Getting Raped	Back to Q	Back to main page

Collected by Djian
sep 30 - 2011

Another story by Callidus | Getting Raped | Blackmail | Secretary

M/F, cons, bnd, humil, slavery


Getting Raped
Callidus

I realized it six years ago. I could go over the strange fantasies I had, the bits of pornography I caught on-line, and my peculiar habits and strange thoughts. I suppose it wouldn't be fair to leave the background out, though. I suppose I'll share three things before the meat of the story; when I was raped.

The first thing is that I'm well aware that I'm attractive, and I put a lot of effort into maintaining my looks. 34-24-36D, which men call the perfect body. The washing lotions, oils, and moisturizers I use cost me about $100 a month, but keep my skin smooth and firm and with no acne or other flaws. My eyes are clear and blue, my hair blond, and I keep it crimped and/or in a pony tail. I like looking good, because I know it gets attention. I suppose you could say I'm an attention whore, and I say that you're at least correct in spirit, but not technically so.

This brings me to the second thing; Boys. I want attention from boys. I suppose "men", more recently. They never seem to give me attention the right way, though. Boys are nice to pretty girls. I don't want a nice guy, but I don't want a jerk biker, either. I want more than that jerk biker. I looked into the whole BDSM thing, and I think I might want to be a slave. The problem is that I don't want to give myself to a man... I want him to take me. I want him to pilfer me, to actively and brutally force me to be his. I've done some online searching, and I get asked for my number left and right in real life. Nobody has ever raped me though, and that's what I want.

The third thing is that, perhaps, I am a sick individual. I've studied it for a while, since I realized what it was I wanted. Rape normally terrorizes a woman, makes her emotionally unstable, and some even go crazy. Indeed, I was scared of it myself. Still am. I don't think I'm really too different from other women. I'm very scared of rape, even though I fantasize about it at least several times a day. I know that I could get seriously injured, perhaps even killed. There are stories of women being found with their bodies torn into pieces, the process beginning before they died, after getting raped. Even during. The fantasy is sexy, but the reality, it seemed, was dangerous and painful.

Perhaps that's why it took me until my first year of college to begin buying what I liked to call my "rape suit". I never called it that in front of anyone else, of course. I never even let anyone else see it, for fear of them turning me into a mental hospital, or something. It wasn't too bad in itself, but if someone asked why I had it, what would I say? Really, though, it's something you might find a girl in at a club anyhow, so it's not like anyone would be suspicious of it. I just worried because I knew what it was, and had a hard time thinking that other people wouldn't put things together.

The suit is actually pretty simple. It's a dress. A black and pink number that might supposed to be lingerie with the small frillies on the sleeves and bottom. It's cut low and wide in the front, however. It shows off so much cleavage that it's common to see a little bit of areola slip into view. It included an under-wire to increase my bust, even. The bottom technically ends before my butt cheeks meet my legs, but the frilly at the bottom goes for several inches more, covering my toosh and making it look more like a layered dress. Though, the frills are also somewhat see-through, but not enough, I think, for anyone to notice without paying special attention.

For the first year I had it, I wore it only alone, only in my bedroom. I'd pretend I was at the club in it, with guys dancing up on me. I'd go home with a guy and we'd make out and fool around a bit, but I'd say no... and he would get on me, overpower me, and fuck me anyway. He wouldn't care about me, I was just a tool for him to use to get off with.

My fantasies evolved, of course. I'd get raped in allies, in VIP rooms, bathrooms, dorm rooms, etc, sometimes in that dress, sometimes not. When I wore that, though, it made me feel exposed and vulnerable. Perhaps because I associated it with my rape fantasies.

On one rainy Saturday night when I planned on finishing up some homework in my dorm room, my college friends invited me to go clubbing. I wasn't down for it right then, so they left without me. As I got closer to completing my homework, though, the thought of being in a club in my rape suit continually distracted me. I was close to done, and the thoughts wouldn't leave me. I figured I could finish on Sunday and started considering which club to go to. Not the ones my friends go to. Or anyone from college, I supposed. I searched on-line and found some clubs away from campus, and called a cab.

I got ready for the club like I normally would, except I payed special attention to shaving my pubic hair. I wanted to be really sexy for my possible rapist. I felt dizzy as my heart raced. I was actually going to go out and try to get raped!

I had sex twice, with a different guy each time, and they didn't satisfy me. With my tastes, it's no wonder. They put effort into my pleasure. Definitely not arousing to someone who wanted to get raped. I even heard rumors I was an ice queen. No, guys simply didn't realize they could have me if they wanted me. Well, if they were clever or strong enough to force themselves on me. I was pretty cold, I suppose. It's not rape if you invite them, after all, and nothing else seemed to turn me on. Again, I suppose I'm a sick person.

But there I was, about to go out in skimpy clothes in an attempt to get a dangerous man... or men, to force themselves onto me, perhaps hurting me, perhaps maiming me, perhaps even killing me. I put on a pink thong that said "hot" on the front, my black dancing shoes, and earrings. Besides that, the only thing I was wearing was my rape suit. The under-wire meant I had no need for a bra, even though it was uncomfortable that way. I doubted rape would be comfortable, though!

When I opened the door to my dorm room and felt the cool air on all the flesh that wasn't covered, as well as it running up the dress to remind me what people would see if I tripped, I paused. Suddenly, my heart was in my throat. There was no way I could actually go out in that. People I know would see me! Worst of all, I might get raped! To put it shortly, I chickened out.

Yeah, I know that rape fantasies are the only fantasies that turn me on, but I was about to take the fantasy from my head and make it reality! It was scary! The arousal went away with that cool gust of wind, and I slinked back into my room. I finished my homework in my rape suit, and then masturbated myself to sleep with the fantasy still safely in my head.

I did essentially the same thing every other weekend or so, after that. Get dressed up, convince myself I would go get raped, then chicken out at my dorm room door. A few times I chickened out at my dorm room window.

Then, one weekend near the end of my freshman year, I planned better. I spent exactly 11 days planning it out. I realized a problem I might have. I was dressed properly, and even planned on the right side of town, but one thing I hadn't considered was lubrication. Sure, the fantasy is sexy, but what if when I'm actually getting raped I don't get turned on? I'd have to lubricate myself. And if the rapist went for my rear? I'd need to lubricate that as well.

Before that Saturday night the night of my plan being seen through, I went and bought a small butt plug. There wasn't really anything that I could put in my vagina which would not come right out, though. My plan was to lube up my rear really good, with a lot of lube in before the plug. Then, if I were getting raped and I wasn't getting turned on, I could at least have a reserve of lube. I would have prefered a way to keep some spare lube in my vagina, but I can only work with what I have. Besides, something about getting raped in the ass was exciting. It meant the rape was truly about him, not me. That was really sexy. By the way, I couldn't rely on some lube in my purse because I might be gagged or my purse stolen or anything like that, if you though that was smarter. Besides, a rapist finding a girl already lubed up would encourage him no matter how much fight I put up I figure.

That night, I finally got out of the dorm room. I wanted to wear a coat or my bath robe over me to cover my rape suit, but that would draw even more attention. It was hot out! I went through my window. I felt extra exposed from that, but I ran to the cab hoping nobody saw me. Everyone else would either be out or studying anyhow, by that time. I expected my thong to keep the lubricant I spread all over my vulva and asshole from slopping out and onto my dress and whatever else I might be sitting on, but it did basically nothing. I was getting excited even as I worried about my dress and seat. I knew the cab driver was thinking about what he saw me in, and I fantasized about him raping me on the way there. The lube got only on his seat, by the way. Well, a bit on the frills of my dress, too, but it was invisible on that.

When I got dropped off at the club, I expected biker gangs and tough looking black men in red shirts, but it was mostly just more college kids from the college on that side of town. I almost turned back, but the cab had already left. I danced and had drinks and socialized like I would at any other club, except I was embarrassed and slow to sit down for fear of revealing too much. The excitement at the prospect of getting raped was gone by the time a different cab took me and some other people home. I sneaked back in my window and heard nothing of it. Still, though, the rape suit and the butt plug in me reminded me of the fantasy. I was frustrated at not getting raped (as well as relieved, but I already mentioned the ambivalence I had about it), but I fell asleep mildly horny.

Summer vacation came and went, and I tried different ways of getting raped once I got back to school the next fall. I put up craigslist ads saying where a slutty girl who needed to get raped was and then went there, I walked through back allies, and I went to keggers. I wasn't in my rape suit for the keggers, since they were mostly people I knew who would be there, but I still hoped. I always went to such things lubed up to avoid seriously damaging my privates through the rape. When in my rape suit, I abandoned the thong entirely. It just got messy in the lube and didn't stop any from getting on things I sat on. Besides, no thong would make it easier on the rapist.

I can't describe the anxiety I felt every time I went out to get raped. I was purposefully putting life and limb on the line on the off chance that someone would force themselves on me. And the rape was a scary prospect by itself, without the threat of real harm. Still, I couldn't get sexually satisfied any other way. Again, I'm a sick person.

I even once tried to go through a school building at night, when the night janiter was there. I knew it was unlikely, but I still made sure he saw me in my rape suit. I acted like I fell asleep on the steps of the stairwell. Even though I know he saw my pussy as he approached, he simply woke me up and sent me home. I avoided the janitors since then. I mean, he saw my womanhood. I would be embarrassed if I only saw his face! And what if other students found out about my slutty dress and showing a janitor my crotch! I'd be labeled a slut!

I was wrong, I was still an ice queen. I mean, I don't think anyone found out, but my attitude continually gave off the impression I was uninterested in men sexually. You know, as opposed to being interested in sex with anyone who had the balls to rape me.

When it finally did happen, I wasn't even in my rape suit. I didn't see it coming. A nice, middle-aged professor of mine wanted me to come in at six o'clock PM. It was winter, so it was dark by then, but it wasn't unusual at all for this particular professor to help students who fell behind. He helped at least three of my friends, so I presumed there was no danger.

Once I was in the room and sat down, the professor, Prof. Brown, shut the curtains and doors, claiming he hated distractions. He didn't even instruct me to pull out an assignemtn or book, he simply walked over to me, stopped in front of my desk, and slapped me so hard that when the flash left my eyes and the world stopped tumbling I was on the floor. As I began getting up to orient myself and figure out what was happening, Prof. Brown gave me a swift kick to my gut. I doubled over, unable to breath. He then dragged me from the desk area I was at to his own desk, pulling me by the hair the whole way.

I was still too worried about getting my breath back to react to him besides follow where he painfully pulled me. I could feel blood dripping from my nose, so I tried to regain my breath through my mouth. It was made more difficult through him sitting on my torso as I lay on his desk. Obviously, I couldn't scream for help. I would have. I don't know how long I couldn't breath, but every moment without breath is a moment of panick.

A dim light in the back of my head went off as he started unbuttoning my pants. I was unable to stop him. I don't know if he was quick or if my breath was disabling me that badly, but before I knew it my pants were down to my knees, further impeding my ability to fight him off. I felt something cold against my butt, and I heard snipping.

As I finally drew in a ragged, painful quarter lung of air, My mouth was being stuffed. When I tried to move my hands up to grab the thing out of my mouth, My hands were pulled behind me and duct taped in place. I began to panic, worried I'd be unable to breath through my bleeding nose. I also realized my panties were gone. When it dawned on me that they were in my mouth and I had to get them out to breath, more duct tape was wrapped around my head, sealing my underwear in my mouth.

My second, partial breath allowed me to realize my nose was not bleeding. Or, if it was, I could breath through it anyway. Soon, my arms were being pulled up, and my torso was being pushed down and into the desk from the twisting my arms were receiving in it. Prof. Brown was no longer on my back, though I didn't remember that actually happening. Very suddenly I realized what was going on, as I felt a hard, warm thing press against my womanhood from behind me, from Prof. Brown standing behind me.

My vagina gave almost no resistance at all. As he thrusted powerfully into me, his hips causing a slapping noise when they impacted my butt cheeks, I could see that my nose was indeed bleeding. There was a pool of blood forming on the desk, on the side of my head, in my hair. My belly ached as I breathed in and out, yet it was becoming easier each time. My face still hurt, and Mr. Brown just kept slamming my vagina.

That's when I started grinding back on him. I was in pain, I was humiliated, it was happening against my will... but it was what I always wanted. I didn't know what to expect next! He might throw me into a different position, or beat me a bit more, or anything he wanted! I discovered I could, indeed, find pleasure in getting raped, while it was happening. My fantasy was coming true!

I can't even begin to imagine the feelings I was experiencing. The pain, the fear, combined with the excitement and arousal makes for a truly confusing experience. While I was getting close to orgasm, I was, simultaneously, scared Mr. Brown might take the scissors by my face and stab me with them, or put his dick in my ass. While the thought excited me even more, the possible pain, the lack of lube, I was also scared. Every thought was both sexy and scary. I wanted his mad thrusts to stop as I could feel my womanhood start hurting from it's lack of use and the violence of it's use just then, yet I wanted it to go on longer.

And then, suddenly, Mr. Brown pushed my arms to the side. Just as my breathing was returning to normal, I fell off the desk, my side hitting his chair, and I landed on the floor. I was on my back, and could see him reach down to my feet. My pants were tangled there, and he tore them off with such ferocity that my right foot popped and I thought he might have broken my ankle. I tried to scream in pain, but my panty gag prevented it from sounding like a moan of pleasure, like I had been doing. I'm sure my facial features were different, though.

I was also sure one of my ribs were cracked, but he was mad. My fear and arousal both soared higher still, as he lifted me by my hair. Yes, that's right, he put his hand in my hair, grabbed it, and lifted me. He grabbed my arms with his other arm, my fear preventing me from reacting in time to fight back. I think it was my fear, anyhow. He threw me into his chair, my arms behind the back, stuck there. He then pulled my right leg up, and pushed it back. The strain on my lower back and hip joint caused an irritating burning, but it didn't compare to my ankle or rib.

He then grabbed my othewr ankle and pushed both of my legs back until I was scrunched up. My knees were to the sides of my head, and my feet up above me The chair slid back against the wall, but I was still scared it might fall over. As I worried about that, he put his body againt my right leg and then did something behind the chair with his hands. Before I could figure out what he was doing, there was a metal cuff on my ankle, holding that leg in that uncomfortable position. Soon, my other ankle was similarily cuffed, except that ankle hurt tremendously from it.

He stepped back, as though to let me consider my folded up helplessness. The fear was paralyzing, but the arousal seemed to negate it. The only reason I wasn't simply watching like a deer stuck in the headlights was probably just because of the pain. I tried to adjust myself, unfold myself, make it easier to breath, but that ankle seemed to just swell and hurt. My rib hurt more with the folding of my mid-section, and my nose was still bleeding.

Then I saw his cock. It was pretty big, actually. Probably about seven to eight inches. And the way I was tied up in that chair forced me to watch as he crouched slightly to align it with my asshole. I had a sudden euphoria. This was it. This was the epitome of my sexual desires. He was using me for his sexual pleasure, with zero regard for mine. That first thrust in was a doozy. s still over an inch left out, yet it still felt like someone had punched my intestine. There was a sharp pain that ran along my spine.

That strange euphoria, though, took that sharp pain, combined it with all my other pain, and made me desire more. It still hurt, but it hurt good! That sharp pain continued every time he slammed his dick into my ass, but I liked it. I loved it. Soon, the pain faded, and became simple pleasure. Before I knew it I was moaning longingly into the gag as I had the best orgasm I had ever had in my entire life. I barely even realized it when he pulled out and came all over my face and shirt. I laid there in a daze as he released my ankles, allowing my legs to flop to the floor and relieving all the weight I had been supporting with my neck. I looked up at him as he stood over me. He looked triumphant and glorious.

"I gave you your dream, the least you could do is clean up this mess" He said to me as he pulled up his pants. My consciousness was returning to normal, though I couldn't say what it was doing before, exactly, as he turned and left the classroom.

I did clean the mess up. First I got dressed, though. I was in an excellent mood, even though I was in so much pain. I didn't know if my ankle was really broken, but I doubted it since I could walk. It took far to long getting to my room that night., but nobody was awake when I got there., so I went to my room and masturbated for hours. I used my toys, but I wasn't nearly as rough as he was. I couldn't be, it hurt! But I was so turned on by it I couldn't resist. I was in and out of consciousness all night, and I masturbated every time I woke up.

Every time I want to Prof. Brown's class, I made sure to wear a short skirt with no underwear, and I'd opn my legs when he looked at me. I wanted him to ask me back for some night lessons. I was too scared to go by myself, but I'd have to if he asked me to! Don't ask me to explain, I know I'm not reasonable, or even sane. All I know is I love getting raped.

Back to Q Collection ::::|::::: Back to main page