Юрий Буреве
Hard sex. BDSM

Chapter 1. Towel

The end of June unexpectedly brought a cold snap, catching most of the city’s residents off guard. It was a real challenge for ice cream vendors and for the girls who had stocked up on thin summer dresses with plunging necklines. Now, they had to bundle up in warmer clothes, more suited for spring or fall.

Natalia finished her workday and strolled leisurely through the city. She wore a long, form-fitting sweater that looked more like a dress, accentuating the curves of her body. Her long hair, curled into large waves, bounced with every step, like vines cascading from a tall, slender tree. The dark dress contrasted with her pale skin, reddened in places from the recent heat, making her silhouette even more striking.

Her legs, toned from years of gym workouts, stirred awe in random passersby. As she climbed stairs, her muscles tensed, revealing fine veins, while her buttocks, as if competing with each other, drew lingering glances. The deep neckline of her dress barely covered her curves, sometimes earning disapproving looks from female colleagues in the journalism department. There weren’t many men in the editorial office, and those who were there often worked on assignments, dropping by only a couple of times a month. This lack of male attention left Natalia wanting, and she made up for it with evening walks through the city center, stopping at cafés, sipping non-alcoholic cocktails, and ordering salads. She didn’t like vegetables but ate them for the sake of her figure, which she maintained with more care than she did the cleanliness of her work computer’s hard drive.

The chilly weather forced her to step into a clothing store to warm up. She didn’t have extra money for a café, and this place became a convenient way to flaunt her stunning looks and, perhaps, catch the eye of a man. Men came into her life but vanished just as quickly. Some were intimidated by her beauty, fearing they couldn’t measure up. Others assumed a woman like her required an expensive “setting.” After fleeting encounters, these meetings often ended in passionate moments in secluded spots—cars or parks. Once, it even happened in her own building’s stairwell when a guy walking her home couldn’t hold back.

Neighbors who accidentally witnessed the scene walked past, hearing her voice and realizing she wasn’t a victim. After that, Natalia tried to avoid running into them, waiting for silence on the landing while sitting on a chair in the hallway. But once, after a corporate party, while wearing the same dress she had on now, two colleagues couldn’t resist, and passion overtook them right in the editorial office corridor after most had left. Since then, she stopped fearing such places and sometimes even deliberately provoked sidelong glances by leaving her apartment at the same time as her neighbors.

The large shopping mall neighbored a cinema, cafés, and a bowling club that opened after seven in the evening. The other establishments closed by ten. As she wandered through the store aisles, Natalia caught men’s gazes. Married ones followed her with their eyes, careful not to turn their heads and arouse suspicion from their companions.

She sat on one of the benches in the passageway, put on her headphones, and started listening to her favorite tracks. By the second song, she began nodding her head to the beat, spreading her legs for comfort and tapping her heels. Men walking by glanced back, and those standing further away didn’t even bother to look away. *“My beauty draws them in,”* she thought during a pause between songs.

Beauty multiplied by sensuality created a dangerous mix. In the summer, Natalia made it a point not to wear underwear under her dress, following advice from an article claiming it could disrupt the body’s natural balance. Her figure, with its unique traits, made wearing undergarments uncomfortable, and by forgoing them, she felt freer. As she listened to music and slightly lifted the hem of her already short dress, her pose became too revealing for casual glances. At first, she pretended not to notice, but then, getting into the game, she began to toy with the attention of passersby, choosing whom to grace with a bolder look.

“Good evening,” a voice said nearby.

“Hello,” she replied, removing her headphones.

“I’m Igor. Don’t be alarmed by my approach. I’m a photographer and videographer, working in fashion and advertising. I always carry my camera to capture the moment. The world is so beautiful, and time is so short. I couldn’t walk past you—it would be a professional crime. If I don’t capture such beauty, how can I share it with others?”

Natalia interrupted him with a smile. “I can tell you’re passionate about your work. I’m a journalist, looking for inspiration after hours. We often rework existing material for print or online. Sometimes photographers send us shots. Maybe you know someone from our team?”

“I have a friend who’s also a photographer. Once at a corporate event, he had a steamy moment with an editor in a corridor. Now, every time I see him, he brings up that story. Says her figure was just fire. Does that kind of thing happen at your office?”

“Everything’s proper at ours, no one touches anyone,” she cut him off with a hint of mockery.

“Seems like we’ve veered off track,” Igor said, embarrassed.

“Maybe you just got worked up and unconsciously switched to that topic,” she teased, beckoning him closer with her finger. “Liked what you saw?”

“…Yeah,” he managed to say.

“You know, that ‘girl’ your friend talked about? That was me. Get it?”

“Sorry, I started off so dumb… I don’t know what’s wrong with me, ever since I saw you.”

“What do you mean, ‘don’t know’? You’re burning up, can’t think of anything but lust. You’re not a photographer first; you’re a guy looking for someone to spend time with.”

“If we’re being official, then yeah. I want to capture you, then look at the shots alone. I get that there probably won’t be a second meeting.”

“Why are you so sure there won’t be a second meeting?” Natalia asked with slight annoyance.

“Just a feeling. Can I sit? My head’s spinning from your beauty.”

“Sure,” she said, shifting over and moving her bag.

“Where do you take your photos?”

“Studio at work, but it’s closed now, not mine. Sometimes at home, sometimes, like now, on the street. Rarely at a girl’s place if I’m invited. As you can see, I’m not some hulking guy, not super strong, so girls usually trust me.”

“Well, you’re right, smaller guys seem less threatening, though still waters run deep… I’ve always been wary of buff guys, though I’ll admit, I’m drawn to them. No offense, Igor.”

“It’s fine, I’m cool with it.”

“Let’s shoot me on camera, see what comes out. Right here, how should I sit?”

“Put your elbow on the backrest, leg slightly to the side to keep it decent, and cross your legs. And the gaze—your gaze is crucial. If it’s off, the whole thing’s ruined. Pose, setting, and gaze need to harmonize.”

“Like this?”

“Yeah, chin a bit higher. Perfect. Now shift your gaze to that sign. There, yes. Great. Now stand and cross your legs.”

“So my figure looks better?”

“Sort of, yeah. There, perfect. I’ll need to edit these, but you can only see the originals on this small screen now. The color rendering here is different from digital photos, but you get the idea. It’ll look good only on monitors, and even then, it varies by screen. Anyway, I doubt these details interest you.”

“Why not? I’m curious about everything. I’m in a bit of an emotional rut right now, wanting to change something, explore something new, unknown. I just don’t know what it could be, what could flip my world upside down.”

“Natalia, there are different ways to do that, not all of which can be said out loud.”

“You’ve intrigued me.”

“I’m inviting you for coffee, and then we can hit the bowling alley. I’ve got some cash, should be enough. I’m embarrassed to admit, but photographers aren’t as rich as people think. Though it varies, like with artists: ninety-nine percent starve, and only one percent lives well. The world’s harsh, sometimes it plays cruel jokes.”

“I can chip in. I haven’t been bowling in ages; guys usually don’t take me there. More often to cafés or restaurants, trying to get me drunk and… well, you get it. Let’s go, but coffee first?”

“Great idea.”

At the coffee bar, right in the middle of the shopping corridor, they sat on high stools and ordered a cup each. The aroma of the hot drink enveloped them like a warm blanket, restoring the emotional balance disrupted by the cool summer evening. Natalia inhaled the steam, feeling warmth spread through her body, while Igor watched her, as if trying to capture the moment without a camera. In the silence, broken only by the clinking of spoons, tension grew between them, hinting at something more than just conversation.

They quietly finished their coffee, which they’d asked to be cooled with cold water to avoid burns, and headed toward the bowling club. The entry fee was five hundred rubles for men, free for women. They immediately booked a table and a thirty-minute game session.

“No photography allowed here,” the security guard told Igor, noticing the professional camera on his shoulder.

“This is a well-known city photographer, Igor Kuznetsov. If he shoots, it’ll only promote your place,” Natalia interjected.

“Well, if that’s the case… Still, don’t be too obvious. You can take a couple of shots if you want to photograph your companion.”

“That’s all I plan to do.”

“Alright.”

They moved on, taking their spot and picking out bowling balls nearby.

“Do you know how to throw?” Igor asked.

“Sort of.”

“I think if we don’t smash the screen above during a throw, we can call it a decent game.”

Natalia appreciated the joke and smiled—genuinely, which Igor, as a photographer, immediately noticed and admired.

“I need to use the restroom,” she said.

“It’s over there.”

“I’m scared to go alone.”

“Let’s go together. I won’t leave my camera here; the rest, I think, won’t get stolen.”

They walked down the corridor toward the restrooms. Since the club had just opened, there were hardly any people; the main crowd arrived closer to ten in the evening, by which time they planned to leave.

“The men’s is closed. Can I quickly go in with you?”

“Sure, just be quick.”

“Where are you going, sir?” the guard called out.

“My companion is in a delicate condition; I need to accompany her.”

“Well, if that’s the case…”

They entered a stall together, and Igor pulled out his camera, turning it on.

“You’re shooting here?”

“Yeah.”

“No face shots.”

“On the contrary, I want to capture your face, emotions, feelings. That’s more important than anything else. The photo can be presented as a pensive lady; no one will guess where you were at that moment.”

“You’re weird.”

“Yeah.”

He took a couple of close-up shots of her face and eyes and stepped out of the stall.

“I’ll wait over there.”

They returned to their table, where everything was still in place. Picking a ball each, they started the game. Natalia’s first throw was a lucky strike: she knocked down all the pins without even aiming.

“Pure luck, won’t happen again,” she laughed.

Igor couldn’t knock down even half of what she did.

“I’ll sit, and you bend over to throw the ball, but take your time. Freeze before the throw; my camera can’t focus quickly, then go for it.”

He sat at the table and, aiming, started capturing the moment, taking a series of shots as she threw. This time, she knocked down three pins, but she didn’t care much. She returned to Igor.

“Show me.”

“Here.”

He began flipping through the photos for them to view together in slideshow mode.

“This one shows a bit of something personal, and this one even more. Caught the moment. Will you send them to me after editing?”

“Of course, but I’ll keep them for myself too. I have a rule—never delete photos. It’s like burning a manuscript. Good or bad, I keep the shot.”

“I like this one best. I don’t need all of them. Though send them later, I’ll choose myself. The ones I think are bad, I’ll delete. I’m the opposite; I get rid of bad shots right away. I want to remember only the good, the beautiful.”

“I get your philosophy.”

“I’m tired of playing; I don’t want to throw anymore. This game’s boring.”

“Let’s take a couple more shots. Lift the hem of your dress a bit higher; I’ll come closer.”

She grabbed a ball and, bending over, slowly rolled it, knocking down almost all the pins except one.

“It’s standing there so temptingly; wish I could use it differently,” Igor mused.

“Got any ideas?”

“Let’s go to my place.”

“Want to continue the evening?”

“Not just that, I’m a photographer first.”

“Well, sort of…”

“I won’t lock the doors; you can leave anytime.”

“Why not lock them? So someone can walk in and join? Your friend and someone else were with me in a corridor once; they couldn’t even handle it. Weaklings.”

“I live nearby, five minutes’ walk, maybe ten. They’re not my friends, just acquaintances. Though they’re closer to you than to me since they work in the same field.”

“One’s in my company; I don’t know where the other’s from. Let’s go to your place. I wasn’t that interested from the start, except for one shot you took; the rest are meh. Though I haven’t seen the second restroom shot yet.”

“I’ll transfer the files too, upload them to the cloud or wherever; I don’t care. They might not fit on your phone; one shot’s pretty heavy.”

As they left the club, Igor approached the administrator and discussed something. The admin handed him a pin with a chip at the bottom but intact on top, which couldn’t stand steadily. Igor offered money, but the admin refused, saying they get disposed of anyway. Unlike the guard at the entrance, he recognized Igor as a known photographer.

They stepped outside. The weather, cool at the start of the evening, now felt biting. Igor held the pin, wrapped in a bag, showing it to Natalia.

The low temperature made Natalia need the restroom again.

“I need to go again,” she said.

“Go ahead. I’ll shoot. Sit here, facing the moonlight. I want to catch the moment in a special light.”

“Start? You ready?”

“Yeah.”

He began a new series of shots, changing positions and angles, getting very close to capture every detail.

“We’ll check them later. It’s cold; no time to sort through now.”

They quickly got into the elevator, escaping the chill.

“Here’s June for you,” Igor smirked.

“Yeah. This morning I thought it’d be warm, dressed light, the sun was out, and people were in thin clothes. But they were walking fast for some reason.”

“They wanted to warm up. It got cold yesterday, overnight. The day before, I was running in shorts; today, even in pants, I’m chilly.”

“Alright, we’re here.”

He unlocked first the shared hallway door with neighbors, then his apartment door.

“We live behind seven locks, shutting ourselves off from each other as much as possible, scared of each other, creating our own fear,” Igor remarked.

“Yeah, I agree, humanity definitely took a wrong turn at some point,” Natalia chimed in.

Their brief philosophical chat about modern life ended there.

“Oh, it’s so warm! I’m frozen, like I was standing on a highway in the dead of winter,” she laughed.

“You’ve worked like that?”

“No, just imagining. You don’t need to go to Africa to know it’s hot there.”

“You’re a smart girl, that’s rare when beauty comes with brains.”

“I think I’m ordinary, maybe a bit better. I don’t like big crowds, prefer staying home with a book in hand, reading in bed after a shower, wrapped in a blanket.”

“Good habit, even great.”

“Can I undress and take a shower?”

“You didn’t even need to ask.”

“You gonna shoot me in the shower?”

“You didn’t even need to ask. Get in; I’m not missing moments like these.”

“Natalia, can I call you Natasha? I like it better.”

“Natasha, Natalie, Nat, Natalia—doesn’t matter to me, but Natalie sounds nicer.”

“Alright, Natalie. Take the soap and make some suds on your body.”

She grabbed the soap, which slipped from her hands a couple of times, and as she bent to pick it up, she lathered her body, leaving certain areas more exposed to view. Water streamed down her skin, reflecting the bathroom light, creating a play of shadows on the walls. The air filled with the scent of soap, mingling with the warm steam that enveloped them like a soft curtain, hiding them from the outside world.

“You know exactly what to do,” Igor noted.

He quickly scrolled through the shots he took on the camera screen and left for another room. Returning, he asked, “Wanna try something new? Something you’ve never done before?”

“What do you mean?”

“If you’re not ready, just say ‘no.’ It’s not about what it is, but whether you’re open to something new.”

She closed her eyes, as if weighing something important, considering the pros and cons.

“I’m in.”

She wiped herself with a towel, wrapping it around her waist, and followed him.

Chapter 2. Lemonade

A cool evening descended on the city, draping the streets in a thin veil of dampness. Nadezhda Levitskaya, or simply Nadia, a successful businesswoman running her own software development company, received an invitation that promised more than just a regular business meeting. After leaving her previous company, where she had climbed to the top of career privileges using every lever of influence, Nadia founded her own business. A new contract became a real breakthrough for her company, allowing her to hire professional managers and focus on strategic issues. But success didn’t fill the inner void that craved new, unexplored sensations.

“Come to the address I’ll provide through a courier,” a cold, commanding voice said over the phone.

Upon arrival, she was greeted with formal politeness.

“Hello, please show your invitation,” said the guard at the entrance to a building hidden behind an unremarkable facade.

Nadia handed over the envelope, and they escorted her inside, where the atmosphere shifted instantly. The air was thick with a strange mix of scents—leather, metal, and something faintly stirring. Dim lamplight reflected off dark walls, creating the feeling of stepping into another world where the rules of ordinary life no longer applied.

“Hello, I’m Maxim, Maxim Orlov, the owner of this club. If you’ve made it here, you’ve passed the first test. Who vetted you?” The tall, fit man looked at her with cold confidence.

“Igor,” Nadia replied curtly, trying to hide her nerves.

“Got it. He always sends us vibrant personalities. You understand that here, you’re paid, not the other way around? Those who pass the tests aren’t clients; they work according to a pre-written script. You must follow the hierarchy,” his voice was an order, leaving no room for objection.

“Yes, my lord,” she replied, lowering her gaze.

“Stop it. We’re not in the office yet, though if you wish, you can call me that anytime. But the second test is conducted by me personally. Only after it can you work with clients,” he continued, pointing down a long corridor.

“Understood, my lord,” Nadia repeated, feeling a strange mix of fear and anticipation growing inside her.

“Have you eaten today? If so, preparation will be needed. It’s not an issue; everything will be arranged. The key is not to lie. If asked, answer truthfully, or you’ll be dismissed. Though I doubt it’ll come to that. You can also become a client, but at double the price. Everything you do, say, and especially what you don’t do or say, matters. Silence and inaction are also actions,” his words sounded like the rules of a game she was just beginning to grasp.

“Understood, my lord,” she nodded.

“You’ll be escorted. Go further down the corridor,” Maxim directed.

A girl in a white coat met her, her smile too mechanical. She led Nadia to a procedural room, sterile and cold, like an operating theater. After the necessary preparations, she was pointed further along.

“Now exit and follow the corridor with the green light,” the girl said.

Nadia entered the room, and the light behind her switched to red. The doors closed with a metallic click, reminiscent of a car lock snapping shut. Her heart raced, but curiosity overpowered fear, keeping her mind afloat despite the storm of emotions within.

“Stand. Now show yourself as you’d like to be seen. I need a presentation of your essence,” Maxim’s voice came from the shadows, commanding and demanding.

“Understood, my lord,” Nadia replied, striving to remain calm.

Maxim sat in a leather chair by a window covered with heavy blinds, making the room feel even more enclosed. Light fell in narrow strips, casting shadows across his face, rendering his expression unreadable. Nadia shed the last of her clothes—a black T-shirt left after the wardrobe—and stepped onto a circular platform. It began to rotate slowly, as if showcasing her from all angles. Maxim controlled the speed and angle with a small remote in his hand.

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