The Magical World of BDSM

Dedicated to Iuliia Borisovna

Introduction

Sexual games on the basis of BDSM, which stands for “bondage, domination, sadism and masochism”, logically, should not have taken root in Russia. In our country, humiliation and rigid domination are considered ordinary things, and BDSM is something indecent originating from the habits of the perverted West. Many people do not realize that they have been involved in this game of humiliation and domination of some people over others since their very birth.

Another reason why BDSM in Russia should not have taken root is that life here is very difficult. Games with binding, all these sex shops’ attributes just look unnatural here. In Russia, a booze-addicted or excessively jealous husband would regularly beat his wife, a boss often beats his subordinates, the police humiliate detainees and even victims. However, apparently, suffering is such a strong drug that even here many people feel the need for it.

Anyone born in modern Russia, without even realizing it, is forced to plunge into the world of violence, humiliation and domination. Laws of nature reign in our land, and the weak do not survive here. Laws are needed exclusively as demagogy or suppression tool against the disobedient. Even business in Russia is not an instrument for making profits but serves as a cover for parasitic, rent-seeking behavior thriving on funds received from the sale of natural resources.

Most Russians do not consider the actions of the authorities in relation to their fellow citizens to be some form of perverted sadism. For them, this is just part of an ordinary life. Cases, when a police colonel turns out to be a billionaire or a mere federal judge, invites million-dollar stars to sing at his daughter’s wedding, or when some rich boy born with a silver spoon in his mouth runs down people in an expensive car, are generally considered something outrageous. Such stories are told and re-told during long days in boring offices. People hardly have the time to stop and think about the fact that in this country, this system, in which the government considers people exclusively as an expendable material, has long taken root and thrived. In addition, the government manipulates people by swiftly using their innate fears of external aggression, the coming apocalypse, climate change or the inevitable collision of the Earth with a meteorite.

Of course, the risk of external problems is present in our lives, but compared to the way our own authorities torture us, these risks are minuscule. There is almost nothing left here for any supposed enemy to feast on. The authorities took away our quality medical care, social benefits and access to justice, turning our nation into shattered territories populated by angry loners.

I would like to tell a few stories about my acquaintance with the world of BDSM, both the sexual and social aspects of it.

Calm down, time heals

The first acquaintance with BDSM (not counting the fact that teachers, bosses and representatives of the authorities have been trying to dominate me during my whole life) took place when I was a little over thirty. Experiencing a light spermotoxicosis from the fact that my wife was pregnant, I placed an ad somewhere: “Looking for a submissive bitch for quality humiliation”. Truth be told, women do not fall for such ads.

Women are waiting for a prince, who will come and solve all their problems, tolerate all her shticks, while she sips wine with her friends, complaining about the lack of attention. Many of my female friends complain about the lack of attention from men, although very often their husband is a truly great guy, earning their bread and loving his wife.

In fact, women simply get bored without suffering, and if you do not make your woman suffer, then she will do it for you. But none of the women will ever admit that she is pleased to receive slaps and insults from her man. These desires are secret and are never spoken openly, but there is a way to determine that it’s time for a man to act and become more rigid. As soon as a woman begins to talk for no apparent reason that she is bored, that you are giving her little attention, you may be sure — it’s time to pick up a whip.

As for me, I did not particularly expect anything from this announcement; it was just the desire of intimacy that was pushing me to do stupid things. Unexpectedly, as the chances were, as I do understand now, one in a million, I had luck — a stranger responded to my ad, who invited me to the performance of the Solntsevo Poetic Group. At the same time, the young lady did not mind that I take my friends Mitia and Volodia to the meeting.

At that time my friends were still happy to make new acquaintances with the opposite sex. Our meeting happened in one of the bars on Smolenka. The stranger’s name was Nina, she looked a bit beaten by life but still had a pretty, cute face. To my surprise, she came to the meeting with her daughter Lena. For a fifteen year old, Lena looked and argued very uncommonly. Lenka’s neck was decorated with a leather studded collar. She freely talked about her mommy’s sexual life and her preferences.

Nina gave us her business cards that read “Swinger Club 3 +2”. My friends and I had no experience with BDSM, and we had absolutely nothing to add to Lena’s stories about the sexual life of her mother. This kind of conversation lets you tune into a certain wave, you get the feeling that the woman telling this about herself is ready to enter immediately into a sexual intercourse with you. In fact, it does not mean anything, except that she tells you her preferences and, most likely, if she tells you this, she does not see you as her possible partner. Even such light-hearted woman gets shy in the presence of her man.

My friends and I could cynically talk about sex, promiscuity, but we had no experience of domination over women. Volodia had little experience with women before he met his girlfriend Varia. Mitia found his pleasure in the moments when he had a small fight with his wife Olga, he felt alive when they slapped each other. As for me, I only saw the relationship of the BDSM format in porn movies, and they did not impress me. Women, dressed in black anti-sexual latex, with a plug in the mouth and butt, seemed to cause bewilderment, rather than sexual interest. In addition, after getting married, I had lost the skill of dealing with women a little bit.

Anyway, we soon felt that Nina or her daughter Lena did not have any sexual interest in us. Volodia, who had acquired a certain male confidence while living together with Varia, having understood everything, went off to meet other girls. Actually, girls did not interest him much, it was just important for him to maintain his status as a sought-after male. I did not really understand this kind of one-time or two-time sex. I need a little more time to really start appreciating a girl, but on the other hand, these relationships can lead to some kind of affection, and this is what Volodia tried to avoid.

Quite unexpectedly, I saw a few familiar characters onstage. Thus, a tall boy, whom I saw on TV in the program “Sex with Anfisa Chekhova”, where he played the role of a polygamist, was tediously declaring obscene rhymes. He looked a little schizoid, and I was very surprised to find out that he had a girlfriend, as I met him with a woman in a swing club a few years later. However, you can hardly wonder that the program “Sex with Anfisa Chekhova” uses non-professional actors, as in our age even “serious” news reports on Channel One are done this way.

The host of the evening had to kick this character from the stage almost by force; he was so carried away reading his poems that he could not stop. In order to take the heat off, the host called a guy in his early fifties. I’ve seen him before, even on Soviet TV, where he talked about erotic cuisine, how and what a woman should feed her man in order to warrant good sex. There was some truth in his stories, as he said that a man cannot be overfed, otherwise he will be too lazy to give his best in bed. Afterwards, the ghost of this guy haunted me wherever I was going to. I met him at the Izmailovski Park and at the Central Chess Club on Gogol Boulevard. The fate is amazing: you can meet people you do not need quite often, while those that you miss, you can only see on social networks if you have not yet been put into the ban list. The guy on the stage managed to attract some attention by piercing his throat with a sharp rod. At the same time, he said that he had come to BDSM quite recently. I shudder at the thought of what he would have done had BDSM broken into his life when he was twenty years old.

I was sitting next to Nina and observed the action taking place on the stage. Someone was declaring his homebred short little rhymes:

Calm down, time heals,

Just wait and I’ll homosexualize you!

The sun appeared behind the clouds,

I am having fucking bouts.

A guy came up to us, as it turned out later, his name was Lesha, and took Nina somewhere. A few minutes later Lesha appeared on the stage, almost completely naked. His genitals were covered with a shiny toy carrot made of cardboard. He was holding a whip in his hands, and a naked woman in a mask was standing next to him, with an appendicitis scar on her belly. Looking closely at the woman, I realized that it was my new friend Nina.

Looking at the naked Nina, I was thinking if I could have sex with her, and was inclined to answer positively. I was impressed by her sexually provocative behavior. I had no chance with her fifteen-year-old daughter anyway, as there was essentially nothing behind the sexual collar on her neck, and I had the intelligence to understand this moment. I went to look for Volodia. He was sitting with a pleasantly plump girl, who introduced herself as Tonia. After talking with Tonia for some time, Volodia began to lose interest in her, since he realized that he wouldn’t get sex that same evening. I, driven by sexual hunger, on the contrary, began to give more and more attention to Tonia.

Having returned from the scene, Nina disappeared from my radar. Tonia was flattered by the attention that I and Volodia were giving her, especially considering the fact that Volodia “the carrot”, who was performing on stage, also seemed to have plans for her. Tonia invited us next time to the Institute of Soil Science to attend a lecture on tantric sex. After accompanying Tonia to the metro station, the three of us digested for some time the cultural component of this pleasant evening.

The Institute of Soil Science was located in the area adjacent to Tretiakovka. A lecture was read by a certain Lapin. His admirers were crammed into a small room — about two hundred people were packed in a sixty square meters space. It was becoming very stuffy and uncomfortable, the brain was refusing to work, but it is possible that this was a tricky technique to suppress any doubts and sensible questions. Lapin was a muscular man of small stature, constantly engaged in narcissism, which was no big deal considering the fan packed environment. Lapin’s lecture was some kind of imitation of the Indian teacher Osho, but while Osho is certainly a talented and gifted swindler, Lapin was just an unfortunate copy. In his examples he constantly indulged in vulgarity, his mockery of the Christian understanding of the world also looked somewhat out of place. It’s not that I was a good Christian, I just do not understand why mocking what’s essentially just not your thing. In my opinion, one should not destroy other people’s worlds, if it’s possible. On the other hand, all religions try to prove their rightness and the fallacy of other teachings. Each of them tries to promote its own brand in an evil and ruthless way. So, Lapin, too, needed pupils who could bring in some income and also nourish the sense of his own worth.

After the lecture, I, my friends and Tonia are leisurely strolling towards the Red Square. The Moskvoretskii Bridge looks romantic at night, thanks to the mood I’m in. Gradually, I begin to fall in love with this girl, Tonia, but this does not seem like a good idea to me. I’m married, and I have not even got a place to take her.

Soon I have to go on a business trip to Kopeisk. Kopeisk is a suburb of Cheliabinsk. I’ve been there before. Coming there, you seem to travel thirty years in the past. All you get is scuffed, dull houses, poor lighting and no bright colors that please your eye when you are in a large city. It should be added that this trip is not just a trip in the past but a pretty warped past at that. In the Soviet past, people were kind and largely naive, the Soviet authorities tried to remove the negative from the information field, and life was perceived differently. Nowadays it is not so safe to walk past these houses anymore, as they are largely populated by people, who perceive their life, as a desperate hopelessness, and therefore they do not appreciate either their own or others’ lives.

I miss my Tonechka while I’m here, occasionally sending short messages on the phone. I try to entertain myself with work and going to the bathhouse. Since childhood, my grandfather has taught me to visit a public bath, I love this smell of the steam room and brooms, and most importantly — the feeling of cleanliness after the bath. This purity concerns not only the body but also gives some kind of spiritual joy and tranquility. I worked as an auditor, and the essence of my work was to confirm the financial statements of the client. The client was a miraculously surviving defense plant. There is no other work in the town, except for the plant and the coal mines.

During dinner, my accountant would carefully look after me, often pouring vodka into my glass. And though there were enough hot and cold snacks, I drank a bit too much. Next morning my head was buzzing but I was lucky, as the client arranged a tour of the Cheliabinsk region for me. Crossing the Industrial District, where the legendary Cheliabinsk Tractor Factory is located, which was producing Soviet tanks and where there is still a shortage of oxygen in the air and an abundance of different varieties of smoke, we went to the prosperous and slightly boring Miass. I enjoyed the nature of the Cheliabinsk region, which, in comparison with the Perm region or places near Yekaterinburg, is softer and the land is not covered by taiga. On the border of the Cheliabinsk region, the pines are already making way for sparse steppe.

But what struck me most was the city of Karabash. It hosts the Karabash copper smelting plant; therefore the whole place resembles an apocalyptic landscape. Against the backdrop of black houses, black people walk in the midst of black and red snow. If you think that you know what suffering is, then you do not know a damn thing. For the residents of Karabash, suffering has long turned into an everyday life and does not cause any unnecessary emotions. In the evening, remembering what I saw, I drank two hundred grams of vodka and felt the longing for Tonia, wondering how she was doing in Moscow.

Upon arrival in Moscow, my friends and I met at Mitia’s house. Having drunk a little, we wanted some action. And then, we called Nina, inviting her to a group sex. Nina refused, saying that to participate in the group sex we must provide her with a girlfriend for lesbian games. Damn, if we had such a friend, then we would not have called Nina. Anyway, Nina invited us to join her next weekend during the visiting session of her swing club “3 +2” in the Central House of Artists, and that was it. Mitia told that he was phoned by a drunken Tonia and her girlfriend this week, inviting him to join their girl sex. But Mitia did not go. Wow, that’s amazing, I thought, what else does he need? I mean, any sexually mature man would come running even if he had to do it barefoot in the snow, but no, Mitia just went to bed. However, if you think about it, there’s some reason in his actions, as you have to maintain calmness in any situation. Something broke in me because of this story. Fortunately for myself, I stopped feeling something special towards Tonia. It’s not that I was jealous or the prudish kind. In fact, by that time I had learned to treat treason with calmness and to experiment with sex. It’s just that for a moment I wanted to have something special in life.

Nevertheless, next weekend, I went to a meeting of the swinger club “3 +2” in the CHA. Several ugly aunties came, among whom Nina was winning, hands down, apart from one pretty young girl of about twenty-five. Among men, there was me, a small, bearded dude and a guy in leather jeans. Nina told us about the meetings of the swinger club: men would chip in to rent a sauna, where everyone is engaged in sinful activities, with active lesbian and homosexual games included. My objections and attempts to explain that I was not ready for homosexual experience were met with Nina’s remark about me having to expand my consciousness. However, I was not ready to expand my consciousness with the bearded dude, and, besides, I felt attracted to the youngest female participant. It seemed to me that something could happen between me and such a girl, who was ready to experiment. I spent the evening trying to court her, but she was ready to leave and go home, as soon as the folks were going to set off for the sauna. I wandered off to take her to the Oktiabrskaia metro station. On the way, it quickly became clear that she was not ready for any experiments in sex; she was just using this unlikely way to search for someone to marry. To say that I was disappointed is to say nothing. Asking for her phone number, I kissed her on the cheek, knowing that I would never call her again.

So, things were not easy for me at that time, BDSM-wise. I wanted some variety in my sex life, but nothing came of it. My work sucked me into the usual routine. One day, when I came to work, I found my mother’s friend Liudmila Andreevna there. She was ten years older than me, which means that she was 42 years old then — the beautiful Ukrainian with fifth-size boobs has long been living in my fantasies, but I could never arrange to stay with her alone.

In addition, there was one more circumstance that prevented me from getting close to Liudmila. Four years ago, after my birthday, I kissed her fifteen-year-old daughter. These were passionate and forbidden kisses of an adult man and an adolescent, reaching out to adulthood. In my defense, I would like to say that her daughter Oksana, despite her young age, was already quite experienced in amorous affairs. Our embraces were interrupted by the doorbell, as both our mothers stood on the threshold. My affair with “Lolita” broke off before it even began. But it was nice to feel a strong teenage passion, which gave a taste of something forbidden to our kisses. But even then, I would have referred her mommy, no doubts about that.

And so, when I saw the object of my adoration, I approached Liudmila and began stroking her neck.

— What a beautiful breast you have, anyone would go crazy over it, — I said, realizing the clumsiness of this compliment.

— Not just my breast, honey — Liudmila reacted.

Liudmila constantly eluded my kisses in the neck area and even moved over to another computer, but I continued my pursuit. Having unbuttoned a few buttons on her white blouse and shifted slightly her bra, I first began blowing warm air onto her nipple, and then I bit into it with my lips. Liudmila turned pink but did not retreat anymore. Having kissed her breasts and received a full aesthetic sexual pleasure, I was ready to stop there. But then Liudmila took the initiative, ordering me to undress. What differentiates a woman in her forties old from a woman in her twenties is that she actually goes consistently to the end. Locking the door, which has been open all this time, I began to undress. Now it was Liudmila who was kissing me all over. I was very happy, happy enough that even the colors of the surrounding world somehow changed. I was seeing everything in a somewhat pinkish hue from now on.

Liudmila laid down on the office table and told me to do whatever I wanted with her. Trembling a little with excitement, I penetrated her. At the very end, Liudmila was moaning sweetly, constantly repeating: “Darling, dear”. When it was over, she said to me: “Now, that’s a man!”

I was proud of myself, it seemed to me that all my sufferings of the last months were not in vain, and even for that fight in the train with the cops heaven finally sent me a reward. Although our first sex with Liudmila was somewhat crumpled and not entirely successful, the emotions of gratitude overwhelmed me. At that moment it became clear that I was not ready for any BDSM, that it was enough for me to just feel the warmth of a woman.

“Volchat” Chat Room

I got acquainted with the world of virtual BDSM at the beginning of the century in a chat called “Volchat”. For me, then, it was somewhat strange that even in the virtual space people would build a strong hierarchy with pronounced leaders and the crowd that follows them. Each new participant who joined the chat will be subjected to a moral humiliation test and will have to prove that he is able to take a stand for himself.

Dialogues about sex, domination and perverted love reign supreme in the chat. Perverts, in contrast to the real world, can safely voice their sexual fantasies, since they are highly passionate and attractive and have long since seized the chat in their hands. Therefore, I feel quite comfortable here. I even have a virtual wife — Pauline Hard. Together with her and her friend Stingy, we are voicing our sexual fantasies for the whole virtual room to hear. We like to talk about indulging in all sorts of sex. In the virtual world, neither Pauline nor Stingy are afraid of sexual experiments, be it lesbian love or even anal sex. As it turned out later, there are few things that frighten them in reality either. Thus, Stingy left her husband and went to live with her girlfriend. And Pauline and I were bound to experience a short-time real romance.

There was a client from Samara in our company, and Pauline just happened to live there. I did manage to arrange a trip to Samara and, grabbing a ticket to “Moscow-Samara” train, one April morning I went to see my virtual wife. My neighbors in the compartment were a colonel of the then militia and a Tartar guy from Penza. The colonel told colorful stories about the clashes of football fans, about how their corpses are fished in the river in spring, and the Tartar told about his passion for historical fencing. As for me, I had almost nothing to remember, right from the beginning of the nineties it seemed so unlikely that a handful of assholes would privatize the whole country and would keep such unjust power for such a long time. I kept thinking that everything was about to collapse, and normal, adequate people would come to power, but time passed and nothing changed. The people themselves changed, and what yesterday was a crime became valor today. The concept of good and justice ceased to exist. I drowned my depression in alcohol or tried to fill the void with short-term relationships with women, but the melancholy did not go away and my relations with women did not gel.

The train turned out to be not very convenient, as I spent almost twenty four hours on my way to Samara. I was rewarded, though, meeting Dasha — the real name of the virtual Pauline — at the station’s cafe. The meeting was somewhat strained. It’s one thing to discuss all these tits and pussies in a chat room, but it’s completely another thing to meet in real life, when it suddenly turns out that, despite a couple of years of virtual dating, in reality, you have nothing to say to each other. After the dinner, Dasha pulled out, promising to come and meet me in the evening. I was perfectly happy with that because I had to appear at the client and find a place to stay. Besides, Dasha had to invent something, a reason as to why she would be absent at night. At that time she lived with some local biker. I, too, was a bit married and, in addition to a virtual wife, I had a real, legitimate spouse.

In the evening, while waiting for my virtual girlfriend, I bought beer and martini. I did not plan to drink myself, as I still had to work. Dasha was not late and arrived, as agreed, at six in the evening. The factory that received me as a guest, gave me a spacious two-bedroom apartment nearby. After two glasses of martini and a light snack at half past six, Dasha and I lay in bed. She let me do anything with her. As for me, I felt somewhat insecure, hugging and kissing Dasha, because she was practically unfamiliar to me, a stranger. Dasha silently and obediently accepted my petting and penetrations. In order to cause at least some reaction, I even tried to penetrate her ass, which, however, did not cause any objections on her part. It’s not that Dasha did not experience an orgasm, she did experience it but the whole action was passing in some kind of tense silence for me. In the morning we had a warm farewell, all the same, as such erotic adventures were still pretty rare in our lives.

The next evening, while waiting for Dasha and in order to remove this tense silence, in addition to martini and a lot of beer, I bought vodka for myself. After using alcohol, I became talkative and was not happy with just silent sex anymore. And then alcohol played a bad joke with me. I wanted some emotions from Dasha in addition to obedient sex, and in order to provoke them, and finding nothing better, I said: “Maybe we should get married?” From this moment our sex, indeed, became much more fun, as Dasha was ready to forgive everything, including the fact that I drank a bottle of vodka and ten bottles of beer. The poor thing had not seen such heavy drinking even from her biker guy, and now, to our common misfortune, she met a charming drunk bastard. Since it was Friday, I allowed myself a lot more than I really needed. All night and the next day we indulged in petting and drinking, and on Sunday morning Dasha left, leaving me exhausted and drunk in a huge empty apartment.

For me, this story was already over, and on Wednesday I returned home. A couple of months later, I parted with my wife. Perhaps my words about getting married to Dasha were not entirely ungrounded. However, these words about the possible marriage with Dasha began to live a separate life. She wanted to visit me, she was attracted to the metropolitan life, and this was not part of my plans. In order to calm her down, I even lied to Dasha that I had returned to my wife and daughter, but even this did not stop her, and Dasha wrote a letter to my wife, where she told her in detail about our romance.

The second erotic adventure from “Volchat” for me was the arrival in Moscow of an Eastern beauty — Alenka. Actually, Eastern beauty was Alenka’s nickname in the chat. She noticed me for a long time and would often invite me to come to her small Tartar town Bugulma. But I was embarrassed by the fact that two children lived together with her, and I was absolutely not ready to start a romance in front of them, and besides, I was shunned by the ups and downs of her mood.

Before her arrival in Moscow, Alenka asked me if I could lend her a million rubles in order for her to start a business. Of course, I told her to fuck off with this proposal because, firstly, I did not have a million, and secondly, even if I had it, it would be crazy to lend this money to a virtual chat partner. She still managed her million, though, taking a loan in a bank, dividing it with her friend. Their business idea was to open a shoe store in Bugulma. They met in Moscow to conclude an agreement on the shipment of footwear to Bugulma.

In the evening, upon entering the chat I received a proposal from her to drive up to the Izmailovo hotel complex, as they rented a room Gamma building together with her friend. I saw Alenka drunk, doing a haircut in a haircutting salon of the hotel. Her jeans miniskirt was stirring my first teenage erotic fetishes in me; otherwise, I would probably have gone right away. Sober and drunk can never agree, and I was not inclined to drink. The chubby friend of Alenka, although they probably drank the same quantity, looked absolutely sober. Apparently, this is how they imagined business and signing contracts — like a drinking bout. In addition, the girls broke free from their native city and now, perhaps for the first time, were left to their own devices.

I invited them to join me in the hotel restaurant for dinner. Alenka, throwing back another shot, went to a nearby table to molest some dudes. I did not feel any jealousy, I was disappointed: why on earth did I invite this drunken woman to the restaurant and did I have to wait now until she’s done playing with these males? After sitting for about ten minutes with her friend and chatting a bit, I called the waiter, paid and went to the subway. At the next station, and I exited at the “Semenovskaia” station, I was about to go home when Alenka called me back. She apologized and asked me to come back. Considering that the evening was already spoiled, and there is a small chance to redeem it, I returned.

Alenka was waiting for me at the lounge of the hotel, and we went into the room as if I had not left. Why hold grudges, once you come back? At the floor entrance, a stern guard warned me that I could only stay until eleven. The old Soviet tradition is that you cannot stay overnight. Everything should have changed since then, as hotels are crammed with prostitutes, but strangers are still not allowed. Alena’s friend left us for an hour under some plausible pretext. I began to kiss tenderly the face and body of Alenka, but she did not need it. “Could you fuck me hard?” — she said.

I was somewhat embarrassed, as my experience of hard intercourse with girls with ass slapping, hair grabbing and all-around roughness was rather limited, and that was exactly what Alenka needed. Pulling off her panties, I tried to bare her breasts. Alenka was embarrassed by her small breast, and she did not like this lovey-dovey behavior, she needed real hardcore. I slapped her gently a couple of times on the cheeks, and, managing to get excited somehow, I put her on all fours. Being drunk, she constantly slipped and fell, exhausted.

After a few shoves, Alena howled and fell in an orgasmic spasm. This was repeated ten times, I hardly had time to feel anything, and Alenka was already shaking in convulsions.

— Bitch, you cum like a machine gun, — I said, and turned Alenka on the back, hoping that she would have nowhere to fall now.

— Yes, come on, fuck me like a bitch, — whispered Alena.

I tried to do it, but could not relax now, because Alenka was tearing my back with her fingernails. “A-ah-a… you Tartar slut,” I said in a loving manner, wailing from the inhuman pain. Half an hour later, I was tired of pain, and the inability to relax and reach orgasm. Alenka was sweating and even sobered up and came to herself. Feeling pity, she blow jobbed me to orgasm.

Her friend returned after a while. I did not want to stay with them in the room or take Alenka to my house. After all, apart from sex, I need communication, and we failed to communicate.

Next evening I apologized and said that I could not come to her because from her voice I realized that Alena was again drunk. It looks like she substituted me with some other chat boyfriend.

Alenka’s shoe business failed in about three months, and she asked me about how to transfer the loan she’d taken for business development to her friend. Apparently, she succeeded. I have never met such temperamental girls, but, apparently, the temperament is not the most important thing in the relationship.

Olga

My third acquaintance in the chat with a woman already had everything to do with BDSM in the usual sense of this term, and even confirmed my guesses that BDSM games in the style of BDSM can cause a persistent psychological dependence.

When I met Olga in the chat, she and her husband lived and worked in Senegal. In the course of our correspondence, she described her lovers. One of them was a black guy who raped her on a white Rolls-Royce, and at the end of the action, the condom on his huge black cock was torn. Another lover was a special services officer who worked at the embassy. I really think that she invented these stories about her lovers. Sometimes it was very interesting to communicate with her and we were on the same wave, so to speak, while at other moments her messages seemed full of delirium to me. Therefore I think that while in Africa Olga was abusing alcohol.

In addition, Olga sent me photos of beautiful African landscapes or photos from the Paris — Dakar race. We discussed books, work, films and, of course, our erotic fantasies with each other. And then one summer she came back and invited me to a cafe near Vernadskii Prospekt.

There, she was sipping coffee with a young friend. I liked Olga: smiling, relaxed, with a small, neat little beer belly. Olga’s friend did not like me, though: slightly carelessly dressed, a bit tense from the fact that I expected there would just be two of us.

After having coffee, the friend left us, and Olga and I went for a walk to the neighboring park named after the 50th anniversary of October. Several years later I would often walk past this park on my way to the swing club “Adam and Eve”, and back then, Olga and I found some bushes, which were a rare sight in this small park. While in the thick of the bushes, I bit my lips into her nipple, which was facilitated by the fact that Olga did not wear a bra, and stroked her stomach with my hand. Olga bent down and unzipped my jeans. The pleasure of her initiative and fearlessness caused an attack of passion in me, and so, clasping her black hair with the palm of my hand, I pressed her head against my pants. Since the park is small and cramped, we were soon interrupted by some passing boys. Fiddling with my hand inside Olga’s panties a bit, I said good-bye and agreed to meet her in a more suitable setting.

Our next meeting took place at the Central House of Artists. Near the CHA was a large number of abandoned building houses, as the construction of the “Museon” park was underway, adjacent to the CHA. We spent about an hour there, engaged with oral sex until we were scared off by a worker who passed by, as if we were not there. Or as if he routinely sees people fucking here. Well, maybe that’s true, who knows…

Excited, I went with Olga to the Central House of Artists, whose entire building was given to the avant-garde artist Kulik. The building was being prepared for repair, and avant-garde statues rose on the ground floor, all made from scrap metal. In general, I did not even notice any artistic subtleties in Kulik’s work, although I was pretty impressed by a stand dedicated to Inner Mongolia. The steppe and simplicity of the surrounding nature created a special kind of mysticism, and the CHA itself looked very unusual. All the floors were imbued in semi-darkness, chairs and furniture were missing, but there were mattresses lying on the floors on which one could lie in the dark. This kind of romanticism did not appeal to Olga. After examining the exhibition, I ran into the toilet, where I met Kulik himself, he was squeezing toothpaste out of the tube into his hand and brushed his teeth. “A real genius,” I thought. He did not create anything special, but that’s how life is sometimes, just bark a bit at a woman while naked, take a nice shit in a museum, roll down naked on a tarp and bang, you are in the pantheon of contemporary artists. After the CHA, I invited Olga to take a walk along the Neskuchnii Garden, but she was not attracted by the cheap romanticism anymore.

Next time I rented a large spacious sauna on Leninskii Prospekt. I bought a leather whip before our meeting. I was happy to see my new girlfriend. Several seconds passed, and I’m already pulling off her brown jeans and a white T-shirt. Slapping Olga a little on the ass with a whip, uttering various curses, I began to gently kiss her body.

And so, our three-hour sex marathon began. From the bed, we moved to the shower, where our sexual games continued. I liked how trickles of water went down Olga’s body. Sometimes the water prevented me from breathing, and we moved to the pool table. Saunas in Moscow probably exist for drinking bouts, secret meetings with lovers, prostitutes and for playing pool. The balls rolled out from the work of my hips, and Olga liked how we changed positions and locations of our sexual games. Getting bored by the pool table, we moved back to the bedroom.

Satisfied and happy, we parted, agreeing to meet in a week. The next meeting was to take place at my house, and Olga asked me to buy her some cognac. She came very drunk and a bit messed up or something. At that time I still did not know how strong her addiction to alcohol and how ruthless and mad female alcoholism was. I watched my brother’s girlfriend slowly killing herself this way. Unable to stop her drinking with either a sense of duty or sleeping pills, every day she found some reason to drink, and eventually died at thirty.

The charm of our first meetings immediately faded from the slight of the drunken girl. To occupy ourselves somehow, we began to drink cognac. When the cognac was over, I started my sadistic games. Undressing Olga and laying her on the couch, I began to work on her ass, at first slightly, and then with strong and sweeping strokes.

— You filthy whore, slut, take that! … You want more?! Do you love me? Say that you love me, — I cried, feeling the warmth caused by cognac growing inside me. I cried like an avid sadist, although I had never beaten anyone this way before.

— Yes, I do, — she answered with a drunken voice…

I did not feel any joy from our sadomasochistic games; rather I was interested in how far Olga was ready to go. If there was any feeling in me at the moment, it was rather a feeling of disappointment in my worthless life and some anger at the drunken Olga. As for her, she seemed to enjoy the process; she went crazy from my pronounced strokes and voluptuously moaned every time the whip touched her ass. Sometimes I even managed to hit Olga between the legs and when I did, she sobbed with pleasure. Unable to get excited at the sight of this defenseless creature, I began to fuck Olga with the same whip that a moment ago was whipping her ass. Olga did not resist, she was ready to accept anything from me.

— You know, a prostitute taught me how to do blowjob; do you want me to kiss you? — She asked.

— Shut up, you whore! — I shouted, accepting the rules of the game and striking her the ass sonorously with a whip, making her squeal.

At that moment, my friend Mitia called me and I told him that I had a whore at home and if he wanted to, she could provide a complete service to him as well. To my surprise, Mitia agreed. Actually, his type of relationship is a sexual drama, excess emotions from an intelligent kind of girl with glasses. He was aroused by tears and drama, not easy prey that went straight into the net.

Nevertheless, Mitia came, and who opened the door to him was naked Olga. She was completely unafraid of her nudity and a complete stranger seeing her in this situation.

I handed the whip to Mitia and said: “If you want love, beat her.” Mitia reluctantly applied a couple of soft blows to Olga on the ass. He was reluctant to beat Olga, he was surprised to see my new girlfriend. And that’s quite understandable because it’s not every day that you see an unfamiliar naked woman who is absolutely ok with her nudity. Mitia even kissed Olga, but he, too, did not want to fuck with a drunken woman. Olga told Mitia about life in Africa, Mitia liked to listen to different stories.