live webcam videos Finally, I untied her left hand (she was left-handed), began gently kneading her soapy mass of hair, and after a second the room was filled with such a sad cry that a chandelier rang.
Then a small lake flowed out of Dashka, which happens infrequently – once a month and a half (with Dashka ending, with rare exceptions, every day, sometimes two or three times), and the victim of sexual torture itself swelled in a chair smeared in the air conditioner, in tears and in her own discharge, and with unseeing eyes she stared at nothing.
In addition, she was shocked by the fact that for the first time in her life she looked in the mirror at her orgasm.
There was a smile on her face, which I saw only in two cases: 1) in babies exuding primal primordial happiness, and 2) in Dashka after atrocious orgasms.

Having disgorged the seed, Dasha did not see or hear anything but her own nirvana.
Orgasm, in a word, was a success, and I walked for three days with a proud rooster.
Then I was ashamed to publish a story about this “torture” – it seemed to me too intimate and uninteresting for the general public – and “torture” formed the basis of the fictional tales “Slavery” and “Photosession”.
I understood that my husband as a hairdresser-inquisitor is wonderful, but still a little different: the hair treatment for Dasha and her secret attraction to women merged, becoming her little sexual secret.

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But there is nothing you can do.
I myself ended then “in between”, admiring the naked, obekdavshayasya wife.
It will never be realized, I know, because this is tantamount to suicide – but how unthinkable it is pleasant and scary to tease each other with this cruel dream! Tease, incite, tempt, fantasize.
Among other things, there was also such a factor: “will you love me as a shaved woman?” Dashunya was jealous of her hair !.
Foolishly, of course – I will adore Dasha always and in any form, even painted with brilliant green – but the woman’s heart has its vagaries, and my imaginary Dashkin shakes me to tears, to a shiver, to an instant acute erection; Every conversation on this topic always ends with stormy sex.
We sometimes dream that Dasha is shaved, and always against his will.
(I am writing “us” because we have the same dream.
Incredible, but fak).
These dreams are sad, like Sting’s songs, and sweet, like a forbidden fruit; tears of parting with a miracle give rise to a strange pleasure, which can neither be understood nor described.
Dasha wakes up crying, and I play with her hair, burrow into them, savor the happiness of their return, stroke this fluffy miracle, and Dasha, with tears on her cheeks, plunges into the cozy, safe world of reality, and a childish smile blooms on her dark face.

Once we played scare.
As if the devil, who was tempting us in a dream, suddenly came to our house and rang the doorbell.
The undeniable reality of these shaving sessions obscured the mind.
I began to incite Dasha (hoping that she would laugh at me) – look, they say, these girls decided to shave, and you are weak? Dasha, struggling with temptation, said that they didn’t have such hair – and just at that moment I opened a video clip where a young, surprisingly sweet Latina with indescribably luxurious black braids was shaved to the waist.
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