Anora (inspired by)

Friday evening, we're at home, enjoying the evening and each other. We planned to watch the new, much-talked-about film "Anora" starring our favorite actor Yura Borisov. The film has been watched, opinions formed. After reenacting a couple of scenes from the movie, we're relaxing on the bed.

— What if we go to a strip club? — you suddenly wonder.

— Mmm, what's there to see? — I say in a proprietorial tone, pulling my delicious and slightly disheveled teddy bear close to me.

— Well, why not? — you break free from my arms — Let's go, huh? We'll watch... — your hand, in sync with your suggestion, slithers like a snake under my blanket.

— Mmm — I lean

back — let's go-oo-oo!

***

A week passes, I come home from work, and you immediately shoo me into the shower.

— Damn, what's the rush? — I try to catch you

— Go on, go, we have to go to the club, to the strip show.

— A-a-a-a! — I ponder — Cool, I'm rushing.

***

Our taxi pulls up to the club with the suggestive name "Sugar." Oh, what does it have in store for us. We get out of the taxi and dash to the entrance in the light rain. I open the door for you and let you go first. You enter, and I, lagging slightly behind, admire your silhouette. You're wearing a black cocktail dress with buttons and semi-transparent sleeves, smooth black stockings on your legs, and black shoes. Your hair is down, and your only jewelry is my favorite waterfall earrings. I lick my lips internally, watching you from behind, and as if sensing my gaze, you turn around. I admire your face, subtle, neat makeup, dark lips, shimmering eyeshadow — my favorite woman is beautiful even in a place like this. You raise an eyebrow in surprise, and I immediately catch up with you; together we cross the lobby and enter the dimly lit hall.

We are greeted at the entrance by a female hostess, a bright blonde dressed in a sexy police officer costume, and, jingling the handcuffs hanging from her belt, she escorts us to a private booth located against the wall, draped on the sides with heavy black curtains, separating us from neighbors and giving a view only of the stage and the hall with small tables. Our booth has a semicircular sofa and a small table; we sit down, and the girl lays out a menu for us, bending over slightly so that her chest is almost fully displayed to us. We exchange glances, and the rules of the establishment are read to us. In the hall, we can only watch; we can invite a girl we like to the booth for a dance, but we must keep ourselves in check and behave decently. If we suddenly want something more, then, with the girl's consent, we can book a private room and fulfill our fantasies there. While the information was being conveyed to us, a slender, tall waitress in just a white apron and a matching eye mask brought us a bottle of champagne and poured it into glasses, occasionally turning and showing off her round butt, hidden only by the white bow of the apron ties. I involuntarily swallow slightly, and you notice. You take my hand and, leaning close to my ear, whisper softly:

— Don't be shy, look at everyone. If you like someone, we'll invite her for a dance.

— Okay — I look intently at you, take your hand, and kiss your fingers. — Let's have fun. — and we clink glasses and take a sip of champagne. And the show begins on stage. Girls take turns coming on stage, dancing, periodically removing various items of clothing. The people at the tables in the hall greet the appearance of new performers on stage quite cheerfully and then just as joyfully welcome the girls who have finished their stage performance into the hall. After the stage, the girls change and come out into the hall. The costumes are very different, but all the girls wear transparent masks or half-masks on their faces, which add a certain charm of mystery. The girls stroll around the hall, occasionally approaching one table or another. Sometimes they sit down at someone's table or on a client's lap, chat, smile, laugh. Overall, the atmosphere in the club is quite light and relaxed; we gradually relax and look around, sipping champagne. I examine the girls, but none of them really appeal to me. I move closer to you, put my arm around you, and whisper in your ear:

— I haven't found anyone yet. — you look at me in surprise — Maybe that waitress of ours? She seems alright.

— Okay, then I'll take care of it. — and you snap your fingers. And immediately the police officer hostess appears next to us. You whisper something briefly, and she disappears. You put your hand on my thigh under the table and smile:

— Everything will be ready now. — and I see a tall, tanned brunette with voluptuous curves, a thin waist, long straight black hair, dressed in black stockings with a garter belt, black thong, and a black semi-transparent bra, barely containing her magnificent breasts, a black lace mask on her face completing the picture, purposefully heading towards our table. Watching this cruiser head straight for us, I look at you helplessly, and you enjoy the show and, raising your glass, say to me:

— I allowed myself to indulge a little fantasy here. If you don't like them, we'll replace them. — I nod resignedly, and the girl enters our booth. Our waitress appears right after and immediately draws the curtains, and the brunette, with one motion, takes the champagne bottle from the table, pushes the table aside, pulls the waitress to her, and starts feeding her champagne straight from the bottle. We examine the girls now at our disposal. Well, if everything is perfectly clear with the brunette — she's simply the quintessence of sex and lust in female form — then our waitress is a slightly different type. A slender brunette with a short bob haircut and a small white cap, her chest hidden by the apron, white tiny thong and white stockings, white shoes plus small white gloves, a neat, round little butt, and a white semi-transparent lace mask. One could say we have ice and fire, white and black today. I sigh heavily and look at you helplessly. You enjoy what's happening, lean towards my ear, and whisper softly:

— But you can't touch them! — and you chuckle, watching my involuntarily clenching palms. Uh-h-h-h damn, I throw my hands behind the back of the sofa so they definitely won't get into action. Soft music plays, and at this time the brunette finishes feeding our waitress, turns her to face us, and running her hands over the slender figure, unties the apron string at the neck, revealing the small, neat, perky breasts of the brunette. The brunette's palms slowly slide over her partner's body, end up on the waitress's chest, and gently squeeze, eliciting a soft moan from the latter. To the soft music, the girls begin to move slowly, smoothly writhing and bending like snakes, like grass in the wind. You snuggle under my right arm, your fingers begin to struggle with the buttons of my shirt, your lips gently bite my earlobe and move to my neck. I growl softly, I try to find your lips, but you stop me with a laugh and a finger.

— Look — you whisper to me, — look at them.

And I watch as the girls have already entwined each other and their lips are locked in a long kiss, their hands beginning to explore each other. Now the brunette turns the waitress with her back to herself and her hands begin to slide over the slender body without embarrassment, not missing a single centimeter, now a tanned finger penetrates the mouth and greedy lips pounce on it. Now the fingers of the other hand slip under the apron and the slender body arches in ecstasy. We both freeze and watch this magnificence. Now the brunette sits on the opposite edge of the sofa and seats the waitress on her lap, face to face. And without stopping kissing, the girls begin to simulate intercourse, the brunette moving fiercely on her partner, revealing to us her naked narrow back with a thin waist and the firm hemispheres of her neat butt. She leans back, and we see her excited nipples, see how the brunette holds her by the waist, and her other hand is somewhere below, again under the apron, making the waitress writhe and moan. Combined with your actions, this spectacle makes my heart beat faster and faster. Pointing a finger at the waitress's mouth, open in an attempt to gulp some air, you whisper in my ear:

— Do you want her in the mouth? — and I nod, unable to say anything.

Now the brunette turns the brunette to face us and begins to gently torment the pliable, open-to-our-gaze slender body, gradually arousing herself and her partner. The waitress seems to have lost control; she has leaned back on her conqueror and completely surrendered to her power. But now the brunette abruptly stops, pushes the brunette to the floor, and slaps her butt, directing her towards us. The waitress slowly moves towards us on her hands and knees, her apron askew, her breasts and butt swaying with the movement, her gaze fixed on us. At this time, the brunette lowers her bra and, putting her hands under her sizable hemispheres, lifts her breasts with her hands, looking at us invitingly.

— Do you want to slide your cock between them? — you whisper in my ear

— Ye-e-e-es! — what else can I say. And you painfully twist my nipple.

— Bad boy! — and your lips sink into mine. I feel two hands land on my knees, how they slide higher, how two pairs of breasts follow them, moving over the fabric of my trousers, their excited nipples scratching my skin even through the fabric. How the hands reach the shirt and free its tails from the trousers. How four hands begin to caress me, not missing a single millimeter of my body. A helpless moan tears from my lips. The brunette has already straddled my legs and pressed her lips to my chest; you, tilting my head back, sink into my lips, muffling my quiet cry. You release me and, looking me straight in the eyes, ask:

— Do you like it?

— Ye-e-e-es! — I furiously grip the back of the sofa.

— Want more? — and I nod, exhausted. You stand up and leave me at the mercy of our waitress. You sit down next to the brunette on the sofa, and she immediately sits on your lap with her back to me. Your lips meet, two pairs of coral objects that I'm ready to crush or tear apart begin a struggle from which I will emerge the loser. At this time, our waitress turns around on me and, pressing her whole body against me, begins soft, undulating movements with her butt on my long-risen organ, watching you without looking away. You carefully spread the brunette's buns with your hands, slightly opening her butt, and the owner of this wealth looks at me over her shoulder:

— Do you want her here? — m-m-m-m, I lean back on the sofa, powerless, I can't speak. And you kiss again, your fingers penetrate your partner's mouth, making her suck them. I feel like under the pressure of tactile and visual information, I'm about to come. And then our waitress on my lap speaks up:

— Girls, listen to how his heart is beating, it's about to jump out of his chest!

You all gather around me. Each with lips pressed to my heart, which is indeed behaving like a mad pump, trying to pump the world's ocean through itself in a couple of seconds. While the brunette gives me champagne to drink, you and the brunette attack my chest with renewed vigor, I swallow champagne like water, and a furious moan through clenched teeth tears out of me.

— Girls, he's ready — you say — let's meet in the private room. — and the staff assigned to us tidy themselves up and, blowing me an air kiss, leave our booth. You immediately sit down next to me and press against me.

— Did you like it?

— Very much! — I still can't let go of the sofa back.

— Which one would you want? — and you look intently into my eyes — Just don't lie!

— I want all three of you! — my answer is honest, and I don't hesitate for a second.

— M-m-m-m, then let's go, bad boy — and you button up my shirt, tidying me up. I can't do it myself yet — Let go of the sofa! — I struggle to unclench my hands, releasing the leather back twisted into who-knows-what.

We leave the booth; the hall still has the same relaxed atmosphere. Leisurely, arm in arm, we cross the hall and disappear through a side door, behind which is a corridor with doors. We pause in front of room 7:

— They're here, — you say — waiting for us, and they're ready for anything. Let's go have fun.

***

We find ourselves in a small room. There's a huge bed here, above which on the ceiling and at the head of the bed on the wall are huge mirrors. A small sofa and a little table with bottles of champagne and glasses. Our girls with glasses are waiting for us on the sofa. I kiss you:

— Darling, please pour me some champagne, my hands are still shaking. — and while you deal with the drinks on the table, I end up on the sofa, put my arms around the girls, and say to them in a loud whisper:

— Girls, I want you to prepare her for me — and I nod at you, frozen in silent surprise — But I want to see everything!

They're smart, they don't need to be told twice. You're already in their hands; they made you drink from the glass you filled and sat you on the bed. The brunette knelt behind you on the bed, the brunette knelt in front of you on the floor, and their hands simultaneously set to work on you. While our sex bomb unbuttons your dress from the top, the brunette slips her hands under the hem and begins exploratory activities there. You look at me helplessly, and I calmly pour myself champagne and lean back against the sofa back, taking a front-row seat for the unfolding spectacle. Your dress is unbuttoned; it slowly opens under the relentless hands of our harlots, gradually revealing to my gaze your coveted and so-desired-by-me body. The dress's flaps are gently parted, opening my view to your soft breasts; the dress slides off my favorite shoulders; you are lifted and completely exposed. You're without panties, only stockings and shoes on. I get up from the sofa and approach the bed; I want to see everything they're doing to you. You've already been laid on your back, and the girls get to work. The waitress presses her lips to yours, her hands greedily knead your breasts, and through your kisses, your moans reach us, greatly aided by the brunette, who has spread your legs and begun working her tongue in your slit. I dip a finger in the glass of champagne and run it over your clitoris; the brunette catches the dripping drops of champagne, giving you a couple of seconds of rest. But then she returns, and her tongue again knows no fatigue, returning you to sweet torments. I like this; I dip my finger in the glass again, and again the brunette catches the bubbling drink. I caress your clitoris a few more times with my champagne-dipped finger, making the girl positioned between your legs fiercely fight for your attention with it. Then I move higher; again my finger has been in the glass; now two pairs of lips fight for it, and only I decide whose mouth I will occupy now. You and the waitress vie for my attention, and I really like it. My finger penetrates first one mouth, then the other, making the coral lips envelop it completely and try not to let go.

— Undress me! — my voice pulls the girls away from you, and they head towards me. I stand at the edge of the bed, and you watch as two beautiful women stand on either side and begin to undress me, how their fingers unbutton my shirt buttons, how they simultaneously caress me with their lips, kiss my exposed chest, how I put my arms around their waists, pulling them close. We look directly into each other's eyes, and you begin to stalk like a tigress after prey, not taking your eyes off me. Now the restless fingers have dealt with my shirt, now they've tackled the belt of my trousers, while two pairs of lips tirelessly torment my neck and chest. Now the trousers are off, and he breaks free, one of the main characters of today's story. You reach me; the brunette gets on her knees and directs my cock straight into