"Leave it," the Irishman exhaled at last. "I'm through messing about with him. Let 'him' decide what the fuck he wants!"
TWO HOURS LATER:
Up in the dunes, Rayne's eyes widened with shock as he recognised the voice behind him before his head could turn far enough to visually confirm Christophe's identity. At once he struggled free, hearing Phil whimper with sudden desperation as he withdrew. Rayne ignored him and stumbled clear of the men in the hollow.
"Don't touch me," he warned now, shaking his head determinedly. "I've got witnesses. If you even 'try' to touch me again I'll make you sorry!"
Christophe shrugged his shoulders slightly as if this was a disappointing reply but not entirely unexpected. His face was still visibly marked by his encounter with Rayne's friends; a broken nose, split lips and two black eyes marred his icy good looks somewhat but did not seem to have affected his tongue. He was flanked loosely by the bald man and a couple of younger fellows who looked like naked body builders. Rayne began to back away at once, calling Phil to stay close.
"Get the blond," Christophe said in a deadpan tone and the bald headed man grabbed Phil's arms and pulled him back as he tried to scramble after Rayne.
"Let go of him!" Rayne ran at them both, blinded to the potential danger by his concern for Phil. He slapped at the hairless fellow, then clawed at his hands as Phil struggled and kicked in his powerful grasp.
"Put my English bitch on the floor where they can't hear him whining from the beach and spread him," Christophe instructed the two muscle boys impassively. "Make his little boyfriend watch. Let him see what happens to stupid wilful sluts who try to make a fool of me."
"NOOOOO!" Rayne screamed at him as the two crop-headed hunks of muscle pried him off Phil and his captor, carrying him after the Frenchman. Christophe had already turned to walk deeper into the dunes, away from the shushing of the sea. The scrub grew taller and thicker back here and soon the sound of crickets drowned out the whispering of the waves. Heat rolled over them like a shimmering blanket as the two slabs of muscle dragged Rayne physically down into the heart of the Nature Reserve beyond the dunes. In a quiet, sunbaked hollow, shrouded by withered olive trees Christophe stopped and pointed at the ground. In unison the heavy lads dropped to their knees and slammed Rayne down into the dust. He struggled onto his belly at once, trying to get up and crawl away but they were either side of him immediately, pinning him down and wrestling him onto his back. Rayne bucked frantically as they held his wrists down on the harder ground and gripped his ankles, pulling his knees back to his shoulders, leaving him splayed and dangerously vulnerable. "PLEASE!" he sobbed desperately. "DON'T!"
"Not so sharp-tongued now, are we?" Christophe remarked, coming to stand over him as he thrashed helplessly in the shallow basin beyond the sand dunes. The Frenchman lifted his head and glanced around at those who had drifted after them from the rise. Many of the voyeurs had slunk away when things began to get violent, not wishing to be implicated in any of this, but a few remained, perversely keen to watch the pretty, tight-arsed English boy get what was coming to him. "Who wants to fuck him first?" he called out, scanning the nervous watchers coolly. "Don't worry, my boys will keep the whore still for you until everyone who wants some has given him a good fucking."
"You can't do this! You CAN'T do this!" Rayne keened at him, breathlessly.
A little way from him he could hear Phil crying, a sound muffled by the bald man's hand over his mouth. Rayne's heart was slamming against his ribs by now, every muscle and sinew of his body straining uselessly against the hands that held him down. He threw his head back and screamed for all he was worth.
"That's it," Christophe said with an evil little smile as the first man scrambled down eagerly from the brow and knelt between Rayne's wide-spread thighs. "Shout all you like, my little bitch. No one can hear you out here."
They made no attempt to gag him. Rayne alternately swore at them and pleaded with them frantically as one after another the furtive spies slunk down into the blasted grove and buggered him without mercy. He kept struggling, long after the realisation had sunk in that his resistance was utterly futile. His abductors did not beat him or even make any threat of violence; they simply turned deaf ears to his heartfelt pleas as he was mounted, penetrated and raped over and over. It was like a production line of horny strangers. As the word spread out on the gay beach more and more men came into the bush to part his legs and probe him, or just to watch and wank as others satisfied themselves with him. The heat of mid afternoon dissipated and the inferno shifted into the longer, cooler shadows of early evening as stranger after stranger was lured deeper into the scrub by his breathless, helpless cries. Some of his attackers were fast and rough with him, but more than a few men took their time over the deed, spending as long as possible between his legs; groping him lewdly and passing comment in their own tongues with those who still waited their turn. His voice became hoarse and the yelps of resistance as he was entered and fucked were weaker now, but no less insistent. When a couple of men grew impatient of waiting their turn and began to rape Phil as well, he broke and wept, furious and disconsolate in equal measures. Throughout all of this, Christophe stood over him and watched impassively, his arms folded across his chest and his cock standing upright, crowned in pearls of cold, satisfied pleasure.
The Frenchman took him last of all and Rayne Wilde spat in his face as he hunkered down on one knee and pushed his erect member violently up the younger man's arse. He did not bother to have the boy restrained, gripping Rayne's slim thighs and using them for leverage as he hammered his way deeper into his exhausted victim. Rayne had closed his eyes during some of the assaults but he kept them open now, glaring at the rapist furiously as the man's cock raked him internally. Christophe looked up into that blazing stare again and again, smiling coolly like a snake each time he met and held Rayne's eyes. His steely stare would flicker back down then, watching the way his rod pulsed like a piston in and out of the young Englishman's raw, sore, cum filled arsehole and the smile grew more feral as it moved back to his flushed, angry, beautiful face.
"You want to kill me, don't you?" he huffed as he neared his climax, banging Rayne harder.
The boy ground his teeth as little grunts and moans were driven from his throat by each thrust. It was agony to remain silent but he would not give Christophe the pleasure of hearing him beg now. Instead he turned his head and gazed into the gathering gloom where he could hear Phil sobbing and hiccuping quietly. He was grateful that they had stopped hurting the blond lad but at the same time he was so angry with them that he thought his blood would boil up out of his eyes at any moment.
The thought of ripping Christophe apart inch by inch was all that kept him sane. His jaws clenched and he concentrated on the visceral image of his clawed hands digging deeper into soft flesh, tearing muscles and breaking bones. The tension must have tightened him inside as his assailant uttered a low groaning cry of pleasure and pushed himself deep, holding his twitching cock inside Rayne until the boy's tight arse milked the last drop of liquid heat from his balls.
Rayne looked at him again as he finally knelt back and slowly pulled his wilting manhood out, slick with cum. He rose to his feet, letting the boy sprawl awkwardly beneath him, too weak and sore to even move.
"I enjoyed that," he said, his voice still slightly tremulous from the climax. "I enjoyed watching them wear you down. The pain in your voice and in your eyes, especially when they began to use your little boyfriend, almost made me lose control. But I am glad that I was able to withold my orgasm until the end. It was so worth it!"
"Damn you to hell, you lousy fucker!" Rayne croaked, his throat so sore that he could barely get the words out. He managed to pull himself away from Christophe's feet and struggle to his knees. Even that took an almighty effort. His muscles and joints screamed a protest as he tried to bring his legs back together and get them under him. "I hope you die slowly," he hissed through gritted teeth. "In a jail! Preferably one where they know what a dirty, fuckin' rapist pervert you are!"
"Such a fire, you have in your heart," Christophe chuckled, turning to walk away as if nothing had happened. "I pray I will get another chance to break your spirit before I return to Lyon."
Rayne glared at his retreating back, too breathless to retaliate, until he was sure that the Frenchman had gone. Then he sank forward on his hands and knees and vomited until his stomach hurt and he could barely breathe for retching. Phil crawled over to him at one point and put both arms around him, still crying bitterly and whimpering; "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!"
Rayne swallowed bile, then retched again, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.
"It's not your fault," he croaked weakly.
"I made you come here," Phil sobbed. "Oh god!"
"Shhhh..." Rayne exhaled, too weak to argue. He was still trembling violently and did not think that he would be able to walk any time soon. Although the daylight had not yet gone the sun was below the visible horizon now and it would start to get dark before long. Surely someone had missed him by now? "Can you get up?"
"I think so," Phil sniffed and scrubbed at his eyes with his knuckles.
"Good." Rayne let the rational part of his brain take charge. If he let himself act on his emotional thoughts there was no telling what he might do. "Go back to Ambonne and find Paddy, or Ant. Tell them..." He stopped, suddenly painfully conscious that he did not want either man to know what had just happened to him. He could not bear to tell them. The sheer embarrassment of having to admit what he had been unable to prevent was like a heavy weight around his neck. Ant would probably tell Phil he had deserved it. PJ McNamara would hunt Christophe down and kill him... and probably go to jail for it.
