New Year, new life

So, on the eve of 2009, I remembered celebrating the 2008 New Year.

There's a saying, you know, that how you meet the New Year is how you'll spend it.

And apparently, I was destined to spend it in hungry loneliness and boredom:

I seemed to know, and he had nothing in common with "Vasechka," he was actually Alexei.

It seems to me I misunderstood her: Lyokha wasn't the first, but simply the last... I started sleeping poorly, eating without appetite (if I even remembered to eat), stopped shaving. In short, life wasn't a joy.

On one of these joyless days, the head of the department approached me.

 — Roman Nikolaevich, may I ask an indiscreet question? — I didn't even have time to realize she was addressing me, as I was absorbed in my own thoughts, when she continued: — Where do you plan to spend the New Year?

 — Ah... uh, Olga Alexandrovna, to be honest, I'm not really thinking of celebrating it in any way. Too many things have happened to me recently, and far from putting me in a festive mood, plus finances are a bit tight.

 — Well, believe me: breaking up with a girl is no reason for such prolonged gloom, which you've been immersed in for about a week now. And to have a fun New Year's celebration, you don't have to be Abramovich.

 — How did you know? — I stared at her like an idiot.

 — Ha, ha, I am the head of the department after all, and I'm aware of your income; don't worry, patients are already starting to talk about you as a specialist, and in a year you'll have a line outside your office.

 — No, not that... how did you know about the girl?

Sparks of something I didn't quite understand appeared in her eyes:

 — Oh, you're still so inexperienced, your face is like an open book — she sighed.

 — What, just as square and covered in ink?

Olga laughed melodiously:

 — See, you're starting to joke — that means you're coming back to life. So, December 31st, at 8:00 PM, we expect you at the address, — then she named the street, house, and apartment, — there will be many people, bring a good mood, no need to bring alcohol or food: I still have patients who spend my money and buy "thank-you gifts," so there's more vodka, cognac, martini, and other "Baileys" than in some specialty stores. I'll only forgive absence with a death certificate or proof of broken legs. Both.

I realized I was missing the meaning of my boss's words because I'd been staring at her cleavage for a minute. And there was something to look at — at thirty-eight, Olga looked magnificent: firm size-three breasts, curvy hips with a narrow waist, slender legs — not "up to her ears," of course, but they didn't look short even on a small heel.

Freckles were scattered faintly across her cheeks, but they didn't spoil her appearance at all; on the contrary, they added a certain charm — the contrast between her luxurious, arousing body and innocent face was driving me crazy. I never understood the expression "to blush to the tips of one's ears," and now I didn't just blush, I turned crimson. Naturally, Olga noticed me looking at her and smiled mysteriously.

 — Sorry, I... well, like... I don't know why, — I was muttering and felt like an imbecile myself, but couldn't stop. I hung my head and started backing away slightly. That's how it often is with people: after doing one stupid thing, they try to fix it and commit even more foolish acts.

 — I'll forgive you, but only on the 31st, around 8:00 PM, understood?

 — ... yes, — I said in a voice hoarse with embarrassment.

"Idiot, why the hell did I come here?" — with such thoughts, I pressed the doorbell button. I was met by Olga's husband, a somewhat flabby man around forty-five, slightly shorter than me (about 180 cm).

 — You must be Roman, I'm Igor, — he extended his hand.

 — Yes, — I was a bit flustered, — Olga Alexandrovna invited me, — then my boss appeared in the hallway:

 — Oh, Roman Nikolaevich, we were just waiting for you, come in quickly.

I entered the room where two men around forty and three women were sitting at a set table. Two of them were Olga's age, but the third could barely be nineteen, and her face bore very similar features to my boss's face. She introduced me to the other guests:

 — Meet Roman, a talented chiropractor. Roman, this is Andrei and Kostya, their companions Angela and Sveta, and this young mischief-maker, a fan of Russian history, insists on being called nothing but Kato.

Everything proceeded as usual: as the alcohol level increased, conversations became more relaxed, topics freer. We saw off the Old Year, met the New Year to the chimes of the Kremlin clock. The initial feeling that they were trying to set me up with Kato faded, giving way to impatient anticipation — don't forget: I hadn't had a woman for three weeks, and this seductive beauty, with a size-two chest, a slender figure, and the same innocent face as her sister, was stirring up quite depraved scenes in my alcohol-fueled mind. And there was no doubt that my neighbor and Olga were sisters: the external resemblance was too obvious.

Someone put on slow music and suggested dancing. Naturally, I danced with Kato, pressing her firm body tightly against mine and drowning in the scent of her hair. Then we danced a bit more to "energetic dances" and returned to the table.

 — Where did Angelka disappear to? — asked Andrei, flushed from drinking and dancing. Olga answered him with a wink:

 — Well, you know her, she decided to rest a bit, she'll come back to us later.

I must say, although I was "inexperienced" in Olga's eyes, I wasn't wasting time: Kato and I were sitting half-turned towards each other, she was chattering cheerfully, and my tipsy brain was trying to come up with something witty — it managed without a cesarean section. The seeds of my efforts fell on fertile ground, but still, the hand unbuttoning my fly made me shudder.

 — Is everything okay with you? — Kato asked with a sly smile, her hand continuing to massage my rock-hard cock.

 — Oh, yes, darling, I could stay in this "order" for a lifetime.

It must be said that no one paid attention to our mischief: everyone was talking cheerfully, trying to shout over the TV, and sitting arm in arm, with Olga embracing Andrei, who had been abandoned by Angela, and Igor and Kostya sitting on either side of Sveta.

Then I felt a tremor throughout my body from the touch of a little tongue and lips on my cockhead, but immediately broke into a cold sweat: Kato was sitting next to me and, as if confirming my fears, put her hand on the table and said:

 — I'll be gone for exactly one minute, don't go anywhere, — with these words, she got up from the table. I slowly lifted the edge of the tablecloth, trying not to attract attention. Angelina's head was moving methodically along my now-limp cock, trying to revive it. Then she swallowed it completely, and from the sharpness of the sensation, the soldier stood at attention again, but despite my "equipment" being just under twenty cm long and over five in diameter, somehow the entire cock remained inside.

Angelina began making intense head movements with a small amplitude, sometimes stopping with the cock fully swallowed and licking my balls. Her saliva was flowing down me, already wetting my legs. She clearly enjoyed the process. As for me, I was going crazy, trying not to shout with delight and not betray my state with my face. Fortunately, no one was bothering me. Then she swallowed all of my flesh again, licked my scrotum with her tongue, and additionally began making strong swallowing movements.

I couldn't take it anymore and started coming in her throat. Semen spurted out of me in powerful bursts, echoing in my head like thunderclaps of my pulse. I think I even moaned a little.

 — I propose a toast: to the lovely ladies! — through the haze, I could make out Andrei standing with a glass, — men drink standing up, — and that phrase quickly brought me back down to earth from the heavens. Angelina released the cock from her mouth but clearly wasn't going to help me; on the contrary, she continued licking the head and running her lips along its entire length. Kato returned.

Because of my hesitation, all eyes were on me, so simply putting my hands under the table, hiding my property, and buttoning my fly wasn't an option.

 — Surely, Roma, you don't consider the ladies present here unworthy of you getting your ass off the chair? — this was said by Andrei, making a rather unfriendly face. I'm not a small guy myself, but only now, realizing what these drunk two meters and one hundred fifty kilos of solid muscle could do to me for adultery with his wife, did I want to become three hundred times smaller. Well, to hide in a crack between the wall and the baseboard, for example. Everyone around was smiling, as if nothing was happening, as if a locomotive wasn't bearing down on me, and I wasn't tied to the tracks.

 — I'll help you get up now, — with these words, the giant came up behind me and, grabbing me under the armpits, started lifting. In horror, I grabbed the chair, so he, without visible effort, lifted me along with the chair.

Then everything was revealed, namely: the cock sticking out of my fly and Angelina's face under the lifted tablecloth.

 — Ah, you fucking gutter slut, fucking whore, — while Andrei was distracted by his wife, I slid off the chair and tried to adjust my clothes.

 — Stand still! Hands at your sides! I'll smash you, I said! — I had to remain exposed, and the enraged husband was already pulling his unfaithful wife out from under the table.

 — Now stand next to your lover, bitch! Look at them, when did they even manage to hook up? I'll let your blood now, rip your balls off and make you eat them! Where?! I said hands at your sides! — this was me trying to cover up again.

 — Andryusha, maybe we shouldn't ruin both them and yourself, well, we can punish them some other way, huh? — my boss timidly stood up for us. Only now did something resembling a drop of shame flash in my consciousness, but it immediately evaporated on the frying pan of fear. Andrei thought deeply, I even thought I could hear the gears turning in his head.

 — Here's what I think: if the bitch doesn't want it, the dog won't jump, so we should punish my woman first, but the dog here is also a quick one, needs to be taught a lesson too, so he knows better.

Come on, take off your clothes, quick, I said, or I'll rip them off myself and throw you out in the cold! — we had to undress, Angelina quite casually slipped off her dress, and underneath were legs untouched by cellulite in lace stockings and a body with a smoothly shaved pubic area and small but well-shaped breasts. Andrei continued to command:

 — Take your belt out of your pants, and you go stand on the armchair, so your elbows are on the back and your knees are at the legs, — while I was getting the belt, Angelina obediently went to the armchair and assumed the position indicated by her husband. It looked quite appetizing: bent knees, torso leaning forward, legs spread apart, only the gorilla standing nearby completely killed any possibility of aesthetic (and other) enjoyment.

This living wardrobe walked over to the furniture cabinet like he owned the place, took some duct tape from the top shelf, thoroughly secured his wife's limbs, and taped her mouth shut. He turned to me:

 — Whip her.

I stood there, staring dumbfounded at the giant.

 — W-what? — I'm ashamed to remember my fear now, but at that moment I was glad and proud I hadn't pissed myself.

 — Whip her. And thoroughly, with full force. And if you slack off, I'll personally show you how to whip, only on your ass then, understood?

 — Yes, understood.

 — That's a good boy, get to it!

I took the belt, approached the woman. Then she turned her head towards me with bulging eyes and started mumbling something. I turned hopefully to those sitting at the table, but saw nothing but excitement and interest in their eyes. Then my gaze slid over Andrei's bear-like face — it was hard to look anywhere without him coming into view. He nodded questioningly at me, like: "Why are you standing there?" I turned around and hesitantly began slapping Angelina with the belt. After about a dozen such "blows," a voice came from behind the gifted-by-nature cuckold:

 — Okay, I'm getting my belt now, and if you want to substitute for the woman, then stand right next to her, I'll whip you both, and so hard that strips of skin will come off your ass — a chill ran down my spine at his offer, and I, swinging hard, brought the belt down on the woman's buttocks.

 — More, faster, harder! — Andrei cheered me on with all his might. And I tried.

The thin trouser belt, whistling through the air, came down on Angelina's back and buttocks. She shuddered violently, her ass turned bright red and involuntarily contracted with each blow. When the tip of the belt hit her perineum, she arched as much as her bound arms and legs allowed, but the bonds were unyielding. This sight made me hard as a rock again. This didn't escape Andrei's attention:

 — Aha, so you liked it? Well then, fuck this bitch in the ass. Why let good stuff go to waste? Do it, I said!

All this felt like a dream, whether it would be a nightmare or an erotic one depended directly on whether the gorilla would be satisfied with me. Angelina was breathing heavily and rapidly through her nose when I grabbed her hips and touched her sphincter with my cock. She froze.

I pushed, and the head squeezed inside, then the woman began to convulse, and I even felt sorry for her: I'd had cases where girls refused to have sex with me after seeing my "beauty." So a big cock isn't always all advantages.

 — Come on, move your ass, sharper, — Andrei started encouraging me again.__