It all started with a harmless suggestion to drive to Serge’s dacha last Saturday. Barbecue, beer, sauna – a break from the city. We had known each other for five years, ever since Lena and Katja had worked together in an advertising agency. Serge, a burly, uncomplicated guy around forty, with a slight paunch but strong, one who swings a kettlebell in the yard, just like that, for the soul. Katja, thirty-six, voluptuous, with laughing eyes and lips that practically begged to be kissed. Lena, my Lena, thirty-four, tall, toned, with a sporty figure from hours of yoga and that slightly arrogant look.
The Evening
The sun was setting over the raspberry bushes, sweet barbecue smoke drifted over. We were tipsy, the beer flowing warm and relaxing through our bodies. Serge told a crude joke about his mother-in-law, while Katja, across from me, licked her sauce-smeared fingers. Her tongue, pink and nimble, caught my eye, and she smiled – unashamedly, almost provocatively. Lena, her hand on Serge’s shoulder, was talking to him, and he looked at her as if she were the juiciest piece of meat from the grill.
Serge slapped his knee:
“Come on, let’s go to the sauna, why are we sitting around here? It’s already hot!”
We trotted after him. His sauna, a masterpiece of round timber, smelled of smoke and fresh birch branches. In the anteroom, we undressed. Lena took off her shorts and top, standing in black lace panties and a matching bra – expensive, as always, as if she were always ready for a surprise visit. Katja let her dress fall, wearing only skin-colored cotton briefs, no bra. Her full, heavy breasts with dark areolas swayed vividly as she reached for a towel. My breath caught in my throat.
In the Sauna
The heat hit us. We sat down: Lena and I opposite Serge and Katja. Sweat beaded up immediately, running over Lena’s stomach, making Katja’s skin glow. Serge whipped Katja with the birch branches, she laughed, her breasts bouncing. I felt something stirring under my towel, tried to think of something harmless, but my gaze was glued to Katja’s curves, her thighs spreading on the wood.
Outside, we cooled off with ice-cold beer. Lena let it run over her chin, between her breasts. Serge stared openly. Then, in a rough voice:
“How about a game? We switch. For one round. Me with Lena. You with Katja.”
The silence was oppressive, only the dripping of condensation and Serge’s heavy breathing could be heard. Lena raised her chin, her eyes appraising. Katja smiled, her gaze heavy and inviting. My stomach tightened, desire and jealousy wrestling within me.
The Decision
Lena broke the silence, her voice deep, mocking:
“What’s the stake, excuse me, Serge?”
Serge laughed, his belly wobbling:
“Doesn’t matter! The next sauna cleaning, the next barbecue – or just for the soul. Well, do you dare?”
His gaze bored into me, a challenge. Lena looked at me, not Serge, her eyes cool, as if she were testing me. Katja stroked her towel, a drop of sweat slid down her waist.
“And you, are you scared?” she asked softly, hoarsely.
My throat was dry. The thought of touching Katja’s soft skin hit me like a whiplash. But the image of Serge’s hands on Lena made me hot and cold at the same time.
“I… I don’t know,” I stammered.
Serge interrupted:
“We’re friends, after all. Just expanding our horizons a little.”
He stroked Katja’s back, she snuggled up to him. Lena sat down next to me, her hot thigh against mine.
“What are you afraid of?” she whispered, her lips to my ear. “That you’ll like her? Or that I’ll like what he does?”
There was no more ice in her eyes, only fire. Serge grinned:
“I’m in.”
Katja nodded, her gaze hungry. Everyone looked at me. Lena’s fingers traced patterns on my knee. I took a last sip of beer, put the bottle down.
“Screw it. Let’s do it.”
The Night
Serge led Lena into the sauna, her hand in his, she tall and majestic. Her last look at me was a flash – challenge, question, fear. The door closed.
I stood opposite Katja. Her soaked panties outlined her mound, her breasts rose heavily.
“Were you afraid?” she asked, stepping closer.
Her smell was wild, spicy, not like Lena’s sweet scent.
“That I’ll like you too much,” I admitted.
She smiled, placed my hand on her breast. The skin was hot, slippery, the nipple hard in my hand. I gasped. She guided my hand, kissed my shoulder, her tongue hot. Lena’s moans came from the sauna, high, desperate. My stomach cramped.
“Don’t think about her. Think about me,” Katja whispered.
She pulled down my shorts, her hand enclosed me, waves of lust coursing through me. She knelt down, her lips exploring me, first gently, then greedily. Her mouth was raw, animalistic. I clawed into her hair, while Lena’s scream from the sauna ignited my jealousy. I thrust harder, Katja took everything, her eyes teary.
“Cum in my mouth,” she croaked.
I exploded in an orgasm that tore me into a blind void. She swallowed, licked her lips, her eyes gleaming.
Then she led me to the sofa, spread her legs over my face. Her smell, her taste – salty, tart, pure. I licked her, she moaned, pressed herself against me.
The sauna door crashed open. Serge, red and glistening with sweat, Lena behind him, disheveled, traces of stubble on her skin. They saw us – Katja on my face, I lost in her. Serge laughed:
“Room for everyone!”
He stepped behind Katja, thrusting into her with one stroke. She screamed with pleasure, pressed herself tighter against me. Lena knelt in front of me, took me in her mouth, desperate, angry. We merged into a tangle of bodies, sweat, moans, smells. No shame, no rules, only instinct.
The Morning After
It ended abruptly. Serge collapsed on Katja, she twitched under him, then silence. He rolled off, leaned against the wall. Katja slid off me, a drop ran down her thigh. Lena went out, smoking, trembling.
Serge drank beer, satisfied:
“Damn, that was hot.”
Katja looked at me:
“Everything okay?”
I nodded, empty. Lena outside, a cigarette in her hand – she hadn’t smoked in years. I sat down next to her.
“I came. With him. Twice,” she said with self-disgust.
“I know. Me too. With her,” I replied.
“And now?” she whispered, fear in her voice.
“I don’t know.”
We got dressed, mechanically. Katja closed her bra, Serge poured himself beer as if nothing had happened. Lena went ahead, distant. Katja squeezed my arm:
“Take care of her.”
We were silent in the car. The darkness swallowed the dacha. Then, quietly:
“I liked it,” said Lena. “Disgusting, dirty, shameful… and incredibly arousing.”
She laughed, choked:
“I hate myself for it. But maybe not tomorrow.”
“And you?” she asked.
“Yes. Very,” I admitted.
Her hand lay on my knee, mine on hers. The car smelled of smoke, perfume, foreign sweat. Our new smell.
I knew that nothing was over. That everything was just beginning. Tomorrow would bring the hardest conversation of our lives – out of fear, out of curiosity, out of something new that was growing between us.
