Incredible sex in the utility room
This day began quite ordinarily. Sales consultant Elena Kapushta crossed the "gates of hell" of the "SaKHERov and Sons" bookstore holding her breath and crossing herself mentally. She always did this so that devilish thoughts would not take hold of her and she wouldn't smash the sales floor to splinters at the godforsaken squeal of the security system. The thing is, these squealing contraptions, called "gates," had recently been activated and they reacted to her in this manner every time. "This is all from the Evil One and bodes no good!" she thought.
But today, miraculously, no screeching was heard. So, the Lord had warded it off and she wouldn't have to think
about vile things, well, thank God. But it wasn't that simple! Passing by the cash register, Elena's delicate hearing was defiled by the foul-mouthed cursing of two very young interns. They were cursing one regular visitor to high heaven, namely some Tajik. It was because of his actions the day before that these very "gates" had been disconnected. "I should thank this Tajik," flashed through Elena's mind, and she, cheered up, headed to restock her section. Sitting down on a chair, Elena put on a semblance of an alert expression on her face-like visage and stretched her legs.Special attention should be paid to our heroine's external adornment. Her entire being was permeated with thin threads of cobwebs, the whole point being that Elena would turn 60 at lunchtime. Naturally: at 60, a woman is a berry again, but this saying, alas, is not about our heroine. She looked a full 90! The facade of her physiognomy was adorned with a huge schnozzle, planted dangerously close to the oral cavity. Thus, during every meal, poor Elena had to meticulously monitor the cleanliness of the tip of her nose, otherwise a huge and disgusting crust of dried mucus and crumbs stuck to it would scare away customers. For now, she didn't have to chew anything, as lunch was still a good three hours away, and she, as usual, sniffled and exercised her jaw and facial apparatus. The steady sniffling of her nostrils gradually lulled the unfortunate old woman, inevitably plunging her exhausted body into sleep.
Then something clicked in her head and she recognized in the stranger her handsome prince from a recent dream. Although the one from the dream was somewhat neater: his hair was generously slicked back with gel, but Elena had long since harbored no illusions on that account and had grown accustomed to perceiving the surrounding reality in all its "uncombedness." Kapushta moistened her practically non-existent eyebrows with gusto and flew into the attack like a fly. It was obvious to her that such an unwashed visitor needed exhaustive consultation from her.
Moreover, the topic was more than familiar to her: "prostate massage." Elena had practically mastered this technique of massaging the prostate gland, as her husband, an old customs wolf, regularly required such attention to his rear. Approaching the handsome Tajik on her skinny little legs, Elena blurted out: "Can I help you with anything?" But apparently, the man didn't hear anything and continued his fascinating "picture reading." To Elena, it seemed they were mocking her and didn't give a damn about her professional skills. Then the Tajik briefly glanced at her and Elena beamed, forgetting for a second the burgeoning offense. "So, are you interested in something or what?" she chirped and playfully ran her finger over the cover of a book depicting muscular male buttocks. The face of gastarbeiter nationality snorted something and vaguely pointed a finger at the top shelf. "Aha, wants something hotter!" Kapushta thought with a sly smile and reached for the "Kama Sutra," but to her great surprise, discovered she was a good couple of meters short in height.
Without thinking long, Elena jumped up and, maneuvering, firmly grabbed onto one of the top shelves. Meanwhile, the gastarbeiter was brazenly examining the old saleswoman-consultant's underwear and squinting. What he saw clearly hurt his eyes. The book was already in the woman-consultant's hands, but something went wrong and the ground disappeared from under her feet, or rather one of the books turned out to be in a too slippery dust jacket, or some nasty schoolgirl had pawed it with her sticky, sweaty hand. Elena crashed (and even an old woman can have a mishap) onto the floor with her whole Kapushta. The Tajik jumped aside in horror, like a wild cat, and hid behind a chair. The elderly woman's little body miraculously withstood such a sharp turn of events. Elena slowly got up, feeling her limbs. Realizing all her bones were intact, she jumped up on all fours and rushed to the non-Russian. He awkwardly took the book from her hands and immediately delved into reading. "What a man greedy for erotica," Elena thought with delight. He read long and hard, and all this time she was nearby. All that was needed was to thank him, but the Tajik doesn't know Russian.
And, unable to bear it, Elena hissed through her teeth: "Thanks doesn't gurgle!" and, gathering all her senile strength into a fist, tore the erotic book out of the Tajik's hands with a chunk of flesh.
— What did you, cursed fiend, think to see in this book: Erotica? Naked girls? Or me, sales consultant Elena Kapushta? I'll beat all your eggs off, you damned reptile! You'll know how to leer at naked old women and then rape young girls afterward!!
Pulling down the elastic of his sweatpants, Elena plunged her hand deep into the Tajik and, without further ado, began to work in his sweatpants. It must be said, he wasn't particularly against it, but for appearances, he resisted a little, wiggling his hips and twisting his neck. Elena Kapushta was well familiar with such behavior of a male-fertilizer and it provided some tactile pleasure, but just squeezing with an unfamiliar Caucasian was clearly not enough for her. Therefore, avoiding the glances of random customers, she shoved the hapless little lover into the utility room, having unlocked it first. The walls of the storeroom hadn't seen such a thing in a long time, if they had ever seen it at all: an elderly woman tipped a grown man onto a chair and impatiently began to undress him, tearing off the fragrant fabric of his sweatpants. Her gaze was met by hairy Tajik thighs and bulging briefs. "And our little Tamerlan is already eager for battle!" Kapushta gasped admiringly and grasped the swollen muscle with her sharp claws. After massaging it a little in her palm, she, without warning, pulled down his underpants all the way to the floor, and then took them off completely, crumpling them in her hand.
She pressed the diaper to her face and took a deep breath. A wide, carnivorous smile stretched across Elena's physiognomy. It was clear she had something in mind. With the words "say 'ah!'" the sexual predator plugged the victim's mouth with the hardened, crumbly long johns. And kneeling, she spread her captive's legs wide. The smoky Tajik foreskin Elena immediately sent into the depths of her bottomless throat, and after a few trips teeth-palate-tonsils, she began greedily kissing the love scepter with dry lips and a rough tongue. An oral five-minute, in her opinion, was enough for the gastarbeiter, and the next second she buried his physiognomy into her own depths. "And now it's your turn to make mommy feel good!" she spewed in a fit of passion. "Sweeten my labia, baby!" But for that, it was necessary to undress, and she began
hurriedly undressing, not trusting the Tajik hands with a single strap or button. "Don't touch the snow-white expanse of my blouse, black-assed!" she roared, maddened by lust. The granny carefully folded her pantaloons and hung her shawl on the back of the chair.
It was simply impossible to look at the naked Kapushta without tears, but our hero until this moment had only dealt with domestic livestock, and therefore he was unspeakably glad for a female body, even one as decrepit and worn-out as our heroine's. With primal horror, looking at Elena's sagging breasts, the Tajik croaked: "Titty!" and latched onto the old woman's hardened nipple. The gastarbeiter smacked his lips and with know-how, as he had repeatedly had to do this with a goat's udder. "Tasty kumis!" the man mumbled when he felt something warm in his mouth, tasting like sour milk. "That's not kumis, silly infidel, that's a boil that's burst!" Elena purred and pressed the Tajik's head harder to her chest.
"Drink, children, milk — you'll be healthy!" sang the excited old woman and barely restrained herself from crying. Unexpectedly, the primary reproductive instinct was replaced by a maternal one, and the granny began to rock the Tajik in her arms.
Elena's family misfortune lay in her husband's testicles, or rather in the impossibility of getting pregnant from his thick, sour cream-like sperm. Therefore, Elena firmly decided to take matters into her own hands. As they say, years go by — cucumbers rot. So our heroine understood that the time of fertility was coming to an end and something had to be done about it.
Soon the partner's rotational-translational movements began to tire her and finally bored Elena. In order to get the maximum from this interracial coitus and squeeze all the juices out of the chuchmek, she decided to drive him to frenzy and make him orgasm, as if for the last time, conceiving beautiful human larvae.
Rocking on the Tajik's hips as if on a boat, sales consultant Kapusha began to furiously kick her legs and slap the gastarbeiter on the overgrown lower part of his face, fortunately managing to do it quite sharply, her daily training on schoolgirls' cheeks making itself known.
And at that very minute, when Elena was already ready to squirt and, at the same time, receive a portion of thick, viscous substance into her womb, there was a knock on the door.
"Could it be Sakharov himself?" a wild thought flashed through Elena's head. But it turned out to be just the senior salesperson Evgeny Dyukka with a question about why Elena had been absent from her workplace for so long and was filling the sales floor with heart-rending screams. Kapushta, without thinking long, weighed the situation and decided to throw the poor gastarbeiter under the bus. "Help! Rape! Heeelp!!!" A minute later the door swung open and the entire work crew piled into the storeroom. They clearly hadn't come to help the poor woman, but to gawk at who had coveted such an antiquity. (Specially for .org — ) The smell of sex hung in the air, which only fueled the gathered crowd's interest in the rapist's identity. Under such intense scrutiny, the scrotum of the sexual Tajik maniac shriveled impossibly, as if trying to shrink to the point of disappearing altogether.
It became clear to all present that the gastarbeiter's testicles were insanely ashamed, but his penis, judging by its erect state, not so much. "Cover your shame!" senior salesperson Evgeny Dyukka said authoritatively and threw his uniform vest at the Tajik. He caught it on the fly and covered his crotch, correctly, it seems, interpreting human speech. Within a minute, the half-naked gastarbeiter was escorted to the store exit into the valiant paws of justice, and the thoroughly fucked old woman was left in the utility room to come to her senses. They couldn't send her home over such trifles, who would work then?!
Elena lay on the cold concrete floor and, sobbing, imagined newspaper headlines, one worse than the other, disgracing her name: "Incredible Fuck in the Utility Room," "SHOCK! Elena Kapushta Raped by a Tajik!", "Terrible Incident in SaKHERov's Store," etc. All was lost, Elena remained an unsatisfied woman, her name was tarnished, and worst of all: she could only dream of children! Tears rolled from her eyes by themselves and gathered on the huge schnozzle in a juicy drop. But then, through the snot and wetness, she spotted a small puddle on the floor... "There is still a god in this world!" Elena sang and, generously lubricating her fingers with the still-warm man-juice, began to shove them deep into her cunt.