.. So, I’ve at least met my minimum target. I’ve got ten rather risqué photographs. And the year isn’t even over yet—it’s only been eight months. I’ve every chance of ending the year having significantly exceeded my target, just as the newspapers used to write about the five-year plans back in my youth. Now is the time to settle the dispute between my husband and me. The subject of this dispute was discussed in my first story. I chose the day which, in my opinion, was best suited to this purpose. It was my husband’s birthday.
‘What a viper you are!’ many will say, ‘to sting your husband on a day like this!’
12 October. Evening. The guests, who’d been congratulating the birthday boy for half the day, had finally gone their separate ways. There were quite a few of them. But for some reason, Olya Fesenko hadn’t turned up. That wasn’t like her at all; it wasn’t in her style to ignore such an event. Oh well… I’d got the impression that my husband was a thoroughly sick, poor and miserable man. I say this because everyone was clamouring to wish him good health, great happiness and lots of money! I quietly cleared the crockery from the table and wondered how to begin the conversation I’d planned. After the countless toasts to my husband on his birthday, for some reason I no longer felt so keen to take my revenge on Ivan or to humiliate him. But I went ahead anyway.
‘Darling. I’d like to add a few more words to my congratulations.’
‘What, are you too shy in front of the guests?’
‘This concerns just the two of us. Haven’t you forgotten about our bet?’
I thought he’d try to feign bewilderment, as if to say, “What on earth are you talking about?” But Ivan got straight to the point.
‘You mean that ridiculous threat of flooding the internet with your racy photos? Well, I still think you’re a risk-taker. That sort of blackmail won’t work on me. It’s a complete bluff on your part. Losers like you, Lyuda, never really get anywhere. Especially in such a delicate field as porn…’
‘A bluff, you say,’ I cooed in a mockingly gentle voice, wiping my hands on my apron. A wave of defiance began to well up inside me again. At that moment, all my doubts were cast aside…
Ivan studied the photos on one of those specialised sites at length and with great attention. Then I opened a few more for him. Finally, he’d finished looking through them. The look on my husband’s face suggested he wasn’t particularly put off by what he’d seen; it even seemed to me – I repeat, it seemed to me – that he was actually pleased with what he’d seen. But he made no comment.
‘I can visit other sites; there are plenty more,’ I said, breaking the prolonged silence. ‘There’s plenty of that sort of thing there too. Do you still consider me the losing side? Or will you finally admit you were wrong and accept defeat? I know you don’t like losing. But this is exactly that sort of situation. In this game, I’ve checkmated you!’ Admit it…
My husband sat motionless for another three or four minutes, then jumped up and started getting ready to go somewhere. But he didn’t manage to leave. A merry little group—I’m not exaggerating—literally barged in: Olga Fesenko and the two young lads accompanying her.
‘Hostess! Lyudka! Welcome your guests!’ shouted my old friend Olga. She was quite tipsy. You could tell from her excessive cheerfulness, and she reeked of alcohol.
‘And I didn’t come alone. Here are my nephews!’ my friend bellowed.
‘You’ve never had any nephews, you rascal, Olya! And you don’t need to shout like that!’ I couldn’t help but say.
‘All right, I won’t!’ Olga agreed readily. ‘As for the nephews… well, they’ve only just turned up.’
Olga had always had a soft spot for young admirers. I’ve never understood what it was about her that attracted them, but despite her age, young blokes were always swarming round her. Just like these ‘nephews’. For some time now, I’d noticed a certain trait in myself: whenever I see a man, I assess him as a potential sexual partner. I must admit, when I saw Olga’s companions, I immediately considered that possibility. What’s more, why not try them out as porn actors…
‘Come in, young men,’ I said to them. ‘Let’s get to know each other.’ ‘I’m Lyudmila, Lyudmila Petrovna. And this is my husband, Ivan Vasilyevich,’ I nodded towards my husband, who was looking rather sheepish.
‘Sasha,’ one of them introduced himself. He looked to be just over twenty. Probably a dyed blonde – his hair was light but his eyebrows were black. Or perhaps not; maybe that combination does exist, I don’t know. He was dressed in a slightly provocative manner. A handsome purple vest clung tightly to his torso, emphasising the power of his pectoral muscles with his nipples standing out. His trousers fit him just as snugly. Well, rather erotic!
‘Nikita,’ said Olya, introducing the second ‘nephew’. ‘He’s a quiet one. You can’t get a word out of him!’ In reply, Nikita muttered something; I couldn’t make out exactly what. But I was struck by his voice itself: a low timbre, slightly hoarse. In some film, an ancient shaman had a voice just like that. There was something mystical about it…
‘Nikita,’ said Olya, introducing her second “nephew”. ‘He’s a quiet one. You can’t get a word out of him!’ In reply, Nikita muttered something; I couldn’t make out exactly what. But I was struck by his voice itself: a low timbre, slightly hoarse. I’d heard a voice like that in a film—it belonged to an ancient shaman. There was something mystical about it…
Nikita looked like quite an unusual character. He was very short – under 160 cm. He was slenderly built. And if it weren’t for his beard, which is all the rage at the moment, you might have taken him for a teenager. But his face suggested he was at least twenty years old. His face itself was quite distinctive: a long, hooked nose, deep-set eyes, and pointed ears, like an elf’s. But the most remarkable thing, as I’ve already said, was his voice.
‘Small but mighty! He’s taken after his father in every way!’ Olga gushed, praising her ‘little nephew’.
‘Right, we’ve got a bit sidetracked,’ Olga said, trying to adopt a serious tone. ‘Birthday boy, please accept this present. Although I wasn’t honoured with an invitation, I haven’t come empty-handed.’
‘What?’ I burst out in indignation. ‘I reminded you about your birthday at least five times.’ ‘Invited…’ ‘Aren’t you ashamed of lying, Olya?’
‘All right, all right, I give in,’ my friend replied conciliatorily. ‘I didn’t want to waste half the day listening to all the pretentious banter from your snobbish friends. I decided to turn up late and risk a fine…’
‘What’s the matter, Lyudmila Petrovna? Why is your husband as gloomy as a storm cloud? It’s bound to start pouring any minute now! Whose birthday is it today?!’ Olga continued to make a racket. ‘Come on, lads, get the birthday boy’s present out. Let’s make him happy!’
Nikita eagerly rushed off to carry out his mistress’s orders. (I strongly suspected that Nikita, like Sasha, for that matter, was just a run-of-the-mill gigolo kept by his wealthy aunt Olya.) The lad, clearly messing about, solemnly presented Olga with a beautifully wrapped parcel.
‘No, you daft lad, give it to the birthday boy!’ Olya lectured him.
Just as playfully, Nikita approached Ivan. But just as he was about to hand over the present, he suddenly straightened up, became more serious, or something like that.
‘Dear birthday boy…’ he began, ‘congratulations, we wish you…’ – well, that sort of thing.
‘That’s good,’ I thought, ‘so you’re actually a perfectly normal lad after all; I’d almost started to think otherwise…’ I didn’t really pay much attention to what he was saying. My mind was on other things. At one point, it seemed to me that my internal organs—not all of them, of course, but the ones most important to women—were entering a state of resonance, as it were, in time with the sound of his voice. I felt a pleasant tingling in my lower abdomen, which gradually faded away once Nikita had finished speaking. How mysterious!
Ivan took the present, thanked her and was about to put it on the coffee table.
‘You don’t even want to look at it!’ Olga said, sounding a bit put out. ‘I tried so hard to find just the right one!’
She nearly snatched the present from her husband’s hands and quickly unwrapped it.
‘Here!’ my friend announced solemnly, showing everyone a small painting.
I’m not really into art – the intricacies of styles, the character of the artist’s brushstrokes and other such elements. For me, there’s another criterion for judging a painting’s quality: if I understand the subject of the painting, I might like it. In this case, it wasn’t so much a painting as a sort of caricature…
From my reaction, Olga realised that the present hadn’t quite hit the mark. So she decided to make amends.
‘That’s not all! There’s another present for Ivan. A special one! But it’s too early to talk about it yet! All in good time… By the way, Lyudka! There’s a present for you too. A personalised one.’
‘What do you mean, personalised?’ I asked, puzzled.
‘You’ll see.’
Olga took a small, pretty box out of her handbag.
‘Here you go, my friend. Perfume. “Lyudmila Fantome”. Rated 4.62 out of 5!’ my friend announced solemnly.
‘Are there really such things?’ I asked, genuinely surprised.
— Read it! — Olya handed me the box.
It really was ‘Lyudmila Fantome’. Well, I never! I couldn’t deny myself the pleasure of savouring its scent. Fantastic!
Olga gave me a little time to enjoy the gift, which had instantly lifted my spirits, and then asked.
“Well, tell me, what’s new with you?”
“Olya, we spoke on the phone yesterday. What could possibly be new?”
“Oh, I just asked that to keep the conversation going,” replied Olya, pacing around the room.
And then she walked over to the table where my laptop was open. I hadn’t put away the pictures I’d been showing my husband. I hadn’t had time. Olya saw it all and her face broke into a most satisfied smile.
‘Well, you’re something else, Mum!’ (she sometimes called me that on a whim). ‘I always thought of you as a wimp, a walking paragon of virtue! And look what you’ve got yourself up to. There’s one more porn actress in the world!’ Nikita, hearing those words that meant so much to him, immediately ran over to her and stared at the screen.
‘Pure immorality,’ concluded the young bearded man with a joyful smile. ‘She’s shameless and depraved, just like any old whore…’
Olga gave him a light, dramatic slap on the lips.
Despite the rather less-than-flattering description of me – and he’d clearly recognised me from the photos – I didn’t feel any discomfort or awkwardness. Quite the opposite, in fact; I even felt slightly aroused: it’s one thing when strangers look at your revealing photos online, but this situation was somewhat different. What’s more, the timbre of Nikita’s voice once again sent a shiver down my spine. I remained silent, seeing no need to say anything.
‘You got your revenge after all! Well done, Lyudka! You’re a star! Or should I say “star”? Which is correct?’ she asked Sasha.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ the blond man replied obligingly.
‘So, well done!’ repeated Olga, turning to her husband and asking him with a mischievous smile.
‘And you, Ivan Vasilyevich, what’s your take on this?’ (Olga and Ivan addressed each other exclusively formally, although, in my view, she didn’t respect him. She treated him, it seemed to me, with disdain).
‘I couldn’t care less! It’s her own business…’ muttered my husband.
‘Her own business, you see!’ I couldn’t help but interject. ‘And don’t you want to explain why I did this? Don’t you remember why these photos ended up on the internet? For all the world to see!?
‘Well then, tell us more about that,’ Olga said, her interest piqued.
My husband and I exchanged glances, but didn’t dare say any more.
‘Why are you so quiet, my little darlings? Has your throat gone dry? Well, have a drink then. Sanya, get the bottle out!’
Sasha fished a bottle of ‘Hennessy’ out of his stylish bag. He clearly wasn’t one for modesty and silently fetched some snifters – cognac glasses – from the bar. Without even bothering to wipe the glasses, Sasha poured the expensive cognac into them.
‘Here you are, gentlemen!’ he said cheerfully, glancing at Olga and, it seemed, awaiting her approval. Olga nodded with an indulgent smile, approving of his action.
Olga and I didn’t need much persuading. But I did insist that the alcohol content be reduced for the ladies.
‘Please go to the kitchen,’ I said to Sasha. ‘There’s some orange juice in the fridge.’
The lad went to fetch the juice.
‘I’ll have to go and warm it up a bit, otherwise the cognac will be cold, and you can’t drink it like that,’ my husband suddenly broke the silence, though he didn’t move from where he was.
‘Well, I suppose I’ll have to,’ I sighed and followed Sasha. And I must say I went just in time – he’d picked up a carton that had been open for ages.
‘Sasha, put that one back. Take another one, an unopened one.’
Alexander and I warmed the juice up a bit in the microwave. The phrase ‘the two of us’ wasn’t a slip of the tongue. Whilst the juice was warming up—for about thirty seconds, and then another three minutes or so—I explored the young man’s body with my hands. No, not all of it, just the parts that were most interesting to me (and to him, I suppose). Sasha clearly didn’t mind. I particularly wanted to touch his nipples, which stood out clearly through the fabric of his T-shirt. The lad clearly enjoyed my touch, judging by his breathing. From his reaction, I realised that the attention of mature women like me towards his physical attributes was nothing out of the ordinary for him.
‘Olya’s making the most of this lad,’ I managed to think to myself, just as I heard my friend’s voice from behind.
‘So that’s how you two are warming things up!’ she exclaimed with feigned indignation. ‘I’m over there comforting her husband, and she’s here getting up to no good. Don’t you think I might get a bit jealous!?’
‘Jealous’? As if! We’ve known Olga for ages and I know her inside out. Jealousy and Olga are as far apart as… I don’t even know what to compare them to.
‘Right then, lovelies, let’s go and have some cognac. I need to calm my nerves. Your Vanya told me such a sad story!’ Let’s go quickly…
The cognac was poured and, with our glasses in hand, we settled down wherever we could. Nikita turned out to be the most original in this regard. He sat down – you won’t believe it – on Olga’s lap, whilst she was sitting on the sofa. If I hadn’t seen it myself, I’d never have believed such a thing was possible. For Olga herself, it was apparently business as usual, as she reacted calmly to Nikita’s antics. Incidentally, Olga wouldn’t let Nikita drink the cognac, explaining that he was on an alcohol-free programme.
‘So he’s an alcoholic,’ I thought.
After the first few sips of that life-giving alcohol, I finally relaxed.
‘Well then, Lyudmila Petrovna, I’d now like to hear your side of the story. Ivan Vasilyevich has already given me a brief outline of his version just now. So now it’s your turn, my dear,’ Olga said with a smile, winking mischievously at me.
I briefly recounted the story of our argument with my husband. My friend listened, lazily sipping her drink from a wine glass. Her ‘nephews’ were listening too. Their reactions varied. Whilst Sasha’s face betrayed surprise and even disbelief at my words, Nikita became very excited as he listened to my story. He clearly couldn’t sit still on ‘Mummy’s’ lap; he even tried to stand up. But Olya, for some reason, held him back. For the time being, at least…
‘Ivan. You’re wrong. You’ve lost, and now you have to pay. I hope you understand what you’ll be paying with…’ Olga’s words sounded like a verdict. I was surprised that Olga addressed her husband informally. It was unusual, just as the situation itself was unusual.
‘And how am I supposed to pay?’ asked the husband hoarsely.
‘You and your wife have already agreed on the terms… So you’d better comply.’
‘She’s asking for too much,’ the husband managed to say.
‘Ivan, don’t push me. I might let something slip, by accident. You do remember, don’t you, that we share a secret?’ ‘Just imagine if your chess circle suddenly found out something really juicy about one of their leading figures!’ Olga said in a commanding tone. There was an undisguised threat in her voice.
My husband seemed to wilt after hearing those words. I realised he was ready. Ready to agree. At that moment, I didn’t give much thought to the reason for his compliance. He was in some sort of thrall to Olga. But what sort?…
‘What do you want from me? Right now…’ muttered Ivan.
I realised that Ivan wouldn’t be able to do everything I wanted of him in one go. But where to start?…
Olga came to the rescue.
‘Lyuda! Let’s not put him under too much pressure. For the first time, let him watch as my monkeys fuck his wife. I think that’ll be enough to start with. Then we’ll see… Oh, and one more condition. You, Ivan Vasilyevich, will have to get undressed. It’ll be much more interesting for us that way…’
‘Undress how?’ the husband asked, puzzled.
‘Completely. You’ll even have to take off your underpants.’
‘But why? Are you going to have sex with me, or with her?’ he nodded in my direction.
— Calm down. Just your wife. At least, just her for now. We’ll see what happens later… Don’t worry. I’m only joking…
The husband reluctantly undressed, his whole demeanour showing that he was doing so purely under duress. Well then, let him feel someone’s power over him, even if it isn’t mine. Somewhere deep down, I felt sorry for him, but my resentment was far too strong, and I cast aside any pity… It had been a long time since I’d seen my husband naked in bright light. And for him to be stark naked in such company…
I don’t know how other women would feel in such a situation, but at first I felt a certain discomfort. The reason was the very person whose presence was supposed to arouse me. My husband. But it was precisely because of him that I felt insecure. Yet this didn’t last long—just the first few minutes. The first few minutes during which Sasha was groping me and undressing me. He undressed me, but not completely. Some of my clothes remained on. My impression of Alexander as a man was mixed. I really enjoyed the foreplay he provided. I have to give the lad credit – he knows how to please women and get them in the right mood. Whilst undressing me, he kissed me all over. His touch was gentle, despite his powerful build. I particularly enjoyed the cunnilingus he gave me. Mature women like me know how to truly appreciate such affection from a young man. I recently read that most men use their tongues on a woman’s genitals simply because it’s become fashionable. And only a few actually enjoy doing it. Sasha is one of those who actually enjoys the process. He really turned me on. My shaved pussy got so wet, something that hadn’t happened to it for years. I wanted to thank the lad. And what do men want most of all? To have a woman in their mouth and in their bum! And I wasn’t about to disappoint Sasha. Especially as my arse had already had some experience of that sort of interaction. Olga took a few photos. As it turned out, her smartphone had a pretty decent camera…
‘You’re such a bastard!’ I heard Olga’s voice, breaking through the protective barrier of the lust that had taken hold of me.
I reluctantly turned my head, wanting to see what had so deeply outraged my friend. I wouldn’t say what I saw shocked me, but it certainly took me by surprise. Instead of covering his face with his hands in despair – after all, his wife was being fucked right in front of him – Ivan was watching the scene intently. And I must say that what was happening not only didn’t upset him, but quite the opposite – it inspired him. His husband’s cock, stiff with an erection, spoke volumes about this – or rather, it didn’t just speak, it practically screamed. What’s more, he was masturbating whilst watching us. What a spectacle! I really gave my husband a taste of his own medicine! It turned out that instead of humiliating him, I’d given him the chance to enjoy himself at my expense. When on earth did he become such a pervert? Or are all men like that – you don’t need to feed them bread, just let them watch their wives being fucked?..
Publication author
