your man has just died, announcing a would-be sympathetic voice on the phone… megan hung up, picked up the remote control, and switched to channel one. tv series THE TELL was just beginning right now, she has those little chocolates in the cupboard. her mood immediately improved. and on account exactly 15 thousand per coffin, ufff. unfortunately he will have to sell the kitchen table, even if he still has something in reserve, but it doesn't matter. fortunately he has another one in the attic. she made contentedly fart and decided to make a big shopping in unity tomorrow. the jingle just finished. today's episode will be about a holiday at the balaton lake. hissed another foil… home – caribou.
when reggie stepped out the door, she realized she hadn't seen daylight in a long time — it was wednesday morning, sometimes spring. the sun was shining very brightly and reggie's cunt was itching. the two young bastards had been handing her like a rag for a long time yesterday. one of them had a gig big dick and just wanted to fuck his ass (for an extra charge). they had enough money. quite frankly - she didn't mind. sometimes young boys and someone who was at least a little interesting visited them in the company (it was called casanova). well, it was only a fraction. the rest were desperate, tragedy, lost existence, old grandfathers who didn't even have a dick and fucking drooling austrians. she'd rather not think about it, because the end of the week was approaching and they always had a job at work. their business was one of the best, sometimes the owner (nothing but an ordinary pimp and a fucking pig who recruited all the new girls) got them some black or slanted exoticism, and the customers just flocked. reggie took a deep breath and headed down the side street for the mall, as the fuck where she was working, was subtly called. he needed to buy a few nonsense, especially cosmetics (there was no glory up close), although everyone in the casino usually went totally merged, and even if they weren't, it was as dark as a cow and in the finals no one looked her in the face anyway. besides, she'd been riding a saliva primitive lately, and a bottle must fit in her purse. her work and all the shit around then handled her much better. when she had a solid surface, which she usually always had, she also enjoyed pole dancing. she curled up there and felt like a movie star. before the song ended. then she sat down at the bar and waited for some horny dick to sit next to her. the mall was quite lively. people have probably already started buying megasuppons of everything possible and unnecessary for the weekend, especially if the fridge is crowded. there was an endless queue in the dm, but somehow it survived. the cashier was looking at her from the floor, and there was no reason to. reggie didn't deal with it. she knew she looked like a whore, though she was convinced it was completely unrecognizable ... she still had some time and she only had one coffee in the morning. not far from here was a pleasant sunken cafe, where you could get something to eat and drink. reggie ordered a double milkless espresso, a glass of red, and sparkling water. the waiter was surprisingly only slightly. he even smiled once. god knows how my little elen remembered reggie. she last saw her sometime two months ago. she had to grow up again and learn a lot. reggie still couldn't cope with how it turned out. she had no idea why elen had been taken from her. she pulled out her cell phone and texted her. when she wanted to wave at the waiter to tell her, the phone vibrated on the table. "mom, i'm looking forward to you ..." she said. reggie wanted to cry, but suppressed it. instead, she ordered another glass, the shift starting in two hours. it was beautiful day outside…mock and toof - farewell to wendo
mrs. maria felt quite tired in the evening after doing nothing all day long. sincerelly, she was pretty fucking tired. even that she has marketa, she thought. working as a deserving concubine for one older gentleman from austria (he was a fucking nazi grew up from hitler jugend) just to occasional weekend meetings in alpine spas (he paid everything except of train ticket, damned)... music is the answer - joe goddard