Date Rape Me Ch. 03

I had been trying to myself get date-raped again for a few months. It had already happened on two separate occasions, both at the hands of my former lover, John. But now John was gone and...well, I wanted to get raped again. I was determined to make it happen again, and for it to feel authentic.

Then, one night, it happened. Just like that.

I was at a comedy club, all alone and dressed very promiscuously in a tiny red dress and no bra or panties (how else am I gonna get myself raped?) and six-inch patent leather stilettos, with more than enough of my huge rack and long legs on display for the world to see.

All evening long I'd flirted shamelessly with a handsome older man across the room, smiling, running my tongue along my full "cocksucking" lips, biting my bottom lip, licking the rim of my cocktail, leaning forward to show him my cleavage. He never stopped watching me. He must've had six drinks sent over to me by the time the show ended. Very stiff drinks.

This was my favorite pastime. At least two nights a week I dressed up like a total whore and went out, hoping to get sexually assaulted. I flaunted my massive titties, wore no underwear, and carried lip gloss and cash in my cleavage instead of taking a purse.

Because how would I keep track of a purse if I was getting knocked out and thrown into the trunk of a car? I'd head somewhere filthy— seedy bars, porno theaters, public parks, truck stops, cheap motel clubs. Any time I found a big group of men, I'd sit down and get hammered, making sure they were watching. I'd leave my drink unattended. I'd walk down all the dark alleys.

Don't get me wrong, I got fucked a LOT. But never raped. Usually the man would kiss me tentatively and I, the depraved little cumslut that I am, would give in and let him suck my giant breasts and fuck my face. I always let them screw my ass. But it was always consensual, and I didn't want consensual anymore. I wanted to scream and cry and beg while a cruel stranger brutalized and violated me.

Little did I know it then, sitting at my little table listening to the comedian tell his jokes and making eyes at this mystery man, that later that night I'd be getting my wish. And then some.

The show ended and the place started to clear out, but I took my time, enjoying all the husbands ogling my expansive chest. I was hoping to meet my mystery man. And it worked! I went to visit the ladies' room, and right as I exited and stepped back into the hallway, I ran headfirst into my flirtatious male friend, and felt positively giddy when I noticed he wasn't smiling.

I blushed as he scowled and devoured my lush body with his eyes, lingering on my natural 36G breasts, which sat high and proud on my chest and accentuated my tiny waist. He made a guttural, growling noise—the sound a man makes when he's angry and wants to hurt and fuck—and grabbed me roughly by the arm, pushing me right back into the ladies' room. He called me a slut, smacked me me hard across the face with his open palm, and pushed me onto the cold tile floor.

My heart pounded and my cunt creamed as he locked the door and returned to stand in front of me. He had an enormous protruding bulge in the front of his pants, and I realized he was going to use it on me. Hurt me with it. I licked my lips and shivered with anticipation.

Having a pair of huge natural breasts has always been a blessing in my life, especially when I'm getting fucked, but on that night, my big titties saved me from getting raped up the ass on a dirty bathroom floor. Don't feel sorry for me though—a thorough, brutal violation of my inexperienced asshole was right around the corner.

On this night, my handsome assailant showed me a taser and told me he'd use it if I screamed. He told me to pull my dress down and get my titties out, which I did almost enthusiastically. Assault or no assault, I always love the moment when a man sees my bare breasts for the first time. They looked even bigger when they were naked.

This man, just like all the others who have seen my beautiful chest, gasped audibly as my young, overdeveloped breasts popped out over the top of my dress and sprung forward to greet him. They protruded more than a foot away from my body, slightly torpedo-shaped with no hint of sag. They seemed to be at attention, nipples fully erect. Huge jugs ready to do their job and please this man.

He regarded me for a little while, gazing from my chest to my mouth and back down again. When he finally spoke, I was almost disappointed by what he said.

"You've been such a fucking slut tonight. And what I'm about to do to you—you did this to yourself by wearing that dress and flirting with me like that. And for drinking so much. You have been asking for it, and I am going to fucking give it to you, bitch. Men can't help themselves, don't you know that? It's up to you to not get raped. It's not up to me. But..." he trailed off.

I found myself thrusting my breasts toward him from my place on the floor. Offering them. My erect nipples pointed right at him, as if in invitation.

"But I'm not going to. At least, I'm not gonna push your face into the toilet and rape you up the ass and beat the fuck out of you like I've been planning to do all night. No. Not you. I'll find some other dumb slut later and force my dick up her ass. Maybe my 18-year-old daughter. Or maybe I'll just follow you home. For now, though, your asshole is safe from my big, mean dick. No, I'm gonna rape those huge titties instead."

With that, he unbuckled his belt, unfastened his pants, and pulled out his enormous erection.

A minute later I was seated on a closed toilet with my big fleshy tits wrapped around this man's deliciously big dick. He stood in front of me, taser in hand, looking down as I worked my magic.

I'm an expert at tittyfucking. You can't have a set this big without getting them fucked constantly. In fact, I almost always end up with a cock between my tits on the first date, usually before we even leave for dinner. This speeds things along so that he can eat and fuck my cunt later, and if he spends the night, I can score a proper ass-pounding in the morning. It's just common sense.

I thought about this as I skillfully titfucked my rapist. His cock wasn't even visible between my mountainous breasts, except for when the head rhythmically appeared and hit me in the chin. He wasn't using his hands at all. At least not until the moment he put the taser down on a stall shelf and wrapped them around my throat.

For the next ten minutes I fucked this man with my breasts as he choked me firmly, slapped my face, and called me filthy names. He was being cruel and it made my cunt drool. If I hadn't had both hands on my titties I would've fingered myself.

Then my attacker grunted and I knew he was close. He slapped my face as hard as he could, and that little act of violence pushed him over the edge. I felt his cock erupt on my chest as he grunted and swore and called me a piece of slut trash. Then I released his dick from between my breasts and sat obediently, holding them up to him as he pumped several more loads of his thick, salty cum on my tits, neck, and face.

Quite a bit of his yummy seed got in my mouth, and without any prompting, I opened my mouth and looked up to show him my vulgar, cum-coated tongue. He groaned at the sight, looked down at me almost lovingly, and blasted a few more loads into my mouth.

Then he was finished. He hit me again, this time much harder than before, and told me to swallow every drop, that I was lucky he'd let me taste it, that it was a privilege to drink his sperm, that I better lick it all off my big whore tits like the fucking cumslut I am, that he would tase the fuck out of me if I didn't, that he might just slit my throat instead.

His words sent jolts of pleasure rippling through my soaked pussy as I happily obliged. Of course I was gonna eat his cum. I fucking love cum.

He kept to his word—he didn't tase me. And he didn't rape me up the ass. Instead, he put his hands around my neck again and choked me out right there on the toilet. He squeezed cruelly, growling, cutting off all my air, calling me a cunt, saying "you're welcome" over and over.

The last thing I remember before my world went black was my rapist spitting on my face.

I woke up about an hour later on the floor of the stall, tits out, dress hiked up around my waist. There was a man standing over me, clucking and murmuring and taking pictures of me with his camera phone. The club's janitor. I let my legs fall open and gave him a good view of my perfect bald snatch. He took several pics of it and then ran out of the room, probably embarrassed at having been caught, definitely going somewhere to jerk off.

So I laid on my back, splayed out on the floor of a filthy ladies' restroom, with my freshly-fucked big beauties pointing up at the ceiling, thinking about the bruises that were already forming around my neck. I realized rapist cum tasted much better than regular cum, and I knew I'd be needing more and more of it. Then I fingered the fuck out of my horny cunt and screamed as I came.

*****

Turns out, my huge-cocked mystery man DID follow me home that night. He covered my mouth with his hand and pressed a knife to my throat as I was unlocking my front door.

He got me properly restrained and subdued face-down on my living room floor and spent the next ten hours raping my ass, pulling my hair, calling me names, and beating me brutally. The only lube he used was his spit. He blasted at least seven loads of hot cum deep in my ass.

I must've cum 100 times.