Lesbians in the basement
Zhanna was involved in the tourism business. At first, things were going well; her company with the romantic name "Pink Elephant" was thriving. There was no shortage of people wanting to visit Turkish Antalya, the Canary Islands, or the largest city in the United Arab Emirates—Dubai. But suddenly, like a bolt from the blue, the terrible economic crisis of 1998 hit, and Zhanna went bankrupt.
Not only did she lose her beloved business, her brainchild into which she had poured her all, but she also had to sell her car with the garage, her dacha, and even her apartment to pay off debts. Yet there still wasn't enough money to settle with the creditors. And one day on the street, as she was walking to a friend's place where she was temporarily staying after another crazy day of futilely searching for any kind of work, a luxurious, black pirate-colored Lexus with tan accents softly braked beside her on the roadway. From behind the lowered tinted window of the front door, the brazen face of a man in black peered out, with a short, spiky, square haircut and golden "thug" crowns in his mouth.
"Zhanna Yuryevna, if I'm not mistaken?" the square-jawed man asked rudely.
"Yes, that's me... what do you want?" Zhanna looked fearfully at the man in the car.
"Nothing terrible, girl. You need to come with us," the square-jawed man sang sweetly, baring the fiery gold blazing in his mouth.
Two similarly black, pumped-up "brothers" jumped out of the car from both rear doors. Zhanna was roughly shoved into the vehicle, and the Lexus, hitting the gas, sped off in an unknown direction... About thirty minutes later, Zhanna was being led out of the car, her mouth sealed with dark yellow tape and her eyes blindfolded, into the courtyard of a luxurious country dacha. It belonged to one of the tough bankers, a former criminal authority, to whom the former director of "Pink Elephant" owed a considerable sum in overseas "bucks."
The banker set harsh conditions: within a week, Zhanna had to repay the entire debt down to the last cent, plus the insane interest that had accrued during that time, taking into account the daily galloping inflation. It was an unimaginably astronomical sum. Such money might not even be available to the President of the United States! In a week, if the debt wasn't paid off, they threatened to cut off one finger at a time. To start, the girl was brutally beaten with rubber truncheons by the tough banker's "bulls" and thrown unconscious into the basement beneath the four-story palace where the owner lived with his thirty-year-old beautiful wife, Vlada.
The next morning, the banker's wife Vlada walked around the house-palace, supervising the servants tidying up, cleared the table in the summer annex by the gate where her husband and his buddies had feasted earlier. She had lunch alone. Remembering the captive languishing below, she quickly gathered some food. Turning on the light on the spiral staircase that steeply descended downward, she went down to the basement.
Seeing the unfamiliar woman who appeared in the dungeon, the captive suddenly furiously lunged at her, knocked her down, and tried to escape from the basement, but it was no use. Vlada quickly came to her senses, got angry, grabbed the captive Zhanna by the leg, and yanked her forcefully toward herself. Zhanna fell from the steps she had been climbing up. Vlada skillfully, as convicts do in prison zones (she had also served six years in her time), kicked the fugitive in the face. Bending over, she firmly grabbed her by the hair and slammed her head against the concrete floor of the basement. Zhanna screamed in pain, thrashed in her hands, and the girl's face was covered in blood from her broken nose.
"Will you try to run again, bitch?" the former convict asked triumphantly. Turning the girl onto her back, she propped her against the wall.
"I won't, please don't hit me anymore," the captive wept.
"Not hit?" Vlada slapped her face with her palm, wiping her bloodied hand on the captive's clothes.
"Don't hit, I beg you," Zhanna cried, covering her face from the blows.
Vlada, standing up, kicked her again. Zhanna squealed even louder from pain and terror.
"Crawl here, bitch, or I'll beat you until you piss yourself!" Vlada ordered.
The girl obediently crawled toward her tormentor.
"Undress, you trash!"
Zhanna hurriedly, with trembling hands, began to remove the remnants of her dirty, torn clothes from yesterday's beating by the banker's "bulls." All the while, she kept moaning and sobbing intermittently. Left with nothing, she looked up fearfully at Vlada from below, awaiting further instructions, already somewhat guessing what would happen next.
Vlada deftly slid her worn black jeans down her hips, stepped over them when they fell to the floor. Spreading her legs wide, she used her fingers to pull aside the triangle of her panties, freeing her swollen, small vaginal bud.
"Lick, bitch, come on!" she demanded.
Zhanna, without resisting, crawled closer, wrapped her trembling hands around the woman's thighs, and buried her face in the black, curly growth between her legs. With her tongue, she found the slippery, rough, sour-tasting flesh of the other's vagina and began to lick quickly, moaning, getting more and more aroused. Vlada also vibrated her whole body, passionately twitching, responding to the movements of her tongue. Pulling the girl's face away from her body, she turned around.
"Come on, lick there too... quickly!"
She herself inserted two fingers into her vagina and began to fiercely fuck herself, writhing her whole body with lust. Meanwhile, Zhanna pressed her mouth to her anus and sucked on it, licking it with her tongue until Vlada screamed and twitched even more violently. During this, the banker's wife worked her fingers faster and faster, driving herself to a frenzy, and finally, crying out one last time, began to come.
She fell to the floor next to Zhanna and, without removing her fingers from her vagina, began to writhe like a snake, caressing the girl's body with her left hand, pulling her closer. The captive obediently approached, and Vlada began to passionately kiss the fingers on her dirty feet. Like that, with fingers in her mouth, she froze, exhausted from masturbation, half-closing her eyes from the bliss she had just experienced.
Zhanna carefully freed her foot, cautiously moved away from Vlada.
"I felt good with you, my girl!" the tormentor suddenly said. Getting up from the floor, she crawled to the girl and gently kissed her swollen, bruised lips. "Forgive me, darling, for hitting you, you brought it on yourself... Did it hurt?"
"Yes... and I'm... I'm scared here," Zhanna cried for no apparent reason, and buried her disheveled head in Vlada's chest. "Let me go, I beg you, I won't tell anyone where I was! I won't betray anyone, I swear... I'll do whatever you want, just let me go."
"Are you starting that again?" Vlada cried out angrily and, pushing her away, forcefully slapped her swollen cheek with her palm again. "Mind you, don't talk to me about that anymore, or I'll beat you again. And not like now, with my palm, but with my feet. Or I'll tie you to the staircase railing and beat you with a belt wherever it lands... I'll ruin your pretty little face. Then men won't love you, no one will marry you... That's how it is."
"Don't hit me anymore, sweetie, I'll do everything you say," Zhanna pleaded, crawling at Vlada's feet.
"Alright, get dressed, my husband will probably be back soon," Vlada said, pulling her panties and jeans up over her hips. "I'll bring you food, and you'll do cunnilingus for me... like you did today. If I like it, I'll give you something tasty. I can even bring vodka and cigarettes, want some?"
"Please bring some," the girl nodded in agreement. She gathered the clothes scattered around the basement, hurriedly dressed, and somehow put herself in relative order.
Vlada, having gone upstairs, brought her food again, a pack of Camel cigarettes, and a little vodka in a glass. She left all this near the captive and left...