(Author's Note: I was going to warn sensitive Christian readers to avoid this tale but it occurred to me that such people would not be reading rape-fantasy stories anyway. So no such warning is offered.
Everyone involved in the action in this story is not only least eighteen but is also entirely fictional. And I do not condone real life forced sex in any way, ever.
Comments and emails are greatly appreciated, even those registering loathing and disgust.)
*
As she walked through the twisted cobbled streets of Spignos, Erin had to pause frequently to get her bearings in the old medieval streets that wandered up the contours of the hills around the bay. The buildings were wedged onto the slopes organically, almost randomly, in a tangled mess of narrow alleys, steps and decaying cobbled thoroughfares. With poor beaches and inconveniently located, there was no tourist industry and the town remained naturally quaint and shoddy. The streets smelled of sweat, fish and untended sewage and the buildings were constructed of crumbling stone and cracked whitewash. The locals were a swarthy, hairy and large people who warily watched her pass with dark-eyed suspicion. There was nothing really remarkable about Spignos, it was just another island in the Mediterranean where people had worked and lived for millennia doing the same things they had always done. It was all entirely usual except for a statistical anomaly that Erin had noticed back at Princeton.
After spending most of her twenties studying anthropology, sociology and a handful of languages, Erin was finally in the last push to earn her doctorate. Working on her thesis, she had been going through a dump of data from the World Health Organization and discovered that the little isle of Spignos had an unusually high rate of birth related vaginal trauma. When she cross-checked against other statistics she saw that the crime rate was reported as zero, the rate at which young people left for the big cities was zero, and the divorce rate read "none". She probably would have just shrugged it off if she hadn't received an invitation to a conference in Vienna. Since her doctoral thesis was in women's health issues, she decided to hop down to Greece after she was done in Vienna and personally check out the Isle of Spignos.
When Erin got to the island she found it to be exactly the kind of feudal backwater she had expected. When she tried to talk with the authorities she was laughed at, told to leave and/or verbally molested. She had always been considered an attractive woman and was familiar with the difficulty of being taken seriously as such; but Spignos was extreme. She sought out some women to interview, but they tended to stubbornly clam up or to giggle and hurry away.
At the end of her first day Erin returned to the inn dejected. As she ate her meal of fish-paste, cheese and pita (it was all they served), the kind old waiter suggested that Erin take a look at the ruins of the old convent. "It is the only history our simple old town has," he explained. She asked for details, but he could only tell her that the convent was closed for heresy three hundred years ago. She couldn't get any further information from him, he just kept saying "Go up and look. It will change your life". Her interest aroused, she resolved to walk up to the ruins the next day.
Now she found herself near the highest streets in town. She stopped again, checking the skyline for signs of the ruins.
When she looked back down to the street, one of the locals was standing about twenty feet away. He was built like all of the men of the island; over six and a half feet tall, hairy and muscled like a bull. His dark eyes inspected her coolly. His glare worked up her long body, checked out the swell of her ass, lingered on the curve of her breasts, swept up her long, naturally dark-red hair and finally met her big, dark-brown eyes. She scowled at him, but he just smiled. Reaching into his old baggy trousers he made a show of laboriously adjusting his manhood. She turned and walked away with a huff, chased by his laughter.
Her lean body and full, c-cup breasts had left her open to this type of thing her whole life, but she was still wildly irritated. In the previous two days she had discovered that what is normal summer-wear in America and most of Europe elicited drooling leers from the local men. She had considered wearing something more concealing today, but when she felt the midday heat she decided she would rather be brave than uncomfortable. Now sure enough, her white tank top and khaki shorts were bringing the local Neanderthals out of the woodwork.
She ducked around a corner and there in front of her was the old convent gate, the bleak walls of the ruins loomed up on the crest of the hill beyond.
"Miss!" said a woman's voice in English. She turned to see an older woman wearing the traditional island clothing of an off-white peasant's dress; ankle length, but cut low at the bosom. She was different. Her gray-streaked blond hair peeked from under her kerchief and her green eyes and moderate breasts were nothing like the ample, dark-eyed, olive-skinned local women. With her were two young women, both looked to be in their late teens. They regarded her curiously. She could see in their faces that they were the older woman's daughters, but she couldn't see which daughter was younger. One had green eyes and dark curly hair that coiled out from under her head scarf, the other had dark brown eyes and unruly dirty blond hair spilled out around her face. Both had the large breasts typical of Spignos women which strained heavily against the lacing on their low-cut peasant dresses.
After speaking Greek for a couple of days in a row, the English startled Erin. "Um, hi", she said.
"I have to ask you, are you going to the ruins?" she asked in an English accent.
"Yes. I thought I'd take a look."
"You shouldn't go. Forget the ruins and leave this island."
"Why? What's going on?"
"Nothing." she looked frantically left and right, "There is nothing to see in those ruins and there is nothing to see here on this island. Now go!"
"The old waiter at the inn said they'd change my life..."
"He did?" said the older woman in a falling voice. Her face flushed scarlet. Flustered she grabbed her two daughters and started hurrying away.
"What's going on?" Erin shouted after her.
She wavered, a little creeped out. Looking around she saw a couple of young mothers and their kids checking her out. One woman had a boy and a girl about the same age. Twins, Erin guessed. The other woman was older looking and had six kids; two about four, two about seven, two about twelve... three sets of twins. She realized that every family she'd seen on this island involved sets of twins. Weird.
Erin was suddenly eager to get out of this town for awhile. She started herself up through the old gate toward the ruins. The path twisted and turned through cluttered underbrush, but was itself very clear, like it was used frequently. The sea breeze was stronger up above the buildings and she felt the oppressive oddness of the town float away.
When she got to the old convent she was panting from the climb and perspiring freely. As she sat in the shade and caught her breath she looked around and decided the ruins of the old convent really weren't very impressive. It looked like it had been pretty humble in life and it made for bland ruins. Erin got up and started walking around, trying to figure out the old layout of the place and catching views of the sea. That's when she found it.
It was in an alcove in an uncollapsed part of the old chapel. Obviously meant to be hung on the wall it was now merely propped up for display. The crucifix was nine or ten feet tall, carved in limestone, with a life sized Jesus straining against the nails in the cross. What made the sculpture so odd was that this Jesus had a vagina; a grooved, two inch diameter hole where the loin cloth should have been. Furthermore, the sculptor's attempt to portray Christ's agony resembled something more like orgasmic ecstasy, making the whole thing pretty silly looking.
As Erin finally got control of her laughter, she brought her camera up to her face. She couldn't believe this place wasn't famous with something ridiculous like that lying around. She was lining the picture up in the viewfinder when something smacked the camera away from her face; sending it shattering against the old stone floor.
Her face stinging, she whirled around to find a local man standing beside her. "You are trespassing," he growled in Greek. Behind him loomed another man staring blankly at her.
"Ow! You dick!" she yelled back in English.
They were smaller than most Spignos men, but still big; a little under six feet tall and barrel-chested. The one nearest to her brought his left hand up fast, clamped it around Erin's neck and shook her roughly. "You are breaking the rules," he said menacingly.
