Smart Girl or The Hunter's Hunt by Antonina Sarova

From Childhood.

The trees were tall, the sea was blue, the smiles were kind.

We ran in blue shorts and white T-shirts, baked brown by the sun, sweet and doughy like cookies, trusting like puppies.

— Tonya, — he whispered feverishly and painfully, his voice and breath breaking, — want to see more?

And he would pull down the elastic, revealing forbidden secrets.

You could touch them with your fingertips, stroke the thin, tender skin. Sharing a strange, roaring-in-the-ears pleasure.

Once he asked me to show him in return. It was hard to see, so he helped take off my shorts and panties.

I lay on

the hot stones, trying not to look where he was touching, careful and ecstatic.

His fingers were clumsy, his caresses timid. He looked right there. Right there.

Neither I nor he had the strength to stop. When quiet time ended and we didn't come to rehearsal for the end-of-session closing ceremony, the counselor found the couple behind a pile of old boats. He was slowly stroking my hot, bare little inside with his finger, and he himself, moaning softly, pressed against my hand.

Slut.

I was expelled with a scandal and my parents' arrival the next day. He, who wouldn't raise his eyes, for some reason was allowed to finish the session.

— —

Our Days.

"Feminine Power" Course

"Slower, please, I'm taking notes"

(Prisoner of the Caucasus)

Out of the whole gathered group, the instructor more and more often paid attention to my head, modestly bowed over the notebook. I could literally feel his gaze getting tangled in the cascade of chestnut curls.

I replayed my behavior in my memory, no, nothing unusual, I was collected, focused, unsmiling. I don't understand what interested him. Pale lips, horn-rimmed glasses with thick lenses. I had long known how to hide myself.

Studying the week-long "Feminine Power" course quickly bonded the group into a chattering, giggling multi-headed hydra. Half a day and all the girls started sharing thoughts, delights, grabbing hands and inviting each other over.

I kept to myself and apparently that made me interesting.

— Nina, remind me, what types of women are especially attractive to men?

— Men are most often interested in the playful, helpless, dangerous, and nurturing types.

For discussion convenience, let's call them:

— Kitten

— Doll

— Vamp

— Mommy

I always answered verbatim, as I had written down. No liberties, deviations from the base, or my own interpretations. Classic nerds don't attract attention, don't break rules, aren't interesting to anyone.

The curls, by the way, need to be put up in a bun, they've gotten too long, they catch the eye.

The class sat whispering boredly, the girls ogled the imposing man with delight, as he poured the concentrate of forty years of experience into our naive little heads.

The instructor listened to the even voice and snorted skeptically.

Yes-yes, you'll have to give me a certificate too. I finished your courses and now I'm all kinds of wonderful, full of Feminine Power. And you'll put your signature.

When handing over the certificate, he held onto the soft little palm:

— Nina, you never shared why you took these courses. Do the instructor a favor, give an answer at least as a farewell.

I carefully took my hand back.

— To find myself. The one that got lost.

— —

Internet. Student City Forum

I stretched my fingers and, holding my breath, entered the nickname: "AuntSara".

A caricature avatar of an aunt with a double chin.

In the private messages window, the number 2 was glowing.

Bingo! Two messages from the nickname "Jabberwocky" (online. Avatar photo of a guy with a wide, white-toothed smile)

— Sara, hello! You really got me with that post about beauty actually being health. So, when I like girls with tender, clear skin, I'm just choosing a non-contagious one?))) Hah!

— And also. Do you happen to know how to get an internship with Ustinov? Really need to!

I bit my lip, carefully choosing words.

— Greetings, wild fierce one! * Believe wise Aunt Sara, you can't fool nature. Beauty comes in different forms, but, from my point of view, a man's choice is primarily subject to animal-subconscious: whether the chosen one can bear healthy offspring.

So, what kind of girls do you like? Who catches your eye right away?

PS. Bring Lena at the reception a bar of dark chocolate and say she's your last hope to get an appointment with Ustinov.

The screen blinked.

— Sara, your experience and connections are priceless!

I like girls who are smiley, big-eyed, and quick to agree)) Let me guess. Smiley — means she's healthy and not suffering from colic, big-eyed — sees danger better, and agreeable — gives birth faster?))))

— See how simple it is)))

— — —

Club "Heavens"

"— I'm going to faint right now!

— Don't. There's not much room here"

(How to Steal a Million)

Danya shone in a snow-white shirt. I noticed he liked to glow in the club's semi-darkness. His shoulders in white seemed broader, and given his lean, wiry build, muscle mass probably didn't come easily, even with regular gym work.

The guy looked around, studying the current intake. As far as I understood, he was into "one-night hunts," no-strings-attached connections with fun club girls. You don't have to take them to the movies, introduce them to parents, choose words, or get nervous during arguments.

Professionally sifting through the crowd for the most carefree, wild, smiley face, Danya silently sorted:

— Been there. Been there. Ugh. So-so. Oh. That one.

I'm wearing a short lace dress. Thighs are open, this, according to the instructor — the expert on feminine power — is my strong point, they're firm and golden, not sticks like most local girls. And the instructor is clearly a specialist in assessing merits. Look how many people can't take their eyes off.

We smile mischievously. Okay. Two adorable ponytails of shiny hair dance along with their owner.

I looked straight at Danya with carefully drawn huge eyes and winked.

Like it? I'm fire, I'm your little flame, playful, mischievous, enticing warm Kitten. Come to me.

Hooking...

Decisively cutting through the crowd, Danya moved in for the approach.

— You are devilishly attractive. In the whole hall, I only see You.

I giggled and shot a glance with my eyes. The main thing is not to betray the fear with a loud heartbeat.

We danced a bit, rubbing against each other. The guy couldn't drag it out for long, so after about 10 minutes he started kissing my neck. Loudly inhaling the scent, I purred in response.

Just in case, so as not to betray nerves with my voice, I didn't even try to shout over the music, silently pressed against him, smiled invitingly, stroked, touching randomly, gasped enticingly when his hand clearly got bold.

In the courses, I got a C for this exercise, but here, look, it turned out easy and simple.

Danya was already openly pressing against my butt, completely out of rhythm with the music, holding my hips firmly. And, when it became completely awkward to rub his erection in public, he pulled me, his random frivolous victim, to secluded places.

I didn't resist, only reached for kisses, snatched them with light, quick touches. I couldn't tear myself away from his warm, soft lips.

The stall was cramped, guys were making noise outside the door. When he dragged me through the toilet, I just closed my eyes, they were looking too unambiguously. Yes, everything was clear about us. Yes, he brought a slut. Jealous?

We flew into the stall hugging, hitting our bodies hard against the side. A shrill female voice swore behind the wall.

— We disturbed them, — he noted, — How do you want it?

I blinked uncertainly, and he quickly made the most comfortable decision, pushing me down.

A zip fly flourish and invitingly:

— Welcome.

Oh. I had planned up to this point, knew he liked agreeable girls. And still, it's hard to prepare for this.

Now it's time for intuition, experience from porn films, and advice from the textbook "Secrets of a Magnificent Blowjob."

And I wanted it myself. To touch. To kiss.

Dear Danya, I don't promise a magnificent blowjob, but I'll definitely compensate with enthusiasm.

I stroked with a trembling hand... warm, and involuntarily desperately blushed.

— What's up, baby? Shy? Take it in your mouth, have pity on me, my balls will fall off from the weight while you're examining.

I gently licked the heated head. With the sharp tip of my tongue, I ran up and down the crown.

— Good girl, come on-come on, — Danya urged — it's yours.

I looked up. Tense, hair disheveled. Very handsome in this moment of caught anticipation.

I fluttered my tongue like butterfly wings, sending thin jabs of pleasure along the shaft.

Danya breathed through his teeth, trying not to make noise, then couldn't stand it and grabbed the ponytails.

— Deeper, baby, — he whispered, adjusting with his hips and pulling my head onto him.

I obeyed, took it in my mouth like the letter "o," sucked.

But on attempts to go deeper, I rested my palms on his thighs, moaned protestingly, choked.

— Not an experienced little sucker. But you're trying. Like that, more.

In principle, it was magical.

He rocked, pulling on the ponytails, sliding in and out of the warm inside. Looked into my eyes, thrusting his hips to see better.

The jeans had completely fallen onto the sneakers, and you could admire the lean, predatory body.

I diligently smacked my lips, memorized every detail, every drop, absorbed the picture of Danya giving it to me in the mouth.

His cock slid into the bright red bud of my mouth and came out caressed and shiny from saliva and lipstick. He pinched my lips, stroked my nose. And slid back and forth, rolling pleasure over my tongue.

— Come on, baby, more.

Forgetting about silence, about people behind cardboard partitions.

— Suuuuck. Suck me, baby!

Laughter and scuffling in the next stall.

Shortly before the eruption, Danya pulled out his cock and simply laid it on my face. Admiring me, gathering strength. Pulled out his phone with one hand, saw me flinch and reluctantly put it away.

Then he grabbed the ponytails he liked again, entered onto my tongue, and, looking into my eyes, came, breathing raggedly.

— Yeees. Good girl.

The taste was strange, unlike anything. Couldn't swallow like in the movies, just couldn't. Tearing off a strip of paper, I carefully poured the semen onto it.

Danya shrugged, and gentlemanly offered:

— Want me to jerk you off with my hand?

— Caress? — I looked dazedly at the threads of semen, — No, don't need to.

For some reason, this offended him. Like, why the fuck should he caress after a blowjob, that's already a favor, but in principle he wasn't against it, offered it like a decent human being.

He grimaced.

— Then bye, — he said. And slammed the stall door.

— — —

Internet

— Sara. Sara! Only you can help me!

Where are you?

— Aunt Sara. Help! Help!

— Sara, damn it. I'm going crazy. I need you.

For a whole week, Danya ignored me at the university, and I ignored him online.

Sometimes I noticed him standing in the corridor, staring intently at me