Hello. my name is Marina. I’m 32 years old, I’ve been married for six years. Brown—haired, medium height, feminine figure – there is something to hold on to, as my husband says. Her small breasts are neatly shaped, her waist is slim and her hips are quite wide.
We live in Nizhny Novgorod, in an ordinary two-room apartment on the ground floor. My husband, Anton, works as a foreman at a construction site, and I am an administrator at a beauty salon. They lived poorly, but quietly. Until last Tuesday.
I returned from work earlier than usual that day. I opened the door and smelled someone else’s cigarettes — Anton and I don’t smoke. There were three pairs of shoes in the hallway. Men’s voices were coming from the kitchen.
Anton was sitting at the table, pale as a sheet. Three people were sitting opposite him. The eldest, a man in his mid—forties, burly, balding, and wearing an expensive but rumpled shirt, introduced himself as Vadim Semenovich. The two younger ones, Roma and Zhenya, are typical bouncers with short haircuts. Roma is red—haired, stocky, with tattoos on his fingers. Zhenya is tall, wiry, with an unpleasant squint.
It turned out that Anton had been playing in an underground poker club for the last three months. I lost my stash first, then borrowed and lost eight thousand dollars. Eight thousand. When I heard this figure, I sank onto a stool, feeling my legs give out. We’ve never had that kind of money. The apartment is mortgaged, the car is broken, and there are zero savings. I looked at my husband, but he didn’t look up. Coward.
Vadim Semenovich spoke calmly, almost kindly. He explained that the debt must be repaid within three days. Otherwise, Anton will have serious health problems. That they know where I work, where my parents live. I tried to explain that we don’t have that kind of money and won’t have it, that the apartment is secured by the bank. He listened, nodded, and then said:
—You’re okay, you’re cute. Well-groomed. Maybe you can work?
I froze. Anton jerked his head up, wanted to object, but Zhenya silently put his hand on his shoulder, and the husband stopped.
— If you work off, we’ll close the debt. In parts. Today is the first installment, so to speak,” Vadim Semenovich continued. — It’s a voluntary matter. If you don’t want to, it’s your business. Then we’ll talk to Antosha in a different way.
There was silence. I was looking at my husband. He looked away. I looked at these three. I knew that no one would help me. Scream? Escape? Where to? The apartment is on the ground floor, the windows are closed, the door is locked. And fear for her life, for her husband’s life, no matter what.
— What should I do? I asked, clutching my purse.
“First, just relax. Make us some coffee, and then we’ll see,” he grinned.
While I was making coffee, my hands were shaking so much that the spoon rang against the cup. Roma stood in the doorway of the kitchen and watched in silence. When I tried to walk past him into the room, he blocked my way and said, “Take off your skirt. It will be more convenient.”
I hesitated for a second. Then she unzipped the zipper and pulled off her skirt, leaving her in a blouse and tights. He took the skirt, threw it aside and let me into the room.
Anton was already seated in a chair by the window. Zhenya stood next to him, putting his hand on the back of his neck, and forced him to look. Vadim Semenovich is located in the center of the sofa.
—Well, let’s get to know each other better,— he said, unbuckling his belt. “Come here, on your knees.”
I walked over and sat down. He took out a penis — thick, not particularly long, with a dark, almost purple head. He smelled of sweat and urine. I squeezed my eyes shut and opened my mouth.
—Open your eyes,— he ordered. “Look at me.”
The first jolt made me choke. He moved slowly, but deeply, pressing on the root of the tongue, causing vomiting. Tears flowed down her cheeks, and her mascara began to swim. I heard Anton sobbing in his chair. The sound of a slap in the face — apparently, Zhenya brought him to his senses.
—Good girl,— Vadim Semenovich praised, winding my hair around his fist. — Apparently, there is practice. My husband was lucky.
Then he pushed me away and handed me over to his Wife. He laid me on the floor, pulled up my blouse, pulled off my tights along with my underwear. His hands were as hard as sandpaper. He spread my legs, entered abruptly, without preparation. I cried out in pain. Anton twitched, but Roma clucked at him, and her husband froze.
Zhenya fucked methodically, steadily, with a kind of lazy indifference. Then they turned me over on my stomach. Roma came over and lifted me by the hips. I screamed when he came in from behind. He moved faster, held her tight, and sometimes slapped her buttocks, leaving hot footprints. Vadim Semenovich sexpornotales.me he stood in front of me again and made me suck his cock while Roma continued from behind. Smells, sounds, rhythmic slaps—all mixed into one nauseating mess.
Zhenya finished the first one — he quickly pulled me out, turned me over on my back and splashed cum on my stomach. Warm, thick drops spread over her blouse. Then Roma— he growled, pressed me into the floor and filled me from the inside. I felt hot liquid flowing down the inside of my thigh. Vadim Semyonovich finished last. He pulled his cock out of my mouth, ran it over my lips, across my cheek, and shot me right in the face, splattering my left eye. I squeezed my eyes shut and curled into a ball.
—You see, what progress,” he said, wiping his cock on my blouse. — Consider that ten percent of the debt has been closed. We’ll come back tomorrow.
They got dressed and got ready. Vadim Semenovich threw my skirt on the floor. At parting, he went up to Anton, who was sitting white as chalk, and said softly:
— You’re lucky to have a wife. If you go to the cops or something, she’ll be worse off than she is today. Understood?
Anton nodded.
The door slammed shut. I was lying on the floor, covered in cum and tears. Anton sat in an armchair and looked at me in silence. I got up with difficulty, leaning on trembling hands, and, without looking at my husband, went to the bathroom. I saw my face in the mirror—smeared makeup, red eyes, cum on my chin. The taste in my mouth was such that I threw up right in the sink. I turned on the hot water to maximum and stood in the shower until my skin turned red. I couldn’t get clean anyway.
The phone rang in the morning. An unknown number. I replied.
—We’ll be there at eight o’clock tonight,— Vadim Semyonovich said. — I’ll introduce you to another partner. He has his own preferences, get ready. By the way, is the anus not developed?
I was silent. He grinned into the phone.:
— Okay, we’ll figure it out on the spot.
The phone beeped, the call was interrupted. It was getting light outside. It was eleven o’clock until eight o’clock in the evening. Anton was sleeping on the couch in the living room, or pretending to be asleep. I stood at the window and looked out at the empty courtyard. I had no thoughts. Only a hollow emptiness and a cold understanding that tomorrow will be worse than today.