"The true follower of Gd."

As usual in the evening we sat in his office; He read a thick religious book (the master is divine), I read out children's fairy tales out loud (there is a large, clear font). He peeked over my shoulder and spoke himself, mentioning a few calls from my mother about me. He added that they could not talk to her, because no one speaks Russian in the house, but they answered in English that I would call as soon as I could. He added that I was preparing for a conversation, having thought about how to please my mother, without upsetting her. For joy, I jumped up, quite directly rushed to his chest and hugged, kissing on the cheek. He barely smiled and pulled me to him. His hands slid along my back, feeling each rib, squeezing my waist, dropping lower and lower. In a tense silence, I tried to free myself carefully, but he pressed me closer to him, rubbed against my groin, stuck his knee between my legs, so I soon felt the unequivocal swelling distinctly below his stomach.

“He does not bother maidservants,” I remembered Jane's words, which now did not seem to me at all reliable. Holding me back to the table, so that I could not wriggle out, holding my thighs with a tight grip, he rubbed his hardening groin against the bottom of my stomach. His face turned red, he breathed loudly. Suddenly he pushed me down onto the carpet, unbuttoned my trousers, and in front of my face stretched out in surprise was a dark erect penis. I sat completely stunned, not expecting anything like that of a pious, little-talker old man, while he with a tense face and half-closed eyes concentratedly rubbed his cock with a ring of fingers. The fabric of the dress cracked when he jerked me by the collar, exposing my neck and chest. Squeezing my neck, he pulled me to his groin and masturbated faster and faster, almost putting his penis in my face. I fastened myself with the last of my strength, completely disbelieving what was happening, not understanding what the old libertine wanted from me. I felt bad from heavy forebodings that I was in another trap. Finally, puffing like a train, a man splashed out on my neck. Drops of sperm flowed into the hollow between the breasts, and breathing hard, he followed the wet track. He ran his hand up my face, smearing sperm. Then he gently wiped his hands and wrinkled penis with napkins, did not offer them to me, buttoned up his pants, turned over the page of the reference book and called for the servant.

I just sat on the floor, gripped by nasty premonitions. He told the enroller to take me to my room, and I found myself again in the chic chambers once shared with Omar. “The master ordered not to lock the door and wait for him,” I heard without surprise, and I even understood the order. There was nothing to do, and somehow it was necessary to survive. And why did I decide that the old libertine was more decent than his sons? I felt so sorry for myself, which turned out to be at the epicenter of the lust of middle-aged men (both children over 30 and dad over 50 seemed old to me then). For the first time in recent years, I comfortably took a shower, not crowding in line with the servants. I wore a transparent shirt, bought by Omar. And she sat on the bed to expect further.

Silently closing the door behind him, Salman-aga entered in his bathrobe. He appreciated my view with pleasure and sat down beside him. - Do you want me? - in all seriousness whispered the old libertine. “Yes,” I nodded as naturally as possible. - You will have to try. I'm not young. Do not disappoint me ... - clinging, he whispered in my ear and kissed my neck. I shuddered - I was afraid that my disgust was noticeable. - Take off ... Lie down ... - slightly pushed me onto the bed and, taking off my clothes, I stretched out on the bed. He felt my body for a long time, as if he had first reached the woman; I tried not to look at bony, knotted fingers on my chest, stomach, thighs ...He seemed to be trying to excite me, sensitively pressing, pinching, twisting.

Comfortably seated at the side, he parted my thighs and brought his fingers closer to the dry vagina. I bit my lip and sighed. At first superficially stroking, the old man made his way deeper inside, and now his cold fingers accelerate the slip in me. With a voluptuous expression on his face, he watched intently as my plump lower lips darken, grow damp and invitingly reveal themselves under the accelerated pace of his persistent fingers. Putting his second hand on my peeking pubis, he pressed him, rolled his eyes and whispered: - Take him ... Now ... I timidly touched his thighs, slid my hand between them: the penis was a little hard. Exactly - have to try! Hiding the dislike and trying not to look into the blushing and shaking face of the owner, I set about the difficult work. I tried to quickly arouse the old man in order to free myself from the captivity of his tenacious fingers, the sensations from which were becoming unbearable. And he tirelessly tormented me, contentedly listening to the loud squelch of my twisted vagina. In the end, the member is so hardened that it could be considered a willingness. Lustful hrych, sobbing, threw off his robe, exposing his body overgrown with gray hair, sagging chest and protruding folded belly. How does a person reveal nudity! Dragging him to the edge of the bed, he grabbed my knees, lifted me up, sat down himself and introduced the penis. I closed my eyes, not finding the strength to look at how a voluptuous old man has me. Being able to be my relative. Almost father. But who wished to make me a concubine.

He quickly shook and splashed into me. Well, at least the process was short! Tired, he sank down on the bed beside him and stretched out a stringy body, touching mine. - Did you like it? - not looking at me. - Yes ... - Is my son better? - and asked. Well, how to answer? Ask again, which of the sons? - You are gentle and tender ... kind ... I feel good with you ... Approvingly patted me on the chest. - You gave me great pleasure. I can be grateful, you will not regret ... Squeezing my hand: - Sleep, my girl! Tomorrow is an important day, talk to mom. Left alone, I cried again, realizing that I would never get out of here - the aged lover would not let go. Why is fate so unfair to me? I do not understand people at all and choose the wrong men. For the first time I felt a deaf hostility towards Omar who had cast me here, for so long mentally justifying him.

The coveted awakening.

Filipina Jane helps me get dressed and beautifully styles my hair - I'm getting ready for a video call with my mom. - No, do not cry! - she wipes my tears. - The red face will be noticeable on the screen, you will not be allowed to call. Another layer of powder - and the color of the skin admissible shade. - I feel bad Jane ... There is no hope ... How to live? ... Who will help me to go home? - unanswered questions. - They don't let me out either. They suspect that we have agreed with you and I want to help you, ”whispers Jane. - Young masters are angry and take out everything on the servants. They beat, raped girls ... Everyone whispers that because of you. They think you quarreled them with your father, chose him instead of them. I look blankly at the maid and, realizing, laughing hysterically; she tries to calm me down. It turns out how my position looks from the outside: I went through all the men of the family, quarreled and settled on my father. Laughter turns into sobs: I would like to enjoy my situation, but I don’t want something! Does not work!

After washing away the blurred make-up, we apply fresh and go to the waiting owner. With him is a photographer and a translator already familiar through video. They take pictures of me in different home interiors, I carefully pose, depicting complete contentment with life. The rules of conversation are the same: I say what is necessary, avoiding taboo topics. At the slightest doubt of the translator, the conversation is interrupted, and the possibility of a subsequent one is postponed indefinitely. I look with hostility at the self-satisfied old man and the translator; they pretend not to notice.The presentation for the mother succeeds with a bang: she touchingly thanks the host, who cares so much about her daughter. Salman-aga piously nods his head in response and presses his hand to his heart in response to gratitude. He strokes my knees under the table and shakes hands.