Stories by hugeCock

Vera and I are in our early thirties. We've been married for six years. She had two men before me, and I had a few women. Our marriage is like a well-oiled machine: sometimes it creaks, but overall it's a joy. We try not to stagnate in bed: toys, role-playing, light BDSM. But there's one taboo that Vera guards with the tenacity of a border guard. Her ass. More precisely, the entrance to it. My finger—go ahead. My tongue—for God's sake. But my dick—no way. "It's all tight down there, I'm scared, it hurts, let's not do it now." I didn't push. I waited. Sometimes we fantasized out loud before bed: I'd whisper to her how hot it would be if a third person, experienced and patient, took her there for the first time. She'd blush, giggle excitedly, and quickly come from these conversations. But it never went beyond fantasies. And then there was the district clinic and an appointment with a proctologist. Vera had been experiencing discomfort fo... continue reading

I offer a story from life, where the details and names have, of course, been changed, but the emotions are very real. A trip out of town with a big group was my Alena's idea. She generally loves getting everyone together—my friends, her girlfriends. It's loud, fun, and almost always ends with dancing around the campfire. This time we're going to a new place; someone mentioned there was a small lake and an old bridge there. I'm driving, Alena's next to me, and in the back, the friends are discussing something, music, and the smell of summer coming from the open window. We arrive. The clearing is excellent, the grill is set up quickly, and the girls are laying out snacks. Alena is wearing a light sundress today, her hair tied up, but a couple of strands have come loose from the wind. I look at her, she catches my eye and smiles, a knowing smile, as if to say, I know what you're thinking. We haven't really seen each other for a week; we've both been work... continue reading

The downpour came on suddenly, turning the street into one solid wall of water. I'd just picked up my order at the door—a tall paper bag with the Maru-sushi logo—and was about to close the door when I noticed the delivery girl in a light yellow windbreaker and shorts standing on the porch, helplessly watching the torrents of water fall from the sky. Her scooter lay forlornly wet by the curb. "Come in and wait it out," I suggested, retreating further into the hallway. "It's been such a blast for an hour." She hesitated for a second, then stepped inside. The hallway immediately smelled of rain, asphalt, and something sweet—probably her perfume. I closed the door. Now we were standing alone in my bachelor apartment: me barefoot, in shorts and a T-shirt, and she soaking wet. Her thin windbreaker clung to her figure, and I couldn't help but notice her neat breasts, visible through the wet fabric, and her flat stomach. She pulled off her windbreaker, and I almo... 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 all started with a leak. A very mundane one, even mockingly mundane. A pipe in the kitchen, right under the sink, had clogged and started leaking, and no matter how hard I tried to tighten the loose nut, the water only started dripping more quickly. My engineering efforts only elicited a condescending smile from Inga, my wife. "Pavlik, stop it," she finally said, standing in the kitchen doorway and watching my torment. "You don't know how to do anything with your hands. Not in the house, not in bed. I'll call a professional." She uttered those last words with a peculiar, slippery intonation. Inga generally loved to emphasize my masculine inadequacy. She was thirty-three, a striking blonde with a curvaceous but toned figure—the result of endless gym sessions and salon visits. I, a stooped, bespectacled man with perpetually sweaty palms and premature ejaculation, had long since resigned myself to the role of her lapdog. The next morning there was a knock at... continue reading

Vera and I bought a dacha three years ago. It's an old log cabin on the outskirts of the village—a quiet spot, surrounded by pine trees and intoxicating air. My wife was immediately enthusiastic: "We'll make it a gem!" We searched for craftsmen for a long time, but they either charged exorbitant prices or missed deadlines. Then a neighbor recommended Andrey—a local guy with golden hands, who says he charges a fair price and does a good job. Andrey turned out to be a man of about thirty-five. Stocky, wiry, with calloused hands. He dressed simply—a baggy T-shirt and work pants with knee pads—but there was something... animalistic about him. Energy, perhaps. He'd come early in the morning, while I was still getting ready to go to work in the city, and stay until evening. At first, Vera simply supervised the work, but then she began going to the dacha alone more and more often—"to check on the progress of the renovation." "Andrey says the old veranda need... 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

I was in a private room—luckily, my relatives had gotten me there. My appendix had been removed two days earlier, and the puncture site still hurt a bit, but it was already gone. It was night, quiet, and the nurses occasionally shuffled their slippers down the hallway. I was dozing off, sedated, but woke up when the door quietly opened. In fact, I was lying facing the wall, the blanket pulled almost up to my chin. The only light in the room was a nightlight above the door, so anyone entering would hardly be able to tell whether I was asleep or not. I decided not to move. “Come here, there’s no one here, this is a private ward,” I heard a young female voice, quiet, with a kind of nervous laugh. I carefully turned my head, millimeter by millimeter, so I could see what was happening out of the corner of my eye. Three people entered the room: Sveta, a very young intern, about nineteen; a thin brunette I'd seen during my rounds; and two doctors. One was a surgeon of about forty-five,... continue reading

The steam was so thick it was hard to see the face opposite. The guys and I had had a wonderful steam bath, drank a couple of beers, and were now lounging in the anteroom. My Verochka, my beloved wife, brought us some cold kvass. She was wearing only a short silk robe, which she pulled loosely around herself, barely covering her tempting breasts. My friends, Kolyan, Tolyan, and Seryoga, grinned lecherously. In the bathhouse, after the heat, the blood rushes, and desires intensify. Kolyan, the most daring of my friends, grabbed Vera's hand. "Why does your husband let you bathe alone, such a beauty? Let us at least check if you've washed properly." With these words, his rough paw slid under my wife's robe and greedily squeezed my wife's firm breast. Vera gasped softly, but didn't pull her hand away. She merely glanced reproachfully in my direction. But I pretended to be completely absorbed in my kvass. Then Tolyan, taking my silence as consent, came up behi... 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 moved to the regional center to attend university. My parents didn't have their own place there, and renting a room was expensive, so my mother's sister, Aunt Vera, took me in. She was forty-five and worked as an accountant at a garment factory. She had divorced her husband about ten years ago, lived alone in a spacious two-room apartment, kept a cat, and, as I thought then, had given up on her love life. I was nineteen. I'd noticed this oddity about myself before. On commuter trains, in lines, on the street, my gaze always gravitated not to my peers with their skinny jeans and backpacks, but to women in their forties and fifties. I was mesmerized by their heavy thighs, clinging to their skirts, their powerful calves, and the large breasts they carried before them like jewels. Their backsides were especially intoxicating—wide, substantial, swaying as they walked. I imagined myself plunging my hands into that flesh, spreading the cheeks and penetrating that most secret,... 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

Night. The sound of the surf. Music somewhere in the distance. Liza and I walked away from the fire. The sand was still warm. There were two people nearby: Seryozha and Vlad. They brought champagne. Bitter, bubbling on the tongue. — Are you frozen? - No. - And you have goosebumps. - It's not from the cold. Liza is already kissing Seryozha. His fingers are tangled in her hair, wet from the bath. Vlad looks at me. For a long time. I take a sip straight from the bottle. I hand it to him. His lips are on the same glass as mine. — Do you want to take a swim? - I'm not wearing a swimsuit. - So much the better. We run to the water. The waves lick our feet. He catches up with me, already waist-deep in the sea. The water is warm, almost hot after the afternoon sun. His hands slide along my waist underwater. — You can't see anything here. - Do you want to see something? — I want to touch it. A palm falls on a chest. The nipples instantly harden. Not from the cold. Salt water on th... continue reading

I love to watch. That's my greatest thrill—to see my wife turn into an insatiable bitch under someone else's control, while still being mine. Lena and I have been together for eight years, and in that time I've realized: her sexuality is like fine wine, only getting brighter with age. Tall, with shoulder-length, wheat-colored hair, languid gray eyes, and long legs—she's the kind of woman that even women turn heads. But the main thing about her is her appetite. Not for food, no. For cocks. When we started renovating our new two-room apartment, I knew how it would end. Lena volunteered to oversee the process while I was at work, and I just chuckled to myself. She put on her favorite summer dress—a lightweight cotton one over her bare skin, the slightest movement clinging to her butt so tightly that the outline of her panties was visible. White heeled sandals, minimal makeup—and there she was, standing in the doorway, watching me go with a look in which I read anticipat... continue reading

That summer, my husband and I headed south for the first time in two years. Money was tight in '92, so a compartment was out of the question. We bought two tickets for a reserved seat carriage to Adler. I was twenty-four then. I had a shapely figure: a pleasant curve in my hips, a wasp waist, and neat B-cup breasts with very responsive nipples. I dyed my hair red back then—my husband absolutely loved it, saying I looked like a fox. The journey ahead was long, almost two days. We were riding on the upper side berths. A guy of about twenty-five sat down opposite us. He was dressed simply but cleanly: a light T-shirt and sweatpants. His toned physique immediately caught my eye—his sculpted arms and broad chest. He introduced himself as Dima. He was traveling to visit his parents in Sochi, having just been discharged from the army. My husband, Slava, a sociable man, immediately suggested that Dima and I get together for the three of us. We packed fried chicken, boiled eggs, tomatoes... continue reading

My name is Igor, I'm 32 years old, and my wife, Katya, is 29. We've been married for six years, and over those years, I've come to think I know absolutely everything about her. But I'll never forget my last birthday. It all started on a typical Friday morning. Katya woke me with a kiss, congratulated me, and handed me an envelope containing some kind of travel voucher—honestly, I didn't even read it right away because she looked absolutely stunning. A light silk robe, barely covering her hips, her hair loose, the scent of her favorite perfume. I pulled her toward me, but she deftly slipped away, smiled mysteriously, and said, "This evening will be a real treat, don't even think about getting out of it." Honestly, I thought she was talking about some special lingerie or a romantic dinner. The day went by as usual—work, calls, bustle. Katya texted me to be home by eight, take a shower, and await further instructions. She generally loved to boss me aroun... continue reading