and put it on the left. It's simple. It is you who decides whether you are ready for it or not.

I looked into his eyes. Lips were trembling. Both of my legs remained on the ground.

- That's clever.

The sound of the engine, and the car is hidden from view. I sit, tightly clenched cam. Eyes in the ground. On the left cheek the wet path from a tear stretches down - I feel a little cold when the wind blows on it. I'm afraid that someone can see me now. I want to hide in the house. I turned all into a sound amplifier. From the slightest rustle of my heart beats. Steps away - and now I'm shaking even more than before. They are getting closer, closer. I can not stand it throwing leg by leg.

***

Dark Volga slowly rolled down the gloomy street. Tight curly hairs tickled my nose, and about the back of my head the steering wheel slid, which turned left and right, keeping the car on the road. I stroked with my lips already fallen limp flesh.

My eyes were wet with tears, and now and then he stroked my head:

- Cry my good, cry. It will be easier for you.

It seemed to me that I was like the girl from the picture I saw in his journal. I remember when I saw the expression on the face of the man holding the steering wheel: a mixture of pride and pleasure. But now they explained to me - I am better than that girl. I took her too seriously. And she's just a whore, filming for magazines. Her man made her really vulnerable.

Before getting out of the car, I pulled a handkerchief carefully ironed by my mother from my pocket and wiped my chin and lips no less carefully. When I took it out of the pocket, it smelled of freshness. When I put it back neatly folded, it smelled that my mother would not approve for anything.

“Thank you,” I said, shutting the car door.

***

- Will you have dinner, daughter? - Dad asked, inviting to the table.

- No, thanks, I'm not hungry.

Hiding in my room, I lay on the bed under the world map on the wall. Felt in the mouth of the hair. She caught him and pulled him out, holding him on the tip of his tongue. Took her fingers. He was tough, like a little twisted wire. I turned it in front of his eyes. Strange, but I did not have disgust. Rather, it was now something else. I put this hair on a white pillowcase pillow next to me. There was taste in his mouth. And he will stay until the morning, I know about it.

All the previous times I came home and first carefully brushed my teeth. So that no one guessed. I was sure that the pungent smell coming from my mouth could be felt a mile away. I drank water, tea, juice, milk, just to beat that smell. Milk was only worse, but for some reason pear juice helped. Little. But in the morning some flavors of sperm still wandered in the mouth.

Dad came in. I had hardly overcome the impulsive desire to hide a hair and thus, perhaps, to give out myself more strongly. Let it be as it is. Vulnerable.

- Are you okay?

- Yes, Dad, I just do not want to eat.

- Have you been crying? The eyes are red.

- I do not know. Maybe. - I answered stupidly.

He left.

***

Curled into a ball, I lay on white crumpled sheets and listened to my feelings. The crotch tormented by passion pleasantly ached, I wanted to put my hand on it and stroke and calm it down, but for some reason I was embarrassed. A man was lying nearby and stroking my hair.

- I have a new game for you, so listen.

I nodded slightly, indicating that I was listening.

“Tomorrow my friend, a very good friend, will come here.” He is a pleasant man, family, he just has problems in his life and in his family, and he really needs to relax.

I froze.

“He will come and sit at that table.” You will sit under the tablecloth. Your task is to give him the same pleasure that you give me while he sits at the table.

I was silent. For some reason it is harder to protest when lying naked.

- You will not see him, he will not see you. I will be in the next room, everything will be safe. Just do to him as well as you can do to me, understand?

Swallowing, I nodded.

- Umnichka.

***

The door slammed, muffled male voices were heard in the corridor. I huddled into a ball, sitting under a large wooden table, and looked around in panic: the long tablecloth went down almost to the floor on the side where there was a door to the room, but from all other sides it barely reached the middle of the legs. If that man wants to go around the table, he will see me. My heart was pounding, I felt very vulnerable and couldn't do anything about it.

The door creaked, someone entered. I crawled away from the edge of the tablecloth so that even my legs could not be seen. There was a rustle of clothes, footsteps, the sound of a chair being moved aside, and now the men's knees raised the tablecloth as the man sat down right in front of me.

I shivered, but then pulled myself together. In the end, everything is under my control. Yes, I am vulnerable, but I can do nothing to him, or do what I want. Nobody forces me.

Getting closer to him, I knelt down in front of him and lifted the tablecloth so that it lay over his belt. I ran my hands between male legs, took up my fly. Unbuttoning his belt, button and zipper, I busily pulled his pants down. He slightly raised himself on a chair, helping me. Having lowered his trousers almost to the knees, I took hold of his panties and, after a while, pulled them off too.

Before my eyes lay a slightly swollen, but not excited male member. I gently kissed the testicles and he started. I licked them, and he started again.

I could not hear anything at all from under the table, and the blood pounded in my ears so that I would still hear nothing. I concentrated on thinking about how to do everything well and how not to knock on the lid of the table, when he suddenly began to cum, filling my mouth with sperm. She was a lot, I almost coughed.

Having made a few final movements, I kissed the head for last and recoiled, making it clear that it was all over. She crawled away from his legs, gently pulled out a handkerchief and spat into him the remnants of someone else's sperm. Froze.

The man stirred, got up from the table, and pulled on his underpants, then his pants. I looked at the edge of his leg - the only thing I could see from under the table and tablecloth while he was fiddling with the belt.

The trouser legs rose and fell again, for a moment opening the dark-green checkered socks to me.