#3009: Brest, Belarus
Original photo: @themichaeldonovan
Alina and her boyfriend, Zhenja, have been apart for months due to his work contract abroad. The only way they can connect is through video calls—and they make the most of them in ways that leave them both breathless.
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Transcript
The clock moved painfully slow, each second dragging on as Alina waited for the workday to end. Her foot tapped impatiently against the floor, fingers twitching as she resisted the urge to check the time again. Her colleagues, two older women who shared her office, had long noticed her restlessness. They gave her knowing smiles, exchanging glances that made it clear they understood.
They didn’t know the details, but they knew enough.
Zhenja—her boyfriend, the man who had left months ago for work in Germany—was all she could think about. The distance was suffocating, but they both knew it was necessary. Life in Belarus didn’t offer much in terms of financial stability, and this was their way of building a future together. But even knowing that didn’t make the ache of missing him any easier.
The moment her shift ended, she was out the door. Skipping her usual bus ride, she flagged down a taxi, impatient to get home.
Stepping into her apartment, she wasted no time stripping off her clothes and stepping into the shower. The heat of the water rolled over her skin, washing away the stress of the day and replacing it with anticipation. Tonight, she wanted everything to be perfect—even if perfection meant seeing him only through a screen.
She chose black lace lingerie, the delicate fabric hugging her curves just right, and slipped on a red dress that clung to her in all the right places. By the time she finished styling her hair, the doorbell rang.
A delivery. Flowers and dinner—ordered for her by Zhenja, just as he always did.
She set the table, placing a plate and a glass for herself, a laptop across from her where he should have been sitting in person. It wasn’t the same, but it was the best they could do.
Then came the sound of the incoming call.
As soon as she answered, his face filled the screen. Even through the slight pixelation, his expression was unmistakable—eyes lingering on her, lips curving in that way that always sent a thrill through her.
The dark circles beneath his eyes told her how exhausted he was, but he brushed off any concern. He was fine, he reassured her, now that he could see her.
They ate together, filling the silence with laughter, stories, and moments of quiet comfort. It felt normal. Almost.
Then, just as the last bite of food was set aside, he shared the news.
In a month, he would be home.
Relief crashed over her, overwhelming in its intensity. Her chest tightened, her throat burned, but it wasn’t sadness—it was happiness so fierce it left her breathless. The thought of having him close again, of feeling his touch, made her body tremble with anticipation.
The plates were forgotten, pushed aside. The air between them thickened, charged with something deeper.
Alina pushed her chair back, standing in full view of the camera. No instructions were needed—she already knew what he wanted, and she wanted it just as badly.
Her hands trailed down her body, slowly, teasingly, over the fabric of her dress. A shuddering breath sounded from his end, the reaction she craved.
The straps of her dress slipped from her shoulders, gliding down her arms. The fabric pooled at her feet, leaving her in lace and longing.
Her fingers danced over her own skin, cupping her breasts, teasing her nipples until they tightened under her touch. Heat coiled low in her stomach, pulsing between her legs.
He leaned back, watching, his breathing heavier now. His shirt was already gone, revealing toned muscle, the definition of his chest that she had memorized long ago.
Sliding her hands lower, she traced the outline of her panties, pressing against the damp lace, letting the sensation tease her before slipping the fabric aside.
His hand moved over his cock, stroking slowly, matching the pace she set.
With deliberate movements, she reached for the small vibrator beside her, holding it up for him to see before pressing it to her aching clit. The first buzz sent a jolt through her, hips jerking instinctively.
She pushed it lower, running it along her folds before slipping it inside. The stretch was delicious, filling the emptiness that had plagued her for months.
His strokes quickened as she rocked into the vibrations, her free hand moving to pinch her nipple, amplifying the pleasure.
Their rhythms synced—his movements mimicking hers, their bodies responding to each other despite the miles between them.
Pleasure built quickly, a slow burn that ignited into something uncontrollable. Her thighs trembled, her breaths turned ragged, and then—release.
Her body arched, pleasure crashing over her in waves, her moans escaping unchecked. Through the haze of her own climax, she saw him tense, his grip tightening as his own orgasm overtook him.
For a long moment, nothing else existed. Just the sound of their breathing, heavy and satisfied.
The screen wasn’t enough. It never was.
But soon, he would be home.
And when that moment came, neither of them would hold back.