Pour the lady a hundred grams.

I will tell about the between-husbands period

I've long wanted to tell you,

Cocks stand at the ready,

Pour the woman a hundred grams.

Jerking cocks with one hand,

With the other we caress the dames,

Where the ass is below, under the back,

Where the lustful clitoris is — there.

We also love to touch breasts,

Lick nipples, letting saliva flow.

— To the wife? But is that the point?

Let it be the wife. The wife is someone else's!

I stayed over at a friend's place,

To spend the night in the between-husbands period,

And behind the wall sounds were born,

An old bed creaked.

My friend lived in a communal apartment,

__P_STart__ On the third, top, floor.

Among the neighbors was an old man in a wheelchair,

And very often in a state of undress.

Laughing, my friend told me,

How she once caught the old man,

When sitting down on the toilet,

She saw him in the window.

There is a window from the toilet to the kitchen,

Right under the ceiling,

— Why a window from the toilet?

Well, explain it to me. A madhouse.

The glass is covered by a curtain,

From the kitchen side, not from the toilet,

It's also smeared with whitewash,

But it peeled off. Last summer.

I sat down to shit and at the window,

I happened to glance then,

The cripple was staring like a cat,

My pussy twitched in fear.

Pulling up my panties, I quickly left,

Went into the kitchen, the old man stands,

On a stool, like a shaft,

Leaning against the wall, his cock sticks out.

The cripple was jerking his shaft,

Fiercely in rapture,

Closing his eyes in self-oblivion,

And so that nothing would happen,

I returned to the toilet in resignation.

Then we laughed for a long time,

At the old man, a pseudo-invalid,

And afterwards we would announce,

That we were going to shit and by our appearance,

We did not give ourselves away at all.

In this case, it's really an acquaintance. More precisely, a good friend. During the "between-husbands" period, I often stayed overnight at her place. But I also won't hide that I didn't curtain that window when I went to the bathroom either. I don't know if the old man peeked, but I tried. In any case, I loudly announced that I was going to wash, so he would know about it.

She was a model,

And gave herself to everyone indiscriminately,

And once she was pissing,

In the shade, sitting under a fence

And some man was walking by,

Saw the ass and froze,

From that ass came a message,

It went straight to the heart

And he was a sculptor, the man,

And began to carve the ass from stone,

But he did not penetrate its essence,

Though he shaped the stone smoothly

The outline was magnificent!

Both the buttocks, and the cleft,

And even the anus. Bravo. Encore.

But instead of a clitoris – a stamen

The man with a sledgehammer the stamen,

Knocked off from the statue's pussy,

And placed a filling in the pussy ..

— What kind?

— A cock! Well, what's with you?

He still had to fill the ass,

Fill the statue with shit,

And he labored long, with sweat,

But left it all for later ..

He was drawn-drawn by nature,

From the ass came a passionate message,

And our man fucked in a foolish moment ..

And himself froze like a statue

The moral of this fable is:

Saw an ass under a fence?

Fuck! And screw that gossip,

Brands anal sex with shame!

Lstrc-ruDALL-E

edition 16.12.24 16:56:00

Well, without a pussy, so be it without a pussy. A laurel leaf can be attached. So I'll be a model — with a laurel leaf and Pepsi cola caps on my nipples. ))

She was a thief

She spoke untruth

She drove me crazy

Why did she love me?

Why did she sleep with me?

Why did she embrace me?

And why did she give herself?

And why did she fuck?

— I remember a wondrous moment,

You appeared before me."1

And the touch of your lips,

And the greedy avarice of the pussy

In her swollen-moist lips,

The glans pokes at the pubis,

And the cock, both insolent and languid

Streams a flow into the vagina

You will writhe passionately,

Biting your lips till they bleed,

When I begin to pour forth,

You will only whisper one thing – Fuck me ….

edition 16:58:45

The old man jerked off on a stool

In the kitchen, standing by the window,

Through the window from the kitchen into the toilet,

He watched as she shat

She had known about it for a long time,

She was over forty years old,

And pretending not to notice,

How the old man climbed onto the stool

And watches, how she took off her panties,

And how she sat on the toilet,

The jerking hand squeezed,

The old man's cock stands erect

She pissed, she farted,

Shit and strained she did,

And once on Wednesday she wanted,

To see the old man on-on-nna …

On the stool how he jerks off,

How he squeezes his cock, how he stands,

The old man is already old, and won't get off,

Catch the old man how he moans,

How he pours forth with sperm,

Rancid, spraying with saliva,

She was a bit of a bitch,

With a long-unfucked pussy

And she caught the old man, the bitch,

When, carried away by jerking off he,

Watched, as Minerva shat,

Spreading her legs over the toilet

She waited, when for the old man,

His eyes would close in ecstasy,

And she sat until lunchtime,

From morning on the Finnish toilet

And the old man jerked off on the stool,

Gazing through the window at the pussy,

Remained the only one in the world,

For the old man a joy under his balls,

To watch, how she washes her tits,

How she rubs her pussy with a washcloth,

And pressing her cunt against the wall,

Jerk-jerk his dick