The Dorić Diaries

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u06la14b
u06la14b
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He dallied a bit longer on the balcony, basking in the warmth of the morning sunlight before ducking back into the apartment. He crossed the small living room into the darkened bedroom and stood looking down at the young woman sleeping curled up under the heavy duvet.

Lidija Jurić looked so innocent with her silky hair forming a disheveled halo around her face. She was about eighteen and what had surprised him on the first night was the fact that she wasn't a virgin. The farm she lived on was isolated on a remote hill so it was either the father or her brothers who had deflowered the girl but she had a tight little cunt and was eager to please him.

Her father had dropped her off two weeks ago in return for the extra feed and the four sheep that Lucian had given him. The arrangement they had negotiated was for her to clean and take care of Lucian's apartment but they both knew exactly what was being bargained for. It was the plump, young gash in between his daughter's thighs that the Director lusted after and was paying for.

But, what was a poor farmer to do? The father appeased his conscience by rationalizing his motives for making the deal -- there was nothing at all to be gained by making an enemy of the Director. The girl was ripe and needed to meet other men and maybe Lucian Dragovic would fancy her and make her his wife. Once her brothers started fucking her she would never want to leave. He would speak with her and if she agreed, he would consummate the deal -- he wasn't about to force her to do anything she didn't want to. She would have to agree or the deal was off. At least that is how he appeased his conscience.

He had spoken to her quite candidly taking time to address the real issue and the trouble the farm was in without candy-coating what was being asked of her.

The girl, who had listened attentively, then asked, "What do you want me to do, Papa?"

"He is a very powerful man and we can use his help. It is only for a few weeks, baby, and then you will be back here. What do you think? You think you can do this for the family?"

She was quiet mulling over what her father was asking her to do. 'Who knows,' she thought to herself, 'I may even like him and things may work out for all of us'.

"Okay, Papa, I'll do it for you!" she said and hugged her father.

Karlo Jurić accepted the bribe and delivered his daughter. This was Lucian's modus operandi; bribes and when necessary, coercion to gain what he wanted and it rarely failed.

He smiled recalling the events of the previous night. He had fucked her for a long time, her succulent moans and whimpers thrilling his fragile ego until finally he had pushed her face down onto his pulsing rod and shot his ejaculate down her throat.

He had watched her while she slurped up every drop of his rancid seed, sucking fervently, milking his shaft like a straw, drawing out the very the last drop into her hungry mouth. He was thrilled by the sight of her swallowing his cum, the act disguised as an opiate, leaving him wanting more.

But he was tiring of her and was considering sending her back home. 'The lazy whore sleeps too much and her fucking is getting too predictable. She also seems to enjoy it more than she should,' he thought to himself.

"Get up, you lazy bitch," he hissed, leaning over and shaking the supine form.

The girl sat up sleepily, fumbling under the covers feeling for her nightdress, then rolling off the bed she slipped on the diaphanous camisole tugging at the hem to free the clasp that had snagged in her thick hair. She worked quickly, her fingers untangling the hook and then smoothed the nightie over her body, very conscious of his lecherous stare.

She was short and full bodied; a bit plump but in a pleasant way. She had a pretty face with big, brown eyes and long, dark hair which fell past her shoulders. You could see the outline of her large breasts and the pointed, dark nipples pressing against the flimsy material.

"Can I go home today?" she asked in a soft, clear voice, twirling strands of her hair self-consciously around her fingers.

He didn't answer her but stood studying her every detail. She reminded him of a ripe peach, bursting with juices, ready to be plucked. His eyes wandered from her full, red lips to her cleavage and back again at her mouth and he felt himself begin to harden. He had an unusually high sex-drive and it didn't take much to excite him.

"Come here," he ordered, his voice turning soft and thick with desire.

And when she inched closer he grabbed her hair and pulled her to him, pushing her down onto her knees. Then fumbling with the fly of his pajamas, he pulled out his cock and fed it into her mouth.

"Suck this," he hissed.

His penis was thick and long, curving upwards like a Scimitar, with a huge, plum-shaped head that distorted the girl's mouth grotesquely as she began sucking on him.

It took a moment for her to adjust to the girth of the pulsing flesh invading her mouth but she knew exactly what was expected of her. Her dainty fingers wrapped around his shaft and she began stroking him into her mouth, letting her lips ride the ridge of his glans and despite her feelings for him, feelings that bridged the spectrum of excitement to revulsion, she couldn't stop the tingling wetness seeping slowly between her thighs. She closed her eyes and let her mind wander back to the memory of her first time with her father; his cock stretching her young, virgin cunt while lying on the damp grass behind the haystack, feeling the trickle of their juices comingling down the crack of her ass, exulting in the waves of pleasure as she came over and over again.

"Yes, yes ... ahhhh, yes ... you fucking whore, suck me ... harder, yes, yes ... suck me dry ..." Lucian whispered feeling the increased pressure of her suction and her tongue swirling around his cockhead.

'I'll keep her around for a few more days,' he thought, relinquishing his body to the ecstasy ripping through his boney frame as the sultry images of his next victim floated through his mind. It was that whoring temptress, that arrogant bitch, Sasha Dorić. She would be next and he had a thing or two to teach her.

*******

The Awakening

Farmers everywhere will tell you that on a farm you had to be a little of everything. A vet, mechanic, baker, butcher, electrician, agronomist and whatever else it takes to keep the place running. It was a hard life and all the kids were expected to pitch in with no exceptions and each of us had our assigned chores after school but we loved it and none of us would have exchanged it for anything in the world.

There were five of us kids. My brother Petar was the eldest and helped Papa with the farm. The next was my sister Sasha, her Christian name was Aleksandra but we called her Sasha and she spent most of her time helping our mother in the kitchen. Then it was me, Andelko, followed by my sisters Laura and Kristina, who was the youngest.

Petar and Laura were both blond and blue-eyed like my mother with the distinct features of her Nordic lineage. Kristina and I resembled each other and took after our paternal grandmother; dark hair, large, brown eyes, full mouth and dark, olive-hued skin. My grandmother was from Siberia and often boasted of her Ukrainian bloodlines but in reality she looked more like the Buryats from the Eastern shores or Lake Baikal. They were an exotic, nomadic tribe with ties to China and the Mongols.

But it was Sasha who was really different and stood out from the rest of us. She was strikingly beautiful having inherited the best features from both sides of the family. She had large, sea-green eyes set wide on her oval face and which contrasted with her thick, dark hair. The high cheekbones and thin nose accentuated her full, pouting lips and her ready smile revealed small, even, white teeth. She was tall and full-bodied with the healthy constitution of a farm girl and a demeanor that was intrinsically happy. She was always singing and her smile could light up a room and brighten up even the gloomiest of days. And when she was sad, it made your heart ache. She was gentle, affectionate and loving and surprisingly, a shameless flirt.

I'll never forget the day Papa brought the big bull home from my uncle's farm that was located about seventy miles away in another county. It was the day that set in motion so many irrevocable incidents that have deeply influenced my life.

Papa and Petar had driven there the previous evening in the beat-up, old Volvo so they could return early in the morning, which gave them ample time in case the engine acted up. Of late the L39-Titan had been overheating and Papa hadn't been able to figure out the root cause for the problem.

Petar had cleaned out the lubrication system, flushed new coolant through the radiator and even replaced the mechanical sensors; little poppet valves that regulated the temperature of the engine by controlling the flow of the coolant, but that did not solve the problem. The only solution was to wait until the 6-cylinders that powered the 190-horsepower, direct-injection engine cooled down; then you topped off the oil, added water to the radiator and hoped for the best. So far they had managed and that was more than you could ask for.

There was a sense of anticipation that had started with my mother at the breakfast table. Actually, it had begun even before breakfast. I noticed my mother humming to herself and smiling at us while she prepared the pastry crust for the börek, a treat normally reserved for special days like Easter or Christmas.

"Today, Papa brings the bull," my mom explained as she served us the slightly sweet, flaky confection filled with meat.

"Why, Mama, why is Papa bringing Roko Uncle's bull?" Kristina asked her. She knew exactly why but teasing our mother was a game we all played.

"So we can make the cows happy and make baby cows and get more milk and cheese and yogurt," she replied and seeing the playful expression on Kristina's face, gave her a gentle whack on her shoulder. "Go on with you ... you know exactly why!"

Growing up on the farm we learned about sex quite early on, mostly from watching the animals. It wasn't unusual for us to see the pigs or goats or sheep, all of which are polyestrous, in the act of rutting and sometimes we even got to assist my father when the ewes gave birth to their lambs or kids. The cycle of life was an intrinsic part of farm life and my parents felt that the sooner we learned about it the better. They spared us the silly nonsense about the stork and encouraged us to learn about nature, procreation and the mating habits of the animals on the farm. The rams can get territorial and aggressive when the females go into heat so it was essential that we were able to recognize the signs to avoid unnecessary injury. There was more than one occasion when we've had to dodge a charging ram or an overly aggressive Billy-goat.

"Can we watch, Mama?" Laura, my other sister, asked.

"Yes but you have to stay out of the way ... watch from the back," she answered.

The rest of breakfast was spent talking about the bull and how upset Bruno Lukač, our neighbor's son, would be. Bruno's father has been talking about getting a bull for years but nothing had ever come of it.

Later that morning, while cleaning out the stables I heard the familiar choppy growl of the Volvo's old engine, spitting and hissing in protest, accompanied by the intermittent squeal of its suspension as it rattled along the bumpy, washboard surface of the dirt road which led into the backyard.

"They're here!" I shouted and dropping the broom, rushed out to greet them.

I waved at Petar just as he was lowering the rear door of the trailer. Petar wasn't very tall, about five feet ten but he was built like a wrestler, stocky and powerful. He was the strongest man I knew, even stronger than Papa. He had a thick neck, thick shoulders and the biggest forearms I had ever seen. I have seen him throw a 100 pound sack of feed onto his shoulders and effortlessly leap onto the back of a truck, an amazing feat considering it normally took two men to carry a single bag.

There was a loud, impatient stomping of hooves before Papa led the magnificent animal down the ramp. The bull was like nothing I had ever seen before. He was velvety black with thickly muscled shoulders and a gigantic head. His wide, pointed horns that curved ominously forward were thicker than my arms. The dewlap hung loosely from his neck and the brass ring through his nostrils glittered brightly against the blackness of his broad, glistening nose. The tip of his tail was covered in a tuft of coarse, long hair and his testicles swayed with pompous audacity as he walked. He was awe inspiring in his beauty.

As the bull got closer to the pen where the two cows were being quarantined, he snorted loudly and shook his monstrous head high in the air, baring his lips and hanging his tongue out, tasting the scent wafting through his flared nostrils. His eyes had a wild gleam to them and I wondered how in the world Petar and Papa were going to control him.

"He can smell them ... get the rope! Now, Petar!" my father yelled as he was being dragged towards the fenced enclosure.

Petar reacted quickly running around to the other side and grabbing the second rope. I could see the muscles in his forearms straining with the effort as he yanked back, jerking the animal's neck, and slowing him down. He was by the animal's front haunches with the rope wrapped around his left arm.

The bull's cock was long and thin and was beginning to poke out of its sheath and was covered in a translucent, jelly-like substance that was dripping onto the ground as it walked by us. He swung his head from side to side, his horns raking the air precariously close to Petar.

I felt the palpable tension that seemed to envelope the yard and decided to help.

"What should I do, Papa?" I asked jumping down from the porch and landing almost on top of the animal.

"What are you doing? Get back, Andy, get away! We have him ... it's okay," Petar shouted looking over at me.

But that moment's distraction was all it took. The bull swung his massive head menacingly in Petar's direction, the sweeping arc of its horn slicing through the material of my brother's trousers.

There was a soft ripping sound and Petar's thigh turned bloody immediately but it was almost as if he was immune to the pain. Instead, he stepped back in and kneed the bull in the side of the head and jerked back against the rope then reaching forward he slapped the animal several times just under its ears; "thwack, thwack, thwack", and then it was over - the bull settled down, subdued.

"Petar, are you okay? Petar ...?" my mother called out, the concern etched on her face.

"It's nothing, Ma, nothing ... just a scratch!" Michael replied without breaking stride.

As I watched my brother I realized how much like my grandfather he was, fearless and tough. They were both hard men but with an inherent sense of decency and you never wanted to cross them. Petar had taught me to fish, hunt and fight -- in essence, he taught me how to be a man and for some reason I as I watched him now, I felt a chill run through me. "The demons are dancing on my grave!" is how Grandpa would have explained the sensation. I shook the feeling and climbed back onto the porch. Once the bull had serviced both the cows, Papa led him away to the large meadow that bordered the back of the barn. As he was leaving, he looked back at Petar, motioning to his thigh: "Take care of that, boy!"

Petar waved nonchalantly, "Yeah ... okay, Papa."

Just then Sasha came over.

"Let me look at that!" she said.

I don't remember exactly when it happened but my older sister had taken over the role as the family caregiver. Sasha had a bottle of Mama's homemade remedy with her -- a salve made of Swedish Bitters, Honey and Vinegar. This was our "fix" for almost anything from fevers to cuts!

"It's nothing ... just a scratch," Petar muttered embarrassed by her fussing but I could sense he was enjoying her attention.

"Let me look at it, Petar, stop being so stubborn!" She retorted crouching over to get a better look at the gash.

"It's not a scratch, stupid, he's ripped your thigh open!" she exclaimed.

"Wash it first, girl ... down at the stream," Mama called out to them and went back into the kitchen.

Petar and Sasha looked at each other and then Sasha admonished, "You heard her ... come on, tough guy!"

She took his hand and they walked towards the woods arm in arm.

My first reaction was to go to the meadow to watch the bull but an inherent sense of prescience triggered by the way they had looked at each other piqued my interest.

My sisters, especially Sasha, had begun playing a major role in my sexual fantasies. I didn't think of this in terms of right of wrong or question whether this was good or bad. It felt perfectly normal since they were the only females we had access to. I suspected that there might be something more going on between Sasha and Petar and I wasn't about to miss this.

I snuck out through the side door, running quickly to the back, traversing the yard by the barn, and headed towards the trees. The stream was located about a hundred yards into the woods at the bottom of a shallow ravine that curved around a large rock formation. And here, nestled away from the erosion of the current and shaded by several large trees, was a deep pond where we would come to swim and bathe.

I waited for Sasha and Petar and then trailed a little distance behind them, keeping low so they wouldn't notice me following them. But just as I was about to reach the sanctuary of the outlying trees, my younger sisters spotted me. They had been sitting on the fence on the other side of the barn watching the bull.

"Andy, what are you doing?" Kristina called out, "Where are you going?"

"Shhhh ... quiet! If you girls keep quiet I'll take you to see something special. Do you want to come?" I asked them.

"Why? What's going on?" Laura asked suspiciously, not convinced that there was anything worth seeing.

"I can't tell you ... you'll just have to wait and see," I replied impatiently since Sasha and Petar had disappeared from sight.

Though Laura was only a year younger than me, she liked being with Mama and helping her in the kitchen and rarely, if ever, came fishing or hunting with us. She was tall, almost as tall as Sasha and getting to be a pretty young thing. Not as beautiful as Sasha though -- no one was quite as beautiful as Sasha.

"No, I'm going back to help Mama," Laura said, pushing her silky blond hair off her face and turning towards Kristina, asked, "Are you coming?"

"No, you go on. I'm going with Andelko!" Kristina was four years younger but she was the adventurous one and we often hung out together.

Laura hesitated, debating whether she should come with us, but her dislike for the woods won out and she turned and headed for home.

Kristina stood by my side watching Laura retreat until her silhouette evanesced into the shadows of the barn then holding my hand she looked up and pleaded, "What we are going to see, Andy ... tell me, please?"

I smiled at her and shook my head, "I'm not sure myself, Krissy, but trust me, it will be really special, you'll see."

She smiled and we chased after our siblings as quietly as we could, excited by the dawning of a new adventure.

******

The Creaming in the Woods

We followed the narrow, winding pathway which cut through the trees and brush, alternating between walking and running in spurts, but saw no sign of Sasha or Petar. It was as though they had vanished, swallowed up by the old Sycamores and Firs. We looked around for a while and I was beginning to think that we had lost them and was about to turn back when we heard a muffled noise. It sounded like a soft, strangled cry.

u06la14b
u06la14b
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