Behind me was a sleek, clean black typewriter. I don't know much about brands, I won't lie, but there were no rear seats, and that's fine.

"Sit down…"

I walked around the front of the car, creating a small traffic jam on Bronnaya Street, and stopped at the door. By no means did I discover it myself.

Cars in the back began beeping. But I just kept batting my eyelashes prettily from under my hat and glasses, as if I didn't even know how doors worked.

He bent down and opened the door from the inside.

This won't do, Kid, I think to myself.

I stand the same way. He knows what he has to do, and we're not going anywhere until he does what I want him to do.

The drivers behind him were clearly angry, but I waited until my boyfriend got out and opened the door for me.

"Oh, thank you. You're so gallant, " I said in a small voice as I stared at him. A blue suit, a crooked, sad gray face, clean-shaven, the top button of a white shirt unbuttoned, the belt tightly dividing the body into two parts, leaving a weighty, despite still young age, belly hanging over it. Ironed trousers.

Millionaires aren't always like the ones in your novels. Sometimes it's just very rich schmucks who spent their entire lives licking their superiors ' assholes.

Balding and most likely with a very sluggish potency. Usually, if the belt shackles the body so much , the blood no longer flows, as in a young guy. But I had yet to learn the opposite.

"Have a seat."

I carefully put one leg at a time in the expensive lacquered wheelbarrow. It smelled good inside, and music was playing.

He returned to his seat, shamefacedly not meeting the eyes of the other drivers who were honking their horns at us.

That's nice. For the role of a means of payment, I need such a balding patient.

You can't make a first impression twice, so I knew that the next 10 seconds after he got in the car and slammed the door would be the most important thing in our acquaintance.

The man sat down in a creaky new leather chair. The door slammed shut, shutting us off from the others, and the car began to move smoothly.

I leaned in so that he could smell the intoxicating scent of my perfume, running my hand down his trousers from knee to fly. She put her hand right on his still-unready cock and whispered right in his ear.

"Hurry up, little boy.

That's the most important thing, girls. Anchoring.

Take the bull by the horns. If he lets you call his little thing "baby" one day , do whatever you want with it.

"Do you come here often?" I tried to start the conversation.

I silently ignored him.

"Turn around here," I said, changing the subject.

As soon as we got out on Tverskaya Street, where there was a lot of traffic, I put my hand on his groin and began stroking him insistently through the tight fabric of his trousers.

The "kid" turned out to be quite large, but in such tight trousers he simply had nowhere to grow. I ran my fingers over my balls and felt " his heart beating."

The guy was taken aback and, as expected, stared at the road and just silently swallowed saliva while I "anchored" him.

I gently wrapped two fingers around his shaft.

"Mmmm… what a small baby you have…"

Beads of sweat trickled down his temples.

We managed to get to the Central Department Store. Where I abruptly switched from smooth caresses. I slapped his testicles with my hand.

"Come with me."

Schmuck obediently got out of the car. Corrected its economy in trousers. It took the purse and followed me.

Constant coldness, not interest. Looking at tsatskas. Conversations with sales consultants should rarely, but regularly, change to close contact.