Читать книгу The Magical World of BDSM - Андрей Ганеша - Страница 5

I got acquainted with the world of virtual BDSM at the beginning of the century in a chat called “Volchat”. For me, then, it was somewhat strange that even in the virtual space people would build a strong hierarchy with pronounced leaders and the crowd that follows them. Each new participant who joined the chat will be subjected to a moral humiliation test and will have to prove that he is able to take a stand for himself.

Dialogues about sex, domination and perverted love reign supreme in the chat. Perverts, in contrast to the real world, can safely voice their sexual fantasies, since they are highly passionate and attractive and have long since seized the chat in their hands. Therefore, I feel quite comfortable here. I even have a virtual wife – Pauline Hard. Together with her and her friend Stingy, we are voicing our sexual fantasies for the whole virtual room to hear. We like to talk about indulging in all sorts of sex. In the virtual world, neither Pauline nor Stingy are afraid of sexual experiments, be it lesbian love or even anal sex. As it turned out later, there are few things that frighten them in reality either. Thus, Stingy left her husband and went to live with her girlfriend. And Pauline and I were bound to experience a short-time real romance.

There was a client from Samara in our company, and Pauline just happened to live there. I did manage to arrange a trip to Samara and, grabbing a ticket to “Moscow-Samara” train, one April morning I went to see my virtual wife. My neighbors in the compartment were a colonel of the then militia and a Tartar guy from Penza. The colonel told colorful stories about the clashes of football fans, about how their corpses are fished in the river in spring, and the Tartar told about his passion for historical fencing. As for me, I had almost nothing to remember, right from the beginning of the nineties it seemed so unlikely that a handful of assholes would privatize the whole country and would keep such unjust power for such a long time. I kept thinking that everything was about to collapse, and normal, adequate people would come to power, but time passed and nothing changed. The people themselves changed, and what yesterday was a crime became valor today. The concept of good and justice ceased to exist. I drowned my depression in alcohol or tried to fill the void with short-term relationships with women, but the melancholy did not go away and my relations with women did not gel.

The train turned out to be not very convenient, as I spent almost twenty four hours on my way to Samara. I was rewarded, though, meeting Dasha – the real name of the virtual Pauline – at the station’s cafe. The meeting was somewhat strained. It’s one thing to discuss all these tits and pussies in a chat room, but it’s completely another thing to meet in real life, when it suddenly turns out that, despite a couple of years of virtual dating, in reality, you have nothing to say to each other. After the dinner, Dasha pulled out, promising to come and meet me in the evening. I was perfectly happy with that because I had to appear at the client and find a place to stay. Besides, Dasha had to invent something, a reason as to why she would be absent at night. At that time she lived with some local biker. I, too, was a bit married and, in addition to a virtual wife, I had a real, legitimate spouse.

In the evening, while waiting for my virtual girlfriend, I bought beer and martini. I did not plan to drink myself, as I still had to work. Dasha was not late and arrived, as agreed, at six in the evening. The factory that received me as a guest, gave me a spacious two-bedroom apartment nearby. After two glasses of martini and a light snack at half past six, Dasha and I lay in bed. She let me do anything with her. As for me, I felt somewhat insecure, hugging and kissing Dasha, because she was practically unfamiliar to me, a stranger. Dasha silently and obediently accepted my petting and penetrations. In order to cause at least some reaction, I even tried to penetrate her ass, which, however, did not cause any objections on her part. It’s not that Dasha did not experience an orgasm, she did experience it but the whole action was passing in some kind of tense silence for me. In the morning we had a warm farewell, all the same, as such erotic adventures were still pretty rare in our lives.

The next evening, while waiting for Dasha and in order to remove this tense silence, in addition to martini and a lot of beer, I bought vodka for myself. After using alcohol, I became talkative and was not happy with just silent sex anymore. And then alcohol played a bad joke with me. I wanted some emotions from Dasha in addition to obedient sex, and in order to provoke them, and finding nothing better, I said: “Maybe we should get married?” From this moment our sex, indeed, became much more fun, as Dasha was ready to forgive everything, including the fact that I drank a bottle of vodka and ten bottles of beer. The poor thing had not seen such heavy drinking even from her biker guy, and now, to our common misfortune, she met a charming drunk bastard. Since it was Friday, I allowed myself a lot more than I really needed. All night and the next day we indulged in petting and drinking, and on Sunday morning Dasha left, leaving me exhausted and drunk in a huge empty apartment.

For me, this story was already over, and on Wednesday I returned home. A couple of months later, I parted with my wife. Perhaps my words about getting married to Dasha were not entirely ungrounded. However, these words about the possible marriage with Dasha began to live a separate life. She wanted to visit me, she was attracted to the metropolitan life, and this was not part of my plans. In order to calm her down, I even lied to Dasha that I had returned to my wife and daughter, but even this did not stop her, and Dasha wrote a letter to my wife, where she told her in detail about our romance.

The second erotic adventure from “Volchat” for me was the arrival in Moscow of an Eastern beauty – Alenka. Actually, Eastern beauty was Alenka’s nickname in the chat. She noticed me for a long time and would often invite me to come to her small Tartar town Bugulma. But I was embarrassed by the fact that two children lived together with her, and I was absolutely not ready to start a romance in front of them, and besides, I was shunned by the ups and downs of her mood.

Before her arrival in Moscow, Alenka asked me if I could lend her a million rubles in order for her to start a business. Of course, I told her to fuck off with this proposal because, firstly, I did not have a million, and secondly, even if I had it, it would be crazy to lend this money to a virtual chat partner. She still managed her million, though, taking a loan in a bank, dividing it with her friend. Their business idea was to open a shoe store in Bugulma. They met in Moscow to conclude an agreement on the shipment of footwear to Bugulma.

In the evening, upon entering the chat I received a proposal from her to drive up to the Izmailovo hotel complex, as they rented a room Gamma building together with her friend. I saw Alenka drunk, doing a haircut in a haircutting salon of the hotel. Her jeans miniskirt was stirring my first teenage erotic fetishes in me; otherwise, I would probably have gone right away. Sober and drunk can never agree, and I was not inclined to drink. The chubby friend of Alenka, although they probably drank the same quantity, looked absolutely sober. Apparently, this is how they imagined business and signing contracts – like a drinking bout. In addition, the girls broke free from their native city and now, perhaps for the first time, were left to their own devices.

I invited them to join me in the hotel restaurant for dinner. Alenka, throwing back another shot, went to a nearby table to molest some dudes. I did not feel any jealousy, I was disappointed: why on earth did I invite this drunken woman to the restaurant and did I have to wait now until she’s done playing with these males? After sitting for about ten minutes with her friend and chatting a bit, I called the waiter, paid and went to the subway. At the next station, and I exited at the “Semenovskaia” station, I was about to go home when Alenka called me back. She apologized and asked me to come back. Considering that the evening was already spoiled, and there is a small chance to redeem it, I returned.

Alenka was waiting for me at the lounge of the hotel, and we went into the room as if I had not left. Why hold grudges, once you come back? At the floor entrance, a stern guard warned me that I could only stay until eleven. The old Soviet tradition is that you cannot stay overnight. Everything should have changed since then, as hotels are crammed with prostitutes, but strangers are still not allowed. Alena’s friend left us for an hour under some plausible pretext. I began to kiss tenderly the face and body of Alenka, but she did not need it. “Could you fuck me hard?” – she said.

I was somewhat embarrassed, as my experience of hard intercourse with girls with ass slapping, hair grabbing and all-around roughness was rather limited, and that was exactly what Alenka needed. Pulling off her panties, I tried to bare her breasts. Alenka was embarrassed by her small breast, and she did not like this lovey-dovey behavior, she needed real hardcore. I slapped her gently a couple of times on the cheeks, and, managing to get excited somehow, I put her on all fours. Being drunk, she constantly slipped and fell, exhausted.

After a few shoves, Alena howled and fell in an orgasmic spasm. This was repeated ten times, I hardly had time to feel anything, and Alenka was already shaking in convulsions.

– Bitch, you cum like a machine gun, – I said, and turned Alenka on the back, hoping that she would have nowhere to fall now.

– Yes, come on, fuck me like a bitch, – whispered Alena.

I tried to do it, but could not relax now, because Alenka was tearing my back with her fingernails. “A-ah-a… you Tartar slut,” I said in a loving manner, wailing from the inhuman pain. Half an hour later, I was tired of pain, and the inability to relax and reach orgasm. Alenka was sweating and even sobered up and came to herself. Feeling pity, she blow jobbed me to orgasm.

Her friend returned after a while. I did not want to stay with them in the room or take Alenka to my house. After all, apart from sex, I need communication, and we failed to communicate.

Next evening I apologized and said that I could not come to her because from her voice I realized that Alena was again drunk. It looks like she substituted me with some other chat boyfriend.

Alenka’s shoe business failed in about three months, and she asked me about how to transfer the loan she’d taken for business development to her friend. Apparently, she succeeded. I have never met such temperamental girls, but, apparently, the temperament is not the most important thing in the relationship.