The Great Dark Man

Disclaimer:

All characters and events are purely fictional. All characters are at least 18 years of age.

****

"I dream of a great dark man, a real man, enormously strong, enormously virile, whose love I shall win. I know that my dream is doomed to disappointment...The dream is only a dream. There is no great dark man!"

Half past four on a Tuesday afternoon and the doors are about to close when she comes running across the station platform and jumps on, just in time. She hates running, but if she missed this one, she'd have to wait fortyfive minutes for the next train and she'd hate that even more.

Flushed and sweaty, she finds a seat and slumps herself down. There is plenty of space available at this time of day, just after the school rush and just before rush hour. Catching her breath and pushing stray strands of mousey brown hair behind her ears, she rummages in her satchel for her phone and a bottle of water. She untangles her headphones, selects some music and settles in for the journey home.

She stares out of the window as the rows of terraced houses whip passed and tries not to notice her reflection. Her appearance makes her uncomfortable. She avoids looking at herself as much as possible and always faces away from the bathroom mirror when she gets in and out of the shower. Regardless of what frames she chooses, her glasses look odd on her face. Not that it's any better without them. Her nose is too wide and a little wonky, lips too thin and a funny shape. She's chubby and conscious of her fat thighs and podgy belly. On top of that, she can never get her hair to do what she wants, it's always a mess.

Nobody has ever told her this, of course, they're all too polite and wouldn't want to upset her, but she knows it's true. Their compliments are always insincere and embarrassingly forced. You're supposed to tell girls they're pretty, even when they're not and she can tell she's not. She doesn't feel it in the least.

Just as she begins to zone out, lost in the music and monotonous scenery, the door connecting her carriage with the next swings open and slams shut abruptly. She jumps halfway out of her skin and her head instantly spins towards the source of the disturbance.

He

is standing there.

Sharply dressed in an immaculately fitted suit. Three pieces in dark worsted wool, bright white shirt, with starched collar and broad striped tie wrapped around his tremendously thick neck. Nearly the perfect vision of an English gentleman, but his hulking physique and full beard makes him look primal, almost wild. It's as if someone managed to persuade a bear to stay still long enough to be measured by a tailor.

He scans the carriage with the glaring eyes of a predator hunting for prey, rather than a man looking for a place to sit. His features are stern and fixed. His austere expression is impenetrable, giving no hint of emotion or thought. A man like him doesn't act on thoughts, he acts on instinct. You'll never know what he's feeling or if he's even capable of feelings.

She can't help but stare at him, eyes wide and jaw slack. He barely glances at her and doesn't appear to register her presence. His gaze seems to pass straight through her. This comes as no surprise, why would a

man

like him ever notice

something

like her?

He makes a move and she expects him to walk straight passed her, but instead he plants himself directly opposite. She can feel his body hit the seat, although that could just be the movement of the train, she can't be sure.

Suddenly she becomes aware of her ridiculous gawping, closes her mouth and quickly looks away, before he does actually notice her.

"Oh God, why did he have to sit there?" She thinks, as she again becomes aware of her blushing red cheeks and perspiration flecked forehead. She curses herself for looking so dishevelled.

For the next two stops she does her best not to ogle him directly, instead she studies his reflection in the window, occasionally turning her head for a fleeting glance. She takes in every detail of his face. The dense, swarthy hair covering his jaw and around his lips and eyebrows, prominent, ridged nose, furrowed brow and deep, foreboding eyes.

She examines his body too. Solid, round shoulders, obvious even under the padding of his suit coat. The fabric of his trousers pulled tight over muscular thighs. Masculine hands, covered in more dark hair up to his knuckles, escape from stiff, white shirt cuffs around sturdy wrists.

She imagines what he must be like under those clothes. Broad chest, naturally hairy down to a large tuft of pubic hair above a heavy, thick penis. He's not the kind of man to shave or wax and she can tell he's big by the bulge in his trousers.

Beads of sweat form at her temples and her face flushes hotter than ever. Knees clamped together, she squirms slightly in her seat, arousal soaking through her panties. Hands fidget nervously, trying to find something to do, trying desperately not to touch herself.

Never looking up from his newspaper, he barely moves except for his eyes scanning the text and occasionally turning the page. With every breath she gets a whiff of a spicy, woody, almost smokey cologne. A proper man's smell, not some Calvin Klein unisex perfume or Lynx body spray, more suited to teenaged boys.

Just before the third stop he closes the paper, folds it, drops it on the seat next next to him and stands up. A mixed wave of emotion washes over her. With him gone, she will finally be able to relax and calm down a little. On the other hand, the presence of a man like that, a man who can make her wet without even looking at her, is a rare thing. It's intimidating and exciting at the same time and she doesn't want it to end. She's never seen him here before and she gets this train at least four days a week so she's unlikely to see him again.

Instead of walking to the doors he simply stands stock still, staring straight at her face. It's the first time he seems too see her and his eyes are burning into her flesh. She doesn't know what to do or where to look. She can't meet his gaze, but he's so close she can hardly look away.

Eventually she relents and slowly raises her eyes to his. For a few long, agonising seconds she looks into those piercing eyes. As the train pulls into the station, his feet stay firmly planted until they come to a full stop. The doors open at the push of a button by a passenger on the platform.

Without a word or a moment's hesitation, he grabs her arm and pulls her up off her chair. There's barely time to register what's happening before they are through the doors and marching at a blistering pace down the platform, towards the exit and onto the street. His fingers, painfully tight around her upper arm, don't slacken for an instant. She can barely keep up. Only the fear of being dragged along the ground should she falter keeps her legs moving so rapidly.

Ever since she could remember, she'd fantasised about being dragged away by a Great Dark Man. For countless nights she'd lain awake and imagined being taken by him, being used roughly and forcefully for his pleasure. Wet between her legs, clitoris swollen and throbbing until she could take it no more and frigged herself to an explosive orgasm while thinking about a man just like him.

Now it's actually happening, fear rather than arousal is dominant. Where is he taking her? Is she being kidnapped? What is he going to do with her? What will he do once he's finished? Everything inside of her is telling her to run, to get away from him, yet she can't find the strength to give tongue and scream for help or to try and shake free from his clutch. She remains silent and her feet continue to move forward involuntarily, three paces to every one of his.

They turn right, cross a road, make a left then right again, passing a few pedestrians along the way. He walks with such purpose and authority, none of them would dare stop him or question his business. Whatever he intends to do with her is no concern of theirs. If she needed help, she'd ask for it.

Through a small gate and up a few concrete steps. He opens the front door in a single motion, leaving no pause for her to catch her breath. In, door kicked shut and up the carpeted staircase to the bedroom.

Instantly she is on her knees before him. Who knows whether he put her there or if she dropped there of her own accord, but she's there and waiting expectantly.

He does not rush. Shrugs off his jacket and tosses it onto the bed. Undoes his waistcoat, which joins the jacket. Tie unknotted and shirt unbuttoned, they both end up on the floor. His body is just as she pictured it. Wide and rugged, with bulging shoulder muscles and fur covering a barrel like chest. She's never seen a body like this in the flesh before. Save for a few trips to the beach and the local swimming baths, she's never seen any man's body in the flesh before.

Next his belt and trouser fastenings, leaving that bulge clad in nothing but white cotton jersey. The contours of his swelling manhood, bulbous head and fat shaft clearly visible through the thin fabric.

She knows what's coming next and she's filled with apprehension. This is her first time and she isn't sure what to do. She's seen it plenty of times before on internet videos, even practiced on her hairbrush handle and things like that, but it's different with an actual man. For one thing, he's considerably bigger. What if she doesn't do it right? What will he think? How will he react?

These thoughts don't have long to occupy her head before she is presented with his now fully erect and imposing organ. She has no time to consider it, to think or dwell over it, to weigh up her options. Taking hold of her ponytail he forces her face onto his hairy prick. She has no choice but to part her lips and accept it into her reluctant mouth.

Correct technique is the least of her worries. Simply breathing is more than she can cope with, as her head is violently brought down onto his erection. Each time he slams her head forward, her nose nestles in his pubic hair and chin rests on his balls. Here she gets the real and full odour of a man. If he had looked big, he feels enormous. Forcing his way past her tonsils and uvula, she chokes and gags as he fucks her young face, using her head like a rubber sex toy. Except she is not an inanimate object, she's a sentient living creature, perfectly aware of what is happening to her and she

needs

to breathe!

She needs desperately to breathe, but the relentless jerking of her head back and forth and his cock hitting her trachea makes it impossible. Saliva bubbles up, coating him and easing his path, but not relieving any of her distress. It flows profusely, dribbling down her chin and soaking the front of her clothes. Tears stream down her bright cheeks and mucus drips from her nose. Panic is setting in. She's dizzy, consciousness is slipping away. She needs air now!

He has no sympathy for her distress. He can feel it and it spurs him on even more. He knows she's young and inexperienced, that he's taking advantage of her and he loves it. The more he brutalises her, the more terror-stricken she appears, the further he wants to push her. She is exactly where he wants her, totally under his control, completely at his mercy. The problem for her is, he has no mercy.

Just as she thinks it's all over, she's going to pass out and be choked to death on this stranger's dick, he lets her go and pushes her off. Coughing and spluttering on her hands and knees, she desperately gasps for precious oxygen. Her spectacles drop to the floor in front of her, but she hasn't the wherewithal to pick them up and put them back on her face.

With grateful eyes she looks up at the naked figure standing over her. Half blinded by tears and the loss her glasses, she can still see his trunk like thighs are as hairy as the rest of him. She is thankful for the respite, but knows he's not finished with her, not by a long shot.

Holding her by the hair once more, he uses his other hand to stroke her streaked cheeks. A brief moment of near tenderness. In an instant, he lifts her from the floor and slams her down on the bed. The speed, the force and the shock takes the breath from her lungs.

He begins tearing at her clothes. Shoes and socks come off without her even noticing. Her tops are pulled over her head without ceremony. Skirt and underwear yanked from her hips together. All are thrown to the floor. It clearly isn't the first time he's undressed a girl like this.

He's the first man she's been naked with, but there is no time to feel self-conscious about her body. He has hold of her legs and is spreading them open. She covers her exposed vulva and tries to bring her knees together.

"No! No, please don't!" She speaks for the first time. "You can't! I'll suck you off or...or anything. Just please not in my pussy. I haven't... I've never..."

As if that would stop him. A man like this doesn't stop because you plead. Once he decides he wants something, he takes it. Permission, the will of another is irrelevant. The knowledge that he will be the first simply makes it all the more desirable.

His vice like grip around her throat, fingers digging into her neck, squeezing the life out of her.

Slam

The palm of his right hand comes down hard on the side of her face. The blow, not his full force by any means, shocks her even more than it hurts her and leaves a ringing in her ear.

"Listen, you little slut," his voice is low and gravelly, it seems to resonate from somewhere deep inside him. "I'm your Daddy now!"

Something about that sonorous, authoritative tone saps her resistance. She knows struggle is hopeless and she is powerless to prevent him taking what is rightfully his. She surrenders, ready to accept her fate.

His hips between her thighs. A solid grip above her collar bones. Not enough to choke her, but enough. With just a little more pressure he could end it all, crushing her windpipe like a styrofoam cup.

Two rough fingers plunge into her snatch. She's tight, that's for sure, but she's also wet. He knew she wanted it and now he's going to give her every inch.

His glans sits at the opening to her glistening virgin cunt, just parting her labia, coating it in her excretions and oozing his clear pre-cum. Then, with one powerful thrust, he slides himself inside, stretching her wide to accommodate his girth. Her vaginal walls contract around his thick, pitiless shaft. She cries out in agony. This is a new type of pain, one she'd never imagined.

A pause, buried up to his pendulous balls in her pure, untouched sex, savouring that unique and unrepeatable deed of taking a young girl's precious virginity. She bucks and writhes, half trying to push him off, half trying to draw him deeper. Neither is possible.

He looks down at her angelic face, contorted in anguish, eyes tightly shut and teeth bared. He draws his pelvis back up, pulling his meat nearly all the way out, before slamming it back down. Again and again, with brutal strokes he pummels her cervix. Torturous spasms shoot through her body. All she can do is hold on for dear life, digging her fingernails into his arms. She tries to wrap her legs around his waist to limit his backstroke, but it's useless. He's too strong and the pounding he's giving her too fervent. Her screams are muffled by the slab of flesh and bone at her neck.

After what feels like an eternity of this steady onslaught, her body goes limp, tears flow freely and her cries turn to sobs. At last he pulls himself out of her tender, painful pussy, but her ordeal isn't over yet.

As if it were a steak on the grill, ready on one side, he flips her body over. She buries her face in the soft white bed linen and tries begging again.

"Don't, please don't. No more, you're hurting me."

It's pointless and she knows it. This ruthless homo sapien will not stop until he is completely satisfied.

With a fistful of hair he pulls her head back so she can't hide her face or her tears. He re-enters from behind, unceremoniously shoving his fat cock inside her. He leans in close, they're cheek to cheek. Coarse bristles scratch her soft, delicate derma. She can practically taste his robust fragrance of aftershave and fresh sweat.

Grunting and snorting like an angry bull, he resumes his previous speed and intensity. Sawing in and out of her newly deflowered hole, smashing his hips down cruelly, ignoring her distress.

Finally he throws his head skyward, growls like some kind of ferocious animal and with one last mighty thrust, drives himself deep, releasing his hot, thick load of potent white cum.

His ejaculation is so vigorous, she swears she can feel his semen flow out of him and fill her belly. She feels its heat warming her from the inside out and for a moment, the pain subsides. It is his gift to her.

He does not withdraw immediately. Instead he slumps down on top of her. Her entire body is covered by his, pressing her into the mattress with his substantial weight. He lies there, spent, growing flaccid. Neither utters a word, their breathing perfectly synchronised.

Just as she begins to think he has fallen asleep, he stirs. He lifts his bulk off of her, releasing her physically, but not mentally. His soft member slips from her gash. It's streaked with blood from her lacerated hymen and leaves behind a void, an emptiness that isn't purely physical. The air feels cool after his sweltering embrace, causing goosebumps to rise and her small, perky nipples to harden.

Standing upright, he stretches his back and flexes his shoulders. She doesn't dare move.

"Get dressed and leave. Come back next week at the same time," he says as he turns and walks out, leaving her alone, still lying face down on the bed.

He got what he wanted. He took her, used her, had her, but hasn't discarded her quite yet.

She sobs mournfully and uncontrollably. Her head is swimming with thoughts and emotions she can't make sense of. Everything hurts. Every muscle cramps and every bone aches. Cheek still buzzing from the slap. Stomach like she's been kicked in the guts. Her pussy like it's been torn open. It will never be the same tight, little, virgin quim it was just a short while ago.

Did he rape her? She definitely and clearly said no, but had she really meant no? She was aroused, she couldn't deny it, and it was exactly the type of encounter she'd always dreamt of. Did she enjoy it? She doesn't know for sure. She feels violated, dirty and used. She's sure about that, but she is already thinking about next week when it could happen all over again. It couldn't have been rape if even a tiny piece of her had liked it, could it? It definitely wouldn't be rape, if she came back for more. She said no, but didn't kick or scream or really try to fight him off at all. She could have done, he hadn't bound or gagged her. Had she been too scared, worried what he might've done if she resisted, or did she actually want it? Was being used by him the thing she wanted most in the world? Maybe saying "no" was just nerves or her doing what she knew she was supposed to, what a good girl should do. The only thing she's certain of is that she'll never, ever tell another living soul what happened. She'll take it to her grave.

Still shaking and with weak knees, she dries her eyes and gathers up her clothes. White cotton panties and knee high socks, white blouse, grey v-neck jumper, navy and green tartan kilt and flat, shiny black shoes. The uniform of St. Mary's Convent school for girls.

She slips on her eyeglasses and looks around the room for the first time. It's clean, sparsely, but tastefully decorated and showing clear signs of a female occupant. Various perfumes and cosmetics, all of them expensive brands, sit neatly arranged on a dressing table by the window. She peruses them at her leisure, even taking the time to remove the lid from a jar of Channel body lotion and sample its luxurious, floral scent. Her curiosity over the woman who shares a bed with the Great Dark Man has made her temporarily lose sight of where she is. Logically, she should dress and get out of there as quickly as possible, instead she lingers.