A better term for Rape Fantasy is FSRP - Forced Sex Role Play. Real rape is an evil, life-altering crime, so to differentiate from that, the use of the term FSRP is preferred. That said...when writing stories it would break the fantasy to use the term: i.e. "I'm gonna FSRP you slut!" is not as effective as "I'm gonna rape you slut!" So in my stories I use a lot of harsh language, all in service of the fantasy. Read at your own risk.
*****
I've got a confession to make. I'm addicted to sex. Not just vanilla sex though. No, my tastes are very particular, and potentially, very dangerous. Nothing gets me off like a good rape fantasy.
But, it's difficult, when you're into this kink, to find ways to enjoy it. How do you find playmates? How do you make sure everything goes right, and no one ends up emotionally scarred, or in jail?
Thank god for my friend Kyle.
Kyle made my first rape fantasy come true. He paid attention to what I wanted, he found the guys, got them all tested, made sure they knew their parts, and made it happen. It was the most intense sexual encounter of my life. I'm utterly ruined for vanilla sex now. I crave only the most dangerous, debauched sex imaginable.
Kyle craves it too, and he was so good at setting up the fantasy, that's he's started a kind of a side business. See, he figured there was a need for somebody to play kinky matchmaker—to put women that were craving a rape fantasy scenario, together with safe and sane men, who want the same. Kyle does all the work: background checks, STDs, location, everything. It's been very profitable.
I haven't been a client yet. I've been satisfying my urges by re-watching the nasty video he made of my first fantasy, when Kyle and his group of friends raped me on a pool table on New Year's Eve. Every night I go home, watch the video, and finger fuck myself to orgasm over and over.
Kyle keeps teasing me, asking when I'm going to let him set up my next violation. I want to, I really do, but I'm also scared as hell. But Kyle has been persistent, he said he's shared my rape video around, and I'm in big demand with customers. Everyone is asking when they can rape the cute blonde with the big tits, and tight pussy. Fuck...just the thought of that, the knowledge that men in the city are watching an illicit video of my rape, and jacking off to it, it gets me so hot.
Finally, I let Kyle persuade me, we hashed out some details and he pronounced himself my Rape Pimp. To celebrate finally getting me on board, the jerk gave me a present; a pair of tight booty shorts that says Rape Whore on the butt in glitter. I wear it to bed.
This week, Kyle told me I've got my first job. It's a little different from my first encounter—they, the group of guys that requested me, want to abduct me—and they want it to be a surprise. All I've been told is that sometime this week, between the hours of 6 p.m. and midnight, I'm gonna get taken. I've cleared my evening schedule. I work for myself, so there's not a job that will miss me if I don't show up for a shift.
It's kind of perfect.
And the anticipation is killing me.
I've kept my modeling appointments during the day this week. And every evening when I leave the studio I make sure I look cute, in case today's the day I get abducted. Blonde hair up in a ponytail, a little bit of makeup to enhance my blue eyes. Push up bra lifting my tits up high under my tank top, a pair of tight yoga pants and ballet flats—that's my uniform when doing modeling gigs. Of course, being a fetish model, I'm usually wearing far less inside the studio. Just several yards of silky rope, and nipple clamps.
Today's session was long, and I still had some indentations on my skin from the suspension shoot we did. It ran overtime, so the photographer had gifted me with the crystal tipped nipple clamps we used, and I stashed them in my purse.
Grabbing my purse and duffel bag, I slipped on my shoes, waved goodbye to the photographer Marcus, and headed out into the street. It was already dark, and my car was parked up around the block, so I fitted my keys between my knuckles, and put my guard up as I walked.
I was almost to my car when he grabbed me, a strong arm banded around my waist as a big palm came down over my mouth. I inhaled sharply and bucked instinctively, trying to break free, to scratch him with my fistful of keys. But he squeezed me tighter, constricting my breath.
"Settle down now beautiful," he said. His voice was deep, and silky smooth, with a hint of a British accent. "I've got a few mates in town, and like any good host, I want to show them a good time." He moved the arm from my waist and shoved his hand between my legs, grabbing my pussy roughly, his fingers digging into my sex. "Raping you is going to be quite a treat."
Lust and fear shot through me, and I shook my head, trying to dislodge his palm from my mouth.
"Really," he purred in my ear. "You should be flattered...Jessica. I've seen your video, and chose you specifically."
Removing my purse and duffel bag from my shoulder, the man yanked my arms behind me, and bound them together with something—it felt like the same kind of silky rope we use in the photo shoots. A dark sedan with tinted windows pulled up beside us, and the door opened. The man pushed me inside roughly, so that I fell over the seat, face first. I felt him toss my bags in beside me, then he climbed in too.
"Go," he said to someone, and the car started moving.
I turned my head, trying to see the man's face. The light was dim and it took my eyes a few seconds to adjust, but when I could finally see him clearly, he was smiling.
"Like what you see?" he said with a smirk that suggested he knew he was handsome. He was tall, and muscled, with a head full of dark wavy hair, a closely trimmed beard, and sparkling blue eyes set off by the deep blue of the tailored suit he wore. Fucking gorgeous.
"Fuck you," I said, murder in my gaze.
British Guy moved closer, and ran one large hand slowly over my ass, to my shoulder. Gripping me hard, he flipped me over onto my back and grabbed my pussy through my yoga pants again.
"No darling," he said with a growl. "You, are definitely the one that's going to get fucked."
My pussy clenched under his hands and he laughed cruelly.
"We know all about you, you see. What a trashy little slut you are, showing off this body for anyone with a camera and few hundred dollars."
"No, that's not what I do," I said, squeezing my eyes shut as his hands ran freely over my body, seeking out my most intimate places. "I'm a professional model."
"Really?" his tone was laced with derision. "Legitimate, professional models let strangers take photos of them tied up, their naked tits squeezed between coils of rope?" His hands slipped under my tank top and bra, his fingers finding my nipples, pinching them hard as he continued his taunts. "I saw those photos, your nipples were bruised, and red, and swollen. Just begging to be bitten." He twisted my nipples hard and I gasped, arching up off the seat as my eyes flew open.
The car jolted to a stop, and I went flying, but the man caught me, grinning down at me with a dangerous look in his eyes.
"Good," he said, lifting me up as the car door opened. "We're here. Let the evening begin."
* * *
British Guy popped me on the curb outside a brick building, dragged me around the side down the alley, and pushed me through a rusty steel door. We walked down a dimly lit corridor for a few seconds, and then pushed through another door into a warmly lit room, richly furnished in leather, and dark wood.
There was a bar to one side of the room, and straight ahead, a carved fireplace with a seating area in front of it, comprised of three large, tufted leather sofas, arranged in a semi-square.
They were full of men.
Quickly, I scanned the scene. All of the men were tall, with varying builds that ranged from lean to muscular. Their body language and attire, suggested wealth and influence. I spotted flashy cufflinks, and Rolex watches. Several drank from wine glasses, others had cut crystal tumblers of amber liquid. All had a confident, arrogant air about them, that let me know this was a powerful group of men, used to getting what they want.
