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It’s freaking enormous! And hard. Much bigger than the man in Leah’s photo. Like, twice as big. It has veins on it and is engorged-looking. I’m shocked to see a drop of liquid gathering at an opening at the broad end of it.
He doesn’t seem to notice my fear. He’s pinching my nipples, squeezing my breasts together. Playing with them with possessive curiosity. He leans down and licks one of them, sucking on it like he’s trying to drink milk from me.
I squeal in protest but he only moves to the other one, flicking my nipple with his tongue.
It hurts because his hands are so rough. And it feels warm.
He releases my arms, thankfully. But now he’s running his hands down my stomach and—oh God!
Lower.
He crouches over me. His hands are on my thighs. I try to move but I’ve honestly never met a person as freakishly strong as he is. I can’t budge from his grip.
I’m mortified when his riveted gaze lands on … the most private place imaginable. Leah calls it her pussy. She once even told me she touched herself there and something happened that was the best feeling she ever had. At the time I told her she needed to stop thinking impure thoughts but she just laughed. This was while she was showing me how to wax down there. I told her it was probably a sin but she said having everything waxed feels better. She talked me into doing it with her, only just before we left on our trip. Which I’m now severely regretting.
I’m totally bare down there, giving me no shield at all against this aggressive man’s riveted stare.
I try to scream, but the savage doesn’t care. My protest is barely a whisper with my gag on. He touches his rough fingers to my pussy—and my flight reflex goes into overdrive. I jump up and start running. But I don’t even get three steps. He grabs me from behind and slings me over his shoulder. I try to hit him and kick him but he doesn’t even seem to notice. He’s made of pure muscle and my slaps must feel like the touch of a feather because he doesn’t even flinch.
He grabs the rope of my raft and drags it along behind him.
He carries me over to his hut. He shoves my raft under some branches, to hide it.
Then he takes me inside.
Oh, no.
This is not good. Someone please help me, I try to scream, but it’s no use. I still have the gag on.
He sets me on the bed and steps back. I get on my knees, in a prayer position.
The hut is bigger than it looked from the outside. The bed is big and raised. It’s got a wooden frame with lots of leaves and cured hides thrown over it as a mattress of sorts. A few primitive weapons are hanging on the walls. There are carved wooden bowls. One of them is full of water.
The savage closes a door made of sticks that have been weaved together. He slides a strong-looking lock into place.
It’s dimly lit in here, but not completely dark. Daylight shines in through the gaps.
I look up at him, pleading searchingly with my eyes. I point to the bowl full of water. Please have mercy on me!
I can’t help also noticing that his cock is so hard it’s sticking up, taut against his muscular stomach. All the way up his tanned abdomen. It really is … very large. Sort of red and hot-looking and bulging, like it’s on the verge of bursting.
The savage glances at the bowl of water, then he glances at his big cock.
He holds his engorged length in his fist.
I point to the water again.
Slowly, he shakes his head. He stands next to the bed, so his cock is close to my face.
What does he want?
I can’t help staring at it. It’s the strangest thing I’ve ever seen. It’s smooth but also sort of bumpy with ridges and veins.
His finger gently tilts my chin up, so I’m looking up at him. He places his finger in front of his lips and says, “Shhh.”
He’s going to take off my gag.
I nod. I’ll be quiet.
