A gardener with a degree tied up a girl.
§ 1.
The orange watering hose on the lawn completely captured Varya's attention. What she wanted most right now was to shove that wonderful, condensation-covered hose, chilled by the cold water, into her vagina.
The weather was unusually hot, and thoughts of the monstrous spasms from the touch of icy water inside her frothing vagina were devouring the last remnants of her consciousness.
Varya didn't notice at all how her hand slowly and cautiously, like a sleepwalker's, reached for the hose.
Just as her other hand reached to move her panties aside for the hose, a soft male voice sounded:
— Ah, so you're the one they sent to transplant the flowers,
— the bespectacled Misha said hurriedly, who never expected such a charming beauty to visit his modest flower nursery. — Come on, I've already got everything ready.He gently but firmly led Varya into the utility room, guiding her by the elbow. It all happened so unexpectedly that she didn't even have time to explain that she was just passing by and had stopped at the flowerbed with unusual flowers.
Along the wall stood some beautiful plants in neat rows, in disposable plastic pots.
— Take off your blouse, — he said hurriedly, handing her a linen apron.
Varya stared at him with huge, uncomprehending eyes, but he gestured hurriedly for her to do as he said.
— Well, if you don't want to, suit yourself, — said Misha, draping the apron's neck loop over her head.
The utility room was pleasantly cool and humid, with wooden walls, flowers, and it smelled like real summer.
Standing in the apron in the middle of the utility room, Varya couldn't gather her thoughts, though it seemed simple enough to just take off the apron and tell this idiot to get lost.
— Here, take the 5k right away, or I'll forget later, — said Misha, handing her 5,000 rubles in various bills folded in half.
Varya still couldn't gather her thoughts and looked at the money uncomprehendingly.
— Damn it! — Misha got angry.
He shoved the wad of money into her apron pocket so sharply he almost tore the pocket off. Varya kept spacing out like a common, stoned seagull.
A second later, a garden trowel for transplanting plants was in her hands, which Misha had thrust at her.
— Here's the new batch of red lumpenias, — he pointed at the flowers in pots. — Flowerbed number 27 is ready. Go on, get to it! Wishing you labor success…
Varya continued to stand there in the apron with the trowel like a shadow, not uttering a word. Misha waited about ten seconds for any reaction, then cursed to himself, and, adjusting his glasses, his legs carried him out of the utility room with quick steps.
§ 2.
While transplanting another lumpenia, Varya began to think that she had never traded on Forex during agricultural work before.
It was Friday, and the Eurodollar, after a bit of a choppy start in the morning, had begun taking profits against the strong but baseless movement of the entire previous week.
Half an hour ago, standing alone in the utility room, Varya checked on her iPhone that during the chop, her pending sell order had triggered at the round level of 1.0900 with her minimal working risk of 0.28 lots.
On this hot day, she didn't feel like trading normal volumes; she was just maintaining her form out of habit, making at least a minimal trade on Friday.
Now, like any ordinary trader who doesn't engage in bullshit for schoolkids like account boosting, only one thing remained for her — to wait until 7-8 p.m. to close the position as usual with a profit of 8,000 rubles, and if she was lucky, maybe even 12,000, but that was unlikely. 8,000 was much more realistic.
In any case, once the position was open, not much depended on her — just wait. The European session had just started, it was one in the afternoon, hot, where should she go? Home, to the movies, to a cafe, or to the lake? She was ALREADY standing in the middle of the utility room in an apron with a trowel, she'd been mistaken for someone else and even given 5k, though she felt neither hot nor cold about that 5k — on Forex she could make more in an hour.
When the first lumpenia was transplanted, Varya gazed thoughtfully at the large, empty, beautifully plowed and leveled flowerbed. She decided to transplant these damn lumpenias only because she couldn't explain to herself why not.
Like any woman, deep inside she harbored a craving to care for all things living and cute. She was even slightly surprised by a faint feeling of pity for the small, beautiful lumpenias standing modestly and alone by the wall in the utility room, with no one else to care for them but her.
§ 3.
— Is this your iPhone? — asked Misha, pulling a long orange hose towards the flowerbed with one hand to water the transplanted lumpenias.
Varya patted her pocket — it was empty.
— Oh, I must have dropped it accidentally when I bent down for the seedlings, — she said guiltily. — Thanks for finding it.
Misha handed her the iPhone. The hose fell onto the flowerbed.
— I'll go turn the water on, — the gardener said as he walked away.
Varya finished transplanting another lumpenia. The gloves and small shovel lay neatly to the side when she decided to glance at the market, though there was no real need, as only an hour or two had passed since opening the position.
Varya's hands went cold from what she saw on the screen, so much so that the phone fell from her hands onto the garden bed. Picking it up from the dust with trembling hands, Varya confirmed once more that her eyes weren't deceiving her — Varya was in the market with all the money available in her account, which was no less than 60.6 lots.
Closing the position no longer made any sense, and as usually happens to traders in such cases, she caught the strongest shock. Complete immobilization set in, both physical and mental, when you can't do anything at all, even if someone asks your name at that moment, you wouldn't be able to answer. At that moment, Varya resembled an electrical appliance unplugged from the socket.
Quite naturally, she didn't notice water starting to flow from the hose. She just stood rooted to the spot, staring at the phone screen. Some plastic zip ties wrapped around her legs at the ankles. Before she could look down, the ties wrapped around her knees.
Her face flopped right into a small puddle that had formed from the water from the hose. The iPhone miraculously landed on the garden bed in a dry spot and stood on its edge, leaning against one of the transplanted lumpenias.
The iPhone screen was right before her eyes. The Eurodollar had moved further in correction. Her account had only 5 points left to endure before all her dough in the account would die by margin call.
Varya tried to get up but couldn't even move her head. Some wooden forked stick, resembling a two-pronged pitchfork, pressed her neck firmly to the ground.
Another second later, she felt her hands being bound behind her back with a plastic zip tie.
Trying to struggle only pressed her face deeper into the muddy slush, which was so icy it burned her face.
From helplessness, Varya began to cry, feeling sorry for herself, but the tears didn't have time to bring relief because her body was seized by convulsions from the sensation of the strongest jet of icy water inside her vagina.
Even the watering hose, which had entered her to the maximum depth, couldn't be felt due to the extreme shock. Varya felt like she was about to lose consciousness and black out.
Through waves of pain, she heard a familiar voice:
Varya was silent.
Varya felt it was better not to anger him and whimpered softly:
— Ye-es.. — tears flowed down her cheeks on their own, like rivers flowing into the puddle of mud where her face lay.
She wasn't crying from pain. The main shock from the cold water had passed; her body was gradually getting used to the icy water. Varya was crying from pity for herself, from the humiliation this strange gardener had subjected her to.
§ 4.
The correction ended abruptly, and a mad, unpredictable fall began on the Eurodollar.
Every 20-30 seconds, the candle made another 10 points down, then paused to make another sharp 10 points down, triggering more and more pending sell orders.
Within minutes, the market returned Varya's 250 kilorubles. If she hadn't been tied up, like any ordinary trader, having suffered through sitting in a brutal drawdown, she would have closed the position right then without a second thought.
Fortunately for her, she was bound hand and foot, her head was firmly pressed to the ground by the forked stick, and inside, her vagina was being washed with icy water, spreading the strongest convulsions throughout her body, turning not only her lips but already her veins blue.
Before losing consciousness, her gaze managed to register 1 million 420 thousand rubles. The Eurodollar had managed to cover almost 80% of the weekly movement in just about 15 minutes on news about the change of the European Central Bank head. The fall was still continuing.
§ 5.
Varya got up from the mud onto her knees with the sole desire to stab the creature who had allowed himself to torment her like this.
Nothing hurt; she was perfectly warmed by the sun, having lain there for who knows how long, but a considerable time.
The iPhone was lying to the side. With dirty fingers, she unlocked the screen. It was already 10 p.m. The Eurodollar was calmly correcting after about an hour-long fireworks display. All trades were closed. The balance displayed 2 million 150 thousand rubles.
Varya cried again. For no reason. Even though she was a trader, she wasn't trained for such overloads.
It was getting dark. The light was on in the utility room. A shadow on the wall showed someone was inside.
Wiping her tears with dirty hands, Varya got to her feet and moved towards the utility room. In one hand the forked stick, in the other — the iPhone.
Misha's lifeless body was hanging in the middle of the utility room. Varya dropped the forked stick and covered her mouth with her hands to keep from screaming.
The peaceful silence of the homestead, adorned with the chirping of crickets, was broken by the signal of an incoming SMS.
Varya's face twitched. With a slow movement, she brought the phone to her eyes. 27 SMS messages had been received from an unknown number. She opened the most recent one.
"Hello, beautiful stranger! 😉 If you're reading this message, it means you've already come to, and I've already suffered my fate. You see many messages. They will keep coming until 4 a.m. I didn't know when you'd wake up. The phone sending these messages is anonymous. It's lying in the forest where no one will ever find it.
Please forgive me for treating you so cruelly, but I had no other choice — I had to improvise based on the situation.
Our unique flower nursery is being closed down, and I'm powerless to change anything. Due to the stress, I developed cancer. I no longer have the strength to fight it.
I saw how lovingly you worked with the flowers. I have one last request for you.
In the red container standing next to me are lumpenia seeds and a flash drive with the results of my research over the last 24 years, which I started in childhood under my father's guidance. Another 18 years are required to complete this work.
Please, find some scientists who can complete my research. I hope the sum of a little over 2 million will be sufficient compensation for fulfilling my request.
Leave calmly. No one knows you were here, and no one will be at the nursery until tomorrow morning. You are completely safe.
Respectfully, Cand. Biol. Sci. M.Yu. Rumyantsev"
§ 6.
For over a month, Varya diligently searched but couldn't find any scientists willing to take on completing Rumyantsev's lumpenia research.
A month later, without much thought, she threw all the seeds along with the container into the trash, and smashed the flash drive with a stone against the asphalt.