All adult women have something to remember on a quiet evening…
Hello.
My name is Tamara. I also decided to write something down while my memory is fresh. I am 42 years old. My figure, as they used to say, is “blood with milk” — short, but well-proportioned, with heavy breasts of the fourth size and steep hips that no skirt can hide. Brown hair, his own, below the shoulders. I work as an administrator in a private dentistry, I’m used to being the face of the clinic — smile, manicure, strict suit. She lives alone: her husband died five years ago, and her son is in the army. Out of boredom, I sometimes indulge in small pleasures — wine on Fridays, dancing in an adult bar, where you can not think about age.
This story happened in November.
I was returning from a corporate party. I stayed up late and had too much to drink. The boss volunteered to get me a taxi, but I refused —I didn’t want him to know my address. He’s been staring at my lap too much all evening. I went outside, it was drizzling with nasty rain, and my phone was almost dead. I caught a private trader, an old Toyota with a checker on the windshield.
The driver was a man in his fifties, big, with a shaved head and strong arms. He introduced himself as Arthur. The cabin smelled of tobacco and something sweet, like cherry air freshener. I gave him the address, he nodded, and we set off.
“Happy birthday, beautiful?” “What is it?” he asked, looking at me in the rearview mirror. “She’s very smart.” I’d take a passenger like that to the ends of the earth for free.
I grinned and adjusted the hem of my dress. Compliments from men I didn’t know always lifted my mood, especially when I was in my fourth decade. We started talking. Arthur was joking, and I was laughing. He said he needed to stop by a friend’s place for a couple of minutes to pick up some kind of order box, it was literally on the way. I didn’t object, I thought: what’s the big deal, I’m not in a hurry.
If only I knew what this “box” was and where it was going to take me.
We turned into the industrial zone. The lanterns were on for one hour, and then they ran out altogether. The car stopped at the iron gates of a garage cooperative. Arthur got out, opened the gate, and drove inside. I heard the gate clank shut behind us.
—Wait a few minutes, Tamarochka,” he said, and disappeared through a door at the back of the garage.
I stayed in the car. It’s been five minutes, ten. I started to get nervous. I took out my phone, and there was only one network light, and it was blinking. I wanted to get out, but the garage door opened and people came out. Arthur and two other men. One was quite young, about twenty—five years old, skinny, with impudent shifty eyes. The second one was older, with a gray beard, stocky, in dirty overalls.
— Here, guys, — said Arthur, pointing at me through the glass. — Look what a gift I got.
I tried the door handle. Blocked. My heart started pounding in my throat.
“Open it immediately!” I shouted through the glass. “I’ll call the police!”
Arthur pressed something on the keychain, the doors unlocked, and I was immediately dragged out of the cabin. I tried to pull away, but they held me tight.
—Hush, hush, beautiful,” the one with the beard muttered, wringing my hands behind my back. “Don’t move, you’ll be safer.” Or do you want us to leave you here on the concrete?
Arthur came close to me and took my chin in his hand:
— Tamara, you’re an adult aunt, you have to understand: don’t scream, only stray dogs will hear. You’d better relax and have fun. We won’t kill you. We’ll just respect you like a man and let you go. Maybe you’ll say thank you later.
I was dragged into the back room of the garage. There was something like a break room-an old sofa, a table with dirty mugs, a calendar with naked girls on the wall. It smelled of engine oil. I’ve already realized that resistance is pointless here. There were three of them, they were stronger, and they clearly knew this place down to the last crack in the floor.
I remember the rest in snatches, like a torn film of an old movie.
I was stripped. The dress was pulled up on my head, the underwear was simply torn off, even the tights were not completely removed — they were lowered to my ankles so that I could not take a step. The first thing they did was put me on my knees right on the cold concrete. Arthur unbuttoned his fly and, without ceremony, shoved his cock into my mouth. I choked, tears flowed from my eyes, but he held the back of my head and methodically moved his hips.
—That’s it, bitch, use your tongue,” he said. — It’s obvious that the slut is experienced, it’s not the first time you’ve served men.
Then they turned me over and threw me on the couch with my stomach down. The one with the beard spread my buttocks and roughly entered from behind, without even bothering to lubricate. I screamed, but the young man immediately put his hand over my mouth. They changed each other, sometimes lingering in me together — one in front, one behind. I was losing track of time. I remember the smell of their sweat, the hard fingers on their nipples, which they twisted until they were bruised, and my own voice, which croaked something unintelligible. Once, to my own horror, I felt a spasm of pleasure in my lower abdomen — and I moaned in a completely different way than a moment before.
— Look, Dimon, he’s cumming, sluts! — Arthur laughed. — And she said, “Let me go.” You love it when they have you in three bows, admit it!
I’m ashamed to admit, but I really came. Under their dirty jokes, under the greedy slaps on my buttocks, under the measured creak of the old sofa. My body betrayed me completely.
They weren’t in a hurry. They smoked, drank beer from cans, and discussed me as a thoroughbred mare—”soft breasts, a good ass, not a woman, but a dream.” Then one of them would climb on top of me again. I couldn’t tell who it was anymore. At some point, Arthur took out his phone and started filming, shining a flashlight on my distorted face. I tried to turn away, but they held my hair.
“Smile, beautiful, for the archive,” he said. — You’ll know how to get into a car with strange men. And if you tell anyone, such a movie will go online.
The young man finished on my chest and rubbed the sperm with his palm like a cream. I lay staring at the ceiling and counted the rusty stains on the plaster.
Towards morning, they finally had enough. Arthur threw my underpants in my face and told me to pack up. I dressed with shaking hands, not getting into the sleeves. The young man took bukvoeb.run to the car and shoved me into the back seat. Arthur got behind the wheel and drove me to my neighborhood in silence, stopping two blocks from home.
—Go ahead,” he said, without turning around. — If you want to repeat it, you know where to look.
I fell out of the car, slammed the door. It was raining the same nasty rain. She hobbled to the entrance, holding on to the walls. It was a good thing that the entrance was empty and the elevator was working — I just couldn’t walk up. At home, I immediately got into the shower and stood there for probably an hour until the hot water ran out. My whole body ached. Purple spots bloomed on their thighs from their fingers, and on their wrists there were marks from grappling. It hurt so much between my legs that I walked around the apartment in a hurry.
I didn’t go to the police. And what would I tell them? That she got drunk in an incomprehensible car? That she let herself be taken to the industrial zone? But Artur doesn’t have a video. I decided to forget.
I went to work a day later, taking time off, allegedly for family reasons. I put on a blouse with a blind collar to hide the hickeys. The boss, Sergey Valerievich, called me into the office, ostensibly to discuss the schedule. He locked the door.
“Tamarochka, you look tired today,” he purred, putting his hand on my waist. — Can I cheer you up?
He’s been hinting at intimacy for six months now. And after that incident, something inside me burned out. I just nodded. I knelt right by his desk and unbuttoned his trousers. Sergey Valerievich was even taken aback by such submissiveness. While he was panting and moving in my mouth, I thought that the boss’s cock was the purest and simplest thing that had happened to me in recent days.
—Tamara, you’re a treasure trove,” he breathed, buckling his belt. — Come back early tomorrow, we will discuss the promotion.
I left the office, fixed my hair and sat down at the counter. It was raining outside. I looked up at the gray November sky and thought: I wonder if Arthur still keeps that video.
I wrote this exclusively for myself. They say that if you put your experiences on paper, it becomes easier. I don’t know. I haven’t felt any better yet. But maybe at least I’ll stop dreaming about this garage.
This is not fiction. Although my friend, who sometimes brightens up my lonely evenings, said when he read it that I was being overly dramatic. And he grinned and asked to describe “the one with the beard” in more detail. Men… You’ll never understand what we’re going through, even when you think you’re just having fun.