I

The air was sticky and heavy. Neither the flannel shirt with short sleeves, sometimes unbuttoned on almost all buttons, nor the air conditioning in the office and the car, nor the open balcony at night, or even the fact that the total time spent outdoors on the way to work, from work and lunch was barely half an hour. Two hours after the shower, he began to feel how his hands under the arms began to stick to his chest, the skin on his face became moist and gained oily shine, and a drop of sweat was rolling down the spine first, and then accelerating to the lower back.

The panties didn’t fit tightly, so sometimes she slipped between the rubber band and the body, along the tailbone between the buttocks, right there, gently tickling the forbidden place, as if rejoicing that she finally reached the cherished point. It was impossible to say whether he liked it or not. This happened so unexpectedly that all he had time to feel was a light tickling, sweat drops in his ass and chill, pointing down with an arrow. He certainly did not feel disgust, but did not seek to repeat this feeling. Fear of becoming a homosexual seemed to him primitive and worthy only of those who really had something to fear.

It was mid-August, the temperature on the thermometer at noon was over 35 ° C, and it was necessary to extract the “pleasant” from the unpleasant. The half-office was on vacation, the other half, like frozen flies, came with some delay and unexpectedly disappeared somewhere shortly after lunch. It seemed that to rest, swim and sunbathe on the beach, everyone left, not only here. Partners, customers, even the director of the company from the head office, who never went anywhere and was known as a great miser and notorious workaholic, stopped responding to emails and calls personally, redirecting all incoming mail to their subordinates in advance.

Not that there were a lot of requests, business was standing, there was no business without people. And those who did not have time to jump out of business, with envy represented on the beach, in the bar-disco and on the nature of those who managed to escape from it. At least for two weeks.

Someone had to support the business. Someone had to check the reports on oil production and transportation, check the quality of work of all the connections of this harmoniously working mechanism and make the right decision in time to replace the worn-out part or repair it.

And this someone was he, Viktor Ivanovich Maslakov, director of the Moscow representative office of the company. “Top-manager of the top management,” as his wife called him jokingly. “Oil is oily,” he replied. But still, the thought that he is not just a manager, but a top manager, warmed his soul. And also the idea that, to put it in American terms, “every dog ​​has its own day”. And his day will come, and he will rest from this dog work. But not today.

Today, it is waiting for work until seven, the way home to a cooling down dusty city, jogging around the stadium, going to the store, having dinner in splendid isolation, TV and an hour, or maybe two trying to fall asleep in this stuffiness. In this heat it seems that time stretches for ages, especially if you repeat the same thing day after day. Strange, but, turning back, it seems that summer flew by instantly, but at this very moment, time has turned into this sticky, friable air.

Two weeks ago, his wife and child left for their parents and now called him every day, wondering how he was doing, what he ate, whether he missed the child, whether he wanted to come for the weekend. She never asked if he misses her, if he wants her, how he is there without sex. Perhaps it was taken for granted that he missed her, but she hardly suspected how much he wanted sex.

I did not want to use my right hand for self-gratification. Without sex, he became like a ball, which continues to inflate and which is about to be ready to burst. Efficiency and reaction increased, six hours were enough for sleep, I almost did not want to eat. At the same time, images of girls in short skirts with high heels hurrying to work constantly flashed before my eyes. These images, which he managed to grab on the way to work in the car, now teased him.

He imagined how, barely having pulled up her tightly stretched dress on her ass, he saw little white thong panties covering only intimate places, he spreads juicy buttocks, shifts thongs to the side and presses his mouth to this delicate shaved, slightly protruding, scented soap after morning shower, pussy, plunging deeper and deeper into its tongue, feeling how it is poured with juice and opens to meet it. His tongue slides a little further in the direction of the clitoris, and he gladly states that the girl begins to moan and arch her back in order to better give him freedom of action.

Returning from such fantasies to work was hard. It was even harder to realize that conscience did not allow him to have a mistress

Sometimes it seemed to him that it was all because of his parents, who divorced fifteen years ago, when he was only 17, on the basis of a scandal because of the unproven mistress of his father. I also did not want to deceive my wife, who tried so hard to create the perfect picture of family happiness.

But now the temptation is getting too close. I wanted to free myself from the hopelessness that bore him. In fact, he understood that he wanted to get rid of a huge jet of warm, thick fluid accumulated below in the testicles, that all this was a manifestation of the so-called basic instinct, that giving your instincts to control the mind was bad. But nothing could be done. Desire developed into thought, and thought wanted to materialize. She screamed in his head, not allowing anything to concentrate.

He again remembered the place about which Andrew, his best friend, had told him. It was like the salon of elite prostitutes, but Andrei never uttered this word. In his eyes, Andrew in general was the last man who would go to a prostitute. Beautiful wife, whom he loved very much, and it was mutual, two children. What else is needed for a happy marriage? Andrei started this conversation very carefully, which was not like him. They had nothing to hide from each other. Without embarrassment, they could talk about their wives, about what they love and don't like about sex. If it were not for their strong friendship, they probably would have eventually become swingers in their vicious circle of two pairs. But the risk of losing respect and honor, and most importantly strong male friendship, always kept them from taking this step or even talking.

According to Andrew, it was something like a private club, entry to which is possible only for married men at the invitation of friends. Each member of the club received one invitation, which he could use to invite his friend to the club. At the same time, handing Vite an invitation, Andrei quite seriously said:

- Vitya, if you are not going to use this invitation in the near future, give it back to me and forget it. By inviting you, I give a guarantee that you are a reliable person and will not begin to gab. I also hope that you will not lose this invitation, because otherwise I risk being expelled from the club, which I really would not want.

The invitation was in the form of a business card on which Ruby V. I. P was written in large letters. Under these letters there was a large ruby, and the ICQ number and another number were written a little lower. Today, he especially wanted to try to send a message to this ICQ number. Until now, he was kept inside the barrier, not to get involved with prostitutes. And even now he had previously convinced himself to simply try, but not to agree on anything.

“Hello,” he sent, not hoping for an answer.

“Hello, please send your identification number,” the answer came quite suddenly after a couple of minutes.

Victor entered the number on the business card and waited.

- How ...