Tourist route

This vacation was supposed to be Roma and I's salvation. Or at least an attempt to mend what had been falling apart at the seams for the last six months. Constant arguments, misunderstandings, a cold bed—the standard fare of a five-year relationship crisis. The idea of a wild trek in the mountains was his. "Let's get a change of scenery, test our limits, no internet—just us and nature," he urged me, scrolling through a website offering extreme tours. Tired of the office and the drab city, I reluctantly agreed, not even suspecting how this decision would turn out. The organizer, a certain Viktor, met us in a battered but powerful SUV at the designated spot—a rickety sign marking the border of the national park. He was a man in his forties, lean, with sun-bleached blond hair and a penetrating gaze from his light-gray eyes that made me feel a little uneasy. His partner, introduced as Zakhar, sat silently behind the wheel and nodded briefly, a smoldering cigarette still in his mouth. Unlike the wiry Viktor, Zakhar was stocky and massive, with a bull neck and tattoos snaking from under the sleeve of his camouflage jacket. My first thought was that professional guides shouldn't look like that. But Roma enthusiastically shook Viktor's hand and threw our backpacks into the trunk, eagerly anticipating the adventure. The journey to the starting point took almost four hours. First, we drove along broken asphalt, then along a bumpy grader, and finally, we turned onto a barely visible forest track. We lost contact after just an hour. I increasingly looked out the window at the gathering dusk and the impenetrable wall of pine forest, feeling a clammy chill of anxiety creeping under my fleece. "Are there any other people here?" I asked, trying to smile as the car bounced on a tree root once again. "There's not a soul within fifty kilometers," Zakhar said without turning around. His voice was dull and indifferent. "This isn't a city park." Victor turned from the front seat and smiled encouragingly, causing the wrinkles around his eyes to gather into beams. "Don't worry, Alice. That's why they hire us, to show you around these places. Wild nature, just you and the rocks. After a couple of days, you won't want to go back to your stuffy metropolis." I remained silent, and Roma squeezed my hand. The gesture was meant to be supportive, but his hand was damp and tense. It seemed he, too, was beginning to realize where we'd ended up. By the time we finally set up camp in a small clearing by a noisy mountain stream, it was already dark. Zakhar deftly started a fire, and Viktor began chopping vegetables for the stew. Roma and I pitched the tent and, sitting on a fallen log, inhaled the spicy smoke. The atmosphere was almost peaceful, if you don't count Zakhar's heavy silence, which kept casting quick, appraising glances at me. I chalked it up to my own apprehension, but my heart was aching. After dinner, where conversations faltered, we retired to our tents. The flash of a flashlight woke me in the middle of the night. I was lying on my back, a rough hand pressing against my face, clamping my mouth shut. The smell of sweat, tobacco, and gasoline assaulted my nostrils. I wanted to scream, but could only manage a muffled moan. A voice—I didn't immediately recognize it—hissed in my ear: — Quiet, bitch. Or we'll cut your boyfriend into belts. Got it? I nodded, feeling tears of terror burn my temples. There was a commotion in the tent, and in the dim light I saw that Roma had already been restrained. His face was bloody, and his hands were tied behind his back with his own belt. Victor stood next to my boyfriend and looked at me, but his morning smile now looked like a beast's grin. They dragged us outside, to the fire, where the embers were still smoldering. The air was icy, and I was shivering violently in my thin pajamas. Roma tried to kick and scream through a dirty rag gag, earning him a short, merciless punch to the solar plexus from Zakhar, causing him to double over and wheeze. "Okay, city folks," Victor squatted down in front of me and lifted my chin with his hand. "The situation has changed dramatically. The commercial tour is closed. Our personal attraction begins. You two are our entertainment for the next twenty-four hours. If you behave, you'll stay alive. Maybe. If you act up, we'll feed you to the fish in the river. It's fast and cold here; no one will ever find you." Zakhar, without wasting time on preamble, pulled me closer to the light. His hands roughly yanked my pajama top up. There was a ripping sound. "Please, don't!" I babbled, instinctively covering my chest with my hands. "Roma, do something!" But Roma only moaned and twitched helplessly. Zakhar pinned my arms behind his back with one movement, and Victor came up to me and knelt down. He pressed his mouth to my neck, running his tongue down to my collarbone, and I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to break free. "Don't move, silly girl. You might even like it," his whisper was ingratiating, almost gentle. "Zakhar, put her up the tree." They dragged me to a thick pine tree growing at the edge of the clearing. Zakhar, wheezing, secured my wrists high above my head, wrapping them with a rough climbing rope threaded through a branch. I stood on tiptoe, immobilized by the rough bark, unable to move. Victor, meanwhile, turned his attention to Roma. "Watch it, boy, and learn," he said instructively, nodding at me. "Your chick will scream all night, and you'll jerk off to it like a kid. If I think you don't like it, I'll cut off your fingers one by one. Got it?" Tears streamed down my cheeks. I watched as Zakhar, having finished securing the rope, walked around me and began tearing off the remains of my clothes. My sleeping pants were torn off along with my underwear. The cold night air stung my exposed flesh. I screamed, but the echo was drowned out by the roar of the river. "What clear skin," Zakhar commented, running his rough palm from my lower back to my hips. His touch sent shivers down my spine, but it wasn't lust, it was pure fear. "It's immediately obvious you don't lug around backpacks, but sit in a warm office." "Let's begin the examination," Victor said with feigned medical calm. He pulled a charred, but still hot, stick from the fire and held it to my face, causing me to recoil. "Your tongue is strong, your voice is loud. Your breasts are a B-cup, firm. Your hips are wide, there's something to grab onto. Roma, you've got a lucky draw. We're canceling it." Zakhar let out a disgusting laugh. He abruptly turned me around to face the pine tree and arched my back hard. I pressed my cheekbone into the resinous bark, feeling its sharp edges scrape my skin. My legs were kicked apart. I heard him unzip his fly; the metallic sound of his belt buckle sounded like a death knell. I wasn't expecting the first penetration. It felt like a blow from a blunt object. Zakhar entered me from behind, roughly and all at once, without ceremony. I howled, my body arched, and the ropes cut into my wrists painfully. I felt like I was being torn apart from the inside. His thrusts were frequent and harsh, like the work of a jackhammer. He held my hips in a death grip, impaling me mechanically on his cock. "Roma, look here!" Victor commanded, grabbing my boyfriend by the hair and forcing his head up. "See how your bitch is taking someone else's dick inside her? She's enjoying it, look how she's squirming!" At that moment, my mind seemed to split in two from the terrible humiliation and horror of what was happening. One part of me was hysterical and dreamed of dying right there. But the other, traitorous part, began to register a strange, nauseating feeling of distension in my lower abdomen. The harsh stimulation Zakhar was providing was awakening something within me beyond my control. My muscles were clenching around his penis against my will, and my breathing became ragged, with guttural groans in which pain mingled with something else. "Hear that?" Zakhar leaned toward my ear, his voice hoarse with excitement. "You're starting to leak, you bastard. Your body is giving you away." "No... It's not like that..." I croaked, but the words came out weak and unconvincing even to myself. My legs treacherously spread wider, giving him deeper access. The moisture I hated at that moment actually lubricated his rough thrusts, making them almost unbearably slippery. After a few minutes of frantic riding, Zakhar came with a roar on my back. The hot drops of sperm that fell on my heated skin felt like a brand. I went limp against the ropes, breathing heavily, feeling shame and pain trickle down my thighs. "Don't relax," Victor snapped. He had already undressed and was clutching his erection in his fist. "Now I'll try what's left. Roma, you're less lucky—you'll be going to Zakhar's for dessert." Seeing a new figure behind me, Roma thrashed in his bonds, his moans growing desperate. Victor pushed Zakhar away from me and took his place. His approach was different—more sophisticated. Instead of immediately beginning to torment my ravaged insides, he ran the head of his penis along my labia without entering. "She's already wet," he told Zakhar. "Your job is done." “Hot bitch,” he agreed, rummaging through his pockets. A moment later, Victor entered me with one slow, smooth movement. I let out a moan that was no longer a scream—only a breakdown and acceptance of the inevitable. He began to move, not quickly, but slowly, plunging in painfully deep and almost completely withdrawing. This controlled torture caused my body to respond in a completely different way. My internal muscles began to contract rhythmically, drawing out of me the very thing I was trying to suppress. Victor, sensing this, chuckled with satisfaction and wrapped my hair around his fist, tilting my head back. He slipped his other hand between my legs and began massaging my clitoris in circular motions. — Cum for us, Alice. Do it in front of your boyfriend. You want this, right? I cried, streaming tears, but I couldn't deny that my crotch was on fire. The approaching wave of orgasm was alien, disgusting, like a poisonous flower blooming inside a garbage pit. Victor pressed harder, and I erupted. I convulsed, arching my entire body and letting out a scream I never expected to hear. It was a scream of pure, unadulterated physiological release, but inside, I felt not pleasure, but the annihilation of my personality. "Good girl," Victor patted my buttock and pulled out before finishing. "And now it's time for our show." While I hung from the tree, sobbing and shaking, Zakhar dragged Roma right up to the fire. My lover, overcome with grief, had his pants ripped off and was forced to his knees. Victor filmed the whole thing on his phone, commenting on the scene like a reporter. The second wave began when they decided to go it alone. I was untied from the tree and thrown onto the cold, dew-drenched grass. My body ached, my wrists stung with bloody abrasions. Zakhar lay on his back and pulled me down, sitting me on top. His penis was fully erect again and easily entered my now-unresistible womb. Victor knelt behind me, spread my buttocks, and spat generously onto my "rear entrance." “Please, not this,” I whispered. “I can’t take it anymore...” "You'll get through this, my dear. We believe in you," Victor snapped and walked in abruptly. The pain was blinding, like an electric shock. I let out a silent scream, feeling two cocks moving inside me, touching each other through the thin membrane of flesh. Zakhar grunted with pleasure beneath me, and Victor set the pace from above, pounding me into his prone partner. I was being torn in two, and I felt like an inanimate object, a punching doll. "It's so tight when you're in the ass!" Zakhar growled. “I’m going to explode now,” Victor echoed. Roma was released, ordered to kneel by my head. He was unconscious, his head fallen onto his chest. When my tormentors finally reached the finish line, cumming in both my orifices simultaneously, I was on the verge of losing my mind. A sticky, hot feeling of being used filled me. They flipped me over onto my back, and the last thing I saw before I collapsed into oblivion from shock was the starry, indifferent sky above the swaying tops of the pine trees. I woke up cold. My body was stiff. The sun was just rising over the mountain ridge. I was lying on my side, naked, covered in mud and dried sperm, next to a dead fire. Roma lay tied up about ten meters away, his groans telling me he was alive. I struggled to my feet and, overcoming the pain in my entire body, crawled toward him. Neither Viktor, nor Zakhar, nor the car were there. They had vanished, like demons dissolved in the dawn mist. A forlorn canister of water and a half-empty pack of crackers sat next to our tattered belongings. Probably to keep us from dying prematurely. They had taken their phone, their map, and all their documents. We walked for three days. Without food, barefoot, in rags, stopping only to drink from streams. Roma couldn't speak, I couldn't sit. We didn't discuss what happened. Every time I caught his gaze, I saw not pain or sympathy, but a shadow of disgust. He saw me come under my rapist. He will never forgive me for this. We, exhausted and bitten by insects, were accidentally spotted by a ranger in a patrol helicopter. I gave the police my full testimony. We were taken for investigative experiments, but I couldn't identify the two men—the fly-by-night travel agency's documents listed them as front men, and the forest in those parts kept its secrets to itself. The case was closed as hopeless. "Just get over it," the mustachioed investigator advised, pushing a box of tissues toward me. Roma and I broke up a week after my return. My therapist says I need to talk it out, process the trauma, and let it go. But I can't. Because the worst trauma isn't the one that left scars on my wrists and insides. It's the one where, at the moment when pain should have been my only feeling, my own body betrayed me, responding to the brutality with a spasm of unbidden, animalistic pleasure. I will never tell this truth to anyone.