The two are in love

That evening, O'Lingya and Josh had a pleasant, romantic
dinner at Rocky Restaurant. During the meal, they discussed Josh's upcoming exhibition in London,
which Chris tentatively named "Gentle Land."

After dinner, Josh had to return to his studio to continue working, so O'Lingya went alone to a
low-class cinema in the red-light district to watch a pornographic film and observe the vulgar behavior of those around her.

When she returned to her hotel, it was late at night. After kicking off her shoes and collapsing onto the bed, she was too
exhausted . As she reached to turn off the bedside lamp, her hand touched something; a worn,
hardcover notebook, locked with a small lock. It

was her father's diary. O'Lingya picked up the printed notebook, then grabbed a pillow to prop herself up against the wall. She unlocked the diary and turned to the first page. She had read
those
few sentences countless times, yet each time, she was still thrilled.

June 5th, Saturday. Tonight, a messenger brought me an envelope containing detailed arrangements for the next
test . I was going to the French Cinema in the suburbs of Arguill
to make love to the first woman who had approached me.

Around 7:30, I arrived at the cinema. A woman in a black bodysuit, with disheveled hair,
sold me a ticket. I secretly hoped this woman wasn't the first one I was to conquer. Fortunately, the woman
didn't offer me her body, although as she handed me the ticket, she looked at me with extreme eagerness, saying,

"We always welcome gentlemen as elegant as you. We're sure you'll have a wonderful
night, sir."

The cinema was dimly lit, the air stifling and suffocating. A nauseating
mixture of thousands of smells lingered: cheap wine, garlic, perfume, and grease.
I wondered why the cinema owner didn't clean it or repaint it. The Lord wouldn't want
to patronize a place like this.

It was an old-fashioned theater, with chairs rather than the more common concave-backed single seats. The rows of
seats were also quite far apart.

Hmm, there might even be fleas. But at least one advantage was that there was enough room to stretch my legs.

A handsome Arab boy with long, thick eyelashes led me to my seat. As I
prepared sit down comfortably, I felt his soft, girlish hand touch my thigh.

I was instantly captivated by him, but remembering the instructions from the letter, I shook my head helplessly.

In this life-or-death moment, I had to keep a clear head.

"Maybe see you in a bit," I told him, and he turned and disappeared into the darkness.

My stomach clenched painfully. To be honest, in this disturbing
place filled with erotic imagery, it was difficult to concentrate on anything. I only knew that the organization was probably planning
the location . In the dim light, I scanned my surroundings; no one paid any attention to me, their eyes fixed on the screen.

The movie had already started, and following the plot was effortless—if you could even call it a plot. On
the screen , an unattractive nun lifted her skirt for two lecherous men, and as she greedily
kissed one man's crotch, the other pounced on her. The nun wasn't beautiful,
but her two scarlet, sensual lips were alluring as they moved over her lovers' bodies. The two suitors
, however, were quite handsome.

Despite my conservative nature, I soon found myself captivated by this vulgar scene. My eyes
swept across the rows of seats, making sure no one could see what I was doing.

Now, my penis was erect and painfully so, so I unbuttoned my trousers, stretched my
stiff body, and began to masturbate. I was so engrossed in my own pleasure that I didn't notice a
tall, slightly dark-skinned woman walking towards me down the aisle.

To be precise, I only noticed her when she gracefully landed beside me. "You don't mind if I sit here
, sir?"

Her gentle San Francisco accent captivated me. It wasn't at all like
the jarring voice of the brown-skinned narrators in movies; her voice was deep, husky, warm, and alluring.

I couldn't help but feel my heart flutter. If this alien-like woman could be the first one I conquered,
then this trip to the movies would have been worthwhile.

This woman was tall and slender, with a perfectly proportioned figure; her full breasts clung to her strapless
evening gown adorned with metallic discs.

The bright red dress hugged her beautiful body like a lover's embrace; her light brown eyes
sparkled with passion, and her glossy black curls cascaded over her tanned shoulders. She was truly a
rare flower blooming in the desert.

"I… no, of course I don't mind. Please sit down."

She probably already saw me masturbating, but didn't say it abruptly. I secretly
observed ; she pretended to be engrossed in the movie, but this disguise didn't fool me.

Her nipples were large and hard, protruding prominently against the front of her dress. The movie theater had many empty seats, yet she insisted
on sitting close to me, the heat emanating from her body seeping into my shirt and trousers. I was
eager to have her, and began to curse my own restraint and rigid discipline.

If I wanted to have sex with her, she would surely accept. I didn't need to worry; this dark-haired temptress
had delivered herself to my doorstep.

"It's hot, isn't it? If everyone were more casual, you wouldn't complain, would you?"

I turned my head and noticed that the shawl over her dress had slipped down. I watched, mesmerized, as she slowly removed
the dress, revealing her ample breasts little by little. It wasn't until this woman's hand touched me,
unbuttoning my shirt, and her skilled, strong fingers caressed my chest that I snapped out of my daze
.

I mustered my courage, reaching over to touch her thigh, sliding my hand inwards. Her taut,
silky skin burned against my palm. My intense desire for her drove my hand
between until it touched her genitals. I longed to bury my fingers there. But to my
great disappointment, she grabbed my hand and pulled it away from her thighs.

I stared at her, bewildered, while she placed her hand on my knee, patting it gently, arousing my
desire . I must have let out a hungry moan unintentionally, for she smiled and
put a finger to her lips.

I sat back down, frustrated, for she controlled my pleasure. When I excitedly caressed her, she
remained indifferent, offering no response; when she aroused me to the point of burning with desire, she stopped. Her hand
remained on my thirsty body, but without any intention of seducing me. I observed her expression and noticed
a wicked smile lingering on her red lips.

I couldn't believe that the vixen could be so cold-hearted. A wave of frustrated pain made me flinch away from her
. I frantically tore at the front of her strapless dress, and she continued to smile.

On the flickering screen, a naked nun with sexy curly hair was with a middle-aged man wearing a
bishop . The actress's breasts were alluring, but they couldn't
compare to the woman I was frantically kissing and caressing.

I had never tasted such female flesh; her nipples were sweet and salty, like
the kernels of imported fruit dried in the tropical sun. I kissed them, bit them, pinched them with my fingers, and caressed them. My lover seemed
pleased with my actions; she smiled and turned her head to the side, her dark hair slipping onto the stained, purplish-brown
carpet .

I desperately wanted her, constantly recalling what the messenger had told me: this woman had already
offered her body to me in the dimly lit movie theater; if the organization permitted, I would definitely possess her. But I must
admit, my lust for sex now far outweighed any sense of duty.

Tasting her breasts had only whetted my appetite. She probably sensed my thoughts, so when I
once again reached between her legs, she turned to me and spoke. Her gentle, husky,
low voice drove me wild.

“I want you, you damn thing, I want you right now.”

She stood up, and I wondered where she was going. Maybe she was going to lead me out of the audience to the dressing room
; or out of the movie theater together into some alley unnoticed by hurried passersby.

To my great surprise, she simply leaned against an empty seat in the row in front of her and began to lift her skirt. She was wearing only black French shorts
underneath . My hand slid down her thigh, along the hem of her shorts, and I
tried to slip a finger between her wet legs, but she shook her head.

“I want you to enter me from behind,” she commanded.

There was an undeniable authority in her gentle voice.

“Pull the triangle of my shorts aside, and then follow my instructions.”

I did as she said and soon thrust into her. She was burning hot, like a volcano, and I
felt as if a hand accustomed to masturbation was moving all over my body. I slid my hand to her buttocks,
but she gestured against it, preferring that my hand touch her genitals instead. I simply played with her full breasts to satisfy my
greedy hands.

Later, I felt her trembling beneath me, so I thrust my penis into her
several more times .

Stealing a moment, I glanced at the screen and saw a naked girl helplessly, yet
with a hint of pleasure, backing away.

When I withdrew from her, the woman remained motionless for a long time before collapsing back
in her seat, panting heavily. Finally, she sat up, removed her clothes from behind, turned her face towards me, and
gave me a satisfied smile.

But she didn't immediately remove her skirt. When she turned her face, I suddenly noticed something strange: the outline of
a cute, still erect man's penis.

O'Lingya chuckled as she read her father's account of meeting Rosalie.

This shrewd transgender woman knew a thousand ways to please a man with her mouth and was proficient in over a
thousand ways to bring him to orgasm using her back. Even now, O'Lingya still deeply admired her father's adventurous
spirit .

His failure in his final test to join the organization was a tragedy.

And the fact that he died before seeing his daughter successfully fulfill his ambition was an even greater
regret .

O'Lingya's troubled thoughts had no time for such things. She simply wanted to settle this history once and for all.
She owed her father a great deal, and of course, she owed herself far too much.

"I assure you, Miss. There will be no mistake." O'Lingya looked at the card again, then looked up at
the messenger .

"You want me to…?"

"Yes, O'Lingya. Your task is to seduce seven young boys before dawn tomorrow. It's
clearly , isn't it?"

"Yes, of course. But seven?"

"Seven. The 'Great Love Demon' organization emphasized that, I think."

"I don't believe we can find seven young boys in all of Paris!" O'Lingya cried out, a mixture of laughter and tears.

"If you can't complete the task, just say so, Miss Eulinga. Is it a bit difficult...?"
Eulinga stubbornly straightened up and dramatically threw the card onto the table.

"I assure you: no problem. I swear to you, Eulinga always keeps her promises."

Eulinga sat on a bench in Luxembourg Gardens, her face grim, watching the endless stream of people. It
was already two o'clock, and she hadn't found a single virgin boy, though a lecherous man had approached her.

She had searched every tourist attraction—Peterhof, the Eiffel Tower... and a whole string of
disheartening places. In short, she
had been to anywhere she could think of, anywhere there were young people.

She had even met a few interesting guys, but unfortunately, none of them were virgin boys. Time flew by.

In the distance, a group of nannies and several mothers with children were chatting, their children catching pigeons.
Eulinga realized that to find seven virgin boys, she had to go to kindergarten. Two priests were strolling, seemingly
conversing , their black vestments making them look like bats.

In that instant, a thought flashed through my mind: St. Simon's Secondary School! The only all-
boys school in all of Paris. Everyone knew that place was practically a prison, only for virgin boys who voluntarily remained chaste.
It was run by a group of monks. How could Olinya possibly get in?

But didn't she have a cousin, Monique, who used to teach music at a Christian boys' school
? Standing up, smoothing her skirt, Olinya quickly made her way to the park gate. She needed to get some important
phone numbers.

That evening at eight o'clock, Olinya stood before the gates of St. Simon's Public Boys' School, briefcase in hand.

Looking at the heavy black oak gate, she could hardly believe she'd landed a
job in this awful place. It was utterly devoid of vitality and enthusiasm, like Angra Castle from a horror movie.

What should she do? She knew perfectly well what to do, yet she remained deeply uneasy. This might be the most
unbelievable . Of course, it hadn't come easily, and she wouldn't give it up so easily.

For the first time in her life, she seriously considered deserting, running away, away from the school, away from the ordeal,
away from the organization. But the thought of her father's diary, of her hopes and dreams of many years, gave her
the courage . "I cannot back down," she told herself; even if I ultimately fail, I must do my best.

Disguising herself as a music teacher was perfect for her, and she felt a surge of gratitude for
Dr. , who had rigorously trained her in piano.

She staggered towards the door. A bell rang in the distance, and soon a rusty lattice window opened
.

A wrinkled face peered out, looking at O'Lingya with disapproval. "Excuse me, I'm O'Lingya,
the temporary music teacher. I think the school principal called you this morning…"

"Oh, yes, I know. Father Abbott generally doesn't allow female teachers at the school, but the principal
speaks highly of you. You may come in."

He opened the old oak door, and O'Lingya entered. Her cousin scrutinized
her from head to toe, and she was glad she was wearing a grey suit.

“Unfortunately, Mr. Ducard is ill,”

her cousin explained, “but the boys all want their daily piano lessons to continue as normal. I suggest you
teach some very talented students tonight.” “

That’s exactly what I’m hoping for,” Olga thought. Seven boys were found.

Led by her cousin, they walked into the school grounds. St. Simon Public School had the typical boarding

school smell—the smell of disinfectant in the pine trees mingled with the aroma of boiled cabbage. Olga suddenly felt like she was

home. They walked quietly down a long, dimly lit corridor, past the principal’s office. They climbed
several flights of stairs and passed through a narrow passageway to a door marked “Music Room.”

“All music lessons are held here. Be strict with the students. However, I believe you can
handle it . Our students lead an almost reclusive life, rarely interacting with women. And, to add,
their parents expect this. Remember, leave the key in Father Abbott’s office when you leave school.”

After her cousin left, Olga opened the door. The scene that greeted her was completely unexpected;
instead of a group of fifth-grade European boys, she was faced with three exceptionally handsome boys she had never seen before: a pair of dark-
haired twins and a blond, fair-skinned boy who looked like a church choir lead singer.
None of them were older than eleven.

Ollinga was almost in despair; she hadn't stooped so low as to snatch a baby from a cradle.

Her first instinct was to apologize to the school and then turn and leave.

But it was too late. One of the dark-haired boys, like a cute little puppy, ran up to her,
grabbed her arms, and dragged her towards the piano.

"Oh, miss! It's so nice to meet you! My name is Caesar, and this is Gilbert and my brother, Anton.
Would you like to play with us? Would you like to hear us play a liturgy? We've been practicing these pieces diligently all week
."

Ollinga sighed, then sat down on the stool next to the piano and opened the lid.

What a long night this was going to be!

An hour and a half later, Oulingya emerged from the music room. She wanted to leave the school as quickly as possible. She glanced at her
watch; it was a quarter to ten. If she could get back to the hotel immediately, she'd have time to think of another way, but
first, she needed to leave the key in Abbott's office. She wandered frantically through the campus, taking the
wrong turn and becoming completely disoriented by the time she realized it. Turning into a corner and walking down a quiet corridor, she was
terrified .

At this late hour, the campus was as silent as a tomb, and Oulingya felt utterly lost.

Footsteps approached in the distance. Oulingya breathed a sigh of relief; someone was nearby, he would help her.
However, just as the footsteps drew closer, they turned a corner and gradually faded away.

Yes, she should be able to get herself out of this predicament and find her way back. All she had to do was find a doorman
or a teacher working late in their office and ask. She randomly walked to a door, knocked, and
waited for a response. No one answered.

She walked to another door, and apart from her own heartbeat, all was silent. She turned
the handle and peered through the crack into the empty classroom. The emptiness actually helped her; if there was a stairwell, she
could reach the ground floor. Just as she turned to look elsewhere, she saw a bolted
door . Perhaps it could offer a way out.

Oulingya passed a row of offices and arrived at the door. She unbolted it and tentatively pushed it open
; thankfully, there was indeed a staircase leading to a door outside.

Oulingya quickly went down the stairs and tried to push the door open; miraculously, it wasn't locked.

Overjoyed, Oulingya stepped out of the room and into the flower-scented night. To her dismay,
she soon found herself trapped again, only this time in the school's backyard, surrounded by high
walls. She could hear the noise of passing vehicles coming from the other side of the thick brick wall.
There might be a door or a low wall somewhere she could climb over.

She walked along the base of the wall, past a rose garden, and then saw a small chapel. Hearing faint sounds coming from not
far away , she continued in that direction. If she happened to meet a priest, she
would certainly give him a good rant, and at least they would point him out a way out of the campus. As she passed the school...
Behind the main building, in a low, brick-built structure, she saw a beam
of .

A few minutes later, she realized it was light reflecting off the water. There was also a sound—a young, energetic
voice . Walking silently through a grove of trees, Oulingya was suddenly startled.
Ahead of her, in a swamp covered with leaves, lay a large artificial lake.
Ripples spread across its surface in the night breeze. What made Oulingya hold her breath in excitement wasn't the lake itself, nor the lanterns
illuminating the meadow, but a group of handsome boys swimming in
it moving nimbly.

On the lawn beside the lake, several slightly older boys lay or sat, their naked bodies
as pure white and perfect as classical sculptures under the moonlight.

As Oulingya crossed the meadow towards them, all eyes turned to her. Her heart
pounded . She knew she was ultimately looking for these boys—physically pure and inexperienced, yet brimming with
desire .

She removed her sweater and skirt, letting them slide gently to the ground. The boys' expressions gradually shifted from wariness
to curiosity and surprise, and for the first time, lust flickered in their innocent eyes.

They reached out their hands to her, inviting her to join them in the cool, deep water, and begging her to use her sweet,
skillful techniques to guide them into the world of men.

…Olinga slid down one end of the rope, and soon reached the ground. She lay on her hands and knees
beside the crowded roadway.

Cars and motorcycles sped past her, drivers astonished to see this slender
young woman climbing over the walls of St. Simon's Public School at midnight.

Just as she got up and turned around, she nearly bumped into a ragged old beggar, just
like the old man she had encountered that night on her way back to Mito station. He brandished a beer bottle,
leering at her. She turned away in disgust.

"Wait, miss! Is this how you treat an old friend? How about a kiss, hmm?"

Despite her resistance, he used his free arm to pull her close, holding her tightly.
His breath reeked of cheap brandy and rotting goose. When he tried to force his tongue into
her mouth, she nearly vomited. He was too excited, frantically pressing her against the wall.
Undoubtedly, he wanted more than just a kiss from her.

"Come with me, baby, I know a place where no one will bother us."

As he squeezed her breasts and breathed heavily in her ear, she was
ready . She slammed her knee into his stomach, sending him sprawling onto his back, coughing violently and
clutching his abdomen.

"Hey, hey, Miss Oulingya, not seven, but ten virgins. You did a fantastic job. I must admit
I doubted your abilities. We should call you an elite 'Great Love Demon.'"

Oulingya couldn't help but feel smug. "I've completed the mission, are you satisfied?"

"What do you mean I'm satisfied? The organization is satisfied. I don't think there will be any trouble now."

The messenger said, clipping a note to the notepad.

"Now I'm going to leave you alone for the rest of the day. There will be a new test tomorrow."

He turned to leave, but Oulingya suddenly had a sudden impulse, grabbed his shoulder, and forced him to turn around and face
her.

"Don't rush, sir. You put me in such a terrible situation last night, you have to make it up to me."
She strode to the door and took the key from the lock.

"What exactly do you want, Miss? I have an important meeting this afternoon; I have to go."

"I won't let you go, sir."

Oulingya held the key in her hand and stretched out her arm. The messenger then desperately tried to snatch
the key . She lifted her skirt and quickly slipped the key into her panties, tucking it between her labia. The cold metal sent a
shiver spine, yet she felt an inexplicable pleasure.

"What are you doing...?"

"Come on, sir. If you want the key, come and get it."

"You want me to...?"

"Take it from me. Come on up! I'm waiting."

"I understand..." His eyes gleamed with excitement. Was this the same gray-haired,
obnoxious , unassuming servant, the willing and loyal
henchman who relayed the organization's instructions?

He approached her step by step until they were very close. She could feel
his . He greedily caressed her bare shoulders, then moved down her smooth neck,
before slipping his fingers between her legs.

On this sweltering Parisian night, his hands were unexpectedly cold; at the same time, O'Lingya found his
touch unexpectedly pleasurable. Perhaps he wasn't the kind of person who was boring to begin with.

"This is improper, miss. I think you understand that. Is this fair to me? You
're not bribing me, are you, Eulenya?" A slight smile appeared on his lips.

"Actually, I can just call the front desk and get out. I'll tell them you accidentally lost your
keys ."

He placed his hand on the telephone on the table beside him.

"All I have to do is pick up the receiver and dial zero. Is that alright, Eulenya, or shall we continue with your little game?"

"That's your choice, Mr. Messenger."

"How silly! Why don't we play some fun games? After all, it
's too easy for me to stick my finger between your legs and take the key. I'm not interested in something so easy."

Eulenya sat down in a Louis-era armchair with interest, slowly crossing one leg over
the other so that the messenger could clearly see the triangle of her pink panties.

"What's your suggestion?"

"I propose playing cards. It's an equal game for everyone, miss."

He opened his briefcase and took out a deck of cards.

"Do you play cards, Oulingya? I think poker is more fun."

O'Lingya sipped her chilled white wine and leaned back lazily in her chair. She was dressed in an Edwardian
-era outfit and high heels, looking quite sexy, though the messenger seemed to have no intention of removing
them. He wore only silk boxer shorts, practically naked. He expertly laid the cards on the table
in front of , a barely perceptible smile on his face.

"Four of a kind. Try to remember them, miss." " 　　My luck is fantastic," O'Lingya exclaimed excitedly. 　　"Absolutely," she pushed the cards towards him. 　　"Look, five flushes." 　　"But…?"

"
Yes 　　, unfortunately, sir. Although you marked the cards, intending to cheat me. I hope you reap what you sow." 　　She stood up and approached him. She was about to carry out her tender revenge ahead of schedule. The messenger's resignation was obvious; the game he had proposed was no longer viable. 　　"I think it's time to begin my game, sir. You must accept your punishment." 　　"What kind of punishment?" 　　"With your body, of course, sir!" 　　The key long forgotten, she bent down and licked his bare chest with her wet tongue. His nipples were hard and prominent, and she couldn't help but bite one. A strong, salty, sweaty smell emanated from him , filling O'Lingya's nostrils and arousing her desire. The long-awaited game had finally begun. 　　As she arched her back, her full breasts hung heavily before him, like ripe fruit. He reached out and grasped them, weighing them to assess their ripeness. His hands were cold and smooth, further stimulating O'Lingya . She released his nipple and pressed her lips to his slightly parted lips. They kissed passionately; the messenger began to caress her breasts, kneading her nipples, and O'Lingya moaned contentedly. 　　She was captivated as the messenger took one of her nipples into his mouth and gently, rhythmically sucked on it . Instinctively, she spread her legs and lowered herself. Her hands slid from his shoulders over his torso, down his waist, over his abdomen, and stopped at his thighs. She tickled his inner thighs with her fingers, then stimulated the sensitive area around his testicles. His breathing quickened, and he sucked on her nipple more forcefully, while his other hand eagerly kneaded her other nipple. She couldn't tell if she was excited or in pain. Finally, unable to resist the urge to make love, she wrapped her fingers around the elastic band of his black silk shorts and began to pull them down. 　　"You broke your promise," she gasped, "you haven't compensated me, sir." 　　He didn't stop her. Who could resist the desires of the alluring Eulina, especially when she was begging? As she forcefully pulled his shorts down by his hips, he groaned and sat back in his chair. His masculinity was fully revealed. The messenger looked so weak and helpless. An ominous premonition enveloped him, the lurking shadow of the organization itself. 　　O'Lingya walked dejectedly into the bathroom, straight to the vanity , picked up a small bottle of bath gel, and poured some into a small glass dish on the table. The messenger watched with utter indifference as she dipped a finger into the gel, a restless desire rising in his abdomen. 　　She knelt between his legs, held the dish to his stomach, and tilted it to pour the gel over his abdomen, letting the liquid trickle down his groin, down to his erect penis. 　　"Ugh, God..." 　　If this is depravity, then depravity isn't so bad. He had wisely reported this girl to the organization's highest council. She was talented, truly exceptionally talented. Her nimble fingers traced his sensitive , kneading the gel into his taut, yearning flesh. 　　O'Lingya had experienced this treatment before; in fact, she learned the technique from that experience at the boarding school her father had chosen for her, a school that championed sexual freedom and liberation. 　　The Limhurst Girls' College, located on the outskirts of the city, was highly respected. O'Lingya shared a room with daughters of nobles, movie stars, rock stars, and even astronauts. Two hundred and fifty meters was a boys' public school, also under Limhurst's jurisdiction. 　　Without Dr. Ahtton's direct permission, no student from either school was allowed to enter another's dormitory for illicit purposes. 　　One Wednesday afternoon, the girls were having a class on "Physiology and Development ," essentially a sex education class. Her mind often wandered; she thought of dance class on the school lawn, of sketching and sculpting in the old house by the lake. But what she thought about most was that massage class she would never forget. She would mix the bath soap, apply the mixture precisely to her lover's abdomen, and then smooth it with her fingers to ease his tension or stimulate his desire. 　　O'Lingya's current skill was unmatched. Interestingly, she learned this technique from her most cherished first sexual experience. 　　That summer, when she was sixteen, her father was away on a business trip, and she was spending the entire summer . 　　One hot afternoon, after buying several bottles of perfume in town, she met the new music teacher, . All fifteen- and sixteen-year-old girls were smitten with Mr. Peterson. He was a real man : tall and strong, with sexy shoulders and a muscular, upright physique. Besides being a full-time music teacher, he loved playing rugby, cricket, and tennis, and insisted on swimming twenty miles every morning before breakfast, then playing the violin with the fervor of a guardian angel. 　　O'Lingya always believed she was immune to him. She was in her developmental stage and shouldn't have a relationship with her teacher. Most importantly, he seemed uninterested in any girl. She had suspected he was gay, and even more strangely, she dreamed that he was indeed gay. On this particular afternoon, meeting Mr. Peterson filled Orinya with more annoyance than excitement. She wanted to be alone...

Here he was, and chatting with her amiably. Strangely enough, she accepted his
invitation to walk with her. As they walked, her anger subsided, and she couldn't help but feel smug:
how jealous her female classmates would be if they heard they were together!

At first, the walk was so boring that she almost wanted to find an excuse to go back to the village and catch
the bus back to school. Gradually, she felt so comfortable with him, especially when he suggested they sit down
and rest for a while; she agreed without hesitation. They
sat , the tall, leafy beech trees casting a deep shade over them.

In the distance, several racehorses galloped past, the crisp sound of their hooves like the rapid pounding of O'Lingya's heart.

Suddenly, she realized that Peterson was sitting right next to her, so close, his fingers touching
her arm.

"Thirsty?"

the music teacher asked, opening his canvas bag and taking out a bottle of mineral water. O'Lingya gracefully took the bottle and greedily
drank. The water was so cool, the rising bubbles like thousands of tiny needles pricking her tongue.
As Peterson drank, she watched his Adam's apple bob, and when she saw his bare, yellow shoulders,
muscular thighs, and golden short-sleeved cotton t-shirt and pleated white shorts, she felt an
irrepressible excitement.

After screwing on the cap, he put the bottle down and then deftly grabbed O'Lingya's bag.

"What's in there, hmm? I've always wondered what you girls carry in your handbags
. What's so heavy?"

"Put it down! Give it back to me!"

"Let me see. Tissues, lipstick, aspirin, an empty condom pouch. What's this?"

He picked up the perfume bottle, and O'Lingya's face turned red with anger.

"Haven't you ever seen a shower gel bottle before?"

He unscrewed the cap and brought his nose close to smell the shower gel.

"Oh. Musk, orange, and sweet. This perfume is too wasteful for bathing, Ollinga.

I think it should be used for something else."

He poured a few drops into his palm and applied it to Ollinga's bare arm. She
trembled at his intimate, deliberate touch.

"Would you like me to demonstrate how to use this oil, Ollinga?"

She didn't answer: there was no need for an answer. Her body
sang with excitement at Darius Peterson's bold touch. His hand slowly slipped inside her blouse, and she collapsed onto the soft leather floor, completely
surrendering to his will. He skillfully unbuttoned her bra, pushed it up, and vigorously rubbed her breasts.
The warm, slippery fluid made her nipples erect, and her panties were soaked with intense desire.

One hand caressed her body, while the other began to undress her.

She couldn't help but feel a little worried: right here, in broad daylight, passersby
would surely see them. But an indescribable, intense pleasure enveloped her. Peterson's skillful touch
quickly dispelled her anxieties; her entire world seemed to consist only of his gliding hand and
the fingertips touching her. He easily removed her skirt and shorts, and she lay sprawled before him, naked
and aroused.

As he poured bath gel onto her stomach and began massaging her genitals, her legs instinctively parted
. His fingers slid between her legs, then parted her labia, adding a few drops of bath gel. As
his fingers continued the massage, she couldn't suppress her excitement and cried out.

The sweet, slippery perfume intoxicated and thrilled her. His practiced technique repeatedly brought her to
a state of ecstasy and ecstasy. She could barely contain her excitement and prayed that this pleasure
would last . His caresses of her body were like a master artist creating a masterpiece; tears
welled in her eyes, and a bittersweet sensation made her writhe.

"Give it to me, give it to me," she pleaded with him, her moans filled with desperate longing.

Finally, he gave in and began to undress. After removing his t-shirt and shorts, he was completely naked. His
body was even more perfect than she had imagined. It was obvious he had groomed his body hair; his skin was smooth,
rounded, and displayed excellent muscle definition. But the most beautiful part was his genitals, beautifully shaped and strong,
with two small balls nestled in his smooth, golden scrotum, full of life, as if ready for lovemaking at any moment.

He opened the perfume bottle, poured some into his palm, and let it slowly flow into his genitals, then rubbed it with his
skilled hands.

"Now I want you, Oulingya, are you willing?"

"Oh, yes…" she heard herself panting.

"Now, just…" he pressed down on her.

They were together on the warm, sun-drenched grass, a ray of sunlight peeking over them through the gaps in the lush
foliage . A rapid hoofbeat galloped past, as if challenging
their pounding hearts…

Now, she was in a Parisian hotel room, applying her finest perfume to the messenger's sensitive
areas . He was the object of her practice, yet she herself now craved being touched, massaged, and
explored, just like that time on the lawn.

As she was lost in her memories, the messenger suddenly pulled her forward, and she fell onto him. His penis
groped for her vagina. She smiled silently as he forcefully ripped the buttons off her panties. She struggled,
hoping they wouldn't come off. With a tearing sound, the buttons finally came off, and
the triangle ripped open, revealing her red vulva.

Her lower body was wet, and the key slipped down, landing silently on the floor; but they had no time
to care. Neither of them was interested in the game anymore. He pulled her closer, allowing his
penis to enter between her wet, burning legs.

"Take me!" Ou Lingya cried out.

His perfume-covered penis was already deeply inside her.

"Take me, no, don't stop..."

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