Bitter experience

Bitter experience is always bitter because of what lies behind it. Lost loved ones, shattered destinies... My bitter experience was much less painful—just sex conducted in a rather unusual way.

I saw this ad on a pole by chance. It was April 2005, and I was in a great hurry to get home. There was no one at the bus stop besides me. I was freezing, walking from pole to pole just to warm up. It was on such a pole that I noticed a slip of paper with the following text:

— A girl is invited to participate in an erotic photoshoot. Age 18 to 28, height 160-180 cm, cup size C. Call number...

I stared at this text as if spellbound. The thing is, I had long dreamed of posing nude. I had taken photos of myself at home and posted them online, but it wasn't quite the same... Here was an excellent opportunity to show off my body!

It was, by the way, quite good. Cup size C, excellent thighs (the eternal envy of my classmates), a pretty face. I had no shortage of guys, but I loved my boyfriend and was planning to get married.

I copied down the number and hurried home. No one was home, so I called the number from the ad. We quickly arranged to meet at a cafe, and I masturbated for a long time, imagining how I would be photographed naked...

The next day, I went to the cafe where I was met by a handsome brunet. He introduced himself as Dmitry. He said the photoshoot would take place outside the city, at the photographer's dacha. We got into his jeep and drove off.

Two hours on the long road seemed like an eternity... But I became alarmed when we arrived at the "dacha." It was clearly an uninhabited, abandoned house. On the doorstep, I was met by... or rather, met by the photographer. We entered the house and...

I came to tied to an iron bed. Next to me was—oh horror—a naked Dmitry and an equally naked "photographer." To my horror, I saw that I was also undressed, and a video camera on a tripod stood beside me. Judging by the little light, the recording was already in progress.

I tried to scream but couldn't. In my mouth was a gag, which I recognized as my own panties. I started moaning and thrashing so much that the old bed began to shake.

— Quiet!"—with these words, Dmitry slapped me. I moaned again, for which I received another slap. After that, I quietly remained silent.

— Get ready, slut! This is going to be hardcore fucking!"—the "photographer" said with vengeful pleasure, then sat her pussy on my face. I tried to pull my face out from under her pussy. Useless.

— Lick!"—a commanding shout came from above. Frightened, I began to lick the pussy sitting on me. I licked for a very long time until suddenly a moan was heard and her fluids gushed into my mouth. I swallowed every drop.

Suddenly, I felt my legs being untied. They were untied but immediately tied back where my hands were. My defenseless anus was thrust forward, and a finger immediately plunged into it. Plunged... and immediately popped out.

— Phew, she's full of shit"—the "photographer's" voice rang out. "Give her an enema"—the order came. While she went to get the enema, I saw that the camera had been repositioned to view my anus in all its glory.

Then the "photographer" returned with the enema, and I felt the tip of the tube driven into my anus. I jerked, immediately receiving a slap. They began pumping water into me. It was unbearably painful!

Afterwards, the water, dirty with my shit, flowed out through another tube into a basin, then the procedure was repeated again, again, again... This happened 10 or 15 times. Only then did a voice (I could no longer tell which one) say: "She's clean." "Stretch out her ass"—another voice was heard.

The stretching was done using several dildos, driven into the anus one after another. The camera continued filming. After an hour of this torment, I was suddenly untied. I thought it was all over... and I was wrong. They laid me on pillows and tied me up again. Now my butt was thrust upward, and...

Then darkness again. And I came to in the police station, where a patrol had brought me. I was sleeping naked on a city street. After a night at the station, I returned home and promised never to participate in such filming again.

Unexpectedly, two months later, an envelope arrived for me. Inside were 10,000 rubles and a scrap of paper with the words: "This isn't over yet."

Author's e-mail: аnnа.kаrеninа@аntirеg.cоm