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

Pushing my hair over my shoulder, I inadvertently run my fingers down my neck, brushing against my collarbones, and a warm wave of memories, desire, and pleasure runs through my body. No, he never does that - our desire when we meet is too strong for such unobtrusive foreplay - but for some reason it is this reflex of my body that my memory associates with him, as, indeed, many others, and it is so attractive with its delicate, sharp sweetness, like the taste of caramel-mint ice cream. This chain of associations, memories and desires is impossible to break - although I have never tried, why would I? I close my eyes and imagine his hands unbuttoning my dress, his fingers touching my breasts, freeing me of all excess fabric. They squeeze my nipples, and they instantly harden, and I feel the growing wetness below, under the lace of my underwear. Then his lips encircle one nipple, then the other... And I want to press him to me, I stroke his hair, stretch my whole body toward him, archi... continue reading

A cold wind drove gray, stinging snow through the streets, melting it into mud beneath the wheels of the cars. The city lived its own harsh, oil-fueled life. It wasn't pretty, but it was as strong as a fist. Those who didn't fear long months in the north, far from home, on endless shifts, made good money here. Pyotr was one of them. Milana, standing by the window of their old, not yet completely empty apartment, watched the twilight swallow the gray panel buildings. Longing. Deep, aching, like an aching tooth. She was twenty-seven, and she had spent most of those last three years waiting. Waiting for a call, a message, a return. Peter was her husband, her love, and her greatest source of anxiety. A tall, lean, dark-haired man with a stubborn chin and jealous eyes, he graduated from the Oil and Gas Institute and dedicated his life to endless business trips. She, on the other hand, was an advertising executive, or, as it's fashionable to say these days, an SMM specialist.... continue reading

Friday. That long-awaited day when the work week ends and two days lie ahead that can be spent on anything. We were sitting in the living room: me, my wife Lera, and two of my friends, Sergey and Igor. We'd known each other for what felt like ages, gone to school together, been hooligans together. Now, here we were, drinking beer together at home, lounging on the couch. There was a certain tension. And it was all Lera's fault. She was dressed in a peculiar way: a short black dress, barely covering her hips, which perfectly hugged her firm butt and small but beautiful breasts. She was braless. I'd noticed this earlier in the day, when she bent over to pick something up and her dark aureola showed through the thin fabric. Back then, it had only given me a rush of lust and the thought, "It's going to be hot tonight." But now, under Sergey and Igor's gaze, this thought became alarming. They stared at her without restraint. Igor, stocky and strong, his arms co... continue reading

I love it when men talk about their dreams—the Beautiful Princess or Queen they want to serve. For many, this remains just a fantasy, but for me, this dream has become reality. I am a Mistress, and one man gave me seven years of his life—seven years of devotion, pain, trust, and submission that have become part of my soul, part of my world. Our acquaintance began timidly: he came to test himself, his limits, to understand how much he could trust a woman who takes complete control. In his gaze, I noticed a mixture of timidity and quiet delight, a desire to surrender, trembling and tension, but most importantly—a willingness to be mine. The first punishment was a test. I made him kneel before me and selected a whip, a belt, and a cane. "Lower your head," I ordered, and his voice trembled: "Yes, Mistress." Strike after strike fell on his skin, leaving stripes and marks. His breathing quickened, his body tensed, he fought back a scream but did not beg for mercy. "Say... continue reading

Anya woke up in the morning; her husband was already at work. She lay in her white bed, wearing a black nightgown with thin straps, naked, her nipples protruding. Anya picked up her laptop, opened it, and went to the website of the café where she'd been married the day before yesterday. She opened a photo of herself kneeling in a white wedding dress, a white veil covering her head, surrounded by Caucasian men. She stared at the photo and recalled how this group of ten men had fucked her mouth, how she'd taken turns taking black cocks and sucking their heads. The girl's left hand moved down to her smoothly shaved pussy, and she placed her palm on her already wet pussy and began to caress her labia, brushing her clitoris with her index finger. With her right hand, she exposed her right breast, which lay over her black nightgown, and with two fingers began to squeeze her pink nipple, occasionally making circles with her fingers over her pink areola. The girl remembered how... continue reading

The story was written to order for my beloved reader and published with his approval. Background: The Perfect Cell Yana married Oleg at twenty-two. He was ten years older, confident, and as steady as a Swiss watch. He was the epitome of success: a burgeoning career, an expensive car, a spacious apartment in a prestigious neighborhood. For many of her friends, she had won the lottery of life. But after three years of marriage, Yana realized she'd won a ticket into a gilded cage, albeit a cage nonetheless. Their life was scheduled down to the minute: Oleg's work, his business dinners, their rare social outings where he'd talk business deals and she'd have to sit there, smile prettily, and nod. Her own life, her dreams of something more than decoration, were slowly fading. Oleg loved her, but he loved her as a valuable possession, as part of his successful image. He adored her beauty, but he took it for granted, like a pretty painting on the wall, something he could occ... continue reading

Almost two months had passed since that unexpected, heady, risk-filled sex with Misha in the movie theater and my provocative naked stroll under a down jacket. During that time, we met at our rented apartment only a couple of times, and our encounters began to lose their former intensity, becoming a predictable ritual. First, Misha would perform oral sex on me, which greatly aroused me, his tongue tracing leisurely circles on my clit, making my whole body shudder in anticipation. Then he would put me on all fours on the bed and, firmly gripping my hips, fuck me for about 30 minutes with his thick cock, accompanied by my moans and screams. Each thrust echoed like a dull thud in my uterus, and a burning heat spread through my back and buttocks. Then he would come on my back, and I would feel hot streams of sperm spreading across my skin, leaving sticky trails. Then we would go to the shower, where we would wash each other. Hands sliding over my wet body washed away traces of passion,... 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

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