Evening. Our Children are on the Dacha, it is the first time for a plant of weeks when our parents-in-law decided to take the children with. I, my love, am commuting after hard fucking workday: a ton of important issues and things, meetings and project discussions with foreign customers. I am waiting for the time when I can go out of my stuffy and crowdy office and ran home, to her, to my love.
On the way to home, I buy a small bouquet of her lovely and beautiful flowers, as an excuse for a small delay and to decorate our nice evening, I completely understand the most important moment would be when we will be together, only she and I, of course…it might be great sex or long street walk but it is not important what we will do and how – our aim of outranges love is to be together.
She, as usual beautiful and sexy, I look at her beloved eyes, subtle slyness glides in the corners of her jealous brown eyes, I am kissing passionately her chubby hot lips and taking off our clothes to take a shower quickly but together.
After it, Iand she quickly change your clothes to Casual street style. Your fucking modern and stylish suits will wait for us until next Monday. After a tasty short lunch which she prepared, she and I playfully look at each other to decide where are going and what to do.
I make one call – nobody to answer, she makes another call and another fault. Your beard and funny friend who lives on Santjago-De-Cuba street, today spends fucking time on a corporate party as usual. He has a lot of photographer deals. Her wife works too. Fucking bastards. Every Friday they don’t have time for relaxing.
She and I, despite Friday fatigue, offer her to go out and take a walk on the SPB streets to admire excellent views and white nights, because only there you notice an extremely powerful combination of nature, bridges, architecture and night walks. Or…ride on a motorbike.
You together go downstairs to your parking. There are your motorbikes which you use every day. Both of them are extremely expensive and powerful. She and I feel the good breeze in your chest when I turn on the key in the middle of the control panel in both of them. I have been dreaming to buy a new British bobber-style motorbike and this year she bought it after closing web site contracts on my happy birthday.
10 years ago she was against these fucking iron monsters completely and it was the reason for a fucking bunch of quarrelings but now she and I have totally decided all points of our disagreements.
Your marriage lasts many-many years and she created a perfect her body without any chance of fat or “orange cover” skin for many years of hard work in the gym. Her fitted body is envied every fatty woman in her gym. Holy shit!
She sits beside me in the black fitted leather biker costume, her hips are tightly covered with the leather clothes, her body plucked mind a lot of motor-brothers and she always drives in the crimson face paint more than one hundred car drivers who firmly stuck in their cars and traffic jams.
An engine of your British and stylish motorbike is switched on and as soon as possible she and I will ride slightly to the night roads.
After engine warming up, the moment has come when all 120 power horses with the branded deep and juicy exhaust rush and race you there where you can relax and forget all the burning issues.
She hugs you tightly, her legs lie on your hips. The back seat is wide enough not to fall in the steepest bends Zelenogorsk highway. Everything is fine: great weather, warm evening, no longer hot, but not cold. Your British V-twin engine rumbles like Bengal tiger, and you rush to meet the wind …