Claimed: A Forced Submission Romance Read Online Free

plunging rollercoaster leaving her stomach, her control, far, far behind, Sandy surveyed the leering crowd, one more time, looking for Alex, hoping for rescue. Every eye was on her. Every shouting face, suddenly silent – grinning with anticipation. And there, in the middle of the group, no better or worse than the rest, was her alleged cousin – his eyes glittering, his mouth virtually drooling.
    “Come on, then, Luv, show us some skin!” Roaring their agreement, a note of impatient rang heavy in the air. Maybe they wouldn’t actually rape her, Sandy thought, back in one calmly objective corner of her brain, but they were getting increasingly frustrated that she was not playing the game. “Come on...” someone else pleaded, “Be a sport.” “It’s all in good fun!” “Just a bit, then.” “We’re all counting on you.”
    As the coercion continued Sandy felt her will weakening. “It’s just too hard,” she complained to herself. “What to do... what to do....” Sandy felt frozen, watching the milling crowd move about in slow-motion. The faces were still happy and friendly, but couldn’t she detect, just under the surface of their constant overtures and entreaties, intimidation. She wasn’t sure.
    “Okay, Sandy,” said a voice nearby, penetrating her cloud of terror, “let’s see you dance, then.” And again, the voices took up the call, incited by a new idea, “C’mon, dance, dance, dance....”
    The suggestion trickled through her debilitating confusion and fear to present itself as a possibility. A bit of time to think, that’s what she needed, so with a weak smile, Sandy began to move to the music, her mind racing with the jumbled thoughts of escape – of survival. The cheer that greeted her rhythmic swaying surprised her. Pleased with her small success, Sandy began to move a little more, raising her arms like a charmed snake. Someone behind her put his hands on her hips, swirling her, pulling her back against him, but somehow, done to music, it seemed less threatening; why, hadn’t this happened hundreds of times before, in hundreds of clubs at home? Oddly enough, Sandy felt herself relax a little. Then someone else joined them, moving in front of her, his hands on her waist.
    “Oh, yeah!” “Go for it!” “You rock, Lady!” Their encouragement was warm and genuine. The music got louder – good contemporary dance-able rock ‘n roll. And, through the latest trough, Sandy’s emotional rollercoaster sailed smoothly back up toward another crest. Sandy had always loved dancing, so the music and movement effected an escape of another kind. That the hands at her waist had found their way under her top didn’t much matter. And, as twenty-some-odd guys and one lone female ducked and turned and gyrated about the parlour of a modest cottage in central Scotland, it suddenly seemed of little consequence that Sandy’s top was being slowly lifted up to her bra, and over. They were gentle but irresistible.
    The one part of her brain still capable of sane thought and concern finally accepted what was fait accompli. Sandy felt her arms cooperate on their own as her top slipped off over her head. She really had no alternative but to comply. “And that,” her logical self admonished, “is the Catch 22; for complicity implies consent.” Sandy continued to wallow in the music, her eyes half-mast, as she felt fingers fiddling with the buttons on her jeans, pulling at the clasp of her bra. Sandy couldn’t help but smile. “At least they like me,” she laughed as she noted an almost paradoxical look of affection on every face, then, escaping into the music, Sandy closed her eyes, refusing to acknowledge that she was being inexorably stripped.
    Hands played across her body like ripples on a lake, caressing her buttocks, splashing into her bush to gently stroke her lips, and sparkling at her breasts with a pinch or a twiddle at her nipples. Her resignation had settled into a glowing warmth that