The tongue itches.

At the beginning of my career as an avid welder, I had to travel around our small country, occasionally staying at the main plant. I met many interesting people who told me many interesting things. I can tell you how houses and factories were built in different cities, how criminal gangs fought each other, how ordinary people got caught up in this mess, how life was in different places under Soviet rule.

In general, some Uncle Petya would sit down next to the silent welder and start pouring out stories. The guys from my crew would ask what he told me, and I'd answer, well, that's his business, if you want to know—go ask him yourself.

A certain reputation became attached to me, and people began to trust me with their secrets. Once, even my own people decided to test me. One fellow whispered in secret that he supposedly knew what a p...y tastes like, and some time later, they came down on me for talking to that shady character and for what I supposedly knew about him. Naturally, it came to a fight, but I didn't tell them anything.

After nursing my bruised ribs, I returned from sick leave, and not even a week had passed before new secrets started pouring in. It was high time to start writing things down, but I remember a lot clearly even now, and to refresh my memory, I'll write a little at a time. Since people are conservative by upbringing and no less depraved inside, I perceived intimate revelations best, and I happened to hear them the most. So, for example, the guys would gossip during lunch, discussing someone, saying he's such and such, married to his cousin, and someone would sit there and not join in. Aha, here comes one to me now.

— You know, Petrukha, what happened to me once. No? Well, listen then. So, in some year, I don't remember which, I was invited to a wedding, and to my native village, and not alone, but with the wife. Damn it, Petka, it's better to go to a wedding without the wife, who takes her along, let her stay home, sober. And it's more convenient for me too. You listen, listen.

I listened.

— Yours keeps you on a tight leash, look at that, everyone's already tipsy, and you're like a piece of glass.

— It's still early. After the third glass, I won't remember a thing, then I'll be ashamed.

Look at her, such sharp eyes, it even became offensive. By evening, the buzz intensified, and our hero got up from the table and went out for some air. Some zealous reveler was urinating in an interesting way: with his right hand, he held his left thumb and watered an invisible stream from it. Meanwhile, a wet stain spread on his expensive trousers, and when his shoes stopped gurgling, he carefully shook off his thumb and tried to stuff it into his tightly buttoned, wet trousers. Waving his hand dismissively, he went back to the table. Our hero laughed but then sighed with envy. Should I go to sleep? And where?

They'd drag me out of the house by the hands to the table, and there's the wife. I tried the hayloft—someone's fucking a woman doggy-style there, dress pulled up on her back and tugging on her ass. Why disturb people, let them rest. Maybe back to the table—try my luck? The poor fellow returned to the table and started looking for his wife. Not at the table, could she be dancing? He started searching for his wife's colorful dress among the dancers but sat down helplessly on the bench and was stunned. I already found her, the viper! The dress, impudently pulled up in the hayloft, appeared before his eyes and swam in colorful spots. He wanted to tear both of them apart, but after taking a few steps, he stopped.

— Think, Petro, after the wedding, they'll gossip—what did the fight start over? And here's our mountain donkey, he didn't drink, didn't drink, but missed his wife. He's got horns now, real impressive ones, turns out his wife is a b...ch, and he—look at him—doesn't drink and is hardworking. So, where to run, damn it. Should I sound the alarm? What would you have done? That's it!

After the third glass, things became clear in his head, he wanted to go advise the lover how to handle the wife so she'd feel good and pleasant, and also drink to getting acquainted. Getting up from the table, the uncle realized he hadn't drunk enough, but a walk wouldn't hurt. Noticing how some girl returned to the table, leaving her sweetheart alone, the uncle zigzagged towards her.

— You, Petrukha, are smart, wear glasses, but I won't be dumber than you. You listen, listen.

I listened.

Feigning extreme astonishment, this pepper asked his cousin to help him with an important matter. If she were completely sober, she would have told him off. She led him behind the hayloft and asked what the matter was.

— I'm about to wet my pants, and I can't unbutton and get it out.

— So ask your wife.

— Are you kidding? I came without her. Would she let me get this drunk? Come on—either help or call someone, or I'll end up like that guy who was sitting next to you.

— And I was wondering where the smell was coming from. Fine, I'll help.

— You've held a dick in your hands before, right? Otherwise, look—you might tear it off and keep it as a souvenir.

— I'm married! Don't piss.

She deftly pulled out his cock and held it, waiting.

— Well, come on already, standing here. What if someone comes, there'll be laughter later!

— You said it yourself—don't piss. Don't look, I'm shy. Done. Aha, now button me up and take me to the hayloft, I don't want to sleep in the house—it's cramped there. Let's go up top, no one will climb up there.

The sister laid the uncle down on an old blanket, and he immediately started snoring. She didn't hesitate for long, and, pulling out his cock, started jerking him off. That's what it means when a husband doesn't drink—you can't get it up on a drunk, and she didn't know. Lifting the log, the sweetheart took off her panties and mounted our hero. She was already wet.

— So that's how it is, Petrukha, with women. With the husband—it's dry for her, but when she goes to the left, there's a puddle up to the knees. And it was sweet, with someone else's—how sweet, and with a relative even sweeter. When she started bucking on me, I pumped into her, and it was so sweet that I forgot I couldn't tie a bast shoe, according to the legend.

— Now let me be on top. Why are you staring? Lie down, I said. How many sticks does yours put in you?

— He puts in two. But you're sober, you bastard! I saw you myself, swilling the clear stuff, you were swaying and even fell! You should join our theater club, I believed you!

She let herself be laid down, and our hero gave free rein to his passion. The woman was about to leave after the second time.

— Those were two sticks for you. Now for me. Get on all fours. Yours probably rests for half the night after the first one.

She silently assumed the required position and began to wait patiently.

— Nowadays, Petrukha, men have started discussing asses. Back then it was like this: if you stood up—fuck, if you fell—jerk off. If a woman has an ass like that, you'll jerk off later, remembering it. And there's nothing to say about it, an ass is an ass, and the hole is like everyone else's, and the buns, just bigger, so it's more convenient to hold onto, look how. All the juice is in the p...y. And if her husband's dick is a bit small, it'll be even sweeter. You've started the fashion of tasting with your tongue, but we do it the old-fashioned way, probing everything. You listen, listen, why the long face.

I listened.

After properly riding the mistress, he left her to sleep in the hayloft and went back to the table. His wife was sitting in her place and immediately started hissing at him—where he'd been and why he was drunk.

— Standing in line, to the hayloft. It's crowded there today, you can't push through.

She silently watched as her husband poured himself a glass and greedily drank it. Despite half the guests already having passed out, it was noisy and cheerful at the table, and our hero quickly blended into the company. With them, he went to someone's place to steam in the bathhouse. He returned when the fun had already died down and sneaked into the house. Finding a place to sleep wasn't easy—drunken guests were sprawled all over the house, and he had to step carefully so as not to crush something.

Not finding his wife, the uncle went to the far room of the big house and discovered a woman sleeping on the bed, and there was space on the floor. They were alone in the room, and the uncle lay down right on the floor and tried to sleep. The steam room had driven out the drunkenness, and his head was clear. But sleep wouldn't come. The woman on the bed tossed and turned, and they started talking. It turned out it was his cousin's wife, and our hero hadn't been able to attend their wedding.

— Mine is out carousing without me. Where is he now? He'll come back useless and start snoring, with his underwear inside out.

— He was at the bathhouse, don't worry. Mine also jealously suspects me for no reason, gives me no peace.

— And you're such a little lamb with us! You're all like that! Look, you pleased Alyonka—she's walking bow-legged and moaning. And then there's no strength left for the wife. Might as well castrate every one of you.

— Don't envy someone else's misfortune. If he carouses—you carouse too, why suffer.

— With whom? Give it to one—everyone will know.

— Even with me! I'll keep quiet, just you keep quiet. You're probably already restless? Huh?

The woman didn't remove the bold hand from her thigh and immediately gave it access to her treasure. The uncle kneaded the juicy p...y through her panties, then took them off and tossed them aside. She moaned as he explored the fragrant and wet crotch with his fingers. Then he put the woman on all fours on the floor and inserted his insatiable log into her. But he couldn't finish. The mistress could no longer stand on her own, and he had to hold her by the rear. Finally, the woman twisted around and grabbed the tool with her hands.

— Let's do it differently, I'm done, f..k me.

The uncle rolled his eyes when his huge cock ended up in the mouth of this bold woman.

— Nowadays, Petro, a woman would rather suck than spread her legs. I really got lucky then. She was choking, and I was blissful. How it fit in her, I don't know. But I came quickly, didn't have to chase the skin. Alright, you forget everything, and I'm off, the foreman is already yelling.

Or a couple of days later. A young guy approached, fingers splayed, sat down nearby, was silent, left. Then appeared again, looking around. He fidgeted and puffed but finally asked:

— You won't rat me out, will you, buddy? You know a lot, but not everything. Don't look at me like I'm a criminal. I'm not a criminal anymore, but the guys don't know. And I can't tell them, I'm scared. I'll tell you, maybe it'll be easier.

I'll relay the rest in my own words, without swearing.

The guy had offloaded some goods, but he got caught and sat for a year under investigation. Then he got out, but it was too early to rejoice—his buddies were after him for money. The sum was substantial, and there was nowhere to get it. After suffering, he asked his mother to sell the little house, but she refused. Instead, she advised him to go to his father's sister in N-sk and ask for money, it was like nothing to her. The buddies reminded him once more about the importance of the debt, and the poor guy decided to go.

The aunt received him coldly, and he didn't immediately tell her why he had come. Then she just packed up and left on business (business). He was left with her scary daughter, who was long overdue for marriage, but no one wanted her, even with a dowry. On the very first night, he learned another flaw of his cousin—she snored like a hippopotamus. The guy couldn't sleep in his room, he had to do something. Deciding to wake her up rudely, he planned to fall asleep quickly, and then whatever happens, happens.

Angrily swinging open the door to his sister's room, he was stunned—she lay naked, her shaved pussy shining, huge tits fluttering from her heroic snoring, and a stupid smile shone on her horse-like face. Must be dreaming something good—the guy thought and stared at this powerful body. Yes, undoubtedly unattractive, too powerful for a woman. Legs slender, but didn't arouse any desire. Chest large, with nipples the size of a palm, but firm, and still, he didn't want to touch it. Between her legs, everything was amazing and neat—the dimensions were colossal. The guy nervously swallowed. Well, if I wake her up—she'll crush me like a kitten. Or, worse, she'll tell her aunt I made advances. He returned to his room and stuck his head under the pillow.

Half an hour passed, and he jumped up. How does her aunt live with her in the same apartment? Entering the room again with the intention of doing something, he froze again. The girl in her sleep was stroking her pussy and was no longer snoring but moaning. After watching for a bit, the guy left her alone. From his room, he heard a drawn-out, soul-chilling moan. In the silence, sleep muddled all thoughts, and he fell asleep. During the day, the girl disappeared somewhere, and her brother sat in front of the TV all day.

The next night began the same as the previous one. What a fool, should have slept during the day. Yeah, right, would have listened to that nightingale all night. After counting all the sheep, the guy remembered the reason for yesterday's silence. He hesitantly headed to his sister and entered the room. Just get her going a little and that's it. The girl lay on her back, legs stretched out, and was dressed in the same dress as yesterday. They're playing me, looks like. He sat down next to her and timidly touched her thigh with a finger. No reaction. Ran his palm over her stomach. Same. Pressed lightly on her pubis. Nothing. Ran his hand between the very large labia. Same thing. Spread the lips and saw a pink slit, touched the clitoris. No change. Ran a finger along the edges of the entrance. She stirred slightly. Removed his hands and mechanically sniffed his fingers. His cock stood up, so much it hurt in his groin. The guy decided to continue.

Spreading the lips again, he began clumsily arousing the girl, then realized—too dry. Lick her? No, that's low. Real guys don't do that. But the thought wouldn't leave him. Wetting his fingers with saliva and applying them to the pink flesh, he realized he didn't feel that disgusting taste on them that he had imagined. At that moment, the devil tempted him. The guy carefully moved one leg aside, amazed at its weight and power, and looked at the seductive smile. The devil in his body inserted the tip of his tongue between the lips and touched the clitoris, then tugged on some nerve, and the guy lost control.

After all, the sister doesn't know. By evening, thoughts of fleeing were forgotten, and as soon as his sister gave her signal, the guy rushed to her bedroom. First, couldn't sleep because of her, now because of her. Hit rock bottom. Spreading her heavy legs, he pressed his lips to her lips and almost lost consciousness—she put her hands on his head