Shower

His hands catch your waist and stop you in mid-thrust. "Nooooooo," you moan. You hate yourself for giving in so easily to your sexual desires. This is so humiliating to actually want to fuck a dildo.

You wait for his next command. "Shall I allow you to orgasm?" that damn whisper again.

You want to tell him to go fuck himself. But the word that comes out of your mouth is "Yes, oh yes."

"Yes what?"

"Yes, I would like to be allowed to have an orgasm." Your legs still quiver in your need.

"Sir," he whispers sternly.

"Yes, Sir," you whisper back.

HE moves back behind you and SMACKS you on your sore ass cheek. You push back onto the fake phallus and feel it slide into you deliciously. You nipples again slide over a rough surface causing pain. You push that to the back of your mind and set up a rhythm that ends with a hand striking your ass every time you bottom out. You start slowly but are soon pushing back with abandon.

"Would you like to cum?" that whisper again.

"Please," you almost shout, "Please let me cum". The room echoes as his hand strikes the reddened flesh again and again. You wait, listening, feeling his hand hitting spots already made sore.

"Cum," HE whispers. Like a dam bursting, you go over the edge. All thought of your cramping legs and arms are forgotten. You push back hard and hold yourself spasming against the fake cock. Then back off and onto it again, pausing while another set of contractions grip the dildo. Again. And again. Until you can't do it anymore. Can't even keep your feet under yourself. You hang by your arms until HE grabs you around the middle and lifts you up. The rope is untied and you collapse on the floor, your muscles still contracting around an empty cunt. You are vaguely aware that HE is picking you up and carrying you...

When you awake, you are in your bed, naked. It HAS all been a nightmare as you suspected. That is until you move. Every muscle aches. You crawl out of bed and manage to stand. Everything is as it should be, except a table slid over under a plant hook. As you move over to it, you see that a sheet of sandpaper has been taped onto it. You run a finger over a nipple and it screams back at you.

A bath is in order and you run one and luxuriate in the warmth of a bubble bath. The aches don't seem so bad now. You know you should you report this rape. What will you say when they ask, "Did HE penetrated you? Is there any semen for a DNA test? Did HE threaten you with a weapon? Why you didn't scream?" Will you have to tell them that HE gave you the best orgasm of your life? You shake your head and try and relax again in the hot soapy water.

Later, you towel dry and walk naked into the kitchen feeling somehow different than before. A glass of white wine finishes your spa treatment leaning against the counter. You rip the sandpaper off the tabletop and start to throw it away. Something stops you, and you take it into the bedroom and slide under the covers.

Your hand finds its way into your pussy, quite moist, and you begin to rub it. Visions of the afternoon visitation flood your mind unbidden, causing you to arch up against your fingers almost immediately. You grab the sandpaper in the other hand and close your eyes. You rub it over your sensitive nipples and imagine that the fire is caused by HIM. Your cunt climbs higher and higher off the bed and you cum, and cum, and cum again. Finally after the third one, you let the sandpaper slip to the floor and exhausted, curl up in a ball and go fast sleep.