A General Introduction To Rape Fantasies


He felt utterly helpless. Her hands went where they wanted, along his side, across his thigh, to his hip. She let one linger on his throat, index finger and thumb pinching, scary as she slid just the tips of two fingers past his lips, penetrating him and showing him he didn’t even have the choice to bite.

When her hand stroked over his groin, he murmured a vulnerable protest. “No…”

So yeah, about rape fantasies, both having them and playing them out…

It’s “Adult Sex Education Month” and blogger Gracie, of Sex Kitten.net, suggested that I tackle the often controversial topic of rape fantasies and the people that have them. Fair’s fair, while I’m not a professional sex educator, this thing is my shtick. My story, Catamite, for example, is fairly intense non-con and my personal life certainly swings in that direction.

If you aren’t living under a rock, you’ve probably heard the term “rape fantasy“. In brief, that’s arousal from imagining a sexual scenario that is coerced or conducted without consent of the victim. That could mean anything from fantasies of violent and entirely otherwise unpleasant sex, through to the token resistance school of sex popularly attributed to romance novels, where one participant protests at first but then begins to enjoy it.

Needless to say, despite being very, very common, rape fantasies are a very sensitive topic, because they often shade into things that squick people or carry big, well deserved trigger warnings. They also end up being a source of argument when it comes to talking about sexual desire and what people really want in bed.  Rape is considered, by most people, to be one of the most vile things you can do to a human, but some people have a certain degree of confusion on what is and isn’t okay (and some very weird gender theories) based on the sheer common to the point of banality rate that people have consent violation fantasies, both as victim and perpetrator. The result is a whole bunch of other terms and euphemisms to talk about it- ravishment and consensual non-consent being popular ways to distance the product of one’s sexual imagination from real sexual assault.

That being said, a sexual assault is simply not the same thing as a rape fantasy, and making the distinction is only worth token acknowledgement. I’m going to flat out say that nobody wants to actually be sexually assaulted no matter how elaborate and violent their fantasies are- now there might be a few self harming weirdoes out there who will talk about how they want it to be real, but it’s not a statistically significant amount. And speaking about someone who’s both experienced sexual assault and done this sort of thing as play, there is an overwhelming world of difference of how you feel around the real thing and a comfortable expression of sexuality with your partner. Kind of like stick fighting in a LARP and actually getting into a war are different concepts. Now that we’ve got that out of the way, more on how people experience them after the jump…

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Friday Femdom Fiction: Topping From the Bottom

This one is almost meta femdom, and may not appeal if you’re looking for straight forward femdom fiction.


“That’s your biggest fantasy?”

“It is right now,” she bit her lip. “But it’s important that you want it.”

“Babe, you know I want whatever you want.”

“It’s more than that. But, I’m pretty confident that your tastes in porn hint… um…”

“It’s a hot scenario.” He held the bundle she’d given him to his chest. “And a cool hat.”

“See you in ten minutes,” she smiled and then mouthed a kiss. “Make it real. You know I can take it.”

She went into the room and closed the door, peeling off her robe and wadding it into a ball which she stuffed into the bottom of the closet. Once upon a time, before admissions and confessions, this had been his room. Now it served whatever purpose they needed for work or play. She fixed the blanket so it covered the exercise bike better, and put one of the two chairs in the middle of the room. Rummaging in the closet, she removed two things, shiny metal handcuffs with their keys, and a black cloth bag. The handcuffs, she opened up, thinking about last minute details and flicking the light off so the room dimmed to what little light came through the curtain.

Sitting in the chair, she smoothed the silky fabric of her night dress, feeling the garters underneath and checked her stockings. Runs were fine. Runs would make it more real, but she didn’t like it when the clips loosed themselves. The bag went over her head and she squirmed bit, using the back of the chair to lock the other cuff so her wrists were behind her back, helpless. She let her head hang, thinking about the role.

They came for her in the intimacy of her dressing room, taking her out like so many vanished people to one of their many jails.  She knew, sooner or later, her number was going to be up. She wondered what the charge would be. Subversive, or maybe indecency. Maybe they even knew what she was doing. No matter what, she had to protect them, keep their names from them.

She waited, heard boots outside, a voice. Male. The door opened and shut. The lamp flicked on and she felt his presence, pulling the bag by the corner until it tugged free of her head, leaving her hair in disarray about her face.

“Anastasia Asinova.”

He was tall, dressed impeccably, every button on the grey uniform shining. The peaked cap sat on his head precisely and he had a clip board in his other hand. He continued speaking, “Age 28, never married. Profession, singer. Parents, deceased.”

She saw that he was looking her over, and revelled in it, “Well, that’s me. What’d you haul me down here for?”

He lat a little impatience show, “You seem to be treating this with more levity than it deserves, Miss Asinova. You should have more respect for the state. Although that a degenerate like you doesn’t care, does not surprise me in the least.”

She shifted a bit in the chair, feeling the vulnerability of the cuffs and their tightness digging into her wrists. His height took on particular menace, but she knew her arms behind her back thrusts her breasts forward and knew that the guarded carefulness in her eyes was arousing him.

“Miss Asinova?”

Her head came up, proudly, with a little shake that settled the softness of her hair out of her vision, “What are the charges?”

“Indecency.” He sneered. “Degradation of the moral character of the populace and corruption, Miss Asinova. You sell yourself for perfume and stockings. To soldiers, to men with weak moral character, who can grant you favours, as bribes to officials. We know your methods; a friend of the state has informed us about everything.”

“I offer myself to whomever I like,” the way her arms were held by the cuffs pinched her wrists, and sent a certain tingle along her arms, from shoulder to scalp. “But I’m no whore.”

His hand caught her across the cheek, a stinging slap. She gasped. He was starting already.

“I think the evidence suggests otherwise. You know what happens to whores, Miss Asinova.”

She took a steadying breath. “So brutal.”

But she caught the slightly hesitation, where he was noticing her. The satin fabric of her slip poured over her skin, light lace and sleek, in a way she knew followed and hinted at the softness of her body. She knew that the lamp was enough to reveal its half transparency and the elastic tightness of her garter. She laughed. “You’re looking too aren’t you?”

His hand reached out and grabbed her chin, holding her head in place and stooping to meet her eyes. “Listen to me, Miss Asinova. There is one way you can survive and that is to make a full confession and be ready to make an atonement.”

She made a soft whimper, instinctual, pushing his buttons. “Oh, you’re hurting me!”

But then as his grip loosened a little, her smile came back and the tip of her tongue flicked against the webbing that joined his thumb to his palm, wet and ticklish. He retaliated by taking a fistful of her hair, hard enough she grimaced.


“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

“You listen to me, Miss Asinova. Normally I would simply see you charged and tried. When they found you guilty you would be sent to be re-educated. There, they would take away your pretty clothes in exchange for a prison uniform. They would shave off your long hair for the lice. A diet of barley broth and cabbage and hard, honest work would take the curves right off you.”

She panted, dragged half out of the chair. The only way to spare the pain of his fingers tangled in her hair was to press towards him. “Then what are you going to do with me?”

“We are going to give you a second chance, Miss Asinova.” He released her, letting her sit again. “But we will expect you to do something in return.”

She let him see that she was frightened, curling herself away from him. And yet, she felt exhilarated and breathless, aroused and shivery. “W-what?”

“We know that you mix with less than honest people. If you have no compunctions about dirtying yourself, you might as well make yourself useful.”

She stole a glance at him. She knew that pose, a certain tension that told her that her every move was teasing him. She made a soft mewling noise and let her teeth capture her lip. “Alright, just tell me what I have to do.”

“You will inform on the men who buy your services. You may be called upon to show your patriotism.” She understood his meaning. She was going to become a trap.

“I am loyal!” She insisted. Under her filmy slip her thighs squeezed together. She was already thinking to how she could turn this to her advantage. He would think she would comply and she would ferret out the rat that had sold her out.

He reached for her again, this time her shoulder, leading her out of the chair with her wrists still linked behind her back. “Not many people get second chances, especially those as undeserving as you, Miss Asinova.”

She dipped her head, even as he gave her body another raking glance. “I’m very grateful.”

“Come here,” he said gruffly.

She watched him give into temptation and saw his fingers reach for the button of his pants, even as she knelt. They both knew what he wanted,  before her mouth was around him.

She nuzzled him, felt the hardness against her lips and sucked. Soap and a maleness that defied comparison. Dragging it out, she teased with her tongue, rubbed wet and firm against the head of his cock, like a good little degenerate.

The groan he made brought a muffled echo out of her own throat, but she persisted to tease until his hands found her head and urged her, faster and faster until she felt the pinprick of tears and started to gag. There was no gentleness there, something almost violent, as if he was conflicted about what he was doing. Perfect.

She let herself relax into being used, until she tasted his cum, hot thick and bitter. He held her a moment longer, on the final forward stroke, until he finished, and she immediately turned her face away as if to shame them and his desire.

There was a moment’s hesitation on his part and she looked at him again, in full defiance. “Now what?”

“Now we brief you in how you’re going to perform.” He helped hoist her up to her feet, steadying her balance, much more gently, and she felt the way he lingered close to her.

They broke their roles then, as he helped uncuff her, the little key flicking in the locks. Freed, she gave her arms a shake, flexing her wrists.

“Those aren’t too sore, are they?”

“Oh, no!”

“God, you’re sexy.” His arms wrapped around her. “The way you were wriggling about. I didn’t know if I wanted to beat you and rape you or beg you.”

“Good.” She made a happy noise, reached up and took off his hat to put it on her head. “You were fantastic yourself.”


I was sick all of last week, so this is late. It’s also three times the length that I try for with these pieces.