What I remember most was… the pleasure was almost indecipherable from the pain.
I was frightened when I first saw him.
Terrified. Like a startled child. I covered my sex with my hands and sunk beneath the water, hoping that he did not see me. But I knew that he must have, and if he didn’t, he did now. My long locks of ebony colored hair floated around me, beckoning to him like a silent siren. He looked at me longingly. In the time it takes to drink in a breath of cool air, he had snatched me. I shivered in his lean, muscular arms. He was the same way all around, and had the sun browned skin of a poor man. His face was covered in harsh lines and had an aged, weary look about it. He took me to his home and lay me on his bed. I realized that I had not yet resisted him. I opened my mouth to cry out, but he instantly clamped his hand over it, as if he were reading my thoughts. I bit into his hand and tasted his blood as it spilled out. It was hot. He didn’t remove his hand, but instead put his mouth against my ear and whispered something awful. He stuffed my mouth with a cloth. Next, I heard him taking off his clothes somewhere behind me. I was too frightened to look. He lay down on top of me and began to pull my legs apart. I covered my sex with my hands once again, but they seemed small and flimsy compared to his.
Then, he was inside of me.

I gasped, despite the cloth, and he moaned. It was like everything else had stopped. I felt like I had dived into a pool of water. We looked each other in the eye and he pulled the cloth out of my mouth. I cried out and watched his hips thrusting.
Back. Forth. Back. Forth.
In. Out. In. Out.
He pulled on my hair and grunted.
I stared at the blank ceiling and listened to the thudthudthud of the bed.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
I waited patiently for him to satisfy his ravenous appetite. With a final grunt, he rolled off of me, content.
Minutes later, he began again.
I did not sleep that night.