Gina felt the man's firm hands against her waist, felt his body grind against hers, his breath warm on the nape of her neck. She tossed her long brown hair to the side, exposing the soft skin at the side of her throat, and pushed her ass back into him, rolling her hips to the rhythm of the music. She didn't know who the tall man behind her was, couldn't quite remember how she came to be dancing with him, but it felt good. The pulsing, flowing beat of the music, the inhibition of her body dancing, the long, strong fingers against her belly and hips, moving with her as she danced. She felt relaxed, joyous, free in her own skin.
Gina had left her boyfriend, Ben, at home that evening. They had had an argument, the pretext of which she couldn't remember, but the undercurrent was that Ben didn't want her going out dancing with her friends. He didn't like it when he came with them, and he didn't like her going without him; he wanted her to stay home. Gina had deliberately dressed in sexier clothes than usual - her shortest, pleated tartan skirt with a blue cotton G-string underneath, a black tube top and tall black heels - and had made sure he got a good look as she went out the door. Fuck him.
In truth, Gina didn't need much reason to dress sexily. She was 24 years old and proud of her looks, her smooth skin the colour of burnt honey and brown almond-shaped eyes, product of her mother's Filipina heritage; her long legs and slender profile thanks to her Scandinavian father. Her body was all her own work though; she knew she had a great ass, small but rounded and firm from countless hours in the gym, sitting atop her shapely golden thighs. Her stomach was flat and pinched in at her waist, accentuating her figure despite her narrow hips and shoulders. Her boobs were small but perky, and she liked them now even though as a teenager she had looked into enlargement surgery. Her nipples were sensitive and quick to grow erect, and she often went bra-less, including that night. She liked to flaunt her hard work in sexy clothes, and found the power it gave her intoxicating. She loved to be wanted, lusted after, and it turned her on. To see men's heads turn as she entered a room, hunger in their eyes, whether predatory or slavish, gave her a feeling of both self-confidence and horniness.
She turned around to face the man dancing with her, to see which kind of eyes he would be wearing. She looked up at him, into his chiselled black face, high cheekbones and shaven head. His eyes were large and dark - definitely on the predatory side, but lizard-like, cold rather than the hot-blooded hunger she was used to. He was certainly attractive. Tall, with strong features and a stoic expression, and he moved well to the music, a long, lean strength to his body that she appreciated. She pursed her lips at him flirtatiously and pressed her chest forward as she danced.
After two more songs, the man spoke into her ear. "How about we get off the dancefloor for a moment?" His voice surprised her, it was deep and low, as she expected from a black man, but he also had a strong French accent. Haiti? Africa? It added a purr to his low voice and he spoke English fluently but slowly, in measured beats. It was a very pleasant effect and added to her growing attraction for the guy. By this point, both their bodies were glowing with a sheen of sweat from the dancing, which had grown sexier, more intimate, and was starting to turn her on. She felt the beginning of dampness in her panties and was glad for the opportunity of a respite. His firm hand guided her through the masses and she looked around for her friends, but couldn't see them. She wasn't worried, she wasn't going to go too far with this guy; as hot as he was, she had a boyfriend and she knew how to handle guys like this.
The couple fought their way to the edge of the dancefloor but rather than head to the bar he pulled her into a secluded area outside the room. She didn't object, she had drunk enough. Maybe even a bit too much, she admitted to herself, as she stumbled slightly on her heels. The man turned to face her and she pulled herself up to her full height, she wanted to look sexy but also intimidating in her sexiness. She hoped they could stretch this flirting and dancing out quite a bit longer but she also knew she might have to reject him if he overstepped the mark. She hoped he didn't; she was having fun. The black man smiled at her and pulled her closed to him. "What is your name, beautiful girl?"
"Gina," she smiled back. "What's yours?"
"I am called Maurice." Their bodies were touching now, one on his hands low on the small of her back, gently but firmly pulling her in. The other hand was playing with a strand of her hair. Dangerously close.
"Hey, Maurice, I need to..." He interrupted her with a kiss. His lips slid between hers and she felt his tongue brush her own as their bodies pressed together. He was a good kisser and she felt the dampness between her legs intensify. But she knew she couldn't let this go on. She put both her hands on his shoulders and pushed their bodies apart.
"Maurice." She said louder and more assertively. "I need to find my friends." She had dealt with pushy guys like this before, confident men were more likely to treat a small amount of dancing and flirting as a green light, and more likely to need stern words to desist. Part of her liked this in a man, but she had never once slept with one of these guys from a club and she was proud of it. She was no whore.
Maurice smiled at her again, and never let go of her waist. "Baby, your friends are gone."
A trickle of fear crept into Gina's mind for the first time. "What do you mean, gone?"
"I mean, they left. It's just you and me now. You and Maurice." He kissed her again, this time his strong hand at her hips moving down over her ass as he ground his body into hers. Again she felt her body respond, and again she knew she had to stop this. She pulled apart for a second time.
"Maurice, stop." She tried to summon her most authoritative voice but fear and excitement made her breathless. "I need to leave."
Maurice shook his head, no longer smiling. "You won't leave. You're mine now." And before she could respond he pulled her, more aggressively than before, through a door she had not seen.
Maurice slid in behind her and locked the door behind his back. Gina looked around; they were in a small utility room, like a janitor's office, with a sink and some dirty implements in the corner. Fear enveloped her mind now. She could hear the sounds of the club through the walls but it was so loud she was certain no one on that side would be able to hear them. Maurice was standing between her and the only exit. She tried to push past him, but he pulled her into him. He was kissing her again, more roughly this time, and his hands were exploring her body, roaming over her hips, her round ass, the backs of her long, smooth bare thighs beneath her skirt, and up to her breasts. She felt her body responding yet again. Despite her mind screaming in alarm, something about the sense of danger and the feeling of the black hands enfolding her was most definitely turning her on. Even as she pressed her palms against him to try to prise herself away, he bit her lip and she felt that her panties were now damp with her juices.
Maurice grabbed a handful of her hair and broke away from the kiss. "You need to be careful, little girl." His low voice was now full of threat. "This could go very bad for you if you are not nice to me." Gina froze in terror. What did he mean? It was a threat, no doubt, and he was right. There was no way she could overpower him, no way she could scream for help. "Besides," Maurice continued, and the hand that was not in her hair was now fondling her breasts through her tubetop. "I think that at least part of you might be enjoying this." He nipples were rock-hard and poking out through the material of her top. His strong hand moved down from her breasts, ran over her stomach to her skirt. He pulled up the front of her skirt and slid under the waistband over her panties causing her to shake as his fingers touched the slickness of her pussy. She saw him smile at the wetness he felt down there. "I was right. You are very wet. Do I turn you on?" He pulled her closer to him again and his long black fingers began moving up and down along the length of her slick pussy, sending small thrills up inside her.
Gina's felt her cheeks burn pink with shame and embarrassment. Here they were in this dirty storage closet, this stranger of a black man was manipulating her body, playing with her pussy, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Worse, a small part of her did not want it to stop. Something about his touch was different to anything she had ever felt before. The fear running through her body like electricity, firing every nerve ending, the way his strong grasp moved her around, the wrongness of his uninvited fingers touching her
down there
all combined with the warm intoxication of the alcohol to make her body more sensitive, more excited than she had ever felt.
Maurice's fingers began tracing small circles around her clit, and Gina let loose a tiny, unintentional gasp. Maurice used the hand still holding her hair to pull her face up to look at him. "It is good that you have stopped fighting. There can be pleasure in this for you too, if you please me." Slowly, he slid his hand out from under her panties and Gina's body gave an involuntary shudder of disappointment. He released his grip on her hair too. Gina momentarily thought about making a run for it, but he still stood between her and the door. She was trapped, and he would make it worse for her if she made an unsuccessful move for freedom at the wrong time. Then she heard his voice again in her ear.
"Get on your knees."
Gina hesitated. She knew she had to play along until she saw an opportunity, but to be on her knees with this black man in front of her would limit her mobility, any escape would be compromised. More importantly, to her subconscious brain, she would be submissive. It would be the final admission that she was not in control of this situation.
Maurice placed both hands on her shoulders and spoke in a low growl. "I will not ask again. Get down on your knees." Gina dropped slowly down under the weight of his hands, feeling the cold concrete floor against her bare flesh. Her eyeline was now level with his crotch. She felt her teased pussy pulse under her skirt. She could now see clearly the huge bulge of his erect cock against his trousers. Fear flooded through her in a new wave, making her skin prickle with goosepimples.
"Unzip me, like a good little whore."
The shock of the words hit her like cold water to the face. It wasn't enough that he was going to assault her, do God-knows-what to her - maybe even rape her, if she couldn't get away in time - but he was going to humiliate her with his words too, and make her take an active role in all this? She looked up at him, wide-eyed and pleading, but when she met his eyes they were still cold and did not yield. She reached for his trousers, feeling another twinge under her skirt as her arm brushed against the enormous bulge. She undid his belt and unzipped his trousers slowly, all the while looking up at him, hoping that he would come to his senses, feel mercy or remorse or pity, whatever it took to make him stop what he was doing.
"That's a good little slut. I will train you yet." Maurice's voice seemed pleased, with a faint hint of amusement. "Now pull my cock out." Gina's cheeks burned again with shame. She did as she was told, silently reaching into his underpants until she felt...
Jesus Christ.
