The following dark story has themes of non-consent sex, humiliation, abuse and other dark themes. If such content offends you, please do not read. This is an erotic FICTION story not meant as any sort of gender, political or societal protest. This is purely for entertainment and never meant to happen in reality. If you have issues with such kinks, please do not read. All characters are 18+.
"
NOOO!
" The college aged woman screams in terror as she tries to run away from me on this very dark night. The scream that comes out of her is so filled with emotion that it could make the coldest of hearts seize up with worry for her. But it only makes me want to laugh.
The very fit and sexy woman runs as fast as her legs can take her through the dark, empty park, but if only she was as fast and smart as she was beautiful she might have a chance against me. But in her panicked mind, she makes sure to stay on the trail, making it extremely easy to follow thanks to the overhead lights. If she went into the woods or anywhere else where the light wasn't so good she might have had a chance.
Toying with her, I run right behind her, my forty-two year old body playfully slapping at her, hitting a different place each time. I do this while laughing not to mention slapping that nice firm ass of hers every so often. I know what I'm doing is something a younger brother would do to his older sister to annoy her, but I can't help it, it's damn funny. Only it doesn't annoy the pretty woman but terrifies her.
"
HELP!
" The woman screams, putting her soul into the scream which makes me laugh harder. Does she really think there's anyone here to save her? She could scream all night long and no one would hear.
Deciding I've had enough, I pick up the pace to move next to her where I wrap my right arm around her and lift. Doing this takes her off her feet, but she isn't going down without a fight. The woman kicks her feet and swings her arms, struggling with all her might. It's actually quite impressive how much fight she has.
To put an end to this, I lift her with both arms only to slam her to the ground, right on her back. This is a hard slam too, much like a legit wrestling move to stun an opponent.
The slender woman hits the ground with a hard thud, all the fight being knocked out of her as she's knocked silly. Instantly the insane fighting spirit she had disappears, leaving a groaning scared woman that will be so easy to rape and humiliate.
Dropping down, I straddle her hips, my ass pinning down her legs. I do this because I know kicking is going to be her best defense, so I want to negate it. I then lean over, using my hands to try and pin her arms. While doing so, I do notice a rather cute tattoo that the woman has on her forearm. It's Tina from Bob's Burgers in a dancing pose.
"
NO!
" The woman screams in a high-pitched scream, trying with all her might to get free. This makes me laugh, hard. A laugh that is even louder than her screams.
"
NOOOOO!
" I scream, my deep male voice sounding so different from the unknown female victim as I sit up in bed, all alone in my apartment. My bedroom is dark and very empty to the point my fear laden scream echoes back to me.
Covered in sweat, I frantically look around, expecting the rapist and victim to be here, even if I am in my apartment and not in some park. My heart pounds like a jackhammer as I look around over and over, knowing that I'm alone but still checking repeatedly.
Knowing that I am indeed alone, I look at the clock on the nightstand. It shows that it is three in the morning. To this I scoff as for some reason, the nightmares always hit at three.
Sitting on the side of my bed, I place my hands to my face and try to get the nightmare out of my head. Like having food poisoning, the nightmare lingers, the traces of it refusing to leave, making me feel like shit. This time it's the woman's scream that sticks with me. It pierces my soul and stabs me, making me feel like I was the one raping her, when I could never do that to anyone. The poor woman was truly scared for her life, and I can't help but feel like I was the one doing it.
This is yet another one of the damn realistic nightmares that have plagued me for a while now. A nightmare that feels more like a bad LSD trip than a dream. A nightmare where I am forced to watch some crazed rapist take his victim, only from his point-of-view.
They started about two months ago and damn it if I don't have at least one a week. Never on the same day, but always with the same man. On a good week there's only one nightmare. On the worst week, every night of the week I was forced to watch that asshole rape a different victim.
Whomever the man is, he is a complete bastard. On purpose he doesn't just rape the woman and with her go, but instead toys with them. Plays cat and mouse with them, setting up traps and watching his victims take the bait. Where he gets off not on the sex of it, but at the humiliation he forces on them.
The nightmares are bad enough, but what makes them unbearable is it feels like I'm the one doing it. That I'm the one doing those evil acts to those women. This is because it's so fucking realistic. If it was more dreamlike, it wouldn't be so bad, but it feels so real.
When I say it feels real, I really mean it. And not the big things that you think would make a dream feel realistic, like how cool the night air was in the dream. I mean the tiny, tiny details, like how the woman had tiny beads of sweat on her forehead from running. Or the way the dirt stuck to her stomach from being slammed to the ground.
There's really only one question that matters to me. Why the fuck am I dreaming of raping women? That is not like me at all. I've never forced anyone, especially not for sex. That's just not me. Hell, I don't even like BDSM porn for hell's sake. So why is my mind thinking of this stuff and forcing me to watch it? Is it some sort of self-punishment?
With the nightmare still lingering in the front of my brain, I get up and walk around my empty apartment. My body is still trembling, almost shaking from how intense it was, as unmanly as that may be. By how large I am, you would think nothing could rattle me, but these nightmares do.
I'm six foot three and two hundred and eighty pounds of mostly muscle, which took me a while to reach. The weight, not the height. I'm the type of guy most look at and think someone like me could get hit by a car and be fine. Yet a nightmare comes in and wipes me out more than a gunshot could.
As I often do when I can't sleep, I consider working out. Doing exercises is how I spend a lot of my time, not because I am some gym-rat but because it calms me. I'm not sure why but working out always calms me down no matter how badly I am stressed. From weightlifting to stretching, it reaches a place in my soul where I always calm down.
Instead of working out, I sit on my couch knowing it is too early to be making that sort of noise. Working out would no doubt make all sorts of noise, not to mention make the floor groan which would wake my neighbors. So instead I sit on the couch, listening to the silence trying to figure out why I am having these dreams.
The few friends I've actually told about my nightmares say it's my brain's way of coping with stress. That I must be dealing with something huge, and this is the only way my mind can process it. That may be true, but what this great amount of stress is, I don't know. There's no big stress in my life. Hell, the most exciting thing to happen to me is when I wasn't looking where I was going and ran into a brick wall. And that wasn't stressful but hilarious.
Each dream I have always has a different woman. Isn't that strange? Don't stress dreams repeat themselves? So wouldn't it be the same woman...or women? Or am I thinking of what some movie might have said?
The last dream I had before tonight was what, five days ago? That dream was about the girl that got tricked at Lloyd's bar. Lloyd's bar is the bar I go to whenever I go out drinking, or at least the bar I used to go to. Thanks to the nightmare, that may end.
As I sit in the darkness of my apartment, I replay that nightmare in perfect clarity. I remember how that pretty black girl came up to the bar where I was sitting, trying to ask the bartender where the bathroom was. As the bar was packed and had loud music playing, the bartender couldn't hear her.
Instead of telling her the bathroom was in the far corner of the dive bar, I heard the nightmare version of myself tell her it was behind the storeroom door. For her to go through the door and she would see it. And being the trusting type, the good-looking black woman did just that, only to discover the room was a storeroom and not the bathroom. By that point it was too late.
I watched myself go into the storeroom after her and close the door. Saw myself slap her several times before pinning her down on top of a keg. She screamed and screamed, but the loud music masked all sounds as my nightmare-self raped her.
In something I won't admit to anyone, I thought for a while I was getting psychic visions or something. That I was watching some rapist commit his crimes via a supernatural connection of some sort. This didn't make any logical sense, but in a way it did, at least to me. I mean, all the nightmares take place somewhere I know.
But nope. I looked at the local crime reports and found nothing related to any rapes. I did Google searches for the victims, only to find squat. I even asked around at the places where I dreamed the rapes happened, and nothing was ever reported. If there is a serial rapist around here, something would have been reported by now.
Confused, tired and feeling ashamed of myself as if I raped that poor woman, I lean back on my couch. I stay like this until I find myself waking up, having dozed off. Glancing at the clock again, I see it is now five thirty.
Deciding it's close enough to six, which is when the gym opens, I stand up and grab my workout gear. There is still several hours before work, so I have time to kill, and I know this will work out any remaining threads from the nightmare.
