From the author. The story was written for the contest "Mesalliance", so let my faithful readers are not surprised at some inconsistencies and disagreements. They were made intentionally to conceal the authorship.

If I am a bald and fat programmer in my 40s, and she is a young and beautiful student in philology about 20, then is this a misalliance or what?

If you dilute a cloud with a cloud of strange and restless persons from a notebook with a confident and somewhat arrogant person, and even with the tempting nickname “Parisian” on your favorite Mamboi website, is this good for the contest?

If she declares that she does not need to be taken to restaurants and theaters in the process of hunting, and to give her share of expenses in cash, is she a prostitute or a kept woman?

It is interesting to be an oligarch, yptyt! Where are my yellow shoes? Agreed

Agreed on a place and time. Met Put in the car. Carried Parisian in the "numbering". On the Champs Elysees, yeah. The small town of Emsk of the Zatuluz Department. Funny such a girl, red, freckled, in jeans and a jacket, tied with a green scarf to match the color of the eyes. Talking and non-instructive, by the way. Another question is who is fooling about whom.

In the room chatted a bit. Well, as usual, you know, peers are stupid and inept, but they love older professors. They are smart and experienced. Thank you, dear, I love you too!

Perched on my lap. Framed lips. Framed the neck. Prompted to unbutton her blouse. The bra took off herself. For the construction of slender little mischievous girls - hefty tits. The third size, no less. Big, white, taut, alluring. I suck, kiss, bite. Parisian moaning and thrilled. Or play? And not like? I like it and that is it!

He gets down from his knees, stands in front of me, slowly and slowly unbuttons the buttons on his jeans. Come on faster, not on a striptease! He could not resist, he unbuckled himself and pulled off! WOW !!! There are no panties under jeans. Surprise, however!

- Fuck me! - the Parisian whispers, dragging me in the direction of the tramway.
- Fuck! - I confirm, hastily exposing my clothes. And I put a dick under my breath - but first a blowjob, strong wow!

Oddly enough, but the Parisian from sex in French is not happy. Sucks, of course, where does she go? But with all its appearance and behavior lets know that this is so, self-indulgence, not fucking. It breaks several times to finish off the overture and go to the main course, but I'm not in a hurry, and I insert it into my pussy only when a thoroughly swollen and moist member asks me to change the hole.

Fucking classics. Fucking amazon Fucking cancer. The Parisian is unfeignedly high, but in verbal manifestations sometimes replays. If I had been in my place, “a paler of eyes with a burning eye”, I suppose I would have thought that she had already done away with him and imagined herself the crown of creation. Although, I think that under him she would have just manifested herself as a resident of London since the time of Queen Victoria. And so, it is clear that she orgasm before the moon cancer. Me closer. How about to Berlin.

We rest. Chatting about this and that. We drink some water, we have snacks on sweets. "The soul of the poet could not bear" absolutely without anything to go on an intimate date. I smoke, she criticizes me for bad habits and unhealthy lifestyle. Indirectly hints that he will take me seriously, just give me time! We have a good youth in the University of Ems, set off the rector!

Again the Parisian woman climbs onto my lap, fawns like a kitten, almost purrs. Kissing passionately, playing with tongues, with one hand hugging the shoulders so as not to fall to the floor, with the other hand I caress her between my legs. The vagina is wet, the clit is large, the girl is clearly wound up. I do not understand why the noble donya not to finish? But how? “Where is her button, Urry?” And if not in the pope by chance? No, not in the pope. She is wagging her ass with displeasure, removing herself from my finger, and she manages, without tearing the kiss, to mutter "no need, no need to go there."

Oh, so how was it? Grabbing her more comfortably and passing the supporting hand under her arm, I took hold of the nipple, began to sip and twist. And almost immediately he felt how the reaction had changed, her body seemed to have healed with its life, the loins came to shake, her lips began to strive to suck up everything and more. The Parisian woman flowed abundantly, pressed her pubis into my hand a few more times, and finally, the lingering, increasing moans led to a regular cry, and - subsiding, fading in my arms. Is the moon closer to Berlin? But what is this, the moon, we see, but Berlin is not.

Oh, youth-youth! Just lazy after Parisian orgasm. Fucking between the boobs, fucking in the mouth, fucking in the pussy, lies quietly, his eyes closed, you say, work hard, and I'll rest a bit. Is that fucked in the ass resisted. And closer to the end I startled:
- You can cum in me, if you want. I'm protected.
- No, I'm better in the mouth. Well, open up!

And a member of the buzz to finish in her mouth, and my soul is calmer - who knows how reliable her defense is.

Here again I had to complain mentally to the inexperience of the younger generation. No sucking and savoring sperm, a favorite of decrepit grandfathers. Barely waiting for the end of the spray, the Parisian, having regained her agility, ran into the bathroom to spit and resent (mentally, mentally) the perversity of the fathers.

- Thank! - said courteously, accepting without embarrassment a 500-ruble bill. - See you next week?
- I can not say for sure. I'll call, if that.

The next day it turned out that she had forgotten the gloves in the car, and having met in the center for 5 minutes in the afternoon for their transfer, the Parisian naturally asked to “borrow” another 500 rubles.

Another 500 rubles she learned on the day of St.. Valentine. And before March 8, I threw out the SIM card and deleted the profile from the mamba. Hard you share oligarch!