She Violates Me

She and I had just been joking around at first. We were naked, and alone, and aroused, and having fun. She had pulled a strap-on out of her dresser drawer and we both laughed. I teased her, "Wouldn't you like to use that on me?"

"Yes, I would," she laughed.

"OK, go ahead," I joked. At least I thought I was joking. But she advanced on me, and as I backed away she kept advancing.

"Come on," she said. "You know you want it."

"No I don't," I said, still backing away. Then I tripped over a table and fell to my back. Quickly she straddled me, the fake penis poking me in the chest.

"See," she said, "it won't be that bad."

I squirmed beneath her but she was surprisingly tenacious, despite her small size and feminine looks. She grabbed one of her stockings from the floor, where it had landed earlier, and tied my wrists together. Sure, I struggled, but not too much: part of me was strangely curious about where this was going.

Once my wrists were tied she rose and stood between my legs. I floundered for a minute, unable to get up because of my bound hands, until she seized both my ankles and lifted them up, forcing me onto my back again. With the leverage she had from standing over me, she bent me double, forcing my knees to my chest. "Stop it!" I ordered, now getting a little mad. She laughed at my helplessness, and I was helpless. This petite woman had me trapped, and despite my frantic kicking I couldn't get out from underneath her. It was humiliating to be completely at the mercy of this small, sexy woman.

"Here we go!" she giggled, the dildo contacting my anus. I clenched futilely but with a sudden thrust of her pelvis she forced it in, half and inch at first, then further and further. Tears streamed down my cheeks involuntarily. I bucked and kicked but couldn't free my legs from her grip, her polished nails dug into my skin, her lipsticked lips taunted me as I was overwhelmed with pain, with humiliation...and with a bizarre pleasure! Was this how it felt to be a woman? My own penis, smaller than the fake one she was forcing into me, was so hard it hurt too. She noticed this and reached down and stroked it once, and I exploded, shooting all over my chest and face. She laughed and moaned and continued raping me. Soon she was lost in a world of her own, while I lost my ability to struggle against her and simply accepted my fate.

Finally, she withdrew from my rear end and let my legs go. They flopped to the floor and I lay there unable to move, defeated, taken, emasculated. Strangely, though, even if I felt less a man, I felt more complete as a person. I was in pain, I was scarred...but satisfied. We were both satisfied. She removed the strap-on and let it fall to the ground next to my face. I lay still...thinking unclear thoughts, feeling a jumble of emotions, as she walked out of the room. She may have been gone five minutes or maybe an hour...I don't know...I was so confused...she had RAPED me...she had taken me...I had let her...she had enjoyed it...and so had I.

* * * * * * * * * * *

When she returned she had a big plate of food. She sat on the floor beside me, cross-legged, and started eating. She fed me, too, placing bites gingerly into my mouth, occasionally stroking and caressing me tenderly. Finally we spoke, softly at first...we were close now, in a way we could never have been before.

"You OK?" she asked.

"Yeah. I...I don't know." She waited as I tried to talk. "I feel like you ripped me apart...I wasn't made for that."

She smiled and rubbed my cheek. "Yeah. But it was good, wasn't it?"

"It hurt."

"You needed to hurt."

We talked a little more and ate some more. I was staring at the ceiling as she occasionally put morsels of food in my mouth. She then put something else in my mouth, and I spit it out--it was the tip of the strap-on.

"What are you doing!?"

"We're doing it again," she said. Her tone was assertive but compassionate.

"No we're not! I'm not!"

"Yes you are," she spoke, more strictly this time. "And you better lube it up first with your spit. It won't hurt as much, that way."

I struggled to get away from her. My hands were still tied, and my insides felt damaged, and somehow she ended up controlling me. This petite woman, this feminine woman, this woman with red toenails and fingernails, soon had me draped over the arm of the sofa. My face was pressed down in the cushions, my rear end in the air, her fingernails digging into my back. "You want it," she kept saying.

"No I don't!" I protested. Maybe I did, though. How else could a woman 40 pounds lighter than me have overpowered me? I was confused, afraid, even more so this time that I knew how it felt...and yet again I was excited...aroused in a way I'd never been before this day.

This time she was less gentle. She raped me like a bull takes a cow, like a man violates some woman in a dark alley...she ripped me, she tore my back with her fingernails, she laughed at me protests and cries...she kneed me in the back of my thighs when I tried to kick her...she called me a wimp and a pussy, said that she was using me like a real man used a woman, told me that I was nothing but the asshole she was reaming out...and I cried and screamed and couldn't get away...and I came myself in such a violent climax, even as it felt like she was tearing my pelvis in half my penis shot out its payload and now my scream was one of joy and passion along with the pain and despair. She jerked out of me, and even that hurt...and she threw me to the floor...

I lay helpless under her. She put one foot on my stomach and wiped my own cum around on it, then wiped that on my face. "Lick it," she cooed, and I did. I had no choice, no freedom...I was freed from choice, liberated, totally at her control.

I was hers.

"I love you," I said.

"I love you, too."