Getty Images

When Mirtes moved from the country to the city, she, her mother, Dona Armenia, and a younger brother, Francisco, came. Mirtes was 12 years old. His father had been murdered in an ambush and whoever killed him had not been found or discovered. The motives for the crime were also unknown.

In the first few days, shortly after moving out, in his memory the memories of those sad and tragic moments in the small hut where he was born and lived until a few days before were still very vivid. But two memories insisted on remaining before his eyes wide with horror. In the first, he saw his father’s bloody body, two holes in his chest where he kept his heart, which no longer beat, fallen in the doorway, half body out, half body in, as if in his last act of life was undecided between entering or leaving the house, which he would never do again. No sound accompanied Mirtes’ vision. At that moment, a deep silence took over the night and everything.

The second image that didn’t leave her was that of her father, hands clasped over her chest, eyes closed, wearing a white shirt that someone must have given her mother (she didn’t remember seeing her father wearing that shirt), bare feet, close together, as if they had been glued together, lying down and very well accommodated in a simple polished wooden coffin surrounded by a thin purple fabric, placed on a bed frame supported by four small stools. Those same stools that served as a seat for the family during their meals meals.

But that memory was always accompanied by the voice of his hand saying to him quietly: “Come on, Mirtes, serve some cakes like coffee with milk for our friends. The night is cold ”.

 In the city, Dona Arênia worked as a seamstress and Mirtes, still young, already helped her mother by selling rustic eggs and homemade cakes, door to door. Francisco had a shoeshine box and was in the square, shining shoes. They both studied, and were good students.

Dona Armenia’s family was respected and admired by everyone for their hard work. Everyone worked. That was the story that everyone knew. According to Fê, Mirtes’ best friend and main gossip in the city told me, as she grew up, Mirtes was being watched by someone, a highly regarded person in the city, with a lot of financial and economic power, who came to have her. a special interest. This interest began on a day that Mirtes passed by this person on the street and greeted him, as he did with everyone. But the way she smiled got that person excited. Mirtes was then fourteen. She had a well-developed body and was becoming an admirable woman. Anyone who didn’t know her would think she was about eighteen to twenty. But it was still going to be fifteen. That day, the person called her and asked her if she knew how to do nails. She said yes, that she did her own nails and her mother’s. But I had never studied for that. The person then told him to go home later and look for Dolores, his wife. That she would teach you how to do nails right, like a professional. Thus began the story of Mirtes as a manicure and pedicure.

Every day she went to Dolores’ house, the person’s wife – Fê insisted on not saying the name “I speak the miracle, but I don’t tell the name of the saint” – where she trained in nail care techniques. Of hands and feet. Whenever he arrived, he had someone different to serve as a guinea pig. In a short time his skills were already known, recognized and it could already be said that he was a

professional. In a briefcase he kept all the material he used for his work and soon the word spread that he was doing nails at home was spread around the city. The suitcase had been brought from São Paulo by Dolores, the person’s wife, who told her, when she wanted to know how she would pay “It is a gift for you to start your career. Gift from me and my husband ”and concluded“ I just want you to do my nails every Saturday ”. So they were agreed. And so it was done every Saturday.

When I asked Fê how she knew about this story, she told me that Mirtes herself had told her. But that most of the story only she knew. And that much was said about Mirtes, but there was little truth in what the others said. “Maledicences, you know how it is,” he said, smiling.

Mirtes did not take long to have a large number of women who became his clients, to do nails in their homes, all week. Always at home. And a lot of men. Some, to keep their nails clean and well cared for, in a show of male vanity that was beginning to become common all over the world. Others, for the simple fact of having their hands and feet being “cared for and caressed” as they said, by Mirtes, whom they referred to as “The Hot”.

Mirtes spent his days roaming the city, from side to side, working. He assembled his scripts according to the schedule he made. She was starting to earn a buck that had already made her regain confidence in her future. He dreamed of helping his mother and tidying up the house where they lived and which they had bought when they came to the city, shortly after their father’s murder, with the money they had obtained from the sale of the land where they lived.

He was sixteen when, on a Saturday afternoon, he was at that person’s house, when a storm began to fall that seemed capable of destroying the world. The two of them, she and Dolores, the person’s wife, were sitting on the internal porch of the house, doing their nails and talking animatedly. On the television in the living room, a film was shown that the two watched without paying much attention, through the window that looked from the balcony to the living room. At one point, in the film, two characters kissed passionately, passionately. Two women. There was a strange silence on the porch. The two, Mirtes and Dolores, the person’s wife, looked at each other awkwardly.

 Dolores, the person’s wife, then forced a smile and told Mirtes that this was not the right time for a kiss like that.

Mirtes, in his innocence, replied that he saw nothing much. That he thought there was no time for two people to kiss. Then Dolores, the person’s wife, asked if she thought it was normal for two women to kiss and Mirtes said yes, that she thought there was nothing too much, that she even thought it was beautiful. And when Dolores, the person’s wife, asked him if he would have the courage to kiss another woman, Mirtes simply got up from the stool on which she was sitting, walked over to where Dolores, the person’s wife was, bowed and kissed her on the mouth. , lightly. It was a quick kiss that didn’t even taste. Then he went back to his bank and continued to take care of the person’s wife’s nails.

According to Fê, that kiss was just the beginning of a series of kisses that followed that day, on the balcony, in the living room and, finally, in the couple’s bedroom, where Dolores, the person’s wife, initiated Mirtes into things of sex. .

At sixteen she was a virgin. She already had a woman’s body, but she had never had a boyfriend. I had only been kissed a few times, by a more audacious boy, from a neighboring town, who had come to play football in my town, on a Sunday. But it hadn’t even been a proper kiss. Now, he had known what it was like to actually kiss. With tongue in tongue, being squeezed by another woman, feeling her body being covered by an avid mouth that kissed her all over, while she was squeezed by hands that felt electric when touching her, giving her shocks and more shocks that made her shake all over the body, from head to toe. He learned what it is to be horny, to have the middle of the legs on fire, to feel a delicious languor when the tongue of the person’s wife ran through the back of his neck. For the first time, she was stripped by someone. And for each piece of clothing that was taken from her body, more kisses, more hugs, more squeezes, but a wet tongue making her intoxicated.

Mirtes told Faith that he simply went mad on that day with pleasure, love and passion. As the person was traveling and Dolores, his wife, had stayed alone at home, Mirtes decided to stay to sleep at the person’s house, even without telling his mother. He knew she wouldn’t mind because she was going to imagine that Mirtes was taking shelter from the storm at one of her clients’ houses. After all, Mirtes was pure and innocent. I wouldn’t do anything that was wrong. no madness.

That night they made love, she and Dolores, the person’s wife, until they were exhausted. Mirtes never forgot everything that happened that Saturday.

Fé told me that the person was the first man to have Mirtes. And that it had happened on the Saturday following that on which she had been initiated by his wife. No trauma, no betrayal, no problem.

Fê told me that Mirtes told him that she spent the next week waiting and hoping only for Saturday to come quickly. Imagining how good it would be to be with Dolores again, the person’s wife, in his arms, having his body covered in kisses and also covered with kisses that other body, as he never imagined he would be able to kiss. Mirtes, according to Fê told me, seemed to enjoy pleasure just in saying what the two of them, she and Dolores, the person’s wife, would do on Saturday. She, Fê, could guarantee that that Mirtes who was telling her all that was not the same Mirtes she had known for so many years. It had undoubtedly undergone a marked change.

After being quiet for a while, Fê told me that anything I heard being said about Mirtes was actually an invention. Especially when they called her a dyke. She was not a dyke. I wasn’t even a whore. He had never made love to a woman other than Dolores, the person’s wife. And it had only been given to a single man. Any

something else I heard in addition, was the purest and most outright lie. To prove it, he gave me to read some sheets of notebook where it was written, by Mirtes herself, the account he had made in his diary, of what had happened. Mirtes, according to her, had given him those leaves because she herself had not had the courage to tear them up. So he asked Fê to do it, as soon as he had read it. But Fê, as she said, preferred to keep it, promising in her heart to keep the strictest secret.

This is what Mirtes wrote in his diary.

“Ah, how God seems to be making up for what he took from me by taking my father. I’m sure that everything from now on will be much better than it was until today. Only good things have happened to me. I am very happy. I even think that those who know me must be wondering how happy I look. It’s just that they don’t know that I don’t just look happy. I am and I am really happy. Ah, how good it is to be filled with love. I had never even imagined, not for a second, how love is good, how loving is good and how making love can be so delicious. I didn’t believe it when Dolores told me she was going to eat me in such a delicious way that I would stay crazy. But when she started to kiss me, everything became so good that I started to lose my fear and more and more I wanted her to squeeze me more, kiss me more, to hug me more and to keep her body from mine. As she was touching me, caressing me, sliding her hands over my body, I was losing more and more fear and letting myself be dominated by a huge desire to never let that end again. God. I thought I was going to die when she put her hand lightly on my pussy and was smoothing me, smoothing, smoothing and when I realized, I was sticking a finger that moved sideways, removed and stuck, up, down, to the sides, while I was moving the body as if it were being commanded by that finger, directing me, guiding me, the finger sticking, making me move, move, move, going in and out in a nice way, oh, there, that only to remember now I’m almost cumming and my body is moving tasty like that finger made me move. I had never really come and I had no idea what it was like to really come. So, without even knowing why I told her that and she told me that she was going to make me explode in wonderful joy, that I wouldn’t even understand what happened when I came. He put me on all fours on the bed, got under me and started to lick my pussy, squeezing my lips with my lips, while I was rubbing my ass. I was getting soft and I almost didn’t feel it when she, still sucking on me, licking my pussy inside and out, was sticking he I didn’t understand anything anymore and I just wanted that finger to go deeper and deeper, deeper, deeper. My body refused to stay still, to be quiet and just moved, as before. My body bucked and swayed trying to keep up with the movements and rhythm of that tongue sucking and nibbling at my pussy and that sticky finger and pushing it deeper and deeper into my ass. I didn’t realize how much time had already passed when she pulled me into her fine and told me that she also wanted to come hot and that she was going to leave it to me. I stuck my head in the middle of her legs and looked at her pink pussy, all shaved. I gave a little shake when I touched it with my tongue and pressing my lips against it, I started to suck. It had a taste of fennel and a sweet, sweet scent. While I was sucking, I ran a hand over her belly, up to her breasts, which she squeezed in the rhythm of my tongue on her pussy. The other hand I had put propping up your ass while I was going to stick a finger in your ass, which was warm, with a vein pulsing as if to accompany your heartbeat. I confess that I didn’t know what it was like to suck or how to suck a pussy. But I found it more and more delicious and only stopped when she took my head away with her hands and made me hug her body. Then, we positioned our bodies so that my pussy was above your mouth and yours was above mine. A perfect 69. So we suck on each other deliciously until we run out of cum. We didn’t even notice that the rain had stopped and it was already late at night. Our first day of love ended when we slept, hugged, satisfied and happy. I’m not even going to say how my week went because, really, I just thought about what our next Saturday would be like. I couldn’t wait.

Now, at this moment, just thinking about what I am going to write, I am feeling such a hard-on that I can’t even stand it anymore. I’m going to tell you everything, put everything on this sheet because I want to feel what I felt again. And I want whoever reads what I’m writing to know that this was the best day I’ve ever had in my life. I don’t think I’ll ever have a better day than the one I had that Saturday.

It was still early, about eight o’clock in the morning when I arrived at the person’s house and Dolores, the person’s wife, opened the door and sent me in. As soon as I entered, she closed the door and hugged me giving me a long kiss, sticking her tongue in my mouth with all her will. She took my hand and took me to her room and was taking off my clothes while she was kissing me. I just wanted to feel everything that I had felt the previous Saturday, I was letting her do what she wanted to do. She laid me down and lay on top of me. Still kissing me, he was intertwining his legs between my legs, until our pussies were leaning against each other, very close together. So she started to move, to move her body over my body, up and down, this way and that, squeezing me more and more, our pussies glued together as if one wanted to penetrate the other, wet, squeezed, hooked. I was so committed that I just wanted it to go on, not to stop. He groaned and groaned and groaned. I couldn’t keep my eyes open and I didn’t want to open them for fear that it would all end like a dream ends when you open your eyes. That was when I heard a noise and realized that someone else was in the room. She walked away from me and let me see the person, standing by the bed where we were, naked, smiling. I was neither scared nor afraid, nor had any reaction. I just stood there, looking at the person, while Dolores rose from the bed, reached out and pulled the person to the bed. To our bed. That was when I realized that the person had a hard stick pointing upwards. That’s when Dolores took my hand and made me take that stick, hot, soft, incredibly hard. I had already felt what a hard dick was during the kisses I had already had with my flirtations. But I had never seen or taken one. Now, I held that cock and was immediately sure that I wanted it to enter me. That would tear me up. Eat me. Fuck me. When Dolores pushed me away, hugged me and laid me on her, I already knew what was going to happen. But I didn’t care. I was dying for it to happen. While we kissed, holding each other, I felt the person’s hands squeezing my ass, his finger trying to get into my ass. After a while of sticking and taking my finger off my ass, he grabbed me by the shoulder with one hand while with the other he forced me to open my legs. Hugged with Dolores I felt when the person’s dick was squeezing my pussy and forcing his head until he entered. It didn’t hurt like I thought it would. Just a sting and I soon felt like I was shoving everything. I was afraid to move but I wanted him to shove it all at once. So, I threw my ass up and let that stick stay in my pussy until I felt its bag hitting my ass, every time it stuck. It was how I stopped being a virgin. The person kept sticking the stick in my pussy and I got more and more excited, the pussy was already burning but it was a good flavor. Under me, Dolores sucked and bit my titties, which made me even more horny. I don’t even know how many times I came until the person shuddered between moans and I felt his cum dripping into me, a hot liquid like lava from a volcano. Ah, how nice it was to give it the first time. Ah, surely God is compensating me for the pain and sadness of having taken my father. I am very happy.”

When I finished reading the report made by Mirtes in her diary, I understood what Fê wanted me to understand.

Mirtes was not a jerk, nor was she a whore. She was simply a happy woman who had that person and Dolores, the person’s wife, the reason for her happiness. They just loved each other. The three loved each other. Anything I heard beyond that would be and was the purest and most outright lie.

Deixe um comentário

Preencha os seus dados abaixo ou clique em um ícone para log in:

Logotipo do

Você está comentando utilizando sua conta Sair /  Alterar )

Foto do Google

Você está comentando utilizando sua conta Google. Sair /  Alterar )

Imagem do Twitter

Você está comentando utilizando sua conta Twitter. Sair /  Alterar )

Foto do Facebook

Você está comentando utilizando sua conta Facebook. Sair /  Alterar )

Conectando a %s