*Trigger Warning* The following piece of art may be offensive to some people because it contains rape fantasy, and is not real. Real rape is wrong. This story is intended for those who enjoy rape as a fantasy or role-play and it not intended to be real or to be reproduced in any way. All characters are 18-years-old or older.
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The flashbacks never stop. I see him coming for me, his hands reaching out to grab my neck. He is always strangling me, making that strange growling noise deep in his throat as he grunts. He is always thrusting, fucking my pussy as I scream and beg for him to stop. He is always here, haunting me from the deepest, darkest recesses in my mind. He is on the surface. He is underneath. He is the deep water my mother told me to never swim in because it was too dangerous. Too bad she had no idea how dangerous he was. She had picked him out as my piano teacher. I had gone along with what he wanted to do. I thought I knew what I was doing. Now, everything in my life is different. Now, I am a mom.
"Come here and sit on my lap."
"You're married," I told him.
"That's okay. You're just going to sit on my lap, aren't you? You're not my girlfriend." He patted his lap and gestured for me to come over and sit down.
"No, I can't."
"Why not?"
"Look, I'm not sitting on your lap." He looked stunned. I'm sure he couldn't believe a young girl like myself would say no to him.
"This is part of your lesson," he explained.
"No. It isn't. I will tell my mother."
"Tell her what? That I was trying to teach you?"
"Me sitting on your lap has nothing to do with piano and you know it."
"Well, you're a shitty piano player. I was trying to teach you something you might actually be good at." He gave me a sarcastic smile.
"Do you really think I'm shitty?" I asked defensively.
"Well, you've been a beginner for over a year. You need to practice to get better, Mariah. You obviously never practice, so here we are. Now come sit on my lap."
"Why?"
"Because I have something I want to show you." He patted his lap again and I wondered if I should just do it. He hadn't ever done anything weird to me, although he gave me the creeps. He always had. I had begged my mother to find me another piano teacher but she didn't want to go to the trouble.
I had tried to practice but Mr. Portman was right. I barely practiced. I didn't care about the piano. I didn't want to be a musician. I didn't like the piano and I didn't like him. He was still patting his lap and beckoning for me to come sit. I felt sick.
"I don't feel good. I think I need to end the lesson," I said honestly. I did feel like throwing up. He wasn't very attractive. He had a big belly, the way many married men did. He was balding a bit and his eyes were set a bit too wide apart on his face.
"Come here. Let me hold you. I'll make you feel better, Mariah. I know your father left you a few years ago. Your mother talked to me about being a positive role model in your life. I want to be that role model for you." He had hit a nerve talking about my father leaving and he was right. There was an emptiness where the love of my father had been. Maybe that was what finally convinced me to sit on his lap. I got up and walked tentatively to him. He grabbed me and pulled me down onto his lap, almost violently.
