Raped in Turkey
By Joy Traveller
After her room is robbed a beautiful teenage American tourist is blackmailed into sex by an aging Turkish hotel manager
The young Turkish woman entered the office. She was about 22, though her round, elfin face with its wide, near black, almond eyes and full red lips made her look younger. It was framed perfectly by long, midnight dark hair that flowed to her shoulders.
Her manner of dress would have been considered utterly immodest by the local standards of Islamic prudery. Her white tank top was too tight for a bra to be worn underneath. In the west, she would have been complemented on not needing to wear one. Shaped like plump, ripe pomegranates her firm youthful flesh needed no support. The low cut of her top did little to hide the fullness of her breasts, nor the proud, slightly upturned nipples that tipped them. Even in the dingy light of the office, the dark, puckered aureole that surrounded her nipples were plain through the thin white fabric that struggled to just cover them.
Her tight fitting black skirt was short; barely long enough to hide the tops of the sheer dark stockings that covered her shapely legs. She stood hesitantly. Eventually she drew enough courage to speak.
“You wanted to see me, Sir?”
Her question was directed to the owner-manager of the small hotel she worked for, now sat behind a large desk. He was about sixty (she guessed at his age; she did not know it exactly and had never dared ask). He was overweight. Too mean to pay for the air conditioning in the hotel to be fixed, even with no exertion the humid heat caused beads of sweat to form on his balding scalp. He did not acknowledge her presence. While she waited for him to respond she fixed her attention to a sweat bead that trickled down into one of the greasy grey-black arcs of unkempt hair that remained above his ears. He reached into the pocket of the grubby linen suit he wore and pulled out a stained handkerchief to mop it away.
He did not look up, but concentrated on the papers in front of him as he spoke.
“I called you ten minutes ago. Where have you been?”
The girl shuffled uneasily on her heels, nervously pressing her thighs together.
“I am sorry, Sir. But there were guests checking in at reception. I came as quickly as I could.”
He grunted a dismissal and looked up. “To more important matters. I see we have a new guest?”
The receptionist needed no more information. She knew exactly where this was going to lead. She hated being part of it, but she had no choice.
“We have a number of new guests.”
This brief evasion was, she knew, pointless. But it gave some sense of, well, trying.
The hotel manager was irritated by her obvious stalling. Looking up at last he made his clarification clear in staccato:
“Yes. A girl! European. Perhaps American. Blond. Probably no more than a teenager.”
The receptionist sighed “Yes, Sir. I think I know who you mean,” (she knew his tastes; he could mean no one else). “She is American. She booked in five days ago.”
The manager’s eye narrowed. “And she is here alone?”
The girl sighed silently. “Yes, Sir. She is alone.”
The manager lent back in his office chair and grinned. “Excellent. Well then. It seems we have the chance of another...” He paused slightly for emphasis, “...project on our hands, doesn’t it?”
The girl looked down. Quietly she said: “Yes, Sir. It does.”
“Good,” said the manager. He stood. The girl noticed that although lose, the front of his ill-fitting pants showed a clear sign of his erection. The girl sank inwardly. The thought of another ‘project’ always excited him.
He moved from round the desk to stand beside the girl. He spoke quietly into her ear. “Yes. This girl will make a very good project. Do you not agree?”
Not altering her posture she silently turned her head towards him.
“You have the spare key to her room?” he asked.
“Yes,” she replied quietly.
He nodded and mopped the sweat away from his balding head once more with the handkerchief balled in his palm.
“Good. But now, there is the matter of you being late.”
“I’m sorry, Sir. I told...”
He raised his palm to quiet her. “Enough!”
Nonchalantly, he added: “Now raise your skirt and bend over the desk.”
Emma lay on the beach, face down, her eyes closed, enjoying the warm sun bronzing her firm, teenage flesh. She felt the sudden cool of a falling shadow, the eclipse of warmth enough to make her turn onto her side and open her eyes. The shadow was that of a man standing above her, one of the many locals who frequented the beach. The resort was used by some tourists, but mainly by local men who would come primarily, Emma knew, to get a good look at the Western girls in their brief swimwear. She had never seen a local woman at the beach.
She squinted as her eyes slowly adjusted to the new light on her retinas. As the man became clearer she guessed that he was probably only in his thirties, but looked older. As his features took form, Emma realised he was quite ugly. A ridiculously brief thong just served to accentuate his flabby torso and short, hairy legs. Despite being on a public beach with a lot of people sunning themselves, she suddenly felt quite naked in her revealing cream string tie bikini. She rolled over onto her bum. Then she sat, pulled her knees up towards her chin and folded her arms around her calves. It was an almost instinctive move, the best she could do to hide her body from his too obvious gaze. She looked up at him.
“What do you want?” She inquired.
“You Anglazi,.. Deutsch?”
Emma pushed her shoulder length strawberry blond hair back over her ear, tilting her head slightly to one side to look the man in the eye. She had been pestered by local men almost constantly since arriving in Turkey and had learned in her short time here that a direct refusal was all that worked.
“No,” she said with a sigh she hoped would make her lack of interest clear. Then she added: “American”. She immediately regretted her qualification as he clearly took it to be an invitation to conversation.
“Ah, American! You holiday?” His poor English was delivered with a thick local accent.
“Yes,” replied Emma trying to make her lack of interest clear.
“OK. Is good. You meet me. Later. Have drink?” The man asked.
He reached down to his waist and pulled his thong up under his protruding belly. He bulged and Emma realised with a faint disgust that he was semi erect. Worse still, he clearly wanted her to see how big he was. She sighed inwardly. God, the local men were awful. Did they all think the best way to get a date with a Western girl was to flash their junk? Anyway, why did he think a creep his age would interest her?
Emma snapped from her thoughts. “No, sorry,” She said eventually, being as polite as her mood allowed. “I’m busy tonight.”
The man grunted a nod but did not move. He reached behind himself and pulled out the pack of cigarettes he kept pushed down the back of his briefs. He took one out and lit it. Though she had had the occasional cigarette, the thick, acrid smell of the local cigarettes made Emma feel sick. He proffered the pack to her.
“Smoke?” he inquired.
“No, thank you. I don’t,” Emma said, flapping her hand in front of her face somewhat moralistically to dispel the smoke.
“Tonight. Later. I take you to club. We have good time.”
Emma noticed that the man’s eyes had shifted from looking directly into hers. By the direction of his now transfixed stare she realised that in raising her knees she had revealed the thin strip of bikini brief that covered her pudenda. He drew back on his cigarette intent on savouring her inadvertent between the thighs show. This had not done anything to help the gross erection now clearly beginning to strain at the man’s thong. He saw that Emma had noticed it. Far from being embarrassed, he tried to suck in his belly and pushed his hips forward in a pitiful attempt to make himself more attractive to the beautiful young American.
“Excuse me!” Emma barked as she flattened her legs quickly.
He just smiled. “I take you to friend’s party. Have great time.”
“No, I’ve told you already. I’m busy!” Emma snapped her head back sharply, causing her blond hair the fly back and her full breasts to giggle slightly. A pink tip of tong darted across his lips.
“My friend. He have great parties. Lot of English German American girls go. He made a gesture of pulling a joint from his mouth and with a wink added: “You like smoke?”
“Look!” Shrieked Emma. “I have told you I am not interested. I do not want to go. I am busy.” Then, punctuating each word in a mimic of his broken English, “do... you... understand... me?”
With this the man shrugged and, pulling on his cigarette, finally walked slowly away.
Emma felt relief at his departing but she had had enough. This vacation was proving to be terrible. One week in and she wanted to go home. But her air tickets were not transferrable. She must endure two more weeks.
She had worked hard in her first year at university and felt she had earned a break. She wanted to get away from the dull weather of Boston, especially after the break up with her boyfriend. She could have travelled in the States but the need to explore the wider world a bit was strong. Her parents were quite unhappy at the thought of her travelling to Turkey. But she had argued that it was safe – a well known beach resort (actually Emma knew it was not that well known). She also told them she was travelling with two friends. This was, well, only a white lie. She had planned to travel with two friends but they had dropped out at last minute due to being broke. Emma was quite fortunate in having a small trust fund to call upon now she was eighteen. When her friends dropped out, she nearly cancelled the trip herself. But in a fit of bravado she had finally decided to go on her own.
Emma stood and reached to the sand for the short floral sundress she had brought with her. Not bothering to unfasten the buttons, she slipped her wrists into the arm holes and raised it above her head. As she did so, she noticed the group of local men who had congregated around her in an almost unbroken circle had not failed to notice that her pose now showed off her long slim legs, good hips and full breasts to perfection. She groaned and quickly slipped the sun dress over her bikini, stroking her hands over her body to smooth it down. She slipped her feet into her pumps and grabbed the beach bag that contained just sun block, water and the keys to her hotel room. To get past her circle of admirers, Emma had to practically step over one man in his fifties who rested prone on his elbow. As she approached he strained his neck, positioning his head so as to get a good and quite obvious look up her dress as she passed. By now she hardly cared about the local men ogling her. Lets the bastards watch. They can have a good wank later if they want to, she thought defiantly. In truth, the thought of the dark-skinned local men pleasuring themselves while calling her image to mind made her feel dirty.
Once past the men she took the short walk up the beach back towards her hotel.
Her hotel! Emma felt her depression deepen a little. God, it was as awful as the men. She had chosen it on line because it was near to the beach and, well, cheap. Emma recalled the third lie she had told her parents: “No it’s not an independent hotel. It’s part of a large chain.” The hotel looked good in the on-line photographs, but in reality was quite run down and even creepy. It was smaller than she expected with only about thirty rooms on three floors. It was dirty and the facilities none existent. The air conditioning never worked leaving the rooms heavy with a damp, cloying heat.
Once she reached her hotel, she stepped through the open entrance. Moving through reception she paused briefly to smile at the very pretty local girl who worked behind the desk. The girl smiled back, somewhat nervously, Emma thought. But the though soon evaporated.
Emma took the elevator up to her second floor room. She walked down the ill lit corridor with its dehydrated pot plants and approached the door marked 23. She slipped the key in. The lock felt odd, slack. As she started to turn the key the door pushed open. Her room was unlocked. She felt a slight twinge of unease. She was sure she had locked the door before heading to the beach. As she entered the room the slight unease turned to full panic. Her room had been ransacked. All the drawers of the cheap bedroom furniture were open. Her clothes were scattered over the floor and onto the old, heavy bed. Even in her panic, Emma noticed that there was some order in the chaos. Her underwear had been separated and arranged on the bed. She felt bile rise in her stomach as she dashed to her suitcase. At least it was still there! The case was good quality and secure. She felt a moment’s relief. The locks looked good. But as she grabbed the case to lift it onto the bed it fell open. Her heart sank to the pit of her stomach. The locks were good, but the hinges at the back had been prised off. Looking at the scratches something like a screwdriver had been used to crudely force them away from the plastic. Desperately Emma searched the case. It was empty. Oh, God! Emma gasped. Her money and credit cards were gone. So was her passport and air tickets. Even her mobile phone.
Emma ran from the room and down the corridor. She stabbed at the lift button. It was now out of order! She dashed down the stairs, taking two at a time, descending the four flights to the hotel lobby in moments. Catching her breath she ran to the desk. The local girl was still there, busy checking out a middle-aged man in a cheap suit. The man though was clearly absorbed in checking out the girl’s body. He turned and looked at Emma as she approached the desk.
“Please! You have got to help me!”
“One moment, please. I will be with you,” replied the girl.
Emma groaned. She was in such a state that she did not even notice that her dash had caused the strap of her sun dress to fall over her shoulder revealing the left side of her bikini top. The man did notice however and took no shame in switching his attention from the receptionist to Emma’s shapely and now better revealed breast. She glared at him as she pulled the top of her dress back up and turned again to the girl at the desk.
With that the girl handed the grinning man his passport and some change and he left.
“How can I help?” She asked.
“Please,” gasped Emma, her breath short more from shock than her exertions. “My room has been robbed! My tickets, my passport, my money. Everything has gone.”
The girl’s eyes widened with a look of approaching horror. “Oh, no.” She sighed. “When?”
“Today. Earlier. It must have been while I was at the beach.”
The girl’s look of horror turned to one more of desperation. She looked furtively around as if making sure they were alone then intently back at Emma. Before starting to speak she reached out and placed her hand over Emma’s, now flat on the reception desk. She squeezed it lightly in an act that seemed intent on comforting her as much as keeping her attention. Leaning forward, she spoke quietly, as if to tell her a secret.
“Please, listen to me. Go now. Quickly. You must go now. Go to your consulate. Get help there. But leave here. Leave now.”
The girl’s anxious stream of advice was interrupted by a male voice from the open door of the office behind the desk. The girl seemed shocked and visibly cringed as she heard it. She pulled away from Emma as if to pretend their conversation had never happened.
“I do not think that will be necessary, Fatima,” said a portly, balding Turk of about sixty appearing from the office. He placed a hand on the reception girl’s shoulder. She visibly shrunk under his touch.
“I will deal with this, Fatima. You have better things to be doing,” he said.
“Yes, Sir,” she sighed turning her head down. She caught Emma with one last, pleading glimpse before turning to walk away.
As she did so the man called after her. “I will want to talk to you later, Fatima. Do you understand?” The girl turned and, avoiding Emma’s gaze, replied “Yes, Sir. I understand.” Emma could not fail to notice the air of resignation in her voice.
The man grinned, showing a set of bad teeth. “Now, miss. I am the hotel manager. What is your problem?
Emma felt a little relief at being able to speak to someone in charge. “Yes, thank you. My room has been broken into. My things stolen. Important things.”
The hotel manager looked sternly at her. “Are you sure? I do not know how this is possible. This hotel is quite secure. Nobody could get past the desk.”
“Well it has happened.”
The man cupped his chin in his fingers and pondered.
“Hmm...” He looked intently at Emma. “We had better deal with matter this in my private office.”
He moved back from the reception desk and swept his arm in a gesture of invitation. “This way, if you please.”
Emma moved behind the desk, stepping ahead of him and through the open door into the back office. He followed her in. Once inside he pointed to an elevator.
“My private office would be best. Follow me, please.”
Emma stepped up the elevator door. He poked at the button and reached to pull open the door. The elevator was small, claustrophobic, the heat even heavier. Emma manoeuvred herself as far back as she could as he entered the elevator behind her. His arm reached up and over her shoulder. Stale sweat shocked her nostrils with an acid tang. A key emerged from between his fingers.
“The fourth floor. It is all private. My office is there.” With that, he placed the key into the panel and turned it. Emma notice that the elevator had no floor buttons and realised it must only go to his private floor. The doors closed and the ascent began. Emma felt as if the trip to the fourth floor was taking forever. The lift was slow and, even given the elevators small size, he stood closer to her than he needed two. Emma was not tall – about 5’5”. Though he was only about three inches taller than her his bulk made him appear a massive, looming presence.
Eventually, the elevator stopped and he pushed the door open. Emma stepped out with some relief straight into his private office. The furnishing was minimal. A large desk dominated the room. In front of it was an old style ottoman couch; its low, wide seat curving into a high, wood trimmed back.
“Please, sit,” the manager said arching his arm towards it as he moved behind the desk.
Emma sat in the middle of the ottoman. As she sat she noticed with a little disgust that its red and gold fabric was worn and stained. She sat forward. As she did so, her sun dress fell open over her leg revealing her upper thighs and the lower-V of her bikini briefs. She looked up and noticed that the still standing hotel manager was leaning forward slightly so as to better admire her. Quickly she gathered the skirt, wrapping it around her and pulling it down as far as possible over her legs. She reached her hands forward to her knees to cover her breasts with her upper arms. She concluded this was the most modest pose her relative undress allowed.
The hotel manager slipped of his jacket, hung it over the back of the desk chair and sat. “Now, tell me what has happened.”
Wearily, Emma began to repeat the story: “This morning, about ten, I think, I went to the beach. When I got back...”
“When would that be?”
“Around noon. I went back to my room...”
His interruptions were beginning to irritate Emma. She didn’t hide it as she continued:
“Number 23. When I got back it was unlocked. It had been robbed. All my things have been stolen...”
Emma looked up petulantly. “Everything! Money, credit cards, my passport, air tickets. My phone, camera.”
“But you say your room was unlocked?”
“Well, yes. But it wasn’t when I left.”
“But you are not sure you locked it?”
“Yes! Well, I’m sure I did.”
“But you are not certain?”
“Well, not absolutely certain. I mean, I am sure...”
“So it is very possible you left without locking your room?”
“Look. However the person got in, they stole everything. That is what matters!”
“Hmm... But there is the issue of responsibility to consider.”
Emma’s irritation surfaced. “Look, I don’t care who is responsible - the bastard thief is responsible! I just want to get something done about it.”
The hotel manager looked down and pondered for a time. Then he looked up.
“So...you cannot pay the bill for your stay?”
“I beg your pardon!” Emma replied sharply. “No! Of course not. Not at the moment, anyway. Like I said: my money and credit cards have gone.” Emma could not believe that the bill was the most important thing on the fat bastard’s mind.
“Yes, you have told me. And your passport, air tickets and...” He waved a dismissive hand, “...and so on.”
“Yes. What are you going to do about it?” Emma shrieked.
The manager lent back, raised his elbows and placed his hands, fingers knotted, behind his neck. Emma noted with revulsion the sweat stains on his shirt under his armpits.
“I am surprised that you think this a matter for my hotel.”
As Emma stared incredulously he added:
“What is a matter for my hotel is the issue of your bill.”
For a moment, Emma was speechless. Eventually she managed to say:
“This is stupid. Completely stupid...”
The hotel manager simply shook his head.
Emma waived her arms, dismissively. “That’s it. I’ve had enough. I want to report this to the police.”
“Indeed. Indeed it might well be. But the matter for the police will be that – and not for the first time, I am disappointed to say – a western tourist has stayed in my hotel, enjoyed my hospitality and then been unable to pay, expecting that some dubious story about ‘having been robbed’ is enough of an excuse.”
Emma’s anger forced each word with spleen:
The hotel manager shook his head with an expression of forced disappointment.
“I understand that you are upset, my dear. But you must also understand my position.” With that he stood. He moved around the desk to the ottoman and sat beside Emma. As his bulk settled beside her, she slid away. Turning to her he said:
“Look. This matter is quite unfortunate. But it need not become...” he paused monetarily and narrowed his eyes, “...any more unfortunate than it need be.”
“Yes, my dear. Staying in a hotel, knowing you are unable to pay is a serious matter in my country. Is it not in yours?”
“Look. I can’t pay the bill at the moment. But as soon as I get my stuff back, or at least the cards cancelled and replaced, I will be able to pay your goddamn bill.” She punched out each word.
“That could take some time. But for the time being, you cannot pay. We are clear on this, yes?”
Emma threw her head back. “Fine, don’t worry. I’ll contact the police.” She said haughtily.
“As I have suggested, this might well become a matter for the police. But I will, of course, insist that you are held in a police cell until the matter of your dept to me is sorted out.”
Emma shook her slowly head in disbelief. “What…?”
“That would be a very unfortunate way to deal with this matter, to say the least. I think that we should discuss an alternative.” The lecherous grin that spread across the hotel manager’s face left Emma in no doubt as to what he had in mind. She stared at him incredulously as he continued:
“You are very beautiful. I would be happy to take a little pleasure in way of payment.”
She felt his palm land on her leg, just above the knee. His hand slipped under her sun dress and began to slide up her thigh. She grabbed his wrist and pulled it away as she darted to stand.
“No way! No fucking way!” She cried. The hotel manager looked up at her.
“You surprise me. Many female guests in your position seem quite eager to whore for their bill.”
It dawned on Emma that she was being set up. Had he robbed her room? How many times had he…?” Emma dismissed the thought as too bizarre. Angrily she spat:
“You dirty old bastard! Do you think I’d…That I would want to…With you?”
“Well then, there is always the police. The choice is yours. But before you make it, let me tell you a little about our police prison here. Not to the standards you might find in your own country, I am afraid. The guards are poorly paid. One of the few – I think you use the word ‘perks’ - they have is free access to the female prisoners. I do not think I need add that a beautiful young western girl would be a rare prize for them. I can assure you that you will be gang-raped with utmost vigor. You would be fortunate if they were able to discipline themselves to violating you just one at a time.”
Emma’s jaw dropped. She could make no words, just a strangled gasp.
I might add that the only thing the guards at the police-prison are known for more than their rapacious sexual appetite is their corruption.” The hotel manager grinned. “I think after a few days in their hands you would be begging me to pay for you to be delivered back to me. And that then serving my satisfactions would come as a relief.”
Emma let out a gasp of incredulity. “This is disgusting. You are a creepy - old - pervert!” Emma turned and looked towards the elevator. It suddenly dawned on her that without the key that operated it, she was trapped.
He dismissed her insult with a casual wave. “So be it. But be in no doubt, my dear. My influence with the police is high. If you deny me, I will have you taken into custody. They would be very eager to begin your interrogation.” Casually, he added, “I hear a strip search is how they usually start...”
Emma stared at him incredulously.
Sharply, he added: “Now sit down!”
She did so, her legs folding as the energy drained from them.
He angled over her. “That’s better. I see you are going to be sensible.”
Emma knew the dirty old goat had her. That she could not get out of his office and that he could have her taken to prison. She knew enough about the country that once in prison repeated rape by the guards was inevitable.
His next touch paralyzed her with fear. He reached his hand up to her neck, which he began to stroke, quite gently. Then his hand drifted to the top button of her sun dress. Agile fingers swiftly flipped it open. Then the next. He paused to pull the dress open over her shoulders. His eyes fixed on her plump breasts, now so precariously covered by her revealing bikini top.
“No, please, don’t...Not this...,” she moaned.
“Ahh... So convenient,” he sighed as he noticed the string tie holding her bikini top in place. The tip of a plump, brown finger trailed down her breast bone to the thin cord hung in a simple bow between her breasts. A quick tug freed the tie. After that, flipping the loose cups to one side to expose her breasts was trivial.
“Oh! Allah has certainly rewarded me today”, he giggled as he took her breasts in his palms and moulded her firm flesh like a potter shaping clay. He pinched her nipples hard between thumb and forefingers, forcing them to involuntarily ripen and harden. Emma looked down. His hands looked almost black in contrast to her lightly tanned above and below her tan line creamy, pale flesh. She began to sob.
“Please. Please. Stop now. Stop and I won’t tell anyone about this,” Emma pleaded.
The hotel manager just laughed and intensified his lustful exploration of her teenage body.
“And say what? Who would believe the lies of a white whore? I would just make sure slander was added to your crimes on the list for the guard’s fuck-sentencing.”
Tears began to role down Emma’s face. Suddenly he stopped fondling her.
“It looks as if I am doing all the work. I expect more than this as payment for your debt.”
With that he reached down under the gut overflowing the waist of his pants, undid the buttons of his fly and, raising his rump slightly, slid then down to his calves. So freed he was able to spread his knees.
Emma saw the straining, olive brown cock spring up like a grotesque, carnal jack-in-the-box. Emma was not experienced, but it was much bigger than any of her boyfriends’. Thick knotted veins ridged its slightly curved shaft. A bloated purple glans, tipped by a raw looking eye completed the monstrous rape-tool. She knew he planned to put it inside her. And with that the contents of the pendulous, wrinkled scrotum now sagging under the weight of his ready sex fluids. Bile rose in her stomach.
“Now, your turn to do a bit of the work.”
Emma knew she now had no alternative. Whatever doubt that remained that the dirty old bastard was serious had evaporated. Her mind filled with anticipation of the fate that awaited her in the hands of the guards in a local police cell. She weighed the vile alternatives in her mind. She made a decision. She gripped the shaft in her fingers and started stroking it.
“OK. I’ll wank you off, if you want. But only if you’ll let me go after.”
Emma hoped that this would sate him. Wanking him off was disgusting. But it was better than having him inside her. She had reluctantly masturbated a couple of boyfriends as a consolation prize after denying them full sex while making-out. They had all complemented her on her touch. Remembering the technique she had quickly learned, she built up her pace. Then slowed it, squeezing and slightly twisting the shaft. Then fast again. She repeated the cycle of her pleasure-massage. Soon a thin trickle of liquid began to flow from the eye. Seeing his pre-come start made Emma feel sick; but at least it meant he wouldn’t be long now. Her ordeal would soon be over. She steeled herself for the ejaculation she knew (hoped?) would soon splash over her fingers. Now she had to finish it. She hated the idea of freely initiating any part in his use of her, but it had to end. She reached her free hand under his balls, cupped them and began to roll them in her palm. The hotel manager groaned in appreciation at her added attention.
“Good. Very good. You are skilful,” he sighed. “Now let us see if your whore-skills are good enough to settle your bill.” Emma stopped her strokes suddenly.
“No...,” she moaned as the realisation of what he now wanted crystallised.
The hotel manager placed his palm to the back of her neck. He pulled her down, gently, but firmly.
“Suck me,” he demanded. “Suck me like the pretty Miss America whore you are!”
Emma’s jaw dropped in horror. He pushed her neck harder.
“No...,” she groaned softly. “I said I would wank you.”
“And I said: Suck it!”
Emma felt nausea well in her stomach. But she knew she had no choice. Catching his eyes, heavy with lust, she gave him a final pleading glance as she reluctantly submitted to him guiding her head to his crotch. Pre-come smeared her lips as she spread them around the swollen head. She began to work it with a smooth, short sucking motion. It was not enough for him. Impatiently he pushed her neck down, hard, and his pulsing shaft filled her mouth until the head pushed to the back of her throat. Her tong caught a salty, sweaty tang. But he filled her throat so much she could not even gag.
As she sucked, she felt him reach back. His hand contacted her thigh and he pulled her legs fully onto the ottoman. He now reached over her back and slipped his hand up her dress. After flipping it up over her waist, his fingers slid along the inside of her thigh and then, with his palm resting over her bum pushed their way between her legs. After a short spell stroking her vulva through the thin fabric of her bikini briefs she felt the fingers slip under the edge of the material. Any moan she made as a chubby finger teased its way into her vagina was strangled by the thick cock in her throat. As she continued to suck, she used her free hand to adjust her open dress top back over her breasts in a futile but determined act of modesty.
“Keep up the hand work as well,” he ordered. She did so, now desperate to get her ordeal over with. Even though submission was now beginning to overwhelm Emma, a distant glow of rationality remained. His length meant that even forced to the back of her throat, sufficient man-flesh remained below her lips for her to pump it eagerly with her slim fingers. If she took some control, she might be able to pull her head back as he came. She would get his sperm in her face. But better that than in her mouth.
He began to buck his hips. Holding her neck firm he fucked into her mouth. She felt his muscles tense and knowing he was imminent, she tried to pull her head back. But he had anticipated her. His fingers gripped her neck harder. Her hope of evading his seed fill her mouth vanished as his cock started to pulse; flesh waves forcing her already stretched lips wider. She offered no more resistance as what seemed like endless bursts of sperm fired straight into her throat. For some reason a childhood memory of being forced to swallow a vile tasting medicine shocked its way to the front of her mind.
He relaxed his grip on her neck and Emma was finally able to lift her head up. Her tear stained face was locked in an expression of retching disgust. She forced herself to speak through her now heaving stomach.
“You’ve had what you want. Now, please...Please, let me go.”
“In time. Perhaps when your debt is fully paid.” The realisation that her violation was not yet over caused Emma let out another wrenching sob.
“Now, if you would stand, please, miss,” he said casually.
Emma felt the little remaining strength she would need for any new resistance slip away from her. She had now given up any hope of denying him his full pleasure. Quietly, she stood and faced him. The partial flaccidness that had immediately followed his servicing of her mouth was brief. His cock was rigid again.
“I think a little entertainment is called for, Miss America!” His face split into a smug grin. “A strip show, if you please!”
Emma would not let him see any more tears. She looked at him defiantly as she stood. Trembling fingers reached down to unfasten the remaining buttons of her sun dress. She opened it, slipped it from her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. Her already unfastened bikini top quickly followed. She raised a leg and reached for her pump.
“No! Leave your shoes on,” he barked.
Emma placed her foot down. Her arms fell limply to her side. What remained of her modesty was now covered by just her bikini briefs.
“Now your panties,” he gasped.
Emma reached down to the thin tie-cords that held her briefs in place over her hips. Numb fingers tugged the cords open - left then right. The bikini briefs joined the top and sun dress on the floor. The ghost-V of her panty tan line guided his gaze down to her ripe, young labia. His eyes widened with glee. Emma had only fine, fair pubic hair. But she always shaved completely to wear a bikini. Now her grooming was just a bonus to this animal’s lust.
“Allah’s rewards are bountiful today! He has prepared you well for me! Now show yourself fully to me.”
Emma raised her arms to the top of her head and robotically swivelled her hips for him. To Emma’s disgust he started to masturbate.
“Ah...,” he sighed, “you do a good whore-dance!”
The hotel manager took his hand from his rigid penis and stood, straining his weight up with his arms. He moved behind her. He placed his hand on her butt, splayed fingers dug into her flesh.
“Now, to the couch.”
He pushed her forward. The edge of the ottoman met the front of her calves. She raised her ankles to keel on it. He attended her to his preferred positioning. He pushed her shoulders forward so she leant against the raised back. He reached and grabbed her wrists. Pulling them away from her torso he arranging arms fully stretched along the wooden edge. His hands grasped her hips and pulled them up towards him. For his finale, he pushed her knees under her so her exposed womanhood was fully presented.
The sting of a sudden, slicing blow to her right buttock caused her to squeal. Then his palm delivered another. Then another.
“Come, now. If you want to whore my bill with that pretty white cunt, Miss America, I deserve a good look.” Another stroke.
Emma raised her butt. “Good. Now spread your legs wider.” Emma did so. Another, harder, slicing stroke caused her to arch her back.
“That is good. Very good.” He gasped. Emma could feel his eyes burning into her delicate flesh. She knew what was coming next. She felt him approach her. Her labia were parted as his cock-head eagerly searched for her vaginal opening. It found its moist prize quickly and he slid into her with a single thrust. As he settled into his rhythm, she felt the weight of his gut settle on the small of her back and the dampness of his sweat as he folded himself over her.
Emma soon realised that the one small mercy his sating in her mouth had offered - his quickness - was not to be reoffered. Now he was taking his time. His fuck strokes deep, but leisurely. Better to fully appreciate the unique pleasure of a teenage white girl. His hands now found her butt cheeks. He massaged them roughly. Then his fingers spread and parted her cheeks. The sudden coolness of evaporating sweat told Emma that he was helping himself to a good look at her now fully exposed anus. She groaned as she felt his thumb stroke over her puckered sphincter. No, she thought. Not there! She had never even allowed her boyfriend to touch her there. He had not even tried. After making sure it was moist with her juices his thumb forced its way into her rectum.
Oh, God. Please. Not there. Please, don’t let him fuck me there...was the only thought that raced through her mind as he worked her tight ass with his thumb. She almost felt relief as his thrusts into her vagina became more urgent and then, grunting with effort, he finally emptied a fresh load of man- juice deep into her womb.
He pulled out of her. Emma turned to look at him. She drew in her arms preparing to lift herself. Another stroke of his palm stung her buttock.
“I did not give you permission to move!”
“But, you’ve had what you wanted. You said you would let me go...”
“Perhaps I will let you go when I have finished with you. And I have not finished with you yet.”
“Please...,” She whimpered.
“Now, time for the ultimate pleasure...,”
Emma sagged. She knew what he intended. The hope that sodomising her would not be part of his vile demands was now shattered. No resistance was possible as she felt him approach and position the bulbous head of his cock against her puckered ring. Her body felt hollow: An empty, pale, beautiful young flesh-vessel into which he could – he would - empty his dark sex organ at will. The little fight her sphincter presented to his cock broke quickly under his force. Once past, he filled her rectum slowly, twisting and grinding his manhood into her. As he found his desired depth, she felt his heavy scrotum press tight against her vulva.
He raised his left foot onto the ottoman to gain extra purchase as he pleasured himself deeply in her anus. As he did so, he arched over her to grasp greedily at her breasts. He ground himself into her mercilessly, enjoying the special tightness her virgin ass offered. He pace quickened as grunting with pleasure he approached his rut. Then Emma felt the friction of his cock ease as he sprayed his cum and welcome lubrication into her colon. He offered a couple of final thrusts to finish draining himself. She felt him sag and she took his weight for a while as he gathered his breath. Eventually he lifted away from her.
Emma tuned to her side and let her body slip onto the ottoman. She took up a foetal position, her knees lifted to her chin, her arms protective around them. Finally, the tears could flow. Through them she sobbed:
“Please... Now you will let me go...? Please...You’ve done everything...Everything you want with me...to me...Let me go. Let me go, now...Please”
The hotel manager laughed.
“Why the haste, my pretty Miss America? You still have two weeks left. Plenty of time for us to get to know each other even better.” He reached and took her chin in his fingers. He pulled her face up towards his. She tasted his sour breath as he added:
“Why, your vacation has only just begun...”