I wanted more than to laugh. Aglaia could not even think of appearing in such an obscene form in front of men, whoever they were. Having untied her braid and somehow combing her slightly dried hair with a five-year-old, the girl threw a sheepskin coat over her shoulders and sadly sat on the edge of the bench, nudging her head against the log wall, intending to wait for the rescuers from her own estate. Behind the door there were barely audible, quiet conversations, Aglaya gradually warmed up.

The creak of the opening door interrupted the sleepy, hungry half-sleep, Aglaya swooped up in alarm, pulling her tighter into a warm sheepskin coat.

- Madmasel will free the bedroom of a tired vagabond? - the cheerful voice belonged to the mustache, and Aglaya, rising from her familiar place, under a confidingly quiet, ironically mocking “Madmasel, you are magnificent!” Slipped into the room she mentally dubbed “the living room”. The one with a beard, it seems, without even noticing it, stomped, heavy creaking floorboards, past, he closed the door behind him. Aglaia, diligently pretending that she was no stranger to defile in front of the men in shirts, sat down at the table with a forced independent look, pulled the pot of still warm potatoes to her. A mustache settled in front of her, splashed a clear, sharp-smelling liquid into a glass.

- Drink it. - Short order, not at all comic. - Bold, girl. Yes, you tidy up from the table. Do not forget to sweep the floor ... - Aglaya gasped in indignation with a sigh, flashed her eyes, and violently slammed her palm on the table, beginning to rise. And again she plopped down on a bench, crushed by a heavy male palm, which fell on her shoulder.

- So brave such? - It was as if she was surprised to get up and, while Aglaya looked around in search of at least some kind of fork (she would have pierced her belly, surely), turned out to be behind her shoulder, his hand slid along the girl’s back, reeling her hair loosely, her hair loose, painful jerk forcing head back. Aglaia didn’t have time to scream as the man’s hand (well, that there are only two of them) painfully opened her mouth, and her throat, her throat burned with liquid fire. She gasped, coughed, gasping for air, unable to see anything because of the tears spilling over her eyes.

- This is a cure, stupid! On here. - He pushed her again on the bench, popped a pickled cucumber in his hand, sat down beside him, chuckling. - Well, it became warmer? Where do such sissies come from? - Aglaia hastily crunched cucumber, wiping away tears, breathing fast, listening to the heat spreading inside the heart, lower to the stomach.

- What is the name of something?

- Ah ... Gla ...

- Glashka? Fool you, Glashka, this is the first cold medicine! How many in the woods was she hanging? Again, in Matrona, has the cow gone to the forest? - Aglaya hardly understood what he was talking about, but just in case she nodded, and he again thrust a glass into her hand, at the bottom of which a clear liquid was splashing.

- For acquaintance means, Glashka! - Aglaya, too, was already a little ridiculous, she snorted into the sleeve, reached for the pickled mushroom, nearly knocked over the cruet. - Cow clumsy you, Glashka! - he gave her a light slap, but made sure that she drank in one gulp. Aglaia almost suffocated, almost died again, if she felt like, but after a few seconds life began to play with new colors.

- Did warmer, Madmasel Glashka? I am warming up, I see ... - Easily grabbed the girl on his lap. Aglaya, oddly enough, did not object. More comfortable, of course, though not ... Not that? A little bit wrong, but, of course, because it is hot ... She bent her shoulders, pulled off her hot short coat.

A warm hand stroked through the coarse fabric of her thigh, a new portion of vodka that had burnt nerves had an effect on a slightly distorted outlook.And the actions of the hand already seemed quite appropriate, and Aglaya explained to the mustache with a slightly stranded tongue that if he had not turned out to be a noble knight in the literal sense of the word, then he would have been beaten with a whip on her own stable. The noble knight agreed that the times now dangerous, noble knights remained one or two and miscalculated, expressed a desire to personally inspect the stables and other buildings, and with a confident hand came to her chest. Aglaia froze from these seemingly random touches, lost herself, feeling vague longing and vague anxiety.

And then the soft neck tickled the mustache and soft lips. And the words are over. Aglaya only had time to breathe slowly, fearing to frighten off the sensation of touch, like the wings of a butterfly. Male lips examined each piece of skin, centimeter by centimeter, and the hand insidiously snuck into the open neckline of the shirt, immediately covering the warm hill of the breast with her palm, caressing pliable flesh with unexpected tenderness — Aglaya moved her hand to her whole body, trying to press more tightly, until it was impossible to press the nipple into palm center. Man's manipulations became more and more insistent, tougher - grabbing sensitive flesh with short tweaks, he forced Aglaya to cry out again and again, but she couldn’t even stop her in the head. On the contrary, if he had stopped for a moment, he would have asked for more and more ...

And the greedy man’s hand was not enough ... There were few suffering cries, few languid sighs, and sweet girlish moans were not enough either. Grab, squeeze, crush, squeeze, torment the hot soft flesh, pull sobs from the throat.

With a jerk to lift from her knees, with a changed face, she would scream in dismay - brush off everything that comes under the arm of the table to the floor, throw the obedient (and she would try to tear the damn back) to the cold boards of the table. Not the first time, apparently. Aglaya, in the thrill of drunken lust and burning impatience, was ready for anything. Valenki with a soft thud fell to the floor, something rang, rolled ... What is the difference that if the air around them seemed to crackle from the tangible tension of a quick coition ...

To tear up Aglaia’s shirt to the waist is a matter of a second. With a confident jerk - it is more convenient to arrange the female body bending in impatient whine. Aglaia rested her palms on the edges of the table, waited, wanted, feared, wished - closed her eyes, ceasing to breathe, when with a new wrench the man confidently spread her legs and the hot crotch touched her crotch, alive, trembling ...

Time seemed to stop, stretched out to an infinite second in eternity, froze a raindrop on the tip of a birch leaf ...

And, having exhausted the order with the expectation of the inevitable, smooth, confident, decisive thighs to be thrust into the tight, narrow, wet, hot depth, juicy, as if ripe fruit, the pulp of which can be savored indefinitely, reveling in sweet nectar, eagerly feasting on the rights of the winner, torturing with full rights host ...

To freeze, give her a short respite, the opportunity to get used to and adapt to what seemed to be pierced with a hot spear to the inside — to the heart, to the throat, which causes her breath to break off, to bite her lip and painfully to scowl, and even to make an awkward attempt to crawl away. To examine all of her, prostrate, prostrated on the table cluttered with cleansing and scraps, roughly slap the poured chest, pinch the nipple, and palm down to the waist and bend of the hip, pick up under the buttocks, lift above the table and ...

And he no longer caressed - raped, breathing heavily, violently hammering her body into the boards of the table, pinching and crushing elastic buttocks, pulling on himself - hot, obedient, giving away the tenderness of his soul and body ...

He drank and could not get drunk with her juices, her squealing, moans, cries - deep, deaf, saturated with intonations of a primitive, animal nature, rejecting shame and modesty ...

Bringing her into a frenzy with obscene sounds of lascivious intercourse — loud splashing of wet bodies, squishing of a wet vagina, hoarse uneven breathing intertwined into a fancy ornament ... and frantic moans ...

He led her to the edge of the abyss and forced her to balance, as if at the point of a knife, who prayed for mercy or death, without giving either one or the other ...

And, finally, he released both himself and her, as the first lightning at a sultry noon promises salvation by a close thunderstorm ...

Sweet convulsions of an orgasm, when two become one, a big bang, giving birth to a new universe, devastating and stunning, were long, impossible long ... Gently squeezing her nipples with his teeth, he seemed to be swaying on the warm waves, and she, picking up short ones with trembling fingers strands of his hair, just starting to understand what happened ...