LITMIR.BIZ

      The boy was acquitted. Her testimony helped. Mal’tsev was sitting in the interrogation room, filing a new case number 21. The door opened, and Vera entered.

      – "So, how are you? Sit down. Tea, coffee?" Mal’tsev offered.

      – "Petya, let’s pretend you’re closing the file with a serious look, writing 'case number 21,' and then we’ll go have coffee in a café?"

      – "Alright, but I’m at work. I’ll tell the bosses something. Let’s meet downstairs."

      They walked to a café across the street. They settled by the window and ordered coffee.

      – "How are things going? I get aroused every day."

      – "With that boy?"

      – "Yes and no."

      – "What do you mean? Spill it…"

      – "Oh, Petya, I’ll only tell you, you’re a friend. There’s no one else to tell. He won the case and came to my husband, saying, 'I want a promotion and your wife in my office at my every request.'"

      – "Wow!" Mal’tsev got excited at these words.

      – "When I heard that, I got immediately aroused. We don’t live together with Vadik, but he doesn’t know that…"

      – "And what did Vadik do?" Mal’tsev interrupted. "Did he stay silent as always?" Vera nodded.

      – "So what happened next?"

      – "I walk into his office completely naked at his every request, in just high heels. I lie on the table, and he touches me, licks me. He loves doing that, and I do too. Then he says, 'That's it, you can go.' I leave, and I get insanely aroused, it drives me crazy. As soon as I hear, 'Come to my office,' I'm already turned on, and it gets even better. You should hear me climax."

      – "With your body, it's… strange vagaries of orgasm."

      – "Would you like to name the case like that?"

      – "I don't know, Petya, you decide."

      Just for fun, Peter returned to the interrogation room, took the file, and wrote "The Vagaries of Orgasm. Case No. 21."

      Coffee on the lips

      She stood in the elevator with her husband, shifting from foot to foot. A light summer dress, beautiful hips—no, rather an outright luxury! High heels, though she didn't really need them—such luxury didn't require support. She must have left her bra at home or at someone else's place when she got dressed in the morning and headed home—my imagination was running wild! Her tousled hair was in the most perfect order. My favorite chestnut hair, large eyes, thin lips, and perfectly shaped face. Perfection could be described endlessly. I liked her a lot.

      Too bad she wasn't alone. The man, probably her husband or the one whose place she left her bra at, clearly expressed ownership of this woman. His whole demeanor, his gaze, said, "This woman is mine! Don't even think about it! Mine!"

      "She must feel nice there," I thought to myself as I mentally undressed her, running my hands all over. Everything was both soft and firm, tender and gentle, all at once… I could smell her. She was right not to use perfume. Scent is just as much information as hair color and nipples showing through a summer blouse… I got excited… Surely, she had a little bit of hair down there, but only a little. I stood there, imagining her underwear. The man glanced at me sideways.

      "Probably her husband," I thought.

      My thoughts were interrupted when she shuddered. She felt unwell. Her heart was hurting. She clutched her chest and whispered, "Oh God, it hurts!"

      I’m a doctor and was on my way to work. I quickly commanded, "Step aside! I’m a doctor!"

      I unbuttoned her blouse… It was a divine chest. Large, sensitive nipples, and all of it ended up in my hands! Her tousled hair brushed against my face… I was happy… But there wasn’t much time to enjoy the moment. She was genuinely unwell. Her husband stood aside, clearly at a loss… I performed chest compressions—I'm a massage therapist—and she began to feel better. To reinforce my work, I kept caressing her chest. I indulged myself a bit. Gave myself a little celebration. Our eyes met from time to time, and I could see that she enjoyed it, and it seemed she understood that I was getting carried away.

      "Fuh…" she sighed. She looked at me and smiled. Feeling awkward, she quickly buttoned up her blouse. Her husband helped. I explained what had happened. They thanked me and left.

      My workday had never started like that in an elevator! Should I bring a massage table here and not go to work at all?

      "Amusing," I thought.

      For a while, I didn’t think about anything else. It was like a flash. And I think… I’m a bit damp in my underwear… I really enjoyed it.

      Such a woman! I was deeply captivated by that encounter. An unusual idea came to mind. I had never done this before, but… hmm, I decided to write a story about what could have happened next if it had continued… I probably won’t ever see her again. But I wrote it, and to my surprise, I met her again. By chance. A summer café. She was sitting and drinking coffee. Nothing special about that, but you know, such a woman does everything with luxury—reaching for the cup, wiping her lips with a napkin, looking around—everything with grace, charm, allure.

      "Oh, doctor! How are you? You saved me that day. You know, I…" she smiled broadly; she was pleasantly surprised to see me again… I melted. A divine smile. How do people find such women, how do they win them over? I don’t know.

      "I was passing by. I see you… Summer is just beginning to take hold, but already all the outdoor terraces are open… and it's really nice here," I tried to keep the conversation going and show that I wasn't completely overwhelmed by seeing her… I dared to give her my story. You'll soon understand why this was a bold move. "This is for you… I… I thought that if we met again, how it might be. So I wrote a story."

      "A story dedicated to me?" She smiled and raised her eyebrows. She took my story.

      I sat down. I waved to the waiter to come over. She took the sheets of paper and started reading…

      "‘Only people like this know how to love,’ I thought… After that incident, I made it a habit to grope the local girls during their appointments. As a good doctor, I had many high-profile patients, and they often came to see me. I developed several techniques to undress a woman, which I practiced

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