Whim

A frothy description—in every sense that readers, and especially female readers, might imagine with their perverse imaginations.

The best April Fools' joke that the vile utility workers could come up with: cutting off the hot water without any warning. Fortunately, Jenny has a gas water heater in her apartment, at the service of the mistress any time of day or night. And the mistress herself, in turn, is at mine.

— Oh, Master, perhaps the maid can help you?

And what is a person's first desire—well, okay, even a superhuman's—who has just made a huge journey through space,

time, and seven layers of reality?

— Well, of course, my dear. First, prepare a spacious bath for me, with foam! And hot, but not too hot.

And I add with a smirk:

— It's not always just you luxuriating in the bath.

I know very well what kind of water procedures she uses to please the gates of her pleasure while her man is busy with other things… Just keep changing the showerheads.

— Yes, Master! — this young impudent girl answers with a mischievous smile. She's definitely up to some mischief.

And I saw right through it. That very water, with foam:

— By the way, if not alone, then with whom am I supposed to luxuriate in it now?

— You're being insolent, girl, — I explode in a theatrically feigned manner with the intonation of the lead tragedian in the Uryupinsk drama theater.

— Prepare a bath for me, you wretch, for me! I will be the one luxuriating in it. And the maid—will please me. And fulfill any whim, got it?

My young bath attendant is also dressed in April's color scheme: the short green robe immediately flies onto the tiled floor, and the bikini of an exquisite mint shade hidden beneath it begs to be crumpled, as it itself hides practically nothing. Especially when the first drops of water make the fabric completely transparent, putting on full display the full, fresh cones of the girl's breasts and the small cleft between the plump and shamelessly shaved bare lips down below.

Jenny's slender fingers playfully slide over my tired male body, helping to get rid of the now completely unnecessary shirt and jeans. Now the bright red thong flies onto the floor, the first poppy to bloom on this green lawn. And the foamy sea calls and beckons…

A moment—and I sink into it to the bottom, anticipating the impending penetration into other depths, hot and tight. "But, as the Marquis de Sade Sacher-Masoch said, have patience, my friend."

— Now, be a dear and bring me a glass of ice-cold champagne!

How much does a tired man need for happiness? The cool and intoxicating moisture bubbles inside—in the glass, in the mouth—while the hot, foamy bubbles caress from the outside, tickling the naked, wet skin. But the demanding gourmet in my person… Or rather, not in my person, but somewhere noticeably lower—he wants more. And now from the depths of the ocean floor grows a powerful and sturdy coral, so conveniently fitting into the palm. Slightly curved, knobby, and utterly alive. How wonderfully it shudders from your touches—cautious, sharp, slightly scratching… And when the other hand finds the rounded, large pebbles at the base of this coral trunk and begins to fondle these smooth stones… sensually, tenderly, leisurely…

Here my coral soars to the stars, all covered in a shiny, sticky film at first. But as soon as it, in an irresistible impulse, breaks through the cover of the water's surface, depriving it of its pristine innocence—now the knobby head reveals itself in all its glory, wrapped in a snow-white cap of foam. Like a lighthouse in the Norwegian fjords, dusted with fresh, fluffy snow, from under which that dazzlingly bright red light still breaks through, irresistibly attracting both coastal midges and slender caravels, yearning from a long voyage.

Little Jenny cannot contain her admiration, lifting and stretching the powerful, trembling trunk with her sensual fingers higher and higher. Admiring the foamy surroundings and the growth. Ah, how she loves this increasing firmness…

— Master, how magnificent you are!

But the Master is not yet satisfied:

— In more detail, my dear, in more detail! Don't skimp on descriptions while I enjoy the frothy drink…

Jane, however, is a talented student and also knows how to play with words. Her mischievous tongue leads her somewhere completely different: "ass — in more detail, frothy drink from the word penis. And sensual descriptions — with the stress on the first I." Oh, that golden shower, my little pervert loves to expose herself under its streams! And in sweet anticipation, she already forgets the rules of decency, allowing the most intimate words to escape from her heart:

— Yes, I love its glossiness! Its fucking awesome head, which can give such unforgettable moments!

When Jenny switches to taboo obscene language… (Starts swearing, explaining specifically for philologists) — So, from this moment, even four men couldn't stop her. But the Master is the Master to take the reins of his frisky filly and slightly rein in her gait:

— A little later, you horny little cunt! For now, blow all the foam off the head and enjoy my cock visually. Develop aesthetic feelings, damn it. Although you can lick it too, I allow it.

And give an already extremely aroused maid free rein! Jane is delighted with the sweet knob and now tirelessly licks it, moaning and playfully blowing off the foam. Sensually savoring, teasing with her tongue, drawing figure eights on the shaft and head, carefully touching the slit…

I condescendingly hand you the glass, and you take a sip of champagne to wash down this amazing taste.

— Now continue… Although, perhaps not!

Does your master have the right to change his mind? He does, of course, that's why he's the Master. And he has the right, and little Jenny along with it. And then for two and for three, that won't be a problem. And I stand up to my full height, all covered in foam:

— Now come on, suck my cock with taste. With feeling, with sense, with arrangement, as the poet bequeathed! Who was boasting about their inimitable blowjob here?

— Oh, yes! — and the girl enthusiastically wraps her arms around my hips, placing her palms on my buttocks. Pulls me towards her, catches the master's penis with her mouth, just a moment ago all foamy like that—and completely takes it in. Moaning in pleasure and rolling her eyes, while her fingers tenderly run over my balls.

However, my maid's fingers, slippery from soapy foam, can be put to more interesting use.

— Insert them into your master's anus, dear! Carefully, but with taste. First one, then two…

And Jenny obediently delves into my sensitive depth, fortunately not for the first time. A man doesn't have to be gay to receive this kind of passive pleasure. As Grandpa Freud teaches us, for that, carefulness and a love of order are enough. So I calmly relax and open up to meet the playful little hand, while the curious and excellently trained slave of passion caresses my balls and the cleft between the rounded, muscular halves of the master's ass. Pausing for a moment, and then up and down again, there and back, sinking into the deepest tar-tarars and immediately retreating to the starting positions, to open the elastic ring wider.

But what is taken away in one place is added in another! Inserting her fingers deeper into the anus, little Jenny with the same motion pushes my tense cock deeper into her mouth. My old friend, freed from the pants, has long been aching from unbearable excitement and desire. And the tender fingers, with their weightless, barely perceptible scratches, raise the ninth wave of seed from the rounded master's treasure chests, and it rushes forward and outward in a stream of scorching white flame, while you suck my coral with increasing force. Driving it deep down to the very throat, languishing from unquenched thirst…

— Come forth, oh foamy breaker, and finally splash onto the parched sand of the wind-chapped lips!

Only a blind-deaf-mute impotent wouldn't respond to such a request! And Mike with a furious cry comes right into the open mouth of his obedient maid, making her choke not once or twice on the hot, viscous stream of salty cream. Jenny comes too, frantically, convulsively, obediently swallowing and growling with immense pleasure. And with them, it seems, the entire Universe comes: space sways, disappearing from underfoot, the microsecond of the Big Bang stretches over millions of centuries, and the past and future collapse into one in the divine mystery of "Here and Now."

…

— And that's all, Master? — Jane asks me disappointedly an eternity later, this little insatiable slut, the princess of blowjobs and the embodiment of all indecent fantasies that could come to the mind of a pervert hardened in hundreds of sexual battles.

But I know what my Jenny is hinting at,

— Wait, dear, you'll get champagne for dessert too. After all, fires are supposed to be extinguished, and my reservoirs are full no less than that foamy bath we're still standing in. Ready?

— Oh yes, Master. Quench me with this life-giving juice, the bubbling foamy wine from your innermost depths! Sprinkle me with a golden shower, like Zeus the Thunderer did Danaë. Describe your slave not once or twice, my Mike, the unsurpassed creator of descriptions—but now, I beg you, describe!

To him who asks, it shall be given, especially since I myself now want and can. And the heavenly floodgates opened, whipping up a magnificent cocktail of champagne with sour cream in my girl's mouth. So that the excess picturesquely flows down her lush, firm breasts with perky nipples, down her stomach, down her thighs spread in passion—and merges below with that pine-scented foam, from which you are born again and again for my joy, oh my Jenny, the lustful daughter of Aphrodite.

A worthy conclusion to a frothy orgy. Worthy of description by both the poet's pen and his cock, whichever you prefer. Preferably, of course, both.

1. Timur Shaov, "We Will Go Our Own Way"

2. Mikhail Lomonosov, from a letter to Euler