Olga Fesenko

‘Vanya! Come on, wake up!’ my wife shook me by the shoulder.

‘What’s the matter?’ I asked, still half asleep and not quite with my wits about me.

‘Be home first thing this morning. Olya’s bringing the crockery round at about nine or ten!’

‘Which Olya? What crockery?’

‘Olga Borisovna, my workmate – you know her, don’t you?’ my wife said mockingly.

‘Yeah, I get it, I get it,’ I muttered conciliatorily. ‘I’ll meet your Olga, I’ll meet her – don’t worry so much.’

My wife, Lyuda, left for work; she had the first shift starting at six in the morning. After lying there for another half an hour, I realised I wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep. All sorts of thoughts about our life were running through my head. Take Olga, for example. Two days ago, she saw our eldest son off to the army. The lad graduated from university in our town this summer and, three months later, received his call-up papers from the military registration office. There was nothing for it; he’d have to do his service. They organised the send-off at home, as we’re lucky enough to have a three-room flat. We didn’t have enough of our own crockery, though, so Olga asked my wife for help. If there’s one thing we’ve got plenty of, it’s crockery set aside for a proper wedding! And today, Olga’s bringing that crockery back…

After having a shower and breakfast, I sat down at the computer… I was torn away from my favourite pastime by the doorbell ringing.

‘Who else has turned up? They’ve interrupted me at the most interesting bit!’ I grumbled as I walked to the door. Opening it, I stared blankly at a smiling Olga. How could I have forgotten she was coming! I couldn’t take my eyes off her; she looked so unusual. Whenever I popped in to see my wife at work, I’d see Olga wearing some sort of jumper or an old-fashioned blouse. Now she looked like a Christmas tree! I’d never seen this woman looking so vibrant! Her beautiful scarlet jacket was unbuttoned, and her breasts—tightly encased in a top the same scarlet as the jacket—were practically bursting out of it. Her skirt fell just above her knees, with a tantalising slit down the side… Her legs, which were starting to fill out, were clad in black lace stockings (at that moment, I really hoped they were stockings). Her shoes were leopard-print! She’d pulled her hair back into a tight bun on top of her head. Olya gave me a seductive smile, which made the Eros within me rear up like a stallion!

‘Hello, Vanya! You’re entertaining guests!’ the lady said with a mischievous smile.

‘Come in!’ I took the heavy bag from her hands (presumably full of crockery). We went into the flat and Olya looked questioningly at her shoes and then at me.

‘No, you don’t need to take your shoes off!’ I replied to her unspoken question. And Olya clacked her heels as she made her way to the kitchen. There, she took off her jacket and handed it to me. As I took in the sight before me, I was stunned. Olya was wearing a bra that supported her breasts only from below. Her nipples, unrestrained by anything, protruded through the thin fabric of her blouse. I stared at them, spellbound…

‘Well then, boss, shall we count the crockery?’ Olya’s voice snapped me back to my senses.

‘Why bother counting it?’ I managed to squeeze out a few words.

The woman bent down towards the bag to take some plates out of it. At that moment, her breasts sagged down so blatantly that I nearly came (just joking, of course). After bending down towards the bag a few times like that, Olga took all the crockery out of it. Now we were standing there in silence. I realised I needed to say something to Olga, to move the situation forward somehow. She was probably thinking the same thing… But we remained silent.

— I’m off, Vanya. There’s no point wasting time, — Olga said quietly.

‘Mm-hmm,’ was all I could manage to squeeze out…

Standing by the open door, I watched the woman walk away in despair.

‘Stop her, get her back! There might not be a second chance like this!’ I told myself silently. But my voice didn’t come out, and Olya stepped into the lift.

‘That’s it,’ I thought resignedly, ‘she’s gone. You’re such an indecisive idiot.’ Suddenly, Olya’s head popped out of the lift and a question rang out.

‘Vanya! Are you home on your own!?’

I nodded vigorously in agreement, for my voice had let me down…

Olya slowly made her way towards me. When she reached me, she silently pushed me into the flat. Once in the hallway, she set her bag down on the floor. Then she turned to face me, lifted the hem of my T-shirt, and placed her palms on my bare stomach. It felt as if I’d been scalded by boiling water… Her hands moved slowly across my stomach. Her sharp nails dug into my skin. Gently, ever so slightly… But the effect was astonishing! I felt as though I’d simply stopped breathing. Her hot, dry palms slowly moved higher and higher. And then her little fingers rested on my nipples. Olya twisted them slightly, as if they were controls for something – the volume, for example. Ah, but in fact they were controls, only not for volume, but for my ecstasy. The longer Olya twisted these ‘controls’, the better I felt!

‘Vanya! Kiss me!’ my partner’s voice brought me round. I readily complied with her request…

Olya was tense; her lips were firm and dry. But that was only at the very start of the kiss. My hands were squeezing the woman’s bottom. Millimetre by millimetre, I lifted her skirt. And then my fingers felt the skin of her buttocks.

‘So they’re stockings after all, not tights,’ a ridiculous thought flashed through my mind. Or perhaps not so ridiculous after all! I love women’s legs in stockings! Stockings, specifically, not tights!

Five minutes later, Olya was left wearing nothing but her knickers, stockings and shoes. I was admiring her body.

‘What, have you gone wild!?’ my lady asked jokingly.

‘Nothing of the sort!’ I protested.

‘Oh yes, there is, there is—I know it myself. What’s the big deal!…’

I slowly pulled Olya’s knickers down her thighs with my teeth. I had to grip them with my teeth more than once to get them off evenly all round. I managed to get them down to her knees, but then I ran out of patience and used my hands. Looking up at my nymph from below, I was pleasantly surprised to discover that Olya’s pubic area was shaved. I don’t know if it was for today’s sake, or if she’s always like that… Olya understood me and replied that if she didn’t shave, it would be a real struggle to find anything down there, as her hair is so thick and long… I gazed spellbound at her plump labia. I love this sight, though it doesn’t happen often. Few women shave down there…

I nudged Olya towards the bed and laid her on her back. Taking her calf in my hands, I kissed and kissed it, working my way higher and higher… Now I’d kissed her way up to her knees; now the rather substantial middle of her thigh was behind me… And here was one of my favourite spots: the stocking top! It really turns me on! The texture of the fabric itself is lovely, and especially the realisation that the object of your desire is right there!!! And then my lips felt that ‘object’! I kissed her plump labia again and again. Olya moaned softly, very softly…

‘Time to put my tongue to work,’ I decided, and set it to work. At first, I simply licked the surfaces. Then, parting her labia, I slid my tongue—not its full length—into her pussy. I worked it like a cock… In and out, in and out… And so many, many times. Olya’s moans grew noticeably louder… Now it was the clitoris’s turn. I’d saved it for the ‘final assault’. Her clitoris was much larger than Lyuda’s, my wife’s. And not only larger, but also far more sensitive! Just two or three minutes after they’d met (I mean my tongue and her clitoris), Olya started to shake. I knew exactly what was causing it! An orgasm! An orgasm was coming! My lady started to cry out.

— That’s all I needed! God forbid the neighbours are home! I quickly covered her mouth with my hand. And then something happened that I hadn’t expected. Olya bit my hand! She bit down hard! Not hard enough to draw blood, but it stung! She was clearly letting me know not to interfere with her pleasure! Oh, women!

I worked my tongue for over an hour. My face was sticky and slippery, thanks to the juices from Olya’s pussy! As it dried, the mucus tightened the skin on my face. Brilliant! How many orgasms were there… Well, I didn’t even count. But there were plenty…

My overexcited ‘fighter’ was reminding me of its existence. I kept catching it on the edge of the bed or my partner’s leg… It was time to offer it a ‘sacrifice’. It was thirsting for blood!… It slid easily into Olga’s pussy. She was dripping with juices…

…The phone rang!!!

‘What! Who?’ Olga jumped.

I panicked myself! The phone rang again and I breathed a sigh of relief… It was the phone on the bedside table, next to the bed. On the third ring, Olga grabbed the receiver and almost spoke! I snatched the receiver from her hands and, holding it to my ear, heard my wife’s voice.

‘Vanya! Did Olga bring the crockery?’ asked Lyuda.

‘Yes, she did.’

‘She’s been gone a while.’

‘Over an hour now!’

Olga glanced at her watch and her eyes widened… Half past twelve… And she’s due at work by twelve!

‘Haven’t you phoned her? Haven’t you phoned her at home?’

‘I have! She’s not picking up!’

‘Why on earth isn’t she picking up?’ I grumbled aloud. Olga was choking with laughter, listening in on our conversation. Luckily, our phone has a loud speaker, so you can hear everything clearly!

‘Vanya! I can’t keep ringing her,’ my wife said. ‘Either you ring her, or go over to her house. What’s going on with her? Maybe she’s ill!?’

‘All right,’ I promised.

‘Do you have caller ID at the nursery?’ I asked Olga.

‘What?’ she asked again.

‘Well, caller ID!’

Olga gave a scornful smile in reply. I got the picture! Three minutes later, I dialled my wife’s nursery number and handed the phone to my wife.

‘Talk to her as if you were at home; tell her I’ve got through. You’ve been feeling unwell and went outside for some fresh air!’

‘Lyuda,’ Olga said into the receiver, ‘I’ve come down with something; please cover my shift for me! We’ll sort it out later.’

‘All right then,’ replied his wife. ‘How are you feeling now?’

‘I’m feeling better now,’ Olya reassured her friend. ‘I think I’ll feel even better soon!’ Olga smiled at me.

For another half an hour, we brought joy to each other. Overjoyed that the storm had blown past, Olga decided on an extravagant move.

‘Vanya, how do you feel about anal sex?’ my temptress asked cautiously.

My heart skipped a beat for a moment, then went wild!!!

‘I once let it slip to my husband, and he called me a whore! But you know, the moment he called me a slut, I felt like I was in seventh heaven!’ I must be a pervert if I get a kick out of epithets like that, don’t I!?

‘Well, why call me a pervert straight away! Lots of women get a kick out of it!’

‘Vanya! Was it like that with you and your wife?’ Olya asked quietly.

— ‘How was it?’ I didn’t quite catch her.

— ‘Well, you did her from behind…’ the woman managed to say with some effort, blushing deeply.

— ‘Of course! And more than once!’ I lied cheerfully.

— ‘Let’s do it with me too… me as well!’ Olga whispered passionately, ‘It’ll be something to remember!’

‘Yeah, right! And we’ll have something to tell the grandkids!’ I added sarcastically.

‘Oh, you…’ the lady feigned offence theatrically and flicked my lips with her fingers.

Theoretically, I knew my stuff, so with the air of an expert I took some cream out of the bedside table and showed it to Olya with great significance.

‘Ah, I get it! So maybe you could apply it, since you’re such a top expert?’

Squeezing a little cream onto my fingers from the tube, I lubricated the crimson head and shaft of my cock.

‘Ready!’ I reported. ‘The bed reacted,’ I added.