Satiable My Rapist Gets His

This story is a continuation of the story “My Rapist”. I’ve had numerous requests for a sequel, and at least one lecture about rape being about power not sex and women don’t want to be raped, etc, etc, ad nauseum..

Actually, I agree with my anti-rape lecturer and want to make it up to her. “My Rapist” was about fantasy, not about rape. For reasons of political correctness, I present the following story in which our heroine teaches her assailant a lesson the hard way.

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I’ve occasionally read pornography. I’m a healthy red-blooded American woman and I have internet access. Sometimes I’ll wander on to the occasional porn site and read the stories. (I much prefer the stories to the pictures.) I have a fantasy life, and sometimes I use the stories to fuel that life. One of the common threads in pornographic writing seems to be the never-ending lust of the female protagonists. ‘The ten guys that have been giving me this gangbang are pretty tired. I’ll just give them each a blow job and a quickie and we’ll call it quits.’ These women are insatiable.

Well I’m not insatiable. I’m thirty-seven years old and in my sexual prime, but there’s a limit. My husband Dan’s sexual prime was quite a while ago, so in my normal life I would admit that I don’t get laid enough. We have a once a week session that leaves me wanting more. But since I’ve been on this vacation, my sexual life has gone too far in the other direction.

In the past, people have always thought of me as being serene. I look serene. I’m calm, collected, cool, confident. Nothing seems to bother me. I’m at peace with the world. That’s the way I believe I’ve appeared to my family, friends, and business associates.

I’ve always had a workout regimen. I usually run between two and five miles a day just to relax. Then I go through a moderately rigorous workout with weights. Once a week I run for mileage, usually at least twenty miles. I may be 37 years old, but I’m not dead.

I was a distance runner in high school. My son, Jason, was born after my freshman year in college (yes, I got knocked up), so I never had time to run for the University track or cross country teams. But I could have been a college athlete, my times were good enough. And I never really got out of shape. Here I am, close to twenty years later and I still can knock off a respectable time in the mile, and then run two more miles back to back in the same time. I’ve got speed, I’ve got stamina. And I weigh the same as I did when I graduated from high school.

Running relieves stress as it burns fat. Three times a week I practice yoga as well. Serene; that’s what I am. People at work think nothing bothers me. My husband and son think I am the calmest person they know.

But now I’ve been raped three days in a row. Do I still appear so serene? Can’t my son see the tension I’m experiencing every time he prepares to leave the house? I’m a nervous wreck. Serenity appears to have gone out the window.

Not only that, I’m satiable. There must be a word like that. I’ve heard insatiable often enough. Some women are insatiable. It only stands to reason that other women are just plain satiable. I’ve had multiple sessions of animal sex for three days in a row. I’ve had too many orgasms for a woman my age. Satiable: my hormones are depleted; my juices are dry; my erectile tissue won’t erect. I’m all fucked out. I think I could sleep for a week. I need a vacation from this vacation.

For several days I’ve been torn between being terrified that Tommy would rape me again, and being equally frightened that he wouldn’t.

Today was the worst. After my usual morning jog, followed by a swimming-sunbathing session, I returned to the house to relax and await my next encounter with Tommy. I went to my room to lie down naked on my bed. I guess I must have drifted off, because I awoke feeling somehow restricted. There was a covering over my eyes, a mask or maybe just a handkerchief, so I couldn’t see. My arms were bound by something and held over my head. My ankles had bindings on them as well. I lay on the bed, totally naked and exposed, my legs wide open for anyone to see or use.

While I was sleeping my dreams had been sexual in nature. Why shouldn’t they be? Sex had been the dominant aspect of my life for three days in a row now. I had awoken with my sex damp and my breath short. I was already aroused before I realized my situation. I was helpless, alone, and vulnerable. I knew Tommy must be here.

I forced myself to calm down and wait. I could wait him out. He had to be at least as horny as I was. I felt a sudden movement on the bed. Someone had climbed onto the bed with me and I knew that person was between my legs. I said nothing, I made no movement. I waited. I felt a mouth. It kissed the arch on my left foot. A tongue licked between my toes. I felt one of my toes sucked into the mouth. This was odd. But it wasn’t making me any less aroused. On the contrary, there was something so very erotic about having your feet assaulted by a totally unknown mouth. (I knew it was Tommy, but I could dream, couldn’t I?)

The mouth left my foot. I felt a tongue on my ankle, moving slowly up to my knee. I felt hot breath on the back of my knee. Both knees turned to jelly. The tongue continued upward, making a wet line up my thigh and toward my center. My breathing was becoming more erratic. I felt the breath on my pussy. My pussy had been damp. Now it was wet. I felt a single drop of fluid slide from my pussy and roll down my thigh. The tongue must have seen it too, because it licked up the fluid, then dove into my pussy. I gasped with ecstasy as the tongue pushed deeply into my sex.

I was unused to being pleasured orally. My husband, Dan, doesn’t seem to be interested in that kind of sex, and before this week he was my only sexual partner. I must admit that cunnilingus was a prime mover in my sexual fantasy life and suddenly here I was naked and exposed, helpless to stop the assault of an unknown tongue deep into my innermost being.

I was crazed. My back arched on the bed, trying to force the tongue deeper into my body. I wanted to grab the head and pull it to me, but my hands were tied. Suddenly the tongue was gone. I groaned in frustration. Annoyed I said, “Damn it, Tommy! Don’t tease me anymore. If you have to fuck me, just fuck me and get it over with.”

Then I heard his voice for the first time and I panicked. I felt myself shiver in fear and sexual arousal. He wasn’t on the bed! His voice came from the other side of the room! “I promise not to tease you, Mrs. Holden. But I’m not in charge today.”

My God! There was a strange tongue on my bed, and it just been deeply inside my pussy! For the first time I struggled with my bindings, trying to free myself. But then the mouth clamped down on my breast. I felt the tongue, gently, sensuously, slide across the nipple, bringing it straining to its full erection. I tried to pull away even as my body felt a mini-orgasm rush from my breast to my pussy. The mouth suckled on my nipple like a newborn, gently licking my breast, trying to feed off of my milk. My hips started to rotate of their own volition. I couldn’t help it; I needed something between my legs.

When the mouth left my nipple again my frustration showed. I lifted my breasts as far off of the bed as I could, trying to find the mouth again. Suddenly it clamped onto my other nipple and I screamed. I had my second orgasm, and it was much stronger than the first. Usually after a climax I must rest and rejuvenate. The mouth didn’t give me a chance. As it suckled, I felt a finger lightly glide across my pussy lips. My back arched so quickly that the finger slid an inch into my pussy before it had a chance to react. It moved to my clitoris, softly circling the engorged little nub without actually touching it. I screamed again, my third orgasm of the morning even stronger than the second.

This was ridiculous. I had never had three orgasms during a single love making session in my entire life. Here I was with three already, and the person on my bed had done it with just a little teasing. The sex hadn’t really begun yet. Was I becoming a slut? I told myself with what little conscious reasoning I had left to go ahead and be a slut for today. I’ve fantasized about being a slut. I like to think of deliciously naughty things when I’m rubbing myself off. For just today, I could go ahead and be a slut and my conscience would be clear, I hoped. Besides, I wasn’t in control anyway. Slut or no slut, I was going to take whatever the mouth wanted to give me whether I liked it or not. I decided I might as well like it.

There was movement on the bed. I sensed weight over me, but not touching me. I knew the mouth was just above my face. I felt a tongue running across my lips.

I opened my mouth slightly and the tongue accepted my invitation, forcing its way softly inside my mouth. Other lips were barely touching mine and I was consumed by a kiss softer than any I’d ever imagined. The tongue was gently insistent as it insinuated itself deeper into my mouth, sparring with my tongue, making love to my mouth as if it were my pussy. My fourth orgasm hit me like a lightning bolt. I found myself begging for it, just like Tommy seems to like. But I meant it.

“Please. Stick it in me. Please fuck me. I can’t stand this any more. Please take me now. Please!”

I felt it against my other lips. It was the head of a cock. At last! Oh God how I needed it. It felt large. Omigod! It felt huge. My soaking pussy lips parted easily and the head slipped into my cunt and held steady. I tried to force it deeper but as I moved toward it, it moved away. I just couldn’t take it any more.

“Stop teasing me! Please stick it all the way in. I need it now. Please!!” I was a pathetic slut begging to be fucked.

I felt the magically soft mouth again kiss me, the insistent tongue again enter my mouth. And then the cock slid deeply into my cunt. I screamed again as another orgasm overcame me. I was rocking on this huge thing now in my pussy as I tried to concentrate on the exquisite feelings generated by the magic mouth. I felt light on my eyes and realized that the mask covering them had been removed. My eyes were closed as the orgasm swept through me. I slowly opened them to look into the eyes of my assailant. The mouth was still caressing mine in the most loving and sensual kiss I had ever known. Suddenly I came to my senses and my eyes opened wide. My God, it was a woman!

She lifted her mouth from mine and smiled down on me. The shock on my face must have been obvious. I glanced down to see that she was riding me with a huge strap-on dildo. It was too much. The sudden erotic shock sent me over into the most powerful orgasm of my life. I strained against my restraints. I screamed! I saw nothing but brightness and electricity. Then I guess I passed out.

When I woke up, I was still tied to the bed, but I was alone. I felt the cold clammy sheets beneath my bottom and realized I was lying in my own sex juices. I tried repositioning myself, but the restraints didn’t allow me to move far enough to move my bum from the wet spot. It was a constant reminder of what I had sunk to. I had become some teenager’s semi-willing sex object, and I didn’t even know how.

I wasn’t sorry it happened, and I didn’t feel guilty about having cheated on Daniel, at least not yet. I guess I was caught up in the energy of it all. I hadn’t made any effort to be unfaithful. That was the fun part. When I think of what it takes to have an extramarital affair, it just makes me tired. I have enough tension in my life (and remember, I’m the calmest person I know). I don’t want to be worrying about the web of lies I would have to weave to keep my husband from finding out about something that if he did find out, would wreck my marriage. It comes down to this: I would only willingly have an affair with another man if I had decided that I no longer cared about my marriage. Since I love my husband and plan to spend a lifetime with him, I have no intention of being unfaithful to him. It would be exciting, sometimes, to be admired by a man other than my husband. It would stroke my ego, I suppose, to know that I still could raise a man’s passion. But that’s small payback for ruining my life.

Still, as affairs go, this one was kind of out of my control. I didn’t knowingly court it. I was swept off my feet. All right, I’ll admit that it might be hard to buy the ‘I was caught in the passion of the moment’ argument three days in a row. There’s an old Mafia saying: ‘One time is happenstance, twice is coincidence, and three times is enemy action’. It’s possible that the ‘I was raped’ story might not hold water over an extended period of time.

Nevertheless, I had had my little fling. So far no one has been hurt. Now I have to calm Tommy down and make sure he keeps quiet. He is, after all, my son’s roommate. Teenage boys talk. They drink, they brag, they gossip. I was a teenage girl once, and had to deal upon occasion with the careless words spread by some bragging little loudmouth. But this was too much. I suddenly realized that Tommy had me by the short hairs.

This was no good. What kind of a vacation is it when you’ve violated the trust of the one person you care most about in the whole wide world, then have to worry about the adultery (let’s call a spade a spade) being talked about by some stuck up little rich kid who thinks women like to be raped? I just didn’t need this aggravation. Darn it, I only wanted to come to the beach, read a few books, catch some rays, and relax. This had been anything but relaxing. And now I felt the pangs of paranoia gripping me. I could only hope that beneath that arrogant rapist exterior there beats a sympathetic heart willing to forget the whole thing. I wasn’t holding my breath.

I just wanted to get off of the wet spot on the bed and take a hot shower. Whoever that girl was who had fucked me earlier in the day had left the restraints on me, so I was stuck until Tommy returned. Thank God Jason was still in Duck with that new girlfriend. I really didn’t need him walking in on his mother tied naked and spread-eagled to a bed that reeks of sex. I honestly would have been mortified if it happened. But as I thought about it, I started to get wet again. I knew I had a great new fantasy to incorporate into my masturbatory endeavors once I got back home.

Wait a minute! I’m not into incest. But if a fantasy just falls in your lap, you would be crazy not to use it. How would a teenage boy react walking into the bedroom of a woman nude, tied, spread, open? How would he react to seeing a well-fucked and available cunt? What if that cunt happened to be attached to his mother? Wow, this was getting good, and my hands were tied. I couldn’t reach my pussy! I started to squirm a little, trying to bring a little pressure to bear on those parts of my bottom that react favorably to pressure. My eyes closed, imagining. Perhaps I wasn’t as sated as I had originally thought.

I was contemplating the mess I had made of things when I heard someone walking through my living room. “Thank God, Tommy is back!” I thought. Where a few minutes ago I had wanted to take a shower and go to sleep, now my only thought was “A dick! He has a dick!” I needed a dick.

“Tommy come here, I need you” I called to the person in my living room. Now the odd thing is that under normal circumstances Tommy treats me exactly as if I was his roommate’s mother, respectful, friendly but uninterested. Only in the bedroom does he become this domineering taker who wants to abuse me and bend me to his will. I think he may have used the word “slut” in reference to me more than once in the last couple of days. But I had hoped it was only to my face.

“Come in here Tommy” I yelled again. I heard footsteps approach my bedroom. And then a man I had never seen before walked in to my bedroom. My first reaction was fright. This was a tall young black man who so confidently walked in to my bedroom and said “Pardon me, ma’am, but I’m looking for a slut. Do you know where I can find one?”

“Who the hell are you?” I screamed at the tall young man. He was little more than a boy. He couldn’t have been more than 20.

“Now, ma’am, don’t you go swearin’ and yellin’ and shit around me. I might think you’re not a lady. If you’re not a lady, then maybe you’re that slut I was looking for.”

There was something about him that wasn’t right. He said the right words, the kind of words that Tommy would convince him to use, knowing that it adds to my fantasy to be humiliated a little bit. But something was wrong.

He leered at me and began unbuttoning his shirt. As he undressed I saw a smooth-skinned young black man with sinuous muscles, slim hands, and slender legs emerge. His chest was hairless. I could barely see any hair on his body at all. Suddenly he was clad only in his shorts, which were some electric orange colored briefs. He faced me with a small smile and slid his briefs to the floor. An engorged and uncircumcised cock sprang up. It wasn’t as large as Tommy’s, perhaps the size of my husband’s: respectable was what it was. Frankly, that’s what I was mostly interested in, in my current condition: a respectable dick.

I am here to protest that I am not turning into some kind of slut as depicted in stories I have read in cyberspace. I am not some cock-hungry cum-sucking horny bitch. I’ve seen the stories and know the terms. It was merely that after three consecutive days of sexual arousal, I had learned that this vacation was for relaxing standards if only for a little while.

It might seem strange to reveal that I had never fantasized about having sex with a black man. I know that places like Literotica have whole sections devoted to interracial sexual liaisons. I’ve suppose that it has to do with fear and the forbidden fruit aspects of it. But I was raised in a racially diverse neighborhood, even dated a black kid in high school a couple of times (he didn’t make it past second base!) I just have never fantasized about being ravaged by some faceless black stud trying to establish dominance over the fair skinned rich bitch. All my fantasies were more personal in nature. My ravagers always had a face I was familiar with and sometimes thought about in a sexual way. None were black though one was this really sexy Asian-American guy who works for me. So I guess one could say that I have had interracial fantasies, but only because this guy happened to be of Asian descent. I was thinking of him because he was sexy, period.

So now I had this very lovely young boy with a very attractive dick walking in my direction. I was at the point that if he decided to rape me, I wasn’t going to struggle much. I decided to play along with the fantasy and act scared. Maybe I’m crazy, but I just wasn’t scared of this kid.

“What are you going to do to me?” I asked with a waiver in my voice. I sure as hell knew what I hoped he was going to do to me.

He said “Honey, as soon as I get this rubber on, I’m going to make your dreams come true. You know that once you go black…”

“At least you have the common decency to wear some protection” I said to him.

“Baby, they may get me for rape, but they sure as hell won’t get me for child support.” Then he laughed; an infectious little laugh that almost made me giggle myself. I could tell he was having fun. I didn’t want to spoil it but I decided perhaps I should have my own fun for a change. After all, it was my vacation.

I suddenly changed my demeanor. I stopped being the scared little housewife about to be raped by the big black stud. I knew what this kid needed was a domineering mommy and I was just the person to give it to him.

“Okay little man. I’ve had enough of this. Here are the rules: First you are going to untie me. I’m tired of these restraints. Then you’ll come over here and lay down. I’ll decide what comes next when I’m ready.”