At the school psychologist's
Anastasia, quietly clicking her sharp heels, paced down the school corridor. Ten steps, a one-hundred-eighty-degree turn, ten steps, a turn. Occasionally, the woman cast an anxious glance at her elegant ladies' watch and glanced sideways at the gray door of the office with a brand-new sign that read "Psychologist."
Schoolchildren doing their summer practical work passed by from time to time, mostly boys involved in interior repairs and cleaning of the premises. They looked with curiosity at the unfamiliar, attractive woman. At 26, Anastasia looked very fresh and fit, despite already being a mother. The loose gray skirt,
just below the knees, did not hide her shapely legs and wide hips, and the tight light-blue sweater emphasized her full bust. The woman paid no attention to the schoolboys; all her thoughts were occupied by what was happening behind the door."Anastasia Viktorovna, please come in," the door opened slightly, and a short man around forty invited the woman in.
Anastasia entered the office without delay and, closing the door behind her, settled into the guest chair opposite the desk. Her seven-year-old son was engrossed in playing with a coloring book on the sofa by the wall.
"So, Viktor Pavlovich?" the woman looked expectantly at the office's owner, who had settled into a comfortable leather armchair and was leisurely reviewing his own notes on the monitor screen.
"Well, what can I say..." the man, after an agonizingly long pause, looked away from the monitor and met the woman's eyes. "The boy is quite bright, no deviations. But unfortunately, he doesn't meet the level of our school. You understand—the status of a gymnasium and all that. But don't worry—any regular school will accept you without a single hitch."
"Alas," the psychologist shook his head theatrically. "Our educational institution has a very strict student selection system. Although in your case, it is, of course, a bit of a shame..."
"What's wrong with our case?" the woman bristled.
"A mere trifle," the man tried to brush it off, but, encountering the woman's pleading gaze, he continued. "Your boy fell short by just three points of our admission score... I'm very sorry."
Just three points. Anastasia stared into the psychologist's face, full of feigned sympathy, and, lowering her voice, suggested:
"What if I give you money, and those three points will be scored?"
The man looked carefully at the woman, then at the boy.
"Anton," he addressed the child. "Wait for your mom in the hallway. You can take the book with you."
The boy, receiving his mother's silent consent, quickly jumped off the sofa and left the office. Anastasia, waiting for the door to close, began to take out her wallet, but the man stopped her:
"Don't rush."
"I can give you thirty thousand," Anastasia, deciding that bargaining was about to begin, made the first offer.
"Let's do it differently," the psychologist climbed out from behind the desk and settled on the sofa, right in the middle, spreading his legs wide and putting his hands behind his head. "You'll just give it to me."
The woman didn't immediately grasp what was said and blushed only after a few moments. Indignant, she jumped up and quickly headed for the door, intending to leave as soon as possible.
"Don't forget your documents," the man indicated with his chin a thin folder on the table. "I won't need them anymore; they'll be useful for you at another school."
Anastasia froze right by the exit. Could it be that she wouldn't get her son into a good school? What should a good mother do? And what should a woman and faithful wife do?
The psychologist watched the woman's internal struggle, clearly readable on her face. Finally, Anastasia made a decision.
She turned to the man and covered the distance separating them in two wide strides.
"Just quickly and no perversions!" the woman's voice trembled.
"What perversions—we're adults!" the man spread his arms wide. "You don't even have to undress."
Anastasia nodded uncertainly and stepped into the psychologist's embrace. She settled on top, placing her hands on the man's shoulders. She didn't want to kiss him, so she arched her back slightly and lifted her chin upward so that her breasts were level with the man's face. Her white knees, slipping out from under her skirt, pressed against the cool leather of the sofa on either side of her partner.
Viktor ran his hands over the woman's thighs, sliding them under her skirt, and massaged her full hips. He buried his face in the woman's chest and tried to catch her nipple through the fabric with his teeth.
Anastasia lifted her bottom slightly and leaned back to unzip the man's fly. She extracted his not-yet-hard-enough member from under the waistband of his underwear and, gripping it in her fist, began to massage it, first just kneading it, and when the organ filled with blood, moving her hand up and down, now freeing the pink head from the foreskin, now covering it again.
Viktor's hands moved from her hips. With his right, he embraced the woman, and with his left, he moved the strip of her panties aside from her pussy. Pressing slightly on her waist, the man pulled the woman closer to his chest.
Anastasia, bracing one hand on the back of the sofa, began guiding the hot member into her pussy with the other. First, she quickly brought her palm to her face and generously moistened her fingertips with saliva, then ran them over her pussy. After rubbing her labia a bit, she brought herself to a more or less aroused state, after which, with her fingertips, she freed the head of the penis from the foreskin and inserted the male organ. Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, the woman slowly lowered herself onto the man's hips. Viktor was fully inside her.
"Give me pleasure—do everything yourself," the psychologist pulled up her sweater and bra, squeezing Anastasia's breasts and licking her nipples with his tongue.
The woman, not looking him in the eyes, began to rise and fall. At first slowly and awkwardly, she eventually found the right point of support and the right rhythm. Her breasts bounced rhythmically in front of Viktor's face; the woman, breathing heavily, impaled herself on his member again and again. After a few minutes, seeing that she was getting tired, he grabbed her by the bottom and began to lift her. Things picked up pace again.
Anastasia, taking a stranger's member inside her, thinking alternately of her husband and then her son, completely lost herself. Her face flushed, her nipples hardened, and below, secretions appeared, caused by arousal. Nature took its course.
When Viktor discharged copiously inside her, she only had time to open her eyes wide and flutter her eyelashes. For a while, the partners sat motionless, letting their heated bodies cool down.
"Mom, are you coming soon?" little Anton peeked in at the door.
Anastasia was blown off the psychologist's lap as if by the wind. She hastily turned her back to the door and quickly straightened her sweater:
"Coming, dear, coming."
The woman quickly walked to the exit and, taking her little son by the hand, turned to Viktor. Receiving an affirmative nod, she led the child away, leaving the office.
"Mom, don't hurry!" Anton couldn't keep up with the hurrying Anastasia. The woman wanted to leave the school building as quickly as possible. She planned to adjust her panties in the nearest entrance and run to the pharmacy for contraceptives.
Dear readers.