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I was dead.  And I wanted to stay that way.I watched from a safe distance, standing in the shadows as the police arrived and read my suicide note. All of my clothes were carefully and neatly piled on the bench where I had waited until four in the morning for the streets to empty. My handbag with all of my identification, keys, and critical belongings, was there as well. The police would believe that I had committed suicide in the canals along Oudezziijds Voorburgwal, in front of De Oude Kerk, in DeWallen, the red-light district of Amsterdam. They would never find my body. I hoped they would conclude that I was dead, and the body had washed away or was stuck underwater somewhere.Our son, Eric – Miriam’s and mine – would be raised by his uncle, Hans, and his wife, Marie. Hans was also Eric’s biological father, Miriam’s younger brother, and my occasional Master and lover.  So, Eric would be looked after and raised properly in a loving, wealthy home. As for me, I was wearing the black tube top, miniskirt, and high heels I had stashed in the brown paper bag that I had carried to the canal. My hair was pulled back into the ponytail I hardly ever wore, and I had on octagonal, rose-colored glasses. My lipstick was black, my eyes were heavily made up, and I looked like just another working girl. I tossed the burner phone that I’d used to call the police into a canal as turned and I walked away.I was going back to the gutter where I had started. I was going to hunt the vermin who had killed my wife and Mistress, Miriam. And if I had to go to Hell to bring him down – well, life without Miriam was Hell already, so I would go with both a smile and a sneer on my lips.I had become Die Jägerin – the Huntress. I was haunted by Miriam’s not-so-accidental death and was going to hunt the murderer the police weren’t even trying to find. I cared shit about my life, or anyone else’s – except for our son’s.Bloodlust had seized me, and nothing, and no one, would stop me.I was obsessed, as well as being dead.~~~~~I caught a bus from the red-light district to a restaurant off the A4 autosnelweg (motorway) near Rijsenhout, Netherlands, where truckers bought their breakfasts before pulling out onto the highway. The place was perfect because it put me on the main road to Rotterdam and eliminated the need for multiple hitches or delays. If I caught the right ride, it would be a quick, easy run to Rotterdam, where Gregor was waiting for me. Gregor was a Russian who had survived the gulag, escaped to the West, and settled in Rotterdam. When I was a sixteen-year-old street rat, he had caught me trying to shoplift in his store, but instead of turning me in to the police, he had given me a home, work, and life. When I asked him why, he simply said he had been helped along the way, too.He and Miriam between them were the only reasons I was alive today. With Miriam dead, Gregor was the only person whom I would trust to help me in my obsession. I wanted to keep Hans, Marie, but bahis şirketleri especially Eric well clear of anything I did. They could have no part of my plans. So, the next step, after dying in a convincing fashion, was to get to Rotterdam without leaving a trail. De Muis, the Mouse – my former self – was gone, but she had been perhaps the most accomplished and celebrated sex slave in Europe. Now her sex skills would get me to Rotterdam without having to buy a ticket.I would have thanked her if I hadn’t just killed her off.~~~~~It was a short stroll from the bus stop to the strip with the restaurant, gas station, and fast food joints by the motorway. Since hitchhiking is common in the Netherlands, people were unlikely to take notice of one more girl hitching. And because the places were all busy, I would probably have my choice of whom I wanted to ride with. I went into the restaurant first as likely appealing to a slightly more affluent driver, and one who wasn’t in as much of a hurry. Like most hitchhikers, I’d made a cardboard sign that said “Rotterdam,” and placed it on my table so people could read it. Then I ordered coffee and a salad and waited.As I ate, I made eye contact with anyone whose eyes lingered on my sign, then smiled and acted coy. Before long, a middle-aged guy stopped. He wasn’t bad looking, had a day-old beard, a bit of a paunch, and an English accent. He told me he was a trucker and was headed to Rotterdam. I looked him over, nodded, and said, “Me, too!”He sat down with me, and we chatted for a bit while he inspected me, trying to decide if he wanted what I might offer. I did what I could to help him make up his mind.I spoke with a fake Slavic accent, screwed up my English pronunciation and grammar, and threw in a few Russian and Dutch words. I wanted him to think I was just another Eastern European sex worker looking for a trip somewhere different.He’d obviously been around and didn’t seem surprised by my appearance or accent. After chatting for a pleasant few minutes, he told me which parking spot his truck was in and that we could negotiate the cost of the ride there. He said he’d be leaving in about an hour, and if I wanted a ride I should be there. I smiled and thanked him, then he got up and left.So I had one possibility in hand, and an hour to find a better one. The next candidate arrived for his interview – as I thought of it – about five minutes later, and introduced himself by name: Arne from Amsterdam. I introduced myself as Irina. He was a university student, soon to graduate, who was driving to see his girlfriend in Brussels. He was clean-cut, good-looking, and not pushy. We spoke Dutch, and I again mangled my pronunciation and threw in some Russian and English words.He asked where I was from, and I said Amsterdam now, but originally from St. Petersburg, Russia, arriving in the Netherlands three years ago. He smiled and said he was impressed with how well I spoke Dutch. I nodded shyly and thanked him. bahis firmaları He was smiling and flirting, which was a good sign. I told him I really needed to get to Rotterdam to get away from my boyfriend for the weekend. I’m sure he thought I really meant that I needed to get away from my pimp. He smiled again and said he understood. He went on to say he was leaving in a few minutes, and would I like a ride? He had to get gas, and then he would be on his way.I cocked my head to one side, heard Miriam whisper in my ear, “He’s the one,” so I smiled back at him and nodded, “Yes, please!” and stood up.I took his arm, and accompanied him to his car, smiling up at him the whole way.I was pleased to see his car was a Mercedes, so he wasn’t poor. I got in and settled into the leather seats as he pumped gas, arranging myself to show off my short skirt and legs. And, of course, my ever-ready smile – and mouth. As he drove, we made small talk, and of course, he tried to impress me. I did my best to be impressed.I started by complimenting him on the fancy car, and he talked about that for a while, with me nodding and being surprised and amazed at everything he said. Then he went on to his future prospects, which were just as amazing. He already had a job lined up for when he graduated, he said. He was going to work as an entry-level manager at a shipping company. I was very impressed – he was clearly an important guy!After we had talked about him for a while more, he started to inquire about me, where I lived, what I did for a living, and so on. I’m a store clerk, I told him. He asked how I liked it, and how well did it pay? I looked down and acted embarrassed, stuttering a bit, and finally saying that I also had a job in DeWallen, the red-light district. I hurried on to say that it was only temporary, but that everything was so expensive in Amsterdam, and…well, a poor immigrant girl did what she had to do, right?He smiled and said he knew a number of the girls who worked in DeWallen and had even gone there himself a few times. Well, maybe more than a few, he laughed. He always had a good time and made sure that he treated the ladies well, both as people, and financially. I noticed that he called them “ladies.”I took that as my cue to show some appreciation for getting a ride. We were already fifteen minutes into the trip, and it was only an hour’s drive to Rotterdam. “You know, Arne, Irina is good time, always good time!” I reached over and put my hand into his crotch, rubbing it lightly. “Show you good time, maybe?”I felt his body tense slightly, and after I gave his cock a slight squeeze, I smiled up at him and asked “What do you think? I like you being so nice!” As I continued to massage his cock he squirmed a bit then said, “It’s really not nice to sit there and tease my cock!”Nodding my head in agreement, I looked down and started unzipping his pants. I placed my hand inside his briefs, and began rubbing the tip of his cockhead with my finger. kaçak bahis siteleri As soon as I felt his sticky pre-cum, I pulled my hand back, smiled at him, and licked my finger clean. “No, not nice at all! I think maybe your girlfriend, no, isn’t so nice to you like she should. Maybe a cockteaser and not a cock pleaser, ja?” His reply was what I expected, “She is! I would have had more luck going out with a nun!”That’s when he asked what I charged. I stroked his cock, then told him twenty-five Euros for hand job, fifty for blow job. He said that was a bargain and pulled out 100 euros from his shirt pocket and handed it to me. I continued stroking him until he could find a place to park safely.Then I unclipped my seatbelt and turned fully towards him. Smiling, I reached over and freed his cock from his pants, and grasped the base with the thumb and index finger of my right hand. I bent over it, then lightly squeezed the base of his cock and began licking his cockhead as though it was an ice cream cone. Just before I was about to take his now-hard cock into my mouth, I paused, and said, “Irina is no nun, but you going to decide whether I’m teaser…or pleaser, ja?”Leaning over his lap, I started. When his cock was in my mouth, the only sounds were his breathing, and the loud, slurping noises I made as I sucked him. I could have made him cum fast, but I wanted this to be something he would remember, so I went fast for a while, then, when it looked like he was getting close, I backed off. I let his cock fall out of my mouth, admired it, then licked it along the underside, and back and forth along the head. Then I went down on him again, bringing him back to the edge before backing off again. I repeated this several times until he was squirming and thrusting with his hips.I knew I was reaching his limit when, as my head bobbed up and down, he reached over and started rubbing my back and ass and talking dirty. “Yeah! That’s the way to love a cock! Oh fuck, yeah! Worship it! Show me how much you love being a cocksucking slut!”The nastier he talked, the more vigorously I sucked him. My head was moving quickly up and down his shaft when I felt his body tense, then he grunted, “I’m going to cum!” I knew what to expect next, and even before his hand moved to the back of my head, I took a deep breath. Then I locked my lips tightly around his swollen shaft and pushed my lips toward the base of his cock. Suddenly he pushed hard upwards with his hips, held my head down, and ordered me to “Suck it, slut, take it all!”I will confess, I was somewhat out of practice sucking cock, and started to gag, but as soon as I stifled the reflex and just relaxed, his cock slid deep into my throat. As he held me down, the blasts of his hot cum started filling my throat and mouth. I could have swallowed it all, but there was a lot of cum. He must have been really needing this!So, I acted like it was just too much for me. I let some of his jizz leak from my lips and dribble down my chin. After his last spurt, he let out a long sigh, let his head flop back against the seat behind him, and finally loosened his hold on my head. Then he started rubbing my ass again, smiled, and said, “Good girl!”

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