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Deep Water

By: So drained



"There's some wet on me," Elise said softly. Perhaps it was Miguel's splashing earlier. Sigrid paid no attention to what she said; she continued with her nostalgic reverie about the time when pleasure for her was more pure, less corrupted by inhibition and less tainted by paranoia. She was talking of Zizi, Sigrid's great mistress and teacher in the ways of pleasure. 

"Zizi could bring pleasure to a man with her eyes," she said. "None of this messy dealing with bodies and fluids, no untidy exchanges -- just a pure gift she would give him with a look, she would open her eyelids slowly, let her long eyelashes twitter a little, and then her eyes would moisten visibly, suggesting more intimately than imaginable the moistness of her vulva, and then the opening and closing of her eyes would appear like the parting of her labia; the gentle sound her soft eyes would make in blinking would echo the sound of her labia leaving wet kisses on the man's cock; or at least that is what he would have to imagine. 

"There was a hypnotism in her languid stare, that offered both surrender and ultimate mastery. Some say it is because her eyes were both green and blue; but I say it was because she offered her soul completely, I mean it's secret and lustful animality of course, she offered that in those looks -- the men came immediately, uncontrollably, often before they could get their cocks out of their pants to prevent ruining their expensive trousers. Oh, Elise, it was different then for me, when she would look at me with that intensity, and I would shudder all over and feel weak in my knees, with a floating in my stomach and a pull in my womb, and any resistence I might ever have felt at giving myself over to Zizi, over to her completely would melt -- in my mind I fancied a solid block of icy resistance in me melting, and that fluid would flood between my legs, bursting the dam of my virginal resistance. . . ."

Elise felt lost in a haze of heat and metaphor. She and Sigrid were under an umbrella in the gazebo on Sigrid's country estate, and all was quiet save for the sound of Sigrid's gentle voice coursing through her ears. She did not feel so alluring, though she had dressed herself as Sigrid requested, with the tight fitting bodice, the arm length white gloves, and the short skirt without panties underneath. She longed to look at Sigrid with Zizi's look, that is what she wanted to learn. She looked at her now with her ordinary eyes, and her ordinary desire. 

Sigrid had hair so blond as to be nearly white cut page-boy style, the crisp line of her bangs framing her rich blue eyes and her aqualine nose. Her mouth was full, her lips sumptuous and tender. The lines of her taut neck led Elise's eyes irresistably to her firm, even breasts, which now held her rapt attention. She gazed at them longingly, trying to arouse the nipples with the intensity of her desire to show themselves through the fabric of her sweater. 

Elise felt herself inadequate to such beauty, though she had often pleased herself while gazing at herself in her full length mirror, surveying her youthful, compact body. Her black hair was short and spiky when dry, but when she came naked from the shower, with her hair still wet, she looked just like a little boy who needed a trim. It was then she would go to her mirror and look at herself, and think, I am like a little boy. She would hide her breasts in her folded arms, and turn to the side and look herself over, thinking irrationally, I am a little boy, and little boys like to play. 

She would look at herself the way she liked to look at boys, at their staight, lithe bodies, tensile, ready to spring. Then she would run her hands feverishly over her breasts, half thinking she could flatten them, and half surrendering to the wonderful pleasure her strokes gave her. And then she would do the same with her hips, wishing away the curves even as the smooth feels of them sent waves of delight all through her. A tumble of confused thoughts and impressions would overcome her, and she would turn her back to the mirror, but before leaving it she would take a last glance over her shoulder at her back side, and touching her ass she could pretend her hands were the hands of a little boy, with delicate little fingers, and she would forget in her fantasy whether she was the little boy looking at her beautiful girlish body, or if she was the women, touching the taut, yet giving flesh of the little boy's rear end, knowing of course that she had somehow become both at once, and it was this realization that brought her to the final ecstacy. 

Sigrid told her that her that this was good, that giving oneself to oneself, to the mirror image of oneself was an important step on the enlightened path. She said you must make love to the image of yourself that you see in order to defeat and transcend that image. But now she was talking about Zizi, about the legend.

"Of course Zizi only looked at me that way to show me, to teach me; she didn't mean to send me into spasms, into paroxysms of pleasure. I wanted to learn her mastery over men; I thought still that such was the way to true fulfillment. Sometimes I still believe it. Perhaps we should summon Gregor." She put the whistle between her thick lips and blew. Gregor, wearing only his white silk loincloth, came scampering over the hill and approached the gazebo. "Look at him, so eager and attentive," Sigrid remarked. "His life had been confused before, filled with the unruly conflicts of the desires for self and the desire for pleasure. It was easy to break through him." He stole into the gazebo and stood before their table gazing at his bare feet on the concrete. 

"Gregor!" Sigrid barked, and his face reddened, helpless he was to halt his embarrassment. "I can see you under your loincloth," she continued sternly. "You see Elise how pathetically eager he is, and how quickly he links servitude and satisfaction in his little mind." Sigrid snapped her long fingers, and immediatey Gregor dropped to his knees. He blushed at his own excitement. "Elise, would you like him to eat you?"

A pensive shimmer crossed Elise's face. When Sigrid had Gregor perform tricks for them, he amused and incited her, but the tortuous workings of his tongue on her had always left her strangely cold. She felt she should enjoy it, as a compliment to Sigrid's training, but as he worked his tongue in and out of her shaft, she always found herself thinking of other things, about the ripples of sunlight reflecting on the pool, or about the quality of the smell of heather in the breeze. The last time Gregor ate her, she had grown impatient, and kicked him away as he worked at her with the heel of her leather boot. 

Perhaps this had pleased Sigrid, perhaps that had been a test she had passed successfully, to let go of the more obvious routes to pleasure to strike out in search of more exquisite ones. "Pleasure is not a quantity," Sigrid had taught her, "pleasure is not even a quality. It is a flash of time, a plastic moment that expands and explodes, incomparable as it is uncontrollable." Elise's Maoist training bristled at first at the rejection of quantities, but she had realized now that Maoism had finally brought her very little pleasure.

With a nod of Sigrid's head, Gregor approached Elise on her knees, and he tried to part her legs with his large strong hands. Elise resisted. Gregor lapped at the crevice between her clenched thighs, but Elise pushed his head away with her gloved hand. "Enough, Gregor," Sigrid said firmly, and then she emitted a low laugh. "I see you need him to perform for us first." She clapped her hands twice, and Gregor shot straight up and stood before them. "Look at me," Sigrid said, and her eyes locked onto his. After a moment he began to gyrate where he stood, and his penis became fully erect. "Would you like him to play with himself?" Sigrid asked. "Or would you prefer that he continue to writhe in frustration?" 

Mixed feelings surged through her. Elise wavered, trying to comprend what Sigrid had asked. She remembered what Sigird had told her before, how she must embrace the strange and disquieting thoughts that came upon her. She watched Gregor's pectoral muscles quiver with fascination; she noticed how beads of musky perspiration formed on his brow. His eyes froze on her lips, silently pleading for them to part and wrap themselves on his straining organ. Sigrid leaned across the table and whispered in her ear: "You must let go Elise, and listen to what your body tells you." Elise felt the sensuous breath in her aural canal. Sigrid's soft hair caressed her cheek. 

She continued, "Look at Gregor; let him amuse you. Look," she whispered, "and laugh." Elise smiled, watching Gregor watch her deperately. "We are beautiful young women," Sigrid said, "and we must be free. We must be free to be seen and desired. We must be free to desire and lust.  We can play in the deep water, Elise, and we will not drown, and they hate us for that, and they want us, oh do they want us." Sigrid had taken Elise's gloved hand into her own, and she was stroking gently.

"He watches us," she murmured, "and he is jealous; he cannot understand what this feels like." At that she kissed Elise full on the lips, a velvet burning that smothered her and suffused her cheeks with fire. Gregor let out a strangled gasp. Elise responded hungrily to Sigrid, her mouth urgent and exploratory. Sigrid pulled back delicately, but let her tongue linger at Elise's lips, flitting between the corners. "Can you feel our power?" Sigrid asked, raising her eyebrows archly before she smoothed her sweater over her swelling chest with her gloved hands. "Command him."

Elise did not hesitiate. "Kneel!" Gregor dropped down to his knees. "Approach me," she said, holding her chin high above him. She lifted her skirt carefully to expose her carefully groomed vulva, the hair carefully coiffed and trimmed to allow for a pleasing symmetry. "Look," she breathed, and he peered into her with delirious, devouring eyes. Elise felt herself moisten. Blood surged through her veins and suffused her labia, warming her and sending her into a wonderous dizziness. She remembered herself in front of the mirror, how she consumed herself with the sumptuous curves of her own body, she looked at Gregor's eyes and envied him his perfect view of her womb, at the seat of all creation. 

For a moment, she wished she could see thorugh his eyes, through the lens of his overheated lust. Once, she had positioned a table mirror on the floor while she was naked and adoring herself, setting legs of either side of it. With her toe she angled the mirror so she could herself, first her face, then her vulva, to watch what her own fingers performed there, to see if it really looked as beautiful and true as it felt. Later she dressed herself in her finest silk stockings, and played her game with the mirror again, to see if the vision became more true as she ornamented herself. 

She draped strings of pearls around her neck, she tried panties that exposed the lips when her legs opened, she tried rouging the inner lips, and the points of her nipples to enhance their visibility, she tried powdering her face stark white, she tried decorating her body with exotic glittering paints and oils she found at a bazaar in Morocco, she tried wearing her drab green Mao suit, but with her breasts exposed in the front, the shirt unbuttoned, she tried anything that ever aroused her in thought, and perfromed it for herself in her array of carefully arranged mirrors, reflections of reflections of her lithe and supple body; but none of that ever compared to the powerful feeling she received from Gregor's eyes, and Sigrid's liquid voice, urging her. 

"The revolution is permanent," Sigrid said," like our pleasure that comes in waves that become unceasing, like the ocean, like the deep water rushing, summoning forces he will never understand, but will wash over him, crashing, crashing." Elise let out a stifled cry, and a series of coos as the pleasure came upon her; Gregor's penis exploded into orgasm, spurting and spurting, but when he stopped, Elise's pleasure kept coming, with continuing intensity. She didn't stop until Sigrid layed a hand on her lap. "Yes," she said.

"Thank you, Gregor," Sigrid told him, in her stern, professional voice. "You may go." He scampered away, out of the gazebo and back over the hill. Then Sigrid lapsed into her nostalgic reverie. "I remember when Zizi made me feel the great revolution for the first time. Zizi was a great woman, you know. Tall and unspeakably elegant, she could enter a room and command an immediate hush. When I first saw her body naked, I cried at her beauty, so divine and immmaculate. She laid herself on her divan, and she summoned me, and I came to her. She let me stroke her long, amber hair, as she spke of the great changes coming. She wrapped her long legs around my body, in an embrace that still tugs at my womb and sends shudders through me. 

Sigrid, she said, only pleasure can overthrow our oppressors. And pleasure I gave her. I bathed her body with my kisses, I caressed her as I had never caressed a woman. Such a thrilling discovery it was, as I felt in my body the caresses I bestowed upon hers. I would like to do for you, Elise, what Zizi was able to achieve for me. Do you think you're ready? Let's go inside."

In the sitting room of the mistress's bedroom, Elise perfumed Sigrid's body carefully with the scents she provided, according to her exacting instructions. A daub of jasmine underneath her arms, a hint of lilac at the base of her neck, musk between the orbs of her breasts, lavender along her alabaster thighs, and frankensence on the soles of her feet. Then Sigrid showed her how to powder her face, to color her lips crimson, how to darken her eyes to enhance their molten intensity. Of course, Sigrid was already naked on the low chair; she had disrobed in the other room and presented herself to Elise as if she were Venus, on the half shell. When Sigrid entered, Elise felt she could not breathe. Such pefect, well-formed limbs, such a delicate ankle, such a voluptuous waist, beautiful ass. Elise walked about and around her starstruck, as Sigrid posed herself in contraposto, as if she were a statue, to be viewed deliberately, in the round. Now Sigrid asked Elise to undress. 

She hesitated, blushing, almost embarrassed by the request; so Sigrid began to undress her. First she unfastened the skirt, which dropped to the floor about her feet. Sigrid ran a finger along her thighs and emitted a low sigh. She stroked the silky down bewteen Elise's legs, and nodded. Next, she pulled off the long arm-length gloves she had told Elise to wear, slowly turning them inside out as she peeled them back. "How fascinating you are," Sigrid said, "I would like to see you dressed in black. I would like to change your hair to black, I woul like to dye the hair between your legs black, make you all over new. I would like to see you in thigh-high boots. I would like to see your ankles lifted in tall heels, and see how it shaped your calves, and pushed out your hips. I would like to see you in satin that clung to you like a wet second skin, and then I would like to tear right through. I would like to pull stockings on you, and fasten them to a garter belt of lace and silk, I would like to see you in a negligee of flowing blue velvet, and feel your tremulous breasts through the fabric, I would like to bind you in a corset that thrust them out but left them exposed, so I could tease your nipples with an eagle's feather."

"Oh, keep talking," Elise said, with a sigh. 

Sigrid lifted up Elise's shirt. "I want to watch you making love to a man, making him whimper and plead for your orgasm; I want to watch his cock split you open, and I want to taste his come in your cumt when you finish him." She unhooked Elise's bra, which fastened in the front, and let it fall off her shoulders. She ran her fingers between her breasts, "I want to bury my face here, between your tits, while he eats you, and I want him to kiss me with his lips covered with your juices. I want to have you this way, through the filter of a man, before I have you outright. I want to make him watch, and envy me when I take you, and make you come like he couldn't ever imagine. . . . do you think you would enjoy that?"

Elise felt herself swaying under the duress of Sigrid's seductive patter; naked now, the words seemed to clothe her in senusous feeling. She felt delerious, drugged and stuporous. She lifted a lazy hand to her mouth, to her tingling lips, and moistened her fingers before she began to massage her nipples the way she liked to, forgetting for a moment even the presence of Sigrid's over-heated body beside hers.

"Yes," Sigrid said, caressing the curve of Elise's ass, "you are a whore for pleasure. You move like a coutesan, swaying under the sultry dose of opiate, administered to her by her Arabian potentate to render her perpetually voluptuous."

"Take me," Elise simpered, and Sigrid escorted her to the divan, as she was too weak to walk unguided. Her desire had made her nearly blind with the lust to satisfy herself. Sigrid lay her down, and called out for Miguel, her body servant. 

Miguel was once a wealthy and powerful man, but his wealth had brought him little joy; he felt it only alienated him from others, and from the kind of connection he imagined it once would have enabled for him. He surrendered all his wealth to Sigrid for the right to serve her, and he found in his servitude the ultimate freedom to please that he had always dreamed of. He felt free of the identity that once bound him with fruitless ambitions and conflicting claims. He did not know what Sigrid would make him do, or who he would be from one day to the next, so that he knew only that he was capable of doing anything. 

Sometimes it amused Sigrid to make him suck on Gregor's monstrous organ; sometimes she liked to display him naked to her party guests, other times she liked to shave his body and dress him like a woman. Sometimes she liked to sit with his testicles in her hand, explaining to him how someday she would have to remove them, to guarantee his total fidelity. Sometimes she made him wear an enormous oversized diaper and suck on her nipples like a helpless infant, or bend over her knee while she spanked him with a mahogany cane.  

Presently, with Elise laid out deliciously on the divan, lost helplessly in a coital frenzy, rubbing herself against the cushions vainly in pursuit of felicitous friction, Sigrid reequested that Miguel bring her special toy, a long, black flexible latex shaft; which doubled as a whipping device and a phallus. 

"For me?" Miguel asked, his headed bowed in servility. 

"For my guest," Sigrid told him, gesturing over to Elise on the sofa, a perfect picture of nubile lewdness, one naked arm draped over the sofa's back, the other thrown back with abandon behind her head, and her legs parted wide so that both Sigrid and Miguel could observe had she rubbed the tender area between her anus and her vagina against the corner of the main cushion.

"Oh, Madam," Miguel said, "please let me have her."

Sigrid considered for a moment, while she remarked to Miguel absently, "I ought to whip you for your insolence." Then she decided: "No, Miguel, bring me my toy, and have your own ready when you return."

When Miguel re-entered, he found his mistress kissing Elise passionately on the lips while her hands worked carefully on the straps which would bind her arms behind her, thrusting her perky breasts out before her, vulnerable and freely accessible. When she finished her kiss, Sigrid fashioned a gag from Elise's chemise, and fastened it around her mouth. Then Sigrid sat her upright as if she were a huge inanimate plaything. Noticing his entrance, Sigrid told Miguel," When it is time for her to suck you, we shall remove this." Unable to speak, Elise could only communicate with her eyes, which dilated at the prospects of taking Miguel's huge animal-like cock into her mouth, which was, of course, already quite erect. 


Deep Water



"Have I ever been raped? Yes, I have, but if it's all the same to you I'd prefer not to talk about it?"

"Do I feel guilty? Why the hell should I feel guilty? I didn't rape myself, you know?"

"Contributed to it? How? By being in a public place surrounded by a thousand people?"

"I am not exaggerating. That's where it happened and I didn't do a damn thing to provoke the man."

"How did I feel at the time? Furious that it was happening to me and absolute astonishment that this guy could do that to me in front of all those people and have no-one notice."

"Did I enjoy it? What sort of asshole psychiatrist are you? Any purely physical sensations caused by the rape were just that. Purely physical, and out of my control."

"You're not going to let up on this are you? Closure? There'll be closure when I meet the guy and I've got a large heavy object in my hand. I'll give him closure."

"How about I try to talk about it as if it had happened to someone else? That way I can describe what went on without getting involved."

"OK. It started out like this..."

It was a fine, hot Saturday, and Jenny and some friends from the same college were going to the beach. Jenny had a new bikini and was looking forward to showing it off (and the fine figure it contained) and flirting with her friends. Fun in the sun, sea and sand was the order for the day.

They all rolled up in a loose group, about a dozen of them, evenly matched between the sexes. There was no blatant pairing off except for Rod and Helen, and everyone knew that they were an item. It was just a friendly gathering of like minded individuals. 

They played in the water and on the sand. A bit of beach volley ball and a casual picnic lunch. They didn't cluster as a group, as there were a lot of people on the beach that day. Both sexes sort of drifted around, keeping in loose contact but also meeting old friends who happened to be there and conducting some harmless flirting with new acquaintances.

Some of the group exchanged phone numbers with new acquaintances, but Jenny didn't. She hadn't met anyone who she deemed particularly interesting, and eventually she decided to go back in the water. She made a casual query to see if anyone else was interested, and getting no takers she shrugged, and waded in anyway.

Jenny swam for a while, just getting in some healthy exercise and enjoying the water. There were some nice waves coming in and Jenny remembered a game she and her brothers used to play as children.

The idea was to find a place where the water just came up to your chin and stand there, letting the waves lift you up and put you gently down again. A spur of the moment decision and Jenny decided to give it a go for old time's sake.

So there was Jenny, happily bobbing up and down on the waves, just enjoying life. She was out deep enough that the non swimmers tended to be nearer the shore, while the serious swimmers were further out, using the rafts that were anchored there. For a short time, Jenny was alone within the crowd.

Everything was fine until she lost her bathers. Well, she didn't lose them as such. She knew where they were. They were in the triumphant hands of the man who had swum up underwater and rudely pulled them down and off, surfacing next to her laughing.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" flared Jenny. "Give me those."

"Uh, uh," came the reply, "a little forfeit first."

"Stuff your forfeit," Jenny told him. "Give those to me."

"I don't think so," she was told. "While I hold these you're not going anywhere."

He had a point, Jenny had to admit. There was no way she was running back up the beach without her bathers. The best she could hope for would be to get closer to the shore and hope to make one of her friends aware of her little problem.

Jenny glared at the man. "What do you want?" 

"You," came the terse reply. "I'm going to take you, here and now and you're not going to struggle or scream or do anything but what I say."

"Are you mad?" exclaimed Jenny, astounded. "What makes you think I'll agree to any such thing? People would see us. My friends would come over to see what the problem is."

"We're both covered by the water," the man pointed out with a nasty smirk. "I'm going to take you and have you leaning back in the water and no-one will have any idea that we're joined at the hips. 

And don't even think of screaming," he added. "If you try to scream I'd be forced to kick your legs out from under you and you might drown."

Before Jenny could turn and dive to the side in an attempt to put distance between them, the man lunged and caught her arm.

"Now just take it easy," he said soothingly. "Just do what I say and everything will be fine."

Jenny was furious and frustrated. How could this possibly be happening in the middle of the beach, surrounded by people? And why was it happening to her? Unfortunately, she could see no easy way out of her predicament. While she was at a depth that came up to her neck, the man was much bigger than her and was standing there very securely. One jerk on her arm and she'd be underwater, and she knew it.

Miserably, Jenny stood there, wondering what to do.

The stranger shifted his grip to her hand. 

"Give me your other hand," he told Jenny. 

"Now!" he snarled, when Jenny hesitated. 

Reluctantly Jenny did so, standing facing him while he held her hands.

"Now lean back away from me, so that you're floating on your back."

Again Jenny did so, feeling his hands help support her, but also feeling him kick her legs apart so that they trailed to either side of him. The man pulled her closer to him, and now she could feel his erection pressing against her pussy, just rubbing lightly against her.

Jenny now found him moving her hands together and clasping them in one of his.

"Just remember, any attempt to scream and I only need to push down and you're breathing water," she was warned.

Leaning back away from him, Jenny floated there, feeling the hand not holding her tracing along her body and finally closing on her pussy. She wanted to turn her head away from the triumphant look on his face, but couldn't. All she could do was close her eyes and pray he wouldn't take long.

Jenny felt him moving her body slightly, and could feel his cock scraping against her. He was lining her up for his entry and there was not a damn thing she could do about it. Then she felt his fingers teasing her lips apart and he started to take her.

Jenny couldn't help it. Feeling what to her tormented mind felt like a tennis ball being forced between her lips, Jenny let out a squeak, and was then spluttering as a sudden movement ducked her head under the water. She opened her eyes and glared at him. 

"I said to be quiet," reminded her assailant, while he continued to press slowly between her lips, forcing his way in.

"And when you're in jail and the nominated toy boy for a three hundred pound gorilla, I hope he makes you be quiet while he buggers you," snarled Jenny, fury making her defiant.

He laughed, and pressed further in, taking his time and obviously enjoying both the feel of her and her helplessness. Jenny writhed slightly, trying to ease the torment as he pressed deep into an unwilling and unready passage. She was just glad that the sea water was providing some lubricant, or he might have torn her apart, he felt so large.

Jenny was both irritated and relieved that he was taking his time entering her. Irritated because she wanted this over with and relieved because it was allowing her body time to adjust to what was happening.

Finally he appeared to be fully in, judging from the look of smug satisfaction on his face. Waiting for him to finally get a move on and get his rocks off, Jenny felt furious all over again when he just stood there, wearing her. There was no way she was going to ask him to get a move on, so all she could do was float there and wait.

"I always think that if you're having sex, you need to hold boobies," Jenny was told. 

Releasing her hands, the man reach for her bikini top, pushing it up until her breasts popped out.

"Just float with your arms out and you'll be right," her tormenter told her. You won't sink while I'm in you, taking your weight.

Stifling her groan, Jenny found herself having to take his advice, letting her arms ride to the side to help distribute her weight while he played with her breasts.

Looking over at him, Jenny realised that what he had said earlier was right. Their heads were visible above the water, but a couple of feet apart. A thousand potential witnesses could see her being raped and not one of them realised it. They looked like two people talking. 

Jenny felt like screaming in sheer frustration, with that frustration not being helped by that cock inside her, just filling her and doing nothing. If he was going to rape her, he could at least have the decency to hop to and do it instead of all this stalling.

The ever increasing awareness of that cock in her was getting on Jenny's nerves. The least little movement she made and she could feel it, rubbing inside her. A twist to the side when he pinched a nipple meant she twisted against that cock, and she could feel it. Trying to sink slightly away from his groping hand and she was wedging herself more firmly onto that cock, and she could feel it.

And worst of all, those damned waves that she had been enjoying were still there, lifting her and lowering her while he stood firm, so the thrice bedamned ocean was helping him to rape her.

It was almost a relief when he slid his hands away from her breasts and down to her hips, holding her steady for a moment and then suddenly pulling back and slamming into her.

Well, not slammed into her as such. The water pressure prevented any really fast movements, so what happened was that Jenny started receiving a long line of languid thrusts as the stranger finally got down to the job of abusing her poor body.

Jenny gave a groan of relief as the movements started, realising that she had been mistaken. She hadn't really been aware of his cock in her earlier. She'd just vaguely noticed it was there and teasing her. 

Now she was aware of it. Acutely aware of it as it surged back and forth inside her, demanding her attention. The delay while her breasts were being teased meant that her body had fully adjusted itself to the intrusion lower down and was now quite happy to be entertained by it.

Despite herself, Jenny could feel her legs wrapping around the man's waist, helping to pull him into her when he thrust. Her body was moving with the tempo he had established and was matching it, leaving Jenny as a bystander, observing and feeling the action.

Hating him and feeling increasingly resentful, Jenny knew that she was going to climax. Things had gone on too long and her body was ready, really ready and about to explode. She pressed a hand to her mouth, trying to stifle a scream when she finally came, her body shaking with the force of it. 

"Pull out," she begged, feeling the assault picking up speed, but too late she realised as the she heard him groan and felt him spilling himself inside her.

"Bastard," she snarled at him, seething with fury. How dare he do this to her?

The stranger laughed at her fury, knowing she was unable to do anything with it. He lifted one arm up out of the water and extended it to her, and she could see her bikini bottom on it. Glaring at him she grabbed the bottom and tried to push herself away from him. 

He let her go, and while Jenny struggled to get her bikini back on, he duck dived and vanished under water.

Jenny looked around, hoping to see where he emerged, but saw nothing. He could easily have swum underwater to one of the rafts and come up on the other side. Or he could have swum almost to shore, not showing anything but his head, and that only if no waves blocked her view. He was gone and she was alone.

"So, Doctor. That's the story of Jenny. She did nothing wrong and has no need to feel guilty about anything, and she is justified in feeling a righteous anger regarding what happened."

"You want more details about how she felt when he was playing with her breasts? Why?"

"What do you mean, I should take off my top and show you how he touched me?"