slut Sasha you like a dog, bitch I will enter. Gavka come on, bitch. "

Vera jumped off the Misha end and quickly took the required position.

“Woof, Woof ... I'm your bitch ... Fuck me ... My dog ​​... Fuck your bitch ... Woof ... Woof ..." I wonder if it’s a goat to play or a sheep, will he like the text?

Misha got on his knees and grasped the hips of the woman with his hands, drove the penis into the open vagina. Lubricants leaked enough, and the hole squished.

Trapped inside the air, loudly went out during shocks, thighs smack smack on the buttocks, the vagina squished, and gurgled. Vera moaned, Misha growled. Strongly slapping Faith on the buttocks Misha gave a signal that he was ending, and it was time to have lunch.

They usually met in the afternoon, and always Misha finished in her mouth. Vera always swallowed. Only for the very first time, Misha finished in her hole. After that, she always ate his sperm. Gosha, never swallowed before. And for Misha, for the first time it was inconvenient to spit out, suddenly offended. So, for the first time and swallowed. Have a lover. This later, my husband also began to swallow, and then not immediately. So it was their custom, this thing, to dignify with dinner.

Vera, quickly turned around and put her mouth under the stream. Catching the first batch, she stuffed her cock in her mouth, and began to swallow the treat. Sucking every drop, Vera jumped out of bed and ran into the bathroom.

Taking a shower, she got dressed and went into the kitchen. Misha also began to gather. They sat at the table, drank a cup of coffee. Vera smoked a cigarette.

It was time to go home.

Together they left the apartment and took the elevator. From the entrance they also left together.

“Ver, on Wednesday. In the same time. As usual. “Vera nodded. They kissed goodbye. Misha, stared behind her. Heart of Faith, suddenly sank.

"Ver, and you do not want to introduce me to Michael" To the pain the familiar voice was calm and cold. Like ice.

Vera turned slowly, without raising her head, everything in her mouth was dry.

She recognized Gosha's shoes, Gosha's trousers, looking up, recognized Gosha's cloak, dark blue, with her riders, recognized Gosha's face. But my eyes did not recognize. These were not his eyes. In Gosh eyes, there was never so much pain. In the eyes that now looked at her, there was only Pain. Neither anger nor rage. Only pain.

“Although not necessary. In this, there is no point. Goodbye."

He opened his fist, and on the dirty asphalt, clinking, slipped the wedding ring. Glittering with dull gold, it rolled off the curb, and forever disappeared behind the bars of the drainage grate, in the endless depths, of the Moscow sewage system.

Gosha's shoulders dropped, he turned and walked away. His kind, humped figure, slowly removed.

Misha breathed a sigh of relief, they wouldn't beat him.

Vera looked after her departing husband. Husband? Now, ex-husband.

It began to reach her that Gosh, her Gosh, was leaving forever. Pictures flashed a kaleidoscope, before my eyes.

Here they are, very young, running spraying puddles, sheltering with a goshina jacket, from the warm summer rain. And hiding under the driveway canopy, kiss under condemning grunt and approving views of local old women. And the grandfather with a stick, the chief of this old woman kingdom, shows Gaucher, sticking out his thumb. And the granny who blinked at her.

Here is Danka, he is sitting at the table, and the gum in his mouth is a pencil, he ponders, and what would such a paint be. And Gosh sitting on the couch, and watching what that stupid, criminal series. And she, Vera, climbing with her legs on the sofa, dives under his arm, clinging to the warm side, hiding her hand, puts her head on his chest. And become so calm. Good. Reliably

Frames of their lives flashed before her, leaving the past forever.

Yes, there will be others, there will be a new relationship, life will not end there, but Gosha will not. Her goshi will not. Not her, gosh.

Feet yanked down. A slender woman in a light raincoat, sat sideways on the dirty asphalt. She covered her face with her hands.

And the melancholy woman’s howl, the customary monotonous rumble of a megapolis, rushed to a gray, low, autumn sky.