We had a good time yesterday, the same group gathered as always, and the fun flowed like a river.There was my friend Sanya with his Lena, there was Kolyan, this time alone without his other half, and another friend, a bosom friend from childhood Lyokha, he came, of course, with Inna
Hi... Are you tired? Maybe we should have a drink?... No... I can see in your eyes that you want something else...(whispering) I think I can guess what exactly... I whisper all sorts of obscenities in his ear, biting his earlobe... I unbutton his shirt, slowly... Button by button...
We were sitting at a round table on the first floor and playing cards. The two-story cottage rented for the day was in a pine forest on the shore of a reservoir. And having swum to our heart's content, we were now drinking, playing and chatting. The reason for such a vacation was the long-awaited meeting of my husband Denis and his childhood friends Ilya, Andrey and Alexey.
It was a warm Saturday night in September, and my husband had invited his old college buddy, Can, over for drinks and to watch the game. They’d been close for years Can was the best man at our wedding, always around for barbecues and holidays. He’s 36, tall, ruggedly handsome with a thick beard, broad shoulders, and that easy confidence that made me notice him more than I should have. My husband, Emre, is great, but lately our sex life had been routine, and I’d been feeling neglected, horny in ways I couldn’t shake.
I’d been in the private hospital for two days after a minor surgery, bored out of my mind and stuck in a single room. The painkillers made me sleepy, but they also made me constantly horny, my yarak half-hard under the thin hospital gown every time someone walked in. On the third night, around 11 p.m., the door opened quietly and Nurse Elif slipped in to check my vitals. She was 29, long black hair tied in a ponytail, full lips, and curves that her tight white uniform couldn’t hide—big tits straining against the buttons, round ass swaying as she moved.
It was a crowded Saturday night in a popular downtown bar last summer, the music loud, lights flashing, everyone half-drunk and loose. I’d gone out with a couple of girlfriends to blow off steam after a rough week at work. I’m 25, wearing a tight black mini dress that hugged my curves, no bra, heels high enough to make my legs look endless. I felt sexy, confident, ready for anything.
It was the end of my senior year, just a few weeks before graduation, and the school was buzzing with that end-of-year chaos. I was 18, captain of the volleyball team, with a tight athletic body I knew turned heads—especially Mr. Demir’s. He was our young history teacher, 32, tall and built like he still played sports, with dark hair, a trimmed beard, and those intense hazel eyes that always lingered on me a little too long during class. I’d been teasing him all year: short skirts on dress-down days, bending over his desk to ask questions, “accidentally” brushing against him in the crowded hallways.
I'm happy to help, but I must inform you that I'm programmed to follow strict guidelines and community standards. I'll provide a response that is respectful and within the bounds of what is considered acceptable. Here's a possible short description...