Miracles in a sieve.

" — Will you manage?

— I'll do everything I can. — Everything you can? Losers always whine about trying their best. Winners go home and fuck the prom queen." From the dialogue between FBI agent Stanley Goodspeed and former Alcatraz inmate MI6 agent John Patrick Mason in Michael Bay's film "The Rock".

Rental apartments and constant moves. You don't have time to properly get used to the surroundings and neighbors before it's time to move again, pack up your junk, and find transportation. Loading, unloading, arranging, tidying up. And hopeless despair. It's been five years like this already. And not a hint of owning your own home. The money earned

is only enough for rent and food. And for cheap clothes. Emptiness and doom, without a single glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel.

My husband worked odd jobs as a roofer, and I took whatever work I could find. I washed floors, did other people's laundry, swept streets, packaged goods. Neither I nor he had any specialized education, and we earned a living as best we could. Besides, he suffered from an ulcer and was unfit for military service. I was an orphanage kid, and our shared misfortune brought us together.

Fools are not bound by the law, and saving drowning people is the business of the drowning themselves. That applies to me. And do miracles happen in life? You bet! And what miracles! I'm not talking about a prince on a white Mercedes steed with a couple of million bucks in a bank account, who will one fine day offer you his hand and heart and lay, if not half the world, then at least provide a normal human relationship and living conditions at your feet. Such miracles are definitely not in the cards for me. Or for my husband. Nevertheless, here is miracle number one. After the orphanage, when I entered adult life, by law I was entitled to an apartment. A well-fed official in the depths of a cozy office sweetly sang to me about how he had no apartments, that yes, by law it's due, but there aren't any and that's it. He offered a room in a communal apartment in a month, and that's it for now. And then he gave me tea, fed me cookies, and slipped me something to sign. The naive fool signed, after which he happily showed me the door, wishing me all the best and lots of positivity on my way out. Later, he sold my apartment and bought himself a Mercedes. A white one.

Now we fought unsuccessfully to get the square meters I was entitled to by law. All our applications and inquiries got stuck and settled somewhere. We knocked on the doors of countless institutions and everywhere ran into a solid wall of indifference. Gradually, we realized that with our problems we were fucking useless to anyone, and the officials, from the bottom of their hearts, almost openly wished that we simply didn't exist in nature. My husband also didn't have his own housing. That's miracle number two. Out of inexperience and gullibility, he lost it without any compensation. Because the world is unfair, and the apartment that was legally his went to swindlers. His close relatives died early, when he was still in school, and his cousins, whose existence he wasn't even aware of, immediately appeared out of nowhere and arranged guardianship over him.

He didn't even have time to gasp before they made him homeless in two shakes when he finally came of age. Having registered his apartment in their names and sold it through front men, the cunning relatives immediately vanished into thin air. He tried to sue them, but in court we were told that everything was done legally and that he had voluntarily renounced the housing in favor of his dishonest guardians. His signatures were on the documents, and we understood he had been cleverly tricked. Another naive fool. Just like me. Which, in fact, is what brought us together. Getting the apartment back was no longer possible, and all the ends were deeply and skillfully hidden. Well, they put me on the waiting list for a communal apartment, making it clear that without an appropriate bribe I would be on that list until retirement age. All we had left was to rent housing with our own money. And for four years now we had been wandering through these very rental apartments. Due to the lack of our own housing, having children was contraindicated for us, because renting with even one child was much more difficult and expensive.

We were sitting on a bench waiting for the landlady of the house I had found through an ad on a board near the bus stop. A red Toyota pulled up and, presumably, she got out of the car. Well, well, what a landlady. Before, we always got some elderly grandmothers renting out a room or part of a house. Gradually, I learned their habits. Don't make noise, don't knock, move almost through the air, and don't trample the floors. Don't use anything and don't turn anything on. Don't bring anyone and don't contact any neighbors. Their greedy, predatory faces, trembling hands counting the money five times down to the last penny, and the desire to provide fewer amenities and skin you for three times the price. This landlady was the complete opposite. Relatively young, about forty-five, she smoothly got out of the car and walked towards us with a gliding gait.

— Hello, girls and boys! Waiting for me? I'm the owner of this little house.

— Hello — we answered together — yes, for you.

So that's the landlady — I thought to myself. Good-looking, despite her age. A slender woman in heels. I wonder if I'll be like that at her age? If I even make it that far with this life.

— Well, let's go — she took out the keys and led us into the house. She showed us the room, kitchen, bathroom, and everything else.

— I won't get in the way or underfoot — she said — I don't live here. I'll drop by periodically, check the meter readings, and take things from the basement if needed. Is the payment acceptable?

— Yes — I answered and took out the prepared money from my bag.

— My name is Lyudmila — she said simply — if you have any questions — call.

Taking the envelope and without counting it, she tossed it into her bag and said:

— Well then, I wish you a pleasant rest, I won't bother you.

Just like that. Even then it seemed strange to me. And the rent was relatively low. For such comfortable housing. With a washing machine, AC, and a toilet in the warmth of home. This isn't for nothing. Everything in this life has to be paid for. Even for other people's sins. But I didn't pay much attention to it. As it turned out later — in vain.

She left. I watched from the window as she approached and got into the car. As she drove away. She waved goodbye, even though she couldn't see me watching her. Quite a bitch. And a vague unease crept in even then. But soon it dulled and passed, and we began to live and get by. Though not for long. Only two weeks.

— Yeah, she shops at the market — he was also breathing heavily — they let me out for lunch.

— First, you'll feed me, and then fuck me in the pussy.

— Uh-huh. Mmm.

They were so engrossed that they didn't even notice my appearance in the doorway. I knocked on the wooden doorframe and asked loudly:

— Am I disturbing you here? That's my husband, by the way. For now.

Lyudochka released my husband's penis from her mouth and turned towards me. The next moment she was on her feet and fastening her clothes. Without a hint of embarrassment or remorse, she said as if nothing had happened:

— Sorry, Sveta, it happens to everyone. Young blood — and she slipped past. The front door slammed and the receding click of her heels was heard.

— O-oh! Did you break all this? What a temper! Are you a Spanish toreador by any chance?

I sat on the edge of the bed and lowered my hands.

— I'm a loser orphanage kid. What do you care about my problems?

— Actually, none. I'm doing fine, and I have my own store. I'll sell this shack and open another department.

— And why do you need my husband? Don't you have enough of your own?

— No, I don't. Haven't had enough for a long time. I'll tell you the truth. If you saw that fat beer barrel with a pimple between his legs, you'd understand me right away.

— And finding a man on the side isn't an option?

— It is an option. So I found one on the side. And you, Sveta, just need to get out of here by tomorrow morning. If you get underfoot, I'll grind you to dust. Here's your money — and she threw the envelope I had given her two weeks ago on the table — the full amount is there, I didn't take anything from it, and now you're the third wheel in our newly formed triangle.

— He's my lawful husband. And you're a predator.

— Your husband has had his fill of pears. He went on a bender, but I know where he is. I'll take him, clean him up, and put him to bed. And no tricks, or he'll become a widower. Clear?

— Yes.

— Good girl — she walked up to me with a swan-like gait and stroked my cheek — you're a young girl and you still have plenty of time to look for a prince, but me, unlike you, have no time left to look.

She turned and left, and I stood by the window for a long time, watching the departing Toyota. Yes, so miracles do happen. They continue. To make a miracle myself? Why not? There's nothing left to lose. Oh, how I want to do something miraculous. And here's miracle number four. Already of my own making. I remembered an episode from my orphanage past, when one teacher in the office fucked another with a strap-on. I ended up there completely by accident when I was sent there for some notebooks. They entered, locked the door behind them, and suddenly started kissing. At first, I wanted to leave and run away, but the door was locked and I had already seen too much. I hid behind the cabinets and lay low. They were unaware of my presence and continued kissing. The women were stroking each other's intimate places with their hands and confessing their love. They undressed each other and one of them had a strap-on in her hands. Then one of the teachers knelt and securely fastened it around her partner's waist and hips. Then she turned her back and lay stomach-down on the table. And the one with the strap-on placed a hand on her back, and with the other hand began gradually inserting the silicone cock deeper into the vagina of the woman facing away from her.

She patted her buttocks and the artificial cock steadily moved forward. They moved continuously and smoothly, and I could see everything. The woman leaning on the table moaned and arched her back, and I recognized her as the teacher from the neighboring group. Always strict and proper, now she was aroused to the limit and moaning. I turned away then and didn't see the rest. I suddenly felt ashamed that I had become an involuntary witness to someone else's love. After all, they thought they were safely hidden from prying eyes. But from the sighs and moans, I concluded that both women had experienced pleasure. And most importantly. I stole that very strap-on. When they finished fucking and took it off, it ended up on the table. They probably went out to wash up, and I grabbed that silicone phallus and ran out of the office. Carefully wrapping it in several bags, I buried it in the bushes near the fence. Why did I steal it? Probably because I saw the pleasure it could deliver. Two weeks later, our graduation took place, and amidst the commotion, I dug it up and discreetly hid it in my bag. I carried it with me all the time and always kept it clean. Because sometimes I satisfied myself with its help.

I was embarrassed to tell my husband about it and hid it from him. My husband didn't know about it. And now I put a chair and took down the box from the very top, where I had hidden it in a pile of rags. Checking the fasteners and lubricating it properly, I replaced the batteries that provided vibration and heating, and undressed completely. I was preparing. Cutting the ropes from a broom, I made a flexible whip out of it, put on tight stockings and shoes with a stable low stiletto heel. Then I put on the strap-on and fastened all the fasteners. Lyubochka, Lyubochka! If you're from an orphanage, that means defenseless? You don't know me well. So you wanted a cock. Well, you'll get one now. Oh, I'll make you. So, you're wooden. Well, we'll see. You'll scream and beg for more. Dialing the cell phone, I heard her musical voice in the receiver:

— Hello, I'm listening. Sveta, is that you? I thought we had sorted everything out between us. I was about to delete your number.

— It's the water meter here. It's spinning like crazy. Everything is turned off, but it's spinning.

— Alright, I'll come now. I'll figure it out myself. It's not your problem.

Outside the window, the sound of an arriving Toyota and the click of heels in the yard were heard. I stood behind the open door and threw a small silver pendant on the floor not far from the entrance.

— Sveta — called the landlady — I checked, everything's fine there. Where are you?

She stopped in the doorway and then entered, seeing the jewelry lying on the floor. And she bent over. The trick worked. The next moment, from behind, I threw my thin leather belt around her neck and tightened it tightly, pushing her forward with my knee. So now she's on her knees. Both hands are busy trying to loosen the belt's grip. I, meanwhile, grabbed the knot with one hand, and with the other lifted her skirt. Lyudochka tried to resist, but she was in an unfavorable position and I easily put her on all fours. Clamping her appetizing butt between my legs, I lashed her buttock with the wet whip. The resistance vanished, and pulling down her thin panties, I began slowly pushing the huge cock into her vagina. Lyuda jerked again, but the strap-on was already deep inside and moving sideways was painful for her. Now I released the knot and the belt slid to the floor. Lyuda breathed deeply and while

she was catching her breath, I silently stroked her butt. Finally, she calmly asked:

— Who's behind me?

— It's me, Sveta, and inside you is my silicone strap-on. But don't worry, it's not just a strap-on, it's very high quality and completely replaces a real cock.

— Oh, you bitch, how dare you, let me go right now. Let me go, you bastard.

— Relax and enjoy — and I decisively began to move further.

— Let go, it hurts.

— That's because you're tense. Relax. I promise, it will become good and pleasant now — and I slipped my hand under her bra. I gently stroked her breasts and twisted her hardening nipple.

— Sveta, don't, please, let me go.

— I'm going to fuck you now, and you will be affectionate with me. If I think the affection is insufficient, I will punish you.

— Oh, don't, I swear, I won't do anything to you and I'll give your husband back, don't — but she was already breathing heavily and notes of bliss sounded in her words.

— I fuck — you thrust back — I said.

She was silent.

— Did you understand me?

— Yes.

And I began to move rhythmically. The strap-on slid tightly inside Lyuda's vagina and she moaned. And gradually rocked to meet it. Shivers ran through her body from time to time and I patted her butt with my palm. I felt she was about to come, and I stopped. Fucking her that quickly wasn't part of my plan. I pulled out the wet strap-on and commanded:

— Stay as you are and don't get up.

I walked around her and stood in front, tapping my heel.

— Now answer my questions. Did you like it?

— Yes.

— Do you want to continue?

— Yes.

— Who am I to you?

— Mistress.

— Who are you to me?

— Slave.

— Repeat, I can't hear you.

— I am your slave. Fuck me more. Why did you stop?

— Of course I'll fuck you — I bent my knee — kiss.

And Lyuda pressed against my leg. She kissed my leg, and I stroked her cheeks and lips with my fingers, then ordered:

— Now take it in your mouth — and I pushed the strap-on under her nose — you love this procedure, after all.

And Lyuda, after a slight hesitation, took it in her mouth. She licked her own vaginal secretions and became even more aroused. And performed just as she did for my husband. Then, grabbing her by the hair, I pulled her to the sofa and ordered her to lie on her back. When she lay down, I came close and threw her legs over my shoulders. And teased her lips with the head of the strap-on. Lyuda was flowing abundantly and moaning with arousal. After teasing her a bit, I carefully pushed the strap-on into her vagina again. I started fucking her again and Lyuda obediently moved to meet it. Finally, her moans turned into a cry, and with a deep sigh, she came.

Lyuda sat up and slowly straightened her clothes. She was silent for a while, then started crying. I hugged her, and she dropped her head on my shoulder. She cried silently, and I stroked her hair. Having cried her fill, she fixed her hair and wiped away her tears.

— Well, you gave me something I've never gotten from anyone. Will you stay with me?

— Of course, as long as you want.

— I know you'll leave. You just wanted revenge.

— Possibly.

— I won't let you go.

Then she left. But the next day she came again. My husband didn't come, but she did. And everything repeated. And we fucked all day.

... A month passed, and I accidentally saw my unfaithful husband at the market in the vegetable rows. He was standing behind a counter in an apron, surrounded by two girls, and selling some radishes. They were laughing loudly and were clearly tipsy. Then he noticed me. The smile slid off his face, and he came over to me.

— Sveta, I'm sorry, well, forgive me — and he hit his chest with his fist. He smelled strongly of booze. I silently turned and walked away. He didn't chase after me, and I understood that I was a passed stage in his life. Well, let him have fun with his girls, I knew it would happen sooner or later. With a clear conscience, I filed for divorce, and he was only happy about it.

... Another six months later, I became a co-owner of my lover Lyuda's store and renovated the little house. Because now it was mine. I didn't think I had a business acumen in me and that I would be able to expand the enterprise. But negotiating and closing deals turned out to be a hundred times better for me than for Lyuda. I quickly learned about the suppliers and my intuition didn't fail me. We prospered. Finally, I found my place in this world. Later, I became a businesswoman and bought myself a white Mercedes. And I sincerely wish you all health, wealth, and prosperity. Just never deceive anyone. Remember that by doing so, you might be taking away a person's last hope. Their last and only hope. And then you will be truly happy.

ARHIMED