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

One night, I hadn't gotten much sleep from watching porn until midnight, so I decided to go home to catch up on some sleep, going to my tech room when everyone else had left. After walking a bit down the street, I returned to the entrance, climbed the stairs to my apartment, opened the door, and then heard my mother's voice a couple of floors below. I dashed into the apartment, tossing my jacket, boots, backpack, and bag with two shoes into the built-in closet in the hallway and darted in. The closet doubled as a storage room and was quite spacious. I hid behind the hanging things, and almost immediately the door to the apartment opened, and I heard my mother's softly cooing voice and a man's voice talking to her. - Oh, Yanka, you're such a bitch! I'll eat you right now! - Yes, I am! I'm going to eat you right now! My mother flirted back! I couldn't believe it! She's certainly a beautiful and sexy woman, and men like her, I could see it perfectly.... continue reading

What do I want to do with you? I'll treat you to champagne and invite you to dance, slowly undress you, and dress you in my arms. I need to feel you as my prey, my toy, the embodiment of my most forbidden, depraved, and lewd fantasies... Even if only for a little while! Even if only for a few hours! Naked, you'll stand by the window, bend forward slightly, resting your chest on the sill, spread your legs, and I'll lick you from below like a goddess. Then I'll rise, stand behind you, and enter your temple of love and femininity, so that your eyes will fill with the blue light shining outside. What do I want to do with you? Let me play with you and your nakedness, your pliability, your tenderness... Put you on your knees, or squat you, dip my fingers into your hair, and then touch your face, forehead, eyebrows, eyes, nose, cheeks, lips with my lingam... Caress them. And then enter your wet mouth. Give me an oral rhapsody! Adagio and andante, allegro and fortissimo... W... continue reading

Zheka continued talking, devouring me with his eyes, "Two serious guys are arriving this evening on business. They have diamond mines in Africa and a cutting factory in Yerevan. They're meeting here today with a business partner, a jeweler from London, who flew in especially for this. They hold meetings here quite often. You'll be escorting these Armenians. As far as I remember, they're great connoisseurs and lovers of women's butts. I think they'll really like your skillful backside. Now, relax, but not for long. After lunch, at our hotel, you'll go to the spa and see the makeup artist. The girls will get you ready, I'll tell them, and by five o'clock tonight, be ready for work. You have to look like a million dollars." He spoke as he pulled on his underwear and pants. Once fully dressed, he gave me a firm slap on the butt, my buttocks bouncing invitingly. That slap and the mention of diamonds in Africa brought back vivid memories of my adven... 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

The end of 2224 was unusually rainy and gloomy. Outside the window of my home office, located on the hundredth floor of a skyscraper, gray streams tirelessly drenched the neon-lit night city. The streams of water blurred the lights of flying cars lining up in endless glowing lines, transforming the futuristic landscape into a melancholic watercolor masterpiece. I moved away from the massive holographic screen displaying the complex molecular diagrams of my secret project and stretched, feeling the stiff muscles in my back and neck protest the hours of sitting motionless. My back creaked, an eloquent reminder of long years spent in a static position, researching and experimenting. I removed my thick-lensed glasses and carefully wiped them with a special cloth. Without them, the world instantly blurred into a shapeless blur, where light bizarrely merged with darkness, depriving me of the ability to discern not only details but the very essence of the objects around me. A congenital an... continue reading

Introduction from the husband Recently, while talking about memorable and unusual sexual experiences, my wife reminded me of another adventure in a train compartment. Wow, I'd completely forgotten about it. She started recalling details, and I remembered some of them too, so I decided to commit the experience to paper. As I was writing, I realized it would be easier for me to persuade my wife to write the part of the story about the events that took place without my presence. I would then write the introduction and then describe the events in which I had already participated. So, it all started like this: my wife and I had already bought train tickets to St. Petersburg—we were planning to go to another meeting at a higher-level organization. Yes, it was May! Then I got a call, first from the head of the repair department at the head office, and then from the deputy director of the representative organization in the Moscow region. The problem was this: the Muscovites needed to ha... continue reading

Jack Miller spent a week stalking the neighborhood. He chose a target and arrived at the house around two in the morning. He found and carefully opened an unlocked window on the ground floor of the quiet house. He quietly crept into the dark room, turned on a small flashlight, and looked around, removing an old pillowcase from under his jacket. He quickly went to the sideboard, found a box of expensive antique silverware, and dumped it all into the bag. Also inside was a beautiful silver tea set and a small metal box containing three hundred dollars. Not bad for a couple of minutes' work, he thought, heading for the exit the same way he'd entered—through Rachel's window. Suddenly, the light flashed and a man's voice rang out! "Who's there?" the man shouted. Jack froze, looked over his shoulder, and saw a man of about fifty standing in the far doorway. - Hey! What are you doing here?! Turning to face him, Jack put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a sh... continue reading

The car pulled up to a building somewhere in the neighborhood. I sat at a distance from him in the backseat. He seemed to pretend I wasn't there. I cautiously peered out through the raindrops to see what this place was like. It was already past midnight, but I felt calm. The master had explained back in the café that the girl had to ask him for a session herself, explained the rules, and the girl, without a second thought, did so. And now she was here. The screeching of brakes, the sound of drips on the roof of the car, and the sound of the door opening. The man walked around the back of the car, opened the door, took off his coat, and covered me with it to keep me dry. I got out of the car without meeting his gaze, and we hurried inside. It was a reception area of sorts, but it was so dim, so intimate. The girl behind the counter smiled at the man, and she clearly recognized him. I shrugged off his coat and hung it over my arm; it was barely wet. And I stepped aside. I looked... continue reading

The living room was filled with the scent of jasmine candles and the tart notes of women's perfume—the floral trail of Zhanna and the fresh, almost marine scent of Christina. I sat in a chair, watching them as jazz played softly, and they, the two friends, settled on the huge sofa, their bare feet touching. Zhanna, my red-haired wife, was the embodiment of temptation in her short black dress. Her curves, the very ones that had driven me crazy all these years, stood out softly in the dim light. Christina, a slender blonde in tight jeans and a silk tank top, gestured as she told yet another amusing story. A provocative tattoo on her ankle peeked out from under her jeans, and a silver piercing in her belly button glinted with every movement. "Boris, don't stare like you're at an exhibition," Zhanna winked at me, her green eyes sparkling mischievously. "Want to join in? There's plenty of room." I moved to the sofa, feeling a slight arousal creeping in. Ch... continue reading

His loft smelled of old books, leather, and the faintest hint of his cologne—something woody, tart. The candles on the nightstands cast dancing shadows on the walls, creating bizarre giants of light and darkness. I stood in the middle of the room, feeling small and fragile, almost translucent. My short black hair seemed even darker against my pale skin, and the tiny swallow tattoo on my wrist felt like my only talisman of protection. He was thirty-eight. Tall, with a graying beard and eyes that had seen too much. His hands—strong, with the sinewy fingers of a photographer and thin silver scars on his knuckles—now ignited a fire within me that sent shivers down my spine. He approached me silently, like a predator. "Ready?" His voice was low, almost chest-like, and it sent a shiver down my spine. I merely nodded, unable to speak. My throat was dry. We'd met several times, discussed boundaries, safe words. But the theory proved worthless compared to the practical items lyin... continue reading

My heart was pounding wildly, a dull thud echoing in my temples. I looked in the rearview mirror at my reflection: out of breath, with an unnatural flush on my cheeks and overly shiny eyes. I was now biting my lips, which I had so carefully lined with ripe cherry-colored lipstick, until they hurt, trying to push back the obsessive thought: “You're a traitor. You're a bitch. You're doing this.” Rain splattered the windshield, turning the city lights into blurs. The car smelled of my perfume—Black Opium, his favorite. My phone, lying on the passenger seat, vibrated again. I glanced at the screen: "Husband." A breath caught in my chest. Just a couple of hours ago, I'd been kissing this man, my husband, cooking him dinner, listening to him talk about a boring day at the office. And now I was racing to the outskirts of town, to the cheap Eden Motel, which smelled of despair and lust, not paradise. "Meeting with Lenka, I'm running late, don't wait up, k... continue reading

My head felt quite heavy, and my thoughts were all jumbled up from the alcohol. Several months had passed since Ira and I broke up, but no matter how hard I tried not to think about her, it just wasn't working, so I drowned my obsessions and nagging thoughts in cognac. I lay down on my couch when I suddenly heard a knock at the door. I reluctantly stood up, walking from the living room into the small hallway where the front door was. I looked through the peephole and couldn't believe what I saw. I opened the door, and there stood Ira, still as beautiful and sexy as ever. She was wearing short black shorts and a crop top that barely covered her pink, erect nipples. Ira is a petite 23-year-old brunette, 155 cm tall, with a pretty face, small but graceful breasts, a thin waist, and a rounded bottom. "Hi, Pash!" Ira said shyly, looking me in the eyes. "Will you let me in?" “Hi... yes, of course, come in,” I barely managed to get the words out, trying to collect m... continue reading

Ira and I had a complicated relationship; we were on and off, though we kept in touch for several years. One time, when we broke up again, I decided that was it and I needed to start over. I messaged my friend and we went to a nightclub, ideally to pick up some chicks, but as it turned out, just to have a drink and have a good time. We started with one, then another, until it was late at night and we were standing at the entrance to yet another, quite drunk. My friend decided he couldn't continue our "crusade" any longer and called a taxi. I was about to leave, but something seemed to draw me inside. I walked into the club, the stairs leading straight down. Upon entering, music and the murmur of people became immediately audible. Couples stood along the steps in the semi-darkness, enjoying each other with rapture. I went downstairs and found myself in a large room. The music was loud, and the flickering, dim red lighting created an intimate atmosphere. I went to the bar,... continue reading

Life, like a river, flows along its course. At first, a turbulent, swift current sweeping away everything in its path, then a broad, full-flowing current, calm and predictable. But sometimes, beneath this apparent calm, deep and dangerous whirlpools arise. I'm thirty-seven. My name is Elena. My husband, Grisha, is forty-three, and I have been together for fifteen years. During this time, we've experienced everything: poverty, the first modest joys, arguments, reconciliations, and the joy of owning our first apartment. But our greatest asset, our shared project, into which we've poured our hearts, are our two children. But this story isn't about them. It's about Grisha and me. About that quiet, almost invisible crack that was slowly but surely spreading across the façade of our well-being. It all started around the time I turned thirty-five. I began to notice a strange, almost animalistic restlessness within me. It was as if a beast had awakened within, dormant al... 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

My husband and I have a good relationship, great sex, but... But for years now, I've dreamed of feeling like a slut, of being fucked like a total whore by a stranger. Or even several times... Alas, the prerequisites never materialized—first, the cushy love affair with my husband, then the birth of our daughter. And for a long time, I couldn't imagine a real situation where I could step outside the bounds of morality. However, I would start to cum around any even remotely attractive man, imagining how I'd take him in my mouth and then spread my legs for him. So my husband and I, leaving our daughter in the care of her grandmothers, went to a provincial town to settle some matters with the inheritance left after the death of a distant relative. We stayed in a hotel, considered the best, but with the kind of service and furnishings I imagined the Soviet era. However, this archaism was nothing compared to the ordeal of dealing with the inheritance. And so, on the second day,... continue reading

Moscow in October smelled of wet asphalt and the smoke from the chestnuts roasted by the babushkas outside the metro. Anna walked along Tverskaya Street, her heels clicking on the tiles like a metronome counting down to the next casting. Her long black hair, pulled back into a loose ponytail, swayed in the wind, and her ivory coat accentuated her figure—the kind that made men turn their heads and women purse their lips ever so slightly. She was twenty-five, and she still believed that beauty wasn't a curse, but simply a fact, like rain or snow. At the agency, they called her a "gentle muse," but Anna knew that tenderness was a mask concealing the weariness of endless "turn around, smile, look just below the shoulder." At home, in their small apartment, whose windows overlooked a narrow courtyard dotted with stunted linden trees, Valera was waiting. He was ten years older, a manager at Sberbank, with a neat beard and eyes that always held a lurking smile—not ironi... continue reading

My wife, Tonya, and I have been living as husband and wife for a whole year now. My name is Igor, and I'm thirty-two. My wife, Tonya, is only twenty-seven. There's a five-year age difference between us, but we don't feel it at all. I don't feel older, and she doesn't feel younger. We're just living. After my grandmother died, I inherited her one-room apartment in an old panel building. That's where Tonya and I are living. My wife doesn't want to have children yet. She keeps telling me that first we need to get back on our feet, pay off the loans, and do some renovations. Well, I'm not rushing her. I understand her concerns, so I don't bring it up myself, so as not to put unnecessary pressure on her. Tonya and I met under somewhat odd circumstances. She came to work for a new assistant. Our team was mostly male, and almost everyone was married. Tonya was young, vibrant, and immediately attracted attention. But she ignored the advances of single... continue reading