Family scene
How I sometimes regret not having a video camera with me. Although, this scene probably wouldn't have been accepted for the show "Be Your Own Director"...
So I'm riding on a commuter train one day... It's the middle of a weekday, not many people in the carriage—two or three in each compartment. We're approaching the "Lesnoye" station. Usually, not many people get on here; this area has elite cottage communities, their residents don't ride commuter trains. A lady, about twenty-five years old, gets on—dressed expensively and stylishly, made-up, well-groomed, with a pink purse and a fairly large duffel bag over her shoulder, and the most notable thing—a small, shaggy dog in her arms. In short, the full set of a social
lioness. The whole carriage immediately paid attention to her—you don't often see such a specimen on a suburban train. And she, apparently, hadn't ridden a train in a long time either. She walks down the aisle, lips pursed in disgust, looking around—can't choose a seat for herself. Here's a slightly drunk man, there are three grannies with baskets, further on—some spit on the floor. She walked to the end of the carriage—nothing to be done, turned around, hesitated a bit, and settled right by the exit, next to two decently dressed teenagers. The train started moving, she stared out the window, face offended, petting the dog. Well, the passengers stared—stared at her, and then seemed to forget.We pass two or three stops. At the next station, the door swings open with a crash, a man barges in... Well, clearly not a regular user of suburban rail transport either. A dark business suit, clearly from an expensive store, a tie, shoes polished to a shine. The man is huge, like a wardrobe, maybe forty years old, shaved bald. He rushes down the aisle, looking around, clearly searching for someone. His expression is gloomy and ferocious at the same time.
He ran up to the glamorous lady—braked so hard the whole carriage shook. And he roared:
"A-a-a!!! There you are! How far did you think you'd get, you bitch?"
She even jumped and squealed when she saw him. And the man snatched the dog from her hands and threw it on the floor; it squealed too. Then he says to the teenagers:
"Get out of here!!!"
The guys were blown away like by the wind. The whole carriage craned their necks—watching what would happen next.
And the man decisively pulls the belt out of his trousers:
"You'll run from me, b...! I'll teach you not to wander off!"
The lady pressed herself against the window in fright, her face blotchy, screaming:
"Have you gone crazy, there are people here!"
"These aren't people, these are proletarians," he smirks, already holding the belt ready.
She has nowhere to run—he's blocking the exit. The lady made a pitiful attempt to climb into the next compartment. She stood on the bench, wanted to step over the backrest, but her mini-skirt is tight, her leg won't lift, so she got stuck. And he ran around from the other side, grabbed her by the hair, bent her over the backrest. He jumped onto the bench himself and clamped her head between his legs. And she ended up in an interesting position. Her arms and head on one bench, legs—on another, in the next compartment, and her rear in the hitched-up skirt—on top, on the backrest. The lady struggles, squealing something about people, that it's shameful, begging him not to do this.
"Shameful??? And is wandering off not shameful?" the man yells.
He hikes her skirt even higher up her back, yanks her panties down to her knees, and starts whipping her with the belt with a swing. Squealing, screams throughout the carriage. It's really hurting her a lot—such a big brute, and he's hitting with all his might. On her tanned rear sticking up, crimson welts swell up one after another. Her face became crimson red, hair disheveled, eyes—wild with pain, she's jerking all over, kicking her legs, but how can you break free here—there's no defense against such force.
"A-a-a, it hurts, a-a-a, I can't take it anymore, a-a-a, Vitenka, forgive me!" she yells.
Some elderly man tried to intervene—saying, how can you treat a woman like that.
Vitenka looked at him fiercely, while still hitting and saying:
"This isn't a woman, this is my wife—a whore! Will you wander off? Will you wander off??? Will you???"
Here the train started to slow down. The man let go of his wife, she straightened up and got off the bench, continuing to sob loudly and covering her face with her hands. He pulled her panties up, straightened her skirt, and pushed her towards the exit.
"Let's go! I'll add more at home! For making me miss a meeting with the chief of staff because of you, bitch!"
They went out into the vestibule. The last thing the passengers heard was his conversation on his mobile phone:
"Lyosha? Drive to Chizhovka station, I found her!"
Several minutes passed in silence. Then the passengers started glancing at each other and talking. Some were outraged, some were giggling. The slightly drunk man was explaining to the woman sitting next to him: "I keep mine in line too," and shook his fist in front of her face.
At the next station, two athletic young men in dark glasses ran into the carriage, they quickly looked under all the benches, dragged out the shaggy little dog trembling with horror, and left.
"Hmm..." the elderly woman sitting opposite me said thoughtfully, "the rich cry too!"