Broken heart
She was a tall blonde, about thirty-five, long-legged, with a narrow waist and neatly toned buttocks. Straw-colored curls touched her shoulders, and a short, above-the-knee black skirt accentuated her slender, tanned, brownish legs. She stood in front of my desk in a pose like a girl on a podium, as if saying, "Look at what a beauty I am! And I don't want to get a job with you, I just dropped in out of curiosity, to see the wretchedness of your firm."
I raised my tired eyes to her, as if wanting to ask, "And what kind of miracle has appeared here?" But, being a person raised within the walls of my institute, I winked at her slyly
and asked;— So you are the Alla that Ivan Petrovich warned me about?
— The very one,,,
— Please, have a seat, — I nodded towards the armchair standing slightly to the right of the desk.
— Actually, I don't have time to sit around, — the blonde snapped, making it clear that the question of her appointment as my secretary had long been decided, somewhere up at the very top, and all that was left for me—the head of the institute department—was to record my agreement to hire her on this slightly crumpled piece of paper, which she laid right on top of the document I was reading.
— Well then, Alla Nikolaevna! Commendable that you're in such a hurry to start work; if you work with the same zeal, then I give up! — I smirked and picked up the pen. The sheet already bore the boss's visa, short and stern: "Process!" Below this formidable inscription, I added my own: "Agreed!" and handed the paper back to the blonde.
— And that's all?! — She arched her eyebrows so high they almost touched her neat bangs on her forehead.
— No! Why would it be? There will still be an orchestra with fanfares, a table for a hundred people, and fiery speeches. In short: details from the secretary! I stood up and handed her the application, making it clear the audience was over.
— You people aren't very cheerful, — she took the application, standing up. And then I noted that on her "stilettos" she was taller than me. This slightly upset me, but deciding that this "bird" was not of my flock anyway, I slightly shook her soft, outstretched hand.
— And I thought you, as a gallant gentleman, would kiss a lady's hand, — she smiled slightly, to which I replied.
— In warm company—perhaps, but here, I am not a gentleman, but your boss, and besides, such courtesies are not customary among us, — I said dryly.
— Fine. When should I assume my duties?
— Preferably tomorrow. More details from the secretary, — I saw the guest out, politely opening the door for her.
As soon as this bird fluttered away, I pressed the call button.
— Zoya! Please come in…
— The secretary fluttered in with a smile still not erased from her cheerful face.
— Zoya! Your replacement has arrived. Explain your "kitchen" to her in detail and arrange with HR to process her starting tomorrow. Tomorrow evening we will see you and your lieutenant-submariner off with honors. Arrange the buffet with our cafe, menu at your discretion, don't skimp, we'll pay. So the Northern Fleet will get a new addition, — I patted her reddened cheek…
— And where is she, Vitaly Petrovich? — my favorite asked in bewilderment, raising her eyebrows, whom I, like a father, protected from the persistent advances of some particularly zealous suitors, who authoritatively declared to their drinking buddies that "the boss won't let anyone mess with Zoyka, he's keeping her for himself…".
"If she were older, well, at least like this new frump, then it would be a different matter, but to seduce a young girl, who moreover loves her chosen sailor so passionately, was inappropriate and mean. She probably didn't even know what real cunnilingus or brave fellatio was yet?" — I thought, having passed through my forty-five years a solid school of relationships between the sexes. Having buried my first wife early, and not yet finding a second, having no children, I barely managed to fend off the many women who clung to me from all sides, like annoying flies trying to settle more comfortably on a sweet cake. Take, for instance, our cleaning lady Lyuba. She knew about my salary of eighty thousand, but didn't know about my scientific works, my candidate's degree side income from joint projects with a well-known design bureau in St. Petersburg, my dacha, apartment on the Moika, and beloved Mercedes, which envious ill-wishers for some reason whispered was a "whoremobile".
I admit, to some extent they were right, for most of my romances with flighty girls ended precisely in that car on the back seat to the measured breathing of creaking shock absorbers. I had everything, except children. I loved that little audience, arranging children's matinees in the hall of my spacious apartment for the kids from neighboring apartments, showing them recorded children's films by the famous director Alexander Rou on TV. I myself loved watching them, hugging another victim of love on my luxurious sofa. Sometimes the girls would laugh too, looking at the screen where the hare and the wolf were fighting in "Nu, pogodi!" ("Just You Wait!"), precisely at the moment when, lying on my side, I was drilling the beauty from behind, driving my "cue" far into her deep but tremulous pocket.
With this category of girls, good mothers' daughters, excellent and good students from our St. Petersburg universities known throughout the country, it was very pleasant to spend moments of sexual happiness, as they understood that to many of them I could already be a father, with whom one does not argue, and I clearly didn't measure up to a rich daddy "Pinocchio". They were quite satisfied with a bottle of vintage wine, often cognac too, and chocolates with cake. Me too, for I hadn't had a mistress of the house in a long time; cleaning and laundry were handled by a solid auntie Frosya from the neighboring entrance for a relatively small addition to her pension, who had known me since childhood and called me a poor wretch, though I didn't call myself that, considering her almost like my long-deceased mother.
I didn't have a father either. He once told my mother: "I'll go work in the oil fields, and then we'll live well." He left forty years ago and never came back, though he still sends small sums for his son's support. Well, there are still noble people among us who consider forty-five-year-old sons still little kids. I put these pennies in a piggy bank and, when a substantial sum accumulates, I send him money for a ticket to come visit us. And I love children. Therefore, I always dress up as Father Frost for New Year's and, together with the neighbor Ksyusha (a forty-year-old virgin), acting as the Snow Maiden, deliver gifts to the children living in our building. Sometimes some of my admirer-students come running in a panic, saying they need a certain sum for a criminal abortion, not saying from whom this lovely gift of fate came, but I'm not greedy, it's no sin to fork over for a good cause.
Having received the money, they run away, but I immediately cross their names off my list of sexual fairies. There are also tears and repentance, but I am always unwavering in my decisions, as I don't like liars, male or female. For this, the students nicknamed me "Saint Vitaly," though I feel I haven't earned that name yet. There are also comical cases. I have one student named Belochka. Such a little blonde with blue eyes. She comes to me for consultations and prefers to solve problems sitting on my member. I once asked her why she studies her lessons in such a non-standard way, to which Belochka, smiling, replied; "It's easier to remember that way." In gratitude for the truth, I lay her down on the sofa, she immediately calls her mom to say she's spending the night at a friend's, and she herself jumps on me like a rider on a horse.
"Let's go!" — she slaps my thigh with her little palm and rides until she collapses into bed, where I press her fragile little body to my hairy chest, and, kissing her tiny nipples, give her a chance to meet Morpheus. Bela sleeps, kicking as if fighting someone. In the morning, after pumping her one more time
as she stands by the table with her breasts lying on it, she hurries to her institute to take очередные exams, and passes them, as a rule, successfully. So the conclusion suggests itself, as a headline for an article: "Sex as an Aid in Learning Sciences." Could even write a second dissertation. But I know such a topic clearly won't pass. A pity. Or another piece of news. My "Snow Maiden" once comes running to me all in tears and practically praying to God; "Help!" she says, "Vitaly Petrovich! I'm in trouble! My period stopped after that incident when we were celebrating New Year's with you. I could barely drag my feet out of your apartment then." And I authoritatively answer her:
— What students?! God be with you, Vitaly Petrovich! It was me, and I have proof!
— What proof? — I turned to face her, as this topic began to interest me…
— The usual kind. Material evidence…
— Don't tell me I dropped a ring from my finger into your slit?
— No! What ring! It's there on your left hand, shining right now. Still reminds you of your first wife…
— You're right, Ksyusha. It does remind me. I loved her, the bitch, dearly…
— And she didn't love you very much…
— What makes you say that?
— The facts…
— Well, go on, spin your yarn, Emelya…
— I'm no Emelya, but the fact that you fucked me on New Year's Eve is an indisputable fact…
— And you can present it?
— Of course…
— Well, go on! Let's see…
Ksenia rummaged in her purse and suddenly pulled out a small photo. On it was depicted a substantial member with a large wart on the skin near the glans…
— Recognize it, Vitaly Petrovich? Your organ?
— Looks like it. Very much so…
— And I kept wondering why something was rubbing me during sex. When it was all over and you started snoring, and the member was also getting ready to sleep, I quickly took a picture of it with my mobile, and then…
— Stop! The rest is clear… Well, you're a clever one, Ksyushka, and I still thought you were a clumsy hen…
— Appearances can be deceptive, — said the hedgehog, getting off the shoe brush. Isn't that right, Vitaly Petrovich? Your saying…
— You're right, Ksyushka, but that's not proof that I broke your hymen. You said yourself that I fell asleep…
— You fell asleep. That's true! But only after you raped me for a whole hour and filled my whole mouth with your sperm, you really started snoring.
— Don't be silly, girl! A member can't stay hard if the sperm has come out. Get it?
— And the photo?
— That's you snapping me last week when I was washing at your place, we didn't have hot water just then, and you saw me naked, so you snapped it. My member was indeed hard then, my boy was waiting for your silly girl to wake up…
— Okay. Buzz off, dear, and don't ruin my high opinion of myself…
— But what should I do about my period? — tears welled up in Ksyusha's eyes.
— Go home, girl, periods are guests that come and go—, my Lyudmila used to say, may she rest in peace.
— Yes! Your aunt Lyuda was a good one, but I could be even better…
— How so?
— I would make it so that you wanted me every minute and fucked me anywhere and in any position… even in public.
— And how would you do that? Do you have a secret?
— Of course. I would always walk around the apartment naked in your presence. A man can't calmly withstand such a movie…
— Do you have facts?
— Of course. My younger brother is always gawking at my buttocks, and once I just got out of bed completely naked, and he accidentally saw me like that and…
— Threw you on the floor and fucked you?
— Exactly! Which was to be proven! And you say a photo isn't proof… Well, after that incident I still had my period, but after you they ran off into the forest…
I had to shell out and give her money for an abortion. What can you do, it's a familiar business, but what imperfect creatures women are, to depend so much on Mother Nature is simply a crime…
And so my bachelor days ran on, but it was time to start a family and have an heir. Of course, not with Ksyusha, who probably barely knew her multiplication tables, though you couldn't deny her femininity. In bed she's a master. Someone taught her the most refined ways of inflaming male feelings, and her breasts were Wow! No smaller than size six. And how she knew how to caress my "Boy." Sometimes, I'd be sitting in the armchair, watching a program on the "Culture" channel, and she clearly didn't like that show. Why would she need the subtleties of art when she had long excelled in the subtleties of love. She should be my housekeeper, and then substitute for a young wife in bed when she starts tumbling in it with a young lover.
At her request to help her with this, the boss grunted disapprovingly and hissed through clenched teeth: "That's all I needed! Go see Petrovich. He's a master at such things." Soon the boss was getting ready to go on a business trip to gloomy and cold London, and entrusted me with taking charge of his mistress,
I didn't understand the reason for such inspiration and immediately slipped my left palm right between her slender legs, to which she smirked and wagged her finger at me slyly.
— Petrovich! Don't misbehave! Or I'll complain to the boss…
— Hasn't he bored you yet?
— Oh, he has, the old gray nag. And tomorrow we're celebrating… I hope you've arranged things?
— Of course! — I lied boldly, as I had simply let the preparations for her anniversary take their own course. But one of my deputies—a dud in science but a master at preparing such events—had long known about this date and never missed such occasions.
— Why are you silent, darling? — she leaned over and kissed me again, unzipping my fly.
— What are you doing?! What if someone comes in?
— They won't! I put Lenka on guard in the hallway. A faithful dog won't let its master down.
I nodded affirmatively, approving her measures to ensure this intimacy, stood up, turned her face to the wall, pressed her head and chest to the desk, and pulled her skirt up to her waist. The girl turned out to be very quick-witted, as she was already without panties, which she had taken off in the toilet and hidden in her purse as unnecessary. Swarthy, appetizing buttocks looked at me, and between them those familiar and beloved holes of mine, one above the other. The member, which had jumped out of my pants like a soldier from a trench, immediately rushed into the attack. With thrusts, it spread the buttocks wider and plunged into one of the holes to her loud "