*All characters are 18+. This is a work of fiction for erotic entertainment only. Real-life sex should always be with enthusiastic consent.*
***
"Hi, I'm Sascha, and I'm a sexual assault survivor," I said.
Or so I tried to say. I've been coming to this group for a month now, but I never spoke up. I couldn't.
None of the other women were like me. They cried, they were angry, they hated men. What would they think if I said I enjoyed it? That I came before he even stuck his cock in me, and came again while he was inside me. And every day since, remembering it. Wishing he'd find me again, terrified that he might do worse.
I listened to their stories and tried to feel the same way they felt. I tried to feel how I was supposed to feel. I mean, I felt bad for them. They were clearly traumatized and had every right to feel that way. But would they hate me if I said I liked it? They'd definitely be disgusted if they knew how wet their stories made me.
The therapist said it might help to write down our experiences and how we felt. So, let me try again.
Hi, I'm Sascha, and I have a rape kink.
I didn't always. I'm a normal person. I buy groceries, chat with the clerks, drive home. I work in an office, complain about my job, don't take enough days off. I have good parents, a nice boyfriend, and a boring sex life. Less boring now, but that's another story.
This one began on a late summer evening an hour after work. I ate a quick microwave dinner, showered, and changed into a light dress. My boyfriend was new—we weren't living together yet, and he was busy that night.
I'd been daydreaming about the beach all day. There was this one spot I visited every week or two in summer, a hidden little cove that was always empty. It was a bit rocky, and the path there was off-trail, but it was mine.
It was a nice beach day, a bit chilly with a gentle breeze. I didn't mind the cold if it meant a personal beach. The sand heated my towel, warming my skin from below. I used to put a towel over my ass in case anyone stumbled across me, but no one had in the last couple of months.
See, that day, I had decided to slip off my dress and panties, sunbathing nude. I have a guilty pleasure: I like to prance around my apartment naked. Sometimes I'll even leave the blinds up. It's my home, I can do what I want. And my AC is haphazard; the light breeze from my ceiling fan is a relief directly on my skin.
I especially enjoy that freeing feeling—nothing touching my skin except the floor and the air as I spin and dance. The building across the street can probably see me. I don't stand up against the windows and shake my tits or anything, but I don't hide either. I hope they enjoy the view.
This little beach is mostly hidden from the road by trees, the closest road is always quiet, and the closest homes are miles away. I suppose someone could sail past, but it's never happened before. No one was going to find me, and I really wanted to soak in the evening sun on my sore neck and back. Those office chairs—ergonomic, my ass. Speaking of, the heat on my butt felt great, too.
It was a little scary to lie there, effectively in public, baring my ass to the world. No one should be able to see, but it was still a thrill. Stripping in the comfort of my home was one thing. I smiled at the idea of someone boating past and taking a second glance at my fully unclad body. My limbs stretched a little as I imagined them turning away in embarrassment or maybe ogling every inch of my skin until I was no longer in sight.
I giggled and set an alarm so I didn't accidentally stay the night, then settled in to doze off to the gently lapping waves. It took a bit longer than usual with the little nervous flops in my stomach. I wiggled my ass until the nerves settled and my eyelids felt heavy.
Crunch.
I shifted slightly, sighed, and fell back asleep.
Scuff-scuff. Thump.
Snick.
Something tickled my wrist. I cracked open my eyes and flicked my arm, rubbing against something soft. That's odd—
Hands grabbed my other arm, clasping a fuzzy ring around it. Cuffs. A heavy, warm weight landed on my back at the same time.
Shock skated down my spine, my heart instantly jumping.
"Help! Ah! Help! Please!" I screamed and twisted, bucked and flailed, kicked and hit whoever was on top of me. The cuffs dug into my wrists as I strained, my elbows ramming backward and up.
A large hand clapped over my mouth, his other hand curling on my neck. "Shh. No one's going to hear you," a low voice murmured. "You're just wasting your energy, and, trust me, you'll need it."
The voice was so close to my ear and his breath brushed my hair. I shook my head violently, but his grip was firm.
As firm as the length of hot flesh on my spine. I froze, my muscles tensing mid-struggle.
He was as naked as I was. I realized I could feel the skin of his legs, the muscles of his chest, the hair of his bare arms on mine, and the twitch of his hard cock.
"That's it, relax. I'm going to let go. You stay quiet, ok? I don't want to stuff a sock in your mouth, but I will if you scream again. Alright?"
He paused, and I belatedly jerked my head once. I couldn't scream anymore—my short, constricted airway wouldn't let me.
His hand slipped off my mouth, his fingers briefly brushing my lips, my cheek, combing my hair. "Good. Good girl. We'll get along just fine. I'm not going to hurt you. We're just going to have some fun, then you can go home, go back to your bed."
His gentle tone made me stay tense and afraid. He was molesting me, was no doubt about to rape me. Crude and harsh would make more sense. Slapping, punching, choking. I waited for him to hurt me, trying to be meek so he wouldn't.
He kept a grip on my neck while his other hand ran over my skin—caressing my side, lightly scratching my back, massaging up and down my muscles. He hummed. "I love your skin. You're so soft. Thank you for letting me touch you."
I didn't respond. I wasn't
