Hitchhiking turned into a nightmare

The sun beat down mercilessly, heating the asphalt so hot that the air above it shimmered and melted. Lera stood on the side of the road, her hand outstretched, her thumb extended, squinting in the blinding light. Next to her, Ksyusha shifted from foot to foot, fanning herself with her straw hat. They'd been stuck on this damned highway leading to the coast for a good hour, and in that time not a single car had passed by, only trucks pelting them with hot dust. "So where's your vaunted hitchhiking?" Ksyusha grumbled, adjusting the strap of her backpack. "You could be lying by the sea, but here we are, like two idiots..." "Be patient, friend," Lera smiled, but her voice also betrayed weariness. "Someone will stop soon. You'll see." And, as if hearing her words, an old, dusty pickup truck appeared in the distance. It was driving slowly, as if its owner were scanning the side of the road for something. The car drew level with the girls and stopped. The driver—a sturdy, deeply tanned man of about forty-five, with a weathered face and a short, clipped gray hair—rolled down the window and gave them a long, searching look. "Are we going to the sea?" he asked in a low, hoarse voice. "Yes!" Lera nodded happily. "We're going to the village, to the beach. Can you give us a lift?" "Why not give me a lift?" the driver chuckled. "Get in." Lera, without thinking, rushed to the door, but Ksyusha caught her by the elbow. "Listen, maybe we shouldn't?" she whispered. "The guy looks a bit shady. His eyes... don't look kind." "Oh, come on!" Lera waved him off. "He's a normal guy. You wanted to get there faster. Let's go!" Ksyusha hesitated, but didn't argue with her friend. After all, what could happen in broad daylight? The girls climbed into the cab: Lera by the window, Ksyusha in the middle. The interior smelled of sweat, gasoline, and something sour, reminiscent of sour wine. "My name is Stepan," said the driver, pulling away. "Whose family are you?" "I'm Lera, and this is Ksyusha," Lera replied, not noticing Stepan's broad hand on the gearshift, brushing against her thigh. "We're from the city, going to the sea for a vacation." "Vacation is a good thing," Stepan drawled, turning off the highway onto a dirt road. "But you're going the wrong way. The beaches there are dirty, there are lots of people. I'll show you a place, it's heavenly. Spring water, grapes, silence." "We should actually go to the village," Ksyusha chimed in, feeling her heart begin to beat faster. "We rented a place there." "You'll make it back to your village in time," Stepan chuckled. "First, let's stop by my place and try some homemade wine. I have wine, cheese, and everything else. You won't regret it." Lera shifted in her seat, casting uncertain glances at Ksyusha. The pickup truck bounced over the bumps, taking them further and further from civilization. The road led through thickets and fields of dry grass, and soon a rickety wooden house surrounded by old trees appeared ahead. In the yard, by the barn, stood two men—equally tanned, wearing dirty T-shirts and with identical bored expressions on their faces. "My brothers," Stepan explained briefly, turning off the engine. "We'll be visiting." The girls exchanged glances. Even the carefree Lera was beginning to realize they were in trouble. She tugged at the door handle, but it wouldn't budge—apparently locked from the inside. "Don't rush, beauty," Stepan said, grabbing her wrist with a steely grip. "We don't allow guests. Come on, show yourself." Ksyusha screamed, but then fell silent: one of the brothers approached the car, yanked the door open, and roughly dragged her out. Lera was pulled out after her. Up close, the house looked even more squalid: peeling paint, dark windows, the stench of slop. The girls were pushed inside, where it was dim and stuffy. "Okay," Stepan looked them over like merchandise, "you'll be staying with us for a while. Don't be afraid, we won't kill you. If you're obedient." They were immediately undressed. Ksyusha cried, trying to cover herself, but her hands were roughly forced behind her back and bound with some sticky rope. Lera tried to fight back, but a blow to the stomach made her double over. Then they were both thrown onto an old, sweat-smelling mattress lying right on the floor. "Look how fresh they are," grinned one of the brothers, Andrei, a burly man with a pockmarked face. "City-bred, white. We haven't seen these in a long time." The second brother, Sergei, shorter and broader, nodded silently, examining the bound girls with the air of a connoisseur. Stepan, meanwhile, leisurely removed his shirt, revealing his sinewy, gray-haired body, and squatted down in front of the girls. "Okay, so," he said, looking down at them. "One will do the mouth, the other will do everything else. Then you switch. Who's going to start?" Lera sobbed and shook her head. Ksyusha remained silent, biting her lip. Stepan didn't wait for an answer. He grabbed Ksyusha by the hair, pulled her head back, and, wrapping the curls around his fist, pulled her toward his unzipped fly. He reeked of sour sweat and something musty. "Open your mouth," he ordered. "Or I'll open it for you. Choose." Ksyusha closed her eyes, but felt Stepan's fingers squeeze her jaw and parted her lips. Stepan chuckled and thrust his penis into her—not all the way, just the head—and Ksyusha immediately gagged from the disgusting taste. Stepan pulled back, cursed angrily, and slapped her across the face with his palm, loudly, leaving a red mark. "Don't like it?" he growled. "You'll have to get used to it." Meanwhile, Sergey turned his attention to Lera. He flipped her over onto her stomach, raising her bound arms, and spread her legs. Lera screamed for help, but her brother only chuckled, pressing down on her. He entered her abruptly, without preparation, and Lera howled in pain. Andrey, not wanting to be left out, moved in beside her and began kneading her breasts, twisting her nipples, leaving bruises on her skin. They used the girls in turns, passing them back and forth like objects. Stepan, having had his fill of Ksyusha's mouth, positioned himself behind her while Sergei began working on Lera's. The room filled with the sounds of slaps, hoarse male moans, and female sobs. The air became heavy, sticky, saturated with the smell of sweat and secretions. Hours seemed to pass. Occasionally, the men would go off to drink wine, snack on onions and bread, and return with renewed vigor. They smeared the girls' faces with sperm, forced bukvoeb.run to lick each other, and stuck their fingers everywhere. Lera no longer resisted, only whimpering softly, lying in a pool of her own saliva and blood from her bitten lip. Ksyusha, however, seemed to have fallen into a kind of stupor: her eyes were open, but staring into space. "Look, she's gone limp," Andrey remarked, kicking Ksyusha. "She's taken a breath away. Oh well, we'll cheer her up in a minute." He went out into the yard and returned with a bucket of cold water, which he splashed over the girls. They coughed and shivered, but at least they came to their senses. Stepan, sitting on an overturned barrel, smoked and watched the proceedings with lazy interest. “So, my dears,” he said, blowing out clouds of smoke. “We are simple people, but fair. Today you’ve earned your bread. Tomorrow we’ll start all over again. And so it will be until we get tired of it. Maybe five days. Or maybe a month. As it goes.” Lera, sobbing, whispered: - Please let me go... We won't tell anyone... "You'll say," Stepan chuckled. "You'll say everything, but they won't find us. And if they do, it'll be too late. So better keep quiet and be glad you're alive." He stood up, stretched, and nodded to his brothers. They returned to work, but without the same enthusiasm, as if they were performing a routine task. Ksyusha was placed astride Sergei, forced to move, and Lera was ordered to get on all fours in front of Andrei. There was no intimacy, no hint of humanity in this humiliation—only filth, pain, and utter disenfranchisement. Late in the evening, when it was dark outside, the girls were left alone. They lay on a dirty mattress, huddled close together, shivering from cold and fear. Lera gently touched her friend's swollen lip and began to cry quietly. “Forgive me,” she whispered. “It’s my fault. I dragged you into that car.” Ksyusha was silent for a moment, and then answered barely audibly: - No need. We'll get out together. But they had no choice. The windows were shuttered, the door locked from the outside, and somewhere in the courtyard, their jailers sat, talking in hoarse voices. All they could do was wait for dawn, which would bring a new round of humiliation, a new dose of filth and pain. And who knew how many more such cycles they would have to endure before this nightmare ended—if it ever did.