Beware of your dreams

Andrey and his wife had a problem: at the crosswalk, Olga was almost run over by a limousine, and on top of that, she ended up being the one at fault.

In the limousine was rolling either the crown prince or the king of an African country, carrying with him an aquarium with some exotic frog. When the car braked "for Olga," the aquarium sloshed, the frog flew up and landed in the king's mouth—he was yelling something at the time—so in his fright, he swallowed it.

And on Monday, the boss Kazimir Andreevich summoned Andrey "to the carpet."

"You guys have really stirred up some trouble," he said, spreading his hands, before his subordinate had even entered the office.

"What's the matter?" Andrey didn't understand.

"That frog is worth millions!" The boss jumped up, pacing the office in agitation.

Andrey helplessly slumped into a chair.

"Forget the millions, damn them, that king has them like the devil has, excuse the pun—the trouble is that bug-eyed creature is listed in the Red Book, and it was almost the last specimen on the entire planet. This foreign guest was afraid to even breathe on it. He kept it close, cherished and pampered it like a beloved lapdog."

In short, this frog was practically the pearl of his entire collection of various creatures.

Now, an international scandal is brewing. I've already had calls from the embassy, and the minister—can you imagine the level?! The animal protection society is sounding the alarm, a diplomatic scandal is looming.

Maybe we could have somehow gotten out of it, but your Olga was crossing on a red light. The traffic officer, of course, recorded it. So, she's at fault. That's the situation, brother.

"And what will happen now?" Andrey couldn't believe his ears.

"Well, maybe nothing for you, but it's a blow to our State. His country is the largest exporter of our emeralds. And he's so furious he's threatening to stop exports. Just think, over some frog! These rich folks have completely lost their minds. Heh, imagine, swallowing a frog!"

He himself, by the way, looks like a frog, ugh... Anyway, Andryusha, get yourselves an appointment with him, fall at his feet, beg for forgiveness.

If he stops buying emeralds, neither you nor your children will see a career, as sure as your own ears. Or you might even get locked up for a long time. Biographies ruined, and all that. Your great-grandchildren will have enough to clean up after your mess.

Don't worry about getting an invitation to an audience with him; it will be provided to you.

"I swear, I was crossing on green," Olga cried. "And they were flying, not paying attention to the road."

"As if I don't know you're always careful about everything," Andrey said helplessly, spreading his hands. "But just think, my sunshine, who will our traffic inspectors side with—you, a simple consultant, or a crowned billionaire?"

"And what will we say to him?" his wife wailed, her lips stretched in a cry.

"Well, let's go, maybe we'll get lucky somehow," her husband consoled her uncertainly. He couldn't believe they had gotten into such a stupid mess.

"Get dressed, sweetie, just more decently."

"What, do I dress indecently?"

"Well, at least don't wear lace stockings."

"Fine, I won't!"

The king had rented the presidential suite at the Radisson Slavyanskaya hotel.

A multitude of various servants, aides, guards, bodyguards, security, priests of different cults, some souvenir sellers—all like in a delirium.

And an endlessly long path through a labyrinth of corridors. Metal detectors, anterooms, doors, a hall, rooms upon rooms, and finally, after long passages and humiliating procedures, the chambers of His Majesty.

Fans moved up and down; it seemed the feathers couldn't keep up with the poles and kept swirling in the air on their own.

Along the walls—like crystal pyramids—were aquariums, aquariums, aquariums, with various spiders, snakes, reptiles, and frogs.

The king was wrapped in a silk, floor-length beige robe that didn't hide his large yellow feet. His bald, bluish-tinged head stuck straight out of the robe like some hideous growth, completely devoid of a neck.

He was a large, elderly man, with small, rarely glinting eyes and red, fleshy lips, a huge scar lying disdainfully across the bottom of his head.

Andrey and Olga involuntarily bowed. The accompanying aide-interpreter whispered advice to bow lower. The guests followed the advice.

The king unexpectedly bared his teeth in a quick grin, revealing white teeth.

It was translated that he was glad to welcome such pleasant guests to his "humble abode."

The host replied in an unusually deep bass that it was nothing, and he had a whole ocean of such frogs. But his breakfast had been good—pure protein.

The entourage chuckled obsequiously. The interpreter—more diligently than anyone.

Andrey felt a slight relief in his heart.

"So, you're not angry with us, and you won't stop buying emeralds?" he asked naively.

"I'm not angry," replied this monster from the royal couch, "and to prove my goodwill, I invite the lady to stay with me for a few days."

Andrey couldn't believe his ears.

"You meant 'stay at my place'?" he asked again.

"No, precisely 'stay with me,'" clarified the interpreter—some nasty Asian—and bowed politely.

Andrey was immediately grabbed under the arms and dragged into the hall.

"Did you even ask for her consent?!!" he desperately struggled, managing to notice that Olga was being held back by some men in jackets, and she was looking after him with a pleading gaze.

Andrey didn't understand how he ended up in a police van, in the rear, barred compartment. He could only see through the bars as the cursed Radisson, surrounded by multicolored cars, rapidly receded.

Well, and then there were fifteen, maybe more, feverish days in a police special detention center, in a solitary cell. They locked him up so he wouldn't do something rash in the heat of the moment.

Though, it wasn't him who was imprisoned; it was freedom that was isolated from him.

His phone was taken away, no messages from his wife were passed on. And in moments of physical calm, when the scrapes and bruises he had "inflicted" on himself while trying to break free didn't ache, Andrey thought of all sorts of things, remembered everything, tenderly curled up on the hard prison bunk.

How he was ashamed of his small penis, how passionately he wanted to see his wife mating with another man—a stronger male—and slowly, carefully, he had been leading her to it. He understood he was a true cuckold, but he couldn't bring himself to dive headfirst into the baptismal font of that sweet state.

He gradually accustomed Olga to watching porn together. She watched seemingly without much interest, but when he touched her vagina after a session, it was sticky and hot.

Now Olga received guests without underwear, and it aroused both of them. In short, with small steps, he was leading his wife toward his dream. And then, this damned frog. And where did it even jump out from.

Where is she now, Olga, what's with her? Endless fantasies stirred his brain. They were sometimes anxious, to the point of panic, sometimes sweet and pleasant. But it seemed only here, in this damned solitary cell, he realized how much he loved his wife.

And then he found himself precisely in the ruler's bedroom, whimsically lit by dim lanterns placed behind the aquariums along the perimeter of the chambers, so that the monsters inhabiting them cast bizarre shadows moving all over the bedchamber.

"You were summoned here at your wife's request," someone invisible whispered to him. "Take off your robe; everyone here must be naked. The only exceptions are the master and his wife."

The robe slid off Andrey's shoulders.

"Your place is on the pillows, in front of the bed. Know your place, or you will be punished."

Andrey was gently pushed toward the pillows.

"What, will the master be here with his wife?" the guest asked in a dry-mouthed whisper.

"The master is already here!" the voice replied. "And his beloved wife this season is your Olga."

"What does that mean?"

"It means he only has a sexual life with her. Shh, not another word."

Andrey was helped to settle on the pillows; he was embarrassed and tried to cover his penis with his hands.

His palms were moved away from his pubic area.

He was now lying on the carpet, on large, embroidered pillows, sort of to the side in front of the bed, quite comfortably, it must be said. Incense was smoking, large, trunk-like yellow candles were burning.

Andrey's head began to spin. Timidly looking around, he finally dared to glance at the bed.

The master lay completely naked on the pillows, and two young, naked white virgins, trying not to make smacking sounds, were giving him a quiet but passionate blowjob. The whiteness of the slender girls was incredibly contrasted by the blackness of the broad, puffy partner. They were simply dazzlingly white.

Both had black spears with a white letter G in the middle tattooed high on their thighs.

They briefly licked the penis, as if pushing it with their nimble tongues, circling and fluttering with oblique movements over the powerfully erect, elbow-length Priapus, entwined with brown veins, not daring to take it into their mouths.

Andrey's little member, as if living its own life, instantly stood up and hardened in an unprecedented erection.

The concubines kept changing positions, sometimes at the master's sides, sometimes moving to the front, their scarlet slits flashing, burning crimson. They were also aroused.

Everyone maintained exceptional silence. And this continued for half an hour, maybe more.

Suddenly, a short ring sounded, startling the guest. The master had tugged a bell.

Three hooded figures fluttered into the chambers and froze right in front of the bed, bowing. Then the two outer ones swept the kimono off the middle one and, bowing again, backed away.

The naked girl froze before the bed, waiting. Andrey couldn't see her clearly—she was standing sideways to him. Finally, grunting, the ruler beckoned her with a finger.

She knelt on the bed, walked across it, gestured with both hands to shoo away the virgins, and began to give a blowjob herself. But she didn't do it for long: she licked and swallowed the head. Then she jumped up and stood on straightened legs over the penis, her back to the king. The penis immediately curled up under its owner's navel.

She stood on her long, divinely beautiful legs and, tilting her head to the side, kneaded her breasts, preparing for the act.

Sometimes something dazzling sparkled between her fingers. She lowered her hands to her thighs and slightly pushed her pubic area forward.

As if offering her vagina. One of the virgins began to lick it.

Andrey was stunned. On the bed was Olga. But what an Olga! Diamonds sparkled in her excited nipples, and on her smoothly shaved pubic area was a freshly tattooed black spear with a white letter G in the middle.

And that wasn't all; she seemed to be pregnant. A barely rounded belly was noticeable, a protruding navel, brown circles clearly defined around her nipples; her vagina was no longer girlish but womanly, powerful, fleshy, and mature, thickly sticky.

Alas, it must be admitted, the last relatively normal sex with his wife for Andrey was more than six months ago. And even then, he hadn't finished inside her.

Now Olga seemed not to notice Andrey at all. She was incredibly aroused, biting the corners of her lips, and covered in goosebumps. She was shaking slightly. Finally, roughly pushing the girl's head away, Olga got on all fours; the girl lifted the penis, aimed it at the vagina, and Olga smoothly but confidently impaled herself on it to the root. Her labia viscously clenched the wide base.

Andrey involuntarily remembered that at home, a medium-sized dildo she took in less than halfway, and he realized that sex between his wife and the master had been regular.

Olga moved her pelvis as if settling more comfortably, leaned back, braced her hands on her partner's chest, and began to fuck him with frequent, small movements. As if trembling on him.

Andrey had never seen such a mating technique before!

The passion of the master's concubine grew. Her mouth became distorted, she bit her lips fiercely and incessantly. And the diamonds in her excited nipples glittered terribly.

The partner authoritatively halted her trembling; she jumped over to face him, practically lying with her chest on his chest, and he, tightly embracing her back with his arms, began to fuck her from below, accelerating the pace.

Andrey now understood what African passion and an African man were.

He fucked her in that rhythm for at least half an hour, not letting her out of his embrace. At first, she howled, then screamed out loud, devastating orgasms overwhelming her one after another.

And finally, the tormentor released her and froze. The rider swiftly returned to a sitting position, her thighs shaking, her sphincter viscously reflexively contracting, and suddenly she all at once shriveled into one tight, tight ball, convulsively pulling her shoulders together, pressing her elbows, and baring her teeth as if in hellish pain, then slowly and blissfully relaxed, opening up completely and utterly, like a burning, crumpled sheet, like a palm, like a divine lily.

She was hit by the most powerful orgasm of this act!

She shook and shuddered for ten minutes, no less. Finally, she tiredly collapsed on her side, then rolled onto her back, widely spreading her legs, bending them at the knees.

From her still blazing vagina, semen viscously flowed out and spread.

The virgins began carefully wiping the foamy penis of the African with soft cloths; though it now hung across his thigh, it still twitched from time to time and dripped semen.

The ruler, with a black paw, kneaded the white buttock of the lighter girl proprietarily and muttered something good-naturedly. And now, barely perceptibly, an elderly hoarseness could be detected in this satisfied muttering.

It smelled pungently of sweat and semen.

"Lick me clean!" Olga commanded Andrey in a chesty bass.

Not remembering himself, on his knees he approached his wife and timidly licked her large clitoris. He didn't understand his feelings; there were so many that it was as if there were none at all.

To lick clean, the semen first had to be drunk, and he drank, and then licked—licked every fold, every blazing corner, and the seed kept coming and coming.

One thing Andrey understood clearly: he was ready to give his life to stay here forever.__P_END