I want to...be raped



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For as long as I can remember, my most potent fantasies have been dark. Thoughts of being taken by force have kept me in masturbatory nirvana for years. When I want to come, even with a gentle lover, I imagine his hand covering my mouth as he forces his erection inside of me. This sends me over the edge.

Being sexually adventurous, I had asked a lover or two if they’d consider raping me. They demurred. Rape—even consensual rape—remains a huge taboo. Before I started dating Victor, we spent hours discussing our fantasies and found them remarkably similar. While our sexual encounters always featured rough sex, rape—our ultimate fantasy—was something we put on the back burner until we truly trusted one another.

One evening, knowing I had the house to myself, Victor called. “Leave the door unlocked,” he said. I didn’t take him seriously until I heard his knock. When he flung open the door he grabbed my hair, pulling me toward him.

“I told you to leave the door unlocked, didn’t I, bitch?” he said, punctuating the question with a stinging slap to my face. Relentlessly, he dragged me into the den, pushed me to my knees and forced his rock-hard erection down my throat. When I came up for air, I was crying. We’d done all this before, but this was different. Without the sporadic laughter and smiles, no matter how rough our scenes were, it felt eerily authentic.

I was dazed as his hands grabbed the front of my sweater and ripped it down the middle. My pants were next. My clothes in tatters, I struggled as he bent me over the arm of the sofa. Reaching into his pocket, he unfolded a small, sharp knife and held it to my throat, bringing a rapid end to my resistance. I knew he wouldn’t really hurt me, but I was frightened enough that my tears had turned to wrenching sobs by the time he forced his cock between my legs. Each stroke became more violent as he continued driving into me. I remember thinking how awful and terrifying this would be had it been real, a true crime of rage and violence, and not something that had been agreed to.

After he came, I collapsed on the floor. He grabbed me and dragged me to my bedroom. He threw me on the bed, laid me over his lap, working his fist inside me. I was scared, but I had never been wetter. When I screamed and resisted, he covered my mouth with his hand. As I felt his fingers begin to cover my nose, panic set in. I couldn’t breathe. Finally, his hand still over my mouth, I mumbled my safe word.

He stopped immediately, holding me to his chest, letting me cry until I could speak again. When I was calm, he asked me what had happened. Smiling softly, he told me that I had been breathing; he could feel my inhalations and exhalations on his hand. He kissed me, and got up to make us soothing cups of tea as we continued to talk.

It took me a long time to feel like myself again. Weeks passed during which I felt off and edgy. Even now, months later, a combination of fear and excitement overwhelms me as I think about that night. Though I had used my safe word—something I had never done before—we both agreed that it would be safe, and very hot, to try this experience again.

Jamie says:

It takes effort and planning to create the successful illusion of forced sex. Since it would be counterproductive to agree to every permissible action beforehand, establish safe words. They allow the dominant party to improvise without constantly worrying if they’ve gone too far.

*Writer’s name has been changed to protect them from their mother.

Users say


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