Bus Crash

©2019 GlacialisFI

An accident brought her unconscious into his house, but can a lonely man keep himself away from a pretty young thing so totally and enticingly dependent on him?

Some of the keywords for this story are: rape, abuse, captivity, domination, violence, humiliation, brutality, older man, coercion, anal, sexual torture and submission.

Dear Reader,

Please note that this is a rape fantasy story written for adult entertainment. Among other violent, extreme and possibly disturbing scenes, it contains graphic depictions of non-consensual sex. If you are uncomfortable with such sexual fantasies, do not proceed to read this story. Also note that this is a fantasy story only and I do not condone abuse of any kind in real life.

Also, each of you who have sent me a message I wholeheartedly thank you. Each of those messages popping up on my phone made me glow with glee. I write because I feel compelled to, because I need to write the flooding scenes out of my head, but also because I want to live in a world in which people like me can pleasure themselves with stories like this. Thank you for each message that has shown me that there is meaning to what I do and write.

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Chapter 1

Through the blur of unconsciousness Aamu felt large, warm hands turning her head this way and that. She felt a searing pain on her temple and screamed out, yet what came out was no more than a tiny moan. She tried to swat at whatever was causing the horrible pain but the hands resting on her lap -- her own hands that she should by all rights have been able to move -- barely twitched. She fought sleep and dragged her hand sideways half and inch by half an inch until it rested against a warm, soft wall. The wall swelled and drew back, swelled and drew back -- someone was there beside her, breathing steadily. The touch and warmth reassured her and she tried to speak, but her words were a mere weak mumble. Her head was heavy, so heavy and then, again, darkness.

Hours later she woke up alone, her limbs and head unnaturally heavy. Drugs, she thought, and tried to ask herself when, why and how, but wrenching herself to sit upright took all the faculties she had. Her vision was blurred, eyes watery, and even the tiniest of movements exploded the pain in her head. Fumbling with her fingers she found her temples wrapped in gauze.

She tried each of her limbs and though they all hurt nothing felt broken. The right side of her body however felt very sore and she nodded her head gingerly to look down. Under the soft blanket she was wearing someone else's baggy t-shirt. She still had her own panties on but the rest of her clothes were gone. Large, dark, mean looking bruises ran along her bare right arm and all the way down her thigh.

Wincing from pain she looked around her, trying to piece together her whereabouts. Coffee table, armchair, a very old TV, dining table, stacks of newspapers, whitewashed walls and old paned windows with thick, uneven glass. Along the back wall was a small kitchen with sink, stove and cupboards. Two doors led either to outside or to other rooms. Everything was worn but tidy. Nothing was familiar.

Aamu felt lightheaded and was just about to lie back down when the front door opened and a man in dirty boots walked in. In a fraction of a second Aamu's confusion and worry turned into blind fear and panic. Where was she? Who was he? Why had he drugged her? Why was she undressed? The stranger in the doorway seemed to fill the whole room with his presence. She was small, weak and vulnerable, he was big, strong and male -- and he was standing between her and her way out. She wanted to run, to crawl away and hide, but there was nowhere to go.

The man stopped in his tracks when he saw that she was awake. He smiled at her but with her blurred vision Aamu saw the grin but couldn't make out the expression that went with it. The very realistic possibility that the intentions of a man, who had dragged an injured girl to his cottage, stripped her and drugged her, might not be good, filled out the missing details in her brain and she assumed it to be an evil grin -- lusty and malicious. All Aamu could think of was that she didn't want him to come any closer.

He was saying something but Aamu couldn't make out any of it. She stood up, mewing in pain, eyes shooting about for a way to escape. While the man took off his boots, Aamu held on to the sofa and took a few shaky steps to stand behind it. She felt slightly better now that she had a barricade between herself and her intimidating host. She kept blinking her eyes wildly, trying to regain her sight but tears blurred everything. When seeing and assessing wasn't an option, she had to go by assumptions and with her growing fear all she saw was threat.

"Please, I don't understand what you're saying," Aamu squeaked, cursing herself right after for sounding so obviously terrified. "Where am I? Why am I here?"

In a sudden flash fragmented recollections washed over her; the sense of weightlessness in a bus veering off the road; people screaming; the crushing pain of impact; lights -- white, yellow, red, blue -- flashing in the darkness, reflecting from wet surfaces; blood on her face, blood on her hands; her blood, other people's blood and how she'd screamed and screamed at the sight of it. She remembered hands tugging and lifting her, blurry voices talking, a needle, and then herself, falling into an unnatural exhaustion so profound that she passed out.

The man started towards her, still speaking.

"Please, I don't understand," she repeated, voice shrill and eyes wide with fear. "Don't come closer!" She was backing away from the man. "I don't understand you, I don't understand. Speak English. Sprich Deutsch. Gavaryu po-Russkij. Française? Italiano? Espanol? Anything! Please!" He had to have a wife somewhere, a daughter, a neighbor, a grandmother, anyone less scary, less male. "No! Please! Don't come any closer. Net. Net! Can't you understand that? Net!" The man, talking slowly in a low, comforting tone, had his hands in front of him, gesturing 'whoa, calm down,' but he was still inching closer and her body was shaking with the fear of what he would do when he reached her.

Pain and exhaustion caught up with her. Her legs folded and she collapsed on the old ornate rug. Mewing and holding her throbbing head she still tried to escape him by crawling. He rushed to her and she cowered from him, drawing back, instinctively shielding her head with her weak, shaking arms. He humpfed in frustration and without trying to reason with her any more simply grabbed her into his arms and half walked half dragged her back on the sofa. He fussed a pillow under her and a blanket over her and shook his head at her suspicious glare.

"Stupid girl," he muttered to himself. "I'm only trying to help you."

While Aamu tried her best to stop the room from spinning he brought her a glass of red juice. She took it and drank greedily. Tart it was, homemade, and tasted like redcurrants and raspberries.

He crouched beside her, took her empty glass and, as if the two motions were an inseparable pair, gently petted the back of her head with the other hand. Then, both hesitating in the sudden company of a total stranger, they stayed still for a moment, both taking stock, Aamu stretched out on the couch, the man kneeling beside her.

He was a big, stocky man with a thick neck and brutish features, yet his voice was soothing and his hands gentle and right now that was enough. She realized that the man was treating her like a child but in the state she was in, half naked and wholly helpless, she very much preferred that to being treated and seen as a half-naked woman.

"They brought you here last night from the accident site. Do you remember? You weren't hurt too badly and the clinic was so swamped that they patched you up and brought you here. Our village is just off the road where the bus crashed. They said you were hysterical and that they had to sedate you but it should wear off soon ...and you don't understand a word I say, do you?" She kept staring at him in wide eyed confusion and he muttered half to himself, "What on earth am I going to do with you."

Aamu closed her eyes, biting her lip, fighting tears. It was getting to be too much. She wanted to go home. She wanted to sleep. She wanted Timo.

"Ssh, it's ok," he continued soothingly. "Were you with someone? What's your name? Where do you come from? Slovenia? Romania?"

Aamu shook her head to his guessing of countries and, not knowing what more to say, whispered in English, "Finland."

The man went on nodding and speaking. The only word Aamu understood for sure was

autobus

. She guessed he was wondering out loud what she was doing in the Serbian mountains. She heard faint echoes of familiar words but couldn't make out much. You, me, yes and no she could understand but that wouldn't carry very far. Far enough for them to learn each others' names though.

With sign language and faltering words she found out that she was in a village about two hundred kilometers from where she was supposed to be. There were so many things she wanted to ask this man, Vlajko, but for the time being she didn't have the strength to try and figure out how to get through to him.

"I need to take a look at that," he said, nodding towards her temple where blood had already seeped through the dressings. Aamu cringed at the thought of changing the bandages on her pounding, aching head, but figured that he probably knew better. However, when he reached for a bottle of antiseptic and a bag of cotton balls from a small table, she drew back hastily and started pleading.

"Please, surely there's no need for that. I'm fine. Please, I really am. Please don't do that. Please. You don't know how much it hurts!" She still remembered the earlier, horrible pain all too well, the pain she'd felt so strongly even when half unconscious. How bad would it be to suffer through it when fully awake?

She covered the injured part of her forehead with her hands and Vlajko couldn't subdue a chuckle. He tugged gently at her hands, speaking to her as if to a little kid. "Come on now, you're a big girl, don't be a little baby. I promise to make it quick," his tone seemed to say though she didn't understand the words. She didn't want to relive the pain and said so but Vlajko ignored her protests and slowly but resolutely unwrapped her head. Part of her was angry to be thus belittled and overruled but she couldn't deny it that there was something comforting and reassuring in his way of taking charge.

The bloody gash would have looked nasty if he hadn't seen far worse things in the course of his life. The girl was trembling and whimpering in anticipation of the pain so he leaned her head firmly against the handrest, uttered more soothing nothings and started dabbing the wound. Aamu screamed and tried instinctively to grab his hand and tear it away but he was quicker. He held her still and shushed her as tears streamed down her cheeks and she hissed and mewled through her teeth. When the burning and stinging finally lessened she noticed she couldn't move. His one hand was still wiping the skin around the wound. Her right hand was trapped between his knee and the sofa. His other hand held firmly the wrist of her left hand and his elbow was pressed into her chest, effectively pinning her in place.

A cold shiver passed over her breasts erecting her nipples and her next moan wasn't of pain. He had restrained her so effortlessly that she was getting seriously aroused though the situation was awfully wrong for it. She didn't want to give him any ideas yet he was so close that she could feel the warmth of his body throbbing against her own flesh. She was spread open beneath him, unable to flee, unable to stop him from doing anything he had a mind to do. His breath grazed the skin of her neck and every one of her nerves was hyper aware of him and even of his tiniest movements beside her.

Holding her breath Aamu waited, terrified of the possibility that the man might sense the sexual tension and act on it. Timo, she chanted to herself, remember Timo, you have to find a way to get to him. Then the moment passed, he let go of her and wrapped a clean bandage around her head.

However, he wasn't done with checking up on his patient.

"Now that you're awake I need to check you're not hurt, ok?" She stared at him, unsure of what he meant. Vlajko sighed and picked up her hand as unthreateningly as he was able to. He helped her sit up, the blanket still covering her bare legs, and stretched her arm out and started palming his way up to her shoulder, feeling her bones, muscles and joints. He bent her arm back and forth, up and down and checked her elbow and fingers. He did the same to her other arm and she seemed to understand what he was about. Next he put his arms around her neck, palming and squeezing, leaning her head from side to side, applying pressure on her collarbones, then checking both her shoulders with a firm grip.

When he allowed her to lay back down, they both reached for the blanket at the same time; Aamu to pull it back up, Vlajko to move it aside. For a moment they both froze, Vlajko could tell how stiff and nervous she'd suddenly become.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said reassuringly. "But I need to check that you don't have serious injuries." The girl only stared at him with wide eyes, her hands still stubbornly holding onto the blanket. Vlajko turned his eyes from her and sighed. "I'm only trying to help," he murmured half to himself but Aamu couldn't understand. All she understood was a big, strange man pressing her into allowing him to paw and fondle her unclad body.

They stared at each other for what seemed like minutes. When she insaw that he wouldn't back out, Aamu gingerly let go of the blanket and allowed him to move it aside, painfully aware of the view he was getting to her panties covered crotch.

Vlajko checked her feet and toes, bent and stretched her knees and started feeling his way up her leg with the same two-hand grip he'd used on her arms. Aamu was scared and nervous to begin with and it only grew worse when his touch crept up her thigh closer to her crotch. His hands were so big he could reach around her thigh.

Watching the girl shiver and pant and clutch the sofa with her fists, Vlajko knew what she dreaded and wanted to tell her that she had nothing to fear but she was so scared of his hands on her bare skin that no word could reach her. All she did was close her eyes and whimper.

"I'm not a fucking rapist," he muttered at last, aloud and angry, for her mistrust wounded him. "Never fucked a bitch who didn't want it."

Had she understood Serbian he wouldn't have spoken so coarsely, but now he didn't have to care what he let slip from his mouth.

"And stop that fidgeting, you damned girl. You're making me nervous!" And that she was, for the thought of fucking her hadn't really entered his brain until she put it there with her unjust fear of rape, but now that the word was there, it refused to be ignored.

She froze at his angry tone and he sighed and muttered an apology. The last thing she needed was for him to get all grumpy on her. He looked at her and tried to smile. She was short, had no make-up on and wore her hair on a braid. Her age might have been anything between 14 and 28 and he felt strange not to know whether he was touching a woman or a child, whether it had been ok or not for him to feel aroused when looking at her young, squirming body. She hadn't asked after anyone so she had to be old enough to travel alone in that bus, but how old was old enough?

He finished with her legs and pulled the blanket back over her lower body, hoping to get both her and himself to calm down. But when he wanted to lift her shirt to examine her torso, she wrapped her arms around herself and shot him a part scared, part suspicious and part pissed off look. Vlajko was tired of playing games. He half felt like yelling at her that he'd already seen all there was to see under her blouse, but didn't want to be cruel. Instead, he ignored her resistance and brusquely went on with his work. He moved her arms to her sides and pushed her shirt up despite her squeals of protest. Yet he bared her body only so far that her small peaked breasts stayed safely covered.

She jumped when he laid his hands on her bare abdomen, but when he started palming her belly, sides and ribs there was a determination in his proceedings that told her that he not only knew what he was doing but had also done it before. He wasn't doing it for thrills but was all business-like, and slowly she started to relax and trust him. He felt her torso carefully but was discreet enough not to go near her breasts. Still, she was quite aware how clearly he could see them through the worn, white fabric from so close. Nervousness had erected her nipples and seeing how painfully uncomfortable it made her, Vlajko did his best not to look where she did not want him to look.

He started talking to her again, murmuring encouragements that made it easier for her to bear through the invasion of her privacy. She winced in pain when he felt her bruises, but his low gentle murmurs helped her to bear through. When it was time to check her chest he placed her own hands on her breasts while he felt her chest above, around and between them, and she appreciated the gesture; he did understand her discomfort, and did what he could to alleviate it.

She lay on the sofa for the rest of the afternoon, drifting in and out of sleep. Vlajko woke her up every few hours to check on her, coax her to eat a tiny bite or to bring her more pills. She was extremely suspicious at first to take some random, unknown pills offered by a stranger, but when the pain grew and grew until she moaned in tears, and he showed her the factory package where the pills came from, she assumed they were legit. The upside of the pills was that they blocked the worst of the pain. The downside was that as a side effect they made her doze off all the time and kept her groggy and woozy for the rest of the time.

When she wasn't sleeping though, she had plenty of time to think and worry. She couldn't believe she was in the middle of nowhere without her cellphone, passport, clothes or money. She had no idea what had happened to her rucksack and bag in the crash. Her host had no phone that she could see and she had no idea if anyone knew where she was. She knew she should have been worrying about more important things but truly she worried only about getting to Timo.

He was the one good thing in her life; everything else was intangible and unpredictable. She didn't know what she was doing. She didn't know where she was heading. She only did as she was told and tried to make herself believe that if she took all the steps the professors, assistant professors and student councellors told her to take, eventually, somewhere in the hazy and distant future, a degree and a job were waiting for her.

However, nothing was certain and everything was scary. Who needed geographers anyway. They weren't exactly vital to global economy, and economy -- well, money -- was all that counted these days. Degree or no degree she'd probably end up scraping by working as a part time shop girl with too few hours per week, selling cheap rags to people who couldn't care less that in order to keep clothes cheap and business oligarchs wealthy the clothes were manufactured by children in factories with lethally poor conditions.

"Oh, not again!" she moaned out loud and held her temples. This was what she needed Timo for. Her thoughts always led her down the same dark path and she didn't want to be stuck there anymore. He could show her a world worth living in and fuck her senseless as often as it would take to drown out the din in her head. He could drown out the other her, the resentful creature that whispered in her ear all the things that made her sick, that even snail shit has a function as soil dressing but humans exist only to consume and destroy. Timo made it easier to forget all that. Or, at least, that was the fantasy.