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But this round remained for the character - the look of Mirzakarim Viktorovich, which she caught a glimpse of in a mirror image when she got up from the sofa, was aimed at her ass.

“Why the hell are you wearing a kimono, Mirzakarim? - Suppressing hostility in his voice, the man noticed and, without waiting for an answer, disappeared behind the door. - Come here!

Although the office was impressive, it still betrayed in its owner a person accustomed to stingy budgets accountable to taxpayers. Unlike the rest of the block - no expensive woods, painted ceilings and other vulgarity. A purely functional table from Ikea, comfortable “retro” chairs in the style of the seventies, landscapes instead of icons and portraits. And already the most complete sacrilege - a framed photograph of the family on the table with the same girl in a sweatshirt and jeans, at whose ass Mirzakarim Viktorovich lustfully stared. But the ventilation in the office was excellent. It seemed to the man in the kimono tha
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