A few years ago, post-COVID, Vegas was exploding with pent-up energy, and I was right there with it. I’d drive from LA every few months to blow off steam at the poker tables and enjoy the vibe of being around actual people after being locked in for a couple of years. This trip, I checked into the Cosmopolitan on a Monday, planning to grind $2/5 No Limit next door at the Bellagio by night and work remotely by day. I hit the tables around 7 PM with $500 of chips, and luck was on my side. I doubled up early with AA cracking KK, pulled off a ballsy bluff, and then slowly grinded my stack up. Shortly after I sat down, a stunning Japanese woman sat next to me. Mariko (as I later learned) was 27, petite at 5’4”, with sharp almond eyes framed by lush lashes, silky jet-black hair swaying to her shoulders, and an elegant vibe in her cashmere cardigan over a silk blouse and loose black pants hugging her curves just right. She had this refined poise, but damn, her presence lit a spark. The tab
Denis had gotten drunk again. No, it wasn't even offensive—it was somehow dull and familiar, like the creak of a cracked veranda door, the kind you hear every day and no longer notice. But today, that creak was the end of me. We'd only been at the dacha for three days, and I was dreaming of at least a little break from the city, but by lunchtime he'd already coaxed a bottle of cognac "for the shashlik" and by evening he was sprawled out in our summer bedroom, arms spread out, snoring rhythmically. He hadn't even properly undressed. I sat on the porch, smoking—I'd actually quit a year ago, but now I'd borrowed a pack from him—and watched the first streetlights flicker on over the neighboring property. A dull resentment throbbed in my neck. Thirty-six years old, and I was living with a man who preferred the bottle to me. The thought made me so bitter that I stood up abruptly, threw a light summer dress over my naked body, and went out the gate. Just to
Back when I was in college one of the first people I met was this girl named Abby, we met during orientation and hit it off extremely well, but I came into college with a girlfriend so nothing happened. Over time I can realize that is definitely for the best as we have stayed close to this day and throughout all of college I wasn't closer with anyone. Abby had an extremely close friend Carmen who went to school a few states over, and I had briefly met as we converged to help Abby get over a breakup, but other than that I only heard about her in stories. Flash forward to the summer before my senior year, I was finally single after being in a relationship throughout all of college, and Abby says we should take a road trip to go to a concert with Carmen right before school starts back up. I am not a big concert person, but I love spending time with Abby so I agree to drive (I have a car) and spend the weekend away. At this point I think truly nothing of it, just excited to get away fo
It was that special time of September when summer still warms your shoulders, but the air is already filled with a piquant autumn chill. I sat on a bench in the old park, my legs crossed, scrolling through my phone feed. My skirt had ridden up a bit, revealing my tanned knees, but I didn't care—there wasn't a soul around. Or almost a soul. He appeared somehow unnoticed. Tall, wearing a light shirt with rolled-up sleeves, holding a book. He sat down on the bench next to me. I didn't pay attention at first, until I caught his gaze—not insolent, not undressing, but rather... scrutinizing. With the interest of an artist who has seen something curious. I chuckled to myself: "Well, well, come on." And he came over. He asked something about the park, about whether he would be in the way. One word led to another, and now we were strolling along a shady alley, his hand constantly touching my elbow. The leaves rustled around us, and the air smelled of rotten grass and, for
Kira pushed a cart with a bucket and mop down the empty hallway of the seventh floor. The office building hummed with ventilation, and this monotonous sound was the night cleaner's only companion. She put in her headphones, turned on some music, and began mopping the floors—the rhythmic back-and-forth movements of the sponge, creating puddles of soapy water on the gray linoleum. Kira didn't notice the lights go out on the entire floor. The girl straightened up and pulled out her earphone. The silence was absolute, save for the sound of dripping water from a poorly closed faucet. Kira fumbled for a flashlight on the cart and switched it on. The beam revealed office chairs, monitors, and a ficus tree in the corner—a typical, deserted open-plan office. She took a step toward the fire door leading to the stairwell. The door was ajar, though Kira clearly remembered closing it an hour ago. A damp smell wafted through the doorway. The flashlight beam darted inward and rested on a b
Night fell silently upon the house, shrouding the study in deep shadow. The candles had burned halfway, and in their flickering light, the Master's figure seemed carved from warm stone—he sat in the same chair, but now he held not a document but a thin glass goblet of dark wine. I entered precisely when he ordered me to appear—on the dot, having memorized my lesson. “Come here,” he said without turning around. I approached, knelt at his feet, and stood motionless, my hands clasped on my hips. I wore only the same cotton dress—at his command. The host placed his glass on the table and finally looked at me. His gaze slid over my face, neck, and chest, barely covered by the fabric. "Today you proved that you can wait," he began, his low voice sending shivers down my spine. "But true art isn't about freezing for an hour. It's about maintaining control when your body is screaming at you to stop. Are you ready for the test?" “Yes, Master,” I whispered, feeling
I have some sexy stories and building sexual tension with both my female neighbors. This is another long one, but it's one of the sexiest situations I've ever had in my life and worth sharing. It involves my quiet sexy ginger milf neighbor. The context is long, important, and also sexy. The story is extremely sexy. ((((((Context)))))) After spending years in an apartment, my wife and I sold that apartment and moved into a quiet neighborhood with a slightly larger home with more garden space. We got to know one of our side neighbors quite well (future stories to come there), but the neighbor in this story we don't know very well. She is quiet, and since moving in we have exchanged introductions but outside of that she seems to keep to herself and doesn't aim to initiate any lengthy conversations unlike the other neighbor. From what I knew so far, she lived there with her son who must be in his mid 20s and seems a bit lazy. In our few conversations I had learned he worked at
I stood in the corner of his office, barefoot, wearing only a simple cotton shirtdress that barely reached mid-thigh. My hands were clasped behind my back, my chin raised—exactly as the Master demanded when we were in his workspace. He called it "the attention pose." And I hated waiting more than anything in the world. "You distracted me today," he said, not looking up from his papers. His pen scratched against the heavy paper, the only sound in the quiet office. "You knocked on the door three times, even though you knew I was busy. You put your impatience above my orders." I swallowed. The dark wood walls of the office seemed to weigh me down, and the smell of old books and candle wax only reinforced the feeling that I had done something unforgivable. “Look at me,” he ordered coldly. I turned my head and met his gaze. He sat behind a massive oak desk, wearing a pristine white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows—his workaday appearance always made
Another story from when I was in college, which I'm sure surprises no one if you've read any of my other experiences. The sexy parts start after the **\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*** if you want to skip the build up. Like many colleges, mine had an exchange program between several countries. Sweden, Korea and England were the 3 I was familiar with because I had classes with people from those countries in my major. In general, I didn’t get to know many exchange students very well. I did, however, have a class with a girl named Yoo. From what I understand, many Korean exchange students will adopt an American name as a way to adapt to the culture, so Yoo went by Julie. Julie was learning English by immersion. She spoke just enough to communicate with her classmates. Julie sat by me in class and anytime we had group work I asked if she wanted to be in whatever group I was in. Sometimes she joined and sometimes she didn’t, but she always worked hard on her parts and we’d help her fill in gaps if
The disadvantage of being in management is at some point in your career you will get whisked away on a corporate team building weekend which typically involves 6 people balanced on a barrel trying to get to another barrel 8' away with only a 6' plank in freezing cold rain. I have had the misfortune to be on three of these with different companies but my favourite would be the last one a few years ago. This one was in summer for a change and as well as the stupid tasks we were sent on a treasure hunt/glorified orienteering task. I was in a group of 4, 2 women and another guy. All middle aged and fairly unfit we were all quickly suffering from the heat. A couple of hours in and we were sweating our bollocks off and totally lost interest in winning the challenge so agreed to take a rest. We were in the middle of nowhere by a river. It was shallow with crystal clear water gently rolling over the stones. We took of our shoes and went for a paddle to enjoy to cool water. We wondered along
My wife's name is Karina. She's thirty-one, but looks twenty-four at most—a slender brunette with long hair down to her waist, expressive brown eyes, and full lips. She has B-cup breasts, but very firm, with large, dark nipples that always protrude. She has a flat stomach that tapers to a shaved pubic area with a thin strip of hair. Her labia are well-groomed and tightly pressed together. She has a round butt with a small anus that I sometimes fuck on holidays. Her legs are long and flowing—her measurements are 88x58x92. We've been together for seven years. Karina works for a large IT company, managing the testing department, and she has a team of men. The team is young and ambitious, all between twenty-five and thirty-five. The company planned a corporate retreat for late November at the Sosnovy Bor country spa hotel, an hour's drive from the city. The two-day program included a conference, team building, spa treatments, and an evening banquet. Wives and husbands we
About 10 ago, before we were married we took a road trip with two friends, a couple, through the National Parks in Utah. We spent a few days in each camping and hiking, it was an incredible trip. We were all broke so this was a great experience while stretching dollars. Coming out of it we were dirty, tired, and longing for central air and a shower. We agreed to splurge and split a hotel room for two night to rest and reset. The first night was nothing special, exhausted showers, pizza and Seinfeld. But after a 2-ish weeks without a release, I was feeling frisky. My wife wasn’t exactly onboard with a shower quickie with friends nearby, but she gave me a squeeze or two and said “behave” I went to bed a little wound up. The next day we ventured out for some exploring in the little city we were in, and again, pizza. Showers. Sleeping and resting. We were snuggled in our bed, our friends in theirs. I was horned up and my wife was letting her hands wander a bit discreetly, slowly
I hated all the pre-wedding chores. My best friend had decided to throw a big ceremony, and as best man, I was forced to wear a tuxedo. Not just buy one, but have it custom-made at some fancy tailor. A nasty autumn rain was drizzling outside, and the prospect of hanging around for an hour or two while they took my measurements was depressing. The Velvet Atelier was located in the basement of an old mansion. Inside, it was dim, cozy, and cramped with endless rolls of fabric. I gave my name to the receptionist, and a minute later she came out to meet me. Her name was Elvira. She couldn't have been more than twenty-eight, but she carried herself with that calm, slightly haughty grace that comes from women who know their worth and their craft. Her jet-black hair was pulled back into a high, sleek ponytail. A strict black pantsuit clung to her figure, emphasizing her slender waist and the sharp curves of her hips. Underneath the jacket, she wore an ivory silk blouse, and I could have
Evening descends on the village early. The pines rustle anxiously, sending gusts of cold wind down to the ground. The air is thick with the smell of rotting leaves and stove smoke—someone in the neighborhood has already stoked their fire for the night. I return from a walk along the lake and turn up the collar of my jacket. I spot her on the dirt road leading to our row of plots. She's walking away from the bus stop, bending under the weight of two large bags. I don't recognize her right away—we saw each other a couple of times in the summer, greeting each other over the fence. Now she's wearing a chunky knit sweater, rubber boots, and the hood of an old windbreaker pulled over her head. But her gait—smooth, slightly tired—recognizes her as the neighbor. I catch up with her and offer to help. She looks up at me—light, transparent, squinting against the wind—and silently hands over one bag. We walk side by side. I steal a glance at her. Her sweater is loose, but a gust of
I hadn't planned this business trip and, frankly, I didn't want it. But the department head was down with hypertension, and I desperately needed to sign the paperwork in Saratov, otherwise the plant would be shut down for two weeks. So, on Friday evening, I was shivering in a reserved seat carriage with my travel authorization in my pocket and a bottle of cognac in my bag—just to keep warm. The carriage was old, the air conditioning wasn't working, and outside was a chilly October day. Volodya Kravtsov was supposed to meet me in Saratov—we started together at the branch about ten years ago, then he moved here, got married, and settled down. Since then, we'd seen each other a couple of times at corporate events, and only briefly. When I called to let him know I was coming, he was delighted and immediately declared: you're staying with us, no hotels, don't even think about it. I didn't argue. Hotels in Saratov are a real treat. His wife met me at the statio
Throwaway account because I had to talk about this SOMEWHERE. I don't imagine it'll be a problem since I don't think any of my coworkers have reddit, but better safe than sorry. Okay, so, this happened just two days ago now, and I'm still in disbelief that it happened. I (M21) work as a board operator at a radio station. It's the chillest job in the world, I spend most of my time just babysitting the place, staying there just to make sure nothing goes wrong. I'm usually on my phone playing games or scrolling, but I'll switch to my work computer if I hear someone walking closer to look busy. It's a great job. Ocassionally, my coworkers will walk by and make small talk with me. I'm the youngest one there, and they are all significantly older than me. Some in their 40's and 50's, I think there's one 70 year old guy. Still, it's nice to chat with them sometimes, especially on more boring days. One coworker, who I'll call Kat, looks nowhere close to her real age (If I remember correctly
We decided to celebrate New Year's at our place—it's been a while since we've had a group over, always feeling either short on time or short on inclination. My wife, Lena, got the idea back in November: she planned the menu, created the contests, and sent out the invitations. Lena is a stately woman, a natural blonde with a short haircut that reveals a graceful neck, C-cup breasts, and the pleasant curves of her hips, which she was a little self-conscious about, but which I adored. There were about ten guests. The table was groaning under the weight of salads and hot dishes, champagne flowed freely, and the chimes of the clock struck, making the neighbors' ears pop. Around three in the morning, the crowd began to slowly disperse—some called taxis, others walked, fortunately living nearby. Only Marina remained, a close friend of Lena's, whom she'd known since infancy. Marina was the complete opposite of my wife—tall, with a bob cut, flaming brown hair, green e
I couldn’t stop thinking about that night at Stacy’s house. How she just watched me get off, fully clothed, without doing even touching herself. It was hot but I also felt so vulnerable. I knew I needed to see her again, but I had to think of a way to escalate it. After a few days I drummed up the courage to knock on her door again. Stacy opened it, this time with a tight skirt and a white button up shirt. She pulled me inside and led me to her living room. “What took you so long?” She asks “I thought I scared you off” “Just, uh, been busy” I say as I sit down on the couch. Stacy goes to another room. I practice to myself what to say to her. A woman hasn’t made me this nervous in a long time. She comes back and sets some items on the coffee table in front of me. A bottle of lube, tissues, and some wipes. “I wasn’t that prepared for you last time. Is there anything else I can get you?” She asks, standing over me. “Well, about our session. Are you sure you just want to watch? I’ll
My name is Olga, I'm 28 years old. I've been married for five years, and the last three have been a blur—diapers, borscht, sick days. My husband, Sergey, is a good man, nine years older than me. He works as a shop foreman, comes home tired, and usually falls asleep in front of the TV. We had sex once a month, purely marital, no-nonsense, and that was generally fine with me. I'd forgotten that I used to love dancing until the morning. A month ago, my old friend Kristina, the perpetually lonely adventurer, talked me into going to the new nightclub, Hades. My husband let me go without question, only chuckling, "Where are you going with your maternity-age body?" I pouted, bought myself a tight black dress, styled my hair, and went off to prove to myself that I was still an attractive woman. The club smelled of smoke, sweet alcohol, and something musky and alien. Kristina immediately disappeared onto the dance floor with a bartender, leaving me alone at a high table w
When this story took place I hadn’t been dating for a while and was a bit lonely. Naturally that led to forming a habit of getting myself off right after coming home from work. One day I forgot to close the curtains while I was already lying in bed. My apartment was pretty high up from the street so nobody can see me if I’m lying down. At least that’s what I thought. I pull down my boxers and I close my eyes, picturing this attractive, blonde woman I saw on the subway home. I imagine her hand on my cock instead of mine, just staring at me in this controlling way as she does it. Her top buttons undone, her cleavage on full display. Just as I’m getting close I briefly open my eyes and check the window. Thats when I spot someone looking at me from the second story window across the street. A woman. We lock eyes for a split second. Fuck, I think I know her. I immediately roll over on my side and pull the covers over my exposed bottom half. I put on my pants and pull the curtains closed.