Rape – Her Story by AngelzDevil

A literotic sexstories: Rape – Her Story by AngelzDevil

This is an adult dark – fantasy only.

Read the other story, “Rape – His Story”, and let me know what you think!

Several years ago, a casual chat friend asked me to write a Rape Story. Initially I couldn’t, and wouldn’t, and immediately gave up on the idea, frankly telling her so. Then later, thinking back to her demand, I decided to try and write a story from the perspective of the female; not to glorify rape, but maybe to show the inner strengths many women can, and do, possess.

This is the result.

The chat friend wasn’t impressed. She told me bluntly that she wanted the man to be a total shit, and to write it from the point of degrading all women. Again, I refused. Again, she persisted. Inevitably, in some silly way of hoping I could impress this lady, I, in typical (dumb) man fashion, tried. The result was “Rape – His Story”.

“Rape – His Story” is far more brutal; and I make no apologies, but do ask you to read it for the ‘complete’ story.

Truthfully, I am totally repulsed by my ‘villain’ (Peter George Herbert Walker [yes, in loving respect to our current ‘first family’, lol; as if, lol!]), but I am equally intrigued with; a) how far my own mind can think outside my ‘normal’ limits, and b) with how such criminal deviants might actually think. I have always been an avid reader, both of fiction, and non-fiction, and the following sleaze ball is an amalgamation of every degenerate low-life I have ever read about, sprinkled with lots of TV villains I have seen, melted together with my over active imagination. I hope, at the least, that I have created a realistic villain.

What started out as a challenge to provoke someone else, has now become a second challenge, to provoke myself; to see if I can actually transport myself into this evil mind. I won’t type ‘enjoy this story’ because, if I have done my job right, you should NEVER enjoy this story, but equally, if I have done my job completely right, you might actually BELIEVE this story. That is the only goal I seek.]

(Taken from a transcript illegally acquired from Dr. Celeste Mills, as part of ongoing therapy sessions with Mrs. Laura Carter.)

I don’t even know where to start this.

In fact, I can’t even believe I have agreed to write about this shit. But, yes, I do trust Celeste, and she has assured me (after my pleading and begging), that no one, especially my husband Ed, will ever read this, so yes, very cautiously, I have agreed.

Initially, right after I got out of hospital, my husband suggested I try to recreate the incident on paper, to help me deal with it – to help me work my anger out. Initially, I flat out refused. Then, skeptical to say the least, I reluctantly discussed this thought with my doctor, and to my surprise, not only did she agree, she was adamant that I do it.

She explained that by recounting the full events, with all of the sordid details left intact, that I may be able to aid with my own therapy.

God, I hope she’s right!

Maybe my story might help others, maybe not. But I accept that it should be told, on paper, at least.

* * * * *

I was raped. That’s the correct word. That’s the only word.

I cannot use any other word. No other words can describe the invasion, humiliation and abuse I have suffered.

I was actually repeatedly raped over many days.

Who am I? I am a 47 year old woman, with a loving husband and no children. (Oh, I love children, but sometimes a woman’s body just doesn’t work in certain ways (neither of us regret not being able to bear children – or if we do, neither of us admits to it.))

And I am angry!

My anger isn’t just contained to the animal who violated me. My anger is also spread to the vast majority of hypocrites who say “I asked for it”, and those same hypocrites don’t know jack shit.

I was raped. Repeatedly by a sick sadistic monster.

Society seems to have set up some strange rules and proprieties for women. And society seems to be controlled by men! But unless I give you the wrong impression, there are enough useless women out there, who are equally to blame for the “moral” standards we live by.

My own sister acts like a princess, walks like a princess, talks lie a princess. She takes extreme offence if I even say the word “shit” let alone words like “cock” or “fuck”. She whispers about things she does in the bedroom like they are naughty, and only done to “please” her husband. Her husband acts superior and aloof (and more than once has grabbed at my tits and asked me to suck his cock!). But, my own sister sucks and fucks like a whore. I know because she has told me in all her glorious self-inflated importance. Who is she fooling?

I was raped. Repeatedly. I didn’t seek it out. I didn’t “ask” for it. I didn’t beg him to fuck me. Simply, I got lost on a long trip, broke down, and asked a stranger for help. But of course, the all-knowing, wise ones in our society said I “asked for it”. How the fuck did I do that? How the fuck do they know what I did?

Yes, I was raped. But I did one thing some talk about doing, and even fewer actually do: I did NOT resist. (Oh, I did try, initially, believe me, and I never consented, ever. But I did stop fighting him, hoping he would at least be more gentle; not that he ever was!) At a certain point I knew the inevitable was going to happen, and I chose to “allow” this assault, rather than risk further hurt and humiliation! Why? Because all of those appropriate “Rape Kit” manuals tell us to. But you want to know something? The fucking rapists don’t read those nice little books, and don’t know the “rules”. But I stand beside my judgement. I was fucked and violated, and I walked away, finally. If I had struggled more, I might be dead now, and this whole argument would be moot!

Ok, I got that out of the way, now what do I say?

I really don’t know what to say in this narrative. Celeste may have asked me to write this, but that was it. No instructions, no clues, no hints. How much about me should I tell? Is my “history” a necessary part of my therapy? Is it important? Should I even admit I love sex? I definitely don’t want to “justify” myself to her, or anyone else, either, but I also need her to know who I really am.

Ok, let’s see. To start, I love sex. I will always proudly admit that one statement. But . . . I am not a whore, and I am not a slut! No grandstanding, no justification, no excuses. I am a fully aware, free minded spirit, and sex is an important part of my life.

I love sex, yes I do. I won’t ever deny saying that one statement either. My husband and I have, and do, frequently enjoy sex. And, our sexual unions are fulfilling for both of us. Nightly, we still fuck (and that is the word we use, sex words are a part of the fun – we are totally uninhibited). In all of the years we have been married we still fuck frequently, and thoroughly. I guess that is why some of this is so hard. If the bastard that raped me had just wanted me to fuck him, or suck him, I would have – quietly without argument. Why not? I ‘m not an angel, and don’t ever pretend to be. Don’t want to be, truth be told! In fact, both my husband and I are still very actively sexually, together, and even occasionally with some close friends. I am not ashamed of my lifestyle, nor do I make excuses, or ever attempt to justify myself. Our time alive is limited, so why waste a minute on false regret. I am an honest and sincere person, who also loves fucking!

I love sex. I love my husband, and his body, as he loves me and mine. I have never, nor will ever, refuse sex with him, and we have willingly and freely experimented, even (infrequently) with others. I guess that is part of my hurt, and anger. The bastard who raped me could have had me do anything, willingly, but no! The prick wanted to control, and humiliate me. He did that all right! He wanted to dominate me, and he did too! And you know what, I resent that intrusion. I would have taken his cock into all of my holes, any of my holes, eagerly, to avoid unnecessary pain. But no, he wanted to hurt and control me, for his pleasure only.

I love sex. I am not ashamed. At least my husband and I don’t live a lie. We love each other, and we love each other’s bodies. Sex is an integral part of our romance and marriage. Sex bonds us. At the end of a hard day, it is comforting (to me) to know my husband wants to hold me, and kiss me, and also fuck me.

I do not “make love” to my husband, I fuck him. In my opinion, “making love” is a banal expression more suited to pleasing the moral majority, and other weak morons. I love my husband, and as a demonstration of that love, I fuck him. I equally love my family. I do NOT fuck my family. I don’t “make” love; I give and receive love; willingly, openly and unselfishly, but I fuck. Separate topic, grow up!

It is more than reassuring to know he has never lost his desire for me, and that he finds me sexy (still)! And he also finds comfort in me, he has told me, frequently. He, alone, is standing by me in this terrible time. All of my (so-called) friends (except dear Susie, and her husband Jack) are keeping their distance, but my beautiful, sweet husband has never once challenged, or doubted me. Thank god.

But the fucking hypocrites will tell you I am a “loose” woman with no morals, that deserved to be raped. BULLSHIT. Every one of the men that condemned me want their wives to be whores in the bedroom. Every one of the women that condemned me are either (secret) whores for their men, or denying their own men the one pleasure that should never be “bargained for”. I am talking about my friends, work colleagues and other acquaintances here: I know them, one and all, and know how most of them behave intimately. I have never condemned them, nor ever would, but that has never stopped them from gossiping about me!

I said it before, I love sex. And I am going to keep fucking saying it! I have absolutely no shame about that one simple statement, nor ever will! My husband and I are very sexual, and very willing to try new things. No part of consensual, mutually agreed sex is bad. We did it all, and do it all! Oral sex, anal sex, sex toys, different positions, stimulation and minor bondage, etc. We used different “dirty” words to heighten our sexual congresses. Why not?