Bathhouse affairs

1.

My parents were no longer young, and my wife and I came to their village for the summer. But the summer was very cool, and we hadn't yet built our own bathhouse with my father. We had to spend the entire season, from May onwards, going to the district center, to the city bathhouse attached to the factory. After visiting the public bathhouse for the first time, we met at the exit and my wife was full of impressions. She only complained that there were a lot of people in the women's section. I asked the locals, and they replied that by evening the bathhouse empties out noticeably. A week passed. I went to the city for work, tidying up affairs, and in the evening I helped my father with the construction of our bathhouse. My vacation was about to start in a couple

of days, and for the whole summer, while my entrepreneurial business was in a seasonal lull. The start of the vacation was marked by intensive labor. After that, a bath is the first order of business! My wife and I got in the car and went to the district center. Remembering what the locals said, we arrived around six. The bathhouse was open until nine, but entry was only until eight.

I came out around eight o'clock and waited a long time for my wife. She only came out at nine. Not enthusiastic like last time, but thoughtful about something of her own. I asked what was up, but she brushed it off, saying it's better to go earlier like all normal people, because in the women's section in the evening it's just filth. She's a neat freak, so it all became clear.

By the end of August, we were practically finished on the property, meaning the bathhouse; all that was left was to nail together the doors and shelves.

And so, the day came when we went to wash at the city bathhouse for the last time. My wife had to go back to work at the school in September, and it was time for me to get back to my main business. My parents wouldn't be left without a bathhouse for the winter.

We're washing in the evening again. My wife, as usual, went to the women's section without much enthusiasm, and I went to mine. About half an hour later, the bathhouse attendant comes into the men's section and, as usual, approaches those who are regulars and offers them something. He did this constantly, in the evenings, but he avoided me—I didn't look like a local—I didn't have the worker's tan (on the face, neck, and hands). A few, as usual, two or three, leave with him. And for the first time, he approached me:

"Want to watch some fucking, jerk off? Only a hundred rubles!"

"Sure!"—I became curious, otherwise I'd leave this establishment without tasting all the delights of the service!

A small section, which was being renovated as a "VIP" hall, was separated from the men's section by a corridor with brick walls, covered with polyethylene film splattered with plaster mortar. He led us into a room with a wide bench covered with clean sheets. In front of us was a large, darkened glass, like a screen with a two-meter diagonal. A mirror—I guessed. The bathhouse attendant instructed us not to smoke—the lights are visible through the glass—and not to turn on the light, and then he left.

Soon, about a dozen and a half naked guys with tattoos and broad golden smiles appeared in the hall. The bathhouse attendant entered with them. He opened a small window in the opposite wall, and the guys inspected the hall for a while, apparently the women's section, and then left again. Soon, four young women were led into the room one by one. One of them was my wife. Slender, thirty years old, with neat small breasts and a beautiful face, a neatly trimmed pubic area, she couldn't help but attract men's attention. A lump rose in my throat from the horror of the helplessness and humiliation of the situation. It even got a little dark in my eyes! Understanding what they were about to do to the women in front of us, I began to tremble finely with jealousy and powerless resentment. I clearly saw that she was here not of her own free will, but somehow resigned to her fate. Trying with all my might not to betray my feelings, I looked at the other spectators, who were completely absorbed in the beginning show and had already started playing with their hardening flesh. They looked at the women, including my wife, with rapturous eyes, and that made me feel completely sick.

Meanwhile, the women were surrounded by the guys, who split into groups of three or four. They roughly squeezed the girls' breasts, groped between their legs. My wife obediently spread her legs, allowing herself to be felt, only slightly blushing and trying not to look at the guys, simply doing what she was told. And then I saw her, how she completely without protest stood by the marble bench, bent over, leaning on it with her palms, and spread her legs wide herself. The precision of the familiar movements clearly indicated that this room was well known to her and this was far from the first time this was being done to her. Approaching from behind, one of the thugs began to position himself, and she silently took him into herself without any trace of suffering or horror on her face. Her expression was somehow detached, with indifference, like a person with a broken will, resigned to something unpleasant but inevitable. The fucking began. I saw my wife, who had been turned into a whore, being used, and she—did not resist it, and I simply didn't want to believe what my eyes were seeing. From watching what was happening, I began to feel hot, then cold, a nervous tremor ran through me, and to my shame, my own flesh began to fill with strength. This beautiful and desirable woman was completely different, unfamiliar to me! I didn't know her like this.

I didn't know she could be like this, with anyone. Soon, my wife closed her eyes and began to breathe with her mouth slightly open, clearly experiencing pleasant sensations from what was happening. The stallions changed. Some moved from one woman to another. Waiting their turn, they laughed, smoked, sipping beer. It lasted a long time. My wife, a couple of times without protest, opened her mouth for a blowjob and endured all the slaps and pinches. As for the fucking, by the second partner she was overcome—her face contorted in a grimace and she breathed excitedly through her mouth, involuntarily beginning to enjoy it. But suddenly, after ejaculating inside her, the partner yielded her dripping vagina to the next in line. The penetration of the third caused a reflection of strong arousal on my beloved's flushed face, and with the fourth, she herself was close to finishing, and so she involuntarily began to ride the rapist's cock, making counter-movements with her ass. The next one, the fifth, got the most pleasant part—my wife began to orgasm violently. From the sight of this, I also came. After that, inside me, besides sadness and annoyance, nothing remained of the emotions of the terrible disaster and the feeling of the collapse of the familiar world and love. The mental torment immediately receded—the world had collapsed, and I simply watched as after the fifth, her legs began to buckle at the knees, and the next, already the sixth partner, laid her on her back on the high bench, throwing her calves over his shoulders.

She didn't have time to recover from the orgasm and continued to moan loudly, out loud, which attracted the attention of the other men. A personal queue immediately formed for her, and they simply didn't let my wife recover from the orgasm: as soon as one ejaculated inside her, a couple of seconds later the next man was inside her, and under him she continued to sob, orgasming. The guys liked it, so in that position, after the seventh, she had as many more partners. My wife was clearly in high demand until she completely lost strength and the moans began to subside. The rape of the girls was coming to an end, and all the other women, no longer busy servicing men, waiting for freedom, simply glanced at my wife while the last two who desired her body amused themselves with her. Finally, she too was left alone. The guys left, and following them, tiredly, the women shuffled out. Mine was completely exhausted and could barely move her legs as she left the room. I was in some incomprehensible, stunned state. The observers briskly hurried back to their section, while I was still recovering from what I had seen. erotic stories I witnessed my wife being fucked fifteen times in a row! Seeing the effect the spectacle had on me, the bathhouse attendant winked with a smile:

"Don't regret going to watch?"

"No, but it's all somehow, quick..."

Again, I waited for my wife at the entrance. Trying to hide my agitation, I asked how her steam bath was.

"As usual. I steamed a bit—even got weak in the legs!"

"Just took a long time."

"Couldn't be faster! You know, I told you, such filth gathers there in the evening that you have to wash for half an hour at the end!"

As usual, she didn't lie to me, but she didn't tell everything about what kind of filth it was. She behaved as usual, without showing emotions or impressions from visiting the bathhouse, and only smiled after my words that this was the last time—our bathhouse would be ready for washing by the end of the week.

I worked like hell and kept my word.

A week later, I went to the city, supposedly on business. Came to the bathhouse. Again, the bathhouse attendant is gathering voyeurs, doing his little business. I ask:

"Do women really agree so easily to such bulls?"

"Try refusing! You saw that one, that teacher all prim and proper? She gives it to everyone, without persuasion! Became smooth as silk, but you should have seen how they raped her the first time!"

"The skinny one, with short hair and a scar on her leg? She caught my eye!"

I described my wife quite accurately and the bathhouse attendant confirmed:

"That's her, the poor thing! She resisted the first time. Got so feisty that the guys had to hold her and force her legs apart! For that, they fucked her almost two hours straight, one after another, and before that, as a lesson, when they spread her legs—they whipped her pussy with an officer's belt, and after each man they whipped her again, until she started coming from such a whipping. They fucked her until closing! She barely had time to wash. She even went hoarse from screaming!"

"What was she screaming?"

"Well, first about six guys had their turn on her, and then, also as punishment, they shoved two dicks into her pussy at once! Thought they'd tear her! No. She was lucky."

"So why did she come back again?"

"Did you fall from the moon, buddy?! Try hiding from them! The town is small. They threatened her, said they'd catch her, kill her husband, and fuck her to death with twenty cocks, so she gave in! It's easier for a woman to give it up on demand than to risk that! So, from May, all summer, they've been fucking her!"

I returned home with the knowledge of my wife's secret, about how she was regularly, multiple times over the summer, raped by criminals. I didn't dare confess this to her. I think I did the right thing, deciding that this way she wouldn't suffer from shame at least in front of me, and it would be easier for her to forget everything. I remained silent, and afterwards I tried in every way not to think about what she had to endure, essentially being in the skin of a bathhouse prostitute. I managed not to betray my knowledge of her secret. Afterwards, I only pondered many times why she remained silent then, the first time, didn't tell me. It turns out that knowing my quick-tempered nature, she endured and went into bondage because she was afraid for herself and for me, but for me—more. As for pregnancy from those freaks—she was spared, so screw them! It's all in the past. After all, we won't go there anymore!

And that bathhouse was closed by winter—the investor transferred the order to another factory, where the offer turned out to be more profitable. The factory died without orders. And in the spring, both the factory and the bathhouse attached to it were sold "for bricks."