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Kathryn and I walked up the beach, carrying our towels and sunglasses. The sun was hot but we were refreshed after a long late afternoon swim. She squeezed my hand and I grinned at her.

"We'll have a shower first," she said decisively, "then we'll rendezvous back at the tent and talk about somewhere for dinner

"What about that seafood place we were last night?" I said. "I fancy moules and frites cooked a completely different way to the four times we've already had them."

"Sounds good," she said, nodding. She leaned up to me and pouted her lips and I kissed her and slipped my arm around her waist.

We had been talking about a camping holiday for ages, and when she found on the internet a campsite in France that was by the sea, was close enough to the restaurants to be convenient but not so close that it was loud, and had all the other stuff we needed, we booked straight away.

It was indeed a good site. Our tent was big, but the plot we'd been given to put it on was bigger, and the shower and toilet blocks were large and clean. It was cheap, too. For a week now, we had been having the time of our lives - sleeping in during the morning, having some fruit for breakfast and then returning to bed for some happy, dozy sex, before rising in the early afternoon and laying around reading or going for a swim. Around eight in the evening we would get ready to go out, then we'd hit a restaurant and stuff ourselves with seafood and red wine and go back to the tent and pull each other's clothes off and do dirty things with each other until we passed out.

Kathryn and I had been going out for two years. I was 26 and she was 25 and I had never felt about anyone the way I felt about her. She had long brown curly hair that flowed around her head, and a round face with wide, narrow, slightly hooded eyes. She was tanned and had a gorgeous body, a little soft, with a slight belly that pushed over the waist of her pants. I found that slight belly incredibly sexy. Neither of us had experimented much sexually when we first began to go out with each other, but we'd both been eager to meet someone else who wanted to, and when we did, we couldn't get enough of each other. We couldn't think of many things that we didn't want to try with each other. We had tried quite a lot of them already.

As we walked up the beach I was feeling great. We were happy and in love, and I knew we even looked good; Kathryn tanned easily while I didn't, but I had some colour in my face and arms and the swimming and the healthy diet had made me lean and fit. The only slight cloud on the horizon was our neighbours.

They were an American couple. They hadn't bothered to introduce themselves, which we didn't mind too much as we were pretty private people, but although they'd turned up after us, they already walked around the campsite as if they owned it. He was about fifty, tallish, strong-looking but with a body that was already running to seed, and a beard and a receding hairline; he had a habit of walking around wearing only a pair of aviator shades and some very small swimming trunks that left little to the imagination. Kathryn had already started to call him Mr Olympus and Panty Boy behind his back. His wife (at least we assumed she was his wife) was, by contrast, an Amazon; at least as tall as him, with short red hair, a firm jaw, and alarmingly muscular arms and legs, plus a couple of tattoos. I guessed she was in her early thirties. She never seemed to smile, and liked to wear an absurdly abbreviated bikini that didn't exactly enhance her small breasts. She had pale skin, paler even than mine, with elaborate tattoos on her upper arms, and every morning when she stepped out of their tent, her body glistened with powerful sunblock. She was obviously very careful not to get burned at all.

So Panty Boy and the Pole-Vaulter (as Kathryn privately called her) were our none-too-friendly neighbours. Not only did they not talk to us, they didn't even talk to each other much, except in a sort of petulant undertone. They clearly weren't having the best holiday. Still, as long as everybody kept themselves to themselves, it would all turn out okay.

We crossed the grass and reached the squat concrete building that housed the showers and toilets. Kathryn stood on tiptoe and we kissed, hugging each other. I felt myself get a little hard at the feel of her damp body in her bikini. She smiled up at me.

"Mmm," she chuckled. "Save that for later."

"I'll see you back at the tent," I said.

"You too," she said. She kissed me again, winked and sauntered around to the entrance to the women's showers. I watched her bottom as she walked away, her perfect round buttocks shifting inside the yellow fabric of her bikini. Then I smiled to myself and went into the men's shower area.

There was a dressing room with a locker, and beyond that there was the large tiled room that housed the actual showers. We had been given keys to our lockers by the site authorities; you stowed your belongings in the locker, then locked it and fastened the key around your wrist on a rubber band. When you were finished showering, you could get your stuff back.

I had to go the bathroom so first I went into a cubicle. When I was finished I wiped myself carefully and then pulled up my damp trunks. I left the cubicle, washed my hands and went into the changing area.

I could hear the water hissing. There must be somebody else already in there.

Normally I am a pretty modest person and I don't like showering with other men, but this time I thought, what the hell. I'm a grown-up now. And I wasn't ashamed of how I looked; if anything I was proud that I had got so slender and sinewy. I pulled down my trunks and stowed them in the locker, then locked them in with my towel, and I carried my soap and shampoo into the shower area.

As I walked in it was a little hard to see; the place was so full of steam. It was a hot day, and whoever was in there must have been a real hard-ass to want to take such a hot shower in weather like this.

I stepped up to the shower-head furthest from the other occupant and I turned it on. As I was adjusting the temperature (to "Nice and Tepid") I glanced at the other man.

Well, well. It was my neighbour. He was methodically soaping his large, dark and smoothly shaven body beneath a spray of hot water. He glanced back at me with an unreadable look. I couldn't help glancing down and noticing that, unlike me, he'd shaved his pubic hair - his long, thick, uncircumcised cock was hanging down between his smooth balls like the neck of a grotesque, suntanned chicken. For some reason, this silly bit of porn-star personal grooming didn't surprise me. Then he turned his back, revealing his broad and muscular back and surprisingly small ass.

Kathryn always liked to say that my ass was one of my best features. It stuck out a little at the back, and was smooth and tight and rounded. She loved playing with it, and I loved her doing it too; she had tried me a couple of times with her fingers and her tongue and I had got every excited. But we'd always moved on to something else. We hadn't quite gone there yet.

I got under the water and sighed quietly at how good it felt. I began washing myself all over, soaping my slim naked body in every nook and cranny, washing my cock and feeling it swell a little (I turned my back on my neighbour so he wouldn't see), rubbing the soap between the cheeks of my ass and washing my legs and feet and torso and neck. I found myself thinking of Kathryn, showering only a few feet away, the water streaming over her tight little body, separated from me by only a few inches of concrete, and I quickly had to stop that train of thought as it made me excited and Panty Boy at the other end showed no sign of leaving the showers.

When I was completely clean I poured shampoo into my hand and washed my neatly cropped hair, closing my eyes as the lather ran down over my face, and sighing again, softly, at the feel of it running over my naked body.

I had to admit, there was something a bit erotic about showering naked with another man. It woke up the small part of me that had fantasised about what it'd be like to have sex with a man. It was something Kathryn and I had talked about in bed, to get ourselves hot. It was purely academic, in a way; I'd never fancied another man at all. But I quite liked the idea.

I reached out an arm to get more shampoo and I lifted my face so that the water was spraying right into my eyes, to wash it away.

He grabbed me. He spun me around and pushed me back against the tiled wall, and before I had time to protest he was leaning into me, one of his hands grabbing my cock and hauling on it, while the other held my arm tight. His mouth fastened onto mine and he kissed me. I opened my eyes wide in shock, and shampoo ran into them. It smarted. I had to close them again, instinctively.

"MMMMFFF!"

I gave a muffled squeal of protest. His tongue was thrusting into my mouth and his heavy naked body was pressed against mine, his cock swinging between the tops of my thighs. My ass was squashed against the cold wet tiles of the wall. I was terrified.

"God, you have one fucking hot body," he muttered in my ear as he kissed my neck.

"Please, stop," I gasped, "no, please..."

"I've gotta have you," he said, his hand grasping my cock and rubbing it against his. His was bigger and longer and already getting hard, sticking out straight in front of him, pushing between my thighs. I was struggling to get away from him, trying almost to back up the wall, anything to stop touching him.

"No," I moaned, "I'm, I'm not gay, please don't do this, please..."

"Who said anything about being gay," he said, and he grabbed me by the back of my neck and pulled me into him again, kissing me. I was still blinking, my eyes streaming from the shampoo that had got into them. I couldn't even see him properly. I made muffled moans and cries of terror as he forced his tongue into my mouth, pushing his pelvis up against me.

This was my worst nightmare, this was the thing that had always made me nervous of showering with another man - the prospect of being forced into some act that would go against my most basic sense of who I was. And yet, even as I was trying to wriggle out of his grip, his tongue in my mouth and the terrible intimacy of his cock and balls pressing into my naked crotch were making my body respond. I shut my eyes tight and trembled with horror as I realised that I was actually getting a hard-on.

"Don't fight it," he whispered, "don't fight it, it always hurts more if you fight it, come on now, be a smart boy, be a good boy for daddy." He was reaching behind me with one hand, his fingers probing into the crack of my ass, starting to stroke me there...

I cried out "NO! GOD!" and wrenched myself half out of his grip. He caught me around the waist and dragged me beneath the water of my shower again, then he put an arm around my throat and pulled my head up so that the water was spraying into my face. His other arm was around my waist, pulling my wet, naked hips into his groin. I gasped and spluttered and shut my eyes. He was pulling on my cock with one hand, the other arm around my throat, holding me to his body so that I faced away from him. I had to hold my breath; if I opened my mouth the water would come in, if I inhaled through my nose I'd inhale water.

"Listen to me, bitch," he rasped in my ear. "I'm gonna have you. We can do it the hard way or the easy way. Your choice. Which is it to be? The hard way?"

I didn't answer. I couldn't. My eyes were shut tight and so was my mouth, but I could feel the impotent tears pricking behind my eyelids. So there really was to be no escape. I couldn't believe it, surely someone would come in, someone who would see straight away that he was fucking me against my will...or perhaps they wouldn't think that at all, they'd probably think I had consented. Oh God, I felt so powerless.

"The easy way?" he said.

I nodded, once.

"That's it, slut," he said, and released his chokehold on my throat. I dropped my head and gasped for breath. His big, swollen cock and smoothly shaven balls were pressed into the crack of my arse and his hand was still hauling rhythmically on my own cock.

"You ever been fucked in your little boy-pussy?" he said, and I heard him spit twice, and then felt his fingers pushing my arse cheeks apart, smearing his spit over my anus. I shivered and shook my head no. He squeezed my cock, hard, and I whimpered.

"Talk to me!" he barked. "I said, has anyone ever fucked you in your little pussy before?"

"No," I sobbed.

"Oh baby," he muttered. "You're a virgin. Beautiful."

I was shaking all over. I couldn't believe what he was about to do to me. What had I done to deserve this? I had worked hard and got my degree and I'd got an OK job, and I'd met a beautiful girl and fallen in love, and now I was about to be anally raped by a brutal stranger in the showers of a French campsite.

"Get on your hands and knees, slut," he rumbled. I got down on all fours, presenting my ass to him, my chest heaving with sobs. He knelt behind me and he mustn't have been able to work up enough spit, because I felt some sort of cool lotion being smeared over my anus.

"Beg me," he rasped.

"I can't," I sobbed.

"You fuckin' beg me, you little slut," he said, reaching around me and taking my cock in his hand once more. I gasped; he was an expert with my cock, he was touching me and making me hard once again, even when I was about to be violated by him in the most intimate way imaginable.

"Please don't make me," I whimpered.

"Beg me to fuck you!" he hissed. "Beg me to fuck your cunt!"

Oh God, even the word "cunt" was able to make me aroused, the way he was talking about my arsehole as though it were the site of all the pleasure in the world, the way he was looking at me as if I were a girl. I was seeing myself through his eyes, young, slender, naked, offering myself to him however unwillingly - and it was suddenly easier to play along with the sick game he was putting me through. If my role was to be his quivering, reluctant little girl-boy then I would play it. It put a distance between me and what he was doing to me.

"Please," I gasped. "Fuck my cunt."

"You call me 'master', you little bitch!" he said in a thick voice.

"Oh master, please," I moaned, "fuck me in my cunt, please, please, fuck me, take me, fuck my little cunt..."

He slipped a finger inside my anal ring and I caught my breath with shock. I had never let a man touch me there. Then a second finger was pushed into me and he was moving them around in a rotating motion, loosening me. It hurt, I was tight back there, and I moaned through clenched teeth. The water was spraying down onto my bare back and shoulders.

He wasted little time. In only a few seconds he had pulled his fingers out of me and he was pushing the head of his thick penis between my buttocks. I cried out, "Aaah!"

"Oh, slut," he murmured, "your cunt is so fucking beautiful, oh yeah, you're like a ripe peach..."

"Oh...please..." I sobbed.

He was pressing his cock tip into the tight ring of my anus. Christ, he was thick. I grimaced with the sudden stab of pain.

"Oh yeah," he muttered, "take it, sweetie, take my cock in your cunt..." His hand was hauling on my own penis. The pain and the nervousness had made me go slack again.

I felt him pressing into my arsehole, parting the tight muscle, entering me.

"Oooh...oh no, oh no...please..." I wept.

He seemed to take that as an insult. He took my hips in his strong hands and heaved his groin forward into my arse. My knees slipped and I went down onto my belly, my legs spread as he shoved agonisingly, deep into my anus. My face was a rictus of pain and I screamed, raising myself off the cold, wet tiles with my arms and legs.

He was in me. And now it was easier. The pain was less, and he was just a huge invasive presence in my rectum, pumping into me, filling me up. He was wrestling with me, forcing me to submit to him, and I was fighting with my instinct to expel him, straining against him, but also yielding my body to him, opening up and admitting him to my most secret places.

"Oh fuck yeah," he groaned as he slid into my arse up to the hilt. "Oh, you sexy little whore. You like that? Huh? You like how that feels?"

"Oh God, yes," I gasped, and it was only half a lie. I was shaking as he began to bugger me. Now I was really his, now there was no more doubt. I was furious and ashamed and humiliated, but my body thrilled at the feel of him inside me. My cock was stiff in his hand. Waves of terrible sensation were pouring through me; I was appalled to find how much I needed to be taken against my will and held down and treated as his bitch.

He pumped in and out of my arse. Every time he was sliding his length almost out of me, it felt like I was about to shit; every time he slid in, it was another nail in the coffin of my dignity.

"Jesus," I said through my tears, "no...no...please..."

He wasn't interested. He leaned into my arse with all his weight and I made a squeal of protest. One hand clamped onto my shoulder and he jerked me off with the other, bringing me ever closer to my climax. My straining arms couldn't hold up his weight, and I sank down onto my chest. I raised my head, baring my teeth and shutting my eyes as the water poured into my face, and the brute pressure of his cock in my arsehole was making the warmth rise in my groin, and I was pushing my hips back and up, spearing myself on his penis, and he was hissing "Oh, you little slut, oh you sexy little bitch, that's it, girl, come on, little girl, fuckin' take me like a man," and I just couldn't help it, my own penis was stiff and wet and then I was cumming helplessly into the water swirling beneath me, sobbing "Oh NO! Oh GOD! Ohhh! Oh, Jesus..."

I thought the shame was the worst of it, that he had actually made me cum. I whimpered through my clenched teeth and lowered my dripping head. He was gasping loudly and driving his cock up into me and all of a sudden, my whole body was rebelling against what had been done to me and I turned and begged him over my shoulder, "Please, no, please, don't cum in my arse! Please!"

He grunted in ecstasy and I felt his cock actually swelling inside me as he came in my rectum, the hot semen flooding into me, and I lifted my face and made an agonised, humiliated whimper. The acceptance, the arousal had been dissipated by my own orgasm and now I felt nothing but horror at the way his body was locked against mine, the way he was invading me.

He sagged, panting for breath. The only other sounds in the room were my sobbing, and the hiss of the water hitting our bodies and splashing off us.

I lowered my upper body to the tiles, and rested my face on my folded arms, ravaged and exhausted. I felt him pulling out of me, his nightmarish pressure leaving my sore arsehole, and I shrank from him.

"You were good, little slut," he murmured. "I'll see you again."

I heard his footsteps as he walked to the changing area. Then they stopped.

"Oh yeah," he said with a smile in his voice, "I think my wife's been saying hi to your girlfriend. Just so we can all get involved."

Then his footsteps receded.

I lay face down beneath the shower for some time, getting my breath back, letting my sobs run their course. Then I painfully lifted myself up onto my knees, and then stood, and slowly washed my body once again.

When I had washed the last traces of his cum from the cleft of my arse, I went through to the changing area and I took my still-damp trunks from the locker and put them on. I felt like I must look as though I just been anally raped; surely it was written all over me, slut, bitch, sexy little whore, all the names he'd called me.
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