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their warm. He squeezed my shoulders, chest, hips, butt, and crumpled me all over with two hands, and I looked into his eyes. Then he said:
- Become a cancer.
His eyes were not lustful, but serious, solemn, like those of the Buddha.
No kisses, pushes, love carrots, I thought, putting my hands on the grass. So it was right, like an animal ... and very scary.
- Ahhhh! - I screamed when He rested against me.
- What? I do not do anything yet, they said from behind. I became silent, and when it really hurt - firmly, truly - I didn’t scream, I suffered, biting my lip. It was not long: he broke through me and immediately went back.
- Done. Ready my girl. Well, it's so good that you're a girl, - he suddenly slapped me there, right in the middle.
It was so that I snarled in the grass like a bear.
“Yeah, yeah,” he said, and he beat me with his hands, like a mixer, and I flexed my hips higher and higher and substituted him. It was as if I was told what to do — they bent my body, they turned on a small lever, and I growled like an obedient doll. The chef squeezed me, pulled my nipples, like a cow, loudly slapped me on the wet bottom, and it was almost painful, but I wanted more, more pain, and I growled, pressing my head into the grass.
Then he grabbed my hips again - and ... it began.
It was sick, but not as painful as I wanted - but I wanted to be torn to pieces, to pieces, to be eaten like prey ...
“Yyyyy,” I growled, and he pecked at me from behind, driving into me with his huge stake — it seemed to me as huge as a pine tree, and I imagined how he hustled in me like hairy eggs slapping my folds to the ground and inseminated - wild lustful lynx without shame and clothes ...
- AAAAAAA! - this nightmare swelled in me, and I began to brutally cum. - AAAAAAAA !!!
A yellow rim suddenly cut out of the mist. Everything was filled with golden light.
I thought I was dead or not, I didn’t think - I couldn’t think then, I didn’t have a brain, only a body screaming from sweet pain, and an eye. Choking with shout, I looked at the sun coming out of the fog. Its light penetrated into me and became moisture, and I myself became moisture, bitter moisture without strength, without muscles, and spread out on the ground, collapsing into prickles. He collapsed next to me.
It was a brutal mountain ritual: my virginity was sacrificed to the dawn ...
... So she told all this to me - and I read and howled, howled a hungry wolf, finding out what I never knew if we had known each other in life.
They stayed there in the mountains for three days, and all this time they fucked like psychos, hell knows how many times a day. And at night, too - in pitch darkness, under the stars. He burned fires and fucked her by the fire. What they ate - it is not clear, they had supplies for the day. She went with him for a backpack, lost somewhere along the road - naked, in some sneakers. On the way, we met a bunch of people, tourists, and they talked to her, naked, and she was going crazy ...
Half-dead were back home, they were frozen, and she came down with bronchitis.
I have forgotten how to sleep. Probably, I started off then, because I imagined myself in the place of her boss - that I hold her by the hips and fuck like a beast, and these are my eggs slapping on the ripped cunt that I have never seen ... She had no friends close, in any case, and she dumped it all to me, because in her it did not fit, it was too huge and impossible for her.
And for me - even more so.
For two weeks I endured and was the most-secret, secret, to which everything is possible. And then he could not resist and confessed.
That's when it all ended. She wrote to me then that she did not expect that she herself was to blame, that she was ashamed that it was better to finish everything ...
I knocked on her, probably fifty or more times. Deaf She removed me from all contacts. (Especially for eroticspace) So I don’t know whether the boss abandoned her or not, and how they settled with dad, and what the guys from the office said, and how everything was ...
It’s already past hell knows what time it is - either four years, or more ... I still dream about her riding on a swing, and her hair is flying in the wind ... And I keep pictures.It seems to me that someday I will meet her - and I will definitely find out. Here it is necessary. No matter how she changed ...
The narrator fell silent.
His interlocutor was also silent. Long, minute or more.
Then he asked:
- How do you know how she rode on a swing? You did not see her.
- From the same place. She wrote to me ... She loved it, just like a little.
- Yeah ... An instructive story. Thanks for telling me.
As always in such cases, it sounded awkward, as if he had lied.
Still silent.
Then the older one, extracting a mobile phone from his pocket (which had never declared itself), raised his eyebrows:
- Soooo ... Wife urgently calls. They can not get off the camel. Sorry, you have to run.
- Yes ... Family debt. Clear. Sorry I loaded. Boiling, you know, it was necessary to merge someone ...
- Come on, all is well.
- Well, well ... We will meet again ...
- Required.
- Pokeda!
- Happily!
Snatching up from his chair, the elder ran across to the other end of the landing, toward the camels, and began to walk in front of them, looking round at every minute.
Junior sat for a while, then got up and went the other way, - and he all went back and forth, like a guard of honor. Camels watched him.
Now and then their comrades, loaded with tourists, and the caretaker, a red-faced Tatar, returned from the walk, helping the children, mothers and fathers to dismount.
On one of the camels came a young beautiful woman with a little boy.
Seeing them, the elder ran to meet them.
- What are you doing here? She asked.
- I miss you ...
- Here you are.
They got off the camel and all together went towards the “Golden Mouflon”.
“You know,” said the man, when his wife and son in paints told him about the trip, “it’s unrealistically cool ... but still I’ll ask you to move to the sea.” The earlier the better. It's too wet for me. I’m your old ruin, what can I do ...
- Here you go! Three days left, and he - "move"!
- I want to spend them with a high, and not with radiculitis. But there is a swing. And here is not - he winked.
- Swing! Fuck you again, huh?
- No no. On the contrary, I want to go with you. Here itch, imagine?
His wife ruffled his hair and they entered the hotel.
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Thanks for the story. Very familiar and close. Ah, the internet is the internet, what are you doing to us?
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Well written.
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Good story, but I expected them to meet))
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What for? The girl is good in her family, and her husband perfectly understood that this meeting was absolutely not necessary for anyone :)
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Man, knowing your stories, I thought that they would meet: DDD
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They HAD NOT BEEN met :)
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Yes, four years is a long time, it is not easy to carry it all in yourself. It seems to be tightly hooked and continues to poison the soul, does not allow to communicate with girls normally. When I broke up with my first girlfriend, I would recognize her for a whole year in a crowd of pedestrians or on a bus. Immediately threw the heat, then peered - no, not she, and not even. After let go and went, as usual. We loved her for two months, and the memory remained then, young ... And then after virtual year five, yes, really ... I don’t know how anyone, but I was impressed by the story of the narrator, but by no means the heroine.
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Therefore, the cool director and decided to steer the pedals from a virtualist in love :)
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Man, you wrote a cool story, read it with great pleasure! And yet, I am sure that everyone remembered their virtual novel, and, a little, felt sad ...
Thank you very much!
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But Man is still a doublet, like a duck ... However, Silent hunting will be better than Wild. Although there and there - to fry, not to overcook. Nonsense of course wrote, but this is so, for inspiration to you, dear. In the best traditions of postmodernism: www. kostyor ru / 7—07 / nouvel. php
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Just prepared to be inspired, but the link does not fry: (
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For automatically adding spaces and replacing hyphens with dashes. Already it is time in the second decade of the 21st century to master the principles of the computer.
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Nifiga Do not fry without a space and with a hyphen.
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Hooray. At the forty-fifth attempt opened. "School of sweet methods" - is that it?
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It should have opened on the thirtieth. It would turn out ShSM-30.
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Wonderful story, thanks!
Although I did not immediately understand the ending, I had to re-read it again ...
10 points
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Beautiful, cute ... * hnyup *
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Yes, it's plagiarism. Just the details have changed, and so this story has already been. There, a teacher and a student on a campaign fucked, but the story was from a third person.
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You are not the first day to criticize, so what are you wandering in three birches? Plagiarism is when I pissed off the other, but I gave it off as my own. Here is the rehash of their own stories. A geographer, of course, and I found out. I agree, for the second time, the story is no longer channeling, but why make such accusations?
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And who said that this is a rewrite? Maybe this is a look at the same story from the side? Why not? Who banned?
And I, for example, did not read Geographer (and I don’t intend in the foreseeable future - because even for a quick acquaintance with the dorobk of uv. Dust it and not present it to readers who are not familiar with his early work?
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The author, we pofludim a bit?
What a furious defense, I would be so ... (bites his lips with annoyance and wipes his eyes with a sleeve). Was there an attack? ... And what is so weak? Just think, read 7-8 dozen stories, I read it. And did not regret! If you are worth it, start with the first. There such candies fall, where the water is exceptionally wet, sugar is sweetly sweet, fantasy is amazingly romantic, and romance is fantastically amazing. I will not list the names, the stories will speak for themselves.
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Thank you, Eugene))))) I would have a day at 96 hours, then I will have time))))))
And from whom to protect you, then? You refuse to publish * everything, I will cry ... *
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Not only that: fuck here! What a hackneyed plot! ...;)
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Well, I'm new on the site, I read, tyk to say, this is how you like to express yourself, the stories of many authors in a particular genre that I care about, never wrote and didn’t want to write comments, and thought that he actually wrote his own unfulfilled for some reason, erotic fantasies can from childhood or vice versa, the experience is not important, but at the end you hooked a sort of Russian-speaking Jew, deeply middle-aged, well, this is not my business (conspiracy) by this. You write porn, and porn it is porn, even though written, although the video, it is just porn because the site is porn. Nevertheless, I am very grateful to you, at least on the porn site, at least where, I, too,as you once did not accidentally wandered here (if you are certainly not one of the founders) very grateful to you, you create some amazing fantasies which not every thirsty person will be able to spell out competently. I do not dare to open up to the world. I’m afraid I’m laughed at the daring but I admire you to create further in the cover of night and let the inspiration never leave you. Rigi in your narratives My favorite story of yours is the Ninth of March although I can’t pinpoint your stories are all unusually good and cognizant
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Oh, they are these mountains. Lazil two weeks. I came as after orgies, all scratched from head to toe, a natural hickey on my hand))))))
About the story. Especially vital is how she was looking for a naked backpack in crowds of tourists))) And I think so 9.
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