Consensual Nonconsent

Safe, sane, and consensual kinky sex can be an amazing experience. It’s like taking the best thing ever and adding all sorts of new ingredients and spices that only enhance it. Every now and then, though, I crave an element of fear.

Fear is a very difficult ingredient to come by. With those that I already know and trust, it can be simulated. Different mind fucks and games can make my heart rate shoot up, my adrenaline surge, and scare me but there is always the underlying trust that my limits will be respected (pushed, but respected) and that I will not be harmed. This mindset is not the same as fear.

Real fear, believe me, is a whole different ball game. A true belief of actual danger is a hard thing to safely pre-arrange. If done right, though, a “consensual nonconsent” rape scene can be (and has been for me) truly an amazing adventure, so when someone contacted me that was into the edgier types of play, specifically rape play, I was intrigued.

Appropriate screening took place and safety measures were taken, but that is a lot of writing. I will just skip all of that and say that we arranged to meet. I walked in to this with the full knowledge that this man would most likely scare me and hopefully rape me. That was the entire point. The added element of danger was really making me hot. I thought I was prepared.

When the scene began, I was actually very comfortable. We were talking about various things, I quickly felt at ease. Suddenly he grabbed me by the throat, pulled me up on my knees, and began to examine me, specifically my eyes. He started asking me about my feelings at the moment and my thoughts at being there to be used. I honestly answered that, though I was a little nervous, I was more turned on.

He pushed me down onto the floor on my stomach and covered my body with his, hand still on my throat. Very hot! I relaxed, nearly purring. God I love physical domination! While groping me roughly and telling me what a slut I am, he told me to struggle. I made some effort to, but every time he pinned me, I got hotter and relaxed. I was enjoying this and I wanted more. He released me and sat back in his chair. We started to chat again for a few minutes, and I even complimented him on a very nice start.

Then he told me to remove my clothing and get on the bed. I quickly and happily complied. I was hot as hell and started stroking, kissing, nibbling, and licking him all over. He stopped me by rolling me onto my back and pinning me again. I was grinning. One hand held my wrist in such a way that was a little uncomfortable. The other hand began to pinch, pull, and twist my breasts, nipples, and skin way too hard. It was not quite unbearable, but it did cause me to struggle. Once I began to move, he flexed his hand on my wrist, causing excruciating pain. I stopped struggling immediately and the pain stopped.

(Yes, these actually are his eyes.)

He ordered me to look at him. Those beautiful blue eyes were directly in front of mine, but they weren’t so beautiful anymore. They were ice cold. His face had changed indescribably. If I didn’t know better, I would swear this was a different man. It sent a chill through me. This was a game, though, and I met his stare.

Then, heaven help me, he began to talk.

Even his voice had changed. He calmly pointed out that we had established he could physically overpower me, and asked if I agreed. I closed my eyes. Sudden excruciating pain in my wrist and nipple opened them quickly and I said “Yes.” More pain shut them again and caused me to cry out and attempt to move.

“Don’t you ever take your eyes off mine, slut! Yes what?” The pain intensified.

I opened my eyes and looked into his. I wanted to look away. “Yes, Sir,” I gasped through the pain. The pain stopped.

He started to talk again, calmly, quietly, menacingly. He told me that this was not a game. He started talking about all the things he was going to do to me, describing them in detail. Some actually made me moan, but most made me struggle. Many of them were things that were expressly off limits for this scene. Horrible images began to flood my mind, and I turned away. Pain made me look back. He told me I was a worthless, filthy cunt and that I deserved everything that I was about to get.

He talked about the fact that even though someone knew where I was and had his information it would not help me. He said he had enough of my own words in our conversations to prove I was here consensually, and that he would be able to get away with anything short of killing me, no consequences, and that there was not a damned thing I could do about it. He was right.

He informed me that there was no such thing as a safeword and nothing I could say or do would save me now. I looked pleadingly into those eyes, searching for any sign that he was playing. There was none. In fact what I saw gave me no doubt that I was in serious trouble. I started to shake.

I could not look into his eyes anymore. They were freezing me, paralyzing me. I tried to look away. I needed to get away. My mind was racing faster than my heart. Even through the resulting pain I was contemplating escape, but I knew I was fucked. I wouldn’t make it to the door. I fought opening my eyes. If I couldn’t physically escape, at least I would send my mind somewhere else. The pain kept increasing. I fought it. I lost and opened my eyes.

“If you look away from me again… I… WILL… HURT… YOU… You will not make a sound unless I ask you a question. If you do, I WILL HURT YOU. Do you understand?” With wide open eyes, I nodded. He had already made it quite clear that he knew how to inflict pain even a masochist could not enjoy. “I asked you a question,” he growled and grabbed and twisted the skin on my inner thigh.

“Yes,” barely made it out of my throat. My head turned, my eyes closed, and my body tried to get away automatically. It did no good. The skin twisted more. “Yes, Sir, I understand!” came out a little stronger, and I forced myself to look at him. The physical pain stopped, but looking into his eyes was worse.

“What do you see when you look at me?” he asked as he started rubbing his cock on my thigh.

I did not want to answer, but I did not want more pain. “Calmness,” I said. That was true. Cold, calculating, and evil would have been a better description, but I was not about to try and piss him off. “And maybe some kindness, Sir,” I added, hopefully, knowing it was a lie but hoping it might find some compassion in there somewhere. His humorless chuckle at that comment and another dose of pain dashed that final hope.

He looked deeper into my eyes. “What are you thinking now, you worthless piece of fuckmeat?”

I told him the truth. I was terrified. I was afraid of him. I wanted to go.

He smiled an evil smile and with a voice dripping contempt he asked “And what are you going to do about it?”

I told him I removed my consent.

That actually got a laugh from him. He told me he was going to do whatever he wanted to me, and he wanted me to not give consent. He wanted to take it from me. He wanted me to say no, and the less l liked something the harder it would make him. As if to prove his point, he hurt me some more, just for fun. Every time I cried out, the pain increased. He told me that now that I knew what he really thought about me to believe that he did not give a shit about me.

“Try to get away.” I knew I couldn’t, but I made an attempt. His hold on me was well practiced. There was no escape.

“Beg me to stop.”

There was no acting on my part here. If I had to rate my level of fear with 10 being “I hope they find the body”, I would say I was at a 9 or “I will end up in the emergency room.” Words flowed out of my mouth, looking directly into his eyes, begging and pleading with my eyes as well. He looked amused, and he did get harder. I did not stop. I kept trying to reason with him, bargain with him, anything to get me out of there.

“Stop.” I stopped. He pointed out that no matter what I had just said, that I was soaking wet and actually grinding back, even if just a little, on his cock. I realized it was true. I was humiliated. That took the last glimmer of fight out of me. I did deserve this. He saw the shift, the resignation, in my eyes and I saw him see it. He broke me. I groaned and he hurt me. “Not one fucking sound!”

He stayed that way for a bit longer, feeding off the fear, pain, and misery in my eyes. He was savoring it. I dared not look away, and what I saw in his eyes only amplified those feelings. He was in complete control and we both knew it. Then he told me to close my eyes. It was a blessed relief.

He told me not to move and not to open my eyes or I would regret it, and got up. A brief hope flared in my mind. This was my chance. I knew he was watching me trembling, my breaths silent sobs from the fear. I knew he was waiting for me to try to run. I could not move, though. I knew I would not get out, and my body was frozen like a deer in the headlights. Sheer terror held me tighter than rope. I could feel my cunt dripping, and hated myself for it.

He came back and settled down, pinning me again. His cock was rubbing up and down my drenched slit. Despite myself, my hips started to move back. He told me to open my eyes again. I did not want to. More pain. “You will not hide away in your mind.” My eyes opened. He continued telling me that he was going to do all of those things to me and more. But first he said, he was going to fuck me, without a condom. “You may speak.”

I immediately started begging again, bargaining that I would do anything he said and cooperate if he only put on a condom.

“Do you want me to fuck you?”

Still, despite the fear, I had to admit the truth. “Yes, Sir, but with a condom.”

He slipped his cock to the entrance of my cunt. “What does this feel like?”

“This is rape,” I said seriously, looking at him directly.

“Beg,” he said, teasing me with the tip of his cock. I begged. I begged him to stop. I begged him to put on a condom. I begged him to fuck me. I begged him to let me go. I said all sorts of things, most of which surprised me. So many conflicting feelings poured out.

He slowly slipped his cock inside me and held it there, looking at me. I closed my eyes to avoid the stare. He twisted my skin again, and this time there was no hiding the internal twitches from him. I looked back. He continued to hurt me, and began fucking me, still with that stare. The conflicting sensations were causing my eyes to lose focus and my head to move around, which only caused more pain.

He continued to talk, reminding me that I was powerless, that I was less than nothing to him, and that not only he, but all of his friends would be fucking me unprotected before the night was over. And if I was lucky, that would be the best part of the evening. By now my fear level was at about 9.8 or “I am going to need an ambulance.” I moaned, mostly from the fear, but honestly, ashamedly, I was also aroused. I knew I had no choice, and my main concern was survival.

I surrendered completely. My body began reacting to the cock inside me, and he could feel it. As an unwanted orgasm began to build, he increased his pace. “You will not cum. Only I get to cum.” My body was working on its own, seeking release. He stopped moving with his cock buried inside.

“Beg.” That caused a very strong, involuntary, internal twitch. I opened my mouth, not sure what I was going to say. What came out shocked me.

“Please fuck me. I want to cum. I want you to rape me and treat me like the dirty little cunt I am. I want your friends to use me and cum in all of my holes.” And so on. There was a lot more I begged for, and I have never felt so ashamed. Real fear, real pain, real rape, and I was getting off on it.

The instant he started moving inside me again, I started to cum. He stopped, and I groaned in frustration. He looked into my eyes. Very quietly he said, “Cum,” but he did not move.

“Fuck me!” I cried, and starting moving my hips. He started pounding into me and I came.

He rolled onto the other side of the bed and left me laying there, panting. My eyes were still wide open, but staring unfocused at the ceiling. I still did not move. After a few minutes he asked what I was thinking. I thought about my answer for a minute. I had a hurricane of thoughts in my head. The words came out “I am hoping that this is a game and that you had a condom on, Sir.” I was still too afraid to make him angry.

“You may clean my cock.” After a microscopic hesitation, I moved. If this is real, I better do what he says. When I saw the condom, I looked up at his face. He was grinning. Not the evil, demented face, but the friendly, easy-going guy I met when I first walked in.

I grinned too. I knew there was a reason I picked this guy. His skills and experience had taken me where I wanted to go. He had given me exactly what I was looking for, using only his two hands, words, and my own mind against me.

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