***

We then went home, having embraced, and Dasha was sobbing, and still could not calm down, and the passersby thought - “I guess the guys have quarreled” ...

We decided that the curls, so miraculously saved, required a reward, and on returning home, I organized a session of erotic headwash for Dasha who had suffered. Frankly, I myself was torn from unfulfilled desire ...

This was our second experience. This time I took Dasha to the bathroom, filled the bath to half, shaken the foam in it, sat there, Dasha sat down on top, back to me, and after some effort, put ass on my dick. Her anus is well designed - we specifically did this for the entire previous month.

That alone was awesome - both for me and for her. Sitting in a warm foam, doing almost nothing - and bursting with increasing sweetness! Such a pose is like a time bomb: it works inside you, and sweetness builds up gradually, but inexorably - in order to explode at the most unexpected moment.

In this position, I began to lather her head. At first it was a bit uncomfortable, but I adapted, and very soon Dasha growled, and wheezed, and meowed, and through a moan shared with me - “It looks like THIS will be very soon. Even a shame ... "

There was a large mirror in front of us, so Dasha saw everything - and the soap flakes on her hair, and her own body; open cave remained under foam. There was nowhere to tie her hands, and I begged her to endure to the last - but Dashulkin's patience was enough for 5 minutes, no more. When she gasped, grabbed her pussy, I began to pry her under, poured shampoo into curls, smeared foam all over my body, caressing both my head and sisi at the same time - and soon Dashka smiled with happiness, loudly, laughing loudly and screaming - “Oh “Oh, oh, uh, how good!”, and I pierced her with my own lash, kneaded my soapy hair, enjoyed her joy, fussing, squishing and spraying, which we raised to the very ceiling. Of course, there were no tears that flowed from her that day until the evening ...

And I, concentrating on a full-fledged high for Dasha, endured to the last, but when she was finished and went dead, I felt her tight ass squeeze out the ultimate sweetness from the penis (all this time I was in her for the most eggs), grabbed her in front of the hips with a force on himself, having raised a real storm in the bath - and in half a minute I measured and lost my head from the delicacy and fullness of the explosion in her ass ...

This orgasm, which fed my whole body from top to bottom, compensated for all the sexual anguish of this day. Then we gently, gently washed off the foam, and I played with cute silky strands that hang so breathtakingly on her sisi ...

Impressions of this day were partially included later in our story "The Photo Session".

***

Our other horror story, our fix-idea is painting. The more you realize that the natural color of the Dashin curls is a treasure, the more the idea of ​​“changing the skin” attracts itself.

It is here that I fulfill my Eger duties: if it were not for me, Dashka, probably, would have painted all the colors of the rainbow a long time ago. At least from his overwhelming desire for acting, for reincarnation, for carnival. She wants to be different, she wants to feel herself born again.

The worst thing that I want the same. But both she and I understand that her hair is inviolable and sacred.

The taboo was broken for the first time recently, when she, playing a role-playing game with me (I described it in the story “The Day of Games”), changed her appearance and, despite my strictest ban, for the first time in her life dyed her hair “radical black”. True, it turned out to be a cream-paint sitting on the hair before the first contact with water - but I washed it off for about 30 minutes, no less. After washing, thank God, there was not a trace left, and - thus the criminal idea that cream paint was supposedly nothing, it is possible, remained in Dashuni’s head.

I understood this, and decided to give her the impression that once and for a long time would quench her thirst for reincarnation. Cream paint - so cream paint; I called unchanged Aunt Zhenya, and she told me about the paint, which will transform Dashkin's appearance, and it will be easier to wash off.

Now it was necessary to think through the script. I thought and thought - and that came up.

One Sunday I offered her a new role-playing game. We go to Aunt Zhenya, and there she transforms us - both her and me - and in the way each of us wishes the other. In other words, Aunt Zhenya, who was dressing up Dasha, turns out to be a tool in my hands, and then, when she starts working for me - in Dashins ... My adult wife accepted this idea with a pig squeal, blew my face, and then I could go on:

... After this, we, transformed, go to the exhibition, where I will play the role of a foreigner, and Dashka, a casual acquaintance, who undertook to translate to me the mysterious inscriptions and rattling of these crazy-Russian ones. By the way, at the same time and in Inglish I practice Dashka, otherwise she’s cunning-dodging ... At first, I go there alone at 2 pm, pester everyone I meet with long English phrases, then at 14.05 Dasha appears as if by chance - - enters into a conversation with me, seizes my Basurmanian sympathies and accompanies me around the exhibition. And - there God already knows what happens. At the end of the game sex mysteriously and inevitably glowed, promising us new, intriguing impressions and pleasures. In what form, under what circumstances - we did not know ...

The whole essence of such games, as we understood last time, is in publicity: our “acquaintance” should take place in front of outsiders who know nothing about us. Their presence helps to feel the present reincarnation, from which it is creepy. I was sure that such a large-scale adventure would strike Dashin's nerves well and quench her thirst for reincarnations. In addition, I was dissatisfied with my behavior in the last game and was going to rehabilitate myself.

... No sooner said than done. I agreed with Aunt Zhenya, a grumpy middle-aged Jewish woman, promising her a good baksheesh “to the family fund”, and she gave us half a day on Sunday.

When the time came, we came there - excited Dasha was all out, into whom I want to transform her, but I kept silent, - and it began: my husband was seated in a chair.

When they took hold of her hair, she could not restrain herself - she cried out and looked at me inquiringly. And as if nothing had happened, I give instructions: “paint her into a linen blonde” ...

Dashka has big eyes, her cheeks have turned pink and shone, and all of her looks like Cinderella, who was invited to the ball. Her hair was treated for an hour, or even more — such violent curls like hers are not easy to dye, and I asked Katya to do this (arguing it with Dasha’s shyness), and he retired for 40 minutes. Then, however, had to wait for the same amount.

In the end, I could not resist and appeared in the holy of holies - I really wanted to see the process of turning my favorite bronze girl into a blonde. When I came in, Dasha sat with closed eyes, red spots crept across her face, and Katya painted her curls, obviously embarrassed by her impressionability. Dasha was almost blonde, I hardly recognized her, and my heart sank. I decided not to show my return, put a finger to Katie's lips, and quietly, tiptoed, sneaked into a corner.

Dasha's hair became light — beige-linen, a “field” shade — you want to put on a wreath of cornflowers and wheat on such ones, and Dasha turned into another being. It worried like a romantic dream.

When, finally, the painting was over, and Dasha walked along the mirror, gazing in amazement, enthusiasm and incredulity at her linen curls — exactly like a bald Latino — followed by the second stage. Stunned blonde Dasha was allowed to stretch her legs, ... Read more →