Diary Of A Rapeslut

I am not a woman who fears. Dark alleyways, empty subway cars at night, strange men's trucks--I disappear into them, and always come back. What happens to me there sometimes hurts. I have been known to bleed, and to sit on the edge of my bed and press at my water-stain bruises. But to stop myself, I think, would require an act of God.

Tonight I dress for it. A short skirt, no underwear, and a top that's more bra than anything else. I lace up my combat boots and stand in front of the mirror. "You look so rapeable," I tell myself, and then I smile. My teeth glint in the lamplight.

Two hours later, I'm followed into the club bathroom. The man is tall, thick-necked, with the look of someone who's used to getting what he wants. He locks the door behind us and stands there staring at me.

It's not a large bathroom, just a dinky toilet with coke granules on the tank, and a sink with exposed piping. The walls have years of graffiti layered on them. There's not much room for two people, and his presence rubs against mine. This close, I can smell him. Sweat and sex.

"You're not wearing any underwear," he says, intelligently.

I look down as though to confirm. "Maybe," I say, and fear, real fear, puts a tremble in my voice. Because before it happens, I always get scared. Like I'm just a stupid piece of rapebait, putting myself in situations I can't handle. And I know what's about to happen.

He takes a step towards me, which puts him right in my face. I look him up and down. Hair crawls over the neckline of his yellow t-shirt, and there's a bulge in his jeans. It feels as though I can smell his arousal, the brine of precum.

With a sharp grin, he grabs my left tit and squeezes. It hurts, and I try to pull away, but he's grabbing me and pulling him against him. Now I can feel the bulge, hard and barely yielding, pressing up against my abdomen. He's about a foot taller than I am, and I'm trapped in his thick arms.

"Please let me go." My voice breaks on the last word, and tears come to my eyes. I don't want to be here anymore. I never want to be here, not when it's actually about to start. And yet there's another part of me that

does

want to be here, that yearns for it. That needs to be shown her place.

He bends his head down towards my face, and his breath smells like beer and cheap cigarettes. His whisper is humid against the shell of my ear: "I'm going to hurt you now, little girl."

I say the first thing that comes to mind. "I'm not a little girl." What a stupid, stupid thing to say. Because right now, despite my twenty-four years on the this earth, I'm nothing more than an idiot child who's laid her palm on the hot stove.

Without responding, he yanks down my bra-top, so my tits hang out. Then he slides a hand underneath my skirt and brushes a finger against my clit. I jump, and he laughs.

"Feels good?"

"No. Please stop. Please."

But it does feel good. My clit is thrumming, a warmth rising up in my abdomen. I don't want to be here, I do want to be here, I want to be dead, I don't want him to kill me, what if he kills me? There's no way he'd kill me right here in the club. The music from the other side of the door and down the hall is loud, but not as loud as it would be if we were in the crush of things. Still, there's no way anyone would hear me scream.

He moves his finger from my clit and slides it between my pussy lip. A sharp inhale of breath from me. A grunt from him.

"You're wet," he says.

I know I'm wet. I always get shamefully wet before I'm about to be raped. It makes it easier, I guess, but also gives the rapist something to mock me about. Not that I don't like being mocked. Unfortunately, I fucking love it.

Already, I can feel the thinking part of my brain shutting down. It's like the intelligent part of me is retreating down a long corridor, and watching everything that happens from so far away. I feel so small right now.

One finger slides inside me, and his sharp nail cuts into me. It's the first moment of pain tonight, but it surely won't be the last. I struggle, try to pull away, but he's just so much stronger than I am. The tears fall, now, trickling down my face. He licks one of them, his tongue rough against the smooth skin of my cheek.

"I love it when they cry," he says, more to himself than to me. Another finger joins the first one, and he fingers me roughly. For some reason, penetration always makes the crying worse, and soon I'm sobbing into his shoulder from the intensity. He's hitting that special spot inside me again and again, and my tits are bouncing and bouncing, and he's fucking me, fucking me, and then something hot and wet floods down my thigh. Fingerfucking me through it, he says things like, "Yeah, cum for me, that's right, bitch, yeah, fucking squirt for me." When I'm done and shaking, he takes his fingers out of me and shoves them into my mouth. My squirt tastes salty, but I can barely focus on that as his fingers shove further back into my throat, making me gag.

"Peash shtop," I say around them.

The man laughs. "I don't think so, sweetheart." He shoves deeper down, and I almost throw up. Then his fingers are leaving my mouth, and he's wiping them roughly on my skirt. Before I can adjust to the fact that I can breathe again, he's got his hands on my shoulders and is shoving me down to my knees.

"No," I say, starting to feel frantic. I know what's coming, and it terrifies me. "Please, no."

But he's unbuckling his belt, sliding the leather through the loops, unhooking the buckle, slipping the prong from the hole. His dick, when he pulls it out, is long and thick and monstrous. Its head shines an angry red. I clamp my teeth and press my lips together, but at first he doesn't even try to go in. Just rubs the wet head against my cheek and lips. And then his hand comes down and squeezes my cheeks hard enough to hurt, and my mouth opens, and the cock thrusts in.

He doesn't give me time to adjust. One moment, my mouth is empty, and the next his cock is down my throat. I choke, unable to breathe. I puke, but there's nowhere for it to go except back down. He holds himself there, not letting me move, not letting me get free, forcing the back of my skull against the hard tile wall. I shove at his thighs with my hands, but like I said, he's stronger than I am. I gurgle around his impossible length, tears everywhere, drool sliding from the corners of my lips. My head starts to swim, and his navel, which I'm staring at as though it can save me, flickers under black spots.

Finally he pulls back. Before I can even gasp for breath, I have to puke, and it goes all the way down my front. Then, and only then, can I draw in a breath. I gasp for air and puke again.

But he doesn't give me much of a chance to recover. His cock is back in my mouth, and he fucks my throat, and fucks my throat, and I groan and drool, getting air whenever I can. The world narrows to his cock and my mouth; I am nothing more than the hole he is fucking. My thoughts fall apart and my mind goes numb.

At last, he groans and shoves as deep as he can. Hot wetness on the back of my throat, and he holds himself there while I weakly batter at his thighs. When he pulls his softening cock out of my mouth, I collapse on my hands and knees. I'm in a puddle of puke and drool, my tits hanging out so the nipples nearly brush the floor, my face a mess of fluids.

I think he's done. He has to be done, after cumming like that. But to my horror, I watch as he strokes his cock back to hardness. I'm so turned on it feels like my clit is on fire, and there's wetness trickling down my thighs, but I don't think I can take anymore.

It's not my choice. He yanks me up and turns me around so I'm bent over the sink. My skirt goes up, and then his cock is pressing against my tight pussy. I stare down at the dingy white porcelain of the sink basin, at the rusted metal stopper. There's a moment where it feels like it won't go in, and then pain. Pain, as I'm stretched almost beyond what I can take, his wide head thrusting my hole open.

Now I scream, and he clamps a hand over my mouth and nose, so I can't even breathe. I glance up at my mirror, and my eyes meet my reflection's. Behind the cracks and the brown spots on the glass, I look terrified. My eyes are wider than I've seen them. And then they somehow widen more, jolted open as he shoves his full length inside of me.

He fucks me hard, with something like fury, his balls slapping against me with each thrust. The pain starts to lessen, and when he takes his free hand and roughly fondles my clit, the hurt disappears entirely. My thighs shake and I collapse entirely onto the sink, unable to hold myself up with my arms. My feet slide backwards, the man and the sink the only things keeping me standing.

It feels so hot and wet down there, my clit tensing and shuddering, my pussy clenching around him. I'm so close to cumming that my whole body fills with it, the pleasure making me melt.

"If you want to breathe, you'll shut up," he growls. The sink presses hard into my abdomen, so that when he removes his hand from my mouth, it's still hard to draw a full breath. But at least I'm getting a bit of air. I realize, when I start to moan, why he's letting me breathe. He wants to hear the sounds I make as he makes me cum for him.

"Stoooop," I whine, but there's no force behind it. I can as much stop him fucking me as I can solve the problem of war. The reality of the moment hits me: my breasts shaking, my mouth open, my legs spread. I'm a fucking slut. It feels so damn good. I can feel the beginning thrums of an orgasm come over me, my entire body tensing, and then, and then--

Everything in me draws into one tight point. I'm there for a moment, trembling on the edge, losing my mind, feeling such extreme pleasure that my vision almost whites out. And then it releases, the pleasure explodes, my pussy squeezes and releases, squeezes and releases, while my clit pulses.

The orgasm drains from me, and then I'm nothing more than a ragdoll as he fucks my sensitive pussy. I cry quietly as he thrusts one, two, three times, and then the same wet heat that hit my throat bursts inside of me.

He pulls out and drops me to the floor. My knee and shoulder hit it hard. I don't have the energy even to curl up into a ball. Instead, I lie there, splayed out like a broken doll, cum trickling out of me. He stands over me for a moment, looking down at me, his cock still in his hand. I stare up at him, my rapist, my god for the night, the only other person in the world, as he pisses on me.

And then he's gone, the door shut behind him, and I'm left, alone, a rapeslut.