A little different than my normal stories. A quickie I wrote because I haven’t written in a long time. I wanted a slightly more realistic feel. Note that I do no condone the act of rape, nor do I think it would be a pleasurable experience. It is a fantasy, nothing more.
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Running my hands over his back, slick with oil I had to ask myself what it is about the human flesh, running like silk sheets through my fingers, sun warmed and smelling of banana coconut that could be so alluring. And then there was the whole icky aspect of it. A perpetual neat freak and a complete non-romantic the idea of covering my body in oil was not an ideal for me but rather a form of some sadistic torture. Especially when I felt it collecting between my fingers and it caused a wave of physical nausea to think of it nestled there. Still there was the turn-on of staring a well muscled back so I avoided the almost obsessive compulsive urge to go scrub my hands raw and tried to instead focus on the task at hand, that is, my job.
I had been working at the Sun Factory beachside massage parlor for about three weeks and so far, I had managed to put aside my queasy oil-ridden terror in favor of the hefty tips from satisfied clients that made my wallet thick and clumsy. Another side perk to the job was watching gorgeous men shimmy down to their skivvies and pay me to have the pleasure of doing so. Of course, not all of them were good looking; but Sun Factory beach was a private club, and most of the men, aside from being loaded, were also gorgeous due to exclusive gym memberships and personal trainers.
I had it on good authority that I had only gotten the much desired job at Sun Factory, not because of my glowing letters of recommendation, or my bachelors degree in massage therapy, but because of the impressive size of my ‘jugs’ as my supervisor so delicately put it. I suppose he could have said ‘tits’ and that would be worse but as it was I felt something like a showpiece for the club’s chauvinistic ideal of a relaxing vacation. Come swim in our private patch of ocean, eat our steak and egg breakfast buffet, and then lie naked on a table while a gorgeous big-breasted blonde coats your body with oil. Now I’m sure the brochure put it in more family-oriented sales terms, but I knew how to read between the lines.
I wasn’t blind. I was one of more than three hundred and forty hopeful applicants for the job and I had to sit in the room with sixty-three of them. Out of them all I certainly had the largest chest and while there were a few who could have graced the cover of Vogue, most of them were commonplace women who were overweight or acne ridden or had bad hair. I sat there in little white shorts and orange sandals with my orange and white striped tank top which showed off my copper glowing tan to perfection with my long perfectly coiffed white blonde hair and double D’s and I was hired on the spot, that very day. I could have been straightforward and worked as a stripper, hooker, or porn star but I chose the more tasteful route of getting paid for sex and became a massage therapist. No I didn’t sleep with all of them, but every now and then a particularly handsome man would shake my hand with two or three hundred dollars folded into his palm and we’d roll around on that table sweaty and oily, his thick cock pressing deep inside of me and his hands almost painful on my round ass and I’d still get a tip at the end of it all, disinfect my table and the next customer came in.
It was just such a day as that. I had, had a good fuck earlier courtesy two crisp one hundred dollar bills and I was wiping down my table when the door opened behind me. I started to turn but got blindsided across my temple with something hard and heavy. I went sprawling across the table onto my stomach only half conscious and already I felt him tearing down my panties from under my short red skirt. I couldn’t move, even if I had wanted to which I couldn’t summon the will to want to because every breath hurt like a knife being stabbed into my head. My attacker was hurried, rushed, nervous, and I thought he had probably never done this before. You might think I wasn’t scared or that I wanted it, but the truth was I was terrified, too terrified to even breathe and I wanted it about as much as I wanted to be raped with a cattle prod.
