Wishes Come True

My hands were tied behind my head to the bedstand, so I could be on my back, or flipped over on my front, whichever my rapist wanted.

I was being raped in front of a crowd. My rapist? He was the most wonderful, sweetest, kindest, man. He would never have done anything like this. And it had taken me ages to build him up to this point of vindictive, retaliatory, purely animalistic fucking. The absolute sexual use of my body, that I had craved for so long.

Currently he had me on my belly, my legs together, fucking me in my ass and my pussy; a few strokes in my ass, then he would pull out, leaving me gasping like a fish out of water, then brutally, lovingly, force himself into my pussy, plundering my vagina, banging against my cervix with his long cock. Then pulling out, leaving me gasping for breath. The cycle would repeat.

And every time he plunged his cock in my ass, or my vagina, my body shuddering ecstatically in response to his violation, the crowd would yell and jeer. In between he was slapping my ass, hard, with all his manly strength, my cheeks glowing cherry red! Every red-hot slap of his large, man-hands on my ass, as his cock railed in and out of my vagina or my ass, sending bolts of pleasure rippling through my body.

And when he had me on my back? Oh, that was all I had hoped for as well! I was utterly helpless to his every whim, and I was forced to watch it all! He was between my spread legs, his cock buried in my body so deeply I could feel his heartbeat throb in his cock through the walls of my vagina. His breath blowing hot across my face, chest and belly! He would slap my breasts, viciously. Pinch my nipples until the glorious sensation over-powered even his thrusting against my clit, my vagina, knocking the breath out of me with every thrust. Or hold one or both of his hands on my throat in a choke-hold.

I wanted to be raped. If I was being raped, I wasn't breaking my marital vows. It wasn't my fault. The way I had set it all up, it wasn't even his fault he was using me for his own pleasure. Oh, you just don't know what a wonderful, sweet man, my rapist is, ordinarily.

And I deserved every bit of this rough treatment. Oh, to get this, of which I had dreamed for so long, I had had to conspire to get his wife raped. There was no doubt I had pushed him to this. No doubt that I deserved every bit of this.

And since I had done this to him, over so long a period of bringing out this incredible, rapacious, all-consuming beast with him? I was giving him everything I had. I was wet for him, wetter than I had ever been for my husband. Wetter than I had been for his wife. When he slapped my breasts, pinched my nipples or clit, I screamed! When he shoved his cock in my ass, I howled! When he was plowing his cock in my vagina, I shouted,

"More! Please, more! Harder!"

And when his hands slapped down hard on my up-turned ass, or against my breasts, I cried out in the ecstasy those bolts of pain shot through my entire body! I wanted him to have every last part of me. My body, all of my heart and soul! All for his animal, raping, pleasure.

"Beware the fury of a patient man," the old saying goes. I closed my eyes as the latest orgasm wracked through my body, shattering every barrier of polite society.

I was still shrieking with joy, my chest heaving, as I felt him flip me over on my belly. He lifted my ass in the air, forcefully spread my legs, dug his fingers into my hips, and sank his cock deeply into my ass yet again. I had lost count by this time, but I will never forget how incredible it felt each time his cock plundered my anus to its limit, his belly against my ass, he was buried so deeply within me.

What? No. I am not joking. I am not just "getting so fucked out of my mind I don't know what I'm talking about." When I say my rapist was the sweetest, kindest, most gentle man? I'm serious.