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The story is based on real events. Due to a number of circumstances, I was forced to make certain adjustments (change the scene and some minor details), so this work was not included in the series of stories “Real Stories”, where the narration goes without artistic fiction. The names of the characters are changed. The events that took place are described in detail in the story without cuts, but in this composition of the actors had only a one-off character.

It happened in the hot summer of 1990, when we decided to go on a weekend in the countryside. We, it is me, Alex, and my wife - Katerina: we are forty years old for two, plus or minus four years. Our peer friends, Julia and Vlad, owned a small house on the lake, where we went on a sunny July morning to fool around and relax. Why this poorly knit box of modest dimensions Vlad called I didn’t know with a loud name “hacienda”, but on bezrybe, as they say, you will also become cancer. We got to our shelter, dropped things, and ran to swim.

Our women were excellent! As if competing with each other in the size of their charms, the girls in the choice of swimsuits reached the utmost minimalism: the “top” barely covered the nipples, and the “bottom” consisting of ropes and small patches could only be called a stretch. Jumping from the bridges “soldier” into the water, our wives finally lost the “top” of swimsuits and all the shame: they all day went topless, and Vlad and I almost turned off our necks, carefully watching the juicy breasts of our ladies jumping at every step .

Vlad was a doctor - with a pumped-up body and a cynical head - and immediately diagnosed our women: “Yawed.” You do not need to be a professional to come to such an obvious conclusion: I, too, would not have refused, moreover, from both. But, another's wife, especially a friend, is a taboo, which is prohibited to be violated. So it seemed to us until tonight ...

Having doused before stupor, we returned to the hacienda, and I looked with doubt at the only room of our refuge: Uncle Pumpkin's house from the tale of Cipollino was much more spacious. We moved two single beds, otherwise the table at the table for all of us would simply not be enough. I had to lay them across: so the sheets at least covered the old mattresses. The divorces on them resembled contour maps for the fifth grade, and one could only guess that on these mattresses their masters got up in the past. It is good that the bedding was new and clean.

Our wives decided that modesty was not appropriate in the current situation, and, having refused to keep champagne for them, joined our choice of drinks. The four of us took on the chest more than a liter of vodka, and I suddenly clearly realized that the time was right for a friendly Swedish family.

Our wives flatly refused to create the main unit of society according to the Scandinavian type, and Vlad, coming out into the courtyard, said sadly that he would not be able to step on the slippery path of sin and vice: he had never had sex with strangers, and Julia had not changed. I asked him not to bother about it, but just go to bed and relax. He did not suspect that I had a pair of trump cards up my sleeve, which I hoped to show up at a drunken company at the right time.

Vlad and I returned to our dollhouse and undressed as if nothing had happened. Looking at us, Julia and Katerina, giggling embarrassed, began to pull off their clothes, trying not to meet with each other's eyes. Having remained in shorts and T-shirts, they slipped under a blanket and started some sort of stupid "social" conversation with stray tongues.

I inserted a trump card into the VCR with an innocent “Film Travelers Club” sticker, and we took a horizontal position next to our halves.Nobody suspected that now we will watch a German comic series under the general title “Das ist Fantastish!”.
My wife and I lay down at the wall, and Julia, clearly observing the demarcation line, lay down in the middle. Vlad sat on the left side of the bed, putting one foot on the floor: either because he did not have enough space on this improvised marriage bed, or to have a foothold at this delicate moment.

The captions flashed on the screen, and I, without delaying my body in a long box, tried to get to my wife's chest under a blanket, with which she carefully hid herself to the chin, clogged up in a fit of modesty and chastity. She clearly did not want to engage in public adultery, and I secretly hoped that the training video, which was shown on the TV screen in the most obscene way, would help to position my spouse for visual agitation: tense Julia and frightened Vlad were nearby.

I got to the control chest, and began to twist the buttons in different directions. But the path to the queen's secret passage remained closed: the pants were tight, tight-fitting her elastic ass, and her close legs like the bodies of Siamese twins did not leave hope for their separation. The German auto mechanic was already keying the "21" with might and main, and I still could not get to the holes of my wife to clean them in full. Katerina watched the perversions on the screen with such interest, as if she were watching porn for the first time in her life.

A specialist from Bavaria was already finishing the diagnosis of the hostess and her car, when Katerina finally noticed my desperate attempts to penetrate the holy of holies. With great pleasure, I took out my instrument (not inferior to the best German samples), and began to persistently poke into the softened Frau Catherine. I was lying on my side and trying to push it between the body and the shorts, moving them aside. Finally, I succeeded in this, and with pleasure I pushed the entire length of my django liberated to her. Katerina mumbled approving words in my ear, when suddenly I saw that Julia was carefully looking at my attempts to explore the mysterious depths of an unpredictable female soul through a hard-to-reach body in her underpants.

“Why aren't you watching a TV show about uh-uh ... a garage?” - I whispered in fright, frozen for a moment in Catherine.

“It’s more interesting here,” answered Yulia, and comfortably settled next to her: all she needed was a bucket of popcorn and diet cola for complete pleasure.

- You have a husband next to you to do without work! - my Katerina hissed, referring to her friend.

Julia calmly continued to stare at us, propped her head with her fist, and carefully watched the movement of our blanket. I felt my wife's oncoming movements, and began to pull off the last barrier from her hands. My every move was controlled by an uninvited contemplator, and I felt like a guinea pig, ineptly passing the aptitude test. The underpants were wet from the discharge and stuck to the body, rolled into a tube and braked on Katka's impatient legs. From the side it seemed that I was trying to pull out the extremities of my own wife, and not to rid her of the details of the women's toilet.

"Vivisector you are so so", a disturbing thought flashed through my mind, and I finally pulled off the hated cowards who got in my way of knowledge and enlightenment from Katka. My wife sighed with relief and began to actively help me achieve close contact with her internal organs. Successfully moving in the right direction, I looked at Yulia: our eyes met, and it began to seem to me that I was fucking her in particular. I looked at her during this race for survival, slipping my bald freedom fighter along a wet forest belt: shaved pussies in those “shaggy years” were not yet in vogue.

Finally, I released a volley of victorious salute, which was reflected in the eyes of a grateful wife with festive fireworks. Leaning back on the pillow, I suddenly remembered Vlad: he fell out of my sight, while I waged an implacable struggle with my faithful’s shorts for the right to visit a wet cave, since I had a discount ticket.Having shook up the sheet, like a mantle, I left Katerina alone with sperm, and with the step of the great Nero dragged the doctor into the wild

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