The path was long, the Sun has long passed for noon and the light was almost in the eye when Nata reached the edge of the forest. A huge field of meadow flowers stretched before it from the hill down. Under the hill, she saw a string of country road. No signs of close housing were found. Even the pillars, and it was not visible. She is tired. A squat contest and a walk in the forest for hours spent draining her body, her mouth seemed to be full of sand. Feeling that she was terribly thirsty, Nata picked up the courage and twisted her kuleks out of the burdock, sucked in her mucus from her own ass. Her stomach is already significantly lost in volume. Curled and trying not to breathe, she brought the bag to her mouth and took a sip. Muck of course was terrible, but as she noted for herself, at least it definitely was not a taste of shit ... What about metabolism, she didn’t even think about it. Slurry moistened her mouth and immediately seemed to give strength, barely rolling down the esophagus. With difficulty restraining the gagging urge, Nata finished her serving in a few sips and put her hand over her mouth with sobs, trying to keep the sticky stuff in her. After a minute or two, she succeeded, and after swallowing vomiting, she spat wound on the teeth. Then she took a few sighs and moved down the slope to the road. The sun illuminated a small wide-hip figure with a thin waist and swollen belly. Breasts jumped in time with the steps. Nat hurried. If they catch her, and this will happen sooner or later, they will surely catch up. She needs to go down to the road and move along it. Somewhere, come. Just to get to the phone or the police, and then you look at home. The truth may be that the nearest departments are bribed and they will bring it back ... Something she heard about such things. In Chechnya or somewhere else ... You need to ask ordinary people for help ... But how can you enter the city in this way? The police themselves will bind, run naked down the street ... She looked at the dildo still carried with her. What for? She did not know. Untied and threw away the damned rubber. The tape wrapped around the wrist, suddenly come in handy ...

The path from the hill took about another half an hour. It was easy to go down, sometimes even had to go on the run, as the bias became too strong. A semi-overgrown trail descended to a broken country road made of yellowish clay.

Nata look around. There was a strange triple track on the road, with no trace of tires. In the distance, on the left, a small dusty cloud appeared. Natella crouched behind a dusty roadside bush and began to peer at a subject traveling along this broken road. To her surprise, on the road seemed a pinto with a cart littered with some kind of greenery. On the front was a typical kolkhoz woman, sturdy, busty, in a tartan skirt, a shapeless faded shirt and a scarf. She was barefoot, and held the reins in one hand, the whip in the other.

When the cart drove closer, Nath decided. She got up from behind a bush and headed for the cart with a wave of her hand.

- Sorry, woman, I need help, I was kidnapped! -

The horse jerked back. The peasant woman also jumped at the front end, then squinted and looked at Nata, who was shyly covering her palm with shy hands.

- Ugh you fucking shameless. Get out! Go away! The woman cried out and with a wave of her whip pulled Nata right on the shoulder and back. It was strange, but the movements of her lips did not match what Nata heard. However, there was no time to deal with this. The peasant woman also whipped off the horse, and looking around at the naked maiden, she disappeared into a dusty cloud, taking off behind a cart and slowly settling in the windless air.

- Damn ... - With tears in her eyes, Nat sank back into the prickly grass. - Hey, tell me, at least in which side of the city? -

But in response, she heard only a hushed curse. She cleared her throat, smearing tears and dust down her cheeks. She hung up, hung her head, sanding her long hair. A few minutes later I heard that the cart was coming back. Shielding her hand from the sun, she looked to the right. It was a different cart. On it sat a bearded little man in a crumpled cap, sweaty linen shirt and brown, rather worn and worn pants. Also barefoot.

- Tpruuu! You look, really golozadaya ... - the peasant stopped the horse and stared at Nata with small sly eyes. - What, again the master walks? -

- Help me please! - Nat tried to get up, while hiding behind her palms. She was not very successful.

“Chu, also a grumpy ...” the peasant continued, as if not hearing her words.

- You are welcome! I would get to the city! I was kidnapped! Help me! -

- Put your hands, let me see ... - the man turned on the front of her and adjusted the cap.

- What? - Nata froze, one hand covering her breasts, the other without a hair crotch.

- Hands, I say, put it down. Teter is deaf. Look give me the beauty of the lordly ... -

Natella dutifully lowered her hands. The little man slowly turned his gaze from the disheveled hairstyle to his dirty face in stiff stains of sperm, mascara, tears and powder dusted down the drooping shoulders to the lush breasts filled with a stomach strangely hanging from a thin waist over wide hips. After completing the inspection on the inner thighs, which were stained on the inside, he grunted and started to dig behind himself in the cart. Pulling out a piece of cloth, he fumbled with a short knife and threw a lump at her.

- On, zamararashka. Cover shame something ... -

Nat leaned over and picked up a dusty old bag in which the little man had made holes for his hands and head. She fit into it, imagining what now looks like a house Nafanyu - a shaggy mamashka in a Bomzhov outfit of medieval execution.

- Climb syudyt. I'll give you a ride to the village while. You will work. Then I can gather in the city, then with a tude. Do you know how to cook, dauber? -

Nata nodded her head. She was not very good at cooking, but now the main thing is to get out. And to work - and after what was done to her, she was ready to pay with her body, just to get out of here.

- Noo, dead! - pulled a little peasant.

- Tell me where am I? - Nat added a backside to the prickly hay, which was piled up on the cart by a stack. The bag was enough to slightly cover the ass and he looked like a short dress of the 60s, two palms above the knee. The bag itself was rough and also not slightly prickly, but Nat was already glad that there was at least such clothes.

- Duc where there is, the estate of the gentleman won on the mountain. Tyzh otudavo, more do not scare you to take something ... -

- I mean, which city, and the country ... - Nat already understood that she was clearly not in the vicinity of Odessa, because nature was not at all like the usual, all the trees, bushes that she saw, rather corresponded to the average strip of Russia ... No apricots or grapes, only old limes in the lord's garden ...

- We have a Village, and there is a City. What else ... -

- They are called as a grandfather? -

“Yak, I'm your grandfather.” I'm looking to suit you! - the bearded man turned to her, grinning with holes and remnants of teeth. His gaze slipped in oil across the dusty knees of Natella. - Our city is called Saryn. A village in any way. Village and village. -

Cities with the same name Nata did not hear. Apparently not big.

- And the police in the village there? -

- We don’t have any police in our village. And this ... We will drive closer to the village, bury you in a stack and sit like a mouse. Do not see you people. And as if we were going into the yard, you would get out there. -

He spoke half turn, and his beard hid his mouth, but Nat finally noticed that his lips were moving strangely. He seems to utter the wrong sounds that Nata hears.

The little man fell silent, turned away and shook the reins, speeding up the slow-moving horse.

- A phone, you can call there from someone else?

- to call? - the bearded man was surprised, - There is a bell, but ktozh will give you a meeting to collect, not you from Nashenskaya, the laying is lordly. Not a trace to you ... -

Nata shook her head. Someone here is crazy ... me or him? Bell veche? Somehow you do not understand that, the Middle Ages? 19th century? What a mess .... Read more →