Better late than never

I remembered her ass for a long time. Back in tenth grade, all the guys would sigh watching her walk away. Even then, she could ignite a flash of sexual longing with just a movement of her hips. Unfortunately, those dreams from back then remained just dreams. Not a single graduate could boast of having fucked Larisa.

For us, she remained an "unidentified fluttering object." Her slender figure stayed in our memory for a long time. Long, lush chestnut hair cascading onto marble shoulders, high, firm, even visibly so, breasts, shapely legs—she wasn't a girl, she was a song. A face fit for a photo model promised to grace the pages of more than one popular

magazine. In a word—a picture one could only dream about, which many of us did, secretly indulging in forbidden thoughts.

Eight years had passed since then. And suddenly I saw her again. And not just walking down the street, but being invited to our new boss's house. Vladimir Semyonovich, or Sema among us, invited us to his fortieth birthday party at a restaurant. That's where I saw her. Larisa was dazzling with her beauty, even more perfect and unique. She was his wife! The wife of our Sema.

How her figure, blossomed in every way, her sweet, beautiful face, didn't match his full, disproportionately developed torso, with his large head adorned by an early-blooming bald spot. I was shocked and at the same time enchanted by the hostess of the evening. She outshone the invited ladies not only with her beauty but also with her wit. She recognized me immediately but showed no emotion, even though she knew that since school days I had been one of the sufferers dreaming of snatching at least a fleeting kiss from her angelic lips.

"Sasha, how did you end up here?" she asked, though it wasn't hard to guess that I worked at the firm recently headed by her Sema.

I was speechless, gazing at this beauty adorned with anything but fake diamonds and displaying her natural, innate beauty in such a way that I wanted to tear her clothes off right there, in front of everyone, and...

"Hello, Larisa," I said, adoringly looking over the figure of my former classmate, noting to myself that over the years her ass had become even more appetizing, "I work here, and you..."

"What, met an old acquaintance?" Vladimir Semyonovich's voice interrupted me.

"This is my classmate," Larisa explained to him, for some reason flustered. "We studied together from first grade."

"Well, well. Must be nice to meet an old friend," he said to her with noticeable sarcasm. "Come visit us sometime," this was now addressed to me.

"This is my husband," Larisa informed me, not without pride.

"I guessed. And where did you find one like him?"

Larisa smirked, didn't answer, and dragged me off to dance. I was lucky that evening. I danced with her a couple more times, happily feeling how her seductive breasts with protruding nipples pressed against me, stirring a storm of the most positive emotions. When saying goodbye, she gave me her address and phone number, extracting a promise to visit them soon. She couldn't miss the frank adoration shining in my gaze. By the way, in her cornflower-blue eyes, I saw something that gave me reason to hope for success, of course, in the future.

Needless to say, I called her the very next day. We hadn't really talked properly the night before, but I managed to find out she didn't work anywhere and was often home alone. I was unlucky—she wasn't home. Some woman, probably a maid, told me. Given the salary our boss received, this wasn't a surprise.

Only on the third day did I get lucky; she answered the phone herself.

"Ah, it's you?" Her voice didn't sound particularly friendly.

"Yeah, seems like it's me. You did say I should call, even invited me over," I reminded her, expecting an invitation.

I knew the boss had an extended meeting today that might run late, and I thought I'd take advantage of that.

"Oh, yes," she finally remembered. "Well, then come over on Friday at eight in the evening. We're having some people over. Bring your wife," she said and hung up.

Well, there you go. I think I told her I wasn't married. Probably forgot. Well, okay, the main thing is I'll see her again, and then we'll see. I expected there wouldn't be so many guests this time, but I was wrong again. Their three-story "cottage" was lit up in all its windows. I even got a little nervous parking my "Zhiguli" next to the cool, tricked-out "rides." There were no less than thirty guests, and again, all handpicked—well-groomed and polished mugs on the men and empty, made-up faces on the young wives, or maybe mistresses. Even though I wore my best suit, compared to them I didn't look very presentable. Larisa seemed happy to see me.

"And where did you stash your wife?" she asked, taking a large scarlet rose from my hands.

"Well, I haven't had time yet, I'm not married. Didn't I tell you?"

She raised her high eyebrows in surprise and suddenly smiled a simple, trusting smile.

"I must have forgotten. Then you'll be my escort tonight. Volodya is signing a contract with the Germans—they dropped in out of the blue. He'll be later, and I have to entertain the guests."

I gladly agreed, especially since there was no real need to entertain the so-called guests. They had spread out all over the house with glasses of wine, cigarettes, talking about something, laughing, not paying much attention to Larisa.

"I'm so sick of all of them," she sighed when we went out onto the second-floor balcony to get some air.

"So why do you host these receptions?" — there was no other word for it — I asked, surprised.

"Vladimir Semyonovich ordered it," her voice held so much bitterness and sarcasm that I suddenly understood how she felt about him.

She stood leaning on the railing, looking at the starless sky. The delicate scent of her perfume tickled my nostrils. I wanted to hug her, press her to me and...

"Sashenka," she turned to me, "kiss me."

Her bare arms rested on my shoulders and she stood on tiptoe, offering her lips. What would you have done in my place?

I pulled her to my chest, pressed my lips to her trembling mouth, gasping from the sudden surge of desire. She responded to the kiss, enveloping with soft lips, slipping her tongue into my mouth and pressing her firm breasts against me. My hands greedily roamed over her divine body, my cock stood at attention and she felt it. Suddenly pulling away, she lowered her hand and slowly ran it over the lower part of my stomach.

"Oooh! What a you..."

I grabbed her again, squeezing her in my embrace and kissing her half-open lips. This time I acted more boldly. My hand dove into the low neckline, feeling the touch of tender satin skin. A minute later I was squeezing her breast in my palm, my fingers teasing the hardened nipple. She moaned softly and pressed against me even harder.

Her thigh slid between my legs and began to rub against them, causing a new surge of desire. Her hand slipped into my pants and I understood she would be mine, and not later than today. Larisa's slender fingers closed around my excited cock and I felt the ground disappear from under my feet. With one motion I turned her to face the railing, pulled up her skirt and pulled down her panties. She leaned forward, hanging over the railing and spread her legs wider.

I hadn't seen such a magnificent ass in a long time. It was still the same as in her youth, but had acquired the shape of a mature woman. I involuntarily remembered a frame from the movie "Night Woman." Larisa's hand again gripped my cock, guiding it into the honey-dripping womb. The moment of penetration into this wonderful body was truly beautiful. My eight-year-old dreams were finally beginning to come true.

But we were interrupted. Headlights flashed on the driveway, and my boss's long dark limousine stopped at the entrance. Larisa jerked, trying to break free, to free herself from my cock, but I held her hips tightly, unable to leave her luxurious body.

"Sashenka," she pleaded, "he'll kill me if he finds out. I'll be yours, but not now. Sorry."

I regretfully released her satin, still trembling from the sensations, hips and she instantly put herself in order. Grabbing her panties, she was about to put them on, but apparently changed her mind and handed them to me.

"This will be a pledge," she smiled, lightly touching my lips with hers and disappearing into the room.

I remained standing, with my cock sticking out, which I somehow managed to stuff back into my pants. Putting the panties in my jacket pocket, I joined the other guests. They greeted the host's return with a storm of enthusiastic shouts and applause. Vladimir Semyonovich smiled, his bald spot gleaming, and responded to their greetings.

Larisa was nearby and also smiling. I tried several times to catch her eye, but it kept eluding me. The evening flew by in unsuccessful attempts to be alone with Larisa, but... We never managed to talk again, let alone anything more. Seeing off the guests, she gave my hand a weak shake, which I kissed, slipping a piece of paper with my phone number into her palm.

For a whole week I desperately waited for her to call me. The call never came. Instead, Vladimir Semyonovich unexpectedly called me in at the end of the workday and, with difficulty remembering my name, finally said:

"Tomorrow Lara and I are going to the dacha," he said, sighing heavily, "if you want, you can join us. Larochka mentioned you recently. You were probably friends in school?" — he stared at me with his unblinking gaze.

"We were," I mumbled listlessly, rejoicing inside.

"Bring a girlfriend, if you don't have a wife. There's room for everyone," he squeezed out, dialing someone's phone number.

I understood the audience was over and turned around, barely making out the exit.

"We leave at eight in the morning, from our house," the boss threw at my back, immediately switching to the phone caller.

All evening I agonized, not knowing what to do. I didn't have a steady girlfriend, and in this situation, I didn't want one either. A solution found itself. Around ten in the evening, a colleague called asking for a favor.

"Shurik, help me out," his voice came through the receiver. "I invited a chick to a bar, and she showed up with her friend. Now we're thinking together how to get rid of her. If you help me out, drinks are on me and whatever you ask. Just take her somewhere."

Half an hour later I was at "Praga," where Sergey had the bright idea to invite his lady. It wasn't hard for me to get the interfering girl drunk in a short time and take her to my place. Of course, she was quite the "crocodile," but nevertheless, "she" agreed to share my bed. Her name was Masha. At another time, I would have kicked her out long ago, but I needed her for tomorrow's event and I, fighting disgust, even gave her one "stick." She fell asleep, satisfied with what had happened, and promised to go with me to the boss's.

Early in the morning she woke me up, dragging a breakfast tray into the bedroom. I almost fell out of bed when I saw her in my bed in the morning. Mentally thanking my comrade for the "favor," I pulled myself together and conscientiously ate everything she had prepared. Honestly, the breakfast was tasty and I even marveled at how she managed to whip it up from my simple ingredients.

At half past seven we rushed out of the house, hailing a taxi on the run. The boss didn't live at the end of the world, but we barely had enough time to make it.

You should have seen Larisa's face when she saw who I came with. Skinny as a rake, Masha, with no signs of breasts or ass, was a stark contrast to my long-time love. Her face was also rather plain. Her only adornment was her eyes—not eyes, but huge eyes, but she managed to hide them behind glasses of an ugly shape with thick lenses.

Vladimir Semyonovich, I think, was also shocked by my "girlfriend," but said nothing, just gave me a careful look. Probably a sane thought ran through his head, wondering if I was sick. We settled into a huge black "jeep," resembling a big beetle. Vladimir Semyonovich in front, next to the driver, and me with the ladies in the back. A dark blue "Opel," probably with his security, followed us.

Larisa's thigh burned me even through the denim. She greeted me warmly, throwing a puzzled glance at my companion. I only had time to shrug and immediately felt her hand on my thigh. Sober Masha turned out to be a smart, knowledgeable conversationalist. The whole way she displayed wonders of erudition and wasn't the least bit shy when Vladimir Semyonovich asked her about something. Larisa and I were silent, secretly squeezing each other's hands and probably dreaming of the same thing.

"Where did you dig her up?" she asked me when we finally arrived and started unloading their immense belongings from the depths of the trunk. It seemed they had come here not for two days but for the rest of their lives.

I just smiled mysteriously and, grabbing a large basket with bottles, dragged it into the house. The house matched its owner. A two-story colossus with an underground garage and a large garden. Further on stretched a green lawn where one could play polo. It ended with a small, perfectly shaped lake, in which, as Larisa said, mirror carp and crucian carp lived.

"Volodya is a passionate fisherman," she declared. "He can sit on the shore with a fishing rod for hours, catching little crucians."

"And that's true, let him catch some fresh ones for fish soup," I couldn't resist, dreaming of being alone with the hostess.

"I also love fishing," suddenly burst out of Masha. "Can I come with you?" she picked up one of the fishing rods unloaded from the car trunk.

Vladimir Semyonovich nodded his head satisfactorily, giving his approval. He went into the house, gave instructions to the caretaker and guards, and came out dressed in a canvas suit, which in the twenty-five-degree heat looked, to say the least, ridiculous.

"You, of course, aren't coming?" he asked his wife with confidence.

"Of course not. You know I feel sorry for the fish."

"Well, well. And you?" he turned to me and froze, waiting for an answer.

"I'm not a fan either," I answered too hastily. Sorry, Vladimir Semyonovich. But Masha—now that's a real professional.

"Everyone's a master at eating fish, but catching..." Vladimir Semyonovich uttered profoundly. "Let's go, Masha. Let the classmates reminisce. Let's not disturb them."

His words put me on alert, but within a couple of minutes, as soon as he and Masha had walked a hundred meters away, I squeezed Larisa in my arms, forgetting everything in the world.

"Sanya, wait, the security is somewhere around here," she tried to resist, leading me up the spiral staircase to the second floor.

Another minute later we fell onto the wide bed together, tearing clothes off each other. Satin thighs parted, revealing the treasures hidden between them to my gaze. The smoothly shaved pubis allowed a view of the neat pink lips of her vagina and the protruding pearl of her clitoris. I pressed my parched lips to this wonderful shell and sank into it with a hot kiss. The young woman's body arched. She threw her legs over my shoulders,