Mobile versionSo. It was my birthday that week (congratulations). True, my real birthday is in the fall, but my best friend came and we decided to celebrate my birthday for 2023. Wow. Some will say if there was a reason, and they will be right.
The money was thrown in, so I decided to spend it on a good cause to congratulate another prostitute on the upcoming March 8th. After lying down after the event, I began the process of restoring my body in the form of whiskey and warm soup.
The process of catching girls on the Internet led to the prostitute Olga. I'm calling on the phone. The dispatcher answers, I ask about Olya. They kindly explain to me that “the Slavic wardrobe has not yet been delivered, but there are a couple of sewing machines to choose from.”
In short, Olya is not yet available. I think it’s a scam, but no, they say that there is no profile yet. then another eye, I climb onto the Internet - miracles! Half an hour ago it was still there, no longer there. Maybe while Olya is being torn in all the holes, they quickly remove the profile from the advertisement? And the voice is so gentle and insinuating, like that of my relative, who recently came on parole, when he finds out that the dude who drove his Mercedes has an apartment. Okay, I say, there’s no alcohol, we’ll drink what’s available.
In general, then I scroll through the menu.
From one of the links - Maria, a certain a non-male creature with half a kilo of makeup on his face and traces of careful mouse work in Photoshop. We let him through. Not in the sense that we let him through for the intended purpose, but bypass him. And then comes the questionnaire. A familiar face. Not counting the brutal makeup, with a brush for painting the bottoms of destroyers, that is, there is a possibility that this is the same prostitute. The dispatcher begins to fill in that the photo in the profile is Nastya. So, please describe its parameters. It's usually fun to hear how the dispatcher can't do it. I listen to fairy tales that say that Nastya is an individual, but she rents an apartment with her girlfriend and finally the girlfriend is not there now, or she won’t interfere at all, or she can even leave or stand and smoke on the balcony.
Come on. The member is almost overstrained, so it’s time to fuck at least Dunka Kulakova. Since Dunya is not in favor today, I’ll clarify the address. They say that you should come and call back later. I arrive, turn behind the city hall building, and look for a brothel. The spring sun is already baking my head, I understand that the brothel is probably not behind the city hall building. I'm calling. Straight ahead, left, left again into the gate. In the yard, there are a lot of cars, a playground with kids. The grandmothers are warming themselves on a bench and watching me watchfully. I just wanted to say that I am not one of them.
I go up to the second floor. I go and think. After all, in the summer, when the windows are open and if there is no air conditioning in the apartment, the scream of cumming whores can probably be heard in the yard? What about the fragile souls of children? The problem, however.
The door is opened by a girl named Nastya. And quickly, like a scout at a safe house, he closes it. Smiles sweetly at me. Dressed according to her profession - stockings, a little black dress. With her consent, I took a photo in the hallway (I uploaded it at the end of the story). The presence of male shitheads at the doorstep did not bother me. I'm used to the salon rules. Then, as it turned out, he works together with his twin sister. He looks about 30-33 years old, took a photo in a towel after the first stick (also at the end). We came from non-hall for permanent residence 1.5 years ago.
The corridor is square, huge, opposite the door, as I later found out - there is a guest room next to 2 bedrooms. In one of them, the owner of the shitheads fucks his little sister. But they dragged me to the left. I like to walk to the left. On the wall to the right is the kitchen, next to it is the toilet. Let's go to the kitchen. I'm thirsty. Although I was dragged to a more specific place. What, I haven’t chosen yet (election from one girl, I want to ask the price, etc.). The girl quickly poured tea. The candies are quite chocolatey and fresh. Let's start a conversation about life. My favorite questions are like “Is it true that young people have sweet pussies, and old people have salty pussies?” I'll leave it for later. I'm figuring out the disposition.
The disposition coincided with the preliminary intelligence received. That is, an hour is 3,000 rubles, if the currency is cheaper, I get a blowjob, and classics in any position. “Classics in any position” made me happy, and I decided to find out what she meant. It turned out that she would not have me, but quite the opposite. All sorts of annals, orals without rubber with active feeding of the penis from below, above, from the side, fisting and so on are not included in her diet for this amount. We also agreed on an ICBM for 1000. And in general, they say, why am I drinking tea here, are we going to love each other or make eyes? “We will love,” I answered firmly, like a pioneer, and began frantically collecting the required amount in my pockets. When I pulled the last hundred from my sock, the amount was counted and taken to one of the rooms.
I took a towel and went to the toilet. It turned out that I was going in the wrong direction. The 2-room apartment turned out to have 2 toilets. And also a storage room, built-in wardrobes the size of my room in the institute’s dormitory, and an underground bomb shelter in case of a subbotnik (just kidding).
So, the bathroom. I will pay more attention to her today. I was overexcited, I was afraid that I wouldn’t reach the whore’s body and would end up in the bathroom. And that’s why I’ll describe it in such detail. So, the room is three by two and a half meters. It's nice and big. To the left is the bathroom itself. To the right is a toilet, a bidet, combined with a washing machine. That is how it seemed to me at first.
The washing machine contains detailed instructions on how to operate it. There was no time to read. There is a laundry net on the windowsill (empty). Straight - tap from cold/horizontal. water. There is a small mirror above the tap. I noticed that there was hair sticking out of my nose. I tried to pull it out, it hurt. On the shelf in front of the mirror is a two-liter bottle of Miramistin. That is, I wanted to say TWO bubbles. From left to right: intimate gel from a Chinese manufacturer “Unisex”; Strawberry-flavored body wash (I didn't try it, but it smelled like it). Next is a tightly closed plastic box. He took out a penknife and opened it. I didn’t find any money - just a couple of toothbrushes, moisturizer, roll-on deodorant and half a pack of Tampax with three drops). From which I concluded that the box was not for me.
I undressed and got into the shower. I looked at my watch and it took me five minutes to do the research. I wondered if it was being deducted from my time. He hung his panties on his penis and went into the bedroom, checking with Nastya that the time had not yet passed. Satisfied, he returned to the bathroom. Turned the water to the left - burned the eggs. Turned right and got frostbite. I adjusted the jet pressure, turned on the water and began examining the shelf in the bathroom. From left to right I found Nivea shampoo - a Turkish counterfeit - for normal hair. Another gel with an odd smell. Another intimate gel from the same Chinese. Another two liters... I kind of joked about this already. Looking around furtively, he bent down and took out a remnant of Safeguard from his pants - I don’t like gels, you apply them to the body for 10 seconds, then painfully wash them off for 10 minutes.
In short, I washed myself. I skipped drying myself, but I almost finished - the towel turned out to be hard. He wrapped the towel around his penis and went into the bedroom.
The bedroom is opposite the bathroom. On the left is a school table scratched by cats. He is wearing a “musical balalaika” with the proud inscription “100 watts”. Probably meant to heat it up. Right there, on the left, is a closet. Judging by the size, they lock in customers who don't want to pay. In the center... - guess what, three times. No, not a trampoline. No, not an opened box of Stingers. No, not a portal to Hogwarts. Ordinary double bed. The atmosphere can be said to be Spartan. The sheet is faded with washed out flowers. My courtesan also comes in. Ugh, a prostitute with working holes, also in a twin towel. And he smokes so invitingly... that is, it seemed like he was chewing something. Maybe a member of a previous client. She got bored, apparently, while I was there in the bathroom masturbating into the hole between the warm, rough pipe and the wall.
Sat on the edge of the bed. I'm embarrassed. After all, I have a girl for money. Money plays a special role in paid sex. After all, you probably need to stick them somewhere during sex, or... ugh, I got carried away. The prostitute unobtrusively takes the initiative into her own hands. He cuddles up to me as if he were my own, kisses my nipples, rubs his size 1 against my belly. Does it turn a little red or is it the sun shining through the curtain?
So, I think, we need to take the initiative into our own hands. My grandfather also said that if you have the initiative, you are half won. I take my grandmother’s alarm clock out of my bag and set it for an hour ahead. Then I remembered that I haven’t had it for 7 years, when in the morning psycho, I threw it off the nightstand and mentally set the alarm clock. We hugged the fairy of love and gently placed her in the middle. In the middle it turned out to be not so soft - there was a depression there from the shifted mattresses. He moved the prostitute to the side and discovered that his penis had fallen into the hole. He pulled it out of the hole and tried to insert it into the correct hole. It turned out that it was still early. But the prostitute understood my thought correctly and put a condom on me. I still don't understand where it came from. She is probably a relative of Akopyan. He immediately entered her. Oddly enough, it succeeded. It was a little dry, and I began to be tormented by belated remorse that I had missed foreplay. “Nothing, a little later,” I thought and went deeper into her, ending up in a position on top, leaning on my elbows. I love talking in this position.. But the whore played with her vaginal muscles very professionally and I realized that I had no time for talking. In general, N amount of time passed before I finished. Came out with a full prez, which was removed and disposed of. I'm lying next to you. The girl literally wanted to give a blowjob after 5 minutes, but he stopped her.
Yes, I think. First you need to establish contact. Let's talk about love, about life, about the difficult life of a woman. And briefly, sincerely, I lay out to her the prepared phrase: “It’s probably hard to feel someone else’s penis every day, you probably want your own?” We started talking. It turned out that her real name was Olya, and the Olya I was going to see was called Tanya or Vika. I don't know what their names are. She is from independent Ukraine. Before this salon, I worked in different places where they paid little. That is, they promised a third, but the money was given irregularly. And here, a third every day in hand, plus a tip, the hint went unnoticed. There have been no hemorrhoids yet, although some jocks came to investigate. They swayed, creaked, and fell down. A couple of flower pots from the balcony.
The house is not old, but it has changed hands. There are two more prostitutes working at the entrance. But the neighbors are quite decent people, because they don’t live there, they rent everything out. Some are colored scrap, some are red mercury. They are here with accommodation.
- And Tanya is being bullied for something for a long time. Olya said, listening.
- No, it’s quiet, and the shit-eaters from the hallway have disappeared. I said.
- She probably fell asleep, stupid. She dragged herself during the day to go to MZHM, where she was fucked in 4 fists. She said the word “stupid” so relishly that I realized that they were sisters.
I looked at my watch - your division! - half an hour flew by. But my body is not quite old yet, everything is already ready.
I ask what she likes more. She answers that when she is stroked hotly. I looked around and didn't find an iron. “So,” I say, “Olya (changed to the name, as if contact has been established), “you do as you want, but so that I don’t remain offended.”
ICBM performed by a guest from a neighboring country was not impressive. Ours do better. Attempts to push the penis deeper caused tears to shine in the eyes and the urge to vomit.
- To hell with a thousand, I thought and decided to focus on the classics.
She climbed on top of me and put on another condom. Don’t think wrong, not on top of the old one, she sat on top and gently inserted it into herself. She ran her hands through her hair, spread her elbows to the sides, rolled her eyes, like she felt good. And she began to move rhythmically. Well, I understood everything and started helping. She leaned on the pillow with one hand and cupped her chest with the other. “Look,” I think, “not love, but typical pneumonia.” The prostitute began to ride me like an unbroken bronco.
The bed, as I thought, turned out to be too small and we began to fall onto the floor. But, nevertheless, they adapted without interrupting the process. The whore moaned through clenched teeth. She rolled her eyes, threw her head back and seemed to strive for my dick to come out of her throat. The pose is just like in the movie “The Fifth Element” when a ray of light came out of the heroine’s throat, saving humanity and prostitutes as well. I tried to finish quickly because my body began to feel sick from a hangover. And this position was not comfortable either. We moved to the bed in a position on our sides, where an orgasm struck me. I didn’t shout, it was uncomfortable. Olya just moaned louder and came. Or she pretended, but very professionally. Cramps, groans. I touch the clitoris in post-caresses - it pulls away. For a couple of minutes I felt like I wasn’t myself.
No one knocked on the door, because there was no one. Tanya is sleeping. I wandered back to the bathroom. I wanted to pick something else with a knife, but I suppressed my investigative instinct. So I just took a piss and washed myself with the entire bottle of Miramistin. In place of the bottle, he left them his remnant - is it not for nothing that in advertising it suffocates germs? I wanted to write “Vasya was here” on the mirror with lipstick, but I forgot to ask Olya for lipstick.
I left and went to examine the pantry. I found two cans of paint there, a Canon BJC-6000 inkjet printer in a box, and two bags of potatoes. But then Olya came up. I was embarrassed and pretended that I had the wrong door. My unfinished tea was waiting for me in the kitchen. Olya smiled sweetly and scratched her left shoulder blade. Idyll. She kissed him on the cheek goodbye and winked.
I am attaching a photo of the prostitute. The presence of photographs improves the veracity of the report, but in order not to consider the report a suter, some boundaries of decency are needed. I keep the photos for memory. Someday I will proudly show my son the collection.
I still remember the bathroom and the treasured hole between the pipe and the wall. There was no blowjob without rubber, as such. There is no anal, although with such an ass, you could have some fun. I liked the process, especially when two complete strangers are fucking. Moreover, she came quite loudly and naturally.
Yesterday I invited her to the sauna. They steamed, “fried.” I'm attaching a photo by the pool. I don’t describe the details because... nothing new. We exchanged personal phone numbers and today a photo came from the fairy (attached) with the inscription “Come, I miss you”
I don’t know yet whether I’m going to visit her all the time. Still, it’s a hokholyat salon and for some reason there is no mental comfort for intercourse with a prostitute’s body.
