Loading...First off, let me say that rape is a heinous thing to inflict on anyone. Nobody in their right mind would suggest otherwise and I do consider myself to be in my right mind. When a friend became a victim of date rape I was as shocked, as supportive, as anyone but that was when we were in high school and I was much younger.
And even way back then, when my breasts and hemline were higher and my erogenous zones were a newly discovered and largely unexplored country… even as I consoled my sobbing, dishevelled friend, a little voice in my head was whispering “What was it really like?”
A decade on, that little voice still bugs me. Ma always says that curiosity killed the cat but I’ve tried so many ‘safe’ ways to answer that voice and got nowhere.
I joined a bondage group for a while but it’s hard to take anyone seriously when they give you a safe word to use if things get too hot for you. A fucking safe word! And the costumes… don’t get me started on how ridiculous men look in PVC and leather.
The direct approach, a ‘fuck-me’ outfit and bar full of men, only got me a few one-nighters, one or two of which were memorably rough but none that came close to making me feel out of control.
I haven’t even managed to find a boyfriend who’ll come home drunk occasionally and decide he doesn’t need to ask before sticking it in me. Men are just too fucking considerate these days. I’d blame the feminists but the legislators who created political correctness were men.
I finally made a breakthrough when I hung out in a rape fantasy chat room. I was hoping to find a guy who’d admit to fantasizing about being a rapist, figuring we might be able to help each other out. What I found instead was a woman who said she could help… if I was serious.
sweetally83: What do you mean?
Estelle: Rape fantasy is usually more about a desire for multiple partners or submissive games.
sweetally83: Been there, done that.
Estelle: So I ask again. R U serious?
sweetally83: 90%
Estelle: 90%?
sweetally83: Curiosity killed the cat. I don’t want it killing me, either by violence or virus. That’s why I haven’t just wandered the streets looking for my Mr Right.
Estelle: Sensible.
sweetally83: thk u
Estelle: I really think I can help.
sweetally83: How?
Estelle: Not here. Perhaps we should meet ITRW?
sweetally83: R U male?
Estelle: No. If you’re too timid to meet up, I guess I’m wasting my time.
Estelle: Bye
sweetally83: wait
sweetally83: where R U?
Estelle: forget it.
sweetally83: I need this
Estelle: Ok. I’m in Seattle. same as you.
Estelle: There’s an espresso bar at 321 Broadway. Leave a photograph and phone number for me there.
Sweetally83: It all sounds very cloak and dagger.
Estelle: What you want isn’t exactly legal. The photo is so I can identify you.
Sweetally83: got it.
Estelle: One more thing…
Estelle: make sure the number is just for you. If anyone else picks up when I call, I’ll hang up and NOT call back.
Ma always says be careful what you wish for. It took me nearly a week to pluck up the courage to go to the coffee shop… but I did go.
The following morning, the phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Ally?”
“Yes. Estelle?”
“Still think I’m a guy?” Estelle’s voice had a playful quality I hadn’t expected after the paranoid brusqueness of the chat room.
“Obviously not.”
“Are you busy this afternoon?”
“Only shopping.”
“Good. Meet me at Espresso Vivace at two. I’ll explain how I can help you.”
“Two o’clock. Ok.” I found myself talking to nobody. Estelle was certainly not big on small talk.
“Ally.” A voice behind me pulled me up short of the coffee shop door.
“Estelle?” I turned and found that there was only one person within hearing range. She was rather large, matronly woman sat at one of the bistro tables on the sidewalk.
“Have a seat.” Estelle smiled and indicated a seat with a cup steaming in front of it. “Skinny cappuccino with hazelnut syrup.”
“How did you know that?” I sat as bidden and took a sip of the coffee.
“It’s what you ordered yesterday. Michael’s a very good barrista. He always remembers these things. Now tell me why you want… what you want.” Estelle stopped short of saying rape, though there was nobody around to hear us.
“Because fantasizing just isn’t enough anymore. I’ve tried all the role-playing options but they just don’t do it for me. My fantasies are so much darker than… I need to feel really out of control. No safe words, no padded restraints, no limits.”
Estelle shook her head ruefully. “I’ll never understand you women. Every time I meet one of you, I hope she’s wasting my time. I don’t suppose it’d do any good to suggest therapy?”
“Is that what all this is about? You trying to save me from myself?” I was starting to get angry. Wasting her time? I felt my time was being wasted here.
“No. I’m not trying to save you. You’re too fucked up for that. SIT DOWN.” Estelle raised her voice as I started to stand up. I sat. “You must know that’s true. There are politer ways of saying it, but considering what you came here for, what would be the point in prettying it up? I can’t help you but I can give you what you want.”
“How?”
Again, Estelle shook her head. “It pains me to admit it but my son is who you’re looking for. Finding women like you is the only way I can keep him out of prison.”
“So he’s a rapist?”
“Two convictions but I suspect there were others.”
“So how do we do this?”
“Do you live alone?”
“No. But the kids will be at their father’s the week after next.”
“Apartment?”
“House.”
“Good. So the neighbours won’t be bothered by noise?”
“No.”
“Well the bottom line is that this’ll cost you $3000. Do you have that?”
“Yes. But-”
“It’s mainly for expenses. My son has to come in from out of state and his wife thinks its work so he has to show a profit.”
“His wife?” I hadn’t expected a two-time rapist to be married.
“A sweet girl. They met when he was on parole but she thinks he’s a reformed character.”
“So $3000. I assume you won’t take a cheque?”
“You drop it here along with a clean blood test and your address. My son will get a test too, but I’ll check it and you’ll just have to trust me.”
“What guarantee do I have?”
“Well, I guarantee that you won’t end up murdered, permanently scarred or infected with anything. Other than that… You just told me you wanted to feel out of control.” Estelle smiled for the first time in quite a while.
“Ok.” I was all too aware that this could be a scam, but desperation left me no choice.
“Good. Well, I must go.” Estelle looked at her watch. “Any other questions? This is your last chance. We won’t meet again.”
“Estelle isn’t your real name, is it?”
“Of course not. It’s a literary reference.”
“The ball–breaker in Great Expectations?”
“Good guess, but no. The protagonist in Margaret Atwood’s story Rape Fantasies. Any serious questions? I really do have to go.”
“No. No. Thank you.” I stood as Estelle did and offered her my hand. She looked at it but didn’t take it.
“Don’t thank me.” She looked both sympathetic and disgusted as she turned and walked away. I guess she really did think I was a fucked-up bitch. I guess she was right.
Ever bought something big on e-bay and had to wait ages for delivery, wondering if perhaps you’re the one in twenty who gets ripped off; wondering if, if it does arrive, it’ll be ‘as advertised’? I’d withdrawn $3000 from my savings account and looked at it on my bedside table for several days while waiting for my blood test results, wondering if I was mad. It looked like a lot of money. Hell! For me it was a lot of money. When I finally went to Espresso Vivace, I almost left with the envelope still in my purse. Almost.
So I had that e-bay feeling. It was Wednesday, exactly a week after I’d dropped the envelope and nothing. Nerves and anticipation were driving me to distraction and the kids were due back on Saturday.
The doorbell made me jump. Was this him? My stomach was churning as I opened the door.
“Hi Ally!” Lizzie breezed past me. “I’ve come to rescue you from domestic servitude. Grab your coat because I’ve found the most delightful little restaurant and I’m going to buy you lunch.” Lizzie always talks like this. She has altogether too much time on her hands and too much of her husband’s money to spend time spending, but she’s been my friend since kindergarten and she was the one who, a decade back, set me on course for the encounter I was waiting in for.
“Sorry Lizzie. I really can’t. Not today.” I wracked my brains for a plausible excuse for a rain cheque. “I have a gyno appointment this afternoon.” Well, it wasn’t too far from the truth. “I was just about to go for a shower. Coffee?”
“Oh. Sure.” Lizzie followed me into the kitchen and rattled off all her new news while I coaxed two cappuccinos from the little Gaccia she’d bought me for my last birthday.
Lizzie stayed an hour but finally noticed my frequent glances at the clock and made her excuses. I picked up the empty coffee cups and took them back to the kitchen.
“She talks a lot, doesn’t she?”
Startled I dropped the cups, spinning round to face the intruder. All I saw was a black ski mask then the world went red as a fist slammed into my stomach, just below my ribs, knocking the wind out of me and leaving me crumpled on the floor trying to breathe in. He dropped to his knees, whipped something out of his jacket pocket and forced it into my mouth. I resisted.
“Open wide. I don’t care if I make work for your orthodontist.” His voice was harsh and loud. I opened my mouth and the rubber ball of a ball gag settled behind my teeth. Quickly, he fastened the straps behind my head. I felt nauseous from the punch in the stomach but now I couldn’t throw up even if my life depended on it. So this was him.
I didn’t get much time to look at him though. He flipped me onto my chest on the kitchen floor then stood up and walked away from me. He was back in seconds, straddling my butt.
“Don’t fight it. You already know I like hurting you.” He pulled my head up by my hair to show me my own large kitchen knife then slipped the point inside my t-shirt and slit it open down the length of my spine. He cut the straps of my bra too, before tossing the knife away. It clattered too loudly on the tiles.
“Wrists together.” He ordered, dragging my hands from underneath me and forcing them together behind my back. I heard the familiar tearing sound of food wrap being peeled from a roll. The plastic film went round and round not just my wrists but my entire forearms, pressing my elbows together.
“On your feet, Bitch.” He lifted me by my hair again, making me levitate to my feet. My shredded shirt and bra stayed on the floor, leaving me bare to the waist. Two hands grabbed my titties from behind and squeezed until I gasped against the gag. “Now say hello to everyone at home.” He released one tit to point at a video camera on the counter. The red light was on. “Say Hello!” he yelled in my ear, tightening his already painful grip on my tit.
“Mmm mm.” I mumbled around the gag.
“Gentlemen.” He addressed the camera. “Allow me to introduce Rape Club’s newest volunteer. Ally. We’ve got a fun-packed program for you today but first, I’d like to take a few moments to remind you of the rules.
Rule one. You don’t talk about Rape Club.
Rule two. You don’t talk about Rape Club.” This time he was much more assertive. “Remember, guys, although Ally is a volunteer, we’re probably already way beyond consent. Right Ally?” He almost whispered the last in my ear. “Bet you never expected to become a porn star? But you gotta see that if I don’t go way beyond what you wanted, it wouldn’t really be rape, would it?”
I didn’t answer. I was fixated on the camera. How many people? How many would see this tape?
“Would it?” Another twist got my attention.
I tried to scream “No!” It was just a muted mumble. The gag was doing its job very well, but he seemed satisfied with my response.
“A few of you guys have posted questions on the bulletin board. MikeyMike and Oregon123 both asked, ‘Why food wrap?’ Simple guys. It doesn’t leave lasting marks, doesn’t chafe skin when the bitch struggles and there’s always some in the kitchen when I call on one of my girls. Shall we get this party started?”
He released my titties and grabbed the belt on my jeans, stripping me in seconds. I stood with my only clothes keeping my ankles warm and a video camera pointed straight at my crotch, feeling overwhelmed by shame as his rough hand probed between my lips pulled at my pubes.
“Well will you look at that? Oregon123, today the rape genie is going to grant your wish. This little cunt hasn’t been to California or Brazil on her vacation.” He spun me round to face him, punched my bare stomach again, making me double over and caught me round the waist so I was tucked under his arm with my ass to the camera. His free hand pulled at my buttocks and I struggled as his finger poked at my asshole.
“Personally guys, I’m really looking forward to getting in here: It’ll be just like being back in the penn. Whoa there!” His grip on my waist tightened as I struggled. “I guess Ally’s ready. Let’s go find a bed.”
He was really strong. It seemed no effort for him to sling me over his shoulder and carry me upstairs while toting the camera in his other hand. He found my bedroom easily enough and dropped me on my back on the bed. My bound arms were starting to ache but that was the least of my worries. He moved a chest of drawers to the bottom of the bed and put the camera on it then went into the bathroom.
“A ha!” a note of triumph in his voice told me that he’d found whatever it was he was looking for. He came back with a jar of Vaseline and a pair of eyebrow tweezers, which he brandished in front of the camera. “Bear with me guys. This one’s for Oregon.”
I lay for what seemed like forever, though was probably less than an hour, with him sitting on my stomach, plucking my pubes with the tweezers. I moaned against the gag because it started off hurting and just got worse and worse, but I couldn’t struggle under his weight. My hands were just tingling balls of pins and needles too. Every time I tried, instinctively, to close my legs, his palms would slap into the inside of my thighs hard enough to make me scream. I knew I must be black and blue by now but the plucking just went on and on, hair by hair, closer and closer to my more sensitive bits.
Finally, he dropped the tweezers. His hand came down squarely on my pussy with a loud slap. “Smooth as a babies bottom.” He said to the camera. “And just look.” I felt his fingers pulling me open. “It’s all wet. Good call, Oregon. I’m really gonna enjoy this ride.”
He climbed off me and stripped, leaving his ski mask on. He was a big man and had the look of someone who’s done a lot of time in the gym. When his pants came off, I found out he was a really big man. He noticed where my eyes had lingered on his erection.
“You didn’t think I became a rapist because some high school bitch laughed at my weener, did you?” There was gloating in his voice. No, I thought, no woman would laugh at that thing. I didn’t have time for any more thoughts because he was back between my legs, forcing my knees up by my titties and prodding me with his dick.
He found my hole and buried himself, pausing to wiggle it around inside me before starting to fuck me hard and fast. It wasn’t like the usual rough fucking in sub-dom games. This guy really did seem to have a thing against women and he was venting that anger on me. It felt like he was really trying to hurt me and he was succeeding. Behind the ball gag, I was sobbing but down there, behind my denuded mons veneris, that familiar warmth was building.
I wailed in shame and ecstasy as my body betrayed every feminist principle and I orgasmed in spite of the discomfort, the humiliation and the violation. I came and he howled in triumph, douching my insides with his seed.
“See guys? This bitch just came. That really fucks with their heads. They hate you. They hate everything you do to them but they can’t help themselves. They love it too. Time out.” He made the traditional hand gesture then hopped off the bed and strolled butt naked into the bathroom, leaving me spread and oozing in front of the camera. I thought about closing my legs but what would be the point? Instead, I lay there, exposed, sore and slimy, thinking about the fact that I had actually climaxed. He was right; it was fucking with my head. I felt semen oozing out of me and cooling as it dribbled down my ass crack while, in the bathroom, the sound of water on water said he was taking a pee.
“Ok then.” He wrung his hands together as he came back, limp dick swinging in front of him. “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m ready for a tittie fuck.” He grabbed an ankle and twisted me around on the bed then straddled me, slapping his big dick between my tits and pressing two handfuls of soft flesh together. His hips moved slowly and I could feel his dick hardening. As he grew stiffer, the head of his dick started to peep out of my cleavage with each thrust. Soon he picked up the pace, kneading my tits hard and crushing them against his hot erection, twisting my nipples as if trying to get local radio. It hurt and I writhed under him, which only spurred him on. When I thought he must be on the brink of climax, he stopped, flipped me over onto my belly, hauled my hips up and reached for the Vaseline.
“It’s ass fucking time!” He exulted to the camera. “And because Ally’s been a good bitch, she gets to have lube. Remember guys, lube is a privilege, not a right.”
The Vaseline was cold on my ass but I was glad of it when he forced the ball of his thumb through my ring in one push. I’m no stranger to anal sex so I tried desperately to not tense up, guessing this man wouldn’t back off if I did. His thumb vacated in favour of his dick and I found I was right: one almighty push and he was in deep. My eyes would have watered at that but I was already crying. My bound arms felt numb to the shoulders and I felt bruised all over but deep down inside, where my sanity was hiding, that little voice whispered ‘You wanted this.’
“Oh that feels good.” He crowed as his hips thrust back and forth. After a few dozen strokes, he reached underneath and stuck two fingers into my pussy. “Still wet, guys. I think the slut’s enjoying this. How fucked up is that?” He pulled his slick fingers out and sniffed them theatrically for the camera. He kept up the pace until he came with a low grunt and stopped, rooted deep inside me for a few seconds before pulling it out with an audible plop.
“That’s all you get, guys. I gotta get this bitch cleaned up now and make tracks.” He scrambled off the bed and went over to the camera, switching it off. As soon as the little red light winked out, he pulled off his ski mask. “Now lets get you untied.” His voice was much less harsh now. I felt his touch on the back of my head as he unbuckled the ball gag and eased it out. My jaw ached. I hadn’t noticed that while I was wearing it, but now it really ached and I was dribbling like a geriatric. Kneeling beside me on the bed, with my ass still raised to Mecca, he unwrapped my arms. As the blood started to flow back into my hands they burned and tingled enough to make me moan out loud.
“It’ll pass in a couple of minutes. Just rub them together.” He said, getting up and walking to the bathroom. I still hadn’t seen his face. I heard the faucet, heard sounds of washing, and then he came back with a damp face cloth and rolled me onto my side so he could wipe the saliva from around my mouth. It was so at odds with how he’d used me that I just started to sob, tears streaming down my cheeks, nose running, the works.
“It wasn’t what you’d expected was it?”
I said nothing.
“It never is. Mostly you bitches scream and shout a lot, figuring that’s your role, hence the gag – gotta shut you up somehow – but the two I did time for… They never mad a sound. Didn’t beg, didn’t struggle, just went limp on me. It was really not that much fun. But you… you fantasizers… You really are a Disney ride. See, I couldn’t do my wife like this… I’ll tell you a secret. I’m as fucked up as you. When I’m with my wife, playing nice, I’ll be thinking about you… you and all those other bitches… she doesn’t know about any of this but I really couldn’t get it up for her without one of you in my head. How fucked up is that?”
“Pretty fucked up.” I finally found my voice. I could see him properly now too. Shaved head, slightly cruel smile, blue eyes. Yes, I thought, if we’d met socially, I’d definitely have fucked you.
“Hungry? I sure as hell am.”
I nodded. “And thirsty.” It was bizarre. We were having an almost normal conversation.
“So take your hands off your pussy and get cleaned up. We’ll go get dinner.”
I hadn’t realized I’d been covering myself. Sort of a reflex I guess. I took my hands away from my crotch – Jeez! I was tender down there – and let him help me into the bathroom.
A hot shower helped a lot. He sat on the edge of the tub the whole time, watching me as I washed. After everything, it wasn’t uncomfortable having him there. He talked while I washed, going silent only when I dealt with the semen in my ass – that he just watched avidly.
“The video. It’s not for real is it?” I’d sort of worked out that the camera was just a prop to humiliate his victims that little bit more.
“Hell yes! Those guys pay two hundred bucks a piece for DVDs. I found them the same way Ma found you. They’re a bunch of fantasists who don’t have the balls to really take what they want but get off watching someone else do it. They’re gonna pay for this year’s vacation by jacking off watching you.”
“I didn’t sign up for that. All this was meant to be… private.”
“So? You asked a rapist into your life. Don’t expect me to be a nice person. You wanted the sex. The tape is the only really non-consentual bit of all this. Its insurance too.”
“Insurance?” I was facing him now, carefully washing a sore patch where my pubes used to be.
“The rules of Rape Club apply to you too. If you mention this to anyone, that tape will find its way onto the internet and into the mailboxes of everyone who knows you, along with the recordings Ma made when you arranged this. But keep your mouth shut, don’t cause me any trouble, and the only people who’ll get to see you taking it up the ass will be total strangers you’ll never have to look in the eye.”
“I see.” I wasn’t happy about that, but it made sense. “Do I get a copy?”
“If you want. Sure. On the house. Are you done washing it? I’m hungry.”
He left me to dry off. I heard him moving around in the bedroom, then feet on the stairs. I took a good look at myself in the mirror while I was towelling down. There were quarter sized bruises all over my titties where he’d grabbed them but those were the only obvious signs of force. The redness of my inner thighs, where he’d slapped me, had all but faded and the punch in the stomach had left no trace. I was tender like you wouldn’t believe but not actually damaged. Estelle’s boy had kept to the bargain.
When I came downstairs myself, he was sitting in the family room, at my computer with a soda and my address book.
“Just getting your contact list.” He said without turning. He pulled a pen drive out of the USB port and pocketed it. “I’ve photographed your address book too.”
“Insurance?” It made sense.
“I’m glad you understand. Where’s good to eat around here?”
“Depends. Do you like Chilli?”
“Who doesn’t?” He switched off the monitor and stood up, checking me out from top to toe. “Pretty.”
“Thank you.” I’d put on a frock because I didn’t think I could wear jeans, or underwear, while I was so sore down there. It showed a fair bit of cleavage though so I’d had to use cover-up makeup to hide a few bruises. “There’s a bar a couple of miles down the road. It does great chilli.”
“C’mon then.”
As we walked to his car – I’m guessing it was actually Estelle’s – it occurred to me I didn’t have a name for him. “What should I call you?” He actually held my door for me. It was a surprising courtesy from a – no other word for it – rapist.
“Call me Vin.”
“And that’s not your real name, is it?”
“You’re learning. But I’ve been told I look a bit like that Vin Diesel guy from the movies.”
“A bit, maybe.” I could see a passing resemblance, now he mentioned it.
It was the weirdest date I’ve ever been on: even more weird than the blind date with Lizzie’s hair dresser that I got talked into last year. A straight male hairdresser who dressed like a queer was nothing compared to making small talk with a man who’s just broken into my house, raped me and filmed it for his friends. He talked quietly but at length about the two girls he’d raped in college, how he’d got into anal sex in prison and how he’d knocked some punk kid’s teeth out:
“This kid was inside for statutory rape, meaning some bitch lied about her age, but he was too pretty for life in the joint. I punched his teeth out so we could fuck his mouth without getting bit. He lasted nearly half way through his stretch before they found him strung up in his cell.” Vin didn’t seem bothered that the kid had killed himself. I remembered that he was, almost by definition, not a nice person.
Over desert he asked about how I’d lost my cherry and what the fuck had happened to me to make me want to meet him. I told him everything, starting with losing my virginity on Prom night, Lizzie’s rape and all the things I’d tried, just to scratch that itch.
“Still got an itch?”
“No. I guess you cured me of that.” We were just leaving the parking lot.
“That’s a pity.” He unbuttoned his jeans with one hand and pulled out his dick. “Do you like the taste of cum?” He stroked his semi-hard-on as he drove. It helped that the car wasn’t a stick shift.
“No.” I never have and never will like that taste.
“And do you think you’ve got a choice?” His hand shot from his dick to my hair, grabbing a handful and dragging my head down into his lap.
No. I didn’t think I had a choice.
I lied about being cured. After the soreness had gone, all I could think about for days was the intensity of that one orgasm. It had been worth any ten previous ones and I had several more just lying on my bed, still smelling of him, fingering myself and remembering. The DVD arrived a week later and it’s my favourite bedtime viewing. I even find myself wondering who’s watching it at the same time as me? Are they enjoying it as much as me? I hope so. And there’s always the possibility that I’ll meet Vin again. After all, he knows where I live.