Thick sour cream sauce

I want to warn you right away: this story is not written for people to laugh and make fun of me. I just want to know, have you ever had a similar situation in your life? What would you have done in my place? Did I do the right thing by fucking my mom's best friend and tearing the hymen of her eighteen-year-old daughter?… But let's take things in order, as usual.

It all started quite trivially. One fine summer morning, Oleg (my own brother) pulled a really harsh prank on me. For some reason, my testicle hurt in the morning and, without thinking, I blurted out to Oleg that it was probably cancer. We had a good laugh about it, but deep down I was in turmoil, and

a complete one at that. But that wasn't enough for him, and he threw in a wild story, saying that thickening of semen is the first symptom, and if you don't catch it in time, there's a high probability of a fatal outcome.

Thickening of semen? — I asked with obvious disbelief.

— That's the one. — said Oleg with a serious face. — It develops in every second guy from frequent masturbation. Every wasted shot only brings the inevitable end closer. Here's your argument for 'getting a girlfriend'.

— Very funny, Oleg. You know how tough it is with that.

— Tough in your friend's ass! — Oleg snorted.

— Maybe we shouldn't bring my friends into this?

— Eww, I'm not touching them! Don't even ask.

Oleg got on his high horse, just like in childhood, and wasn't planning to get off.

— I knew this one guy! — Oleg continued. — So when he found out he was sick, he immediately ran home to withdraw the last money from his card, wanted to transfer it to the clinic's account. Just didn't make it.

— What happened?

— Died before he got home! Can you imagine!

— Come on! That fast?!

— Got hit by a car. Saw them scraping him off the asphalt myself. Quite a picture!

— Just awful!

— Yeah, and brains into a dustpan! — my brother wouldn't let up.

— Cancer kills faggots dead!

— Maybe we should change the subject? — I suggested.

— His name was Sevoy — Oleg summed up. — Pigeons of the sky in April.

Yeah, my brother is, of course, a real bullshitter. He clearly overdid it with that story. Mixed up Cancer with AIDS, and then admitted he was the one driving the car. His homophobic sentiments were clearly showing. But one way or another, he planted a seed of anxiety. For that, a huge 'thank you' to him! I can safely give him the crab. Cancer, damn it, bitch, why did he blurt that out?! Now I won't be able to sleep all night. I'll toss and turn, trying to peel the sweat-stuck sheet off.

Back then, I wasn't well-versed in the matter and couldn't say with certainty how thick the consistency of liquid genetics should be. Maybe having lumps is normal? You can't just go ask the older guys for a consultation — they'll laugh, you'll be known as a wanker! Then you'll never wash it off for the rest of your life!

For them, of course, it's easier to judge from the height of their lived years, but when I imagine their smirking smiles and those yellow, smoke-stained teeth, all desire disappears. No, asking was dangerous, especially since they're all Oleg's friends, and if this is some kind of joke (even a mean and cruel one), they'll support his initiative anyway, and they'll make fun of me and put me down in front of everyone.

The internet was cut off for non-payment, and going to the clinic with such a serious question was dangerous, because they've apparently long forgotten about the Hippocratic oath there, and the medical staff will blabber about your intimate problem to the whole village the next day (if not the same evening). Damn hypocrites!!!

In the morning I was still laughing, but now I've become gloomier than a cloud. What should I do now? What if I die without ever knowing the joy of fatherhood, without going all out, without ever feeling what it means to break a taboo?!

I didn't want to give in to my brother, because he constantly messed with me, and he always got away with it. But now he literally hit a nerve. The fear of an imminent death clouded my eyes.

What if not only I have testicular cancer, but my friends do too? What if this terrible disease is hereditary? They're laughing now, but in a while they'll turn blue and beg God for mercy. I didn't wish death on my friends, I was just worried about their health. They'll thank me later!

I needed to act fast! Maybe we can still save a couple of testicles.

We still have to wait a bit before I fuck my own mom's best friend, but I'm already on the right path.)))) Her daughter is already celebrating her 18th birthday in full swing while I'm rushing at full speed to my childhood friend Kostik, who lives in the next yard. Maybe he won't be so wooden and insensitive to the problem, especially since it concerns him too.

— Kostik, you don't happen to know?… — I was about to ask, but the last words got stuck in my throat.

The door to Khvostik's apartment was wide open. The doorway gaped with darkness and resembled the entrance to a cave. Moans were coming from inside.

I hurried to help, pulling a pepper spray canister from my inner pocket. Who knows what danger might be waiting for me there?

Things were scattered everywhere, shards of glass, some paraphernalia for cooling vapor and similar gadgets.

— Khvostiiiiik, are you here? — I asked with my mouth only. — Are you alive or what?

A faint groan was heard, which made me act immediately.

I found him under a pile of plaster and cardboard. specially for .оrg His appearance left much to be desired: a black eye, lips swollen far from kisses, bruises all over his body (he was only in swimming trunks).

— Khvostik, what happened?

— Khvostik is your fucking dad. — he snapped. — Call me that again, you'll walk home.

— Sorry, I forgot you don't like that nickname.

— Call me my Lord. That's much better… — and then he coughed up blood.

(In that case, I won't call him 'Khvostik' anymore, I'll leave that for the author's speech, if you don't mind.)

— Who did this to you… my… uh… lord.

— Fucking debt collectors. — was the answer. — May they burst!

— I thought all that was urban legend. Is it really true?

— Just look at me. — Kostik spread his hands sourly. — The work of a mobile brigade. Fucked up the sideboard, the VCR, my vinyl collection, bitches, smashed everything. Took the laptop, the mic stand, all the cash. Way more than I owe the bank.

— I didn't even know. — I was amazed. — But how did they get in?

— Played me like a total sucker. Rang the intercom. Said it was a shawarma delivery and I was their lucky 100th customer and I was entitled to a double one in cheese lavash.

— And you didn't realize by their voices they were thugs?

— Their voices were high, thin, like women's. So I opened up, and when they approached the door, they shoved a magazine picture in the peephole, bitches, and I, fool, didn't notice.

— What right do they have?! — I was outraged. — Did they at least let you try the shawarma?

— Broke my ribs and raped the neighbor's dog right in front of me.

— Jesus of Nazareth! Did they lure the dog with shawarma too?

— No, damn it, they brought it with them. The neighbor's bitch, named Bottle. I was looking after her while they were on vacation… And anyway, what's with the questions? Why did you even come?

It was somehow awkward to ask Kostik about such stupidities when he had broken ribs and teeth missing every other one.

— Yeah, I… never mind. Forget it.

— At least spot me for a smoke! — my lord, that is, Kostya, rasped in frustration. — You see the state I'm in.

I took out my last hundred for bus fare and, smoothing it out, gave it to the poor guy, a victim of collector lawlessness. God, they didn't leave a single spot on him!

This turn of events knocked the wind out of me, but I decided for sure that I would deal with the problem on my own, like a man, and Kostik had enough troubles without me.

Here's Khvostik before the attack: happy, content, having just started his own business with bank money.

And here's a semblance of his face after meeting the thugs.

I'll leave this photo without comment.

Today my brother brought home another slut with huge tits and hair black as pitch. She gracefully walked around the apartment, not even bothering to take off her shoes. I would gladly stick it to her, but she paid zero attention in my direction.

— It's okay, — I thought to myself. — my brother will fuck you for me! My own flesh and blood. You can consider that it's me fucking you, just a few years older.

I think she felt my vibe and just started swaying her hips more actively, winding me up more and more.

My brother just smirked at the situation with Kostik. And no wonder, they never really got along. But, to be honest, I didn't give a shit about Kostik right now either. He's at least still alive, but I don't know how much time I have left. I mean, of course, not the number of days, but the number of normal orgasms before my cream finally oxidizes.

Maybe I should just go and fuck my mom's best friend and tear the hymen of her now adult daughter?

Be that as it may, I had long since discovered that between one door leaf and the wall there is a hidden crack through which you can clearly see what's happening in the next room.

Waiting until the sofa started creaking, I tiptoed to the hole and peeked in out of curiosity. And there they were already going at it full swing. Apparently, they decided to skip the foreplay (or leave it for schoolkids).

I slipped my hand into my pants to check my scrotum. Stroked it carefully so as not to disturb the yolks. My dick was already hard, and even jumped for joy, while I attentively watched my brother's ass rhythmically moving between the legs of that hot brunette. I was afraid to jerk off, because that could make the situation even worse.

— I'm not here for this! That's not why I came here! — I repeated to myself like a mantra.

My brother had already turned the chick around with her back to him and was fucking her ass like a pussy.

From the sex scenes in the next room, I got incredibly turned on, and my dick was just aching with longing. Why the hell should I deny myself pleasure? Why should I stand aside while others fuck to their heart's content?

And to somehow redirect the sexual energy from my testicles, I decided to do a massage instead of dry jerking. Namely, to massage the anus ring with one finger. To be honest, I always did that, but today I decided to go a little further.

I went back to my room and took a package out of an old box with ancient construction sets. My rubber vagina, ordered through vsеxshоp. ru, was in it. Nodular, with bumps and spacers. When I inserted into it, it felt like I was penetrating a real woman.

But today it won't be useful to me, because at the bottom of the package another item awaits me — the anatomical vibrator massager "Sir-Gey" with neon lighting.

The girl under my brother was moaning languidly and whispering: "Ooooh, it's so thick!"

"Sir-Gey" had no less diameter in cross-section, and I even had to wet the tip of the vibrator with my tongue. I carefully placed it against the anal opening. Imagined I'd be in heaven in a minute. And for that, you don't have to die from testicular cancer, you just need to turn on the vibration.

Well, and to relax the sphincter properly, I rolled my eyes back and imagined that the guys got bored making love alone and they gently called me over. I fantasized about taking off my sweater and top, and Oleg's chick asking me what my secretions taste like.

— Probably a bit salty, — I answer, — although, if you think about it, more like with a sour note.

She understands that I'm a virgin and offers to eliminate this gap in my sexual education. I agree with a nod and she brings me to orgasm with just her toes. Oleg in my fantasies looks sternly, from under his brow, but doesn't get distracted from the task and brings our sexual partner to the finish line with his beast-cock. When I cum, watching her finish, I try not to accidentally splatter my brother. He doesn't really like that even in my imagination.

— I don't think you'll mind if we try you. — said Oleg's chick and licked a drop of sperm right off my tip, even though

I hadn't even bothered to give an affirmative answer. What a minx! Just look at her!

And in this simple way, all the jizz was thoroughly collected by her nimble little tongue.

Then we played snowballs and I finally summarized the taste of my secretions.

— Mmmm, what a familiar taste. — I say to her. — Reminds me of something from childhood. Although no, wait. Something much more prosaic and everyday…

And then I'm rudely jerked out of my fantasies.