- Yes, I went to Musa, uchara, the girl shot, but then I left ... No, I do not know where I went ...

There was no sense in lying to “Zelenka”, on the contrary, if he knew that something had happened to the straley, he would have already been in the office of the special person and would knock like a woodpecker. After a couple of demonstrative events, there is no need to stumble on stripping the “quarantine” by the troops. Yes, the times of humanity, tolerance and human rights remained in the distant, almost fabulous, past.

To calm his conscience, Vanya decided to check the premises. Corridors, rooms, utility rooms, lounges, kitchen. Passing through the bedroom of the “krasavits”, who slept after the work shift on the occasion of the morning, he got something unreal out of the general picture with his peripheral vision. Stopped in his tracks.

Anya lay on a dirty, greasy trestle-bed, wrapped in some kind of rotten cloth, saturated with human secretions. As if feeling his gaze, she opened her eyes. Silent scene. Each of them did not know what to say. Distinct phrases could not have been formed, caught up in a whirlpool of fragmentary thoughts and emotions. Anya was hard to recognize in such a way: a thin, haggard face, with deep sunken eyes that were no longer cornflower as they once were, but with the color of cracked, faded window paint. Her body was completely covered with wrinkles and folds, her hair resembled a bundle of rusty wire. From the former dizzy beauty that made men go crazy, there was not a trace left. But the sergeant could not be mistaken, it was precisely Anya, that same Anya, because of which he, at twenty-three, had slipped to the level of a yard wino, and three years later was one of the first to sign up for the front as a volunteer, having passed the medical commission with a creak.

She suddenly flinched all over like a wounded animal, and recognition appeared in her eyes.

- Vaanichka - she croaked in a trembling voice, weaned from the Russian language.

He approached her and held out a half-empty flask of water. She stuck to her, trying not to miss a drop of precious moisture, tensely pulling her head into her shoulders, as if fearing that she would be hit or taken away from the flask.

“Lord, Ivan thought, she must be twenty-four years old, and she looks like forty-five.”

Having devastated the flask, Anya eagerly licked the last drops of liquid from her dirty fingers and returned it to the sergeant.

“I will tell you ...” said the ex-bride quietly, after a short pause, without raising her eyes.

- What for? - Ivan’s gaze was full of pain and pity.

- You have to understand everything and make the right choice.

The story of Ani.

His name was Gafur. I met him when I went on holiday to Turkey with Lenka and her boyfriend. At that time we just talked, he gave flowers, gifts, rolled around the city in his car, told about his homeland ... We continued to communicate and when I arrived from Turkey, via the Internet, by phone. After two months of such communication, he suggested that I go to visit him. Remember when I was leaving "for the funeral of Uncle Sasha in Khabarovsk"? In fact, I went to him, to the Emirates, where I changed you for the first time. I was a little drunk and he is persistent. Truth be told, I didn’t like sex with him, sluggishly and quickly ... But for me it was then a new world: after a dormitory and rented apartments - a five-star hotel, instead of dirt and razdolbaystva outside - cleanliness, beauty and order. Then he made me an offer. I refused, I really loved you very much ... and I love ... only you. But when I returned to Russia, it all flooded again - hopelessness, begging, filth ... I could not do that, forgive me. After that night I left for him.

We played a rich wedding, then it was the first wedding night.You will not believe me, but at that moment I was disgusted with myself, I was terribly rotten at heart. But nothing was impossible to change. The honeymoon we spent in Paris brought me out of my depressed state. It seems to me that Gafur mixed something into my food and drink. I suddenly began to constantly have fun, enjoy every little thing, and most importantly, every day, every hour, always wanted sex! I flowed from one of his views, and during the fucking time (five to seven minutes, I missed him more) I managed to finish three to four times. The head was empty and light, there were no thoughts at all, as Ghafur said, it did just that. But then he was still gentle with me, and life was beautiful.

After a month in France, we returned to the Emirates. I was settled in his mansion, more like a fortress. Then it all turned out. It turns out that I was not his real wife, this is their some special type of marriage, something like civil - no obligations from a man and complete submission from a woman. Ghafur already had an official wife, a terrible bitch named Maryam. He had two more "civil" wives - Ukrainian Les and Julia. I was immediately explained my place - homemade whores. I needed only one thing - to appease him in bed, to expose my holes on demand, and generally to please the eye. I had to accept Islam, learn Arabic and obey their laws. I tried to escape when I realized this, but I was still caught on the territory. Then they put me in a room, like a punishment cell, and, apparently, again fed this garbage. Again this euphoria and lust. My hands were chained so that I couldn’t reach the crotch, they watched me for food and help, so after three days I was ready to devour the earth, just to feel my cock inside me. When Gafur finally fucked me, self-satisfied giggling, saying that I was puzzling from myself that it was not clear that, in fact, she was just like a slut like all Slav women, then I ended up unconscious.

This rubbish did something with the brain, I did not recognize myself, I have never been like that. I was lying like a little dog at his feet, begging for sex, and the girls from Ukraine were lying next to me. Every time I told myself that I would be strong, that I could not live like this ... But my pride and will disappeared as soon as I saw any man, fuck was my drug, I lived from fucking to fucking, I was not interested in anything else.

At first, Gafur came to us often, loved to talk with us, scoffed: ordered us to call ourselves Russian whores and bitches; sometimes he offered us to fight for the right to feel his cock in his bosom, and we fought like mad dogs. I also loved one girl to kiss him, a friend to give a blowjob, and a third one was licking her toes. When the owner chose one of us, the other two had to kneel before the bed and observe the process. He always finished inside, probably contraceptives were included in the “special supplements”.

The girls and I went around the house (for the female half) in the same underwear, which was selected by either the owner or supervisors (severe aunts of fifty). We were rarely allowed out into the street - only in the garden and under guard. The girls were his wives for a year, he convinced them to play a joint wedding. Lesya was a professional dancer, tall, head and shoulders above her “husband,” a slender brunette. Strong-willed, she probably stayed better than us and Julia, but I often heard her use her pillow in the nights. Julia - on the contrary, small and plump, when I settled down to them she was already completely submissive to the “master” and even fell in love with him, in a whisper told us her soy dream - to give birth to a child from him. Lesia said that at first Julia constantly cried and asked to let her go home.

Over time, Ghafur began to visit us less often - no more than twice a week. We almost threw ourselves on the walls of desire, relieved the tension mainly in the gym and dance lessons, because masturbation, and especially lesbian love according to their concepts, is a terrible sin.Therefore, every time we waited for our beloved and hated “husband” with impatience, at times it seemed to me that I would go insane. Already then from me ... Read more →