The German ripped at Charlotte's clothes; pulling and twisting each garment until it tore, split and came free from her trembling body.
~Don’t worry about me,~ chirped the thong happily, ~He won’t notice me~
Charlotte wasn’t worried about the thong. She was worried about herself. She was about to be raped. “HELP!” she cried, nearly choking on her sobs. Whether the old church was too far from the road or whether the locals simply didn’t care; no one came to help.
“Shut it, slut,” scolded the muscled tattoo covered man. “Your mouth has already got you into enough trouble.” He had kicked off his shoes and trousers but hadn’t bothered to remove the rest of his clothing.
Rough fingers grabbed Charlotte by the throat as the German held her head. His free hand explored down her pale body, pausing to grope roughly at her breasts. “I bet you like a bit of pain, don’t you” he rumbled, giving one of her nipples a twist.
“Oah!” wailed Charlotte, sobbing some more, but the thong seemed to like it. She wasn’t sure but Charlotte could almost imagine she heard it purring softly to itself.
Thankfully the exploring fingers moved off her breasts. Unfortunately for Charlotte the German’s hand dipped lower, down between her legs and cupped her pussy. “You’re ready for me. I can feel your wetness. I’m doing you a favour!”
Charlotte had no reply. She felt the large man reposition on top of her, wriggling a little lower down before getting his knees fully astride her captured body.
The rapist thrust forward and his fat cock pumped deep inside. Her first time – her first sexual encounter – had not been in a luxury hotel on her wedding night. Charlotte’s first time was on a pile of stones, in a strange land, in a ruined building with a tattoo covered stranger.
The German was not a tender lover. He seemed to be worked up at the teasing her cock had received thanks to Charlotte’s experienced tongue. He bucked his hips, slamming the entire length of his large cock deep into her.
Charlotte felt as if she’d burst. The cock was so large, it throbbed, it pounded, it was relentless and it hurt her so – at least to begin with, Charlotte found that her sobbing started to dry up as the cock began to slide back and forth inside of her more easily and slowly the pain began to transform. Was the thong up to some other trick? Was she starting to like this?
“No, no...” complained Charlotte, “I can’t... I can’t..." she couldn’t allow herself to take any pleasure from this. She couldn’t allow herself to be the slut the German said she was. Charlotte was horrified to discover that her body was starting to betray her, just like the thong had, the painful thrusts of the rapist started to become pleasure inducing strokes of a mysterious stranger. “Nooo.... “ she whimpered. |