I was hanging out with the girls on a Friday night in mid July. We’d spent the evening at the port dangling our feet off the stone docks. When sundown drew near we headed towards Esplanadi, a park lane which serves as a popular gathering place right in the middle of Helsinki city centre. On our way we ran into old acquaintances in a group of Estonian Finnish guys, and since we’d always had fun with Artyom and his friends we decided to join them.

 

When our groups mingled I glimpsed him behind the others. In his late thirties he was considerably older than us twentysomethings, a fact which made him exceptional and thus special above all the others. He didn’t take part in the commotion of introductions and I moved in to break the ice. When I introduced myself in Finnish he answered curtly in Estonian, “I’m Dmitri.” At first I thought him gruff but he simply didn’t speak any Finnish. He was Russian Estonian and Artyom, his cousin, explained that Dmitri spoke Estonian but in practise his language was Russian. Of English he knew only what little he’d picked up along the way.

 

Dmitri nodded in appreciation when I said in Russian, “Good evening, nice to meet you.” Some of the textbook phrases from my high school studies were stuck well and good in my head. Just to seem casually friendly I had Artyom tell Dmitri that I knew some Russian, and could be able to understand a little Estonian (which has many similarities with Finnish) if he wanted to chat. I didn’t add that hearing a man speak either of those languages made me wet my panties.

 

Dmitri gave me a dutiful smile and a reserved little bow. He was so different from the others: manly instead of boyish, quiet, guarded, a little misplaced and something of a mystery with the language barrier and all. I was definitely interested. Granted, he wasn’t good looking, but pretty boys have never really been my thing. With effort I pretended nonchalance for I feared that figuring out my motives would scare him away. I had hoped to find someone to take home that night but I hadn’t dared hope for someone like Dmitri. I wanted the exciting stranger to use my body in every way it could be used, and I wanted him to do it hard.

 

Following narrow cobbled streets we explored the historical parts of downtown. Pairs were forming as we walked and I stayed close to Dmitri. In the twilight deepening to darkness the Art Nouveau buildings, little fountains, huge elm trees and high iron gates created a dense atmosphere, a surreal sense of walking through reality into the early 1900s. I hadn’t known a place like that existed but we found it merely by wandering the streets aimlessly. In those surroundings the titillating feeling Dmitri had roused in me grew more dangerous and demanding.

 

When a tricky shortcut led us to a railing to climb over, a bank to jump down from or a steep slope to rise the guys would help us, gentlemen as they were raised. This was a game I knew how to play and I haunted Dmitri’s steps as much as I could without him taking notice. Were an obstacle to appear, it would always ‘just happen’ to be him to assist me, and afterwards I got to reward him with a quick shy glance or a demure smile. The first time he offered his hand Dmitri asked me in Russian if he may help me and I thanked him. I counted this conversation of exactly three words a victory; I had established contact.   

 

Despite what I had said through Artyom, Dmitri didn’t talk much, but he didn’t seem to be much of a talker to start with. Still, encouraged by our conversation - as short as it was - I tried out more of my rusted Russian saying, “Cholodnyi vecher.” A cold evening. And Dmitri, without hesitation, took off his black leather jacket and helped me into it. I wanted to think that he lingered close to me longer than was in fact necessary but couldn’t be sure. Either way I surfed a surge of glee to have him perform that ancient gesture of caring. The jacket was still full of his warmth and I willed my body to absorb every little bit of heat that had come from inside him.

 

The touch of his jacket burned on my skin and to keep erotic dreams from absorbing me totally I talked. I prattled on nervously in Finnish and English about the places we walked in and the little of Helsinki’s history I knew. He smiled and nodded, understanding perhaps one word out of ten, save when I got in a word or two of Russian. Content to let me make myself look silly, he spoke little. Occasionally he uttered a few sentences which I took to mean things like, “We have one of those in Rakvere.” I had constant flashes in my mind of him fucking me. In each I was begging him to slow down ‘cause he was hurting me, but he just kept going, rougher and rougher, not understanding my words.

 

I got to keep Dmitri all to myself. The others - part from Artyom - didn’t know what to make of him. He was a good ten years older than the rest of us and composed rather than raucous and not obviously drunk like the other guys. Time moved slowly as I eagerly waited for things between us to develop.

 

After it was already established that Dmitri and I were one of the pairs that walked together, he took me aside of the group. We looked from the hillside over the lights of the city centre to the dark sea. He said solemnly, “Ilus.” That’s Estonian for beautiful. Then he looked at me and said again, “Ilus.” I didn’t know the word then, but the meaning wasn’t difficult to guess. I beamed at him and took a step closer, but with a quick after-you gesture he steered me towards the others. I was there for his taking and I couldn’t fathom why he didn’t let it happen.

 

After learning that he thought me beautiful his proximity sent shivers down my spine. Thus encouraged I escalated my behaviour to more seductive. When he helped me up and down various impediments I lingered, breathing excitedly to demonstrate how his closeness affected me. When I wanted his attention, instead of using his name, I touched his arm feigning insecurity of his reaction to such familiarity. Every time I looked into his eyes I gazed at him just a few seconds longer than was casual. I leaned to show him my cleavage as many times I thought I’d get away with my coy act still intact.

 

The girls noticed my activities and didn’t approve my choice of prey. I didn’t let their narrowmindedness mar my fun for I had managed to unsettle Dmitri as well. Not quite ready to believe I might be interested in him, he didn’t know what to make of me. I knew full well I was teasing him shamelessly, but I wanted to fuck him, so what could it hurt? I yearned for him to abandon his restraint and ravage me.

 

Someone noticed a beaten path that disappeared into a low gap in a hedge. We followed it and found ourselves in a park: a wide, sloping field of grassy mounds strewn with old elms and ashes here and there. I recognized the building on the edge of the park. It was the house of Sinebrychoff, the mansion of a rich 1800s brewer and we were in his park, in which, though now a public park, lingered the atmosphere of a secret garden.

 

Some of us sat on benches, others explored. I took Dmitri a good distance away from the others and led him behind a tree. I stood looking at his face, smiling. I wanted to touch him but considering his reticent demeanor I supposed it wouldn’t have been proper. He’d set a glow in my chest and a feverish lust in my loins, both of which I had difficulties withholding; I wanted him to grab me and kiss me ‘til my lips hurt but he only lifted his hands to his chest.

 

“Dima,” he said with a voice slightly hesitant.

 

It was the familiar form of his name, a petname for family and friends, which Artyom had used. He gave a little nod, prompting me.

 

“Dima,” I replied with a little smile, carefully mimicking his pronunciation.

 

My body ached for something tangible and such a polite gesture of fondness was a disappointment. Nonetheless I wanted to use this new name and stuttered, “тихий Дима,” quiet Dima, for it was one of the few adjectives I could remember.

 

My Russian must have left plenty room for interpretation, for he burst out laughing, sputtering, “прости, прости,” prosti, sorry, as he tried to get a hold of himself. It might have been due to my younger age, or perhaps he considered it appropriate as we were in nickname basis, but he’d dropped the formal and serious -te ending from his address.

 

Many of our company walked hand in hand when we left the park and I asked Artyom a little embarrassed why Dima hadn’t taken mine. Clearly he liked me. After a short exchange of words Artyom answered, “You haven’t given him leave.”

 

I saw the disbelief in my friends’ eyes as I stopped Dima to whisper, “Ñ‚Ñ‹ можно руки.” Ty mozhno ruki. You, may, hands. I lacked the vocabulary for anything more apt and he was holding back laughter again. Yet, having received his permission, he took hold of my hand with a quick chuckle, as if laughing at the silliness of it all - a grown man holding hands with his girl.

 

The skin on his palm was rough and his grip strong. To touch him was wonderful and my need to be penetrated flared. I imagined his fingers fucking me, which caused my cunt to contract so hard that, squeezing my legs together, I missed a step. Dima turned to look at me curiously, as if saying he knew I hadn’t simply tripped. We resumed walking, his big hand around my tiny one, and shivers of lust rocking my body. I slipped my thumb up his sleeve, and stroked the sensitive skin on the inside of his wrist in hopes of retaliating even a fraction of the turmoil he’d put me in.

 

***

 

As the night went on I noticed the silly merrymaking was losing Dima’s interest. Though I hoped I had something to do with him staying for as long as he had, I was afraid he’d leave and I’d never see him again. Trying to rid myself of gloom I jumped down a stone fence while larking with the girls. I gave no thought to the high heels I was wearing and before Dima had time to stop me I had twisted my ankle bad enough that I couldn’t walk anymore. I didn’t want to ruin the night for anyone else but Dima, who didn’t feel much at home with the group anyway, offered to take me home. Under the suspicious frowns of my backward friends we said our goodbyes to the others, and made our way towards the nearest subway station.

 

Sitting side by side, our journey was quiet after the raucous distraction of the group. It was awkward to be alone together, just the two of us and I kept my eyes down, stealing glances at his thighs and his hands resting on them. I was still stirred regardless of the change in the mood, and looking at him made me think of touching him, and to think that made me shiver.

 

We had to walk more to get from the subway station to my flat, I leaned heavily on him and sensed how strong he was. My limping was so laborious he joked he could throw me over his shoulder and carry me. After a short distance I was so spent that I had to take up on his offer, as embarrassing as it was. Chuckling once more, Dima squatted and lifted me on his shoulder.

 

My hips were right next to his face and my mound pressed against him. Acutely self-conscious, I realized he might smell my steaming pussy and felt unclean. The hem of my knee-length skirt hitched up as he walked, but I didn’t want to draw his attention to my nakedness by tugging it back. He hugged my legs to his chest, and rested his other hand high on my bare right thigh making my pussy throb. I knew he could see my panties and worried if he could see how wet I’d become.

 

The streets were empty and for the first time I thought if it was wise to be alone with him. I’ll need him to get up the stairs. Will he come in? Are we going to have sex? Will he play nice? He may have an STD. Will he use a condom? Does he have a condom? I wanted him, but I didn’t know if I could trust him. After all, his only credentials were his good manners and being a cousin to an acquaintance.

 

***

 

We arrived at my building and he carried me all the way up. He put me down on my sofa and I was half sure he’d say a polite goodnight and leave, but he didn’t. Dima sat down, took my head in his hands and started kissing me. I’d been waiting for it the whole night and whimpered, enjoying every second. He climbed on top of me, leaning me back on the pillows and started crudely moving his hand up my skirt.

 

“Dima wait, not so fast.” He may not have understood my words but he understood my hands grabbing his wrist, resisting.

 

Displeased, he put his other hand over my mouth and said in English, “I know I come up I want you.” The moments beneath the tree flashed in my head when he growled through his teeth, “No fight.”

 

I imagined being brought to a hospital in an ambulance, laying on the gurney all black and blue and bleeding, and chose to obey. In a few impatient moves he unbuttoned his fly, yanked my panties out of the way and thrust himself inside. Christ what have I done. Not like this, please. He was terribly hard and ached for release, the pace of his deep thrusts was merciless from the start. I was cramped up and his chest pressed against my face. He hurt me and didn’t care. I didn’t dare to scream but groaned in distress, begging him to stop. When I tried to slow him down or hinder his roughness, he pinned my hands beneath my ass. I got them free but he just put them back if I tried to protect myself. Before I had time to realize what was happening, he came in me with a grunt. He stayed on me until he caught his breath. I lay frozen still as his flaccid penis slipped out and he sat down to clear his head.

 

My legs were splayed and my cunt oozed his white cum. I felt disgusting, used and dirty. He hadn’t said a word or looked at me once the whole time. I wished he’d leave so I could go and wash. I’d have to go to the clinic in the morning to get a morning after pill and an STD test. Will a bug show up so soon? In TV rape victims are tested right after. Am I a rape victim? I recalled what a cocktease bitch I’d been all night. It’s my fault. Fuck I’m stupid--, please leave! My foot was stuck and as I was too ashamed to look at him or speak, yet I couldn’t get up before he did.

 

Finally he stood up to pull his jeans back on, and I slunk away from him hobbling straight to the shower. I let his jacket fall on the floor behind me. First he protected me with it, then raped me in it. I hugged myself under the stream, my face to the wall, burning tears running down my face. I undressed my wet clothes in a hurry, for they had clung to my skin and felt like another layer of suffocating filth. I wanted to carve my crotch off to kill the violent revulsion spreading through my body. My ankle hurt worse after the climb into the tub, and I waited anxiously for the door to my apartment slam shut. Instead I heard Dima step behind me.

 

My instincts demanded I turn around to spot possible danger, but I couldn’t face him. Not with his semen still burning inside me. He got in with me, without pausing to remove his clothes. I screamed in alarm but he turned me away from the wall and pressed me to his chest. Fumbling for words he apologized to me.

 

“извини,” izvini, sorry, he said in a hushed strained voice, his lips touching the top of my head. “I, crazy. Я не--, you, too much. I want, wrong.” I wept against his chest and he stroked my dripping hair until I calmed down. He didn’t force me to look up at him and I was grateful for that.

 

First keeping me close, then stepping back a little, Dima started to wash me. He massaged my shoulders and arms, making up for his previous lack of tenderness with kisses and strokes. He ran his palms on my skin round and round, whispering in Russian. I didn’t know the words but his tone was enough. He started kissing my neck and lingered there when I reacted with a shudder and a groan. I tried to back away but he wouldn’t have it. He started sliding his lips towards the back of my neck, teasing me with his tongue and my body jolted. He took my breasts in his hands, bent his head down and lifted them to his mouth, kissing and sucking.

 

He took the shower in his hand and bathed my breasts and stomach, slowly moving downwards. Inevitably I felt the warm stream of water on my mound and covered it with my hands. Why does he have to remind me? I’d just managed to forget for a moment how wretched I felt.

 

“Dima no, I don’t want to,” I repeated in English and Russian.

 

He kissed my hands and shushing me lifted them aside. I didn’t fight him and his hand brushed my mound and the triangle of hair on it. Fingers traced my puffy lips all the way down, and back up along my slit. First I moaned in discomfort but it changed to a gasp when his finger slid over my clit. He parted the folds of my pussy tenderly and looked up at me, reassuring me I needn’t fear. His hands were gentle and I let him touch me.

 

He washed my slit, nudged my thighs and, after I parted them some, moved down to my opening. I cringed but he kept saying in Russian, “It’s ok, don’t worry.”

 

He aimed the stream on me, rubbing around the little hole washing away his cum and my juices. I breathed heavily, whimpering. One finger ventured inside me just a centimetre or two and circled, rubbing the walls of my pussy. As I didn’t protest Dima went deeper until his whole finger was in. I let out a steady flow of ecstatic noises as he moved in and out, flooding my pussy with water, rinsing me clean.

 

I wanted him where I could touch him and tugged on his shirt. He made me yip by stroking my clit teasingly with his nose before he stood up. I grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled ‘til he bent down to kiss me. It felt good again, so good it made me glow. His face was hard-featured but his lips were the softest in the world when he wanted them to be. I’d forgotten the wrong he did me a moment ago, for now he was doing that which I’d waited him to do since hello.

 

He was ridiculous standing there in his wet clothes and I started to unbutton his shirt. He smiled at my prolonged efforts with the tiny buttons and the soaked cloth. Finally I got it off him and went on to remove his jeans and underwear. When I had him naked, I pressed myself against him and let my soaped hands explore.

 

He didn’t look fit but I knew he was strong. His hands were hardened by work and self-consciously he started to pull them away. I pressed one on my cheek and kissed the palm and every finger of the other. After kissing I sucked on each, playing with my tongue, and was rewarded with a series of encouraging groans.

 

I was apprehensive to look at his penis but curiosity won and, with mixed feelings of desire and disgust, I touched it gingerly. Under the stream of water I jerked him a few times, and pulling back his foreskin I traced the length of him with a finger and kissed the tip of his cock. I slid my lips to engulf the head and sucked him deeper, but to my surprise Dima beckoned me back up. He kissed me gently and we got out of the shower wrapped in fresh towels.

 

I went to get us something to drink and left him in my bedroom. I stood a while in the kitchen rummaging my confused brain for an answer to how I should relate to him. When I returned with the glasses, Dima was sitting on the bed.

 

“Horny little girl,” he smirked.

 

I had been single a long time, and dreaming of better days, I had bought all kinds of sex toys. The box was beside Dima. I guess he’d guessed I’d have a stash and looked for it. It wasn’t hard to find for unimaginatively I stored it under my bed – close by if I needed some relief. He shook his head slowly admiring the selection and made tsk tsk noises. Shit, he thinks I’ve used all of that.

 

Dima beckoned and when I came close he grabbed me and threw me harshly on the bed. Juice and water spilled everywhere. Ignoring the mess he got on top of me and pinned my hands down by my head. There was a hunger in him that made my cunt twitch. He was heavy and, looming over me like that, outrageously sexy. I struggled a little, an instinctive reaction, but my heart wasn’t in it. There was no point, he’d made me want him again. Besides, I loved to be pinned down, to be all helpless and vulnerable.

 

My pathetic wriggling amused him. With a cocky grin he pressed his crotch against me, massaging my pussy. My exhales came out as lusty whines but as he held me down his face changed and I didn’t like what it changed into. His eyes alone were enough to scare me.

 

“Dima?” I asked, uttering a short insecure laughter while trying to make a casual what’s-going-on face.

 

Seeing it for the first time, I discovered that his evil grin sat far more naturally on his features than his friendly smile had. He let go of my hands and used his arms to restrain my upper body. He kissed me roughly, my lips smashed between my teeth and his lips. He was hurting me and I tried to yell at him but nothing got past his violent kisses. He even bit my lips, not teasingly like a lover but hard. I couldn’t turn my head for his heavy palm on my forehead was holding me still. His weight was crushing me and I beat him with my fists anywhere I could reach but he was unmoved. It was hard to breath and more so with him covering my mouth with his.

 

I fought then. It wasn’t a game and I was scared. He grabbed my hair, bent my head back and growled in my ear, “No fight, baby. Good girl or I hurt you.”

 

I subdued my struggles but couldn’t stop them entirely. I didn’t beat him anymore but he sniggered as I tried to push him off me. He ground his swelling cock against my pussy. So, this is what turns him on, I thought ruefully, not a willing blowjob but forcing himself on me. His other hand reached down between us, and after yanking the towel aside he found my naked pussy. He fingered me roughly and I screamed in rage and revulsion.

 

While tears welled in my eyes he started forcing himself between my legs. Not again. Sensing my resistance, he pulled my hair and snarled his no-fight command again. I didn’t dare to defy him and gingerly let him spread my legs.

 

“Spread your pussy for me,” he commanded.

 

I couldn’t believe he’d make me do that, but his eyes terrified me and I did as I was told – with both hands. I’d never felt so humiliated, not even when his cum throbbed in my vagina after the first rape, and I squeezed my eyes shut moaning, “No, no, no,” in a barely audible whisper, waiting to be raped.

 

He grinned and whispered, “Now say please.” I felt like throwing up but he yanked my hair and shouted, “Look at me!” He was a monster, a madman and I was scared to death and whimpered his chosen word.

 

He leaned closer, toying with me. “Say it like you mean it.”

 

Breaking into sobs I wailed, “Please,” and the moment I said the word, he thrust inside me with a savage growl and I cried out in dismay.

 

Suddenly Dima spoke plenty of English. There was no grammar to speak of but he mastered an extensive porn film vocabulary. He fucked me hard, slamming into me mercilessly, making me groan in pain each time he speared me. Both of his hands were on the top of my head so my body couldn’t rock away from him and escape his vicious stabs. When he hit bottom he paused to stretch me and whispered, “Good girl,” while gently stroking my forehead with his thumb.

 

I tried to push him away and hit him, desperate to stop the agony of being raped. “Take cock baby or I flip you over and have your ass,” he barked at me and I did as I was told. Again and again he forced himself in me telling me how he’d fuck me until I couldn’t stand up. Every time I tried to close my eyes he slapped me to make clear there was no drifting away from him.

 

When the first shock had passed and I lay under him more compliant and adjusted to his ruthless fucking, he bent my legs up for better access. He kept hold of my shoulders and pulled me on his cock, forcing his way even deeper. It took me into new heights of pain and I trashed and screamed, thinking he would tear the bottom of my vagina. When I got too loud, he bit my neck until I understood to keep it down. When I did, there was the good-girl routine again and my cunt tingled and flooded for him. He’d said it so often there was a continuous squishing sound as his cock churned in my pussy. What’s happening to me, my mind echoed in self-disgust.

 

He left me no room to react, and with eyes full of tears I begged him, “Stop, you’re hurting me. Dima no more, please.”

 

When I blinked, I saw another Dima wrapping me in his coat, but this one fucked me so hard my buttocks made a sharp smacking sound hitting against his pelvis. My hands went looking for anything to grab on to but there was no respite to brace myself for his pace was brutal. As he kept me still by the shoulders, I had no chance to adjust my hips to slow him down even a little or lessen the pain some. All I could do was to give myself to him and hope it would be over soon.

 

It was horrible but I was getting turned on by him being totally in charge. Far from cumming he took his time abusing me, and the sharp pangs of his thrusts melted into the constant throbbing pain in my flesh. He mixed the tenderness of praising his good little girl with the cruel usage of my inflamed cunt and I moaned and jerked in arousal as my juices ran down my crack to make a wet stain on the sheet.

 

Suddenly the thrusts ceased and he stopped still inside me. I was relieved to have a break from the rough fucking and gasped for air. I let my body go limp and lay inert under him, recovering. His shaft pulsed inside me, acutely sharpening my awareness of my pelvic area. Without competing sensations the feel of fullness in my pussy became overwhelming. I grew restless and shocked myself by wishing Dima would fuck me more. He stayed unmoving for so long that my need grew too compelling and I started moving my body on his cock, rocking up and down.

 

“Please don’t stop,” I mumbled and he filled me slowly and gently and I could sense the shape and width of him. Dima stroked my hair and kissed me - passionate, erotic kisses that made my cunt squeeze him tight. He kept shushing me though I made little noise and that continued controlling made me shiver in excitement.

 

Dima’s lips brushed all over my shoulders, chest and neck while he made love to me. He kissed gently and bit harshly and I arched into him to beg for more. His hands teased my body while his cock was stroking my insides. My clit ached to be touched and every part of me craved for the shudders that would bring release.

 

“Dima, please, may I?” I whispered timidly in Russian and glided my hands apprehensively down towards my crotch. He grinned triumphantly and straightened himself so I could reach to degrade myself in his eyes from an innocent to a wanton.

 

Dima was captivated. He stared at my nimbly shifting fingers licking his lips and huffing profanities in Russian. Contractions had started deep inside me the second my fingers touched my clit and they grew stronger with Dima’s precise movements. I was rapidly gravitating towards an orgasm when Dima leaned down and whispered in my ear, “Scream for me baby, be my little slut.”

 

That did it. My stomach muscles cramped and, body freezing rigid, I wailed a long incoherent scream. My pussy gripped his cock in a series of convulsions that went on long after I had slumped back on the bed, exhausted and blurry.

 

Dima kept moving in my pussy through my orgastic spasms. When I recovered a little I gestured him to pin my hands down again and he flashed me a wicked smile. I wanted him to take me like that, hazy and fragile. He pulled my hands over my head and the backs of my hands dug into the mattress. When he pushed into me I tried to push him out, imagining he was a rapist I wanted out of me. Dima immediately let out a loud spontaneous grunt and, his unwavering restraint cracking for a second, he forgot his steady pace and drove wildly into me with his cock. I wanted to push when he came in and squeeze when he pulled out, but his pace was so erratic I couldn’t keep up with his rhythm.

 

I decided on pushing out all the time as that got more noise out of him. I even went as far as to struggle against him, to which his cock twitched. I kicked, wriggled away from his cock, squeezed my thighs together and angled my hips to block him from shoving his meat inside me. I fought so fiercely his cock kept slipping out and he had to wrestle me to get back in. We were both worked up, feral, grunting and growling in anger. He let go of my hands and grabbed my hips preventing my evasions. He forced his spear in me so brutally I couldn’t hold back a shocked high-pitched shriek.

 

“Shut up!” he shouted and slapped me hard in the face. Breaking into sobs I tried to push him away, but he was lost in his own pleasure and fucked me viciously, punishing my bruised insides.

 

He grabbed my chin and made me look at him. “You like my cock inside you?” He leaned to lick my neck like a beast and growled, “Get used to it. You’re mine.”

 

With his primitive words a hot wind engulfed me and my used wet pussy tightened on him. “Yes,” I admitted and abandoned all resistance. His pace quickened, his rhythm broke and he started roaring. Thrusting feverishly, lowering his roar into a series of loud grunts he pumped his load deep in my cunt, shaking all over.

 

For a while he stayed still until gingerly, groaning like a man sliding a knife out of his flesh, he slipped his limp penis out of me. Gasping for breath, Dima collapsed on the bed beside where I lay still and sated, looking at the ceiling but not really seeing anything. He spread his arm and beckoned me to snuggle. Stroking my damp hair with his big rough palm he whistled quietly and sighed in Russian, “Baby, you’re something.”

 

That something was twisted and I couldn’t shake the shame and guilt, but at the time they were outweighed by euphoria. His semen seeped out of me and this time I didn’t resent it; he’d marked me with his seed and I loved it.

 

Dima fell asleep right away but I lay awake for a while reliving the night’s events. He smelled so sexy. Part of it was aftershave and such but the rest of it - his own scent, his sweat - was intoxicating. I lay my head to rest on his upper arm where I could inhale him. Pheromones, it just has to be, I tried to explain my behaviour to myself, sinking into a deep dreamless sleep.

 

***

 

Saturday

I woke up before Dima and tiptoed into the shower, it was already afternoon. I washed off the sweat and the stickiness between my legs though the water stung the numerous abrasions and little tears I had inside and on my pussy. It wasn’t an easy choice between staying dirty and enduring the burn on my tender flesh. Thinking of last night made me feel uncomfortable and confused. In the light of day the world was different. My body ached all over with muscles sore from the struggling. My thighs, arms and shoulders had bruises on them, bite marks specked my neck, chest and breasts, even my cheek hurt when I opened my mouth to brush my teeth. Luckily my face wasn’t bruised or swollen, but only because Dima hadn’t hit me in earnest.

 

He’d raped me twice. He’d made me terrified of himself and hurt me until I screamed. He’d even struck me and yet I had come for him. Will it be different for him too now the night’s over, I wondered, will he regret? I realized I didn’t want him to go away and thus was convinced I was loosing my mind. Hurt, fear and what might have constituted as rape lost 6-0 to the memory of him in the Art Nouveau maze, to the ecstasy I’d experienced and most of all to the memory of him saying I was his.

 

Dima wasn’t in the bed when I got out of the bathroom, I was crestfallen. He’s left. A hand clamped on my mouth from behind. I instinctively fought to get free, but when I was thumped my back against the wall I saw Dima, and the icicle in my heart melted away. He pressed his whole body against me and leaned to nuzzle my neck, overloading my sensory cells. My body purred but I gritted my teeth determined to resist him.

 

“Что Ñ‚Ñ‹ хочешь?” Chto ti hochesh? What do you want? I asked trying to sound unaffected. The nerve endings on my skin were perked up, expectant. He started kissing and biting gently. I trembled, gasping and moaning in turn. I was angry at myself for not being able to control my body.

 

“You want me to take you?” He’s voice was hoarse and sexy, his language soft and enthralling and the words pierced me as a gush of heat. “You want me to hurt you?” His hands removed my towel and stroked my back. I wriggled feebly. My hands were free but I didn’t stop him. “You want me inside you?” His lips brushed against my collarbone. I wailed angrily in fear I’d give in to him soon for my head swam, overthrown by his scent.

 

He licked the skin behind my ear murmuring, “You’re not fooling anyone, baby. What do you want?” He kissed my neck a few more times teasing with his tongue, before he stopped altogether. He lifted his mouth to my ear and whispered, “Tell me.”

 

My skin smouldered, shivering to be touched again. “Don’t stop,” I squealed surrendering.

 

He made one teasing stroke with the tip of his nose. “Stop what?”

 

I wanted him, I wanted all of him, but couldn’t say it. I couldn’t understand any of what happened with Dima. Although his cruellest streaks frightened me, he made me feel like I had always wanted to; he put me in danger and he made me safe.

 

He lifted me up, my legs around his waist and my back against the wall. He had his boxers on, but he teased me, pressing his crotch on my naked pussy like he was fucking me against the wall. My body trembled and a tide of wetness rose inside me. Reluctantly I dragged myself out from under his spell; we were supposed to meet the others in an hour.

 

I used my massive Russian vocabulary, “Dima, I want, but the sea, and friend.”

 

He grunted looking truly disheartened and stepped away from the wall. He slid me back on the floor and turned away in search of his clothes. A single word of salvation drifted from my memory.

 

“после?” I asked timidly. Posle, after. For a moment he looked baffled, then he connected the dots and, with a wide smile, gave me a passionate kiss. Perhaps I hadn’t been the only one to fear the other would regret.

 

The group had made plans the previous night to meet on Puotila beach in one of the eastern suburbs. It was the most convenient swimming place since most of us lived in that part of the city. Dima and I walked there through a patch of forest. There were no others on the track and he pulled me roughly to him to be teased with kisses and strokes. He pinned me against a tree trunk and picked me up like he had in my apartment, the coarse bark chafing my back. A thought of spiders and bugs crawling on me crossed my mind, but when he leaned on me, the bulge of his penis digging into my crotch, all I had left in my mind was delirium.

 

“What is it that you do to me?” I moaned. I was worried about the way my body overruled my mind when ever Dima was involved. He answered by running his nose down the side of my head, shushing me. His strong arms engulfed me and I quit resisting the warm and safe feeling of letting go; in a daze I yielded myself completely under his power.

 

Everyone knew of course that we had left together, but Artyom, with whom Dima was staying during his visit, was the only one to know Dima had spent the night with me. When we appeared to our rendevouz together, Dima in the same and still somewhat damp clothes he wore the previous night, we got dirty knowing grins from all of them. It would have been embarrassing enough if we’d just had an ordinary one night stand, but we had so much more to be uneasy for when our friends teased us: the rapes, the abuse, the mind games.

 

For young people they were surprisingly old fashioned about our age difference, my friends especially, but the sun cast beautifully coloured light, dandelion fluff danced in the air and we spent a few dreamlike hours with them. I took a swim wearing a large t-shirt, not wanting to reveal the bruises and bite marks on my body. The cool saltwater soothed the ache between my legs and the soreness of my muscles. Before leaving home I’d applied concealer on the bruises the shirt didn’t hide. My bitten neck was noticed despite my efforts and it increased the smirking.

 

Swimming and sweating, I couldn’t help some of the make up wearing off. Minttu eyed curiously at my legs but I stared her down. I could only hope she’d keep her observations to herself. Dima was old school and not much for public displays of attention, thus we were the first to take our leave, bodies buzzing to touch freely again. Hiding his handiwork and the risk of it being exposed had been thrilling for both of us.

 

We made a detour to Artyom’s flat to fetch Dima some clothes and such. On the way home I took us by a pharmacy. I was a little embarrassed and couldn’t remember what medicine was in Russian.

 

“Dima, I don’t want, a child,” I managed, “do you understand?”

 

He smiled looking relieved, and quickly explained something in a hushed tone, gesturing downwards. He saw from my expression that I understood none of it.

 

“No child,” he said in English, but I wasn’t convinced and used my single Estonian sentence.

 

“Räägi Eesti.” Speak Estonian.

 

The words ‘I can’t have children’ were the same in Estonian as in Finnish and I joined Dima in the club of the relieved. It didn’t affect the risk of STDs of course, but I was too happy to worry about that.

 

Returning to my apartment, we were suddenly a bit shy to be there and just the two of us again. Especially now the others knew we were off somewhere having sex. I seriously hoped that was all they knew and Minttu hadn’t told anyone about the bruises.

 

After dinner I took a shower to wash the sand off. When I stepped out of the bathroom, Dima grabbed me from behind and gagged me before I had time to react. My shout for him to leave me alone, that I was too hurt for more sex, never got out. I was apprehensive but didn’t know if there was a reason to be truly scared. After all, he’d been so sweet all day.

 

He pulled a dark pillowcase over my head and growled in my ear, “All mine baby girl, all mine now.”

 

I loved it when he talked to me like he owned me, but his voice was full of threat and my body went cold. He manhandled me to kneel on the bed and tied my hands to the bedposts. I fought but was no match for him. To be tied up was venom for it left me more exposed than I was comfortable with, especially when he had gagged and hooded me and I had no way to communicate with him.

 

He dragged me ‘til my hands were stretched taut and arranged me to his liking, hips thrust up and upper body weight hanging on my splayed arms. He was up in my dry cunt before I had time to realize what was happening. The strokes dragged the linings of my pussy and the friction chafed and burned the torn walls of my vagina. He used as much force and violence ramming into my pussy as he could muster. I growled  through my nose every time he slammed his cock in. They might have been screams to start with, but I could hardly get a sound past the gag.

 

He kept brakes, pulled out and let me calm down. When the hurt had eased he started anew. The pauses made sure the pain was always fresh - he didn’t want me numb. Just as my cunt was starting to lubricate to ease my suffering, his pace got slower. His hand grazed my buttock and I felt a finger circling my asshole. Oh god, please not that. I had known this was just a question of time, and hell, I had wanted him to fuck my ass, but not like this. In this mood he’d tear me up just for the fun of it, and my sphincter might never completely heal. My eyes teared up in the darkness of the hood. It was horrible not to see, not to know. I’d never been claustrophobic but panic was rising in me; I was buried alive and I’d never get out again, I’d spend the rest of my life trapped and being raped. I sobbed as I felt cold lube on my anus and the rigid tip of a small dildo going in. I kept sobbing, but for a moment it was from relief for he’d spared me from the crippling pain of slamming right in.

 

Though appalled and mortified by myself, I couldn’t help enjoying his ministrations. Dima held still in my cunt, filling me but not hurting me and in my ass the little dildo moved back and forth. Longing to be filled after his teasing, I wished he’d put his cock in my ass already. Too late I realized I was fucking back.

 

“My lusty little slut,” he praised and put the slick lubed head of his cock on my hole. I didn’t flinch and he chortled, “That’s a good girl, taking it up the ass like a whore.” I shuddered in heat, his words were poison but I wanted to drown in it.

 

Dima put some pressure on my anus and I pressed against him until I felt the tip ease in. Then, gasping, I moved away to ease the pressure when he pushed the rest of the knob in. He stopped there, giving me time to squiggle my hips and adjust. I loved the mixed feeling of intimacy and violation when my ring of muscle squeezed the stretching shaft, eager to suck more of it in.

 

Dima poured lube on his cock and started to push in. I thrust back easing him deeper. “Good girl,” he praised. An instantaneous surge of giddy goodness gripped me and my pussy and ass spasmed. The reaction I had to those words time and again was totally ridiculous, but I was in no state to figure it out now.

 

He pulled out a bit, poured more lube and pushed back in. I moved to meet him until my bonds stopped me. As he started pulling out again I heard myself let out a little disappointed mewing sound. Dima’s finger went to my pussy hole and slid right in to the flowing wetness I’d produced.

 

“If you had told me how much you like a cock up your bottom, I’d have taken care of my little slut before.”

 

Given the context I had no problems understanding his Russian. He pulled out entirely, leaving the tip of his cock touching my bud. After another drizzle of lube he pushed back in, stopping for a while to move only the head in and out through my tight sphincter. I moaned in pleasure and tried to fuck back and get more of him in. He shushed me and I forced myself to stay still while he teased me.

 

Finally he started the long strokes I’d been waiting for. He fucked my ass slowly, burrowing deeper with every thrust. It was pure ecstasy for is slow pace let me enjoy every sensation and I wished my hands were free so I could rub my clit. He kept putting on more lube and talked dirty to me when ever he wanted my pelvic muscles to spasm around him. His finger went to my pussy again. ”Girl, you’re dirty. Does my little anal slut need something in here too?” My cheeks burned with shame and I couldn’t speak but yes, I damn well did. My cunt was raw, yet I desperately wanted to be filled.

 

I felt the cool touch of silicone on my pussy lips and a dildo, thicker this time, glided effortlessly along my wetness, stinging the sore flesh. Dima made a few strokes in and out. “I know what you need baby.” He’d found my inflatable dildo and pumped it rapidly until he heard me moan, pumped a little more and let go of it. He started to fuck my ass again and I was exalted. Nothing hurt too bad but I was stretched to the most satisfying fullness I ever knew. My clit throbbed ardently and I ached to cum.

 

Dima went on inflating the dildo. My cunt stretched and he praised the tightness of my ass. This really made me realize his age for he already had and seemingly still could fuck me for forever. He had enough self discipline to hold back when he was getting too close. I hoped he would cum soon though, for I longed for a grand finale. Besides, if he came he’d probably let my hands free and I could masturbate myself into the violent orgasm my body so vehemently demanded.

 

The air Dima pumped in between his slow strokes went where my pussy yielded space to expand and the dildo ballooned behind my pelvic opening.  It was getting very uncomfortable but being at his mercy was also deeply gratifying. I hoped he would fuck me harder but he just pumped more air in the dildo, let some out and pumped again. The dull uncompromising pain swallowed my whole abdomen and pelvis and tears ran down my strained face under the hood. Still, I didn’t resist for I wanted to be good.

 

Finally he went too far with the pump and my resolve crumbled under the torture, I started to flinch and buck away. He mumbled his little darling to be still and take it like a good girl. I strived to please my Dima, but the next inflations were too much and I began to yell and struggle. Disappointed, he pulled out of my ass and the pressure eased some. He promptly compensated for it with four inflations in a rapid succession. I thrashed in my ropes, screaming in shock. He patted my butt, tugged on the dildo to check it sat snug and got off the bed.

 

I don’t know how long I was a prisoner inside my dark hood. I heard his footsteps around the flat. I heard the TV, the coffee maker and the balcony door. My arms and wrists were aching from supporting my weight. Frequently he returned to stand by the bed and the dildo inside me swelled and I screamed for him, having already been stretched as far as my cunt could go. Yet I had no way to flee the pain and panted like a mother giving birth while Dima ran his palm over the arcs and hollows of my naked quivering body. Whining weakly I pleaded, but he took no notice and when he walked away I sobbed.

 

The pain was too cruel to bear, but it was the pillowcase that threatened to undo me. It seemed to shrink every passing second and strangle me. The air I sucked through the tightly woven threads was warm and stuffy and each labored inhalation took me closer to the deep end of panic.

 

When I finally felt his weight on the mattress I was relieved. Being hurt by him was terrifying but it was better than being tied up alone in the dark. Dima tugged on the dildo and I yelped. Muttering something I couldn’t hear, he kneeled between my legs and rested the tip of his penis on my asshole. This time Dima wasn’t gentle. Trusting I was still stretched and supple, he gave me no warning and shoved the whole length of his cock in me on the first savage plunge. He took no pity on my asshole and I shrieked in pain as my ring of muscle was stretched so violently. What noise got through my gag wasn’t loud enough to alarm the neighbours and he let me howl all I wanted.

 

“Scream baby, show daddy how it hurts,” he urged.

 

Dima twisted his cock to penetrate me from different angles. I tried to get away when he grabbed my waist pulling me on his cock, but his legs held mine pinned. He forced himself a space where there was none left and my every exhale was a scream. His balls slapped against the handle of the dildo as his thighs smacked my butt hard enough to smart. There was no other sensory input to my brain than the pain in my sex organs, and the need to flee from it.

 

Any lube that had been left in my back passage had worn out and he was practically fucking me raw.  I sobbed between my howls while he petted my ass and caressed my red and swollen pussy lips, telling me how good a fuck I was. His arms were around my shoulders to keep me from bucking away from his cock. I started kicking with all my strength, the pain, the ties, the hood - panic overwhelmed me and I was suffocating.

 

My fighting excited him and he started slamming against me without a rhythm, without thrusts even, just a blur of spearlike stabs in my anal tract. It lasted forever and my belly started to cramp with such violent usage of my rectum. I cramped and he tried to hold me still. Dima raped me impatiently, balls aching to cum, making the bulged dildo move painfully in my agonized pussy. At last he bellowed and filled my ass with cum, milking himself with my body, taking his time, getting every drop out.

 

He was totally spent and crashed on the bed. Mercifully, he reached to loosen my restraints and I collapsed next to him. I curled up into a ball, the dildo still in me, the gag in my mouth and loops still around my wrists. I was too groggy to even claw the hood off. I wanted nothing; to be nothing, to feel nothing.

 

“Next time,” he muttered short of breath, “I want to see you stay still without the ties.”

 

When I woke up it was twilight outside and the pain had dulled a little. Dima spooned against my back, an arm protectively around me, the other stretched on the pillow above my head. The ropes, the hood and the gag were gone. The dildo inside me had been deflated and slid out. He hadn’t showered, I could smell his sweat and the scent was warm and bewitching. I nestled closer to his bare skin and hugged the arm in front of me. I didn’t understand my emotions, moreover, I didn’t understand why I had any. I liked it when he was rough, but when he got carried away it was insanity. He hadn’t stopped when I begged him to, when it wasn’t fun anymore or kinky or exciting. Yet afterwards he’d be the gentlest and kindest man, taking care of me like I was the most fragile thing in the world. 

 

I was never one to surrender to bullying or abuse, but what he did - what we did - didn’t fall into any category I knew. Due to our language barrier I couldn’t ask him what the hell was this all about, but the world with him was tempting in its simplicity: If I let him be the only scary thing in my mind, he’d also be a hero who would have the power to keep away all that was scary in the world outside. He was a drug I couldn’t stop wanting though I knew it was bad for me. I was still chiding myself of lunacy when I started kissing his rough fingertips to wake him up.

 

***

 

Again we existed in a romantic dream state, like that at the beach. While I cleaned myself up in the bathroom, he’d rummaged in my kitchen and made us some hot chocolate. I dragged a heap of blankets out to the balcony chairs where we sat down to enjoy the hot sweet drink. We asked questions about each others’ lives and could even understand much of the answers drifting back and forth as a mixture of four languages and silly hand gestures. It couldn’t be helped that our communication was clumsy, but when I proposed I fetch a dictionary Dima stopped me saying it was so much more fun our way. He breathed on the window and showed me how to write his whole name. Carefully he weighed the syllables of my name until he came up with a Russian pet name for me and I was exalted to have a name that was his alone. Gradually he abandoned the support of Estonian and English, deciding I understood him well enough.

 

His age made just sitting there together exciting. Despite me being of age, that intimacy with him felt like something I wasn’t supposed to do and did anyway, something that should be a secret, but of which our friends knew. Giving myself to him was against everything that was expected of me, but I wanted Dima to never stop touching me. I pulled him to me and his slow, soft kisses drew whines of pleasure from me and my strength and will melted away.

 

He got up and spread his blankets on the concrete floor. Taking me by the hand he lead me to sit and lay down on them, a cushion under my head. He draped my upper body back in the warmth of blankets and started sliding the hem of my ankle-length nightgown up. “Dima, no, please, not now, hurting.” In one smooth movement he leaned over me and dragged the garment up to my waist. He looked into my eyes, promising he wouldn’t hurt me and kissed my forehead. That gesture has always been the most loving I know and I relaxed and and let him, and the cool night air, between my thighs.

 

His nose stroke up my slit and I whispered hastily, “Dima, I need to shower and the neighbours can--”

 

He tilted his head back to look at me. “Shh, let me take care of you.”

 

His familiar husky voice was so reassuring that I lay back down. I’ve always been uncomfortable having someone down there, smelling and tasting me so I couldn‘t help squirming and trying to move away.

 

“Dima, don’t…”

 

“Shh,” he hissed and lay a heavy hand on my twitching leg and I settled.

 

I flinched when the tip of his tongue first touched my lips. I couldn’t shake the thought of how I would taste and fought the urge to push his head away. His finger traveled down my slit to my pussy hole. While I winced he whispered, “Don’t be afraid, I won’t hurt you.”

 

He dipped his finger in the wetness already pooling outside my hole and slid the finger up to my clit spreading my juices, repeating until my clit was slippery and wet. He started rubbing it deftly, his rough skin creating a pleasant friction. I couldn’t hold my moans and Dima shushed me again, not threateningly but adamantly. He bent down to kiss my clit and I tensed my whole body trying to stay quiet and submit to the touch.

 

His hands parted my pussy lips and his tongue begun to wander. I found it was easier to go with the flow with Dima, who’d do exactly what he wanted to do, no matter how I felt about it. Since he ignored my protestations, I was able to let go of them, and there in the darkness, kissing and nibbling, he made me enjoy what I normally detested. Each time he ran his tongue over my clit I whined and moaned, trying to keep it down. When ever I succeeded stifling myself, he’d tell me what a good girl I was.

 

When I was wriggling under him, my hips bucking, he couldn’t resist slipping a finger up my wet pussy. I was about to chide him about it, but he shushed me down. “You’re so wet it won’t hurt. Relax.”

 

It felt uncomfortable and smarted a little when he started to fuck me with it, but I didn’t actually hurt. Any pain there might have been got lost in the waves of heat my clit was spilling over me, while Dima kept his tongue on my nub, massaging and swirling. He put in another finger and immediately after a third and the fingers chafed what the dildo had left sore. The sensations undermined my resolution to be silent and I moaned his name under my breath.

 

I felt his fingers digging into my flesh. “Ready?” he whispered and dragged his nails along my bruised cunt walls. I whinnied and arched in pain but knew better than to ask him to take his fingers out. He looked up and said softly, “Shut up when I hurt you.” I pinched my larynx ‘til nothing but feeble grunts got out and he smiled, pleased at how hard I struggled to obey him. “Good girl,” he whispered stroking my thigh and I felt again the disturbing satisfaction for earning that particular praise.

 

I was sweating and ripe to collapse into an orgasm. Dima didn’t want to get physical and force my silence, instead he wanted to enjoy making me comply with words alone. He abandoned the licking and started sucking my clit. My abdominal muscles started cramping the higher to my climax I ascended. Again and again I jolted up and thumped back down on my cushion, gasping, “Dima, help me, I can’t, quiet, Dima, I’m coming, I’m--” He couldn’t quite reach to put his hand over my mouth but I grasped his wrist and sucked his extended fingers into my mouth.

 

My body went rigid and started to shake. My vision blackened and cold shivers covered my arms and back. I clamped my mouth on Dima’s fingers, determined not to let any sound escape - for Pete’s sake we were out on the balcony of a suburb tower block. My scream of ecstasy would echo from the other buildings and bring everyone to their balconies. So, with his fingers in my mouth, hips bucking, I held my breath.

 

He kept to a regular rhythm and started humming against my clit. That buzzing was the last drop and I convulsed and cramped, thrashing on the blankets. I pressed my thighs together to protect my oversensitive clit from any further stimulation and his head got caught, but he pulled himself free to watch the results of his efforts. I pounded my head in the cushion and my heels on the concrete floor. My hips gyrated randomly and my grip on his wrist must have been painful.

 

The electricity-like currents tore in me for some seconds, but in my head those moments elongated. Finally my muscles relaxed and I let my limbs fall limp on the blankets. I opened my mouth to breathe and freed his hand; the senses gripping electrocution feeling had let go. What was left was the lull of total emptiness, mindlessness, weightlessness and I lay on my balcony, writhing faintly and giggling like an idiot. Dima lay down beside me and observed in fascination how I was immersed in the tidal wave of tiny sparks he could never see.

 

***

 

Seeing me cum so hard had left his mind in a stir. We carried the blankets and covers back in and I fell on my bed absolutely exhausted. I’d never had this much physical activity within 24 hours and my body was done for. I was in urgent need of sleep, but Dima approached the bed and I could tell that something was different and I wasn’t going to like it.

 

His voice emotionless, he told me to turn on my stomach. I sat up to face him and though I tried to sound neutral my words came out pissed. “Dima, I want to sleep. I don’t want any more. Understand? This isn’t funny. I need sleep.” He adopted a collected air and came closer. He took hold of my chin and repeated his order with the same cold tone but eyes blazing. I wasn’t up for any games and snapped at him, “Hey, I said I don’t want to. I’m going to sleep.” I shoved at his hand, “Understand?”

 

I’d angered him and he grabbed me by the hair and leaned his face to almost touch me. “It’s your choice. Don’t force me to tie you up baby. You want me to use the hood again?” All defiance went out of me and avoiding his eyes I shook my head. This was a drastic change to the Dima on the balcony, the man that had enveloped me in soft touches. “Now sweetie, we don’t want to wake up your neighbours.” He put a pair of scrunched-up panties against my lips and I – already resigned to defeat – listlessly took the bundle in my mouth like a horse accepting a bit. He had a piece of string ready and he tied it around my head to secure the gag in place. “Good girl, now get on your hands and knees.” I didn’t understand this in Russian, but he arranged my body on all fours, and I let him.

 

His heavy palm rested on the back of my head. He nudged gently and I bent my arms and lowered my head to rest on them. He took hold of my wrists and tugged, and I yielded and let him pull my arms straight back until my hands were beside my knees. My hips were thrust up and my weight resting uncomfortably on my shoulders. My cheek was pressed hard on the mattress and my neck was strained.

 

“Please don’t be rough, I’m so hurt,” I whimpered through the fabric filling my mouth.  He nudged my thighs wanting me to spread them. I spread a little and even more of my weight shifted on my shoulders to bear. It was difficult to acknowledge that it was Dima and me there on the bed. It was us on the balcony too, but we’d stepped through the mirror again and become the dark twisted versions of ourselves.

 

I had bought the dildo from internet knowing it was large. When it arrived I was stunned to see the true size of it. It was as thick as my forearm and, with his vicious streak in control, Dima chose it. He applied pressure on it relentlessly, until my bruised pussy stretched to accommodate the object. I groaned loudly to my gag when he forced it in. I was terribly hurt after his rough fucking on the night before and even more so after the torture with the inflatable dildo. When the monster stopped at my cervix and would go no further, Dima told me to push it out. I shook my head and pleaded, but it was futile when he was like that. I was so alone. I couldn’t get through to him and his cruelty brought tears into my eyes. Before when he’d hurt me he’d at least done so with passion, making it personal and intimate. Now he treated me like he had on the sofa: detached, uncaring, like I was nothing and no-one.

 

Moaning in pain I did as I was told and pushed; slimy and with traces of blood the dildo lunged out of me. When the end of it rested on his palm, he let out an ominous shush and rammed the thing back in punching me in the gut with it. I screamed out in pain and shock until the punch took my voice.

 

Dima loved the obscene view of the monster cock spreading me and continued fucking me with it, coaxing and commanding. “Here it comes. Be still. Don’t tense up on me. Take it like a good girl. There, I know you like it. And out with it now, push, harder, good girl.” He made throaty sounds of lust driving it through the narrow gap between my pelvic bones. Each time the process to birth the thing was difficult and painful, for the dildo stretched my pussy and muscles so tight I had no room to squeeze inwards. From time to time he pushed back when I pushed out, testing the strength of my pelvic muscles and prolonging my agony. He was impressed with what my vagina, even after all he’d done before, still could endure.

 

When I was no longer distressed enough for his taste, he put another dildo on my asshole. I mumbled through my gag for him to stop, and tried to get away but my position didn’t allow it for he’d pinned my arms and legs beneath him. “Don’t make a fuss. You’ve been stretched well and good earlier. Take it, take it all now.”

 

I tried to wrench myself free and howled, ”No, no, no,” but he didn’t care I really meant it. He had smeared the dildo in my juices and shoved it through my tight ring of muscle without mercy. In it went, deep up my ass without lube, chafing and burning, dragging the membranes as it went.

 

Dima alternated between plunging the dildos in simultaneously and in turns. Stuffed as I was I couldn’t tell my cunt from my rectum. There was just one torn hole and one huge nightmare of an object grinding in it. As the giant dildo in my cunt and the other up my butt met inside me and poked my abdomen, the pain was like menstrual cramps tenfold. Beads of sweat glistened on my skin as I screamed. The little amount of pussy juice on the dildo in my ass had worn out fast and he’d since been tearing fresh cuts and nicks in my already raw passage.

 

He was speeding up and getting even rougher and I wriggled my hips to get my holes into angles which would help to dull the pangs of pain. Dima laughed and let me do it knowing it had little effect on what he afflicted me with. He raped me with the plastic cocks so violently that nothing I did mattered. All I had left was crying and screaming, though they weren’t distinct screams, more like a constant ragged howling that lived in rhythm with my breathing.

 

I was drained, finished, dead and had a terrible thirst. I slumped down, my shoulders no longer able to hold my weight. I felt gross, a repulsive heap on the bed with dirty dildos sticking out. When Dima started wrenching me up I used my last strength trying to escape him. I scratched and kicked him as he dragged me to the bathroom. I tried to claw the gag off and scream to him that he was killing me, but he snatched my hands to his grip. I struggled to get free but he barely noticed my efforts.

 

He screwed the shower head off the hose keeping me tucked under his arm. I got the gag off and begged him in terrified sobs to let me go. There was nothing of Dima left in him and I was afraid the new bout of torture would end in my death. Then again, to me it was of little consequence, for I was in a state in which there was nothing left of me either.

 

He tested the water was lukewarm and left the hose to trickle water in a weak stream. He heaved me into the bathtub and lifted me up by my ankles. He swore and shook me until I supported my weight with my shaky arms. My stomach rested on his crotch, and my crotch against his stomach available for abuse. My legs rested on his chest with my feet sticking up in the air above his shoulders. He had abused my body cavities to such depths that my stomach was in shock. He barely got me steady before I twitched and threw up on my hands in the tub. He growled curses at me and slapped me hard on the hip to declare he didn’t approve.

 

He sprayed me clean with the hose and left it to trickle. He threw a towel in front of me. “Put that in your mouth and make no noise.” He drizzled water on my used anus and pushed two fingers in. I groaned loudly in futile anger kicking with my feet, while he spread my asshole, stretching the little cuts glistening with blood. Slowly he forced the end of the hose in through my wrinkly bud. He pushed it as deep as it easily went, some four inches, and I cried out, almost dropping the gag from my mouth, as the hard plastic end scraped the linings of my anal tract.

 

I had understood of course what was to come, but no amount of bracing myself prepared me for his homemade enema and I started immediately feeling extremely uncomfortable. Even the slow trickle of water had pressure that bulged my bowls and, adding to the effect, with the water the hose spewed air as well. I kicked frantically with my feet and – biting down on the gag – screamed in panic for him to turn off the water.

 

The pain of filling up was excruciating and I howled like an animal while trying to escape him. The gag muffled enough of my screams that none were heard outside the room but Dima heard, and ignored. I let my hands buckle and tumbled hard into the tub. My legs slid down his chest until I was cramping violently in the little pool of water remaining on the bottom. My treacherous anus didn’t let the hose slide out of me and when I reached for it Dima stopped me though deep down he knew he couldn’t keep it up for long. After listening to my panicked yelling and sobbing for long enough to get hard again, he turned off the water and I felt the hose twitch when the water pressure died down.

 

He grabbed me by the hair and jerked my face to him. “Keep all in,” he snarled in English. “Out, and do again.”

 

He pulled the hose out slowly and I curled into a ball, desperately trying to clench shut the anus he’d fucked so loose. I needed air and spit the gag out to take what shallow gasps of air I could without making the pain worse. Allowing me no rest he hauled me out of the tub, the manhandling almost making me loose control over my pelvic muscles.

 

When my feet touched the floor I cramped so bad I couldn’t really stand, but he made me walk around so he could see me suffer. I was in such distress I no longer had thoughts or words, my mind had regressed to that of an animal.

 

Drunk with his own power Dima muttered with a thick throaty voice, “I’m gonna fuck you like that.” In disbelief I stared at him, tears streaking my face. His whisper was cold as ice, “Look at your legs baby - you bleed. One way or another, you’re always wet for me, aren’t you?”

 

He stalked at me and I skittered away. I knew I wouldn’t last long and I prayed for him to leave me alone for the pressure had grown too strong. I pinched my sphincter as hard as I could but inevitably my efforts gave out. Enraged and crying, throwing everything I got my hands on at him, I yelled, “Get out, get out, get out!” But it was too late. I felt a spluttering flood splash on the floor and howled in shame. Stricken, I kept my eyes closed, too mortified to move.

 

Dima swore coarsely and stormed out, I rushed to lock the door behind him, trying to lock him out of my head to another dimension. I knew I could never face another human again, least of all him for he’d seen it. Sobbing, I washed my legs and crotch. I couldn’t believe what had happened; my anus felt numb like it wasn’t even there. I washed the floor and kept frantically scrubbing everything until I couldn’t stand up anymore.

 

The first degradation wasn’t enough. I had to sit on the toilet for an eternity, suffering sharp pangs of pain – and even sharper of shame – before my bowls were empty. I kept the shower in my hand, hiding myself during all of it in a cascade of lifesaving little droplets. I never wanted to get out from under the only comfort I had.

 

I crawled to cower in the tub and hugged the shower to my chest; the flow of water was the only thing that could wash away my dirt, soil and shame. I tried not to think for I couldn’t face the revulsion that would follow if I did think.  Next to me thin swirls of blood danced in the water rushing towards the drain and I knew I was breaking down.

 

My fingers were wrinkled and the air dense with steam when Dima knocked on the door. He kept calling my name and asking what was going on. I stayed in my numbness, my solace and his voice got louder and distressed. When he was about to kick the door in I got up and slouched towards the noise. I turned the lock and started back towards my sanctuary for beneath the stream of water filth did not exist.

 

Dima saw I was unravelling and shook me until my eyes focused on him. I recognized my monster and eyes wide with fear shrank away from his touch but I was too weak to struggle. He wrapped a towel around me and pressed me against him rubbing my back, drying me off. I could tell he was talking but none of it reached me and, getting nowhere, he turned me around and steered me out of the bathroom.

 

Anxious to be separated from the shower I babbled incoherent nonsense about dirt, water and bath tubs – all in Finnish, since in that base state it was all I had left. I went to my wardrobe and tried to nest in the clothes lying on its floor and it wasn’t easy for him to get me out for I craved the privacy of that small dark space. To be seen and touched when feeling that unclean was horrible, it made me want to scream.

 

Dima was gravely aware he’d gone too far, gotten too deep in the role he had taken and misjudged how much I could endure. He was determined to get me out of my spiralling hysteria. Since getting to me in the bathroom he’d been speaking to me softly in his own language, he was past caring if I understood or not. Holding my hand he sat down on the bed, I resisted trying to back off as a wave of nauseating fear washed over me. Frantically I repeated the words ‘no more’ in Finnish, shaking my head, but he was adamant and pulled me to him.

 

Slowly, droplet by droplet, I was seeping blood. It smeared on him and the sheets but Dima ignored the mess and cradled me like a child. He began to sing quietly, his voice constantly breaking into a humming whisper and it was that gruff buzz repeating a lullaby-like tune that finally calmed me. When I was lucid enough to pay attention Dima started to stroke my wet hair. He quit singing and pressed his lips on the top of my head, hugging me tight he whispered, “прости меня пожалуйста моя маленькая, прости.” Prosti menya pozhaluista moya malenkaya, prosti. Please forgive me little one, I’m sorry.

 

To hear the pain in his voice demolished a wall I’d built inside my head. I forgot his English was nigh useless and sobbed in a flood of words how horrible I felt, how it hurt, how he’d humiliated me, how afraid I’d been, how used I had felt after his first indifferent taking of me and how used I felt now, how awful it was to have no way to communicate when gagged and tied and hooded, and he let me rant, stroking and holding me. Finally, after a dozen apologies we both fell asleep.

 

***

 

At night in the darkness I woke up to him settling himself between my legs. “Dima, no,” I blurred, but he took my hands and pinned them over my head in his one big hand.

 

When I tried to protest further, he closed my mouth with a long soft kiss and put his lips close to my ear and rasped in a low voice, “I want you, I take you.” He parted my sore and swollen pussy lips with his free hand, guided his cock to my opening and slowly, emitting a crossbreed of a groan and a sigh, pushed himself inside.

 

To be forced open again burned my raw flesh but Dima was gentle; he didn’t try to make it hurt but brook no argument even when it did. When all of him was in he stopped and I wriggled in discomfort. The weight of him on top of me was comforting and familiar, but the smell of my own sticky blood made me sick. He kissed my neck and whispered with his lips just above my ear, “You’re mine baby. Blood ‘n all, you belong to me. I own you.” It was true. He knew it, I knew it, but I was so sore. He started to move in and out of me very slowly.  When I whined he shushed me. When I moaned he put his hand over my mouth and told me, not unkindly, to be quiet. All the while he held my hands above my head, making it clear that he was in charge.

 

I was soon bleeding again but was too numb to care. Dima had known sex at that time would hurt me, but my increasing wetness assured him I could take it. He murmured loving endearments while penetrating me with measured movements. When I winced or grimaced he paused and shushed me until I relaxed. He invaded my body and enjoyed watching how I laboured to muffle my reactions only because he’d told me to do so.

 

After I had sunk into a lethargic sturpor, Dima kneeled and helped me straddle him. I leaned my back on his chest and grunted as he pulled me on his rigid cock. He started rocking me on his shaft, careful to let me get used to the deeper penetration he achieved in that position. Thus, ever whispering in his sweet Russian, he made love to me lingering in every thrust to my slick sleepy warmth. His motions, how ever gentle, ached, but when the fingers of his right hand brushed the curve of my neck, all but pleasure faded.

 

He leaned to nuzzle and I bent my head eagerly to give him full access. Continuing to work his cock in and out of me, he made me quiver and gasp by stroking my neck with the tip of his nose. I writhed as he dragged his lips up and down, kissing and licking my sensitive skin. “You’re getting wetter for me every passing second,” he whispered, and I couldn’t deny the power his sex laden words had over me, for my body twitched and I felt a powerful spasm grip my cunt. I knew that what wetness there had been had just doubled.

 

The air in the bedroom was stuffy and smelled like sex. Dima took one of my hands and placed it on my clit, moving it in circles until I obediently took it up. His gentle persuasion of my groggy body had set a glow in me; it was a fantasy, being taken in forced silence by a strong willed man I had neither capability nor courage to challenge. Blood rushed in my ears and my chest was so tight I could barely breathe. I wanted to let go of the world and fall into him and he sensed it. “Good girl,” Dima coaxed me to succumb, keeping his thrusts steady and rhythmic. He turned my head so he could whisper into my ear. “You’re so fragile on the outside, but you’re not a nice girl. Nice girls don’t get wet when they’re pinned down and hurt. Nice girls go for nice boys and I’m no boy.” I shivered and that roller coaster feeling clenched my stomach. He wasn’t a kid, he was a man and he was in me.

 

Emboldened he went on, “You like it when someone big and strong throws you on the bed and forces your legs apart? You like to squeal when a grown man’s cock stretches your ass? Does it turn you on to be fucked ‘til you bleed?” My body tensed up anticipating the imminent climax. It was so excruciatingly close I had to hold my breath as not to have that bliss slip away. I sipped in short breaths through my nose when I had to, but I didn’t dare to exhale and the pressure in my body grew.

 

It was difficult to concentrate while rocking on his lap. “Please, stay, still,” I panted, one word per a hasty exhale, and he quit moving. I grunted in frustration for I’d become so wet my strokes lacked the friction I required to cum. I was so close I ached, but the deliverance eluded me.

 

“Naughty little girl, playing with herself. Feel how hard you’re making me? Cum for me baby and I’ll give you what you need. I’ll fuck you hard. I’ll make it hurt. I’ll cum inside you and let it run down your bloody thighs. I’ll make you my little slut.” I did feel how hard he was and his voice made every little hair on my body stand up. Each message painted vivid pictures in my mind and sent currents of buzzing energy roaming my body. He started shushing me again and with the third good girl a blinding light erupted from my core. I came hard, exhaling all air from my lungs in one long huff, cramping, arching, shaking my head madly. I clenched my teeth striving to keep the forced wow of silence my Dima had imposed on me.

 

The second I started to shake he shoved me harshly from my knees to all fours. He started pounding me from behind with no restraint, making all the aches and hurts burn me like hell. He clamped his hand on my mouth and fucked me so fast I couldn’t make out strokes anymore, just the pain. My muscles still twitched in the aftermath of my orgasm and I went on using them, urging him to cum. He’d liked it before so I pushed against his thrusts with all my strength, and his grunts got louder. I resisted the demands of my agonized pussy to stop contracting my muscles, the pain was nothing as long as I had the opportunity to be a good girl for him. My face broke into a gleeful smile when my diligent squeezes sent him rocketing to his final fix. He shot his precious load in me, pumping ‘til the end with a roar that wasn’t human. Now it was his eyes that couldn’t focus and he fell on the bed beside me with a thump. He put an arm around me and dozed right off, I lay still, savouring the wet pool between my legs, thinking lovingly it was his seed welling in me. Seed he’d given me exactly where and when and how rough he wanted.

 

***

 

When I woke up in the morning Dima was already awake. He lay beside me looking at me anxiously. I was a mess. In addition to the tangle that used to be my hair and the standard sweat and other sexual grime, there was blood on me. Even my hands were rusty from rubbing my pussy. My face was puffy and eyes red from crying and screaming. I had angry bruises from our struggling and bigger ones from my fall into the tub. Altogether I was not a pretty sight. How I must disgust him now, I thought with my chest and stomach in such a knot I could hardly move. Without a word, carefully hiding myself in the duvet, I got up and walked stiffly to the bathroom.

 

I was thankful he extended me the courtesy of allowing me to shower alone. When I got out I walked past him with my eyes downcast as he went to take his turn. Dima had stripped the bed from bloody items and opened the balcony door to let in fresh air. I listened to the rap-rap-rapping of water drops, thinking what he looked like standing under the stream with his hair all wet. My heart was racing: on the right was wonder and joy, on the left was fear and apprehension. Between them was confusion and in the midst of it was I.

 

I heard the shower stop and the knot got tighter still. I was lying down on the bed, all tensed up, hugging a pillow when Dima came to stand by the bed. “Neshenka?” He squatted in front of me searching for my gaze. My head was spinning: the strain in his voice, his unsettling expression, the nightmare in the bathroom, the moments I’d felt good while he was treating me bad, inability to control my own mind, fear that he wouldn’t want me anymore and a million other things all added up in my head and I burst into tears.

 

He looked like I had just hit him. He extended his hand towards me, wanting to give comfort, but didn’t dare to touch me and suddenly I understood his face. He thought I’d hate him after last night. Sure, a part of me did hate a part of him, but I couldn’t let him think that I didn’t care for him. There was no stopping the flow of tears so I took his wavering hand and pressed it on my cheek. Relieved to get a reaction he stood up and sat on the bed. Leaning his back on the headboard, he pulled me to him, and I made a nest for myself in his arms. I had thought about this many times during the weekend, a time would come when words needed to be said, when touches, smiles and sex failed as sufficient communication. Comically some t.A.T.u. lyrics I’d memorized in high school proved unexpectedly useful.

 

I loathed my emotional outburst and fought to choke down the sobs. Concentrating on my pronunciation I recited in Russian, “It’s not simple, you and me. Why am I attracted to you? I don’t understand myself. I’m loosing my mind, but without you I am not me.”

 

It felt queer to hear him speak English again. First I wondered how he suddenly had all the words but soon realized he was paying me back in kind. “In the darkness, there's so much I wanna do and I can't get enough of you. There's something that drives me wild but I was made for lovin' you baby.” When he was done I turned and finally looked at him. “Tell me I make you feel good,” he whispered hoarsely.

 

My Russian was clumsy but close enough, “I don’t know what you’re doing to me, but I don’t want you to stop.”

 

Smiling he took my head in his hands and gave me one of those kisses of his that closed me into a circle of safety and shut all the confusion out.