russian porno hidden camera Kolpin loved the girl to complete insanity, fulfilled all her whims, went to the parents’ meetings and was ready to break with any, even the most important, negotiations at her call.
He was a wonderful father, which did not prevent him from all the time remaining from the performance of his father’s duty and official duties, to indulge in the most unbridled debauchery.
Yura was cynical, he kept only girls no older than 25 years old in her friends, communicated with each of them for no longer than six months and called “former material” for each of the “laveshechnits”.
His only true love was, as we have said, a daughter.

What caused such a split in his personality, God knows, and this is not our mind.
We would understand with Oleg Petrovich.
On Saturday, he called Yura and offered to have dinner together on Monday.
On the morning of Monday, he signed an order on the appointment of logistics manager Elena Borisovna Lyadova with a trial period of three months and with a salary of sixty thousand rubles.

Go to work Lyadov was next Monday.
For the rest of the week, many tactical tasks were to be done to lull the vigilant marital eye of Lyubov Ivanovna, part-time head of the personnel department and chief accountant of Tri D LLC.
How to do this, Khryakov absolutely could not imagine, and so he looked impatiently at the front door of the restaurant while waiting for Jura.
– Oh, here he is, our friend and sexual partner! – came the life-affirming baritone of Kolpin, who appeared on the threshold in the company of two long-legged girls.
The girls giggled, and Oleg Petrovich gallantly rose from the chair to greet.
He was annoyed at the appearance of the girls, as he was counting on a sincere, friendly conversation.
But the evening, apparently, acquired a completely different direction.
– Meet, Petrovich, these are my lyalki: Svetka and Tanka.
Tanka for yours today.
Here we eat and go to the “Podushkin” gymnastics to do. young teen webcam naked
No woman can give a man such pleasure as two! “- Yura laughed cheerfully, anticipating a rich evening program.
(Immediately, in order not to be distracted later, I explain what kind of pillow this is.

Having taken a worthy place among the leading capitals of the world, Moscow in the beginning of the twenty-first century acquired its own network of “hotels for an hour.”
The advertising booklets stated: “We guarantee confidentiality and comfort.”
So today, if it is to someone itch, it can quickly drive into the Podushkin at lunchtime and inexpensively spend an hour or two in the company of sympathetic work colleagues with the benefit of the organism.
To warn the jealous question of his mentor, Mahatma Bonjurkin, from where I, a decent married woman and mother of two children, know about it, I hasten to explain myself.
So in 2007, in the summer, my boss came to Moscow to join us in Moscow with his three adult sons.
Having spent fabulous money on tickets, the chef tearfully asked him to find a cheaper hotel, but not far from our office in the center of Moscow, since he would have to pay from his own pocket.
My assistant and I climbed into the Internet and soon found that, hurray!

there is such a hotel, and right around the corner from the Petrovka office in Kolobovsky lane! I called and asked if there were any rooms available.
The question was not idle, t.
to.
Moscow on the occasion of the Champions League was crammed down to the surrounding villages.
I was told that yes, there is, but one with a round bed and a mirror on the ceiling, and the other with a pool.
Then I was called quite a reasonable price, for some reason in an hour.
Suspecting evil, I decided to go to Kolobovsky lane myself so as not to screw up in front of my beloved chef.
At the indicated address there was an iron door under the peak of an old-Moscow classic mansion.
Without the expected inscription “Houtel”, but with a small brass plate above the bell “LLC Podushkin”.
The administrator led me to the proposed numbering.
In one there was indeed a round bed, reflected as a battlefield of the Austerlitz sky in a mirror on the ceiling.
The other two-room was even more convoluted.

One of his rooms looked like a gym with a small pool.
However, gymnastic equipment in this “hall” was, as I did not immediately notice, some strange: a swing, which instead of a seat had leather loops for legs, wide armchairs on high bar legs, there were hanging whips and other torture tools on the walls, its diversity and sophistication resembled the dungeons of the Inquisition at the time of the witch hunt.
I had to apologize and urgently run back to the office, looking for other options, more suitable for the father of the family, accompanied by his sons.
) But Oleg Petrovich did not catch fire, but, on the contrary, somehow looked at his friend’s companions with disgust.
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