#350) My Rape Fantasy

Let me say that I have never been raped, thank you God. I do not want to be raped. I am sorry that some people have had their sexualities usurped and their bodies abused by this criminal act of violence. It is from the cocoon of naivete and ignorance and safety that my subconscious has conceived a fantasy. I have this dream occasionally. It is a combination wet dream and nightmare. They say that the popularity of horror movies lies in the fact that people like to be scared, they like the thrill of being out-of-control. Maybe that’s why I keep having this dream, keep waking-up in a cold sweat, with just as much moisture between my thighs.
It’s midnight, and I’ve just gotten back home from watching a first-release movie in a theater. The movie was not great, so I vacillate between feeling bad about wasting the time and money, and congratulating myself on getting out and doing something in society once more. Normally, I would go straight to bed at this hour. But I want to decompress from the movie’s remaining images, so strip-off my clothing and take a hot shower.
As I turn-off the water, I think I hear something just outside the bathroom door. That something tightens the pit of my stomach. I freeze and listen with all my being, but hear nothing more. I start to towel-off in the stall when I am suddenly seized from behind with one hand tight around my throat and one hand tight across my mouth.
“Make a noise and I’ll be fucking your dead corpse. Understand?”
I nod. I realize that he is naked, and hard, and huge. When I was soaping-up my pussy ten minutes ago, I was aroused, but the events since then have drastically dampened, or should I say dried-up my mood. To get back into the mood, so it won’t hurt as much, I revert to submission. I wonder if this would please him, keep him from caving my skull in.
“I’ll do anything you want, just don’t hurt me…”
“What’d you mean?” he snorts derisively.
“What do you mean ‘what do I mean’?” I say as un-defensively as I can.
“I mean that on my way up here, I saw all the art work on your walls. All of it is S & M themed, I think most of it is of you, you with your ass bound over a punishment block, you with your ass bruised. Because it’s all black and white photography and very artsy, so I can’t be sure, but…”
I don’t say anything. I think to myself that posing for that Art was a choice, being with those partners was a choice, that he’s not giving me any choice here…
As if on cue, he puts his hand on my shoulder and presses down. I sink to my knees. I look up at him. He holds his massive cock in his right hand. I open my mouth and take as much of it as I can down my throat. I try to please him, but I’m got good at this particular act, especially with someone so large. The tile floor is hurting my knees, his cock is hurting the back on my throat. I start to cry. He seems to like that. He gets hard. He pulls his cock out and lifts me by my arm pit to my feet simultaneously, turns me, presses me to the wall, takes a big pinch of ass and parts me. I wonder where he’s going. He rubs his cock head across my slit and pushes his way inside. It feels like he’s splitting me in two right up the middle. He fucks me like he’s spanking me, that is to say it’s punishing, meant to make me cry and beg and suffer. It works. But on another level, maybe because it’s so demanding, it turns me on. I lubricate, I gasp, I try not to cum. I’ve got my hands flat against the wall and my legs spread wide, trying to take the battering.
Suddenly he slaps my butt and pulls out of my sex. The sting of the spank almost makes me climax, the quick removal of his thick cock from my cunt leaves me bereft and feeling lost and empty and I almost start crying again against my will. I look over my shoulder to see him kneeling behind me, his face an inch from my wide-spread ass.
“You’re hairless back here! Is that natural?”
“I get it waxed every few weeks. I think it looks nicer. And bleached, I get my ass hole bleached while I’m at it…” If I were with a lover, I’d continue by asking if he liked it, but I don’t say that here.
He spits on my butt hole, stands up straight and lets a big droplet of drool drop onto his cock head. I know where this is going. I try to brace myself. This time I really think he is splitting me in two as he pushes his cock into my butt. It burns, it hurts, I feel raped, I crumple against the tile wondering how I’ll be able to withstand this. He slaps my butt again, several times, hard, and magically, I’m suddenly able to accept his intrusion, take his big cock up my tight aperture. You can do this, I tell myself. He’s really fucking me, long strokes in and out, it feels white hot intense. If I had a lot of lube up there, it’d almost be pleasurable. He is starting to roger faster, breathe harder, plow into me even more harshly, and I think he’s about to cum. My mind jumps to whether he’s disease-free or if I’m about to get infected with HIV or monkey pox or some shit, when he stops as suddenly as it all began. He pulls out. Just like when clothes pins are pulled off ones’ nipples, it hurts much worse when it’s over. My butt hole is glowing like kindling about to burst into flames now that the air is getting to it.
“We’ll do that more later,” he says, “in your bed, where it’ll be…romantic, where I can tie you down…” I shudder, contemplating what a long night lays ahead. A siren blares. It seems to be coming closer. “Did you call 911 before I came in here?” he demands loudly.
I hesitate in answering, mostly just because I’m in pain, and in shock, and filled with self-loathing for enjoying a little bit of what’s transpired. He interprets this to mean that I did, that the cops are on their way. He’s sprinting away from me now, stooping to scoop up his clothes near the bedroom door. I don’t know how he came in, but I hear the sliding glass door in the back of the house, and now know how he’s leaving.
I wrap the big terrycloth towel tight around me and crawl into bed, into a fetal position. That’s where I awaken with a start. My boyfriend stirs beside me.
“Are you okay?” he asks groggily.
“Kind of…”
“Have another of those dreams?” he coos as he envelopes me in a hug.
I nod and try to keep from crying.
“What can I do to try to make it better?” he solicits. I caress the hair out of his eyes, falling even deeper in love with him, if that’s possible. I know he won’t judge me, that he knows me better than anyone. I roll over onto my tummy and pull the moist towel off.
“Fuck me, from behind, hard, cruelly, and as soon as I cum, pull out and fuck my ass even harder, no lube except the jism on your cock and a little spit. I need this! Exorcise my demons, save this damsel in distress. Fuck me…!”
And because he’s a caring Top, and knows that I know my innermost needs and desires, John does exactly as I ask. I’m temporarily cured, at least enough to fall asleep and slumber without dreams.
I awake at dawn, even though I have nothing I have to do this morning. I take a shower. John is in the bathroom as I emerge from the stall.
“Did you sleep?”
“Some,” I answer.
“You need another dose of cure,” John replies. He wraps his fist in my freshly-washed hair, forces me to my knees. “Suck me ‘til I’m hard.”
I try not to focus on the taste, realizing the last place his cock was was up my butt fucking me. Thankfully, he’s hard fairly quickly. His handle in my hair turns me over the sink. John spanks me with ten hard swats, I know because I counted them. This is a moment I love living in, I wish this could be our reality 24/7. I gladly reside in my bathroom, butt bared and proffered to my lover, getting it heated, getting it hurt. But it’s a mean to an end for John.
“Repeat after me,” he orders, “I’m a good little submissive.”
“I’m a good little submissive..”
He hammers his point home with ten more sharp spanks, then commands, “I deserve frequent beatings but never to be raped.”
“I deserve frequent spankings, but not to be raped.”
“I said ‘beating’ because I might want to discipline you with more than just my hand, so say it precisely Jeannie. I deserve frequent beatings but never to be raped.”
“I deserve frequent beatings, but never to be raped.”
“Do you want me to spank you more, Jeannie?”
“Yes, sir. Passionately!”
He gives me many more than just ten stingers. I luxuriate in his hard treatment, the burn in my bottom, the pain in my hair roots, the moment.
“Do you want my hard cock fucking you again?”
“Yes, sir. Passionately!”
He pushes into my pussy and fucks me hard. I cry out, unable to keep from cumming.
“You can say no anytime you want…” he whispers as he pulls his manhood from my grip.
“I know, but I never would. I’m yours.”
John pushes his cock up my anus. I whimper, accept him, feel his mass plow up my ass all the way until his balls dangle between my legs as well as his. It’s all too much.
“I’m gonna cum,” I announce. John answers by spanking me some more, bringing the orgasm on all the sooner, all the fiercer.
“Have a good day,” and he pulls out of my spasming rectum, gets dressed without showering, and is out the door while I’m still trying to put my pieces back together like some demolished Humpty Dumpty.
He phones me at noon. “Are you okay, my love?”
“Except for the fact that I can’t sit comfortably…”
He joins me in laughing, replies, “You may never be able to sit comfortably again.”
“Promise me?”
He laughs again. “Are you eating something?”
“Yes,” I lie.
“I know what we have in the pantry. If you don’t eat something substantial for lunch, I’ll spank you before dinner.”
“Promise me?” I repeat, and we laugh.
“I’ve got to go,” he says.
“I love you!” I say, but the phone line is dead.
An hour later, a dozen red roses arrive. The note attached says, “I didn’t get to tell you that I love you, too.”
Four hours later, I hear his car in the driveway. I want to greet him in the nude, but by the time I get past the barking dog and upstairs, I’m only able to have stripped-off my dress. I stand before him in black pantyhose and matching bra.
“You look lovely.”
“Thank you, and thank you for the flowers!”
“I’m of the opinion that you’re having bad dreams because you don’t live enough while awake…” His fist is back twisted in my long hair. He pulls my face to his, kisses me roughly, turns me and pushes me onto the bed. I see John suck his thumb and wonder what that’s about. Then I feel it pushed deep up my unprepared patootie. Holding me down adroitly with this one digit wrestling pin, his cock is in my adjoining vag. He pulls my hair like a jockey would the reins, he rides me hard, working me into a lather, working that thumb in and out of my burning butt hole, working my flanks with slaps to make me race. It’s a fucking race and we each strive to finish first. I win, bathe us both in jism. My butterfly-kisses of his cock pull the cum out of John and he climaxes into me, then crumples on top of me on the bed. I think we both fainted because we come-to long minutes later, his cock shrinking but still lodged in my sex, his thumb still deep up my ass, his hand still in my hair.
“I like your theory,” I say, and John has to think for a minute to remember the context. “I want you to exhaust me, so that I’m too tired to dream. Keep my ass spanked red hot and my anus used and red hot, and my pussy fucked and red hot, lover. Deal?”
We kissed to seal the pact.

His fist is back twisted in my long hair.

Then I feel his thumb pushed deep up my unprepared patootie.

11 responses to “#350) My Rape Fantasy”

      • It’s a neologism! I’m extremely asscentric myself. I learned how pleasurable assplay could be on my own very young (10 or 11). I’ve been hooked ever since. I think that knowing how good it can feel firsthand led me to become obsessed with it with regard to others. I’m mostly heteronormative in my sexual interests, but the occasional bi/gay fantasies creep in from time to time.

        Liked by 2 people

  1. I had to look “neologism” up in the dictionary. I hope you used it to mean “a newly coined word” and not “a meaningless word used by a psychotic”… LOL. I think I got stuck in Freud’s anal stage of development myself, spank me until I cry, finger me there until I moan. fuck me there until I cum… I’m not kidding now.

    Liked by 2 people

    • Yes, I totally meant a newly coined word. Actually didn’t even know about the second definition. I totally understand and agree. I might be stuck there too! 🤣 That’s what I love about you and your writing. Keep up the great work!

      Liked by 2 people

      • Well, we were sitting in my infrared sauna…wearing only towels. We get together for coffee and sauna about once per week. And out of the blue, she asked me if I ever fantasize about being raped. I could tell she was a little hesitant to bring it up. I told her yes, that I had those fantasies often. And she went on to describe to me what she would want done to her, in a non-consensual way. It was the sexiest sauna session ever!!! XOXO

        Liked by 2 people

  2. Sorry for the miscommunication, Nora; I meant that I’d like for you to share my blog and post on this fantasy with your friend! LOL. But seeing that you’ve kindly shared the “steamy” details about your shared sauna, thanks for sending my mind to reeling about how sexy this was!

    Liked by 1 person

  3. I love the word “ascentric” Nothing describes better what you feel.
    I was actually raped once by an older man when I was 17 years old.
    It started out awful, feelings of guilt and fear.
    In the end, I came very hard.

    Like

    • Rape is NEVER okay; I’m so sorry that this happened to you, Christian! I was super tentative about writing this piece because the act is dreadful, while my (& other women’s) fantasies about it are strong.

      Like

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