Voldemar, also known as Gosha.

"Well, Goshenka," the moneylender inquired, "when are you bringing the money? The clock is ticking, interest accrues tomorrow, and in a month, you son of a bitch, I'll have you rolled into the asphalt!"

"I promise no later than the day after tomorrow," Goshenka bowed his unruly head.

Leaving the ill-fated restaurant, the young man set off in search of... treasures, perhaps?

Where could he get such a pile of money, which he had long since spent on an apartment? There were only two options. First: jump off a bridge, second: go on the run. Georgy chose a third: he called a friend.

The friend was in a hurry, asked him to come to his home, and amidst reminiscing about their student

years, to tell him about his problems.

After the third glass of cognac, Gosha told him he had borrowed money from some very serious people, and if he didn't repay on time, they would really roll him into the asphalt.

"I won't lend you money," said Victor, "and I don't have that kind of money, but I'll give you a job. In a few days, you'll pay off the debt."

Then he opened a secretary desk, took out some money, and handed it to Gosha, saying:

"This isn't much, of course, but it's enough to shut them up. Take it to your gangsters, and tomorrow morning at my firm, be there sharp and without delay!"

"But you said you wouldn't lend," Gosha smirked.

"This is your payment for the upcoming work," Victor turned serious, "like an advance. So it's all good."

Without explaining anything about the upcoming job, the former classmate saw his friend out, citing that he was expecting uninvited guests.

In the morning, Georgy sat in the reception area, admiring the pretty face of the secretary, waiting to be called to the deputy chief. The firm was involved in something unclear, something like "Horns and Hooves," from the famous novel about swindlers. "Just not drugs!" he thought gloomily about the upcoming job, finding himself in a financial time crunch.

Finally, the secretary made an inviting gesture toward the office of his former classmate. Inside, greeting Victor, Georgy sat in the offered chair and became all ears.

The man at the desk finished signing papers, looked seriously at the new employee, and suddenly suggested he lower his trousers and show his penis.

"Have you lost your mind?" Gosha was outraged.

"Not at all!" the employer explained, "I'm offering you a gig as a gigolo. You'll service old ladies, they pay quite a bit. In your position, there's no reason to refuse. And by the way, show me your ass too. What if a faggot takes an interest in you? They pay even more."

"Oh, come on!" but he lowered his trousers, displaying his attractive love tool.

But he didn't show his ass, hoping it wouldn't be necessary.

"And how much do your clients pay?" the debtor inquired.

"A lot," the employer summarized briefly, "enough for you, the price depends on the client's erotic fantasies. Our firm doesn't mess around."

"And is engaged in coffin production?" the new employee continued the joking saying.

"Don't chicken out!" Victor chuckled, "they'll take you to one old lady now. Fulfill all her whims, and a pretty hefty sum will land in your wallet."

"Right now?" the newly minted gigolo marveled, "and what's the amount?"

"You need the money, right?" Victor named a sum that made the new worker's head spin.

"Yes," answered Georgy.

"Then go! A car is waiting for you downstairs. I'll call the driver."

Soon the city was left behind. Cottages began to flash by. Twice, barriers opened before them, allowing them onto private territory. Finally, the Lincoln drove through the preemptively opened gates.

"You have two hours," said the smiling driver to the gigolo, stunned by the sight of the Empire-style palace, "I'll wait here, try not to linger..."

Circling the marble columns, the man strode through the automatically opening doors. In the huge hall with two staircases leading upward, the "old lady" awaited him. The woman could be given any number of years, from 30 to 60. "Insanely rich! Probably had plastic surgery, and more than once?" thought the lover-hero.

"You will do everything I order you to!?" the purchaser of male love asked, half-questioningly, half-assertively.

"Yes," the man answered briefly, following her up the stairs.

Upstairs, they proceeded into a room upholstered in burgundy fabric from floor to ceiling.

"I will call you Waldemar, and don't you dare object!" she said and disappeared behind an inconspicuous door.

Waldemar sat in a burgundy armchair, lost in guesses about what the woman would desire. Soon the woman appeared in a rather sexy outfit, consisting of black panties trimmed with glitter along the edges, with revealing oval openings, both front and back. The man admired her neatly shaved pussy in the "schoolgirl" style. It was cute. Probably, it was carefully tended, not allowed to grow too wild.

She looked young and chaste. Both neat breasts with proper nipples were on display from a sort of bustier made of the same black material as the panties. More precisely, it merely framed them, supporting and enchanting with their beauty. On the beauty's head was a top hat, in her hands a black lacquered cane. On her lovely legs were something like sabots, laced up to the ankle with shiny black material.

At the sight of such charm, my hero charmingly became aroused. Seeing this, the woman suggested he undress, which he did without delay. Then she ordered him to get on his knees and crawl to her on all fours. For such money, Gosha was ready to crawl even on his belly. Although the cane in the hands of his future mistress, which she had placed behind her neck, resting on her shoulder, frightened him a little.

"Bow your head, Waldemar," the woman's voice took on rough, commanding tones, "you deserve punishment for your transgression! And you will be punished!"

Then she gave the man's butt a good going-over, ordering him to express words of gratitude and ask to be hit harder.

Waldemar, remembering the promise, understanding it was a game, did everything as the mistress ordered. It should be noted that the cane was not made of wood, but of some soft material, and though it hurt, it wasn't enough to complain about. Finishing the execution, the "old lady" ordered him to approach her and prove his love with kisses to her loins. Waldemar had vast experience in this matter.

Embracing his mistress's lovely bottom, the newly emerged Don Juan, sticking out his rather long tongue, began to lick the woman's pleasant-tasting delight. Helping with his lips, sometimes kissing or caressing the sensual petal. It should be noted that Gosha loved cunnilingus. He enjoyed giving his past lovers heavenly pleasure. He was a professional in this, mainly because he became aroused from the taste of the juice seeping from the loins. He liked kissing the lovely lips and playing with the beautiful petal with his tongue. The man often managed to bring a woman to orgasm using only his tongue, deeply plunging it into the depths of the love cave, and licking the gates of the sensual entrance.

The mistress was passionate. Probably, she hadn't had sex in a long time or she was an explosive, sensual nature. Grabbing her love servant's ears with her elegant hands, digging in her nails, briskly rotating her hips, she forcefully pulled her lover's face to her source of pleasure. From the side, it looked like an erotic dance. And if the lover hadn't been on his knees, it would have looked exactly like that. Soon the woman decided to correct the annoying misunderstanding. She pushed his head away and with the words: "Get up," pulled him up by the ears. She liked her lover's ears so much that, not letting go of them for a second, the woman passionately and fervently sank her teeth into the man's lips. Several times, gently biting her lover's lips, she allowed him to slip in his tongue, then suddenly bit it painfully.

"Does it hurt?" the woman laughed, examining the man's face, who winced slightly from the pain, "I'm the one calling the shots here! Do it," she said authoritatively, slightly frowning, opening her lovely mouth again.

Waldemar loaded his tongue again and played with it in his mistress's mouth. She bit him again, but this time not as painfully. Releasing the man's ears, she ordered him to lift her by the hips and, holding her aloft, give her pleasure. Gosha was no weakling—this was no trouble for him. But the "old lady's" second order was very difficult. She demanded that he under no circumstances finish inside her.

The man felt her breasts against his. His hands embraced her lovely bottom. It was as if he were masturbating, moving the woman's loins on his hardened, desire-flaming member. The mistress remained completely indifferent, as if it didn't concern her. The first wave of orgasm was approaching. The love fluid wanted to leave its place and burst forth in a huge fountain. The mistress remained as indifferent as ever to the lover's hard thrusts.

How he managed not to release his seed, he himself didn't know, but he felt a short orgasm, shooting dry. Soon the second wave rolled in. The woman began to "wake up." Her love cavity powerfully gripped the penis, enhancing the effect. She began to moan, suddenly biting the man on the shoulder. These bites, as if on cue, disrupted the sensuality of what was happening. Waves rolled in and receded. The man seemed to split into two parts. One watched the mistress, catching her desires, making movements deeper, then faster. The other watched the waves of growing ecstasy, turning into orgasm.

Georgy again managed to keep his love gates closed. His love fluid failed to leave its native abode. This was a first for him. He was proud of himself. It was clear that the woman liked him and he was doing as she imagined in her erotic fantasies.

Suddenly she dug her nails into his back, scratching shallow stripes on it, began to moan and scream, no longer remaining indifferent to her lover's movements. She wildly bounced on his hands, like an unbroken filly, tracing intricate figures with her breasts, writhing her body like a snake, involving her hips and loins in this love dance. It seemed she was blazing with passionate fire, dancing a love dance known only to her. This lasted about two or three minutes. Her lover reached short orgasms three times during the passion torture but never allowed himself to spill. Having gained experience, he now did it without much strain, as if in passing.

Soon the mistress went limp and asked to be released. She led the man through another secret door, where there was a bathroom. There she made him wash her. More precisely, ordered him. She didn't know the man enjoyed it. He simply reveled in washing the woman. Sitting on the edge of the bathtub, Waldemar placed the woman's lovely foot on his knee and began to soap each toe. Then, with stroking movements, he went higher. Reaching the cute knees, he asked the woman to switch feet. Getting on his knees, he began to stroke her lovely bottom and the inner sides of her thighs. Not touching the most intimate, as if saving it for dessert. The woman began to sigh languidly, and when he began to soap her loins, playing with his finger, she relaxed and said tenderly:

"My God, Waldemar! What a darling you are after all!"

She didn't let him continue. Turning to the man, the mistress leaned her hands on the edges of the bathtub and began to play with her bottom, as if inviting him on a love journey. Waldemar's little friend didn't let him down—it immediately stood at its not-so-small full height and rushed toward love's delights. This time she didn't remind him not to dare finish inside her. Instead, she performed such somersaults with her hips, unconstrained as last time, that her lover thought he wouldn't be able to hold back. Now she rotated her butt like the mad hands of a broken clock, now sharply raised and lowered it up and down. Or began to move herself, so briskly and, playing with the muscles of her love cave, that the man began to involuntarily moan from the pleasure washing over him. This time he managed to hold back ejaculation about a dozen times. He didn't remember the exact number—lost count. At the climactic moment, the woman burst into a scream and violent sobs, slightly frightening her lover.

Freeing herself from the love captivity, she ordered him to move to another shower and wait for her in the burgundy room. Quickly rinsing off, Gosha obeyed the purchaser's order. Having the chance to finally look at the clock, he was amazed that a whole hour and a half had passed. "But there's still time!" he thought: "Can give the old lady another round." Smiling involuntarily, he half-dressed and sprawled in the beloved armchair. Soon the woman entered. This time, she wore a long velvet dress of a dark color. In her hands was a tray with some drinks and food. She appeared not from the secret door but entered through the room's door. Placing the tray on the table, she smiled sweetly and asked the man to get dressed, saying "please." Thus, she made it clear that the love performance was over, time for a snack and farewell.

"Waldemar," she began, "I won't hide it, I liked you, I wouldn't mind meeting you again after a short while. I've decided to double my fee. You are not obliged to report this to your superiors," she hesitated slightly, then finished, "this is a small gift for the sensual moments you gave me..."

Soon Georgy left the hospitable castle of vice and love. () A significant sum settled in his wallet, which he usually earned in a month at his previous job. The smiling driver, taking the money due to the firm, inquired if the lover-hero was ready for new amorous feats.

"In about an hour, a married couple... with the husband's sister is waiting for you. Can you handle three girls? No, I'm not forcing you, if you're exhausted, we'll reschedule for tomorrow. The order awaits your confirmation."

"Not quite following?" not quite understanding which three girls the driver mentioned.

"The man is gay, and his role in this trinity is female," the driver burst out laughing, "fuck him in the ass, give him a facial, and everyone will be happy. Well? Got any spunk left in the powder kegs? By the way, the price is tripled: by the number of lovers."

"Let's go," said Georgy, "need the money. I'll rest later, when I pay off the debts."

"Remember, they'll only pay if everyone is satisfied."

"Let's go!" the gigolo made a firm decision.

Though, the definition was incorrect. In this case, he was more accurately called a prostitute...

"Confirmation!" the driver reported to the boss and stepped on the gas...

Part — 2

Such apartments were now fashionable to call "Studio." This studio occupied two floors. There were rooms, sort of, but without a front wall with doors. In different places in the premises were tables, TVs, sofas, sinks, and toilets. An absurd jumble of necessary or unnecessary things. The people living in this apartment often didn't move in the usual way but skated on rollerblades or a device with an electric motor, remotely resembling a scooter. It was on this scooter that Georgy arrived in a compartment resembling a kitchen, living room, and bedroom simultaneously. At a table, probably made of glass, the trio of customers sat on three sides. Which of them was the man was impossible to determine. All the "ladies" were dressed in absurd dresses and headdresses defying description. One had long, curly chestnut hair, another straight, light brown hair, also below the shoulders. The third: red, carefully curled into large curls. The makeup was more clown