This story was inspired by a comment made to me by my friend and writing collaborator and originally written for her. It started as a single post but grew into a very long saga through her invaluable insight and comments on the events and backstory. I want to acknowledge and thank brokenwing for engaging this story and making it so much better. I learned immensely through this writing journey. It is different from my other work and stands alone, but I have enjoyed the psychological journey of writing this tale.
Disclaimer: This is fiction. Do not interpret it as anything else. This is a story with themes of non-consent, rape, reluctance, sexual manipulation and violence. The acts depicted in this story are criminal and are only acceptable in fantasy. All characters are over 18 at the time of this story. If you are not interested in this type of story, please look elsewhere.
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She looked out of the plane window at the green island approaching rapidly across the sea. Not having travelled much before, the anxiety of flying compounded the uncertainty she felt about the trip. Or more accurately the person she was here to meet.
It had all been so sudden. They had been chatting online for a year, sharing thoughts and experiences, getting to know each other. Finding connections in the little things, despite their lives being so different it was surreal. Him older, her younger, him wealthy, her having no independent means, him needing to control, her wanting to please.
Their chats had become increasingly explicit... and daring. She had succumbed to his influence, becoming increasingly dependent on his opinions, his instructions. Relishing the feeling of obeying him, exposing her to grown-up ideas, of him having his way with her. She had built a grand fantasy about him and what it would be like to be with him.
And now they were meeting, to turn fantasy into reality. But she didn't know him and when he invited her to a villa on the beach, for a few days escape from the drudgery of life, she had said no. Never! She wouldn't do that. Something so foolish, so dangerous.
But the fantasy remained, fomenting first in her feelings and then in her thoughts. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. He seemed nice enough. But what if he was a psychopath or a trafficker? Even thinking about it made her wet with trepidation and anticipation, her panties soaking and her pussy tingling.
Until she said 'yes'. And here she was, landing on the exotic island. She had never even dreamed that she would be in such a place, in such a situation. Her past a traumatic place, leaving her distrusting and doubtful. But, also at the mercy of her needs, her wants, her darkest desires.
They had messaged each other about the psychology of domination, both the perpetrator and prey. She felt like a little bird, injured and trying to mend, wanting care, fearful of submission, but needing something darker and more frightening to affirm her. To satisfy her craving, to quench her passion.
To be desired unconditionally, wanted irresistibly. To gain a semblance of control by losing it to a man's uncontrollable lust for her. Where he would surrender himself in the act of domination and thereby lose a part of himself that he held dear. She was scared and excited, overwhelmed by the experience and what might be, her emotions tossed like a small bird in a violent storm.
He stood there, waiting. Looking just like his profile. Unperturbed by the chaos of people around him, eyes only for her. A calm in the maelstrom that is an airport arrivals hall. Standing tall, tanned and trim from hours on the ocean. His untucked white collared shirt, blue jeans and black boardriders, an image of casual elegance, juxtaposed against the cacophony of boardshorts, teeshirts and sandals around him.
Grey blue eyes, watching her approach, boring into her soul, not letting her resist, but sending a flutter of insecurity through her stomach. Heart racing, she hesitantly walked up to him, as he appraised her top to bottom. Her light brown silken hair pulled back in a ponytail for the flight, framing a pretty face with delicate feminine features, small upturned nose and slightly pouting lips.
The tight yellow spaghetti-strap top emphasising her small pert breasts and her dainty arms, which he took in with a smile. A short denim skirt revealing her shapely slender legs balancing on three-inch wedge shoes. The outfit screaming 'I'm on holiday!'
Uncertain, she held out a hand to greet him, not knowing whether to give him a peck on the cheek. Instead, he took her suitcase, grabbed her hand and commanded "Come! I want to get out of here."
He walked fast, used to moving through airports like a salmon upriver, hating the crowds and the noise. She tottered along after him, unused to the brisk pace in her heels, his firm grip controlling, pulling, wrenching her arm. At one stage she tripped, but he just pulled her up not letting her fall, but not stopping.
Her hand was sore from his grip and her shoulder throbbed from the strain. When she mumbled "Wait? I can't walk that fast." He just sped up, saying nothing and not looking back at the girl in his wake.
And then they were at his SUV, where without saying a word he packed her case in the back. Feeling lost and dishevelled, she looked up at him towering over her, questioning and suddenly afraid. Those intense eyes searching again, making her feel like prey.
Grabbing her ponytail, he kissed her hard, bruisingly hard - lips grinding, tongues duelling, teeth nibbling, him owning. She responded by submitting, reacting, allowing, letting him take what he wanted. Her body contoured into his and she felt the familiar tingle in her loins and her pebble hard nipples rubbing against his hard chest.
And then as suddenly as he started, he stopped and opened her door, guiding her in before going around to the driver's side. Instantly the gentleman. She said nothing. Just glancing at him with timid eyes, before looking forward. What could she say? He had brought he here. She had come willingly. Was this a bad idea?
The three-quarter-of-an-hour drive to the cottage on the north shore was wonderful. He was caring and engaged, talking about her life and current situation, small events that had caused her irritation or joy. He shared his travel experiences, making light conversation and sharing amusing anecdotes.
His hand strayed onto her knee, where it stayed, making little circles while he talked. She pushed it away twice, but each time it returned, gentle but insistent, staying on her knee so she gave up and succumbed to the sensual feeling of light fingers trailing over her skin.
Initially the stark volcanic mountains rising out of tropical green island reflected in the turmoil of her emotions. But soon she felt safe and secure, a soft glow permeating from her heart into her tummy. Blue of the glassed ocean reflecting her mood as they pulled into the small cottage on the beach.
He showed her in, depositing the cases inside the door. She was caught by surprise as he grabbed her ponytail and pushed her roughly against the hallway wall. She resisted murmuring "Hey. What're doing?"
He responded by silently shoving her harder, her shoulder bruising on the hard surface. Only a low warning growl in her ear, like a wild animal. Communicating his intent without words. Pulling her spaghetti top up, exposing her pert breasts, which he mauled with unbridled lust. He tweaked her dusky pink nipple, the suddenness of it pushing past the point of pleasure into sharp pain. Chuckling at her sharp cry, he told her to "Get used to it!". His other hand found its twin nub, trapped between her and the wall, he twisted them, sending jolts of pleasure-pain down between her legs.
That attention brought the shocking realisation that she was sopping wet. But he had no right to take what he wanted. So, she pushed back pleading "It's too soon. Let's talk and get to know each other in person. I want to find out about more you. Please?"
He responded by pressing his hard manhood against her, cradling it into her arse, pulling down on her nips, making her arch her back and rub her butt against his groin. A moan of pleasure from him and a groan of frustration from her. "Stop!" Again, she tried to push back, but she was too weak, and he too determined.
Grabbing her hair, he shoved her up against the rough wall. She could see the uneven plaster work, feel the smooth cool paint, smell the dust of the wall as her face was pushed against it, keeping her immobile, at his control. Why was she studying the wall, when she was about to be abused? Was it rape? If she came all this way willingly? Was this fantasy or reality? Did it matter?
He twisted her torso through the grip on her pony to arch her back. Lifting her short denim skirt, he exposed her flimsy pink panties. It was saucy underwear that he had bought her, made her buy online for him. Why did she wear it? It gave no protection, as he demonstrated by grabbing it and pulling it over her tight round buttock, giving her a hard slap while telling her to "Shut the fuck up and take it! I know what you want."
He loved the way his handprint blossomed on her pearl white skin. She hated the sting and the callous way he stuck a couple of fingers into her soaking slit taunting, "A needy slut aren't you. You're loving this no matter what you say."
She heard the popping of buttons on his jeans. Felt his feet kicking her ankles apart, his hardness trailing over her backside, leaving a light moist trail across her skin. And then in an instant of brutality, he thrust his entire organ between her legs and into her core, drawing a shocked gasp followed by a hesitant moan as she felt the fullness she craved.
He had said it would feel like this their first time. Memorable, passionate and intense, but she hadn't realised this is what he meant. She'd had visions of gentle lovemaking in soft sheets, not a rough fucking at the front door. Then why did her body feel so responsive, betraying her?
But that didn't stop her resisting. She tried to wriggle out of his grasp, but only managed to scrape her cheek and breast. Like the time she had fallen and grazed herself. When she had told him about it, he helped her treat it, but said that sometimes one just has to 'suck it up' and deal with the pain. She hadn't understood then, but he said that she would, eventually. His grip too strong, as he ignored her "Please. Not like this!"
But now she was not sure if she meant it or it was part of the sick game they were playing. Not knowing where fantasy and reality met. Her body didn't care as her arousal grew and her pussy flooded the manhood plumbing her depths.
He pounded her then, leaning on her back, her tits rubbing against the wall. Nipples darkening from lust and the abrasion, until they were so sensitive that the pain and pleasure collided, and still he would not stop, riding her, hand in her hair, pulling her back onto him. In control. Or was he? Was he at the mercy of his dark desires, his body responding, instinctively, just like hers?
