On the eve of the New Year

It was on the eve of the New Year, as every year, we planned to meet with our old college friends at our friend Lyuba's place on December 30th. The main occasion, of course, was her birthday, but over the 18 years since graduation, our meetings had evolved into warm, friendly gatherings of old girlfriends. We did see each other during the year, after all, we all live in the same city, but celebrating Lyubka's birthday had become a tradition for us, a sort of reunion of college friends.

We reminisced about our wild student years, shared what each of us had achieved over the past year, both professionally and personally, and with a touch of melancholy realized,

that we had become another year older, a feeling that became particularly acute well past midnight, when four rather tipsy women, who were already, as they say, "well over thirty," remembered how young and carefree they used to be. In the end, it always ended in tears, vows of eternal friendship, and we would stay overnight at Lyubka's place, fortunately her three-room apartment allowed us to settle in comfortably.

This year, at the last moment, everything somehow fell apart. First, Vika called the day before the meeting and said she couldn't come because she had hooked up with, as she put it, "a guy with some cash," and on the 30th they were going to a fancy restaurant to celebrate the New Year. Considering that the guy was slightly married, Vika couldn't possibly refuse him, especially since she had serious intentions of stealing him from his elderly wife and marrying him herself. Knowing our friend's tenacious grip, we had no doubt about the success of her venture, and we didn't want to interfere with the marital happiness of our only unmarried friend, so we wished her success in her difficult endeavor and granted her amnesty for this year with a strict order to be there next year.

Our plans were finally ruined by Oksanka, whose child fell ill on the morning of the 30th, and as the most decent family woman among us, she stayed with her little one. The old friends' meeting was completely canceled, and to at least preserve the semblance of tradition, Lyubka and I decided to limit ourselves to celebrating her birthday in a family circle, bringing along our husbands.

The party was quite mediocre. Lyubka's husband, whom she had married very recently, turned out to be a dull, unremarkable little man — what on earth did she see in him. Our husbands, having drunk quite a bit by around midnight, went to bed, and Lyubka and I continued to sit, reminiscing about our wild student years. By half past one, my friend, who had been toasting frequently, was already completely plastered, and I decided to pry from her the answer to a question that had been bothering me since the moment I saw her husband.

 — Listen, Lyubka, what attracted you to your Olezhechka so much that you even married him?

My friend smiled mysteriously, poured some cognac into the glasses, silently took hers and knocked it back; I skipped mine again. Lyubka walked over to me with an unsteady gait, hugged me, leaned her head against mine, and with a slurring tongue began:

 — You see, Natakha, I haven't told anyone, but I'll tell you. Oleg is, of course, a bit ugly, I've had plenty of more handsome suitors, and he doesn't have much money either, just an average income; finding a 'money bag' is no problem for me, well, you know that yourself.

Lyubka paused and hiccuped.

 — Natakha, but you won't believe it, he has something that none of the guys I've dated have.

Lyubka fell silent again and smiled mysteriously. My patience was wearing thin.

 — Come on, spill it, you drunkard, what does he have?

 — A cock like this! No, you probably won't believe it, but his dick is really the size of my hand, like this! I'm not exaggerating at all.

Lyubka shook her hands in a characteristic gesture in front of my face. Knowing my friend's preference, dating back to her student days, for men with huge cocks, I readily believed her. Meanwhile, Lyubka, with an unsteady gait, headed towards the bedroom, throwing me a parting remark:

 — Good night.

After sending Lyubka to bed as well, I slowly cleared the table and made myself some coffee; I didn't feel like sleeping anyway. Quietly walking into the room, I found that my husband was sleeping like a log, and from the slightly open bedroom door came the sounds of unmistakable activity and Lyubka's incoherent muttering. It seemed my friend had overdone it today, and her insatiable Olezhechka would go to bed unsatisfied. I returned to the kitchen, pulled back the curtain, and stood by the window. I don't know what made such an impression on me, maybe the coffee, maybe the cigarette I lit, maybe Lyubka's story about the sexual merits and capabilities of her husband, or perhaps the quickie at work today with one of our young employees, after which I remained unsatisfied and there was no time to continue, but I very clearly felt that I wanted a man. Damn it, not the most appropriate desire at two in the morning while a guest at a friend's place.

There was no hope for my husband; after the amount of cognac he had poured into himself, only the most incorrigible optimist could hope for anything. The memory of our new intern from the credit department, whom I had unceremoniously fucked today, dragging him into my office during an impromptu New Year's celebration at work, surfaced. The boy is definitely promising, I should continue a little romance with him, only he's too naive; right now the fool probably thinks how he boldly fucked his boss today, but that's not how it was — I chose him and fucked him as I wanted.

Thinking in this way, I didn't even notice how my hand first began to stroke my lower abdomen, then slipped under my dress and began to rub my pussy through my panties. It was great that I wore stockings today, not tights. Very soon the panties became wet and my hand unceremoniously slipped under them. My middle and index fingers slid into the wet slit, and my thumb began to caress my clit. I had done this before, but only earlier I mostly masturbated at home in the bathroom or in bed, but the piquancy of the situation only heightened the sensations, and very soon my entire crotch became wet from secretions, my lower abdomen filled with a pleasant languor, and within a few minutes I exploded with a furious orgasm. After the last wave of bliss rolled through my body, I reluctantly removed my hand, adjusted my panties and dress.

Taking a cigarette from my purse lying on the windowsill, I lit it and opened the window. The sweet languor that had spread throughout my body made my legs feel like jelly, but I didn't move away from the window — the view of the winter night with swirling snow was too mesmerizing; I just leaned over and rested my elbows on the windowsill. Having calmed down a bit, I felt a strange sensation, as if someone was watching me. Turning around in fear, I literally froze; Oleg was standing in the kitchen doorway, leaning against the doorframe. Oh my God, did he see everything? My gaze involuntarily dropped down — damn, yes, indeed, Oleg's bulging underwear indicated that he had been watching me for a while.

Oh my God, I was ready to die of shame, yet I noted that Lyubka was right when she spoke about the unimaginable size of her husband's endowment; about twenty-five centimeters, no less, estimated the visual analyzer of an experienced woman.

I just kept standing there like a fool, sticking out my ass and staring wide-eyed at Oleg, who decided to take the initiative. Quickly approaching me from behind, he lifted the dress that barely covered my ass, pulled down his underwear, and firmly grabbing me by the waist with his hands, pressed me against him.

 — What, bitch, amusing yourself?

I was frantically thinking about what to do; the situation was much more piquant — I'm standing in my best friend's kitchen, bent over with my dress pulled up, and her husband is about to fuck me. I wanted to protest and push Oleg away, but the hot male flesh pressing against my buttocks did its job; I remained silent and resigned myself — let it be. As a sign of my consent, I slightly wiggled my ass and arched my back even more, sticking my rear out to meet the so-desired cock. Oleg, understanding my sign properly, stroked my still quite firm ass, moved aside the thin strip of thong covering my wet pussy, and aimed his huge cock between my buttocks.

 — Olezhenka, a little lower.

 — No, bitch, I'm sticking it exactly where it needs to go.

I froze again. It wasn't that anal sex was a novelty for me; I did enjoy getting fucked in the ass, but only after proper preparation and with good lube. Sometimes, it even happened, mostly when I was on top, that I managed to come when guys were fucking me in the ass, which drove them crazy. But right now, I wasn't quite ready for anal. A sharp thrust from Oleg snapped me out of my stupor, and a sharp pain pierced my entire body; I barely restrained myself from screaming.

 — Shut up, slut.

Having received permission from my tormentor, I took a tube of cream from my purse lying nearby and squeezed a generous amount onto my hand. Turning around, I liberally lubricated myself between the buttocks and glanced out of the corner of my eye at the monster Oleg was trying to shove into me. Oh my God, it was simply enormous; I wasn't mistaken about the length — about twenty-five centimeters — but how thick it was! I had never encountered anything like it in my far-from-righteous life. Such a thing would have had a hard time fitting into my pussy, let alone my ass, and into an undeveloped hole at that. I inserted one finger into my ass, trying to stretch it out a bit, but Oleg unceremoniously pushed my hand away.

 — Hey, you bitch, that's too easy; now I'll stretch your hole with my tool.

Another thrust, pain, I bite my lip, tears well up in my eyes — what a mess I've gotten myself into, like a complete fool. I can't scream — how would I explain to my best friend what I'm doing in her kitchen with her husband's cock in my ass? I can't bear it any longer either. Another thrust, and oh my God, Oleg finally shoves his monster into my ass to the very root. The pain I felt before turned out to be trivial compared to what I felt when he entered me. My ass was simply burning from the piercing pain; it felt like Oleg had torn my ass apart. I blacked out for a few moments, losing consciousness from the unbearable pain.

When I came to, the pain subsided just a little, but flared up with renewed force when Oleg began to pull his huge cock out. Exhausted, I resigned myself to my fate, collapsed with my head on the windowsill, covered my mouth with my hand to keep from screaming, and quietly sobbing, prepared for the worst. Meanwhile, Oleg began to pound my ass with his hammer at an ever-increasing pace. The cock fit so tightly inside me that I felt every vein, every bump on it with the walls of my anus. A sweetish taste of blood appeared in my mouth; I must have bitten my lip when Oleg entered me.

To my immense relief, after about two minutes, which seemed like an eternity, Oleg reached a furious pace; my plump ass and thighs were slapping against his muscular body in a crazy rhythm. And then, after another thrust, he froze, impaling me to the very root; a moment later, a muffled groan escaped Oleg's mouth, and from his cock, somewhere deep inside me, a tight stream of hot semen erupted, then another, and another, and another. Oleg grabbed my breasts and, squeezing them hard, tried to drive his monster even deeper into me, but it was already in up to the balls. Sweet convulsions ran through Oleg's entire body, and with each convulsion, he tried to penetrate me deeper and deeper, as if he wanted to pierce me through, and each of his thrusts ended with another portion of hot semen erupting into my tortured ass. Oh my God, how much did he have in him? It seemed like this geyser inside me would never run dry. But finally, Oleg calmed down, released my breasts, and, as if reluctantly, very slowly pulled out of me. The moment he completely withdrew his now-deflating monster, my ass made a squelching sound, and I felt something warm and wet first trickling down my crotch and then down my thighs.

 — Ah, good bitch, if you decide to continue, whisper to me, and I'll go lie down for now.

Oleg whispered to me, wiped his monster with a towel, put on his underwear, and left the kitchen. I stood there, afraid to move; my ass was burning unbearably from the pain, sticky semen was running down my legs. I had to do something; it was half past two in the morning; I didn't want to stay; Oleg might want a repeat, and my ass couldn't withstand that again, so I decided to go home. Somehow smearing the semen over my stockings and wiping my crotch with a towel lying around, I went to the bathroom; my legs were buckling, sharp pain pierced my body with every step. It was good that there was no blood on the towel, meaning my ass was intact; otherwise, I was preparing for the worst. Barely making it to the bathroom, I looked at myself in the mirror — what a beauty I was; my whole face was smeared with mascara and blood from my bitten lip mixed with tears.

I washed my face, removed my makeup with some of Lyubka's cream I found on the shelf, and washed my face again with cold water. My bitten lip was slightly swollen, but the bleeding had stopped. The desire to take a bath was huge, but I didn't want to be in this apartment any longer, so I decided to wash up at home. I combed my hair, pulled up my stockings, adjusted my panties and dress, and went out into the hallway. Leaning against the wall, I managed with great difficulty to put on my high-heeled boots — why on earth did I wear them today? Walking in them with a wrecked and burning asshole would be oh so difficult. Putting on my fur coat and grabbing my purse from the kitchen, I turned off all the lights and opened the door.

Staggering, I left the apartment, slammed the door behind me, and called the elevator. Every step caused sharp pain in my ass; the narrow strip of my thong easily slipped between my buttocks into my wet crotch and now, touching the entrance to my swollen hole, caused me sharp pain with every step. Suddenly, something inside me gurgled; I tried to tense my anal muscles, but they wouldn't obey, only another wave of pain pierced my body. The elevator finally arrived, and I, very carefully, straining my buttocks with all my might, trying to somehow hold in everything Oleg had shot into me, entered it. I pressed the button for the first floor and, exhausted, leaned against the elevator wall. At that moment, when I thought I had managed to hold back another urge, my tortured ass treacherously squelched, and I felt another portion of thick, slippery semen splash out between my buttocks.

My God, how much did he cum inside me? I was in despair; how would I get home to the other end of the city? The semen that had splashed out of me was meanwhile running down my buttocks, all over my crotch, and further down my thighs; a thick drop of cloudy liquid on my right thigh had already reached my knee. The elevator stopped on the first floor, and I got out. The damned thong reminded me of itself again with a sharp pain between my buttocks. Damn it, already a grown woman, and I'm still running around in thongs and stockings; if I had been wearing panties and tights that evening, everything would have been much easier — I cursed myself. But nevertheless, things were as they were, and I had to get across the entire city at three in the morning with a wrecked asshole and semen-soaked thighs.

Leaning against the wall, I pulled off the hateful thong, all wet and sticky with semen. Rummaging in my purse, I didn't find a handkerchief, and the pack of tissues was, as luck would have it, empty. Tossing it aside, I somehow wiped, or rather smeared, the semen off my legs with my panties and, folding them, tried to fashion something like a plug out of them. It didn't turn out very well, of course, and I couldn't imagine how to