Out of the Shadows. Senta Holland

am such a slut, I am such a slut.’

      He rubs and clamps and tears at my clit.

      ‘I am such a slut, I am such a slut.’

      The words are just sounds now, they mean nothing in themselves, they mean I am yours Nai, you are my Nai, I am showing myself, you tore this out of me, and you receive it. You receive the full power of my anguished soul and the full triumph of me going up in flames. I shout at you, I hack at you, I overwhelm you with the force of my finally freed being.

      You take it and you better be strong.

      You take it and you better be able to take it in, and hold it, and make it part of yourself, because it is no longer just part of me.

      Yes.

      Yes.

      Yes, I come.

      Yes, I come with you.

      And see such a smile on the face of my Nai.

       In the sea

      Over lunch, I talked to him about having sex in the sea.

      It is strange, now, looking back, that all this time he hadn’t even had a full orgasm yet inside me. He had given me some great orgasms that morning, and he was happy about that and he was proud.

      Proudly playing with me in the sea, showing off his catch.

      But still, I was a little worried for him. For me. I was worried that if he didn’t have a full orgasm inside me soon he would give up on the whole affair.

      He sat there, not eating much, telling me a story. We had just tried again and when he didn’t stay erect he had turned it into some other play.

      I looked around for inspiration. I told him that I’d never had sex in the sea, and that was true. He told me about his diving life. I could see he was feeling a little more relaxed.

      He seemed so laid back, almost fatalistic, that it was hard to judge how much he was affected by his impotence.

      I had loved sleeping in the same bed with him. My skin brushed by his skin. My scent wrapped up in his. I could have lain there forever. Sleeping with him for a night, a whole night, the first whole night! I never wanted it to be morning.

      In the morning he had smiled and counted my orgasms, and made me say (with much blushing) ‘Spank me, my Nai’. He was proud of my orgasms like a boy of treasures he found on the beach. He wasn’t hard to read then, he was very happy.

      And I was a little less anxious, since I had managed to become his proud possession.

      But still – he didn’t mention his own missing orgasm, and he didn’t really attempt it any more.

      Except to say, occasionally, that he was growing old and that I should have known him ten years ago.

      So I sat under the thatched roof of the seaside restaurant with him, having lunch by ourselves at I don’t know what time, except that it was not lunchtime for anyone else, and talked to him about having sex in the sea.

      We didn’t look into each other’s eyes.

      We looked at the table and the water and we talked, very indirectly. Diving in the big waterholes when he was a dive master. Feeling the water around you. How people had looked at my breasts, this morning, when he ripped my top off in the water. How my breasts were developing sunburn. How I’d never had sunburn on my breasts.

      For me, with my strong feelings and my aroused body, it was difficult to extract from his nonchalant stories how important it was for him to manage to fuck me.

      But I did find out when he suddenly stood up, took my hand, pushed my head down just enough so that I couldn’t see where we were going, only the ground and his feet, and led me to the quiet cove, next to ours, where the water was deeper and the hotel was hidden by a big flank of a hill, populated only by the jungle.

      I let myself be led, it was such a heady delight to be led, not knowing where we were going, not having to know, not having to find out. I was no longer the navigator.

      It was just a walk by the beach, but for me it was a walk into the unknown realm of submitting to him, of following the creature that had risen from the sea.

      This cove was much deeper, and there weren’t so many corals to cut your knees on. He started to run, to draw me in, and we put our flippers on and swam properly. He showed me how to spiral round and round and I lost my goggles and we had to look for them under the sea, and then, suddenly, he found them on some rocks, high enough for us to stand on without drowning, between the hill and a small dragonback island and faraway from the beach. He kissed my shoulders and rubbed my newly sunburnt breasts in the salt water and then, suddenly and very roughly, he pulled my swimsuit down all the way. I tried to hold on and I tried to let go and then he dived down and grabbed me and pulled it off my legs. He squeezed it under his armband, very professionally, and pulled his own swim pants off. He took his time with the preparations and held me in an unforgiving grip. I realised that it was going to happen now, I was going to be fucked in the sea, and it was going to happen whether I liked it or not. He slapped me a few times in the face and ordered me to grab him round the waist.

      ‘I’m going to take you, slut,’ he said and his face was flushing dark red.

      I felt his penis. It was there, it was hard and, maybe one reason that explained his problems, apart from the long solo tours, it was very large. I couldn’t see it in the bottle-green water, he wouldn’t let me look down, only into his face, into his eyes, that had a savage look in them that I had not seen before. I felt a matching savage lust.

      His penis rubbed against me under the water, and I tried to catch it with my thighs, and squeeze myself onto it.

      He slapped me again and again, not cruelly, but hard and well practised (he knew how to slap with authority but also without causing injury) and his breathing changed.

      I just wanted to be taken by the monster from the sea. Legend had it that such monsters lived under the rocks that rose ragged and spiky out of the island waters. One day they would rise up and pierce us with their dragon claws.

      I was looking into his eyes and smarting from my last slap when he suddenly rammed himself into me. All the way.

      I could see his fierceness and his delight when I screamed. His penis rubbed salt into my vagina, and I could feel my secret skin inside rise up with thousands of tiny scratches. It made me feel his whole length, and alerted me to every nuance of his movements.

      I was being subjected, mastered, used and hurt for his pleasure. It made me crazy with lust, and with submission. And I still had to look into his eyes, open and naked and no defence and no retreat.

      He thrust in deeper, and I felt him open me up.

      I just wanted to throw myself back and splash my arms and legs and I didn’t care who saw me and heard me and if my head went under the water and I joined the fish.

      His penis slipped out.

      I looked at him, I wriggled close, still aroused, but now I was also anxious.

      I didn’t want to lose my lust, but even more I wanted him to come, to come inside me, take me with his penis, now. Now or never.

      He pushed it back in, and I screamed again, new salt water biting the old marks.

      ‘Push yourself against me.’

      I held and I pushed and I squeezed and I shouted and felt and felt him, and his body was so hot, the hottest spot in the entire South China Sea, visible from space, there must be alerts on the satellites.

      He held me up in the water and his face and neck and chest were dark red, suffused with hot, purple blood, just under his skin, a scratch away, and he breathed and breathed and breathed, and I moved against him and with him as much as I could, without anything to hold onto but his body.

      All the time I was crazy with arousal, and dizzy from the sun and being taken, naked, in the sea,