Bounty Hunter

Zinnia

It’s a beautiful evening by the beach here in Brookside.

“Fake Love” by Tink is blasting in my ears while I dip my feet in the sand, the sea and breeze caressing the overall I have over my bathing suit while taking in the sun as it sets over the beautiful horizon.

This is the life I’d always wished to live. A small house by the beach, torn between sitting on my porch or the shore every morning and evening, watching the sun as it rose and set. Then, I have an ordinary job, making less than I ought to, but who cares? I live on the beach.

The music I was listening to came to an end. The hairs on the back of my neck stand, and I come to a stop. Breathing heavily, I yank the earbuds from my ears.

“Hello?” I ask, looking around. To my left is the sea. Other than that, it’s just coconut trees serving as shade for when people choose to tan.

“You’re being your usual paranoid self, Zinnia.” I murmur to myself.

The song changes to “To Die For” by Sam Smith as I negotiate a bend to the right, and I see something out of the corner of my peripheral.

“What the hell was that?” I stop, turning around to go back.

“Hello?” I shout this time. “Anyone there?” I hear nothing but the angry waves slapping on the shore. I pause and hold my breath. When I’m again convinced I’m losing it because there’s nothing here, I put my earbuds back in and turn back to continue.

I jump when I see someone standing in front of me, my heart hammering in my chest.

It’s a man dressed in black jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt, and a black face mask. He’s got to be over six feet, and he’s wearing boots.

My thighs tighten, wondering how long he’s been following me. My earbuds are still blaring in my ears, and I reach up to take them out in case he’s talking to me. The black mask he wears makes it impossible to make out his face clearly, but something about him seems familiar.

He takes a step toward me, and I take one back. He stops, and I swallow the knot that forms in my throat while my nipples harden.

No. No. No. What is happening? I can feel his eyes on my legs. I decided to walk on the beach in shorts and a bikini bra this evening. My pulse is racing, and my breathing picks up, making my tits bounce.

“I’ve been watching you.” My pussy throbs at his confession, and tears sting my eyes. Even his voice sounds familiar. Where have I heard it before?

“You walk here every morning and evening.” He tilts his masked head to the side.

“What do you want …” I whimper, placing my hands up at him. “I just want to finish my evening walk,” I say, slowly taking a step back as my body heat rises at the thought of us being out here all alone.

“Well”-he chuckles behind his face mask-“I’m happy to help you finish.” The man charges for me. I spin around to run, but he barrels into my back, knocking me to the sand.

I try fighting him, but he’s on my back. He grabs my hands and wraps something rough around my wrists, securing them behind me, and I feel wetness pool between my legs.

God, no.

He grabs my hair and yanks me to my feet, pulling me off the trail. Then he’s shoving me towards my small cabin. I trip and fall onto the ground. Sand ran up my thighs. I go to get up, but his fist hits my back, knocking me down again.

“Stay down, my slut!” he orders, pushing my face to the rough sand. Tears run down my face as he rips my shorts down my legs along with my underwear. Then he’s shoving my legs apart. I cry out when his hand touches my pussy.

“Ahh, you’re wet,” he says in surprise. I sob, my body shaking. “You like being taken by force, don’t you, you little slut.” He grips my hair and leans down.

“Don’t worry, looks like you’ll get to finish after all.”

*******

I wake up with a jolt, perspiration pooling on my forehead. I am panting as though I had just run a thousand miles. I peel the covers off my body and dangle to the end of my bed.

The time on my phone read five in the morning. I sighed and threw my body back into my bed.

The moisture in between my legs doesn’t go unnoticed. I knew what it was, but I couldn’t bring myself to check. I refused to believe I’d gotten wet over being stalked and forcefully taken by a stranger in my dream.Belongs to (N)ôvel/Drama.Org.

But then again, I have been stalked in real life by a stranger and that turned me on. Hell, I even got upset at the fact that he didn’t let me finish. So, yes, I could believe that.

Ah, Jesus! There’s no limit to my insanity. I am gradually becoming as crazy as my stalker thanks to my newfound fetish.

I grabbed my phone and began to search. I didn’t exactly know what I was searching for, so I typed in a summary of the dream I had in the search bar.

The pieces of information that popped up made me suck in a breath. I tapped on the first link and it redirected me to a Quora page. I read the questions of those who had a similar fetish as me. Knowing I wasn’t alone brought me some sort of solace.

After going through that, I typed in a ponographic site and waited for it to load. Once done, I searched for dubious consent.

I watched the videos with disgust on my face, ignoring the way my pussy throbbed, because I found it hard to believe that anyone would love to be forcefully taken. But as the woman on my screen orgasmed, I knew I wanted to experience everything I’d just seen.

I darted my eyes away from the screen of my phone as I took in several breaths. My eyes landed on my vanity, precisely where I kept the gift from my stalker.

Today is Thursday, my day off. Meaning I have the entire day to myself and my not-so-little toy to figure out what other fucked up fetish I have.

———