Voluntary concentration camp

Voluntary Concentration Camp.

This story was told to me by my acquaintance Yura, with whom I once worked at a sugar factory in the mid-70s. I worked as an on-duty electrician back then, and he was a loader. We worked the same shift; Yurka was about 6 or 7 years older than me. Once after work, we were drinking together—and he was quite the drinker, I must say—but to his credit, he always showed up for work, though in what state was another matter: either drunk or hungover.

We were drinking in the Primorsky Park. After finishing a bottle of wine, we went to the store for another bottle. As we were walking through the playground, Yurka says to me, "See that lady walking?" and nodded towards the carousel where

a beautiful couple was standing, and their child was riding the carousel. Then he tells me that he fucked that lady, and not just anywhere, but at the old man's place. "Where, where?" I asked again. "At the old man's," he replied. "Fuck off, I was there a couple of times; how she could end up in that dump, I can't even imagine." "Alright, let's get a 'bomb' (that's what they called a 0.7-liter bottle of wine back then), and I'll tell you everything," he said. "Yura," I said, "are you sure you didn't mix something up?" And he says to me, "I swear on my teeth." "Alright, tell me if you're not joking." We got the wine and a couple of beers, sat down on a bench, and started drinking slowly. "Well, go on, tell me," I said, and Yurka told me this story that made my hair stand on end—back then, I still had some, by the way.

He had an acquaintance named Valera, who was staying at the old man's place at the time—or rather, hiding or lying low from the cops at this old man's place. So, to put it briefly, Valera was a real Soviet "trubolyot" (a loafer, a parasite). When he was in school, a girl named Alyona liked him; she was either a classmate or from a parallel class—I didn't go into too much detail. After school, Alyona enrolled in the Polytechnic Institute but dropped out after about three years. She got married, had a son, and her husband fully provided for the family—he went to sea, either as a captain's assistant or a navigator, I don't remember exactly. They lived in a good area on "Klaipėdas" Street, in a two-room apartment in a new building. She was always very well-groomed and well-dressed—in other words, a life many would envy for the mid-70s.

Valera, on the other hand, was drinking himself into the ground, had been in trouble with the law repeatedly, and constantly had legal problems—in short, he was on a downward spiral. Valera, also known by the nickname Valerian, was hiding at the old man's place at the time. The old man lived in a wooden house; I'd been there a couple of times with Yurka. I don't know if my vocabulary is enough to describe that atmosphere, but I'll try. So, the windows of his living room/kitchen faced the yard; right in front of the window was a woodshed. This room never saw the sun. The porch, the door, a small hallway—straight down the hallway was the toilet. To the left lived Baba Masha, thanks to whom at least some order was maintained in the hallway and toilet. Baba Masha, as long as I can remember, was always walking around with buckets or basins. A bit further down was another room, like a shared kitchen or laundry room, smelling of laundry soap and food waste. And to the right was the room where Valerian and the old man lived. The room was about 20 square meters. On the left was a wood-burning stove that also served as a heater, a sink with a dripping copper faucet and a pile of dirty dishes in it, under the sink a bucket for slops, next to it a two-burner gas stove with a cylinder, so filthy I can't even describe it. In the middle stood a round table, a couple of chairs, and about six stools. Against the wall was an iron bed with a striped mattress and a sheet the color of dirt, all covered with two prickly army blankets. Near another wall was a broken-down sofa. By the entrance stood a box with a couple of shoes and one felt boot inside. On the wall, clothes hung on nails; the door was also studded with nails. Next to the sofa was a nightstand filled with all sorts of junk, from dishes to rags. The filth there was unimaginable. On the table were a couple of canned food cans used as ashtrays, stolen faceted glasses from soda machines, a dim lamp with a fabric shade of some indeterminate color, a fairly high ceiling about three and a half meters tall. It was damp and cool there even in summer; the smell of a damp, smoke-filled room goes without saying. The windows were always covered with curtains the color of a floor rag, a yellow ceiling, peeling wallpaper, newspapers glued in places here and there, a sticky floor that only along the walls retained the red color of the paint. Well, that was the interior.

That day, Yurka was on a "bender"—that is, on a deep drinking spree—and he was drinking at Valerian's place. Also there were the usual buddies: Erik, always in a striped sailor's shirt he never took off, with a complete absence of front teeth both top and bottom; his friend, the loafer Yankya; and the old man, the only legal tenant, who never let a cigarette out of his mouth—as long as I remember him, he always smoked like a steam engine, lighting one cigarette from another.

And then there was a knock on the door. "Who's there?" asked the old man. "Is Valera in?" On the doorstep stood Alyona. "Oh!" shouted Erik. "The pyramid has arrived!" Valera walked up to her and asked, "Did you bring booze?" Alyona took three bottles of Port wine 777 out of a branded bag. "Now we're talking!" They closed the door. They didn't let Alyona near the table. "Old man, give me the blanket," said Valerian, opening a bottle and pouring it into glasses. The old man spread the blanket on the floor. He came to the table; everyone present drank a glass. According to Yurka, it gave the impression that Alyona had been there before. The rowdy Erik walked up to her and said, "Well, what are you standing for? Strip." She took off her raincoat, hung it on a nail. "Come on, bitch, faster." She undressed completely naked, neatly folding her clothes on the box by the door. Taking a small towel from her purse, she went and stood on the blanket. It looked as if a dazzlingly white pearl had fallen into the mud—onto a dirty blanket (and there was nothing clean in that apartment). A beautiful, well-groomed, shaved where necessary, petite girl stood there, simply offering herself up for defilement. The pest Erik was the first to approach her. "On your knees, bitch." She obediently got on her knees. Erik unzipped his fly and took out his non-working member; he suffered from impotence, his dick never got hard. "Suck, bitch, better suck." About guys like Erik, they often said, "If he can't fuck you, he'll pester you." Alyona already knew about this and calmly continued to suck his dick, which more resembled a rag and showed no signs of life. "Ah, fuck it, I'd rather go have a drink. She sucks like shit, doesn't know how to take it at all." "Waffle"—back then, the word "blowjob" wasn't used at all. Erik went to the table and started telling a story everyone knew by heart: "I remember, I picked up a chick on the beach, Ninka..." Yankya immediately corrected him: "Last time she was Zinka." "No, no, Ninka." Everyone burst out laughing. "Well, she gave me head, I came in a minute," Erik continued his story. "Listen, Erik, stop bullshitting. No one has ever seen any Ninka or Zinka, and your dick has never gotten hard, so cut the crap." "Yeah, that's right," said Valerian. "Everything's fucked up with him. Look, bitch." He walked over to Alyona, took off his pants and underwear, and literally shoved his dick into her mouth, all the way to the balls. After a minute or two of good sucking, he grabbed her by the hair and came in her mouth in front of everyone. "Eat, my dear classmate." Alyona swallowed everything from her friend, whom she had once been in love with. "And you say she sucks badly? Whatever, whatever, but she knows how to suck, right, Alyona?" She remained silent. After drinking some wine, Valerian said, "Yankya, Yurka, what are you sitting there for? Give the bitch some pleasure." Yankya gave it to her in the mouth, and my acquaintance fucked her from behind. "Pyramid!" squealed Erik. The old man watched Alyona intently. When everyone finished, they went to the table to drink—a glass of wine. Erik gave it to Alyona in the mouth again, but it was useless. While drinking, Yurka asked Valerian, "Where is she from?" "Who?" Valerian didn't catch on at first. "Oh, about Alyona." "Yeah, I've never seen her here before," said Yurka. "Yeah, we went to school together. And then, about a year and a half ago, we ran into each other in the city. Well, word for word, 'How are things?' 'Fucked up.' We got some wine and crashed at my place. I was still living at my own place then, before the cops started coming around. And at my place, Timokha and Mitka were staying before their stint—in short, we came in, drank, and got going. I tell her, 'Don't offend the boys.' She burst into tears, snot bubbles. Well, you know Mitka—you can't break him with tears. Well, well, he gave her a couple of light slaps on the face. Her legs just went to her knees on their own. Her mouth, from sobbing and snot, was already wet. She sucked Mitka off right away, then us. As they say, there was no need to cry anymore. Then they passed her around a couple of times—in short, had a good time. She even threw in some money for us. I even walked her to the pawnshop; she pawned two rings there on my recommendation. Now, the bitch is cunning, she comes to us without her jewelry. Well, that's how it is. Oh, by the way, Yurchik, did you give it to her in the 'fang'? I highly recommend it. Though Yankya sucks well too. Alyona, come here, make our buddy feel good, suck him like a top pro." Alyona took Yurka's in her mouth. Yankya positioned himself behind and started fucking her. Then, as usual, Erik butted in: "Yur, shove it in her all the way to the tomatoes so her eyes pop out of their sockets." "Hey, Erik, fuck off, let me finish in peace. She's sucking fine." "You've gotten soft, Yurych." "Fuck off, pest." "Oh, oh, everyone's so nervous now. Can't even say anything, right, old man?" The old man just smiled silently. As Yurka told it, she really did suck excellently. When Yurka finished, Yankya also gave it to her in the mouth, saying, "Something's wrong, I can't come in the pussy. Come on, suck, Alyona. Probably tastes better from the pussy." "Better or not, but cleaner, that's for sure," Alyona thought. Yankya had one advantage: he got excited quickly and came just as fast. "And how did she end up here?" Yurka continued the conversation. Meanwhile, Erik was at Alyona again, making her lick his balls. "And then," Valerian continued, "I met her in our neighborhood; she goes to some hairdresser here. That was about 7 or 8 months ago, I don't remember exactly, I won't bullshit. Well, I showed her where I'm staying now." "I see," said Yurka. "And why don't you let her near the table?" "Well, Antokha put her in her place; she almost burned the whole place down to the cops." "Seriously?" "Yeah." And then someone knocked on the door. "Who's there?" asked the old man. From behind the door, a conversation was heard: "Hello, Baba Masha." "Hello, Antosha." "Is Valera home?" "Yes, yes, they're all at the old man's." Alyona, licking the balls of the relentless Erik, was covered in goosebumps and turned pale as a sheet. On the doorstep stood Antokha. "Hey, guys." "Hello, old man." The old man was the only one dressed; the rest were half-naked in shirts, T-shirts, and only Alyona was completely naked. Everyone was slapping around on the dirty, sticky floor barefoot. "Fuck, I came just in time." Anton was an experienced criminal, had been in prison three times, starting as a juvenile, then like everyone in his circle: theft, fights, vagrancy, etc. "Oh, Alyonushka," Anton said with a smile. "Remember me?" Everyone burst out laughing. "Don't rush, Alyona, I'll have a drink now and get to you." Alyona was simply shaking with fear, unable to control herself. Anton put two bottles of "Izabella" on the table. "What are you drinking?" "Three 777s." "Where'd you get them?" "Alyona brought them." Anton downed a glass and started taking off his pants. He took off all his clothes except his underwear and shirt, and ceremoniously stepped onto the blanket podium. "Well, guys, watch, the show begins." Everyone moved their stools closer to the blanket. "Well, what, ass, remember me?" Antokha took off his underwear, showed his bolt—it was about 27 centimeters and very thick. "A real beauty, right? So, Alyona, come here, we're going to probe your insides. So, dear, face down, ass up, and without a fucking sound." Alyona lay face down on her small towel, which she had spread on the blanket, and gripped the blanket with all her might. Then the main pest, Erik, giggled: "If I had a dick like that, I wouldn't work at all." "Yeah, you and so

According to my acquaintance, she visited the old man a couple more times, and there was even talk she was asking for trouble with the "Liga," but there are no witnesses to that, so everyone can imagine for themselves what happened there. I, however, recorded this story from the words of a participant in these events.

P.S. Interestingly, in these unsanitary conditions, she didn't catch any infections.

— You are absolutely clean," said the chief physician. "There are some small tears in the anus, but they are already healing calmly. Don't worry yourself; your husband is not cheating on you. You have a stable sexual partner, believe me on my word!" said the chief physician!!!