Taken at the Beach

*All characters are 18+. This is a work of fiction for erotic entertainment only. Real-life sex should always be with enthusiastic consent.*

***

"Hi, I'm Sascha, and I'm a sexual assault survivor," I said.

Or so I tried to say. I've been coming to this group for a month now, but I never spoke up. I couldn't.

None of the other women were like me. They cried, they were angry, they hated men. What would they think if I said I enjoyed it? That I came before he even stuck his cock in me, and came again while he was inside me. And every day since, remembering it. Wishing he'd find me again, terrified that he might do worse.

I listened to their stories and tried to feel the same way they felt. I tried to feel how I was supposed to feel. I mean, I felt bad for them. They were clearly traumatized and had every right to feel that way. But would they hate me if I said I liked it? They'd definitely be disgusted if they knew how wet their stories made me.

The therapist said it might help to write down our experiences and how we felt. So, let me try again.

Hi, I'm Sascha, and I have a rape kink.

I didn't always. I'm a normal person. I buy groceries, chat with the clerks, drive home. I work in an office, complain about my job, don't take enough days off. I have good parents, a nice boyfriend, and a boring sex life. Less boring now, but that's another story.

This one began on a late summer evening an hour after work. I ate a quick microwave dinner, showered, and changed into a light dress. My boyfriend was new—we weren't living together yet, and he was busy that night.

I'd been daydreaming about the beach all day. There was this one spot I visited every week or two in summer, a hidden little cove that was always empty. It was a bit rocky, and the path there was off-trail, but it was mine.

It was a nice beach day, a bit chilly with a gentle breeze. I didn't mind the cold if it meant a personal beach. The sand heated my towel, warming my skin from below. I used to put a towel over my ass in case anyone stumbled across me, but no one had in the last couple of months.

See, that day, I had decided to slip off my dress and panties, sunbathing nude. I have a guilty pleasure: I like to prance around my apartment naked. Sometimes I'll even leave the blinds up. It's my home, I can do what I want. And my AC is haphazard; the light breeze from my ceiling fan is a relief directly on my skin.

I especially enjoy that freeing feeling—nothing touching my skin except the floor and the air as I spin and dance. The building across the street can probably see me. I don't stand up against the windows and shake my tits or anything, but I don't hide either. I hope they enjoy the view.

This little beach is mostly hidden from the road by trees, the closest road is always quiet, and the closest homes are miles away. I suppose someone could sail past, but it's never happened before. No one was going to find me, and I really wanted to soak in the evening sun on my sore neck and back. Those office chairs—ergonomic, my ass. Speaking of, the heat on my butt felt great, too.

It was a little scary to lie there, effectively in public, baring my ass to the world. No one should be able to see, but it was still a thrill. Stripping in the comfort of my home was one thing. I smiled at the idea of someone boating past and taking a second glance at my fully unclad body. My limbs stretched a little as I imagined them turning away in embarrassment or maybe ogling every inch of my skin until I was no longer in sight.

I giggled and set an alarm so I didn't accidentally stay the night, then settled in to doze off to the gently lapping waves. It took a bit longer than usual with the little nervous flops in my stomach. I wiggled my ass until the nerves settled and my eyelids felt heavy.

Crunch.

I shifted slightly, sighed, and fell back asleep.

Scuff-scuff. Thump.

Snick.

Something tickled my wrist. I cracked open my eyes and flicked my arm, rubbing against something soft. That's odd—

Hands grabbed my other arm, clasping a fuzzy ring around it. Cuffs. A heavy, warm weight landed on my back at the same time.

Shock skated down my spine, my heart instantly jumping.

"Help! Ah! Help! Please!" I screamed and twisted, bucked and flailed, kicked and hit whoever was on top of me. The cuffs dug into my wrists as I strained, my elbows ramming backward and up.

A large hand clapped over my mouth, his other hand curling on my neck. "Shh. No one's going to hear you," a low voice murmured. "You're just wasting your energy, and, trust me, you'll need it."

The voice was so close to my ear and his breath brushed my hair. I shook my head violently, but his grip was firm.

As firm as the length of hot flesh on my spine. I froze, my muscles tensing mid-struggle.

He was as naked as I was. I realized I could feel the skin of his legs, the muscles of his chest, the hair of his bare arms on mine, and the twitch of his hard cock.

"That's it, relax. I'm going to let go. You stay quiet, ok? I don't want to stuff a sock in your mouth, but I will if you scream again. Alright?"

He paused, and I belatedly jerked my head once. I couldn't scream anymore—my short, constricted airway wouldn't let me.

His hand slipped off my mouth, his fingers briefly brushing my lips, my cheek, combing my hair. "Good. Good girl. We'll get along just fine. I'm not going to hurt you. We're just going to have some fun, then you can go home, go back to your bed."

His gentle tone made me stay tense and afraid. He was molesting me, was no doubt about to rape me. Crude and harsh would make more sense. Slapping, punching, choking. I waited for him to hurt me, trying to be meek so he wouldn't.

He kept a grip on my neck while his other hand ran over my skin—caressing my side, lightly scratching my back, massaging up and down my muscles. He hummed. "I love your skin. You're so soft. Thank you for letting me touch you."

I didn't respond. I wasn't letting him do anything; I just didn't want him to become violent. My body trembled as I lay there.

"I knew you'd feel wonderful. The moment I saw you dancing naked in your apartment, I had to have you."

The skin on my back crawled. How long had he been watching me? I tried to remember the first time I stripped naked at home. It could be months. Years.

"You're so carefree and open. So beautiful. I wanted to run to your door and take you right then. But that would have ruined it."

Yes, I was never going to be nude with the blinds open again, probably I was just never going to be nude at all again.

I swallowed, my voice no more than a whisper. "Please let me go. I'm sorry. I didn't mean... please."

"Shh, it's ok. You shouldn't be ashamed. Your body is meant to be shared. Thank you for letting me see you."

I wished he'd stop thanking me. It made me feel complicit, but I didn't ask for any of this. A soft whimper squeezed out of my throat.

He shifted back, petting me lower, kneading my ass. "Oh, sweetie, don't worry. I'll take good care of you."

His hand drifted to my hips, sliding beneath me and over my pelvis. He made his way to the top of my mound, near my clit, rubbing firm circles as I clamped my thighs together. It started to feel good. My pussy clenched.

His fingers reached further, right on my clit, rubbing back and forth, rolling side to side, circling my sensitive nub as my breathing deepened. I didn't—I couldn't want this. No no no.

His silky shaft shifted back and forth between my butt cheeks as his fingers reached just a little further. He paused. "Oh, you're so wet. What a good girl. Thank you for getting wet for me." His fingers slipped between my slick folds, stroking the edges of my entrance, spreading my juices over my clit.

I whimpered and twitched helplessly. My body was just reacting. This wasn't me. But my face heated in shame nonetheless.

He was so patient. I found myself growing accustomed to his fingers curled around my neck, the warmth of his legs on mine, his hand gently and slowly playing between my thighs. My body trembled less, my hips shifting into his soft, pleasant touch. When I realized what I was doing, I stopped, hoping he hadn't noticed.

"It's ok, sweetie. It's ok to feel good. You don't have to do anything, but you can if you want to."

He slipped a finger inside me. I exhaled, my inner walls contracting. He pushed in so smoothly, there was no doubt how wet I was, how aroused he'd made me. A scream stuck to the back of my throat, in a corner of my mind. This was so terribly wrong. He was violating me; I shouldn't be turned on.

His touch made me wetter than I could make myself. My pussy must have been dripping. His finger grazed my clit, and my hips jumped. A soft whine escaped my pinched throat.

"Mmm, yes, good girl. Let go, don't worry, and everything will be alright. Just let me make you feel good."

I couldn't do anything else. I felt slippery between my ass cheeks—his precum was lubricating the gentle slide of his cock. I was so wet and warm everywhere he touched me, even my skin lightly sweating with the constant tension and my small twitches.

He could feel my tiniest movements, my hips straining not to rub against him. "What's your name, sweetie? Tell me, and I'll let you cum."

What was the harm? He already knew where I lived, had seen me naked countless times. He could find out my name easily enough if he wanted to—maybe he already knew it and was just making me beg him for an orgasm. I reasoned away my concerns and gasped, "Sascha."

He hummed in pleasure. "Thank you, Sascha. I'm so glad I can finally touch your lovely skin. It's been torture watching you. Beautiful torture." His soft voice gained a rough edge, "Now, cum for me, Sascha."

I was the one being tortured. As his fingers rubbed hard and fast, and my body caved to the mounting pleasure, I was just a little glad that he'd found me. My pussy squeezed and pulsed, warm delight shivering through my veins, and I didn't care for a moment that he was violating me.

I heard the smile in his tone. "Yes, oh, you're just perfect, aren't you? Yes, thank you for cumming, sweetie."

He felt it. Of course, he did. Shame crashed down over the remnants of pleasure. I wished I could sink into the sand and disappear.

His fingers withdrew. His cock slid backward, then the velvety shaft glided over my slick entrance. A scream rose in my chest, but I could barely breathe. My body wanted it. All I had to do was lie there...

His hand gripped my waist, and I felt pressure at my opening. He was doing it. He was pushing his cock inside me, past my pussy lips, stretching me, so much stretching.

I cried out. It hurt. He felt so big, and I hadn't had sex in a while. I knew I should relax, but I couldn't. Right then, I desperately wished someone would find us and save me.

His fingers tightened on my neck and he pushed into me harder. "Does it hurt? I'm so sorry. I'll be slow. I just have to have you, sweetie. Shh, it's ok, it's ok." He just pushed and pushed, forcing my body to accommodate his girth while shushing me and firmly holding me down. He had to know he was hurting me. I whimpered and yelped, twisted and squirmed as he drove deeper and deeper. He wasn't slow or careful. His cock was urgent even if his voice was gentle.

One last, hard thrust, and his pelvis met my ass. He jerked forward, shoving in further, eliciting another pained squeal from me, then he finally held still. I became aware of my tears dampening the towel.

"There you go. Good girl, you took it all, every inch. You're ok. See? Everything's just fine."

If my throat wasn't so constricted, I'd scream and scream and scream.

As he spoke so soothingly, he started fucking me rough and hard, pumping his cock rapidly in and out of my sore tunnel. He didn't start slow, didn't give me a chance to adjust. His pelvis rammed my ass, his shaft driving deep, dragging out and stabbing back in over and over again, all while he shushed me and murmured how wonderful I felt.

My little cries of pain accompanied every hard thrust. It hurt, he was going too fast, I wasn't ready for his rough pounding.

"Shh, shh, you're ok," he crooned, nearly every word accompanied by a sharp slap as his body rammed my ass. "Oh, you feel so good, so tight. Yes, you're taking my cock, mmm, so well. What a good girl."

The pain was fading. No—he had to finish while it still hurt. But I couldn't stop my pussy from growing wetter, becoming accustomed to the size and ferocity of his pounding shaft, and clenching tighter as the horrifying pleasure began.

"You feel as amazing as you look, sweetie. I do hope you'll keep dancing naked, just for me. Think about me... when you take off your clothes. Yes, oh..."

He slowed. Faint panic skimmed down my back. Why was he stopping? Was he going to cum inside me? Did he want to fuck my ass? I didn't let myself hope that he'd just stop.

With his cock buried deep in my tunnel, he lowered himself onto my back, his breath loud in my ear, his fingers interlacing with mine. It was as intimate as it was obscene. I drew my arms closer to my body, my wrists pulling at the cuffs.

"Tell me, do you dance to music? It looks like you do, your hips swaying, your legs moving to a rhythm. Tell me what you dance to, sweetie." Both of his hands tightened, grinding my bones and squeezing my throat.

I couldn't think. I couldn't remember. I had to say something.

"C-classical," I whimpered.

"Hmm. Beautiful and classy, how charming." His fingers loosened and he released my neck. I winced. There were going to be bruises later. I wondered how to make sure my hair hid the marks as I tried to ignore his low groaning. He was so close to me, every sound he made rumbling from his chest to vibrate through my skin, my lungs.

"Sascha," he crooned, "Oh, sweet Sascha, I hope you're enjoying this as much as I am." His pelvis rocked gently, his thick shaft gliding smoothly within me. It didn't hurt anymore.

A chill rushed over my skin, shivering straight to my core, my pussy clenching. No. I didn't want this to feel good.

His thrusts became urgent. Firm, long, hard thrusts, again and again. Heat flooded my skin, my heart beating too fast. I gasped with soft, short moans. I clamped my mouth shut, strangling my sounds of pleasure. It was only the force of his pounding cock that drove the air from my lungs and made me grunt, my body rocking back and forth helplessly beneath him.

As helplessly as the pleasure that raced in my veins, every terrible, delightful stroke of his thick shaft driving me closer and closer to that unwanted edge. I trembled.

"Cum. Cum, you beautiful girl," he said, his soft command echoing in my mind.

My back arched, my muscles tensed, and I obeyed—him or myself, I don't know. With choked whimpers and moans, I came, the pleasure overtaking my senses so that all I knew was the silky wetness between my thighs, the tight pulse of wave after wave of bliss around the pounding of a thick, relentless cock.

I gasped. I sobbed with the intensity of my release, then with the suddenly crashing shame and guilt. I still felt so good; it was like half my body was in heaven—my pussy purring with delight—and the other half in hell, my chest tight with anxiety.

How could something so terrible feel so good?

His sigh was warm, his voice low. "Mmm, oh yes... So tight and warm... Oh..." His hips moved faster, his muscles tensing, every thrust deep, our flesh slapping loudly together. I bit the towel, muffling my squeals as he ravaged my body, refusing, rejecting, denying every moment of pleasure he was forcing into my pussy.

"Oh! Yes, Sascha, yes! Oh, yes!" He groaned, ramming deep into my tunnel, every muscle in his body rigid. Ice slithered down my spine. He was cumming inside my unprotected pussy. I shuddered at the twitch of his cock and the wet heat splashing against my inner walls, his virile sperm filling me spurt after spurt, thrust after urgent thrust. I writhed and moaned at the delicious, horrible heat that I could feel soaking my entrance and leaking out around his shaft.

His fingers threaded my hair as he gently thrust inside me, his breath gradually slowing. "Thank you for the most wonderful night, my dear. I waited all summer for this, but I'd be so disappointed if you stop dancing on my account. It would be such a shame."

A small part of me didn't want to upset him. I made an agreeable-sounding noise. It was safer to agree, anyway.

He sighed happily and finally shifted off of my back. I heard the rustle of cloth and a zipper. My cuffs came off. I lay there, silent and still, just wanting him to leave.

He took my finger, pressed it to a smooth surface—my phone. "Thank you for your number, beautiful. I'll be in touch."

Hazy numbness tingling all the way down to my toes, I didn't respond. The crunch of sand slowly faded. I didn't try to catch a glimpse of him. I barely moved at all.

A light breeze played over my cooling skin. I just lay there and blinked, seeing nothing in the fading light.

Buzz! Buzz!

I jumped. My alarm. It was cold when I finally moved. It was dark. I found my phone. There was a text.

I had so much fun. Come back anytime.

And right before that:

It was so nice seeing you on the beach! —From me. As though I invited him.

I haven't gone back. He hasn't used my number again. I'm terrified he'll come to my apartment.

I hope he does.

So I don't speak up during those meetings. I'm not the same. Sometimes I wonder if there's something wrong with me.

And sometimes I wonder if my boyfriend would understand.