…The next day arrived. It wasn’t that I was afraid of our ‘dear leader’ (that’s what we used to call the boss behind his back when we were tipsy), but I didn’t know what to expect from him. The fact that I’d been having sex at work shouldn’t have worked him up so much. He’d taken advantage of my female colleagues in exactly the same way on numerous occasions, and for some reason he’d never made a fuss about it.
By ten o’clock, I hadn’t been called into the boss’s office. No, I wasn’t late; I’d arrived five minutes before the appointed time. But…
‘Nikolai Andreevich is busy. He has a visitor,’ the secretary said.
I’d been on good terms with her predecessor. But she’d resigned along with the previous director. I couldn’t quite figure out the current gatekeeper to our boss. I made a couple of attempts, but hit a brick wall and decided it was wiser to leave her be. For half an hour, or perhaps forty minutes, the door to the boss’s office remained closed. There was a moment when I stood up and was about to leave. But no. I’ll wait. All I could do was sit and wait, wait and fret. That’s just how things turned out. What, do you think psychologists shouldn’t get worked up? Far from it!
At last, the door deigned to let the mysterious visitor out of the office. It turned out to be a man of about fifty. A smart grey suit, a white shirt, a tie to match the suit. He made quite an impression. Stopping in the doorway, he fixed his gaze on me, as if wanting to say something. But he said nothing, merely shook his shaven head, which struck me as very odd. And then he left…
‘Come in, Veronika Pavlovna,’ the director invited me.
I went in and said hello. I sat down on a chair when invited. The director sat there, buried in his papers. The silence lasted two or three minutes.
‘He’s pausing. It’s making me nervous,’ I thought, looking at my superior.
But then ‘the boss’ deigned to tear himself away from his important business and looked at me.
‘Do you know who just came out of the office?’ Nikolai Andreevich asked his first question.
‘No, I don’t.’
‘Krasnov. Viktor Stepanovich Krasnov.’
‘I don’t know him.’
‘You should. He’s the father of your student intern. What’s his name again? Philip, I think…’
I felt a sudden chill in the pit of my stomach, but I tried not to let it show.
“And what does Krasnov Junior’s dad want?”
“I don’t even know how to put this delicately. Although what the hell is there to be delicate about here!” the boss suddenly exploded. “Yesterday your intern came home completely drunk.”
— And you think I was the one who got him drunk?
— No, I don’t. So, Dad, naturally, got all worked up and started his ‘lecture’. What can parents say in situations like that: ‘You’re still wet behind the ears, you’re too young to be getting so drunk…’ To which my son started rambling on about how he’d had enough of being looked after, that he was a grown-up now, that he even had a girlfriend. My father said something sceptical in response. The lad flew into a rage. He flew into a rage, found a photo on his smartphone and showed it to his father.
— Here, look, Dad! See, do you recognise her? That’s me there… You still think of me as a boy! But I…
Nikolai Andreevich paused and looked meaningfully into my eyes. As a psychologist, I often run training sessions on maintaining composure in critical situations. At that moment, I wished someone would run a similar session for me. I had a gut feeling that this had something to do with me. Could it be that this young rascal had actually taken a photo back then? As it seemed to me at the time, he was just joking…
…It turned out he wasn’t joking. The boss held out his phone to me. Just as I thought, the lad wasn’t joking. Filka was staring at me from the screen, grinning broadly. I was lying next to him. I wasn’t looking at the camera; my eyes were half-closed. Naturally, there was no sign of any clothes—completely naked. He had taken those photos after all. What a madman!
‘So what are we going to do with this now? Shall we send it to *Playboy*? We’ll become famous and get a fee!’ the boss teased.
“Nikolai Andreevich,” I said, “but he’s of age. What’s the big deal?”
“Are you out of your mind!?” the director shouted, no longer holding back.
The alarmed secretary poked her head through the door.
“Close the door!”
And the door obediently closed.
The boss caught his breath, poured some water into a glass and was about to drink it. But suddenly he stopped himself. He must have realised that I needed the water more…
‘Drink up,’ he offered, his voice now calm.
I drank, surprised that my teeth weren’t chattering against the glass. My composure began to return to me little by little.
‘What does this Krasnov want?’ I asked, almost calmly. ‘My blood?’
‘He doesn’t want any publicity. But he’s asking you to be punished in some way…’
“Idiot,” I whispered quietly, hoping the boss wouldn’t hear. As if that were possible…
“Idiot or not, it’s not for us to judge,” Nikolai Andreevich replied. “But I must respond, as the boss. Otherwise, he might fly off the handle and cause a ruckus. He’ll get the press involved. The scandal will be so big you’ll have to run to the ends of the earth. Yes, you’ve caused quite a stir, Veronica…’ he switched to the informal ‘you’.
‘What should I do?’
‘Here’s what I think. You need to be isolated from that student crowd. You mustn’t have any contact with them.’
‘What about my work placement?’
‘You need to take some time off.’
— But I already took that time off in the summer.
— Take sick leave. For a month. Get out of town. Don’t be a thorn in my side.
— Do you think I can’t do without it?
— There’s no need to think about it! Just go.
— Where to?
— Come on, Nika! It’s the peak season. The best of the best!
— All right, — I relented and stood up from my chair.
— Write a leave request to the secretary. And make sure I don’t see you here for at least a month. Sazonova will cover for you while you’re away. We’ll drag her out of her retirement paradise! Let her stretch her old bones. Right then, off you go, and get well…
That evening, I didn’t dare tell my husband I was taking unscheduled leave.
‘I’ll think the situation through properly tomorrow, and then we’ll talk,’ I decided to put off the conversation until the next day.
The following day, yesterday’s situation almost repeated itself; I felt like postponing the holiday discussion again. But I managed to pull myself together and spoke up.
‘Volodya, I’m on holiday again.’
‘What?’ my husband asked, looking up from his laptop.
‘I’m on leave again,’ I repeated, slightly irritated.
‘Why on earth is that?’
I couldn’t very well tell him how things really stood—that his wife might be involved in a sex scandal! So I needed a different story.
‘Well, Sazonova—you know, the one who was the psychologist before me—has had some trouble with her pension. She’s a month or two short of a full year’s service. So she asked the boss to let her work this month. And I’m on holiday…’
‘On holiday, then on holiday,’ my husband summed up cheerfully. ‘What do you plan to do?’
— I don’t know yet, — I replied listlessly.
— You’ve got a friend at the travel agency, Alla, I think.
— Alina.
— Give her a ring. And don’t put it off, ring her right now.
— It’s too late, the working day’s over.
— So what? She knows the ropes anyway. Give her a ring, Nika, don’t be silly!
I’m glad I did ring. My chatty friend wouldn’t let me get a word in edgewise for ages, just churning out news. Eventually, I managed to interrupt her monologue and get to the point of my request.
— You’re in luck, mate. There’s a last-minute deal. Do you want to go with Volodya?
— No, he can’t make it.
— But it’s a holiday package for a couple. A double room. But it’s a last-minute deal, with a discount. Two weeks.
— Where’s the holiday to? — I asked
“Didn’t I say?” Alina asked, surprised. “To Sh…”
“And how much will it cost?”
Alina told me the price. I passed the information on to my husband. He thought for a moment, furrowing his brow.
“It’s a bit pricey, but never mind. Go on. Why sit around in town! How long, a week?”
“Two.”
— Well, that’s lovely. You’ll get a break from the hustle and bustle. Have a lie on the beach. You’re no stranger to diving, are you? It’s a real paradise for that sort of thing! Bring me back a souvenir from there…
The next day flew by in a flash. I managed to get so much done. I sorted out the paperwork and dashed round the shops. A couple of new swimsuits wouldn’t go amiss. And a new dress wouldn’t be a bad idea either. I packed my suitcase in the evening. I won’t go into how much mental and physical agony that cost me… I was ready. I’m flying tomorrow. South. Far south. To the lands of ancient civilisations…
…I didn’t check into the hotel until late in the evening. I was absolutely exhausted after the day. The flight, the taxi ride, the incredible heat… I had dinner and didn’t feel like going anywhere. I lay about for a bit and fell asleep.
Given how early I’d gone to bed, I woke up at the crack of dawn, before six o’clock. I got dressed, had a stroll around the hotel, had a look about. I fancied seeing the beach. It turned out not to be that far away, about a five-minute walk. Despite it being early morning, the beach wasn’t empty. Some people were swimming, others were sunbathing. Thankfully, the sun wasn’t beating down as it does in the afternoon. It’s a shame I didn’t bring my swimsuit, otherwise I would have joined in… I was able to make up for it straight after breakfast. Unlike many of my fellow countrymen, who were kept in the restaurant for ages by the buffet, I limited myself to the bare essentials. Half an hour later, I was on the beach. Everything one could wish for: sun loungers, parasols, towels, a small bar…
The first day passed without incident. By ‘incident’, I mean meeting people. The women weren’t interested in me. Walking along the beach, I noticed men staring at me. The ‘strays’—that is, those who’d come without wives—stared shamelessly at my breasts, barely covered by a tiny bra. And my knickers couldn’t hide much either. The men who were less fortunate, with their beloved partners by their side, cast sidelong glances. There weren’t that many single women like me; at least half of them were past middle age. So, even though I’m no Karlie Kloss, I certainly didn’t go unnoticed.
The second day turned out to be even more eventful. I’d had another swim and was lying there reading a book. My eyes were skimming the text, but out of the corner of my eye I could see what was happening around me. Some children were playing with a ball, and I saw that after a missed throw, the ball was flying straight at me. I managed to knock it away with my hand. The children laughed merrily. Then I saw an elderly lady walking towards me. After apologising, she asked what I was reading. I told her the author’s name.
‘Clifford Simak?’ the lady asked in surprise. ‘Probably one of the new ones? I don’t think I’ve heard of him.’
“Newcomer isn’t the right word for him. What I’m reading was published back in 1968.”
The lady was a little upset by her lack of knowledge and, in retaliation, decided to ignore me.
I must admit, I was caught off guard after all. I decided to give my eyes a rest for a while; reading whilst lying down turned out to be rather uncomfortable. I relaxed, soaking up the morning sunshine. I didn’t notice when or how he’d approached. I felt as though the warmth from the sun had somehow diminished. I opened my eyes and saw that a figure—a middle-aged man—had appeared between me and the sun. He stood there looking at me, staring as if he were an entomologist examining a beetle. I shuddered slightly. He said nothing.
‘Is there something you want to say to me?’
‘More to protect you from prying eyes,’ the man said in a low voice—I’d even say a very low one.
‘Right, he speaks Russian, so he’s a fellow countryman, at the very least,’ I thought, but aloud I expressed my confusion.
‘I’m afraid I don’t understand you, I’m sorry.’
‘You’re not allowed to sunbathe topless here.’ And as I can see, you’ve got a bit of a problem with that.
I glanced down at my chest and realised my bra had given up the ghost. The narrow strips of pretty fabric, which had barely covered my nipples to begin with, had slipped down my breasts, and my ‘girls’ were on full display for all to see.
— Oh! — I reacted quickly and just as quickly covered up my beauties.
— Thank you! You’ve helped me avoid becoming a fallen woman! How can I repay you?
— It will cost you dearly, — the stranger replied with a smile.
— You’re scaring me… .
— Igor, — my companion suggested.
— And I’m Veronica, Nika…
Igor and I spent the rest of the day together until lunchtime. We spent some time sunbathing and swimming. Jet-skiing! That was something else. Mind-boggling speed, sharp turns. I got more of an adrenaline rush that day than I had in the whole of last year. I began to feel as though we’d known each other for ages. There was a lot about Igor that I liked: he didn’t stare at my not-so-hidden ‘assets’, didn’t try to grope me, and didn’t crack dirty jokes. His deep bass voice was literally mesmerising, hypnotic, you might say. When it got too hot, we went back to the hotel… I had a double room; the other bed had been booked as well. That was a plus. We had a few drinks. Alcohol here turned out to be rather pricey. Listening to Igor, I kept catching myself thinking that his voice was somehow similar to that of a shaman from ancient Siberia. True, my acquaintance with Siberian shamans was second-hand, from films, but here Igor was sitting right next to me, very much real. And I decided to share my impressions with him. He laughed in response.
— You won’t believe it, but that’s what my friends call me: Shaman.
— Shaman! No, I don’t want to call you that. It’s a bit spooky…
— Igor, what do you do for a living?
— And you won’t believe me again! I’m a researcher.
“I do,” I nodded earnestly, though I didn’t really believe it.
“Yes,” Igor continued. “What’s more, I’m a PhD candidate.”
“In what exactly?”
“Medicine.”
— Let me guess! You’re a neurosurgeon. Am I right?
— I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint you, Veronica, but no.
— So who are you, oh mysterious stranger!? Come on, confess, I began to tease him.
— A proctologist, Shaman replied curtly.
— That’s the one who…
— That’s the one! What, disappointed? Well, I’m sorry if so. There’s nothing I can do to help.
But I’d already pulled myself together and replied as casually as possible.
— What difference does it make which bowel you cut?
— Sensible, Igor praised, and immediately added.
— Perhaps we shouldn’t talk about work?…
… How properly Igor had behaved throughout the day. A true gentleman! And how passionate he turned out to be in bed. No, he didn’t let out cries of ecstasy, nor did he lavish sweet praise… He spoke little at all, but meaningfully. A few words about my figure, and I was swooning with joy. A compliment about my breasts, and these weren’t just words, but genuine praise from an experienced man. The touch of the Shaman, a true professional who knows a woman’s body inside out, was incomparable to anything else. To this day, no man has ever turned me on like that. Though why should I be surprised? He’s a doctor, after all – who else but him would know how? I was praised for my shaved pussy.
I can’t stand that scruff. Most of the women who come to see me haven’t bothered to shave their private parts. But it’s not just about aesthetics; it’s also a source of odour. Certainly not Chanel…
Igor’s cock simply blew me away. No, not the size, though it was certainly not small. It was the shape that surprised me. Up until then, I’d only ever come across ones that were either straight or slightly curved. This one, however, was like a yatagan—even more so.
‘I wonder how that affects his professional performance?’—a ridiculous thought flashed through my mind.
Very soon I realised my doubts were unfounded. That shape intensified my sensations. Inside me, it felt thicker than it actually was. And in bed, Shaman remained true to himself: just as unhurried, just as thorough. There were no frantic thrusts that made his cock slip out every now and then, as sometimes happened to me. He didn’t rub his cock against my face, hinting at oral sex. No, it was I who passionately desired to taste such a handsome man. That evening I was utterly shameless. But it wasn’t vulgar; I’m absolutely certain of that. It’s simple: Shaman couldn’t stand vulgarity; he wouldn’t have allowed it.
‘Little girl, do you know, you have a wonderful sphincter—I’d even say it’s unique,’ Igor murmured softly, exploring my rectum with his finger…
A professional through and through. Even here, he couldn’t pass by the anus without examining it.
‘Yes, you’ve got a brilliant ring-shaped lock down there: strong but very elastic. You don’t come across those very often.’
‘What do I care what sort of arse I’ve got!’ I laughed, thinking I’d come up with a good pun.
But the Shaman thought otherwise.
— No vulgarities, please. It doesn’t suit you. As for the ‘difference’, as you put it, there is one. You’ve got next to no chance of injuring your anus.
— Injuring it with what?— I decided to play the fool, even though I knew where he was heading.
— Well, situations vary. Like this one, for example…
— What’s happening now?
— Right now, Nika, we’re going to have a go at your bum!
— I never even imagined I’d be getting fucked by a proctologist. You know, Igor, that’s a brilliant idea. First-time anal sex, and a lady’s worried something might go wrong! But I’m not scared. I’m going to lose my anal virginity to a specialist in anal matters!
— Nika, stop blabbering, or I’ll lose my appetite!
But I was seized by some wild inspiration and carried on rambling.
— I’d advise all women wishing to experience the joy of anal intimacy for the first time to do so in the presence of a proctologist. Or no, better still, let him do it himself! If anything goes wrong, he’ll be there to help straight away.
The Shaman no longer tried to stop my torrent of words. He dipped his finger into a cup of thick cream and smeared it over my anus, and then over his own cock. In fact, he used so much cream on his cock that I wanted to lick off the excess. And I did… Then the Shaman licked the cream off my pussy. Even though he’s a specialist in anal matters, he was brilliant at cunnilingus too… And my bum had to be re-lubricated with cream.
And the proctologist wasn’t lying. No tears at all, even though it was my first time! Not only were there no tears, I didn’t even feel any pain. Just some unusual sensations at the very start, nothing more. But something happened that I hadn’t expected at all. I thought that only a man could enjoy it this way, but that turned out not to be the case. I suddenly felt as if someone were massaging my womb from the side. Before, I’d felt the cock pressing against my cervix, but that was when I was being fucked in the vagina. Now, though, Igor had found a new path to my womb—through the bum! Truly, all roads lead… Of course, you won’t believe me, but whilst being fucked in the bum, I had an orgasm. Oh, Shaman! It seems that my partner’s thorough knowledge of female anatomy came into play here. He knew exactly how to reach a woman’s most intimate places, even through the bum… Yes, if only all men had such knowledge, they’d be priceless!
P.S. Igor flew home a week later. I wanted to spend the rest of my holiday relaxing on my own. I didn’t want to spoil the memory of the week we’d spent with Shaman. But my solo holiday didn’t go to plan. I couldn’t find any peace and quiet…
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