Around the next corner, she comes face to face with a dark figure. He blocks her path, his stance deliberate. She inhales sharply, and gasps. Urgently and roughly, he places his hand over her mouth. He pulls her into a brick archway and spins her so she's facing the cold brick. He stands behind her, his right arm is around her throat. She is immobilized and silenced. After a few seconds, their frantic movements cease and they stand locked together, quiet and still. He slowly strengthens his grip. She feels breath on the back of her neck. He pushes himself against her, pressing her against the damp brick. With his right arm still across her throat, his other hand reaches around her front.
He squeezes his body against hers. She whimpers, and he silences her with increased pressure on her throat. He grips a strap of her summer dress, and pulls it off her shoulder. Then, the other. Roughly and with urgency, he kisses her shoulders, bites her neck. With one strong movement, he pulls the dress down. His hand cups her breast. He squeezes, hard and rough, feeling her nipple harden under her bra. She whimpers again. He tightens his grip still further, and yanks the bra down to expose her. He explores her breasts with his hand, first one, then the other. He compresses them against her ribs, squeezes and pulls her nipples. She winces, half pleasure and half pain. He presses himself hard against her.
Suddenly and roughly, he lifts the front of her dress and lands his left hand on her inner thigh. Squeezing, kneading, parting. His breathing has become a snarl, his mouth and nose always in contact with her skin. With his palm, he cups and squeezes her mound. Gently at first. He wants to explore her. He aligns his middle finger with her slit, and presses it into her. He begins to rub her through her underwear. The strongest grip around her throat, yet the gentlest teasing of her slit. They remain like this for some time. Locked together, immobile and almost silent, apart from the smallest of movements beneath her dress.
Then, he needs more. He yanks her underwear down to mid-thigh. He lifts her dress from the rear, and pushes her forward to expose her holes. With his fingers, he parts her buttocks, then her lips. He's taking pleasure in exposing her to the night. He spits in his hand, expecting that he'll have to lubricate her. But it's unnecessary. She is soaked. He tightens his grip on her throat once more, and with his other hand, releases his cock. He pulls her towards him, and thrusts himself inside her. He snarls, like an animal. The back of her neck is tender from his bites, soaked by his saliva. With every stroke, he presses her face harder against the old brick.
She is woken by a train overhead. It rumbles and screeches, for what seems like an eternity. When the noise subsides, she is able to gather her thoughts. She is lying, crumpled, on the rubble beneath the railway arch. Her underwear around her ankles. Her inner thigh caked with dried semen. She turns her head to look around, and feels sharp pain in the back of her neck. She gently explores the site of the pain with her fingers. It is sensitive, bruised. And at the very centre of the pain, two jagged holes.
