Fishing

I'm 35, but I look much younger. Constant care for my body and my build allow me to look 27-28 years old. I've been married for 18 years now. Over these years of married life, my husband and I have gotten so used to each other that we even started thinking alike. But on the other hand, our sex life has become not only mundane and monotonous but also a rare occurrence. Once every two or three weeks, he'll push me down and fuck me in a hurry, without even taking off my pajamas, and sometimes I can't even get that from him. There have been times when he didn't touch me for a whole month. This, I must tell you, is a lot for me; I can't abstain for so long without damage to my (mental) health. I become nervous, everything is wrong for me, I'm dissatisfied with everyone. My husband can go a month without fucking—and it's nothing—he has work, he gets tired, he's not up for sex, but I'm not like that! I can't say he pays no attention to me at all, doesn't give me attention; we communicate perfectly, but it just doesn't come to sex.

We tried to somehow diversify our sex life. We tried different positions. Once, my husband tried to stage rough sex. He grabbed me by the hair and started forcing me to say that I was a whore and had to please him. This behavior of his angered me, and I refused to do it for him. He slapped me on the ass. I got scared and tried, purely instinctively, to break free and run away from him. He let me go and allowed me to run. As a result, he left me alone that evening, but I caught myself thinking that I wanted him to catch up with me, give me a slap, and, throwing me to the floor, roughly take possession of me. I was simultaneously afraid of violence against myself, afraid of the pain he could cause me, but I also wanted it. For the first few days after this incident, I could only think about it and was constantly aroused by the thought that he might rape me like the lowest whore. But my upbringing did its job—I couldn't tell my husband about it, although I felt like I was provoking him to treat me roughly, but he just didn't understand.

Our sex was as gray and monotonous as November days. I was already starting to think that my dreams would remain just dreams, but then an incident happened to us that turned everything upside down.

It was a hot summer. Our child was in the village. We didn't visit often, once a month on weekends—the village was very far away. On other weekends, we went to relax outside the city, but not far from it. One Saturday, we decided to swim in one of the many lakes outside the city. We chose one that wasn't far but was sparsely populated, and my husband insisted on it because he also wanted to fish there.

My husband, unlike me, is a passionate fisherman. He took an inflatable boat and fishing gear with him. When we arrived at the lake, he inflated the boat and went off to fish, and I stayed by the car. Though what fish bites in such heat? I went for a swim, and since I knew about his passion, I had brought an interesting book. I was lying in the shade, as it was very hot in the sun during the day, reading.

At first, I could see my husband, but then he sailed behind an island in the middle of the lake, and I lost sight of him. Suddenly, I hear the noise of a car on the forest road leading to the lake. We had arrived on the same road. The road approached the lake and turned, skirting it. We had parked the car right on the road—it was impossible to go around. Usually, my husband parks the car to the side so as not to bother others, but this time he parked it right on the road, as if on purpose! Probably thought that in such a remote place and heat, no one would come.

The car drove right up and stopped. It was a battered, worn-out red "nine" (VAZ-2109) with tinted windows and regional license plates splattered with mud, although you couldn't call the car itself clean. "Where did they find mud in such heat?"—I thought automatically. The driver got out of the "nine"—a short guy about 20-23 years old, dressed in a red T-shirt and Adidas sweatpants. He, loudly swearing with obscenities, suddenly saw me.

— Hey, is that your car? Move it, bitch, can't you see we can't get through? — he addressed me.

His swearing and the absence of my husband (I don't know how to drive myself) suddenly scared me a lot, but so as not to show him I was afraid, I unexpectedly, defiantly answered him:

— I don't know how to drive—no keys, they're with my husband, and he's over there, — I waved my hand towards the lake.

— And when will he be back?

— I don't know. And if you need to, then take the other road or go on foot!

— Vasily, what the fuck are you doing here bullshitting? — a voice suddenly came from the car, and a second guy of about the same age got out, but more massive, with huge biceps, in an unbuttoned short-sleeved shirt and worn blue jeans.

Seeing him, I got really scared. I realized the full horror of my situation. Two guys, my husband—far away—screaming—he probably wouldn't hear.

— Yeah, see, Tolya—this chick here is acting up—can't drive, husband's far away, suggesting we go on foot, — Vasily answered him.

— What the fuck are you feeding us? Move your rattletrap and be quick about it.

I tried to explain to them that I couldn't do that. The car keys are with my husband. Anatoly was about to say something but changed his mind and, quite unexpectedly for me, suddenly said in a very peaceful tone:

— Sorry, it slipped out. Don't worry so much, we'll just push your car a little to the side from the road and drive through. My name is Tolik, his, — he nodded towards Vasily, — is Vaska, and what's your name?

Taken by surprise, I was taken aback. The soft, quite friendly tone confused me. I was silent and didn't know what to answer. Tolik smiled broadly in response. His smile finally convinced me that I shouldn't be afraid of them.

— Lena, — I introduced myself.

— Let's push, — Tolik said, turning to Vasily, — and added, slapping the roof of his "nine," — and you, Petrusha, why are you sitting there, the laziest one? Get out, we're going to push!

A fair-haired guy about 18 years old with a bare torso and shorts crawled out of the back door of the "nine." The three of them approached me. I was standing next to the car and didn't know how to behave. Tolik and Vaska were smiling, but a vague feeling of anxiety didn't leave me. Anatoly opened the door, got into the car, took it off the handbrake, and commanded: "Come on, push!" Vasily and Petrusha strained and pushed the car to the side of the road. The path was clear. Tolik apologized again, and the trio, getting into the car, drove off along the road by the lake.

I had just breathed a sigh of relief and, mentally calling myself a fool, thought: "Quite normal guys, and you were scared," when the car stopped about 50 meters from me. Anatoly got out, looked at the car's wheels, and headed towards me. An unexpected voice made me flinch: "Lena, sorry, do you happen to have a pump? We have a flat tire." Shrugging my shoulders, I climbed into the trunk and, rummaging around, suggested he look himself. He quickly found the pump and offered: "Come with me, we'll quickly pump up the tire and give you back the pump so I don't have to come back." The thought crossed my mind that I shouldn't go with a strange guy to the car, but the thought that I had given them the pump and they, after inflating the tire, might suddenly drive off without returning it, made me, overcoming the growing feeling of anxiety, follow him.

We approached their "nine." Anatoly tapped the rear wheel with the toe of his sneaker and said: "Maybe we don't need to pump it up? Maybe we can make it like this?" I stopped a couple of meters away from him, waiting.

— No, I won't pump it, enough, we'll make it, — he said, looking at me, and added, — thanks for the pump, — and handed me the pump.

I took a couple of steps towards him—the distance separating us decreased. I found myself between him and the rear car door, reached out my hand, and took hold of the pump, but Anatoly didn't let go of it. I pulled the pump towards me, he pulled it towards himself, and thus I ended up right next to him. Suddenly, the rear door swung open, and Anatoly, grabbing me, shoved me into the car. I didn't even have time to gasp. The car, roaring its engine, jerked forward, raising pine needles and road dust with a spin of its wheels. I was sitting on the back seat between Petrusha and Anatoly. I tried to scream, but Anatoly, grabbing me by the throat, hissed: "Just scream, I'll strangle you!" I fell silent in fear. The car raced along the forest road, swerving on turns and bouncing on potholes for about 10 minutes. On the back seat, we were tossed from side to side. My kidnappers reeked of male sweat. A turn appeared ahead, the road turned into the forest. We turned into the forest. We drove for another 5 minutes and stopped. Fear paralyzed me. I sat motionless; I think, despite the midday heat, I was trembling. Vasily got out of the car and started rummaging in the trunk. Tolik dragged me out of the car and, holding me firmly by the hair with his hand, ordered:

— Be quiet and obedient, and I won't maim you, but if you struggle—I'll cut up your whole face, — and to confirm his words, he took a switchblade from his jeans pocket, the blade of which jumped out with a dry click. Bringing the blade close to my face, he repeated:

— You got all that, bitch? I don't hear an answer! — he touched the tip of the blade to my cheek and pressed slightly. It hurt. I got even more scared and couldn't utter a word. Then he, yanking my hair, repeated the question. I tried to nod to him, but the knife at my cheek didn't let me do that. Enraged, he started winding my hair around his hand. It hurt a lot, but apparently that brought back my ability to speak.

— Don't, I won't scream, I said, bursting into tears from pain and humiliation.

— Scream, don't scream, no one will hear you anyway, you bitch. We're going to fuck you now, but only if you agree, and if you start struggling, we'll fuck you anyway, but we'll also cut up your face. And who will want you after that? So you won't lose anything if we play with you. Well, so what are we going to do?

I was silent. I couldn't believe the reality of this whole nightmare. Tolik, yanking my hair again, asked threateningly again:

— Why are you silent, bitch? Swallowed your tongue?

— No, no, I agree, I'll do everything you say, but just don't... me..., — I faltered.

Anatoly and Vasily laughed loudly. Petrusha stood nearby and watched all these actions with uncertainty. It was clear that he was in such a situation for the first time and didn't know how to behave. Meanwhile, Vasily took a canvas bundle from the trunk and, spreading it on a clearing between the trees, arranged vodka, glasses, canned food, and bread on it.

— We're going to have a fucking great picnic now, — he said loudly and added, — vodka—check, snacks—check, chick—check, what else do you need to get high? Come on, sit down, why are you standing?

— Who's first? — asked Tolyan, as he was apparently the senior in this company. His friends were silent.

— Maybe we should offer the young one first? He probably hasn't been with a woman yet, — Vaska suggested with a smirk.

— Well, I don't mind, take her, use her, — Anatoly guffawed.

Petka blushed deeply and sat silently.

— Well, why are you sitting? Go, — Tolyan nudged him, — go to the car, — he added, now addressing me.

Petrusha stood up and, pulling me by the hand, said:

— Well, you know, let's go or something...

I really didn't want to go anywhere, especially with Petrusha; green youths don't appeal to me at all, especially since both Vaska and especially Tolyan had quite prominent bulges in their pants.

— Come on, come on, don't drag it out, go, teach the kid, — Tolyan said to me and, pinching my breast, nudged me in the side with his elbow.

I got up and, with a swaying gait, followed Petka. We approached the car. He pushed me towards the open rear door. Unexpectedly, pangs of conscience broke through my vodka-fogged brain, and I plaintively asked him.

— Maybe we shouldn't, I don't know you at all, I have a husband...

— What the fuck? — he was surprised, they told you nicely, or else we'll cut up your face, — and pushed me into the open rear door of the car.

I sat sideways on the seat, turning my head towards him. He stood in front of me and started pulling down his shorts along with his underwear. I looked at him and couldn't believe the reality of everything that was happening. "Who am I? A whore? A bitch? Or a faithful wife who should be loyal to her husband?" Of course, I had some side amusements without my husband, but what was happening here was simply extraordinary.

— Well, in short, suck it, come on!

I, with disgust, brought my lips closer to his tip—he simply reeked of a long-unwashed body. I felt disgusted. Petrusha, seeing my confusion, grabbed me by the back of the head and shoved his cock into my lips. With disgust, fighting nausea, I opened my mouth and swallowed his cock. He, rolling his eyes, started helping me, moving his hips. His cock slid around in my mouth, reaching my throat. I endured it with difficulty. After a couple of minutes, he groaned and started to cum. I wanted to pull away from him, but he, unexpectedly for me, suddenly grabbed me by the hair, not letting me pull away, and ordered:

— Swallow it all, bitch, whore!

I had no choice but to swallow all his cum. He pulled away from me and, pushing me in the chest, causing me, now completely drunk, to fall back onto the car seat, said:

— Lie down, rest, and I'll bring something to drink.

It felt so good to lie down! My head was buzzing from the alcohol. I relaxed and spread my legs, which had been tightly clenched until then. I was brought back to my senses by a commotion near me and someone's touches. I open my eyes and see: Petka, leaning over me, trying to pull off my panties. When I was captured, I was

only in a swimsuit, so the two pieces of fabric of the swimsuit presented no barrier to the rapists. I tried to resist, but he, pinning down one of my legs, still managed to pull off my panties, spread my legs even wider, and ordered:

— Lie still, don't struggle!

— Well, you bastard, bitch, spread your legs and lie still!

I was lying still, couldn't be stiller, but I spread my legs even wider. Wanting to get this over with quickly, I bent my left knee, then, catching his cock with my hand, guided it into me between my legs. He, feeling himself inside me, started moving in a frantic rhythm, whimpering. A real—hurricane of passion. But his passion quickly spilled