Failure.

I turned into one agonizing wait. Considered the days of following the letters

I figured out the time to answer them. Provided that they were successfully sent, which Jane and I could not have known: she had no connection with the former servant. Classes distracted me from gloomy thoughts, I tried not to succumb to despondency and mentally prepared for the worst, in case of failure of my enterprise. It was impossible to fall down in spirit: suddenly, the struggle for liberation was to be longer than expected. Seeing me without obvious signs of depression, the owner cheered up, sincerely thinking that I had come to terms with the inevitable. He continued to demand proof of my love, persecuted by his irrepressible lust. He seemed younger in anticipation of a quick marriage and fatherhood.

Sad, Jane, sighing, looks at me and finally, in response to my direct question, says that the police came to the house with foreigners, and the old man, having invited guests to the office, talked with them for a long time. She suspects that this is about me, but she is not sure and asks not to lose heart, not to get upset and continue to hope and wait. Foreigners ... maybe from the embassy? Letter!? What is the result of the conversation? How to find out? The owner will not tell, and I will let down the servants who are immediately suspected of helping me. I have long puzzled over this riddle, but I was not destined to learn anything. The old man, suspiciously glancing at me, is silent, but I am not asking about anything, secretly burying the hopes for help from the Russian embassy. There remains the ghostly hope of a second letter home.

Somehow I witnessed his telephone conversation with Omar, who studied again in Moscow, where he was transferred again (I think, because of me, in order to avoid problems). I listened indifferently to the assurances of my father that his former bride (he emphasized the former) is good here and he should not worry about me. Caring for Lalle (father proudly praised that I am now their team mate) is now completely on it. I was not touched by the conversation: I was sure that Omar was indifferent to my fate.

High guest.

An important guest is expected in the house - some early nouveau riche official of the young, Salman-aha said so contemptuously about him. A representative of the new formation of officials seeking to change the old forms of government to modernized on the European model. It appeared from nowhere, not from the old aristocracy, as the host family, vigorously making its way up - a typical upstart. The Salman-aha family needs something from him, some permissions. It was decided to entertain him with my dances and a bath. “While you're my bride ...” the old man says meaningfully. - But this is no one yet ...

On the right day, guests are greeted with occasional ceremonies. The family is noticeably frowning in front of a prominent short man at 30. At the gala dinner, I lead the servants and pour spirits myself, and even prohibited alcohol. Comfortably seated on the couches, the men watch my wriggling movements with interest. I am as diligent as ever, the host nods approvingly. The smiling guest says something to the host, looking at me with interest. He calls me to gesture, and I sit down on the edge of the sofa next to the old man. He recommends me as a family guest who is fascinated by local customs and has accepted the true faith. The official gazes at me and says something commendable. He asks about Russia, saying that he was not there, but he wants to go.

Having caught the anxious direction of the conversation, the host sends me to prepare a bath for the distinguished guest. I wait for the men at the entrance, distribute sheets and towels to them and take a seat at the hot massage bench. After rubbing, Salman-aga nods in the direction of the guest, who is watching me relaxedly.I diligently rub and stretch his body under his attentive gaze. The guest promises that he will definitely talk with me about my homeland, to which the old man makes a curl. He sends me to himself, and I expect, having replaced the shirt soaked with sweat. Arriving happy and refreshed after the bath, where the necessary conversations were held with the distinguished guest, the old man sat down on the bed and gestured for me to take off my clothes, hugging, kissing between the breasts. She takes her nipples for a long time, then kisses her stomach, saying that our child is probably growing there. I look up indifferently while the voluptuary gropes me, and dutifully kneels between his divorced legs. Licking soft testicles, I listened to the groaning of the old man about the impropriety of the young, allowing them to frankly examine other women. I let out from my mouth the testicles pulled up to the base and the enlarged crooked member, I sit down on it with my back to the owner, I wait while he fidgets under me, more conveniently settling down. Strongly squeezing my trembling breasts, he begins to slowly move deep into me.

In the evening in the library, as promised, the guest honors me with the conversation (I received the persistent recommendations of the host to be cautious in the conversation). We are talking about Russian education, which is close to me, about sports (a man enjoys playing games), about tourism (he is surprised that I do not travel). The owner demonstrates cordiality by participating in the conversation, but I see that the guest sympathizes with me. A vague, obscure plan is still emerging in my head. Sent by the owner to look after the servant who is preparing the guest room (the man is spending the night with us), I already more clearly realize what I can do for my release. I quietly put a note on the pillow and cover it with a blanket.

Having exhausted the old man with a long blowjob, I wait until he begins to snore and, throwing on his robe, slip out of the room. Gently slipping to the guest, I open the unlocked door and walk up to the bed, from which the sleepless guest stares at me mockingly. - Well, what did you want to talk about at night? - smiling. Putting a chair to the bed and crouching down, whispering, I tell my guest my story. “If you refuse to help, then I can only commit suicide,” I finish the story sadly. A man looks at me with interest, depicting something like sympathy on his face. - Yes, there is a violation of the law, and violence ... I correctly understood that all four forced you to a prejudicial premarital connection? - No, not quite ... Omar did not force ... But in general, it is, - I confirm. The man reflects, not taking away from me a thoughtful look. - If all this is true ... although you do not look exhausted, then you need the protection of the law ... I think I can help you ... Leave all this to me and go in order not to arouse suspicion. Encouraged, I first sleep without painful nightmares.

In the morning I write down Jane's address, just in case saying goodbye to my dear friend. From the outstretched jewelry, she recoils in fright, whispering that she will not be happy if they find them. We hug. Left alone, I collect jewels; who knows what awaits me at home. In the afternoon, officials from the ministry suddenly arrive (I was expecting the police), and at the entrance a loud drama is played out. The host summoned from work angrily refuses to admit that a foreign citizen with an expired visa is being forcibly held in the house. He shouts shrillly that this is intrigue and slander, and here is only his bride. The distinguished guest firmly declares that I still have to let go, at least for the extension of the visa and for the conversation. If I confirm that I have stayed in the country of my own accord and are going to get married, then after some brief formalities I will be released immediately. On stiff legs under the host’s gaze, clutching the bag, I walk down to the exit and, without turning around, go out with men in business suits. The distinguished guest remains to talk with my jailer, giving instructions about me. Going to the gate, which was open for me for the first time, I barely restrain myself from running, every second waiting for an imperative shout in the back.The car takes off; I, frozen, look ahead with unseeing eyes, not believing in the reality of what is happening. Gradually calming down, I remember Russian phrases that I have to say now.

Guest willy-nilly.

I'm not brought to the embassy, ​​...