Traduction française en bas de page. gs Quelques extraits...
''The strength of the red army shining with stars all over the uniforms of my dreams, made me shiver and weakened my envies of a little contemporary bitch to be done by so much force.''
''And I just came back from the Soviet guy. I knew from my experience they always were extravagant, generous and jolly, more than easy going , but had a problem with sex, whether straight or gay. Discreet, dumb as a fish when it came to pussies they just fucked, though always horny and hot one did not talk about it the way we do it in the West. Religion or a too realistic soviet life forbade them to get a bit crude about it, even for a laugh, and that made their libido look prude and inactive looking like monks, even when they immigrated in an occidental country after two or three bottles of vodka per evening around a table; no way you knew anything about what they did with their dick. As for being gay, I shut my mouth spreading the news since the day a tall and strong blond monster wanted to fight and knock me down after he saw me sucking his student doctor fellow friend on my knees in his kitchen, calling me a pervert and a pedophile, going on and on about it till the other guys who were there managed to let me through an other door to get a taxi and run for my life. I had been in chock ever since in front of a Russian guy, and careful, even though my behavior of a female slut spoke for itself when sublimating their huge communist cock in their deep blue eyes and blond romantic long hair. They strongly built bodies turned me on just as well to be topped the way a capitalist would have screwed me on the spot without any shame. Sex was apparently no mental part of their consumer goods, and therefore, I minded with extra care to go forwards and mention my skill of an unfussy sucker, though my mind could not let go the idea. I waited for the right spot of light the Gods would grant me the moment they'd stretch their legs, sit back and relax and give me the honor to execute to the max my head job. I had learned since such fears, a few words and phrases in Russian I pronounced quite well, with the best diction, for them to focus on congratulations, and on my lips, so they could start at last, to fantasize on what to do with their knob as my eyes were clinched on the fat and full underneath of their belt that held always, out of date tight jeans of a very bad taste. I wanted, -badly, a Russian cock, no matter its needs as I knew damn well I'd provide more than it takes to be adored. The strength of the red army shining with stars all over the uniforms of my dreams, made me shiver and weakened my envies of a little contemporary bitch to be done by so much force.
And he was there, Sergei, sitting on his high stool selling cigarettes, a long and defined fair hairy hand caressing his leg when he asked the customers what they wanted, taking with the other, the brand of cigarettes displayed behind him they came here to get. His long hair of a blond lyric poet and the build of his shoulders, together with that big fat hump between his legs moved me and made me take gestures of a shameless little local faggot, choosing other cheap stuff he sold in order to stay in the store longer. I had with him the same technique I had used the first time the grocer did me, it worked, and I could hardly forget that memory of being so gloriously screwed. I died for him to throw up his load in my humble canals, and it was tangible in the air I'd let him use the one he liked best. My moment had just arrived as he just asked me to stay for a chat. Still alert with a Russian not to push too far my condition of a queer, I took my cigarette holder and lighted one Davidoff to chat farther about the weather, looking at the stool and what was resting on it. The guy liked my French sophistication and my style, now talking about Paris and its reputation of a city of pleasures. I could feel in his eyes as he now caressed his leg closer to his fly, the seed of his balls starting to raise and boil, shaking, nervous, both legs and feet. I remained impassive. But, through our stupid conversation I intended to keep, I told him in a natural way looking with one quick glance at his belt, that in Paris, Pigalle prostitutes could suck him off dry on the spot from underneath the till as he served, and this phrase to his brand new white Russian mind, suddenly lighted his envy up. I just won an other Napoleon war; the guy just said he would love to try that. Still impassive, standing still smoking away, I answered I could help if only he liked men, adding he did not need to be gay for a quick suck. A mouth was a mouth and I did not ask or expect anything else in return, but the honor to empty him deep throat. He got more and more agitated and I, did not know yet if I was about to get punched or receive in return the liquid of my prayer. He immediately, in half a second, firmly stood up thinking half a second more, and went rushing to the front door to watch outside in the street if some customer was about to come in. He straight away turned back at me, still, immobile, nervous and undecided, thought for one more second, and said to me; '' Go behind the counter, there is a nook just under the till for you to hide and show me what Parisians do.'' That is when I, at this precede moment, straight away complied and went to knee down next to the trash can between cartons and shelves of supplies, waiting, pushing the stool backwards for him to comfortably stand . I was exactly at the right level of his fly, silent, impatient, dying to see his two legs arriving for only view until I carefully but in a hurry, finally got the privilege to undo his zipper and take out that big thing of his I knew big, his knob pointing clear and strong in front of me, ready and needing, talking to me to be sucked discretely, from its peak to the base, the entire prick of my soviet deep in, determined to prove him with no concession my head job talents. And here he came, slowly, as he just closed the door without locking it, leaning his belt against the counter. I was about to discover his treasure and free it from its pants, zipping down gently to receive my reward I now could see already hard but hesitating to let itself frankly go, forcing me to take at one go that huge piece of flesh in my mouth to make it erect robust like steel, feel and speak. It did not take long. He firmly hold himself at the edge of the counter for more stability, able to reach with one hand any pack the next client would ask without moving off his standing place. My glory. I could feel strongly, my action was constantly in his mind. My lewdness evil side had penetrated his, I could go ahead freely. It was now developed to the max, working hard on it with no noise, my muscled lips coming and going on his ten inches trunk with the right pressure that weakened him, holding his breath from which I could hear of its muteness, the immense forbidden pleasure he got from me. I grabbed myself to his legs to continue my deed in a more porn way, now holding his balls full hand, pressing with one finger the spongy body nerves of his fabulous dick which knob's urethra I filled with the extremity of my tong, when a customer just got in and that he, with a gentle slap on my head, then stuck his cock deep in, stuffing still my entire throat with his cylinder as he bent backwards to catch a pack as my nape was jammed against the wooden part of the counter. I was in heaven, applying myself to my task with not a single sound not to disappoint him the slightest. I wanted him to spurt, and right after his gave the change back, I activated my ins and outs stronger, quicker when I felt him getting wet, starting to loose his breathing control by small groaning sighs that invaded my ears of joy. I pressed my finger more on the nerves, and wanked his dick just sucking that terrific powerful knob waiting for his Russian sperm to overflow in my canal. He gushed into my gob with no refrain, pulling in to the deepest of my larynx, the entire thing till the last single drop was out and swallowed. His staid in still hard for a little while, shaking his legs and caressing my hair as a reward, touching my throat as if he touched the treasure of his pleasure to thank it. I got off of it, and very slowly, I put his gear back in order behind his jeans as nothing happened. An other customer came in and I had to stay under the till till he left, caressing his hump meanwhile, now at rest. Now up and ready to go, just like the grocer, he gave me a pack of cigarettes as a present, saying he would love next time, to fuck me in private and hear my cries of a Frenchie impaled by an ex red army guy. Giving me more with these words than ten oscars for my achievement of a total slut, I told him he could come over with tons of vodka if he desired it. I wanted him drunk, totally drunk and drive him more than free for any insanity of his to come true, insanities by all means, I'd gladly comply, and that, seemed to enchant the guy. I wanted his full soviet power in my insides, showing me the greatness and prestige of his immense empire and become a new Rasputin as he pleased. My influence had operated and become functional. I could go back happy, liberated from my old Russian fears, waiting for the next day between two and four when he closed his store. And this time, he closed it to come and screw me. My glory.''
And he was there, Sergei, sitting on his high stool selling cigarettes, a long and defined fair hairy hand caressing his leg when he asked the customers what they wanted, taking with the other, the brand of cigarettes displayed behind him they came here to get. His long hair of a blond lyric poet and the build of his shoulders, together with that big fat hump between his legs moved me and made me take gestures of a shameless little local faggot, choosing other cheap stuff he sold in order to stay in the store longer. I had with him the same technique I had used the first time the grocer did me, it worked, and I could hardly forget that memory of being so gloriously screwed. I died for him to throw up his load in my humble canals, and it was tangible in the air I'd let him use the one he liked best. My moment had just arrived as he just asked me to stay for a chat. Still alert with a Russian not to push too far my condition of a queer, I took my cigarette holder and lighted one Davidoff to chat farther about the weather, looking at the stool and what was resting on it. The guy liked my French sophistication and my style, now talking about Paris and its reputation of a city of pleasures. I could feel in his eyes as he now caressed his leg closer to his fly, the seed of his balls starting to raise and boil, shaking, nervous, both legs and feet. I remained impassive. But, through our stupid conversation I intended to keep, I told him in a natural way looking with one quick glance at his belt, that in Paris, Pigalle prostitutes could suck him off dry on the spot from underneath the till as he served, and this phrase to his brand new white Russian mind, suddenly lighted his envy up. I just won an other Napoleon war; the guy just said he would love to try that. Still impassive, standing still smoking away, I answered I could help if only he liked men, adding he did not need to be gay for a quick suck. A mouth was a mouth and I did not ask or expect anything else in return, but the honor to empty him deep throat. He got more and more agitated and I, did not know yet if I was about to get punched or receive in return the liquid of my prayer. He immediately, in half a second, firmly stood up thinking half a second more, and went rushing to the front door to watch outside in the street if some customer was about to come in. He straight away turned back at me, still, immobile, nervous and undecided, thought for one more second, and said to me; '' Go behind the counter, there is a nook just under the till for you to hide and show me what Parisians do.'' That is when I, at this precede moment, straight away complied and went to knee down next to the trash can between cartons and shelves of supplies, waiting, pushing the stool backwards for him to comfortably stand . I was exactly at the right level of his fly, silent, impatient, dying to see his two legs arriving for only view until I carefully but in a hurry, finally got the privilege to undo his zipper and take out that big thing of his I knew big, his knob pointing clear and strong in front of me, ready and needing, talking to me to be sucked discretely, from its peak to the base, the entire prick of my soviet deep in, determined to prove him with no concession my head job talents. And here he came, slowly, as he just closed the door without locking it, leaning his belt against the counter. I was about to discover his treasure and free it from its pants, zipping down gently to receive my reward I now could see already hard but hesitating to let itself frankly go, forcing me to take at one go that huge piece of flesh in my mouth to make it erect robust like steel, feel and speak. It did not take long. He firmly hold himself at the edge of the counter for more stability, able to reach with one hand any pack the next client would ask without moving off his standing place. My glory. I could feel strongly, my action was constantly in his mind. My lewdness evil side had penetrated his, I could go ahead freely. It was now developed to the max, working hard on it with no noise, my muscled lips coming and going on his ten inches trunk with the right pressure that weakened him, holding his breath from which I could hear of its muteness, the immense forbidden pleasure he got from me. I grabbed myself to his legs to continue my deed in a more porn way, now holding his balls full hand, pressing with one finger the spongy body nerves of his fabulous dick which knob's urethra I filled with the extremity of my tong, when a customer just got in and that he, with a gentle slap on my head, then stuck his cock deep in, stuffing still my entire throat with his cylinder as he bent backwards to catch a pack as my nape was jammed against the wooden part of the counter. I was in heaven, applying myself to my task with not a single sound not to disappoint him the slightest. I wanted him to spurt, and right after his gave the change back, I activated my ins and outs stronger, quicker when I felt him getting wet, starting to loose his breathing control by small groaning sighs that invaded my ears of joy. I pressed my finger more on the nerves, and wanked his dick just sucking that terrific powerful knob waiting for his Russian sperm to overflow in my canal. He gushed into my gob with no refrain, pulling in to the deepest of my larynx, the entire thing till the last single drop was out and swallowed. His staid in still hard for a little while, shaking his legs and caressing my hair as a reward, touching my throat as if he touched the treasure of his pleasure to thank it. I got off of it, and very slowly, I put his gear back in order behind his jeans as nothing happened. An other customer came in and I had to stay under the till till he left, caressing his hump meanwhile, now at rest. Now up and ready to go, just like the grocer, he gave me a pack of cigarettes as a present, saying he would love next time, to fuck me in private and hear my cries of a Frenchie impaled by an ex red army guy. Giving me more with these words than ten oscars for my achievement of a total slut, I told him he could come over with tons of vodka if he desired it. I wanted him drunk, totally drunk and drive him more than free for any insanity of his to come true, insanities by all means, I'd gladly comply, and that, seemed to enchant the guy. I wanted his full soviet power in my insides, showing me the greatness and prestige of his immense empire and become a new Rasputin as he pleased. My influence had operated and become functional. I could go back happy, liberated from my old Russian fears, waiting for the next day between two and four when he closed his store. And this time, he closed it to come and screw me. My glory.''
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