I’m 26, and my Katusha is 22. We met back at uni, and since then she’s been my everything. A short brown-haired woman with brown eyes that turn almost black when she is aroused. Her hair is just below her shoulder blades, always a little disheveled— she straightens it every now and then, but it still falls out. The nose is small and upturned. Her lips are as plump as your peach, and she knows it: she likes to bite them when she thinks about it. The figure is a sight to behold: a slim waist, hips slightly wider than the shoulders, the ass is elastic, like a ripe apple, and begs to be held in the palm of your hand. The breast is a neat two-piece, very sensitive: it is worth tracing the nipples — and it is already floating…
And now about our game with her. We have been living together for a year in a rented two-bedroom apartment on the fifth floor. And right in front of our windows are the windows of the neighbor. A man in his mid-thirties, tall, broad-shouldered, with dark stubble and muscular arms. His name, as we later learned, is Sergey. He lives alone. And he… watching. At first, we just noticed that his curtains were always open, and he often stood by the window with a cup of coffee. Then Katya began to notice that when she walks around the apartment in just a T—shirt — and she likes to walk like that because “it’s hot, honey”- his silhouette freezes in the window opposite. And one evening, when we….. Well, you know, when we were making love on the couch, I looked up and saw him. He was standing by the window. And watched. And he didn’t look away. It turned me on so much that I came almost immediately, like a boy. Katya still didn’t understand what had happened, but when I told her… She was embarrassed at first, hid her face in the pillow. And then… Then she asked me to tell her exactly what he had seen. And I told you. And we made love again. And it was… in a different way.
Everything I’m going to tell you about is my fantasy. But, God, I want her so much!
So that’s what I dream about…
I’m making up my mind. I write Sergei a note, in a simple way, on a piece of paper, and throw it into his mailbox. “Come visit. On Saturday, at about eight o’clock. There will be wine and… a surprise.” There is no signature. But he’ll understand. I don’t say anything to Katyusha. I just say on Saturday night, “Put on that dress.” The one is a short black one with an open back, which she has worn only a couple of times. It’s held up by thin straps, and underneath there’s nothing but panties. She is surprised, but puts it on. And when the bell rings, she flinches.
Sergei stands on the threshold. He’s wearing a simple black T-shirt that hugs his shoulders and chest, and jeans. He smells like something woody and tart. He looks at Katya for only a second, but it’s enough for me to realize that he’s here for a reason. I invite him into the room and pour him some wine. We chat about all sorts of nonsense — about the weather, about repairs, about the thin walls in the house (Sergey grins: “Yes, I know.”) Katya is sitting on the couch with her legs tucked under her and glancing at him from under her brows. She feels the tension. She doesn’t understand it yet, but her body has already figured it out: her nipples are tense under the thin fabric of the dress, and she keeps adjusting the hem, which barely covers her hips.
I suggest we play cards. On a wish. Katya snorts: “Like children, honestly.” But he agrees. Sergei looks at her, and a smile hides at the corners of his lips. We play. I lose the first game. Sergei thinks for a second and says, “Let Katya sit on my lap. Just like in the good old days.” Katya blushes and looks at me. I shrug my shoulders, “Rules are rules.” And she slowly, reluctantly, gets up from the sofa and goes to him. He’s sitting in an armchair with his legs wide apart. She sits down, first on the edge, but he puts his hand on her waist and pulls her closer. I see her back straighten, and she freezes. His palm rests on her stomach, his thumb slowly, almost imperceptibly making circles. The cards are forgotten. I look at them, and my dick is already made of stone.
Sergey wins the second game. He doesn’t say the wish out loud. He just leans into her ear and whispers something. Katya blushes to the roots of her hair. She shakes her head. He shrugs his shoulders.: “Then I’ll make another wish. Let your boyfriend go out on the balcony and smoke. And we are for now… let’s talk.” I get up. I’m going to the balcony. I take out a cigarette, even though I quit a year ago. I light a cigarette. The door to the balcony is ajar, and I can hear him saying: “You know I’ve seen you. Many times. You’re so beautiful when…” She interrupts, “Don’t.” Pause. Then his voice, lower, quieter: “Does he know that you touch yourself when he’s not around? I saw. You were standing by the window. And your hand was…” Silence. I can hear the chair creaking. Something light falls to the floor, maybe a strap. I’m standing with my back to it, but every cell in my body screams: turn around. I don’t turn around. I’m listening.
I hear her sigh. Non—protesting – deep, thoracic. I hear him whisper, “That’s it… relax…” I hear the rustle of a dress. I finish the cigarette to the filter, burn my fingers, and only then turn around. The door to the balcony is open, and I can see them. Katya is kneeling on the sofa, with her back to him, resting her hands on the back. The dress is pulled down to the waist. His hands are on her breasts, holding them like bowls, and he’s running his thumbs over her nipples, which I can see even from here, they’re dark and swollen. She leaned her head back against his shoulder, eyes closed, lips parted. He kisses her neck, behind her ear, and she shivers ever so slightly. His one hand goes down to his stomach, slides under the dress. She gasps, softly, but I can hear her. He finds her panties with his fingers —I see how the fabric stretches, how he strokes her through it, and how she pushes her hips towards him. “Wet,” he says softly, and there’s so much satisfaction in that word that my legs give out. She opens her eyes, finds me with her gaze. Her pupils are black and huge. She looks at me and doesn’t look away when he runs his fingers under the elastic band. I see how her mouth opens, how she exhales, “Ah…” and how his fingers enter her. She doesn’t resist. She looks at me. And I nod. Just barely. And she closes her eyes and leans back against him, letting him do whatever he wants.
He unwraps it. He puts me on all fours, facing me. He pulls the dress over his head and it falls to the floor like a rag. The panties follow, in one motion, and they remain hanging on her ankle. She’s standing in front of me on all fours, naked, and I can see her all over: hot, open, shiny. She’s breathing heavily. Sergei stands behind her. He unbuckles his belt. Jeans are falling off. And I see his cock —long, thick, with a shiny head. He runs it over her vagina, slowly, teasingly. She screams and leans back, trying to plant herself. But he doesn’t give it. He’s looking at me. And he says, “Come here. Hold her hips.” I’m coming over. My hands rest on her waist, on her hot, wet skin. She shudders. I can feel her trembling under my palms. Sergey puts his head in and enters — in one motion, deeply. Katya screams — loudly, for the whole apartment — and I feel this cry all over my body, it reverberates in my hands, in my groin. Sergei moves slowly but strongly, each thrust makes her lean forward, and I have to hold her so that she doesn’t fall. She moans continuously as she exhales, “Aah… aah… aah…” and with each thrust, her moans become higher, more desperate.
I look down and see her touching herself. Her hand is between her legs, fingers quick, greedy. She doesn’t think about anything anymore. She just wants to cum. And I let go of her hips and kneel down in front of her. I want to see. I want to be closer. My face is inches from where he enters her. I can smell her, his, mixed, salty, animal. I can see her fingers sliding over her clit as he sexpornotales.me in and out, as her juices flow down his cock, down her thighs, dripping onto the floor. I hear Sergei wheezing, “Come on… Come on…” and how she screams: “Ooooh… yeah… Yeah!” and her body contracts, arches, and she comes—with a long, drawn-out moan that turns into a sob. Sergei makes a few more thrusts, deep, sharp, and comes out. His cock is shiny, throbbing. He takes it in his hand and cums on her back — thick cum, streaking down her spine, along the tattoo on her shoulder blade (she has a little bird there, I always kiss her). Katya is lying on the couch, face in the pillow, breathing heavily. Her back shudders. I look at her, at his cum running down her skin, and realize that my jeans are wet. I’m done. Without touching. Just from what I’ve seen.
Sergei gets dressed in silence. He zips up his jeans and pulls on a T-shirt. He looks at me. Then at her. He says, “Thank you.” And he leaves. The door closes. Katya rolls over onto her back. Her face is wet with tears, but she is smiling. She holds out her arms to me. I lie down next to him. She presses her whole body against me, and I can feel her heart beating—fast, fast. She kisses my neck. Then on the lips. And he whispers: “You were watching…” I nod. She smiles—with her eyes, her lips, her whole face. “And you liked it.” It’s not a question. I’m silent. She puts her head on my chest and says, “Me too. But if you ever… if you want to…” she pauses. I stroke her hair. We’re lying down. Sergei’s window is outside the window. The light is on. And I know he’s there. And I know he’s watching again. And that knowledge makes me want to do it again.