From hand to hand. Part 2
Sleep. Thursday. O. called again. “I missed you so much, I’m all flowing again, you fuck so well … and so on.” Fuck her with her 105 kilos. She’s got uterine fury, and I have to die on her fat ass. Then a certain Jew called (I remember such names only from the fifth time). Something there was nasal about spiritual closeness, and persistently tried to find out my financial situation. Tired and was also sent to fuck. Unlucky day.
Friday. Before I got there, the phone rang right at half past eight. “Hello! Who’s talking?” – “Elephant!” and a rather infectious laugh. This is Louise, 44. She is still in bed. Husband has just left. But she really wants to. Will I help her. Will I help her ??? Of course! In short, a professional telephone masturbator. In half an hour of chatter , the two of us satisfied her pussy two times. She said that I was good and that maybe she would call again. And kissed the phone, she passed out. I continued to stand. I never finished, although my balls were clearly overflowing. No phone sex for me.
Again the call. “Young man! Shame on you! I am an old woman, I need a person with whom I can live, help each other, and you … ”In short, it’s clear. Number seven is a grandmother in 60 years. Yes, I overdid it. She herself probably already forgot how old she is, where her pussy is and why she is needed. “In short. Grandma look for your grandfather. If he has a stand, call, I’ll send you a hundred bucks for the wedding. Now back off … “
Closer to lunch – the eighth addressee. L. 48 years old. The teacher. Lives in the north of Moscow, close to me. She speaks calmly, clearly not preoccupied, but one feels that there is not enough male affection. We must meet. I’m going to the subway … I get up at the appointed place. At the car, and then some crumpled woman in sweatpants looks at me. Then he comes to me. “All right, this will be my last teacher !!!” A hand reaches for the ignition key. She fits: “Young man! Could you borrow 5 rubles? ” Fu you. Fuck you. I sit, rolling with laughter. Suddenly: “Are you K.?” Before me is a woman. Yes, this is fate. Poured out by my mother, ten years ago. The same big dark eyes, the same curls, the same wrinkles and a mole above the lip. Also not thin, but not fat either. The same bulging chest. We sit. I’m lost. Talkativeness has disappeared somewhere. And the truth is, as if with the mother. She’s also shy. But thank God it doesn’t go away. We sat like that for about an hour. Then another. Finally she says: “Well, maybe we can come to my house. We’ll have some tea … If a son or a husband comes, I’ll introduce you as the father of a boy. Okay?” Half an hour later I was sitting in her kitchen sipping tea with Autumn Waltz. L. sat on her knees in front of me and sucked with enthusiasm and selflessly. She had the impression that she had never taken anything tastier in her mouth in her entire life. She licked the protruding trunk and the eggs that came out of the fly, then crushing the eggs with her hands, carefully opened the head of the penis and took it into her mouth. I felt her tongue caressing my prick from all sides, and meanwhile she was swallowing more and more dick into herself. He rested against her tonsils and she moaned like a cow, God !!! … I have never felt such bliss. From the vibrating throat, I began to finish, and so violently that I almost fainted, and L. almost choked. She raised her eyes, they glowed gratefully: “I was so hungry, I haven’t done this for so long … thank you!” I stroked her cheeks, ran my hand through her hair. She lay down on my knee, trustingly closed her eyes. After all this fucking week, for the first time I felt something like tenderness. This woman suddenly became very dear to me. As if I finally found what I was looking for. My hands continued to caress her, and she, like a big soft cat, sagged under them and purred … I don’t remember how long it took. I hardly remember what else and in what sequence we did, only the sensations remained in my memory: her smell, her warmth, her moisture, the softness of her skin, the color of her skin, the color of her hair, her breath, the beat of her heart … a sharp sound, a doorbell ringing … She woke up, turned tiredly to me, said apologetically: “This is my husband …” It means it’s time … We were in no hurry. I dressed slowly, she put on a robe. We went into the kitchen. She straightened her hair, looked in the mirror and went to open it. “And this is you!” – out of the corner of my eyes, I saw how she kissed the person on the cheek on duty. “But we don’t hear anything here, the TV is on. Meet Alyosha Kanaev’s dad, Dmitry Nikolaevich, and this is my husband – Anatoly Sergeevich “-” Very nice! ” – “And I am very pleased! Well, I have to go, I’ll probably go! ” – “I’ll call you then if there are problems!” – “Oh sure!” The week, the work week, the crazy work week is over. You can rest. Week End.