The Rape As Told By Her

*AUTHOR'S NOTE*

This story is my account of a play session with my Dom, FreeBloke. He has also written an account, in the form of a story. Please be sure to also read his, called: The Rape - As Told By Him. We had a lot of fun writing these, we hope you enjoy reading them!

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I was in my bedroom, sitting at my dressing table, brushing through my wet hair. The house was empty and very, very quiet. I was spending most of my time daydreaming - thinking about him, about everything we've done and everything we plan to do in the future. I felt incredibly relaxed, because I'd been for my run earlier and had just taken a bath. My hair was still wet and I'd just slipped into my black bra and knickers, sheer black top and tight skirt.

I stretched, ran my fingers through my hair and decided that, yes, I was thirsty. As I got up to go downstairs, my mobile phone rang. It was him; my Dom, my lover.

"Hello, slut," he said, in his usual firm, but playful, tone.

"Hi, babe!" I replied, happy to hear from him.

"Where are you?"

"At home."

"Yes, I know, but where in the house?"

"Oh, I'm in the bedroom."

"Good. What are you doing?"

"I've just had a bath and washed my hair, I was just brushing it."

"Ok, go downstairs, into the living room."

"Why?"

"Just do it."

As I walked down the stairs he continued to talk to me, mainly small talk. I had a feeling I knew what was about to happen. I'd been building myself up to this all week, and he'd been teasing me and winding me up about which day he'd come to my house.

We'd talked, quite early on in our relationship, about our deepest, darkest fantasies. I told him mine and he reacted very positively towards what I'd said. I told him that my strongest fantasy right then was for someone to come to my house and 'rape' me. He wasn't shocked by this, as I thought most people might be, and he did say that maybe he would one day.

So now, here we were, a few months on in our relationship. We knew each other's sexual likes and dislikes incredibly well and I trusted him, completely. Then, one day, he said to me, "I'm coming to your house very soon, to rape you, but I'm not telling you when."

Every day the following week I readied myself for the possibility that he'd come. On the Tuesday he phoned me, and asked where I was in the house and so on, and I really believed he'd arrived, and would knock at the door any moment. He didn't. He'd phoned me from work. It was all part of his plan to keep me on my toes. I really had no idea which day it would be.

So now it was Friday. The day before he had said, "It will either be tomorrow or Monday." I knew today was the day, but as I rushed down the stairs I began having doubts. I had a horrible feeling that he was doing the same to me as he'd done on Tuesday.

Nonetheless, I quickly rushed to the cupboard and grabbed my high, strappy black shoes. I sat in one of the armchairs in the living room and held the phone between my ear and shoulder. We carried on chatting, as I quickly tried to put my shoes on.

"Are you there yet?"

"Yes, I just sat down."

"What are you doing?"

"Just putting my shoes on."

"Are they on yet?"

"Only one, I'm just abo..."

The phone went dead and almost simultaneously, there was a firm knock at the front door. It was him, his silhouette through the frosted glass was familiar enough for me to recognise him. He'd finally arrived. I had been right. I then fully comprehended what was about to happen: he intended to take me by force; to act as if he was raping me.

I'd told him I'd put up a fight, so I tried to psyche myself up, ready for the onslaught I knew was about to come. I tried to build up the energy to fight back.

I only had one shoe on, but I had to hurry and open the door for him – I knew he wouldn't want to be kept waiting. So, I hobbled down the hall with one bare foot, the other in a three inch heeled shoe. No sooner had I turned the key in the lock, when he pulled down the handle and pushed the door open. He had a stern, determined look on his face, but I could still see a hint of that familiar warmth in his eyes. I jumped back, because the door flew open at such speed. He stared at me, directly in the eyes, without saying a word.

He moved fast, frighteningly fast, and, before I had time to react, he was inside my house. He made a lunge for me, and I tried to turn and run, but his hand flew up and grabbed the back of my neck, holding me tight, making me gasp. I don't think I've ever felt as much fear as I did at that moment, but, bloody hell I was horny. I was confused, I didn't know how to react, I did know one thing: I felt scared, but incredibly excited.

The pressure he was exerting on the back of my neck increased and he brought his face close to mine, and said to me, "Close that fucking door and lock it, NOW!" I was frightened and did exactly as I was told.

"That's it, do as you're told and be a good girl. That way it will be less painful."

"Ok," I replied, looking into his eyes, searching for some warmth there.

"Don't look me in the eye, bitch," he barked at me. So, I averted my gaze and looked down. I was petrified, but also incredibly aroused. He was turning me on, by being his extremely sexy, dominant self.

"Right, now you're for it, you dirty little slut," he growled at me.

He dragged me into the living room, I nearly fell, because I was unstable with just one shoe on. Then he shouted at me to, "Get down on the floor." I didn't have time to react and follow his instruction that time; he shoved me down, face first and knelt on my back. He was hurting me and I whimpered with the pain, this seemed to fire him up even more and he hit me across the back of the head, three times, in quick succession. He didn't hit me hard, but hard enough. I tried to be quiet and just go along with whatever he wanted.

The whole time he was on my back, pushing me into the floor, aggressively shouting at me, telling me I was a, "Filthy whore," and other names, which he knew never failed to turn me on, I was telling myself to fight back; to try and get strength from somewhere to make it difficult for him, but I couldn't. In my mind, fighting back was all part of the game, and what happened that day was a game, but at the time it felt very, very real – just as I wanted it to feel.

He took his hand away from my head, and I turned my face to try and look at him and see what he was going to do next. "Don't look at me, bitch, get your fucking head down!" he roared at me, then hit me across the back of the head again.

He grabbed my hair and lifted my head from the floor slightly, and then wrapped a leather belt around my head, making sure it went in my mouth and between my teeth. He also wrapped it once around my neck, I'm not sure if he meant to, but it did feel incredibly sexy. It felt extremely uncomfortable around my mouth, not only because it was tight, but also because he'd left a lot of my wet hair hanging down in front of my face and caught it in the belt. It was tough to breath, as well as see anything. I don't think he realised quite how uncomfortable it was, not that he would have cared much; he was so hyped up and zoned – just as I'd wanted him to be – that my displeasure didn't matter.

He pushed my face back into the hard, but carpeted, floor and ordered me to give him my left wrist. I struggled to free my arm from under my body, but I managed it and bent it up, behind my back. "Good, now the other one," he said, and I quickly freed that arm and placed it behind my beck.

He still had one knee in the small of my back, when I caught a glimpse of him pull a length of rope from his fleece pocket. "Palms up," he ordered me, "right, now open your fingers out."

At that point I decided I'd try and put up a fight. I pulled my hands apart, to stop him from tying them. I remember trying to say, "No, get off me," in a very small, quiet voice. It must have sounded pretty pathetic to him, and he laughed at my attempts to put up resistance. Then he hit me again and it really hurt that time. I gave up trying to fight him and placed my hands back together, behind my back.

He soon had my wrists tied together, and then bent down, placing his face close to my left ear. I could feel his hot, rasping breaths as he spoke, "Get up! Come on, stand up you worthless bitch." I tried, but I couldn't. Without the use of my arms to push myself up, I could find the strength in my legs. Because I'd failed to do as he'd asked, I braced myself to be hit again, but he didn't. I could tell he was annoyed with me, though, because he called me a, "Stupid bitch."

He roughly took hold of my shoulders and pulled me to my feet. I was very unsteady, because I was shaking with fear. He pushed me towards the sofa and told me to get down. "Get your ass in the air," he growled at me, then pushed my face into the cushion.

I was highly aroused by that point, because it really did feel as if he was about to take me by force. Of course, he wasn't, not really – I wanted it as badly as he did, but he was so good, so aggressive and forceful and I was at his mercy.

I badly wanted him to fuck me, right then, but I wanted to feel as if he was really forcing me, so I kept my legs together. This got just the reaction I wanted: he aggressively grabbed my ankles and pulled my legs apart, and I felt the top layer of skin on my right knee scrape off as he did so. It stung, but feeling that pain turned me on even more.

My heart was pounding and I was beginning to hyper-ventilate, partly due to the gag, but largely due to the adrenalin rush I was experiencing. I was in pain and incredibly uncomfortable, but so turned on. More turned on than I'd ever been before. It was him, the person he is. He's not only impressively strong and dominant and the sexiest man I've ever known, it's also the fact that he is willing to go to any lengths to please me. He knows my most intimate fantasies, and he goes out of his way to make them a reality for me, and I know he gets great pleasure from playing them out with me, too.

So, he had me there, on my knees, bound and gagged, with my face pushed into the sofa. He roughly pulled my tight black skirt up, then yanked on my knickers. He didn't pull them down; he ripped the crotch, destroying my last, thin, line of defence.

I heard him unzip his jeans, and thought, this is it, he's gonna fuck me. But, his fingers went to my expectant cunt first. He didn't gently stroke me and play with me to begin with, as he usually does, he forced two – or three, I wasn't sure – straight up inside me. I gasped and reflexively pulled away from him, but only for an instant. It felt good, very good.

His fingers went away and I felt his hands go to the tops of my thighs. He spread my legs wider and got between them. I was still finding it hard to breathe and was incredibly uncomfortable, but I wanted to feel his hard cock inside me. I needed to feel it. I didn't have to wait any longer. He forced his way inside me with a grunt and my cunt yielded.

He didn't take it easy at first, at all, he pounded into me with great force immediately. Not much was going through my mind at the time, it was all so intense. I remember feeling a little shocked at the speed and ferocity with which he'd acted, but that doesn't mean I wasn't enjoying it – I was, immensely. I do remember wishing he'd given me time to get both shoes on, the bastard. He'd caught me completely unprepared, which threw me off, and distracted my attention, precisely when I'd wanted to focus on what was happening to me.

As he proceeded to fuck me, slamming me into the sofa each time he pounded into me, I could sense him getting more and more aggressive. I'd never heard him grunt as much and breathe as hard as that before. The length of his belt, from where it was buckled around my mouth and throat, was trailing behind my head, and, when he pulled on that, I let out a cry.

My head was jerked straight up and back and the constriction on my throat felt tighter than ever. Breathing was becoming almost impossible and I began to get light-headed. He didn't abate – he was going to fuck me until he came. I felt myself reaching orgasm a couple of times, but it didn't quite happen. Each time I got close, he'd pull tighter on the belt . He wasn't doing that intentionally, as I'm sure he didn't realise, but each time it happened, it distracted my mind and brought me down from being close to climax.

I knew he was about to come when he started calling me a, "Dirty fucking bitch," and saying, "You are my filthy slut." He pulled tight on the belt and let out a long, deep moan as he shot his load into my battered cunt. A wave of dizziness and nausea hit me and, once he released his hold on the belt, I slumped into the soft cushions of the sofa, face first. He was breathing heavily, which I noticed when he lent over me, pressing his body against my back, holding my shoulders. That was the first act of tenderness he'd shown me that day.

He didn't stay there long, because I think he sensed I was pretty much out of it. He pulled himself up, then quickly began unbuckling his belt, finally releasing the tight constriction around my neck. He was shocked he'd actually wrapped it around my neck, and, as I suspected, he told me he hadn't meant to do that. I didn't mind, in fact, I'd quite enjoyed it – it had added to the intensity of the experience.

Once he'd removed all the constraints, including the rope that had been cutting into my wrists, I stayed there for a few moments, before he helped me to my feet. I felt, and probably looked, a complete mess. I know my hair had got tangled and my black eyeliner had probably run. Also, my skirt was still up around my waist, and one leg of my destroyed knickers was still around my right ankle, the ankle of the foot wearing the one shoe.

I began to cry, as a wave of unstoppable emotion hit me. I wasn't upset, hurt or angry, far from it, it was just an outpouring of the extreme intensity of what had just happened – a massive come-down. He stepped up close in front of me and wrapped his arms around me. As he held me tight I could feel the soft material of his T-shirt, as I buried my face into his shoulder and chest I wept. He stroked the back of my head and asked me over and over again if I was ok. I assured him I was, then we kissed. A simple kiss has never felt so sweet, warm and tender as that kiss did that day.

He broke contact and stepped away from me, then said, "Right, now go and make me a cup of tea." I grinned at him, before turning to walk into the kitchen.

"No, wait!" he called after me.

"What?"

"Before you make the tea, suck my dick."