Marrying My Rape Victim

Summary: After an amazing night with an amazing man, Missy was feeling on top of the world, until that man - the tall, dark, handsome and dominant William declared his love for her and raped her. Now, by law, they must marry. Today is the day of the wedding.

Author's note: While the groom/rapist loves Missy very deeply and tries to be gentle with her, the rape that takes place in this story is emotionally brutal and reduces her to tears. If you're not into non-consent fantasies, this is not for you.

_______________________________________________________________

*Rape victim,* Missy thought to herself, holding her own eye contact in the mirror. It had been days and the words weren't any easier to place on herself.

She resisted the instinct to fan her eyes, holding onto her bouquet of flowers instead with both hands. Even though her makeup was waterproof, she still feared it would run as she held back tears.

A life destroyed looked back at her.

*It's law,* marrying one's rapist.

He'd been her employer's boss at one point. Ten years her senior, but he'd been handsome - really handsome, and dapper, wearing a suit and tie and having a pleasant scent to him that she'd suspected was natural. Tall and strong. Far too strong for her to fight. She'd been nervous and way out of her depth at the gala, underdressed and shy, but somehow she'd ended up having a really great time with him. Charming, funny, and the only person there she could talk to. They'd talked about anything and everything - she'd even told him some things she hadn't really meant to, but he'd taken it all in stride.

Maybe it had been the champagne, but she would have said yes to seeing him again. She might have even said yes to a date.

Then he'd said he loved her.

For a full night, from just after eleven thirty at night till nearly three in the morning, he'd had her. Bouts of being fucked by him against her will. Of crying, of being forcibly cuddled - sometimes with him inside her - and of him using her in different positions to find how he liked her best, alternating between being rough with her and gentle. Over and over again, he'd filled her private area with his unwanted seed. He'd even forced himself inside her *mouth*.

She'd never even had sex before.

Now she wore her wedding dress, set to marry him, as was the law. It stung her to wear it. It was flattering for her figure, styled in a way that she liked, and it was obviously expensive. It really did make her feel like a princess, and that was the problem. It was a dress she was supposed to wear for a man that she loved, but it was for him. All to make her look beautiful for *him*.

He'd gone all out with the rest of the wedding too, hiring the cars, the hairdressers and makeup artists who'd worked on her, the hotel rooms, the venue, everything, and he'd paid for all of it. Obligated by the law or not, he'd gone out of his way to make it a big event, reaching out to and inviting many of the people in her life to the ceremony. So many of the people in his life were coming too.

Being on the wrong side of the law simply hadn't been an issue for him.

He'd talked to her a lot the morning after it had happened. Consoled her as her life lay in ruins, held her as she'd cried, then head off to speak with the police.

Later that day, she'd heard from her parents. He'd been to see them, told them everything, and had gotten her father's permission for her hand, even talked to her mother to help design the wedding with both of them in mind. Supposedly they'd been upset at first to hear that their daughter had been raped, but now they somehow liked him.

She was so lucky, they'd told her, to have a fiancé like him, especially since she'd 'clearly had such chemistry with him that he was already willing to spend the rest of his life with her'. Her friends had been the same way. The guests all knew why the wedding was happening - what he'd done to her - they were just keeping quiet about it, or somehow they really didn't think it was a big deal.

Only he really seemed to understand her view of things, and that had hurt as much as anything else. That even after everything he'd done, after her night of hell, he'd had the gall to try to be considerate. Even when she'd been completely unable to be around him, he'd been right there to cry with when everyone else was being so casual about everything.

She looked down at the dress and briefly considered tearing it off.

What kind of life was this?

"I know it's bad luck, but I had to see you," he said, and she spun around. Her heart jerking in her chest. He was in the room and she hadn't realized.

"No! Fuck off!" she shouted. She threw the flowers down between them and backed away from him.

William stood in the doorway, his eyes on her. Two chips of blue sky under intense eyebrows, a shadow cast over them by his mop of black hair that was cut short at the sides. That hair almost touched the top of the doorframe he was so tall. A jawline sharp enough to cut. He wore his wedding suit, looking even more handsome than he had that night - black with a grey waistcoat, fitted to his V-shaped figure, a white lily for his buttonhole. He'd had a beard then, and now he was clean-shaven.

*Constrained power,* was what she'd thought when she'd first saw him, like he could reach out and anyone's neck.

He stood there like he was happy.

"I've been thinking about you; I had to come check on you. I can see you're upset, but whatever happens, it's going to be okay today, darling. I want you to know that I love you. However you feel, you do deserve to be happy on your wedding day."

"Fuck off!" She emphasized both words.

He shut the door, leaving the two of them alone, and she backed away further.

"It's been days, Missy. I know how badly you're doing, but I'm telling you, it's going to be okay. I can make it okay."

She ran out of space to back away into, the hotel room bed right behind her. Not having anything to hand, she pulled her hair out of the bun it had been done up in, threw the hairpin to the floor and stamped on it, her hair falling around her face. The hairdressers had worked hard on her hair, but they *really* weren't her concern right now.

His eyes didn't leave hers. The charming smile she'd thought attractive upon meeting him was there.

"I know you felt it too when we met. The love we could have together."

"You're a rapist, you don't know what love is."

"I do, you know. Better than you I think. I knew you were the one for me, and I'm that sure you're going to feel the same way about me too. I love-"

"No! Don't say it!" she cried, tears spilling out of her eyes.

He paused, the blue eyes examining her. "It's true."

He stepped closer, and she froze.

He took hold of her, pulling her into a kiss, and she cried out, her mouth open wide over his, trying to avoid the intimate contact. The feel of his skin was rough against hers. She could smell his scent.

The fact that he would touch her? Kiss her? After what he did to her?

She screamed and brought her hand up to hit him, but he caught her arm before she could connect her palm with his face. He wrapped his arm around her back, locking her to him, and he forced her down to the bed, coming down on top of her.

He continued the unwanted kiss as he brought a hand up to clutch at and maul her breast in his fingers. His other hand went down to her rear end over the dress.

Still crying out, she pushed against his shoulders, slapped him, hard, and he only kept up his assault. He was so much bigger than her. And then a horrible thought occurred to her. *No. Please.*

This was how he'd done it the last time.

"No! No- someone! Help! Rape! Rape!"

She couldn't relive that night. Couldn't be raped again.

"Let's consummate our marriage right now. I love you so much, my darling. You're so sexy. I have to have you."

She kicked, punched, scratched, and reaching down, he lifted her legs up, getting her onto the bed. She scrambled to make a break for it, but he already had one hand around her ankle. Like an animal in a trap.

She kicked his wrist, hard. No reaction. He climbed on top of her, pinning her down at twice her size.

"I assure you, things will change as soon as we connect with each other more, I promise," he said, smiling slightly.

Tears ran out of her eyes.

"No! I'm not consenting! No! No consent!"

Holding her down, he reached down for the skirt portion of her dress. It was long and thick enough that it required some attention to get it up and over her to expose her legs and bottom beneath. One hand on her back, he managed to work her bridal underwear down her thighs.

She clawed at the bed, scrambling for some way to pull herself away from him.

It was going to happen again.

"No! No! I hate you, no! Please! I don't want this!" she cried.

Her vagina was exposed to him, for him to fuck and use. She kicked and fought to get up and away, but he had a hold on her with his hands around her thighs before she could get anywhere, and adjusting his grip on her, he was able to get her underwear down her legs to her ankles. He didn't need them off.

It was going to happen again.

"Please!" she begged. "I won't be your sex slave! Don't make me a sex slave, please!" she cried.

He climbed back on top of her, holding her in place as she thrashed, his weight holding her between himself and the soft mattress. He'd removed his jacket at some point. Something hard that she recognized immediately pressed against her bottom through his pants. His light stubble scratched her cheek.

Then, to her absolute horror, she felt her body reacting to him. Down there.

He'd made her orgasm again and again and again that night. Not because he was trying to, but because her body had liked what he was doing. Her body remembered him, and it wanted more of everything he'd done to her. Missy hadn't known sex until that night, and as it turned out her body had a healthy apatite for it.

"I want you so much, Missy," he said, a hunger in his voice that she knew.

She couldn't give up. Pinned in place, she scrambled for anything she could get hold of to fight him off or pull herself away, even though all logic told her that she couldn't defy his will. Not now, not ever.

There was the sound of a zip and then a pressure against her underside, between her legs.

He was hard.

"No!" she cried, mostly at him, but also at her own body.

*If someone does hear me, they might not help. It's legal now,* said a voice inside her head, barely loud enough to hear over her own voice. The thought took time to sink in.

Kicking was restricted by her underwear. She trashed, reached out, kept trying, but she was stuck.

"It's going to be okay," he said. "I am going to do this, but I do love you."

She felt a pushing, and he was inside her, then another push, a real push, and he was all the way inside her, fully present in her vagina, the forced accommodation squeezing around him for his pleasure and there wasn't a damn thing she could do to stop it. She felt him react, felt her body react.

Her traitorous vagina liked it.

He grunted and moaned, a deep sound, as he hungrily pulled out to thrust into her vagina again.

"No! Pleeeaaase! Why meeee!?" she cried.

Panting and with his face inches from hers, he started fucking her harder, holding her tighter, being rough, using her body to give him pleasure, all while smiling.

A symphony of smacking sounds filled the room as his pelvis struck her backside harder.

"Enjoying yourself, I see," he said. "That's very good."

She screamed, trying to get away, to alert someone, kicked against the bed with her full strength and she barely moved.

He was using her. Using her vagina for his pleasure, and there wasn't any-fucking-thing she could do about it.

The unwanted pleasure was reaching dangerous level, enough that her back was arching without her say so and her hands were gripping the bed sheets against her will, her body betraying her further and further, and with every thrust into her, it got more intense. He pushed against places that made her want to cry out from the pleasure, and every one of them felt like the worst violation she could imagine.

She could hear the pleasure in her own cries.

Tears rolled down her face as she cried, soaking the bed.

"I love you so much, baby girl," he said, his voice gentle. "I'm so sorry you're upset."

Love her? So why was he *fucking* raping her then?

She could almost believe him, despite. He'd been there for her that night too. As hard as he'd fucked her, regardless of what position he'd taken her in, he'd been there for her, been emotionally close for her. Understanding. She wasn't even sure she could've made it through that night without that human connection she had had with him.

The worst part of everything that was happening to her though was that he was the *only* person she could cry to. That *he* had let her cry on his shoulder in the previous days and understood how upset she was and why. Her parents had listened to her story and thought she was asking for it. Her friends had told her that she was lucky to have had a night like that with him. The people at the wedding were thinking that today would be the best day of her life, getting to marry a man they were all sure she would come to love.

She was going to be a sex slave for the rest of her life, and to her own rapist. He would decide what would happen with her. He'd be in charge. This was going to be her life. Getting raped, everyone in favor of it, and the only sympathy she'd get would be from the man doing it to her.

"I fucking hate you," she cried.

He wrapped his arms around her in a hug, not as a way to hold her down.

"I know Missy. But *I* love *you*. I'll show you that," he said, panting. "I will make you happy, whatever it takes."

Thrust, thrust, thrust. His pelvis smacked against her bottom with each one of them, eliciting a gentle pounding sound every time.

In hell, it meant so much to her that he would say that and mean it. She clung his wrist where he was holding her, and he held her more gently in response.

She wept, the sound of it as almost demented where the pleasure was warping her voice. It was ugly crying on top of everything, snot threatening to run our of her nose, tears streaking her face and her body softly jolting with her sobs.

Her hips started bucking with pleasure under him and her legs contorted against her will.

"I mean it. I love you," he stressed.

She felt her potential to orgasm approaching, and having it wasn't a choice for her to make.

William was getting more and more excited too.

Her body exploded with bliss, every muscle in her body tensing up with pleasure, and her vagina throbbing and spasmed around his erection. Her back arched under William.

A spasming inside her and a spreading warmth saw him holding her tightly, speeding up his thrusts and crying out with his own ecstasy.

Her reaction to him had obviously been enough to send him over the edge.

She cried out, not wanting it to happy, but it came out as a happy moan.

Gradually, the spasming stopped and he slowed down his trusts until he was almost still, panting.

"I love you, Missy, and we'll do whatever it takes to get you used to me. Dates, dinners, meeting your friends, anything. We can do it all together."

He hugged her as she slowly ran out of tears. He made one attempt to kiss her, and she pulled her cheek away from him. He didn't try again.

"I'm going to make you really happy with me. I promise, if you knew me now like you will know me, you would've enjoyed this. I would rather have had your consent."

"I hate you," she said.

"I know, but I'll earn your love someday. I didn't expected to be getting married like this, but you make me feel things I haven't felt for a long time. Deep down, that affects every fiber of my being. You're afraid, and so am I, but we'll make it through it all together, as a team."

He went to kiss her again, and she, in her gratitude for actually being listened to, for him being the one person in the world who was there for her, who hadn't betrayed him and was actually being kind to her, let him. The one man who understood her.