Self Discovery From Being Bullied

The following story has themes of misogyny, 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.

"No, stop!" I gasp out loud as I sit up in my bed. After I say this, I'm greeted with silence as it is the middle of the night. My breathing is very hard as I've just snapped awake after having a nightmare. Another one.

I turn to look at my sleeping husband, who wasn't awakened by my cry. He sleeps on, comfortable in dreamland. Never has he had to deal with the aftereffects of what I went through. Of what happened and how it's messed with me.

3 weeks ago, I was raped by a gang of high school bullies. I never thought it would happen to me, especially as I'm 26, but it did. But yes, I walked past them, words were said, and then they physically did as they wanted to me.

They stripped me, whipped and abused me and took turns fucking me. All while laughing and making fun of me. In the end they left me naked and tied to a fence, my tits and pussy on full display for the neighborhood to see.

It was by far the most humiliating experience of my life. It destroyed my confidence but boosted my self-esteem. And as bad as it was, I can't help but think back about how much I loved it. How it was the hottest thing ever to happen to me. How I've never had orgasms like I did that day.

You can't believe what a mindfuck that is. That you enjoy being abused and forced. How your body feens for them to bully you again, only this time worse. That you can actually think up ideas of things for them to do to you, not fully realizing how it would ruin your life.

I pout softly as I sit in bed, so very conflicted of how I both hate what happened and want it to happen again. It makes me feel like a sex freak or sicko pervert. One of those weirdos you see on the internet, saying how they get off on something strange, like fucking while dressed as Elmo. I don't want to be like that. I want to be normal.

But I've had the same dream for a week and a half now. A dream of me finding those boys again and letting them have a round two. I call them boys but they are actually men as they all were 18. But the way they acted wasn't like adults but spoiled little shits doing as they want.

Like the nights before, I get out of bed and go to the kitchen. Once there, I make myself some coffee and sit in the dark, looking out the window at the dark night. I stay like this until the sun comes up, my mind awash with what happened and what I wish would happen. It even morphs into me playing out a fantasy were those boys show up outside my window and taunt me over what happened.

I know I've become sleep deprived. Every night I get maybe 4 or so hours of sleep due to the nightmares. It wasn't bad at first, but after so many nights, it's put me in a daze. A sort of sleep-daze making my life feel more like a movie that I'm an actor in, rather than real life. It's made me see how much of a routine my life is, repeating the same things over and over.

"Lack of sleep messing with you again honey?" my husband asks as he comes into the kitchen. I snap out of my thoughts and turn to look at him. He's dressed in his suit like normal as he's preparing to go to the office.

"Yeah," I tell him and then ask, "How'd you know?" He laughs at this, but the laugh isn't like the bullies' laugh. His is good hearted, like he finds what I asked cute while theirs was mean and cruel.

"Well, for one, you've taken off your clothes and are sitting in front of a window, again," he says. This confuses me for a moment as I wouldn't do that. That is crazy. Only time I get naked is to shower or during sex. Otherwise, I'm always dressed.

"Oh shit!" I exclaim as I look down to see that he's right. I'm completely naked with my legs spread in front of the window. Not just naked, but my nipples are extremely hard, showing how excited I've been. And next to me on the table are my clothes. I, at some point during the night took off my clothes and didn't even notice.

I go to grab them, but my husband reaches out and slides them out of my grip. When I turn to look at him, he has a somewhat playful smirk. Instantly I'm taken back to that day as those boys smirked at me knowing what they were going to do. Only I notice my husband's smirk isn't evil.

"Well, let's give the neighborhood a show then, if that's what you want," he muses. He reaches over and grabs my hips with his hands. Once he has his grip, he spends me around so I'm facing the window, only instead of a dark sky, it's bright morning.

As he bends me over, I pretend it isn't him doing this. That it is one of those bullies that broke into my house and are making me bend over the stool I was sitting on. Thinking this makes me so incredibly excited, especially when my legs are spread wider.

Only when my husband fucks me, it doesn't feel the same. Sure, it's fine and he gets a bit rough, enough to make my tits swing, but it doesn't feel right. My body wants more than what he's doing. My body wants to feel like I did that day. It's such a strange feeling that I don't even pretend to cum as he fucks me, not that it really matters. My husband lasts maybe 30 seconds, which isn't enough time to even pretend to cum, yet truly come.

"That was hot. Thanks babe," my husband says, slapping my ass as I remain bent over. He then grabs some coffee and leaves. Doesn't even say anything about me staying bent over like this. Just ignores it or thinks that it is me having to recuperate after such a savage fucking by him.

After a while I stand up again and put my clothes back on. As I do, I stay in my sleep-daze, still concerned that I got naked and didn't even know it. It has to be because of lack of sleep right? And not any sort of...dark desire, right? Not sure what I would do if my body is starting to act on its own, outside of my brain.

I take a shower and then get dressed in blue jeans and a t-shirt. Since I work from home, I don't need to get dressed up unless there's a meeting, and no meetings today.

So I sit at my desk and log on. For a couple of hours I try to work, but find that I can't. My mind is just so full of thoughts and conflicted, not to mention tired. I just can't seem to think about anything other than that horrible...event.

Looking at the time, I see that's it is about to be 10am. With nothing else to do, I decide to go for a walk. I think that a walk will do me good and clear my head.

Before I leave, I consider if I'm doing this to run into THEM again, but I can feel in my heart that it's not true. It's far too early for them to be out. Last time happened after school, and it's nowhere near that time.

I begin my walk, enjoying the morning air as it is nice and cool. I walk on the sidewalk, going around my block a few times. I pass by a few people, to which I smile and say hello. But as they pass I secretly hope they come back, hurling sexual insults and grab at my ass. Of course, they don't, mainly because they are twice my age and probably forgot about sex. Not to mention that it wouldn't be a normal reaction of any normal person.

I walk on, not really paying attention. I try hard to make my mind think of other things than the group. To think of how people's yards look, or how the birds sound while singing. Even about what I could cook for lunch.

"Oh," I gasp as I see where I've gone. Half a block away, I see the location where IT happened. My troubled mind brought me here without me even noticing. Seeing it makes my heart begin to pound, and my eyes dart about to see if they are anywhere around. I'm not sure if I'm glad or scared when I notice there's no sign of them.

Deciding I want to see the place up close, I resume walking. I'm forced to walk slow, just in case those bastards are somewhere hiding. That they could be hiding in a place I can't see or even notice. But from my distance, the area looks empty.

The place where they did it was at the crappiest, oldest house in the neighborhood. The house that is so broken down, the roof is only half there. And the wooden fence that surrounds the house is broken and old, with tons of missing planks as well as broken ones.

Reaching the broken-down house, I move behind the fence, where I see the table is still there. The table where they bent me over so they could take turns fucking me. The table where I had my face pressed against it hard as my hair was held.

Walking towards it, I see the spot on the fence where they tied me. Where they made me put my tits into the hole, while the other hole was perfect for showing my pussy, putting both on display for all to see. I even see the remains of some of the table that they used still on the fence.

I run my hand over the top of the table, making it feel real. The table is clean now, unlike before when it had tons of trash all over. It looks like the boys haven't been here in a long time. Maybe they found a new hangout. Or most likely they got run off.

It's for the best that they aren't here, really. They were bullying kids and causing so many issues. It's best that they left. Better for me in any case. Maybe my life can go back to normal. I just need time to feel normal again. To stop having those dreams.

Feeling so dazed, I start to walk away. I walk out of the crappy house's yard, past the fence and back to the sidewalk. Now that I'm out of there, a part of me feels better, like I got closure. Only another part feels like it is screaming. That it wants to rip my clothes off and beg strangers to use me like they did just to get a hint of what I felt that day.

I cross the street and walk in a somewhat drunk manner as I feel so sleep-dazed. It's one of those moments when you ask yourself if this is really happening. Or if you are in a really realistic dream.

This feeling intensifies when I hear a familiar burst of laughter. It's faint but very clear. Hearing it sends shivers all over my body as I recognize it.

It's one of the boys. As much as they laughed at me, I remember exactly what they sounded like. And that's one of them.

My heart resumes pounding like a jackhammer once I hear it. Slowly, I turn around and look down the street. There, walking on the sidewalk, grouped together, are the bullies. They laugh and joke with each other, many of them carrying brown paper bags which no doubt have beer.

They don't see me. They are too far away and have no reason to look this way. Even if they did look, I doubt they would recognize me. They are too far away to see my face, and even then, would they remember me?

My brain screams out "RUN!" It warns me how much danger I am in. That I barely escaped last time. That it could have ended so much worse, and if I keep playing with fire, I'm going to be burned. Not just burned, but engulfed.

My heart on the other hand, sings with unexcepted joy. It pumps arousal all over me, making my womanhood tingle in that dark way, just like last time. It doesn't tell me to run, but to march right up to them. To tell them to do their worst.

This can't be happening. How did I get myself into this? Why aren't I moving? Why have I not started to run as fast as I can? What the fuck is wrong with me? The longer I stay here, the more opportunity they have to see me.

My world crumples as my feet start to walk...towards them. I see my life become ruined as that dark part of me is able to take over. With being as dazed and out of it as I am, it easily wins to make me walk towards them.

I see the group ahead of me, with them in their own world as they are heading back to the table. None look forward, but instead at each other and their phones. None of them see me, staring at them as I walk drunkenly towards them. As I do, I recognize that my chance to stop and run is fading, fast.

In slow motion I see the boy that started it last time, turn to look forward. I'm not but 20 feet in front of them now, close enough they can not just see me, but see my face. And then I see his recognition of who I am.

"Hot Tits!" He greets with a laugh, making me stop. When he yells this, all of his friends turn and look at me. When they do, the slow motion gets even slower, making it feel like the last moments of my life, which it could very well be.

For now, I truly understand that my life, as I know it, is over. That this time, I'm not going to be lucky. This time, it'll be bad. It'll be permanent. I'll be ruined.

My feet feel like roots have risen up from under the sidewalk to wrap around them. My mind screams for me to run, that I'm in real danger, but I can't. I can only stand here, frozen. And within just a few moments, the gang of them surrounds me, looking at me like a pride of lions and their meal.

"Never thought we would see her again, did you?" One of them laughs, which many agree. In a daze, I turn around several times, taking each of them in. For some reason they seem like great huge monsters and I the 2-inch tall victim, helpless and scared.

"Guess she wanted more cock, didn't she?" Another says, to which they laugh and agree. More comments like this follow, each one lewder than the last. I really don't catch most, but ones I do catch mention my asshole and a stick.

"Hey, I know what she came back for!" One of them behind me says. A moment later a hand grabs my panties in the back and yanks upload. I, of course, cry out and bring my hands to my crotch as if this could stop the pain I feel. It's laughable, but I still do it, feeling my panties press and stretch right between my lips. What adds to the pain and humiliation is how they all laugh.

The guy keeps holding my panties up in back, not letting go to make me feel the pain. I'm held so hard that he almost lifts me off the ground just by my panties. Each time he tugs just a bit, I yelp out and cry, my hands still at my crotch as if this does something. Dear me, I feel the fabric tighten and pulling right between my lips down there.

"Please! Let go!" I beg, just like a bullied victim. At my words the guy does let go, letting me go flat-footed on the ground. Unable to help it, I dig my hands into the front of my pants in an effort to fix my panties and dig them out of my pussy. Of course, they laugh as I do this, making fun of me and how pathetic I am.

Once I fix my panties, one of them grabs the bottom of my shirt and yanks up. I grab at it and pull it back down after all see my bra covered breasts. But right as I do, one of them on the other side yank it up again, repeating this. Over and over it happens, with my shirt going up and down, as they pull up and I pull down, showing my bra and cleavage each time.

Then one of them slaps my jean-covered ass, HARD. Just open hand slaps it, making a very loud clap sound. To this I let out a very high-pitched cry and thrust my hips forward in response. When I do, I nearly crash into the boy in front of me, who pushes me aggressively backward.

I'm whipped backward, where I crash into another one of them. This one spins me around by my shoulders, just so another one of them can slap my ass. Now I move my hands behind me to cover my ass to try and protect it, all while they laugh.

"Stop it!" I demand, but I'm pushed hard again and sent into another one of them. They repeat this process, whipping me about just so they get a chance to slap my ass and laugh. They push me again and again, each time giving one of them the chance to slap my bottom. Within moments I feel how red my ass is, even if I'm still wearing jeans and panties.

I'm already sobbing. I don't cry because of the pain or even the humiliation, but because of how excited I am. Like some sort of sick whore, I feel how wet I've become just at this brief interaction. I've never felt this excited in all the years I've been with my husband. It's an intense excitement too, making me feel beyond aroused.

"Hey, watch this," One of them tells the others. Hands them wrap around me from behind and grab my wrists. The strong hands yank upward, taking my wrists with them. The next thing I know, I'm on my tiptoes, being held stretched upward by my hands which are way over my head.

Another of the boys steps up fast, as if the opportunity is going to pass and grabs the bottom of my shirt. He then yanks it up, yanking the front of my own top over my head. This effectively blindfolds me as my shirt's head hole stays around my neck. This makes my shirt cover my head, blocking my vision but exposing my bra once again.

It then happens so fast. I can feel what they do, but it doesn't click what it means. If I did, I know I would have done something more. That I would have fought to stop it. At least this is what I tell myself.

They undo my belt and yank it off as my hands and shirt are held up. My own belt is then wrapped around my shirt and wrists. They use the buckle to pull, trapping my wrists like this. They are able to tie the belt off too, not just binding my hands, but ensuring that I can't lower my shirt. And so, on this sidewalk, the world can see my bra as my hands are bound.

"Shake them, Hot Tits. Shake those big ass titties!" One yells in a mocking tone. I'm sobbing now, manly because I think I'm about to orgasm, just from this little bit they have done to me. I don't get why I feel like this either. Something about feeling trapped by the creative binding is so damn humiliating. It makes me feel so extremely aroused.

"Shake 'em, or we'll take you to the fucking mall like this!" One yells. So, still crying, I start to wiggle my shoulders. When I do, I feel my bra-covered breasts sway to the left and right, heavily. This causes the group to laugh and hoot, no doubt causing people to look out of their windows at what is happening on the sidewalk.

"Bounce bitch. Start bouncing. Hard. Make those fun bags really move!" Another one demands. Only he accents this by slapping the bottom of my breasts hard to make them heave upward. They bounce upward once just a bit at this, but it sends a powerful wave over me. As I feared, I feel my orgasm about to erupt from this abuse, letting me know it's going to happen.

Instantly, I start to make my breasts bounce. With them in a bra it's oddly easier as well as harder. To bounce I go to my tiptoes all the way, then go down all that I can. I repeat this over and over, making my bra bounce steadily up and down. By now the group has let go of my hands, knowing that I can't really move my arms down or risk pulling off my shirt.

"Harder bitch. Harder!" They yell, causing me to start hopping up and down. My hopping makes my breasts bounce almost violently, causing my bra to shift and pull. The hopping starts soft and light, but before long I'm trying to bounce as hard and high as I can.

And then it happens. What they wanted the entire time. My breasts come spilling out of my bra for all to see. I feel each breast escape, where the nipples flick against the fabric for the last time, making me feel how hard they still are.

When I am exposed, there is loud cheering and laughter, probably because I keep hopping. I feel my poor boobs exposed to the daytime air, where a breeze moves over them. I swear I even feel the sun on them, making it feel like there's a spotlight on the beautiful targets.

My ass is then slapped and I'm yelled at to hop. At first I don't understand, but then I'm pushed from behind. It lets me know they want me to hop...forward. So I take a hop, moving forward. Through the blindfold that is my shirt, I can see somewhat, but mainly just the outline of things. I see their shapes, the shape of the fence, but overall, I'm blind.

They make me hop and bounce up and down on this sidewalk for a good minute, my breasts flopping all around. As they make me keep going, they laugh and make fun of me. Saying how my tits are bigger than my head, but have more brain cells. They then say how they wonder if they could use them to knock someone out. But it quickly turns sexual, with them saying how they want to slap them, pinch them and fuck them.