Fucking Julia Vorobyov was a tedious and ungrateful business. She did not know how to fuck the word at all, and it was clear that sex interests her somehow in its own way. Yulya Vorobyeva considered herself very feminine, wore transparent blouses without a bra, shining with pink shapeless nipples, reading Anais Nin and Iris Murdoch and eating healthy yogurts. She worked as a literature teacher and considered herself a witch, a cat and a nymphomaniac interspersed with a la fem fatale. She smelled of chalk and semolina. It was terrible. I fucked her from hopelessness for the past two months. The sensations were such as if a member had fallen into a three-liter jar of liquid sour cream. It was possible to move quickly and deeply, while not feeling anything but pliable slippery interior emptiness. Her softest cunt did not give joy, Yulina's vagina did not have any hard edges, it wasn’t nothing to rub against. Cunt was not big, no. It was just some kind of jellyfish. Yulia didn’t know how to suck at all, she didn’t give me an ass, and after one of my unsuccessful offenses, she considered me a gross homosexual.

“Homosexes,” I said, “they are not rude.” They write music.

“This is because they have not met a great love,” answered Julia, rolling gray eyes, “this is sublimation, this is because they did not meet a beautiful girl on their way of life.

Yulia said so directly: “in her life's journey” and obviously by a beautiful girl meant herself.

“Yes,” I thought, “all homosexuals would go mad if they met with you.” And they would not have written either peresistic music, or poems, nothing ”.

We were protected in a way that sometimes, like many sex inventions, is called French. Simply put, I spawned "on the grass." It all happened this way: for a rather long time I brought Julia to orgasm, touched her clitoris with my hand. And when Julia started screaming and moaning like a loader, to whom an I-beam fell on her leg, at that moment I got out of it, finally, my wet cock and vigorously jerked between her legs. I jerked off in the most usual way that all of us had been taught life long ago, somewhere in a summer camp or in a hospital. I quickly moved the foreskin back and forth, the head swelled up, prevented me from pulling back the folds, spasms came up. It was very inconvenient to lie on her stomach and hold with two hands on his own member. The main thing was to forget about Julia and think about Dashka Goncharova's pussy.

At this time, Julia asked in a hoarse voice with displeasure:

- What are you doing over there?

“I bring boys and girls for a walk,” I replied through clenched teeth and poured a miserable pool onto the bed of Yulina’s sofa.

I kissed her, stroked her relaxed limp body, all according to the rules, just like they were taught in the school of a young fighter, and went to the bathroom. There I peed in the sink and jerked again, thinking of Goncharova. I was thinking about her large, experienced pussy workshop, overgrown with stiff thick hair. For several years I have been fucking Daria Andrevna with great pleasure. Not certainly in that way. Daria Goncharova was one of those women who could be classified as a “childhood friend,” with the difference that she was not my childhood friend literally. We met on the plane. In Sheremetyevo she lost her luggage. She was annoyed more than necessary. I realized that she was returning from Italy alone, that something had gone wrong there, and no one met her at the airport. Goncharovsky suitcase flew another flight six hours later. Three days later I owned her bronze body with two white stripes shining in the dark. When it became clear to us that everything should inevitably happen, I was in her apartment and kissed her for an hour, touching all her places through jeans and a T-shirt.

“Be patient, give up now,” she told me.We kissed for another five minutes, after which she allowed to remove everything from herself, except for panties. We were in an embrace, the bed smelled of clean sheets. Then she took off her pants. By this time I have already reached the degree of excitement when a member does not stick like a stick, but bends and hangs menacingly, filled with desire that has gone deep. Dasha squeezed my eggs with her hands, hard, but not painful. I was in a hurry, she rather cooled. She turned her face away, looking displeased. Then she gave my hands to straighten the folds and let in. When my cock inside her began to grow again, I saw her slightly surprised eyes. Dashka Goncharova began to move under me confidently, but with restraint. Then she stopped. About something thought crumpling.

“Making a change,” she said, “just don't get lost.”

We slowly changed position. We sat with our arms and legs wrapped around each other. I pressed against her stomach.

“Well, catch up,” she said, getting completely iron-hard and shaking all. I do not know if she really finished that time, but I finished exactly. This I remember well.

A few minutes later she wiped me with a soft cloth and sent me to the shower. When I returned, I went to wash myself:

- Do not peep.

Then she gave me tea with sandwiches. An hour later, we fucked very vigorously, sweating. They took a shower again.

The third time at two in the morning it turned out that she was doing a good blowjob.

- This is all true, theory. More and more on books, on the Internet, - she said.

Sparrows have already begun to shout. Some people went to work sleepily talking. From the window smelled of damp morning foliage and gasoline. It was a time when I didn’t seem to want it, but the dick was on its own, everything was indifferent to it, it was wooden and straight.

- Where are you, so beautiful, do? - She said - that's what. Let's try. Not. This is me scared. You do not like it, but I do not know how. Here’s how. You try it, but if it hurts me ... no, not that.

“Go ahead,” I said.

“We do as if everything is normal,” she lay on her back and lifted her legs to her chest. I tinker for a while and got into her ass. I fucked her hard. She finished three times. A small drop of sperm rolled out of my dry cock. But she gave me more joy than the whole fountain. “Everything,” I thought, “the cartridges ran out.”

Continued in the next series.