Drunken Beauty and the Bathhouse

(As usual, I very much ask you to first carefully look at the tags!

This is a small separate story, a little outside the series. Among the regular readers, there are those who asked about the Incest theme. This is my small gift to you.)

"There is nothing more attractive than a woman's body," reasoned the new "daddy," carefully applying makeup to my nipples.

Boris turned out to be a great aesthete, preferring long foreplay, philosophical justifications, and more like art porn installations than sex.

And he also loved games.

I grimaced.

As a person who approaches the issue of health and body care with extreme responsibility, I did not share

his delight for scripted "immersion" games. Yesterday, for example, I had to run barefoot through the garden, stepping on twigs and stones, getting my tunic caught on bushes, portraying a nymph in distress.

Boris, in fur pants and rocker boots, stomped after me with a clay amphora at the ready. According to his plan, the nymph was supposed to quickly swoon, and the faun, i.e., him, passionately takes her, unconscious as she is.

But the amphora seriously stressed me out. He carried it with such a look, as if it was exactly what he would eventually crack over my head to ensure the swooning.

Therefore, after theatrically squealing a couple of times at the beginning and glancing back in trembling fright, I suspected foul play and took off not-in-a-playful-way. Borechka, whose appearance was still wow, but whose real age was somewhat of a letdown, began to fall behind and swear, breaking character.

In the end, he hurled that amphora at me, which once again confirmed the correctness of intuition (thanks, sister!) and, having lost all interest in rough natural coitus, sat down on a bench to catch his breath.

As my dad loves to quote:

The maniacs caught up with Fatima

on the twenty-fifth floor.

But for some reason, I didn't want to.

Anymore.

But this fiasco was more of an exception.

I had to play with Borya often; a business agreement is a business agreement. Participation in a Beauty Contest in exchange for cute fantasies? My word is my bond, damn it.

Today, Borya decided to arrange Roman Baths for his friends. Senators, hetaerae, la-la.

As a result, he halved my training and preparation time for the contest, kicking out the masseur.

I, as usual, immediately staged a demonstrative hysterics with hand-wringing, and as a result of the "gypsy dance with a scene" — I got a promise to increase the budget for the first appearance dress.

Pleased with each other, tenderly kissing, ("Boryusik" — "Dashulenka") we got busy preparing for the party.

Borya decided to continue the idea of Little Horse, my cute accidental nickname. On my naked body, washed until it squeaked, "daddy" drew henna outlines.

He emphasized my buttocks, circling them with circles and swirls.

Then he highlighted the hemispheres of my breasts and the bright berries of my nipples.

The henna looked great on the golden-white skin; it would last for several days.

I twirled in front of the mirror, well, it's effective..

"A real vamp woman," I snorted, arching and sticking out my butt.

Beaming Boris carefully put on a bridle with a complex bit system. I immediately impudently spat out the bit.

An anal plug in the form of a gorgeous long tail, a short skirt made of translucent gauze, and silver sandals on high heels with intertwined ankle straps completed the picture.

Boris adjusted the fibula on the golden tunic and straightened up.

"Everyone to the baths with the hetaerae, and I'm with a horse! (pause) Damn it, on a horse!"

The passage to the baths was blocked by security. Boris's car was let through, almost bowing and saluting with batons.

I was led out in a light blanket reaching my hips. Surprisingly, in bright makeup, with a bridle crossing my face and a painted body, I felt unusually comfortable and protected; the costume was changing something inside me.

Boryusichka is right — scenery is everything.

The beginning of the reception was very lavish and beautiful. Music was playing, polished marble reflected light rays running along the walls.

On the throne sat Borya proudly. One step lower, on all fours, stood I, curiously turning my muzzle. One imperial foot in a sandal proudly rested on my back, covered by the blanket.

I couldn't see all the guests from the low position, but a couple of dresses were wonderful.

I also remembered a muscular hetaera. Seemed like a woman, but so pumped up that you couldn't tell from the back. Horrible!

Then the throne was taken away, but tables were set, everyone relaxed, started chattering, and it all began.

Borya spit on ceremonies and, pressing me to himself, gave me wine from a horn, licking drops from my chin.

He didn't remove the blanket, being greedy, but he himself peeked under it.

Opposite sat gloomy Kirill, my previous "daddy," and drilled us with his gaze.

I was uncomfortable, but Borya clearly didn't care.

"Will you share?" Kirill asked dully.

"I'll think about it," Borya diplomatically evaded, stroking my thigh.

"What about asking me?" I was surprised, "Borya, I won't be with Kirill."

Both turned coldly, poker faces like twins, Borya slapped me painfully, and I got offended.

Oh, please. Talk. I'll leave you.

Gracefully took a glass of wine. Swaying, slowly sipping, I clicked my way through the bathhouse, examining the characters. It was fun, hetaerae were dancing, senators were uncovering their torsos, even a couple of slaves sat on chains.

Suddenly I stopped sharply. At one of the far tables sat and were quietly talking about something: an unfamiliar handsome brunette and... my cousin, Slavik.

In childhood, we used to have fun running around at grandma's in the village. Then we grew up, never had time to communicate, although he invited me to parties.

Slavik — older, more serious, married. Boring.

And here he is. If he recognizes me and tells dad... I shuddered. Fuck.

My palms sweated, I cautiously backed away. And bumped into someone standing behind.

"Stay, little horse," damn, Kirill, "what are you scared of there?"

"Let go!" I jerked.

"Listen," a hot whisper, "well, we quarreled, it happens to everyone. Come back to me, little horse. I miss you."

"No. Let go, Borya is waiting for me." From fear and drinking, my teeth were chattering.

"Borya is busy now, let's not disturb him. And isn't it these guys, my little horse, that you're so scared of, you're still trembling. Come on."

He grabbed my arm painfully and dragged me to the table.

"Hi, guys. Mind if I join?"

And with nods, he sat down, sharply pulling me onto his lap.

"A beauty," Slavik assessed, nodding at me, "Imperial?"

"I wouldn't say so," Kirill evaded the answer and pulled the blanket off me, revealing my naked body, covered only by a transparent skirt.

Trembling with fear, I scratched Kirill's leg with my nails, but immediately got a slap on the thigh.

"Sit, little horse, I told you," he turned, "Are you and Borya in business?"

"Lawyers. We provide events, projects, check deals. We make it beautiful."

"Yes, Borya loves it beautiful."

The brunette carefully studied my nipples, licked his lips at the left one with a swinging ring, and whistled admiringly. His eyes were somehow strange, like scanning. A dangerous type, I can feel it with my butt.

"Chic. All natural?"

"We don't deal in fakes. You can check."

Bowing my face low, relying only on the bridle straps and the fact that I hadn't seen my cousin for a couple of years, I tried to carefully twist out of the tight grip of the clearly vengeful man.

For which I was fixed even more painfully.

The brunette, and then my brother Slavik (Lord, Slavik!) reached out and happily massaged my breasts, running fingers over the henna swirls, rolling the tender nipples.

I will remember my brother's expression for a long time, somehow helplessly overwhelmed and greedy at the same time. What's with him, in his life, hasn't he touched tits before.

God, it feels so good. But I can't.

Kirill leaned right into my ear.

"If you jerk again, I'll take off the bridle, open your face."

I froze. Like a stone. Like a monument. Giving myself away completely.

The man laughed contentedly.

"Knew it."

While the two guys happily kneaded my

breasts, he slowly released my petrified body, lifted my face with a finger under the chin, and kissed me hard, with a deep kiss.

He smiled, looking with pleasure at my trembling, reddened lips, and inserted the bit into my mouth.

"Here's my obedient little horse. Guys, how about we go to the bathhouse with the little horse for an hour. Support the idea?"

He simply turned over a bottle of champagne and started pouring it into my iron-opened mouth. Coughing, I blinked and trembled. Scared and confused.

The guys got wary, the brunette even stood up, but Kirill, putting the bottle aside, dramatically grabbed my nipples and with a wide smile, resembling a snarl, pulled them up, twisting them in his fingers. Mommy.

Achilles' mother dipped him in the Styx, holding him by the heel, getting an invulnerable hero, weak in the heel. And I was clearly dipped holding my nipples. Because otherwise I'm a flint, but my nipples ahh...

Letting out a series of moans and squeals of pleasure, I sadly realized that now I couldn't possibly convince them of my unwillingness to be with Kirill.

Being dragged into one of the bath rooms, I looked back with longing, where people were drinking and laughing, and one of the fat senators' wives climbed onto the table to dance.

Borya was nowhere to be seen.

In the hot room, the men quickly shed their sheet-tunics. And I closed my eyes, not wanting to see my own brother's erect cock.

Kirill pressed on my shoulders, seating me on the wooden floor. erotic stories And, cupping my face with both hands, slowly entered my mouth with his cock, with the iron spreader of the bit. He arched back, thrusting his hips, and loudly exhaling in relief.

"Yesss. Finally. Bliss."

His warm, smooth head rhythmically pushed into the closed entrance of my throat.

"How beautiful she is, her body is a dream!" the brunette said hoarsely, squatted down, and started kissing my twitching nipples.

Right by my face, Slavik jerked off his long cock.

I cried, but no one saw it.

Kirill sharply pulled out his fighter and asked loudly.

"Little horse, do you want me to take the bridle off you."

I, blinking away tears, fearfully shook my head.

"Well, good girl. Let's continue."

My head was turned. Male crotch, painfully familiar sunken swarthy stomach, sharp hip bones.

We spent every summer for hours at the river, on this stomach I used to doze sleepily under the village sun. I sometimes kissed it, and my brother laughed heartily.

The long-grown-up boy, with a familiar mole by the navel, pushed inside and said, "Ah, how fucking great in the ring. Like in a hole. And the tongue is moving."

He laughed.

My tongue felt the slide of his velvety cock.

"Guys, she's shaking from bliss," the brunette said admiringly, stroking my trembling body.

The slightly elongated, unimaginably tender cock of my cousin moved in my mouth, covering me with goosebumps, making my ears ring with the noises and splashes of the distant village river.

Gently and soothingly running his palms, or on the contrary, electrifying my body with touches, already indistinguishable to my drunk, whimpering-with-pleasure brain, the brunette slowly rose and, jerking off, nudged pleadingly against my cheek.

Slava reluctantly pulled away, I coughed up saliva, which I couldn't swallow.

The third cock, hot and wide, unexpectedly roughly thrust into my closed throat and started pounding, knocking out different tears now, tears of pain.

"Come on, swallow."

What the fuck swallow! But I tried to strain and swallow, and the cock