- Well done.

Fingers move to the buttons, unzip them slowly, one by one. Somewhere in the dynamics invisible to me, a woman’s voice sings about a meeting in a minibus. Sur.

I do not see what the Predator is doing, for this you need to lower your head, and the loop makes you keep it straight. I do not know where to put my eyes, glance runs, jumps from object to object, anything, just not to look at the perpetrator. In the end, I just close them. Apparently, he takes it as a sign of pleasure, sniffs approvingly, pulls me around the waist, and I feel his lips touch mine through scotch - a kiss in a condom. He enters the taste, the tongue already comes into play, the film crunches when the guy bites my lips, the hand rests on the back of my head, just on the hat of my ghostly crutch. It hurts, damn it! I publish a stifled moan, but, presumably, it will also be listed by Roma on his list of victories.

Then comes the turn of my boobs. I silently endure, trying not to twitch in disgust, while the Predator rubs them, strokes and licks them. I wonder if he really thinks it gives me any pleasure? At least half of the men I know, firmly believe that a woman is capable of catching a buzz on rape if the abuser is more or less diligent. They are uselessly trying to convey that the main female sexual organ is the brain, that all our excitement lies there, and if a man “does not cling”, then you can crawl on the inside and outside of the woman for a day, but there will be no point, even a member in the corn. erase. There are, however, ladies with a twist of consciousness, like the same Alice, the secretary of Uzhrat, who is full of pain and humiliation, but she is the exception that confirms the rule.

The Predator's hand squeezes me into the pantyhose, delays the elastic of the panties, slowly but surely steals up to the slit, spreads the lips, touches the clitoris, presses a little - damn, this suddenly responds not so much to his pleasure, but with something remotely similar to his pale shadow. Hmm ... And if you really try to relax? Although how can you relax when you constantly need to catch the balance, strain every muscle so as not to start choking, and even the drummers' orchestra is working on a gala concert?

- Why dry? - in the voice of the Predator a genuine resentment. I need a great effort of will not to laugh in response to a nervous laugh. Men ... Scotch take off, tell.

The guy's hands leave me alone, and I suddenly feel how cold it is in the workshop - well, yes, November, by the way, is night, and hardly anyone has taken care of the heating here. I hear footsteps, then some fuss over the wall, and I open my eyes. What the next dirty trick did this reptile think?

The light of the lamps reflects on the shaved head - I don’t remember when he took off the baseball cap. When the Predator turns back to me, in his hands is a knife like those with which linoleum is cut, with a short retractable blade, and a plastic bucket. I don’t want to know why this wild set of objects, I desperately don’t want, so much so that even breathing gets lost, and my heart sinks in a furious beat, as if intending to break through the chest and get away from here. Do not show fear? Easy to say. Now my fantasy, generously nourished by GuroPabliks and experience in justice, draws me such pictures of my near future that all plans and installations fly to hell.

Placing the bucket at my feet, the Predator looks into my eyes.He clearly likes what he sees there, I literally feel how energy threads are stretching between us: he drinks my fear, relishes, lasts this instant, not hurrying to move on to actions. Then, very slowly, she stretches her hand to my chest, pulls down the bra strap, sticks the blade between her and the skin - it's cold! - and cuts in one motion. Then - the second. And at the end - the jumper between the cups. Torn linen falls on the concrete. Gathering the pantyhose with my fingers on my pubis, the Predator rips them off with a blade, followed by the panties, simply cutting them across, opening access to my holes. He does all this without looking, without looking away from my face - it's amazing how he managed not to cut me.

A hot palm covers my face, squeezes lips to light pain, rubs, massages with rhythmic movements, while Predator, hugging my waist with his hand with the knife in it, quietly says to my ear:

- Do you know what a “kicks”?

Oh yes, I know. In my opinion, eight people out of ten know about this crap, and half of these eight at least once, but have tried it - as a rule, they are still in school. I, too, are not red, I didn’t even have to persuade me. How old was I, twelve years old? Sometimes I wonder how I even lived to be thirty years old, with my insatiable curiosity — apparently a good sense of balance, allowing me to walk on the edge of that very precipice and not fall apart. Or just luck.

Who practiced it like that. We had to do a couple of dozens of quick squats, stand at the stenochka, and then one of my friends would squeeze my throat with something soft, like a scarf, although the sleeve was also fit. A couple of seconds - and you are in Nirvana, you look at color pictures, and, most importantly, completely free of charge, you don’t even need to spend money on glue and a package. The first time I broke my forehead, the scar on my eyebrows remained for the rest of my life - I expected my legs to weaken, but I didn’t think that they would just break and I would crash on the concrete floor from all of my already considerable growth.

The fact that brain cells die from this game was of little concern to people, as well as the risk of one day not returning from the rainbow paradise of hypoxia - children have their own special relationship with death, no one else can, like them, constantly walk hand in hand with it, to flirt, but at the same time to be absolutely, on a physical level, confident in their own immortality.

I was lucky that I had "had a pain" with this nonsense before I had matured. If you play asphyxiation during sexual stimulation, orgasms, as far as I know, are simply enchanting, an excess of carbon dioxide and nitric oxide, combined with oxygen starvation, work wonders with the subcortex, disinfect much better than alcohol, but it acts like drugs — they sit down , forgetting about the instinct of self-preservation, and the result ... It is enough to read the statistics of suicides, where young (and not so) people with a noose around their neck and lowered pants often appear - in contrast to children’s, they play adult games and there will not be a friend here, who will insure if something goes wrong, and sooner or later this happens, it’s like with drivers - ironically, first-years rarely realize that they are inexperienced, and behave cautiously.

And now, as I understood, they want to play this dangerous game with me. Perhaps if someone I trust is offered to me, it might even be interesting. But now I look into the Predator's glittering eyes with a bad fire - and I'm scared to hell. I do not want. The head dangles from side to side in a gesture of denial. He seems to take it for “no, I don't know,” because he explains:

- I'll strangle you a little. Don't worry, you'll like it. But first you need to do something. I don't want you wetting me in the process.

I'm sorry, what? I do not immediately understand what he wants from me when the Predator bends down and quickly cuts the scotch tape that holds my legs, and then the cold side of the plastic bucket is poked into my hips. Face pours paint shame. When you lose consciousness, you often lose control of your bladder at the same time.It means that he plans to strangle me not a little bit, but at least until fainting ...

Emptying the bladder right in his presence is an action from my taboos, and now it knocks me out of my fragile mental balance even more than the realization of the possibility of imminent death. We are strangely arranged, women. Immediately I recall the anecdote about the aunt, who, before washing the windows, put on beautiful underwear, so that ... Read more →