. A group of five of us, all third-year students, rented a house a couple hundred meters from the beach. The goal was simple: to unwind, sunbathe, and forget about the exams looming on the horizon. I packed a bunch of revealing swimsuits—I wanted to feel like a goddess. Or at least a very confident bitch. The atmosphere was relaxed and casual. We drank cheap wine, grilled shashlik, and chatted until the early hours. And just then, I received a message from Dmitry. We knew each other from university—he taught paid group functional training classes in the building next door. Muscular, lean, with a piercing gaze. He was in his thirties, and he exuded that mature, slightly dangerous confidence that our peers so desperately lacked. It turned out he was also here, working as a trainer for the off-site "Fitness Detox" program at a nearby hotel... continue reading

It was one of those night shifts that starts out like any other. A hospital after midnight is a world unto itself. Silence punctuated by the beeping of machines, dim light in the hallways, and a feeling as if the rest of the city had died out. I, Sveta, had been working here as a nurse for five years. I knew every corner, every creaking linoleum. That evening, there was a corporate party celebrating some anniversary of the head physician. A modest drinking session in the staff room on the second floor. Champagne, cognac, cheap snacks. I sipped a little, then another, the tension of the shift slowly dissolving in a light, pleasant alcoholic haze. I wasn't completely drunk, but rather warmed up. My body felt light, my cheeks were flushed, and playful, warm shivers ran through me. I threw my white robe over the short black dress I'd worn underneath—I planned to pop into a club after my shift. The robe came unbuttoned, revealing my cleavage and the slightly trembling, firm breas... continue reading

I want to share a story that happened to me several years ago. I was dating a guy at the time, his name was Alexander. We were together for about a month, but during that time we weren't intimate because we were constantly surrounded by his friends. One day, Sasha went away on a work trip for a whole week. The next day, two of his friends came over and suggested we go for a walk along the river. I was hesitant, not really wanting to go, but they insisted, and I agreed. As the evening wore on, the embankment became less crowded. The beer I'd had relaxed me a bit, and I stopped worrying. My friends seemed friendly and sociable, and I didn't feel threatened by them. Everything was going fine until the beer ran out and one of the guys went to the store. I was left alone with Denis—that was the name of the other guy. He suggested we walk a little further. At first, I refused, but he was persistent, and we went. He took my hand and led me down a narrow path toward a deserted a... continue reading

We were traveling home on the overnight train after a week at the seaside. Four people in the compartment: me, my wife Marina, her mother Galina Ivanovna, and my wife's younger sister, Katya. That same Katya, who had been sunbathing in a micro-bikini on the beach this whole time, laughed too loudly next to me and seemed to accidentally brush my back as she passed. Twenty-three years old, a seven-year age difference with Marina, and as if from another universe: uninhibited, with a daring gaze and a constant half-smile. The compartment smelled of old wood. We'd already been driving for six hours; the black silhouettes of trees flashed past the window, occasionally catching a glimpse of a lighted window in a small house. My wife and mother-in-law were already snoring evenly on the upper berths. Marina snored softly, breathing out. My mother-in-law was emitting such a powerful roar that the windows rattled. I lay on the lower berth by the window, Katya on the opposite lower bert... continue reading

I always thought our family was a typical mix of old grudges and new habits, especially after my father married Helen. She was in her late thirties, with those curvaceous figures she didn't hesitate to accentuate with tight dresses, and eyes that I sometimes caught looking at myself when she thought I wasn't paying attention. I, a twenty-two-year-old guy, had just graduated from college, returned home for the summer, and there we were, all in the country house—my father, my mother, and I. Vacation, supposedly. My father would disappear all day fishing or into the garage with the car, leaving the two of us to hang around the house, and Helen would flirt with me so subtly that I couldn't believe it—she'd brush my hip as she passed, or smile out of the corner of her mouth when I helped with the dishes. That evening, after dinner, when my father was already snoring in front of the TV in the living room, she approached me in the kitchen. "Listen, Alex," she said q... continue reading

My name is Daniil, I'm 21. Summers at our father's dacha were always a strange mix of boredom and tension. Especially after he married Irina two years ago, and she burst into my life—Maya, my now half-sister. She was 19, and she was the embodiment of everything that both drove me crazy and terrified me. Not the kind of beauty you see on magazine covers, but a real, natural beauty. Bright red hair that she always wore in a messy ponytail, freckles on her nose, and gray eyes that could see right through you. We lived in the same house, our rooms separated by a thin wall, and I could hear her tossing and turning at night. We constantly bickered over trivial things—who washed the dishes, what movie to watch—but beneath this game of "evil brother and sister," something else smoldered. Something forbidden, something sharp, something that took our breath away when our hands accidentally touched at the dinner table. We both felt it. The estate stood on the edge of an old, de... continue reading

I always thought smell was the most important thing. Hot stone, oak whisk, kvassed bread for steam, and honey. And underneath it all, the scent of clean wood, warmed by human bodies. "Margarita's Bathhouse" was an expensive place, private, where people didn't just come to wash. They came to remove the crust from themselves, the one that accumulates from money, negotiations, and the eternal rush. And I, Marina, twenty-two years old, was part of this ritual. His name was Artyom. This was his third visit, and always only to me. Not the kind of brute who jumps in with his hands, no. Silent, with dark eyes that looked not at his body but right through it, as if searching for some kind of flaw within. Today he was especially exhausted. His shoulders were like boulders, his neck tense. I worked silently, the classic way. First, warming up, lightly tapping with a birch broom soaked in a basin of fragrant infusion. The steam room hummed like a living beast, the heat envelopin... continue reading

The champagne was crap, but Lera was drinking it for the third glass in a row just to keep her hands occupied. The party was raging all around her: someone was shouting toasts from the balcony, bodies were rubbing against each other in the living room to wild indie rock, and someone's whiskey collection was already being sorted out in the kitchen. She felt like a ghost—in her most revealing black dress, which was supposed to inspire confidence but instead only exposed her back and made her cringe at the looks. New Year's. Again. Noise, hubbub, false laughter. She leaned against the doorframe between the kitchen and the packed loggia, watching the glamorous presenters counting down the final minutes on the TV. Her head was pounding with alcohol and fatigue. Her last boyfriend, Artyom, had been an ex for six months, and their sex, frankly, had been as predictable as this party. Carefully, according to schedule, in the same position. No madness. No loss of control. "Fuck,&#... continue reading

The beach was crowded. On this day, as luck would have it, the sun was merciless, forcing my friend and I to bury ourselves in the sand to avoid direct sunlight on our tender, youthful bodies. Vova and I were inseparable, so wherever he went, I went too. It was the same this time. Having suggested we take a stroll to the beach, I agreed without hesitation to what I considered a rash and ill-timed excursion. But there was no time to whine about it, as I was intrigued by the girls in bathing suits who seemed drawn to stroll by our lounge chair. I was certainly happy with the situation, but I wanted more. And I wanted instant, uncontrollable sex with these long-legged, busty furies. But this remained just an unrealizable fantasy, considerably overheated by the hot, parching sun. Having stopped dreaming of the impossible, I turned my attention to the next group of girls walking along the sand, deftly twisting their buns, inflaming in me the desire to make full use of their asses. "G... continue reading

Artyom stepped off the commuter train with a heavy backpack over his shoulders and immediately felt the hot July air envelop his skin. The station was almost empty, just an old woman with baskets and a couple of local kids on bikes. He texted Aunt Nika to let her know he'd arrived, and a minute later he saw her white SUV pulling into the parking lot. Veronika Sergeyevna stood by the open car door, wearing a light beige dress with thin straps. Her hair was pulled back into a loose bun, and she wore large sunglasses. She looked about thirty, at most, though Artyom knew for a fact she'd turned thirty-seven in January. She'd been divorced for three years, had no caravan, and lived alone in a large house outside the city, teaching yoga in two studios. "Well, hello there, nephew!" She smiled broadly, stepped forward, and hugged him so tightly that he felt her chest spring against him. Her scent was light, citrusy, with a hint of spice. The hug lasted a couple of second... continue reading

I've been dating a girl for two years now, we live together, and I've started getting turned on by the idea of cuckolding, like having someone fuck her, preferably hard. But she's pretty shy; I'm only her third boyfriend. It's just that during sex, I imagine someone just fucking her or about to fuck her right after me. It really turns me on. One day, I was staring at my phone, and she was taking a bath and called me over to get her a book. I walked into the bathroom with her book and phone in my hands and I really wanted to take a picture of her. I turned on the camera, wanting to take a picture, but she noticed, quickly covered her face with her hands and asked what I was doing. I managed to take one photo and replied, "Just a photo." She was surprised, asking, "Why do you need a naked photo of me, etc." We chatted for a bit, and she realized it was just a photo, let me take a normal photo of her in the bathroom, even posed for a little, and it... continue reading

During his absence, Michael asked me, among other things, to tidy up the pool in the backyard, as I'm an expert in that area. This time, Amanda greeted me politely, mindful of the spanking. By midday, I'd tidied up the pool and the surrounding area, then returned to the house, thinking of ways to further amuse myself with the girl. Amanda was in the living room watching television. I noticed two voices coming from behind the door; her sister, Mary, apparently, was not alone. "Amanda," I began, "your brother asked me to fix the pool in your backyard, and I did it. I don't know if you can use it..." Amanda gasped in excitement, then clapped her hands and exclaimed: - Hooray!! Thank you so much! I can swim now! With these words she ran to the door, opened it slightly and called: - Come in, let's go swimming! “Amanda, who did you call?” I asked. - Mary, she has her friend now... "Amanda, when I was cleaning the pool, there were a lot of piles of feces... continue reading

Sochi is a special city. Vacationers bring their own rhythms and moods to its life. Locals usually rent out rooms by the sea, where all sorts of people live. I once rented a room in a house by the sea. I relaxed, swam, sunbathed, and went on excursions. As always, I was troubled by Him, my dick, always on guard, always searching, always dissatisfied. But one day he finally got lucky. A couple of girls from Nizhny Novgorod, Vera and Lola, arrived. One of them, Lola, having escaped the city's wilds, apparently decided to have a blast. In the evenings, the vacationers would gather in the courtyard, drink tea, eat fruit, play cards or table tennis. Then one evening, Lola came out to the table tennis. Her breasts were barely covered, a small piece of fabric under her navel, and her butt was completely bare. Well, maybe a little string was visible... She and her friend started playing tennis, Lola flashing her bare buttocks. Soon the women started making a fuss, pounced on the trouble... continue reading

The glass doors of the PharmaCorp clinic slid open with a soft hiss, ushering Jane into sterile, icy-cold air. It smelled of antiseptic and money. The latter was especially appealing. It was this smell, or rather the lack thereof in her own life, that had drawn the twenty-year-old student here. The reception area was decorated in calm, neutral tones—gray sofas, blue accent walls covered with abstract paintings, presumably intended to be calming. But Jane couldn't relax. Her fingers fiddled nervously with the strap of her old backpack, filled with notes from an introductory sociology course. "Jane Doe?" a woman in a white coat rose from behind the counter, her smile as flawless and lifeless as the interior. "My name is Linda. Come with me, Dr. Murdoch is waiting for you." Jane nodded, feeling her legs buckle. She followed Linda down the long hallway, their footsteps echoing dully on the glossy linoleum. The office doors were closed, their nameplates bearing incomp... continue reading

As you get older, you begin to truly appreciate the simplest things. For example, a solid, regular male erection. Now I think back to my youth—what a fool I was... How many guys I shaved. How many orgasms I missed... For some reason, I grumbled at my husband, who always needed something. And then... Then it turned out that I lived for several years without an erection. Fingers, vibrators, colorful dildos, even vegetables and fruits... What hasn't happened to me over the years... But it's all wrong. Nothing compares to the magic of a real, erect, and therefore valuable, male end. And yesterday I finally got that ending! I'm speaking in verse now because I'm happy. I've been working towards this for a very long time, and here it is! It's happened! To be honest, Petenka was drunk. I tried my best to make it happen at the office party. I shouted toasts, topped up his glass, offered him another drink. And when he was drunk enough, I offered to take him home in a t... continue reading

It all started so banally that it's even funny now. I was coming home from college, pulling into the entrance hall, drenched in sweat from the stuffy street, and she was just coming out of her apartment—Aunt Natasha. Our neighbor, in her forties. I always saw her as well-groomed, smelling of perfume and baked goods, a true homemaker. She was always smiling at me, asking about my studies, and there was something warm and maternal in her eyes. The guardian angel of our building. But today her gaze was different. Narrowed, appraising. I muttered "hello" and reached for my door. “Andryusha, wait a minute,” her voice, usually so clear, was now low and velvety. I turned around. She was leaning against the doorframe, wearing a light housecoat that outlined... God, it outlined everything. All those soft, seductive curves that I sometimes thought about out of the corner of my mind as I drifted off to sleep. "You're so disinhibited, poor thing. Session?" She took a ste... continue reading