In the head in Artem reigned confusion. Today was not a simple day, but the name day of the man who, according to Artem and his friends, was the last white knight who was betrayed and his legacy was isolated, his name was Adolf Hitler. In St. Petersburg, the darkness of a stunted, spring April evening thickened. Tediously drizzling rain. Artyom's soul was also tedious and sickening. He has just returned from a meeting with friends - like-minded people home. In his stomach, cheap beer mixed with vodka, and in his head aggression with rage. In his wretched one-room apartment on the working outskirts of the metropolis was so dismal, empty and not interesting, that Artem wanted to howl about the injustice of life. In his clouded minds were born images full of heroism and cruelty. He jumped up every minute and began to walk around the room in a wide sweeping step, like a wild animal that sits in a cage. He thought hard how best to celebrate the Fuhrer's birthday in an unusual, original way, so that his whole party knew that he was cool.
But his thoughtful, bright thoughts did not appear in his head, no matter how much Artyom frowned on his forehead. They didn’t attend to this short, trimmed subtilized sub "ect of inspiration. Gradually, he was seized by the apathy of a person who wasn’t used to thinking much. Having grown tired of the thinking process, Artyom did what every 21st century self-respecting person who tired of thinking about difficult the semantic task. He turned on the computer and climbed into the Ineta. In search of a solution, it took just a few minutes to find the best way to celebrate the Führer’s birthday, as the milking site commanded easily oh and brilliant decision.
The site was a profile with a photo of a black, like a resin girl, in bright lace lingerie, which dazzlingly smiled with pearl teeth. Artem presented her humiliated, crying, begging, begging him to take pity on her, let her go. A warm wave of dreams of power over a defenseless creature pierced Artem with electric currents. Yes, he will hire this black prostitute, will rape and mock her, remove all the pranks on his mobile phone and show his friends. He giggled happily, but stopped right away. In theory Artem was strong in his mind, he was a tough macho who went out one gang against blacks and beat them and tortured them in tens. In his dreams, he was a cross between a Viking Beserka and Arnold Schwarzenegger, but in life he was a quiet, sickly young man who fought the last time in fifth grade and that was not a classic fight. He was not a hero in her, a classmate beat him. Artem did not even resist, he just cried and asked not to beat him.
But today is his day, the great moment of awakening of the Aryan dormant force in him. Plucking courage, Artem called and ordered a girl. When the taxi arrived, I paid to some kind of bloke who had money coming out of nowhere. As soon as this type of banknotes considered its thick, hairy, short, like sausages, fingers from the depths of the half-dark taxi cab, a smiling, playful chocolate-dark face of the girl appeared, which slightly resembled the photo on the questionnaire, but was nevertheless young, fresh and beautiful. She and Artyom silently rose to his cramped, gloomy dwelling and Artem did not have time to come round, as the girl who reposed as Karolina kissed him on the cheek and with the words: I'm in the bath, wash, do not spy, slipped into the bath. Artem's heart beat fast, thousands of different variants of further events scrolled in his head.
He immediately threw back the most cruel and extreme for two reasons: first, he did not want to bring matters to an extreme, second, Artyom was terribly afraid of the consequences of the options he considered. First of all, he decided to abandon the painful and deadly plans, but simply to fuck this black bitch, make her moan under him, rude and cruelly fuck her. With these insidious thoughts, he quickly, as if in a fever, undressed and lay down under a blanket. Time stretched painfully long. For courage, Artyom took a vodka cup from the cabinet and drank it in one gulp. The noise in the bathroom stopped suddenly, the doors opened and Carolina was absolutely nude, proportionally folded, pompous but not thick, graceful, cat-like gait slowly, so that Artyom could look at it in detail, defile him and embrace him with hot, strong arms . Artem felt a panic attack. He did not know what to do.
In principle, he knew what to do, but he had the last sex more than six months ago. He thought he needed to pack up, pull yourself together and fuck this bitch, but his pod was dead, like a dried branch on an autumn tree. Caroline began to caress his penis with her hands, then her mouth. No oral or other caress on the member Artem had no effect. The instrument of male prowess was dead, like the skeleton of a mammoth in a zoological museum. Artem tried to get excited, but could not.
So we spent a tedious 10-15 minutes of a failed quitess.
Carolina, seeing the futility of her efforts, began to console Artem with words that were the last straw that broke through the dam of his perseverance.
Artem cried like a little boy. He did not even cry like that in his childhood, he was bitter and offended. Caroline hugged him and began to calm him down.
So they lay for some time. Seeing that Artem had returned to normal, she offered him once such a thing and the lower classes could not, then let the tops in the form of Artem's language work on her pussy. He nodded dazedly and a clean-shaven, pink, sweet-smelling bosom of Carolina fell on his head. Her strong calves gently, but tightly clasped Artyom’s head and he with the timidity of a neophyte, at first fearfully, then more and more with increasing force began to lick the vagina of a black prostitute. At first, he did little, but with every minute he became more and more earnestly and more actively with his tongue into the depths of the Carolinas womb. He caressed her clit, her labia with such passion and force that, unwillingly, Caroline began to slowly begin to move on his head more and more. She wrapped her arms around his hair and began to fidget on Artem’s face.
She was shaken by a powerful orgasm. Artem’s face splashed with juice from Carolina’s pussy. She no longer restrained herself and, as a real rider, had the language of Artem. With great zeal he tried to shove his tongue as far and deeper as possible. He felt that he wanted and could lick Carolina's pussy for eternity, but at one point she squeaked a phone in her purse. She got off Artemy's face and said in a businesslike way: we will prolong the handsome !!! He shook his head in amazement and said: no, no. Carolina after his words seemed to be like a sorceress, got ready and disappeared, and Artyom kept lying and thinking, maybe this is all a silly ridiculous dream that I had a dream, but the taste in his language told him, no, this is not a dream, but the truth. He stared at the ceiling with glass eyes for a very long time, in his head only one ridiculous thought broke, which he began to say out loud with a nervous chuckle: "Happy birthday to my Fuhrer, happy birthday!"