Hypnotic evening of Kukolda

Anya and I had been planning to go to this party for a long time. Our friend Mark was celebrating his housewarming in his spacious apartment on the outskirts of the city, and I knew there would be many unfamiliar people. Anya wore what drives me crazy — black lace stockings with garters and a tight dress that accentuated every line of her body.

"You look incredible today," I whispered in her ear as we rode the elevator up.

She smiled, blushing slightly, and tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear. "Thank you, but you're embarrassing me."

The party was in full swing: laughter, music, glasses of wine in the guests' hands. Anya and I each took a cocktail and started mingling, as the English say.

And that's when I noticed *him*.

Tall, with a piercing gaze and a calm smile. His name was Artyom, and Mark introduced him as an "old friend with unusual talents."

"Artyom is into hypnosis," Mark explained with a hint of a joke, but I saw how the stranger's gaze slid over Anya, as if appraising her.

"Really?" Anya asked, intrigued. "Can we test it somehow?"

Artyom smirked. "Of course. Want to give it a try?"

I felt a chill run down my spine. My fantasy — Anya, submissive and willless in another man's hands — suddenly became so tangible...

"Go ahead," I said, surprising even myself.

Anya looked at me in surprise, but Artyom was already pulling a chain with a small pendulum from his pocket.

"Focus on this," he said softly.

The game began.

Anya froze, her brown eyes fixed on the pendulum. It swung smoothly, rhythmically, as if counting down the seconds to something inevitable.

"Relax..." Artyom's voice was warm, but there was an authoritative tone in it. "You feel your eyelids getting heavy... how a warm wave spreads through your body..."

I held my breath. My wife slowly nodded, her lips slightly parted. I knew that expression — that's how she looked when she was on the verge of an orgasm.

"Do you want to please me?" Artyom asked, and my heart beat faster.

Anya nodded.

"Then get on your knees."

She knelt before him without hesitation, as if it were the most natural movement in the world. I saw her thighs tremble under the thin fabric of her dress, how her stockings creaked slightly as her knees touched the floor.

Artyom ran a finger under her chin, making her look up.

"You look so beautiful on your knees..." he whispered, then looked at me. "You don't mind, do you?"

I didn't answer. I *couldn't* answer. All I wanted was to see her fingers reach for his fly...

Anya, as if reading my thoughts, slowly unbuckled his belt.

"Good girl..." Artyom praised, and she smiled, as if those words were a reward for her.

His cock was exactly as I had imagined — thick, hard, slightly trembling with excitement. Anya licked her lips, then gently ran her tongue over the head...

I swallowed.

"Does she know how to do this?" Artyom asked, but I knew it was a rhetorical question.

Because the next second, Anya took him into her mouth.

I watched, mesmerized, as Anya's lips, so soft and tender, slid along Artyom's tense cock. She wrapped her fingers around it, squeezing and slowly moving up and down, while her tongue playfully touched the sensitive head.

"Oh, good girl..." Artyom whispered, running his hand through her hair.

Anya moaned in response, and that sound — wet, lustful — made my own cock throb painfully in my pants. She sucked him with such passion, as if it were the only thing she wanted in life.

"She just loves this," Artyom chuckled, looking at me. "Did you know your wife was so... *insatiable*?"

I didn't answer. It was hard for me to think. Blood pounded in my temples, and a fire burned in my lower abdomen.

Anya quickened her pace, her cheeks hollowing, her lips tightly gripping his flesh. Saliva dripped down the shaft, mixing with her lipstick, leaving shiny trails.

"Yes... that's it..." Artyom tilted his head back slightly, enjoying it. "Deeper, Anya."

And she obeyed.

Anya forgot about everything — about the party, the guests, even about me. Her world now narrowed to the hard cock in her mouth, the salty taste on her tongue, the low groan from Artyom that escaped his chest every time she took him especially deep.

"God, what a slut you are..." he whispered, clenching her hair in his fist.

And she *moaned* in response, as if it were the most pleasant thing she had ever heard.

I couldn't look away. My modest, shy Anya, who usually blushed even at a hint of something indecent, was now greedily sucking another man, her lips shiny with saliva, her fingers digging into his thighs.

"She's clearly done this before," Artyom smirked, looking at me.

I didn't answer. I didn't care. I *wanted* her to be exactly like this — depraved, lustful, *his*.

Anya sped up, her cheeks hollowing, her tongue wrapping around his shaft, as if trying to lick up every drop.

"Yes... like that..." Artyom tensed, his fingers trembling in her hair. "Do you want me to come in your mouth?"

She nodded without stopping.

And then he jerked her head back sharply, forcing her to look up.

"Say it."

"I... I want to," she whispered, and there was such submission in her voice that it took my breath away.

Artyom grinned.

"Then take it."

A warm wave washed over me before I could understand what was happening. My hips jerked on their own, and I felt hot semen fill my underwear in pulsating spurts. I moaned — louder than I would have liked — but I couldn't stop.

Anya heard.

She slowed her movements, her eyes — slightly glazed, with dilated pupils — slowly rose to me. Saliva still glistened on her lips, mixed with drops of Artyom's pre-cum.

"Wow," he laughed hoarsely, watching me tremble. "You didn't even touch yourself? Just *watched* and came?"

I didn't answer. I was ashamed. But at the same time — it felt so damn *good*.

Anya suddenly smiled. Not the gentle smile I knew, but something *else* — predatory, depraved.

"He always reacts like that when I..." she licked her lips, "*satisfy men*."

Artyom raised an eyebrow with interest.

"Really? So, this isn't the first time?"

Anya didn't answer. Instead, she leaned towards his cock again and *took him fully into her mouth*, making Artyom exhale sharply.

I swallowed.

My wife was *enjoying* this.

Anya slowly pulled away from Artyom's cock, leaving it shiny and wet with her saliva. Drops of semen stretched between her swollen lips and his head, creating a depraved thread that finally broke, falling onto her chin. She didn't even wipe it off.

Instead, she *looked* at me.

Not with tenderness. Not with love.

But with cold, predatory pleasure.

"So, what now, Dimochka?" her voice was sweet as poison. "You came in your pants like a little boy, just from watching me suck another man?"

My face burned with shame, but my cock, as if refuting my weakness, tensed again despite the sticky stains on my trousers.

Artyom laughed, roughly running his finger over her lips, collecting the semen, and then *smeared* it across her cheek.

"Your wife is a real slut," he said, looking me straight in the eye. "And it seems you like it."

Anya smirked, walked over to me, and gently wrapping her arms around my neck, whispered right in my ear:

"Do you want to lick his semen off my lips?"

You don't answer. You *can't* answer.

Anya's lips — sticky, smeared with another man's seed — are so close. Her breath, hot and ragged, burns your skin. You feel your body betraying you: your cock twitches in your dirty trousers, your stomach tightens with shame... and arousal.

"Ah, so that's how it is..." she drawls, enjoying your trembling. "You can't even speak."

Her fingers dig into your hair, jerking your head back sharply. Artyom watches, arms crossed, with a smirk.

"He's yours. Do whatever you want with him," he says, and Anya comes alive.

Her nail scratches your lower lip.

"**Open.**"

You obey.

The first thing you feel is *her taste*. Artyom's semen, mixed with her lipstick, bittersweet, someone else's saliva... You hate it.

You *love* it.

Your moan gets stuck in your throat as she pushes her fingers deeper, pressing down on your tongue.

"Lick it. Clean it all off."

You do as you're told.

Anya turns to Artyom, showing him your work:

"Clean?"

He checks, roughly running his thumb over her mouth, then slaps her cheek:

"Good job. You've trained him well."

You don't resist anymore.

You *don't want* to resist.

The bitter aftertaste of another man's semen on your tongue, the sweet hint of her lipstick, her fingers gripping your hair — it all drives you crazy. You feel your body burning treacherously, your cock pulsing as if it hadn't just come.

"Oh, it seems he *likes* being your little dog," Artyom chuckles, watching your pleading gaze.

Anya leans close to your ear, her lips brushing your skin as she whispers:

"**Do you want me to really use you?**"

You can't utter a word — you only nod, your gaze full of silent pleading.

"Then take off your pants."

Your fingers tremble as you unbuckle your belt. You feel Artyom's appraising gaze on your tense cock, still wet from your previous orgasm.

"How cute," he says mockingly. "Came once and already ready for the next."

Anya takes your chin, forcing you to look at her.

"Will you obey?"

"Y-yes..." finally escapes you.

Her eyes flash with pleasure.

"**Then jerk off while I suck him.**"

You can't take it anymore.

Your hand convulsively grips your cock, your palm slides along the shaft wet with your own semen. You watch as Anya's lips tightly wrap around Artyom, her cheeks hollowing, her fingers digging into his thighs.

"Yes... yes..." you moan, unable to stop.

Artyom grabs Anya by the hair, pressing her face to his groin.

"Swallow."

She rolls her eyes, her throat constricting around him, and at that moment **you lose control**.

A wave hits with incredible force — hot jets hit your stomach, chest, chin. You scream, your body convulses, but your hand keeps pumping your cock, as if on its own.

Anya pulls away from Artyom, her chin shiny with saliva and semen. She looks at you and **laughs**.

"You're so dirty," she runs a finger over your chest, collecting your own semen, then shoves the finger into your mouth. "**Here, clean up after yourself.**"

You obediently lick her finger, tasting yourself.

Artyom adjusts his trousers, grinning:

"What, already done? I was just getting warmed up."

Anya stands up, straightens her dress, and gives you a look that makes your blood run cold... and simultaneously pulse in your cock.

"Next time," she says, "**you'll lick him after he's been inside me.**"