This book is the eighth in a series. Each book contains an erotic story. These correspond in part to my life, my real experiences. The rest is a flip-flop movie. My stories are therefore a mixture of wishes, longings, real adventures and masturbation fantasies.

And now to me: I was born in 1982 in the Soviet Union. Specifically, in Rybinsk, in the sign of Sagittarius. We emigrated to Germany in 1996. Our way led us to Berlin at that time.

I am 162 cm tall and of cosy but aesthetic figure. I've got a full 95 E-cup. My hair is naturally blonde and my eyes are green to bluish. I have been wearing my hair for many years in short and in different colours.

Meanwhile I'm heavily tattooed. To my father's annoyance, I also had the back of my hand tattooed. Well, now you have an optical image of me in the stories. But feel free to introduce yourself to something else.

I hope I can give you a little joy with my fantasies and experiences and/or inspire you to erotic acts;)

Of course, I would be very pleased about a positive evaluation and recommendations. To make reading more pleasant, I write from my own point of view.

Your Dunja

Fucking Holiday

The sun was burning mercilessly from the sky. It was 38 degrees in the shade all day long. If the wind hadn't been there, the heat would have been unbearable. August 2017, I was with my best friend Ivanka and her boyfriend Alex on vacation in Mallorca. El Arenal, like three times before.

We resided in a hotel named Juan Palma. Party vacation, with everything that goes with it. Insufficiently clean rooms, mediocre food, a German pub across the street from which Rambazamba was made around the clock. It was, as always, a holiday full of alcohol, party and fun. Already on the first evening we shot down in the famous ham street.

But on the third or fourth day, something unexpected happened. Ivanka and Alex got sick. They caught a bad cold. Maybe it was the air conditioning, maybe they got infected with someone. No matter how it came about. Ivanka and Alex lay flat for a few days. Which, of course, upset the two of them.

So I went out alone around the houses for a few nights. I met some people on my way. And by people, I mean men. I was single and traveling alone. And there's nothing wrong with a little flirtation. Not against a lot of little flirts. Or great flirts.

So I walked alone through the party streets of the island. One night I went to the Megapark. There I saw talented singing stars and ex-stars and listened to their horrible singing. As always, when I was travelling alone, I quickly got to talk to other people.

I wore a short denim skirt and a bellyless white top with black pumps. I wasn't ashamed of my extra pounds. In my youth I had learned one thing above all else. Guys like rounding. Bouncing tits, a thicker back and full lips are for most men the erotic ideal image. Very few people like hunger hooks á la Catwalk. I was always aware that I was worthy of an erection at any time. And I liked to play with that knowledge.

But the guys I met that night weren't my case. They were quite cute boys among them. But the party I was celebrating with came from Dresden. Nice boys and some girls, too. But lingual... not my case. So I decided to go to the hotel on my own.

Like so many others, I roamed the promenade towards the hotel. And like most of them, street vendors approached me. From Asian girls who were trying to sell some flashing stuff. And from Africans who wanted to get rid of jewellery and watches. Some of them were seen all the time for days.

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