Forced

Afterwards I was quite shocked at my own behaviour. Not that it was my fault. Not really. All I did was go to the beach to get a bit of a tan.

OK, when I say a bit of a tan I mean a tan with as few tan lines as possible. That meant going topless. (Not bottomless. I'd die rather than go fully nude. The very idea was shocking. I know. I know. Some people would point out that at eighteen I should be past these little foibles, but they're my foibles and nude wasn't in the picture.) Going topless also meant that I couldn't go to my normal beach or I'd have a horde of lustful losers drooling over me, throwing so many shadows over me that I'd be lucky to get any tan at all.

My solution was to go to a more remote beach where you couldn't go swimming. No swimming meant people didn't go there, except me, for my tan. I knew of this beach where the so called beach was very rocky with those rocks carrying on down and into the water. There was nowhere for people to sit and relax and no-one would dream of going into the water. Your feet would be cut to ribbons just wading out to where it was deep enough to swim, and with that much blood in the water the sharks would be waiting, knowing a buffet dinner was on the way.

At that beach there was a nice slope on one of the hills, facing the sea and the sun, and covered in light grass. An ideal spot for some uninterrupted sun-bathing, and that's where I went.

I parked off the main road. My car could be seen but was relatively inconspicuous. Anyone spotting it would already have passed it by the time it being there registered and people just don't bother to stop if they've already passed something. Cops might, but I wasn't worried about them.

I trekked off to the beach, my course deviating slightly until I was strolling across the side of the hill. I was totally out of sight of the main road and there were precisely nil people down near the water. I spread out my towel, stripped down to my bikini bottom, and lay down to get a tan. I suppose I could have gone all the way but like I said, outside nudity just isn't me, even if there weren't any witnesses. It just seemed off.

I had a small MP3 player for my music. I didn't mind draining the batteries of that but god forbid I should drain my phone's battery. The music actually helps keep me awake, as do the magazines I had with me. I did not want to fall asleep and wake up to find myself cooked to a turn, just add butter.

I just relaxed, turning over every now and then, enjoying the sun. Some judicious use of sunscreen meant I'd develop a nice tan without any painful burns.

It was probably that little MP3 player that let me be taken unawares. I was just lying there on my side, reading an article on the royal wedding, my music playing softly in my ears, deadening any other sounds in the area, it turned out. Sounds like the footsteps of a man walking across to where I was. The first clue I had that he was there was when someone bent over me and hoicked my bikini pants down and off, tossing them to the side.

What is the normal reaction of a young lady to this type of event? Well, if she's anything like me she shrieks as loudly as she can while scrambling about trying to protect her modesty. I finished up sitting up, knees drawn up to my chest and my arms wrapped around them while I gave the intruder a furious look, my MP3 player lying on the ground, the force of my reaction having made me jump out of the ear pieces.

The man looked enormous. Of course, that could be because I was huddles at his feet, but I didn't think so. I think he really was enormous. My guess was that he was a labourer of some sort. This is not casting aspersions on his mental faculties but acknowledging that he was bulging with muscle and it didn't look the sort of fancy muscle that weight-lifters put on. It looked like the muscle of a man who regularly does strenuous work that requires the muscle.

"What the fuck do you think you're playing at," I screamed at him.

"Did you know that your feet are in the wrong position if you're trying to conceal your charms?" he said. "I can not only see what you think you're hiding but I can see that you're a natural blonde. Only a little curly patch, I admit, but I can see it."

I hastily shifted the position of my feet, giving him a filthy look.

"Just go away," I snarled at him. "No-one invited you here."

"True, but here I am," he said with a great big smirk on his face. "Ah, your new position isn't really much better than the old one."

"Go away," I said, speaking bluntly. I didn't think this man would be susceptible to subtle hints. I didn't give him the satisfaction of seeing me change my position again. If he could see more than he should then sobeit, I wasn't budging.

"But I've only just got here," he said. "I thought I'd work on my tan for a while. I didn't want to tan at the regular beach as I always get surrounded by drooling floozies and can't get any peace."

He was such a liar. He was only wearing tatty old shorts and he was already tanned to a fare-thee-well. He needed privacy to tan like Trump needed more adverse publicity.

"Just go away and get your tan elsewhere. Or go tan over there," I waved a hand in the general direction of places not near me, "and I'll go away and you won't need to worry about me drooling over you."

"Nah. This seems like a good spot," he said, and the next thing I knew he'd dropped his shorts and jocks and was standing there naked.

More than naked, as he had an erection, and that erection matched his physique, as in it was too big. (It was also white, which was a strange contrast to his dark tan.)

I couldn't help glancing at it. I mean, it came flopping out right in front of me. How could I help but see it. I gave him a rather nasty smile, thinking of the sunburn that he might get.

"And what is that smile in aid of?" he asked. "It's the sort of smile the devil has just before he gets you to sign your soul away. What's going on in your evil little mind?"

"Nothing," I said airily. "If you don't go then I will."

The trouble was that before I could leave I'd have to grab my clothes and start putting them on again, which would leave me completely exposed and might be enough to give him ideas. It turned out I didn't need to worry about that. He already had ideas.

"Well, before you go I'm going to lie down and let you climb on top of me. That way you can control the action."

I didn't say anything, just giving him a dumbfounded look.

He smiled at me.

"Well, after all, you won't want to be lying there helpless, legs kicking high in the air, unable to stop me sinking down into you, pinning you to the ground, now will you?" he said, his voice indicating that he considered himself to be the epitome of sweet reasonableness.

Two visions floated through my mind. The first was him lying there while I straddled him, sinking down onto him. No way in hell, was my immediate reaction to that. The second vision was me lying there, helpless, him slowly covering me and penetrating me while I kicked my legs in the air and hammered my fists on his back.

What really horrified me was the fact that I found that second option erotically attractive and hot. I mean, he'd be forcing me even though I was resisting. I wouldn't be able to stop him. He could just take his own sweet time and fuck my ass off and I'd have to just lie there and take it. Helpless, I think was the key word. To be totally helpless against his demanding needs, able to do nothing but respond.

"There is no way I am going to straddle you," I said defiantly.

"You'd really rather I just forced you?" he asked, sounding surprised.

"Of course not," I retorted. "I don't want anything to do with you and I certainly won't do anything that might be taken as encouragement for you evil intentions."

"Evil intentions?" He seemed to taste the words, rolling them around in his mouth. "No. Nothing evil about them. Just good wholesome animal instincts."

With that he pounced. He dropped to one knee, grabbed my wrists, unwound my arms from where they were wrapped around my legs, and lifted them up and back, rolling me onto my back, my knees still drawn up to my chest.

I'll tell you right now that if a man had unsavoury intentions towards you that's one position you don't want to be in. With me flat on my back and my knees drawn high I might as well have been offering the goodies to him. They were certainly on display.

I promptly straightened my legs and found out just as promptly that that was what he wanted me to do. He half rolled on top of me, one of his legs pressing between mine. He didn't even bother pressing hard. He just wedged his knee between my legs and waited, laughing at me. I was trying to keep my legs pressed together and the harder I pressed them together the weaker my muscles seemed to get. If I relaxed even a little the weight of his leg would press mine a little further apart and anyone could see I was on a loser. Anyone except me, that is, as I kept on trying to hold him off.

It must have taken him all of a minute or two for him to slip his leg between mine and once that was done he found it easy to part them further until he was lying between them. I could feel the length of his cock pressing against my tummy.

"Let's see your hands for a moment," he said, twisting my wrists slightly so he could examine the backs of my hands for some reason.

"Play sport, do you?" he suggested, leaving me wondering how the hell he could tell that from looking at the back of my hands.

He must have seen my puzzlement because he laughed and explained.

"Some sports, like netball, require the players to have neatly trimmed fingernails. Scratching your opponents is considered not quite the right thing to do. You have very short fingernails so you probably play a sport where trimming them is required."

He was right, although that didn't make me any happier with him.

"What difference does that make?" I snarled at him.

"It means that you're unlikely to be able to leave deep scratches on me," he said as her released my hands and took hold of my breasts instead.

Maybe I couldn't scratch him but I could certainly punch him. Except I couldn't. How do you punch someone who's lying on top of you? You can't really. All I could do was try and pound on his back and he shrugged that off as a nothing thing.

One of his hands left my breasts and travelled down between our bodies until it latched onto my pussy, rubbing and stroking. I was expressing my opinion about men and their brutal ways with a lot of colourful adjectives and he was grinning like a loon, enjoying himself.

The crunch time came when I felt his chest pressing harder against me. This was because he was lifting his hips, getting ready to take the plunge. I went berserk, or as berserk as I could get.

I hit him on the back some more. My language grew more colourful. I was kicking my legs up and down, waving them in the air. (No idea why as it wasn't going to achieve anything, but it just seemed the thing to do to let him know I was protesting.) I felt his cock pressing against me and then into me. The tone of my voice went up a full scale into the higher registers and when I felt him actually pushing deeper I shrieked with fury. (Or possible it was lust. It was a little hard for me to tell at that stage. I just knew that I was helpless, being assaulted, and wildly excited.)

Not that my objections counted for anything. He just ignored them as inconsequential, his cock driving firmly in, and there was a lot of cock for him to drive. I could feel him sinking deeper with every passing moment, filling me up and then stretching me so he could fill me some more. He finally gave a HAH of triumph as his groin slapped against me, his cock inside me just as deep as it could go.

It was obvious that he must have enjoyed sticking it to me as he promptly pulled right back and did it again. With great enthusiasm, I might add. It was plain to me that the time for objecting was over and that I might as well do something to help him finish off as quickly as possible. I started pushing up to meet him.

He didn't seem surprised to find me responding. Rather, he seemed to accept it as his just due and would have been surprised if I wasn't responding. It's an arrogant attitude like that that makes a girl want to just lie there and disappoint him. The only reason I didn't was because, speaking honestly, it's a lot more fun if you do reciprocate.

He was thrusting into me so heartily I just assumed that the whole thing would be over in double quick time. Five minutes later and he was still banging away and I was close to losing my mind. Just how long was he intending to go on? One thing was for sure, he was enjoying the pace that he'd set and was sticking to it, bouncing me under him repeatedly. I was gasping by this stage, partly from excitement and lust, I'll admit, but also partly from exhaustion. Just how much of this could I take?

I was still squealing and yelling as he went at it. So maybe it was more from excitement than from an honest objection to his depredations, but I bet he couldn't tell the difference. He was still grinning like a loon, getting his rocks off and enjoying every bit of it.

At least, he would be getting his rocks off if he'd just damn-well finish. I was ready to finish and I was certainly ready for him to finish, but he just kept on going. I'm sure that he was trying to drive me out of my mind.

Then it was too late as far as I was concerned. I was going to climax and there was nothing he could do to stop me. And I did climax, in a big way. One of the best I'd ever had. Did that mean that I was a bit of a masochist? Anyway, two things happened when I climaxed. First, I shut up, which is odd for me, and second, when my passage clamped down on him he gave a groan and climaxed as well.

Afterwards I wiped myself down with my towel and dressed quickly, not deigning to say a word to him. He kept trying to get me to say something but I just stalked off, head held high. I did manage to have a tear roll down my cheek and made sure that that side of my face was towards him. I hoped it made him feel guilty. (It's easy when you know how. Think about your kitten dying or something like that.)

The thing that shocked me was the on top or be forced bit. I've been on top and it can be a lot of fun. To find that I preferred to be forced was a real eye-opener. Maybe it was something I could play with in the future. Bondage, maybe? Now there's a thought.