Her Fist Anal-GangBang becoming their good girl sexy short stories to read in bed Champions girl for bad bad guys

From the author

Over the years of practice in the psychologist's office, I have heard many revelations, confessions, remorse, confessions…

Erotic life stories from my clients sometimes shocked me, sometimes involved, but always…excited.

It cost me a lot of professionalism to sometimes endure home to immerse myself in fantasies, imagining myself in the place of the characters described by my clients.

Sex is still a unique area of human behavior despite all the “sexual revolutions” and the “information age”. Sex is always intimate. And what is not intimate is no longer sex.

This main rule allowed me to learn many secrets and mysteries. The main thing is to listen patiently, because clients always complain at first about some nonsense like “headaches” or “insomnia”, and then tell how they unwittingly witnessed the gang rape of their older sister (as in one of my stories that came out earlier) or how they get off crazy about tall broad-shouldered bossy men in the fitness club. Like in a story about a girl who fell into a manic addiction to a blowjob to unfamiliar males.

Our feelings are not under our control. On the one hand, this is terrible, because I have seen hundreds of suffering housewives broken by guilt for regularly cheating on an unsuspecting deer hubby.

On the other hand, feelings are wonderful. And it is the inability to resist the movement of inexplicable feelings that makes us human.

We enjoy sensuality, like the heroines of my serial stories. We revel in feelings. We live only by them.

Unraveled tangles of contradictions line up more and more lines of “innocent” clients in my office.

The psychologist's office has become a modern "confession room", where tears of remorse are mixed with shocking confessions, creating a catharsis of acceptance of one's own sexuality.

Enjoy reading and see you … in my office …

Her Fist

Anal-GangBang becoming their good girl

sexy short stories to read in bed

Champions girl for bad bad guys

Did I, a modest figure skater , think that Olympic champions in skiing from Norway and speed skaters from the Netherlands would let me go around when I made my way with my boyfriend to compete in Beijing ? Of course not.

But the Olympics is not your usual boring sports camp . It's a holiday where things don't go as planned . This happens once in a lifetime .

In the morning, my teammates and I were going down to the dining room, sleepy , when we were surrounded by tall, broad-shouldered blondes . One of them , Olaf , spoke English, but so slowly and gallantly that I understood . He kept stroking my waist with his hands . First with one hand, then the other , as if we were old friends .

From the sagging backs and shabby ass of my friends, I realized that they also like this kind of attention .

We could not communicate with representatives of other teams because of the coronavirus, but I literally melted from the touch of a radiantly smiling and such a social Olaf . He joked with his friends , telling how they like Beijing and what an important start they have tomorrow . And he constantly removed his hand from my back , then again held it under the shoulder blades , where I have an erogenous zone .

, I had to rush to breakfast before the coach or my boyfriend and at the same time figure skating partner fired me up . On the other hand, Olaf spoke so interestingly with a European accent about their chances of winning .

We didn't say much because of the language barrier , but we giggled and laughed a lot . Three of his friends Johannes , Erik and Ole were also worth a visit . Everything is like a match with perfectly even Hollywood smiles , blond thick hair , standing stake , tall . Athletic bodies in expensive tracksuits in national Norwegian colors . And sportswear . I love looking at the hips of guys in sportswear .

Well, you know , when this elastic tubercle is visible .

And my gaze ran in a shuttle run between Olaf's shining eyes , which, like a gentleman, looked only into my eyes and his plane , where jeans usually have a fly , and sportswear has just a plane with a relief translucent manhood .

Johannes , Eric and Ole were already flirting with Julia and Dasha . I tried to communicate with the tall leader of the Norwegian ski team , but my eyes squinted at their strong hands , bare beautiful legs in size forty-six slippers .

I was already a little embarrassed, because I couldn’t really say something and blushed from the fact that he noticed that I was staring at his penis .

I understood that I was getting turned on and my nipples were already standing under the Olympian , but I could not do anything .

I looked into his sparkling blue eyes . Olaf said something. I , like a complete fool , did not understand anything , but smiled at him in response and could not control my gaze , which nervously slid down to him on the hook rising under the thin fabric of sweatpants .

The three of them freely took hands , touched Yulia and Dasha . They stood so close that the priests of our one and a half meter girls touched their legs from time to time .

The Scandinavians were not intrusive , like some Caucasians , rather the opposite . They were emphatically small talk on distant topics like food in China and the design of the bus in which we were taken to the competitions , but there was so much sex in them …

Powerful , stately , contact , rich , and we are in front of them – half-mute, flat-chested, small fools .