Christmas Gift to Myself

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.

"Merry Christmas to me," I softly sob, putting my face in my hands where I feel my long hair get in the way. I'm currently outside HIS apartment complex, feeling not just low, but stupid. Pathetic. Cowardly. In short, like the cunt he said I was so long ago.

I cry, feeling so alone even if there are tons of people that live at this complex. Not that any are in the parking lot with me as I'm sitting in my car. Or that I'm friends with any of them. No, I'm alone, allowed to cry without anyone asking me what's wrong.

My name is Patricia. I'm a 32 year old married woman, who has two great kids. I'm a woman that so many look up to as I not only hold down a full time job, but belong to the PTA, volunteer at church and do my best to help my elderly neighbor keep up her yard so the HOA leaves them alone. I even teach a women's self defense class once a month to help my fellow women feel safer. I do all that while still having dinner prepared for my loving husband and kids.

So why am I crying in the parking lot of a rundown apartment building? Because it's the apartment complex of My Rapist. Yes, my rapist. And I'm about to knock on his door and ask him to rape me again. No, I'm not being blackmailed, nor does he know I'm even here. In a way, it's a Christmas gift for myself, one that I don't really want but feel I need.

Oh, why did it have to happen to me? Everything was fine before he found me. My life was great. My life had purpose. I was happy. I didn't think anything was missing nor did I feel empty in any way.

Then HE had to violate me, which threw everything out the window. He ruined my life, even if no one noticed that anything had changed. My Rapist changed everything about my life, the bastard and I bet he never even thought about it.

It was roughly a year ago that he did it. I was walking to my car from the grocery store. I have always made sure to check if anyone is following me when going to my car and no one was. Then the side door of a normal looking van I was next to opened. Faster than I could react, I was grabbed and pulled inside. Before I knew what was happening, he shut and locked the van door.

The bastard was smart, as much as I hate to admit it. I had always been prepared to fight if grabbed. To take the pervert down to the ground and lock in a painful hold while smashing their balls. But he never tried to hold me. He didn't have to hold me or even hit me because he injected me with a homemade serum with an auto-eject syringe. Stabbed my thigh with it on the outside of my clothes.

From what the police told me later, his homemade serum was part tranquilizer, part XTC, part neuro-agent as well as having many other drugs. It was designed to make the victim more apt to do as they are told while having little strength. The drugs effectively made me so loopy I could barely move, but felt compelled to do as I was told, not to mention made me so aroused that I left a puddle on his van floor.

As much as I want to forget it happened, I can't. Memories and images of what he did pop in my head at the worse possible times. Like when I was giving a presentation at work, the memory of how he made me spread my legs and stick my tits out so he could take pictures popped in my head. It hit me so hard I wasn't able to finish that presentation, making me look so stupid.

Or the many times when I'm eating dinner with my family I'll remember being bent over, feeling him pull down my pants and panties to expose my womanhood. Or remembering him yanking my arms behind me to tie them tight with rope. Only after my name is called repeatedly do I snap out of it and give my focus back to my family.

Since the day of my rape, I've changed. Not that I've shown it externally. But internally? Oh. How different I feel. And a couple of months after the rape, I got this strange itch. An emotional itch, one that I didn't know how to scratch. Where it only got stronger and stronger the more I tried to ignore it.

When I gave in and focused on it, well...that made things worse. I thought if I tried to find out what was causing it, I could overcome it. But no. Instead, when I tried I would go into a trance and do some horrible sexual act without knowing, like putting my hand into my pants to rub my clit in public. Or lift my shirt to expose my breasts while I was gardening in my front yard.

The worst one by far was when I was wrapping the Christmas gifts. I was at the kitchen table, wrapping the gifts like I do every year while my husband was in the living room loading up some Christmas special for the kids. The next thing I know, my pants are to my knees and I'm rubbing a roll of wrapping paper between my legs. Moving the roll up and down while it pressed against my womanhood, softly moaning as I did.

Oh how lucky I was when I caught myself before anyone saw or heard me. I managed to snap out of it and pull my pants up just in time as my husband came in seconds after to tell me what they decided to watch. Humiliated, I had to throw that roll of wrapping paper in the outside trash because even through I was rubbing it on the outside of my panties, it still got too wet to be used.

I think I knew what would cure me from the first time I felt that dark itch, I just didn't want to admit it. The cure was to let HIM rape me again. I say rape and not "have sex with him" because I don't really want this, or at least that is what my brain declares. My body, spirit and vagina? They do want it. They want it bad.

I know I am being stupid. This is dangerous. Super dangerous. I'm basically asking to die. And no one knows I'm here either. Not my husband. Not any friends. Hell, I even left my cell at home so no one would be able to track me via GPS.

Why does my body want this? I don't know for sure, but I think it is because during my rape, I orgasmed for the first real time. I thought I had orgasmed before, but I really hadn't. Only with what that monster did to me, did I orgasm for real.

It was beautiful. It was horrible. It was dark. And I want to feel it again. I need to feel it again. Because I came three times with that monster, even if the entire encounter only lasted fifteen minutes. I felt overwhelming pleasure like I didn't know could exist.

That's why I am here. I want to orgasm again. I want to orgasm like I did that day. In what is poor humor and darkly comical, I have considered this a Christmas gift to myself, in the darkest sense of the word. A gift I know I need or risk going crazy. If I don't, the dark thoughts and urges will continue and I'll end up doing something that will ruin my life.

I already have dark thoughts of things I could do to try and bring that dark feeling back. Such as when I am at the park and my kids are playing, I will spot a creepy man hanging about. The darkness in me makes me want to go up to him, asking him to tie me up and fuck me in the restroom. Oh how I need help.

With my cheeks tear-stained, I open my car door and step out. Finding it sort of pointless to worry about my car with what is about to happen, I leave it unlocked and place my keys under the driver's seat. If my car gets stolen I can maybe come up with a lie that I was carjacked and left here. In the grand scheme of things, I don't really give a shit about my ride any longer.

Feeling stoned due to the edible I ate two hours ago, I start to walk towards the apartment complex. I took the edible thinking it would subdue some of what I am feeling, but it hasn't. Or if it has, I would hate to know what I would be feeling without it. My emotions feel just so extreme. The only thing the edible has really done is make it harder to think.

As I walk towards the apartment complex's door, I know I must look horrible because the few people that walk past me pause to look at me. Each one sort of stops and stares, noting how out of place I am. I'm guessing that is because I'm still crying with an expression that must look like I'm walking to the electric chair.

"M-Merry Christmas," I say to a pair of thick women as they are exiting out of the complex's door. I say this as I need them to keep the door open as I have no key to get in. If it shuts I'll have to wait for someone to let me in.

The two women look at each other with a look of confusion before looking back at me. One of them is directly in the doorway, so when I reach the door I open it wide so she can exit and I can go in. I try to give a faint smile to the woman to show I mean no harm, but I doubt the smile made it to my face.

The woman who is already outside then motions to the other, prompting her to walk out while I hold the door. Both of them do glance at me one last time before walking off each with a look of incredibility.

Something about the two women feels, well, troubling. If it was just them I could write it off as a one-off, but I've noticed the others here having the same sort of look towards me. If I didn't know better I would think they know who I am and why I'm here, which is impossible.

The few people I've seen here are, well, they look a bit scummy. Like they have all been to jail a few times and enjoyed it. The people here, even those two ladies give off the vibe that they are on the bottom rung of the moral scale.

Walking inside the complex, I see a long hallway with doors on both sides. The complex is several stories with a "T" shape to it, where if you walk down far enough you can reach the adjoining hallway. This is the sort of place that is built to cram as many people as possible inside.

With a slow pace, I walk down the hallway as I head to HIS door. I know exactly where My Rapist lives because of the police. They sent an email informing me when he was set to be released from jail. It gave the conditions of his release, such as the restraining order and that any interaction with me would mean instant jail time. All the same, they advised me not go near this address.

I pass door after door, feeling very helpless the closer I get to his apartment. Despite being alone, it feels like someone has a gun pointed at me, even if I'm completely free. It makes me feel very dark and helpless, which is a feeling I'm not used to. It's that feeling that makes my body tremble, showing that it very much likes feeling like this.

"It's my Christmas gift, it's my Christmas gift," I repeat under my breath as if it is a mantra as my walk slows to a crawl. I know thinking that being raped again is a horrible and stupid Christmas gift, but it's the only thing keeping me sane. That my Christmas gift to myself is to have another real orgasm and be free of the dark clutches of the bastard.

I did try to cure myself in other ways. Like how I tried to get my husband to be rough and mean during sex. But after the rape, testifying at trial, and My Rapist going to jail, he just didn't have it in him, if he ever did. No, he treats me like glass that is about to break at any moment. Sex with him is gentle with him caressing everything while going slow, which feels more like rape than the actual rape did as it isn't what I want at all. No matter how many times I told him "harder," or suggest that he choke me, he never did.

"It's my Christmas gift," I repeat as I finally see HIS apartment number. I come up on it, wiping tears off my face. Reaching it, I stop in front of it, reading and re-reading the apartment number.

A part of me hopes he's not home. That I can knock and knock, but he won't come out because he's not here. It's the only thing that could save me as there's no way I could turn and walk away. Yeah, I know the smartest thing to do would be to get the fuck out of here but that's impossible.

"What the fuck do you want?" I hear the gruff and raspy voice of My Rapist, sending a cold shock to run over me. I haven't knocked on the door or made any noise, but I can hear him inside. I hear him headed for the door, making me damn near panic.

Before I can move or even react, the door is flung open. My Rapist steps into the door frame, taking me back to the day he raped me. It feels like he injected me with his serum again as I feel so paralyzed that I can't move.

My Rapist is very deceiving because to look at him, you couldn't pick him out of a crowd. But when you really look at him, you can tell he's different. That he is special in some way. It's such a strange thing to experience.

As he stands in the door frame I can't get over how he looks like a normal person. Just a man in his forties wearing a black wife-beater shirt and gym shorts. His body is lean where it doesn't look like it has any fat on it, but instead of thinking he got it by working out, you would assume he is a drug addict.

When he recognizes me, the scowl and upset look he has disappears. A wide smile replaces it as his mood uplifts at once. Even his eyes twinkle as he looks down at me, being a clear foot taller than me. I can actually feel the atmosphere change when he recognizes me.

"Funbags! How have you been?" My Rapist greets in a very mocking manner. He says it loud too, treating me as if we are old friends that haven't seen each other in forever.

I close my eyes and sigh heavily at hearing that name;

Funbags

. That is the name he called me all throughout my rape. He named me it because I am rather large chested, which he focused on. All throughout the rape he centered on my breasts, groping them, sucking on them, slapping them and even...tying them with his belt while making jokes about them.

"I-I-I-I....I..." I say, trying to get out the prepared statement I had memorized. I had written a small well-prepared speech to say to him. Saying how he may have tried to take my dignity, but failed. That I was stronger than that, and that is why I am here. To show him how truly strong I am. But with him looking at me, I doubt I could even say my name.

"So...why are you here Funbags? Selling Girl Scout Cookies? Signing names to protest the cutting down of your favorite tree in the park? Oh, I know, you are running for city council and want to meet us lowly voters," My Rapist asks in a very mocking manner, making it seem as if he knows why I am here.

His reaction to seeing me isn't what I expected, which has thrown me off. I expected him to freak out, even be scared to see me. After all, one call from me to the police would be hell for him. Even if what I tell them isn't true, he still would have to go to them and try to convince them of it.

"I'm here...to let you do it again," I manage to squeak out, my face very red as shame runs through my veins instead of blood.

I say this instead of my speech as it is short, sweet and to the point. All I want is for him to, well, do what he does to his victims, then be done so I can go about my life. That either I will experience another real orgasm and find out why he's able to make me feel that way, or find out that he really isn't that good and I built it up all in my mind.

"Really? Are you sure?" My Rapist gasps in pretend shock, acting very over the top. He even puts his hands to his face, doing a mock version of surprise.

"I mean, you did send me to jail. You remember that, right? How you testified against me, Funbags?" He asks, still in the comical and over the top manner.

I turn my head at this, feeling both humiliated and pissed off. What did he except me to do? He raped me! Of course I was going to go to the police. And as smart as he was, he never considered that having a custom license plate was an easy way to track him.

"I sure remember. In fact, on my darkest and loneliest nights in jail, I would replay you crying on the stand as you relived what happened...and it would always make me laugh," My Rapist says, mocking me so hard that my fingers ball into fists. On how I want to punch him, scream at him and break down crying.

Him showing no fear at all about me is overwhelming. And I can't blame it on the edible either. I didn't expect this as a possible reaction from him. I guess I expected to be in control somehow.

"Look, I'm serious. This will be a freebie, where I won't tell anyone. You get to do...what you want," I tell him, my shame increasing as I try to sell my own rape. I say this as stern and forceful as I can, but even I can tell how pathetic I sound while saying this.

"Wow! What a deal, Funbags! A freebie rape?! Does that come with fries too?!" My Rapist exclaims in a very asshole manner. I know he's being so loud so his neighbors can hear.

I don't understand why he's acting like this. I mean, I fully expected him to be upset as I did get him sent to jail, but I thought after I told him why I was here, he would get over it. That when he learned he could have sex with me, he would jump at it. In my head I saw him yelling at me for a while, maybe even slapping me, but not acting like this. Truth be told, I sort of hoped he would get his aggression out via the sex.

The way he's acting is like he knew I would be by. Like he knew the moment he saw me why I was here, but that's impossible. I barely understand the reason why I'm here. Surely this is just him acting weird because he's still upset at me, right?

"Oh my gosh," I suddenly gasp as realization hits me. It hits me hard, like a solid punch to the boob. Thanks to the edible it takes me much longer than normal to figure it out.

"I...I'm not the first one to come here," I say out loud, the color draining out of my face as I make the realization.

Emotionally it feels like I fall down a rabbit hole upon figuring this out. He's acting like this because I'm not the first victim to show up, asking him to rape them again. It makes too much sense. It's why he has no fear or concern about a potential victim appearing. After all, I could have come here to blow him away with a gun, but from the moment he saw me, he had no fear at all.

"That...that can't be," I say before he is able to say anything. Feeling stunned, I even stumble back, my head spinning.

My world starts to come crashing down at understanding this. I thought I was alone in this. That I was going through some sort of sexual crisis but knowing there are other women that feel the same doesn't make me feel better at all. It makes me feel worse. Like I'm just a whore in a long line of whores that have come to him to cum again.

"Well Funbags, I'll give you this, you've figured that out faster than most," My Rapist then comments, not sounding impressed at all.

"No, you're not the first dumb bitch to come here, begging me to fuck them," He states bluntly, making it sound so pathetic.

"Nor will you be the last," he adds on with a shrug, making it seem like this is just something that happens to him.

"But please, save the speech about the emotions I made you feel. Or that you reached pleasure you didn't know existed or whatever crap. I picked you for a reason. That's because you are a freak-in-hiding. All I did was bring it out of you," My Rapist states.

When he says this, his message is very clear. The message being that none of this is his fault. That it is my fault. That raping me was something I needed instead of him getting his rocks off.

"Look. This is how this goes. If you want me to fuck you, you're going to have to go through the process. You start at apartment 105. They will check and look you over," My Rapist states very seriously.

"Go through the process and I'll think about abusing those funbags and dicking you down, again. Knock on my door again, I call the cops. I'm sure they will love you harassing a man that is just trying to live his life," My Rapist says very loudly, then shuts the door. Slams it right into my face.