Secrets of the Investigation. Part 27
Someone threw a towel to Andrey when he climbed down from the bed to the floor, all wet with saliva and snot. The towel landed near his knees, and he, not daring to lift his head, never figured out who it was. He picked up the towel and dried his fucked-up face with it, still sitting on the floor by the bed.
Then he shyly raised his eyes to the table and saw Yolka smiling at him, who had probably thrown him the towel. In response to her smile and as a sign of gratitude for the thrown towel, Andrey also smiled back at her, sensing not contempt in her eyes and smile, but support in this difficult situation that had befallen him with the loss of his sort of
virginity.He had to realize that he was now a gaping faggot, but at least one thing pleased him: there were no men here. Remembering with horror that his faggotry was recorded on video, Andrey broke into a cold sweat.
"Bitches!" he silently cursed in his heart, but immediately began to scold himself for practically jumping onto that bitch Mul'tashka's dildo himself.
Yolka was sitting across from him with Tyomnaya and crunching on chips; next to her, sprawled with legs spread, sat Zima, who, with her head bowed, was still blissful with her eyes closed. Her cunt was open and wet, as if she hadn't fucked him, but he had fucked her.
"Well, well," Andrey thought to himself again, "three brazen mares, these utterly crazy, ex-convicts, fucked a police investigator with a dildo, passing him around like a whore in the bathhouse, in the mouth, ass, and in two strokes." He recalled how they fucked him in the ass while he was also licking a pussy under the video of a cell phone.
"Hey, don't be sad, cabbage," Andrey again heard the familiar rapid-fire speech from Mul'tashka, who was getting up from the bed, as if she had read his thoughts. "We'll fuck you and let you go."
Andrey gave her a stupid smile, watching her with his eyes as she went to the table. With his smile, he was showing her that he liked her joke and thus wanted to win her over and catch at least her supportive glance, but she walked past without even looking at him. Then, with the same smile, he turned to Tyomnaya, who had laughed at Mul'tashka's rapid-fire speech, but also paid no attention to the fucked-out Lyarva, which Andrey was.
"Go wash up," Yolka said to Andrey, and he immediately got to his feet and went.
"Stop!" shouted a displeased Mul'tashka at him, also settling into her seat, and when he stopped and turned to her, she said, "On all fours, Lyarva!"
Andrey obediently got on all fours and crawled out of the room, and as soon as he disappeared from their view in the doorway, he stood up and ran on his feet to the washroom. His asshole and throat itched and burned, and his legs, like those of a real whore passed around in a circle, wouldn't close. He quickly filled a basin with water and began washing off the sticky shame from himself. He felt sad and sorry for himself; tears of resentment flowed from his eyes involuntarily.
Hearing someone's approaching footsteps, he immediately went into the steam room.
"Well, what's with you?" asked Yolka, who had followed him in, sitting down next to him on the bench. "Are you offended or something?"
"Well, why like that?" Andrey said, guiltily lowering his head.
He wanted to complain to her, to speak his mind, to secure understanding and support.
"Oh, don't be ashamed," she hugged him as an equal and even as a buddy. "The girls are just showing off... don't piss in the compote! I won't let anyone hurt you!"
These words were the most valuable to Andrey at that moment, and as a sign of gratitude, he leaned over and kissed Yolka on the knee.
"You're such a restless one," a pleased Yolka smiled at him. "You ask for trouble yourself, and then you're ashamed."
And indeed, Andrey had nothing to retort. Her hand was already on the back of his head, and with her foot she threw his head over, tossing it over him onto the bench, so that now his face was right in front of her new vagina. Her vagina was at that moment the most pleasant and dear to Andrey; this vagina was his protector's, and he gratefully pressed his lips to it, burying his nose in her pubic hair.
"Oooh, Andrey Borisovich," he heard Yolka's pleased voice. "You don't take care of yourself at all."
Yolka, leaning her elbow on the bench, reclined half-lying and placed one foot, which she had thrown over, on Andrey's back, who had already lowered himself before her, kneeling on one knee and was already eagerly slurping at her vagina, which was flowing from excitement. He reached his hand to her nipple and began rolling it with two fingers.
Droplets of her salty sweat from her very hairy pubis gradually fell onto his tongue. It was clear that Yolka didn't shave her pussy; apparently, she was fine with it as it was. Pubic hairs, stiff as wire, constantly got into Andrey's mouth, which he discreetly pushed back out with his tongue.
She was thrusting towards him and was already preparing to come when Tyomnaya entered the steam room.
"So that's where my Lyarva is," she smiled and jumped onto the bench next to Yolka.
"Spoilsport," Yolka said displeasedly, pushing Andrey's face away from her bush.
"What?" Tyomnaya asked her. "Can't eat pussy in public?"
"I don't like it that way!" said the displeased Yolka and left the steam room without finishing, leaving Andrey alone with Tyomnaya.
Tyomnaya looked at Andrey with a predatory smile, and her legs spread apart. Her smile stretched from ear to ear, and she, snapping her fingers, silently pointed with her index finger at her spread-open pussy.
"The guitar awaits you, my guitarist," she said.
Andrey immediately pressed his lips to her guitar and began to play it. He began licking off her sour-salty cum mixed with her lubrication from her pussy. The taste was delicious and tart, even musky, sticky and viscous.
"How I missed such an obedient sniffer in epaulettes like you at the camp," she stroked his head with her authoritative, tattooed hand.
"It's not my fault," Andrey tried to joke with her without stopping his kissing.
"Yes, Lyarvochka," Tyomnaya replied understandingly, stroking him. "Well, if I get locked up again, promise me you'll get a job in prison... to guard me and, of course, to please me."
"I promise," Andrey answered without thinking, not realizing at all that in criminal circles, promises aren't thrown around so lightly.
"Caught you by your word," she lifted his face to hers by the hair. "Will you be my clever little Daisy there too!?"
"Yes," answered Andrey, seeing how much she liked his submission.
"Do you even know who our clever little Daisies are?" she asked him with a smirk.
"No," answered Andrey, but he guessed that they were probably cunt-lickers.
"A pussy-eater and a faggot," she looked into his eyes, searching for his reaction to the new nickname.
Andrey didn't answer anything, just looked at her submissively and silently, but it was clear how ashamed he became of his new status as a faggot, though not a real one—so he consoled himself, thinking that as long as he hadn't been fucked by a real dick, he wasn't a faggot.
"Play on, Lyarva, on my guitar," she returned him to her pussy. "Lick my little one... don't get distracted."
After a few minutes of his efforts, her body muscles began to thrust towards Andryusha's efforts; she began to breathe languidly, anticipating the approaching orgasm. In such cases, the fingers on the head of most dominant bitches splay out and become like claws ready to sink into the young guy's skull at any second.
"Phaaaaaaakhkhkhkh," squeezing with her mouth and compressed lips, Zima let out a bursting moan as she came, pressing his face into her pulsating vagina and at the same time sinking her sharp, knife-like, not nails but real claws into the hair on his head.
After coming and catching her breath, Tyomnaya silently and without even thanking him, left the steam room, and after her, a rather tired and sweaty Andrey, just like her, followed.
"Pour some cool water and pour it over me," the tired Tyomnaya sat on a low bench.
Andrey poured cold water, diluted it with hot, making it cool but slightly warm, and began pouring it directly onto the head of the sprawled-out, blissful convict who was leaning her back against the wall. She puffed and reveled, exposing her gangster face with a tattoo on her eyebrow under the stream from the basin. Washing her face with her hands, she pushed her wet, jet-black hair aside and back.
"Well, now wash my feet," Tyomnaya, coming to her senses, opened her brazen and arrogant eyes.
Andrey again filled the basin, but this time with hotter water, and placed it in front of her. He himself sat next to her, his ass on his heels, took her right foot, kissed it, and placed it in the basin.
"My clever little Daisy," Tyomnaya emphasized this unpleasant phrase for him, but she said it affectionately, clarifying that he was hers.
Andrey soaped her foot and took the other, which he also obediently kissed and soaped, then rinsed off the soap in the same water and filled the basin with fresh, new water.
Such genuine care pleased and satisfied Tyomnaya again.
"Are you thirsty?" she asked the long-hungry Andrey, who had been secretly drinking only plain raw water.
"Yes," said Andrey with hope in his eyes, and immediately understood from her sparkling eyes that he was mistaken in thinking she would offer him something alcoholic from their table for conscientiously washing her feet and playing her guitar excellently.
Tyomnaya stood up and spread her pussy with both hands; Andrey didn't even have time to prepare before he received a strong stream right on his forehead and eyes, and then she began aiming at his mouth, which he opened without waiting for her order.
Bitter-salty and even hot, burning urine penetrated his fucked-out throat and went straight into his hungry stomach. Tyomnaya didn't stop pissing when Andrey closed his mouth to take another gulp but continued to pour on his face, from which golden splashes flew in all directions.
After pissing on him from head to toe and right into his mouth, Tyomnaya sat back down on her bench and again leaned her back tiredly against the wall.
"Rinse off, my clever little Daisy, and wash your feeder," she pointed at her pussy with her finger.
Tyomnaya spoke, grimacing in disgust as she saw her yellow urine dripping off the pissed-on Andrey. He immediately rinsed off, washing her yellow urine from head to toe with water, and then, filling a new basin with warm water, sat between the legs of the sprawled-out Tyomnaya and placed the basin under her pussy.
How to wash a pussy, Andrey had absolutely no idea, so simply taking the soap in his hands, he began soaping first her pubis, then the inner parts of her thighs, afraid to touch the vagina itself, but then, seeing that she wasn't stopping him, he began soaping the vagina itself, sliding over it with hands slippery from soap. The sensation of hands sliding over the pussy was new and surprisingly pleasant.
Tyomnaya watched the straining Andrey with the mockery of a mistress; when he finished soaping, he began rinsing off the soap with a massive wooden ladle. And then, when the washing process was over, she slapped her palms on her knees, stood up, and went to the exit. Andrey, after washing himself a bit too, rinsed off and followed her.
In the room, there were already drunken, naked dances. Andrey looked hungrily at the food on the table and swallowed dryly, imagining how he would now happily crunch on chips, eat a sandwich with sausage or cheese, how he would gulp down vodka burning his throat.
"Why are you on your feet again, bitch?" Mul'tashka shouted menacingly at Andrey as he entered.
And he immediately collapsed to his knees by the door and sat on his heels.