Author: Sadistic Daddy
Title: The Rape
Summary: She is awakened by an intruder with a knife. He is going to use her hard, humiliate her and abuse her.
Keywords: Mf, (pseudo)nc, sm, bd, rape, roleplay



        The Rape

The fist in my hair, raising my head from the pillow, should have given
me a clue, but snapping out of sound sleep, there wasn't much time to
think. Before I could do more than screech, there was a bag of some sort
over my head. Big hands reached my wrists as I tried to turn over and
get at my attacker. I was forced back to the bed, face down as my arms
were twisted behind my back. Cold metal touched each wrist in turn and
the ratcheting sound told me of the handcuffs locking my hands behind me.

I was rolled to my side and I drew in a lung full of air for a scream
when another metallic sound broke the quiet of my bedroom. The hard snap
of an opening switchblade. The scream froze in my throat.

"Very good! I don't want you screaming...just yet." a voice purred out
of my attacker, coming through the bag loud and clear. A familiar voice.

"What do you want?" I asked frantically.

"I want what I came for. What only you can give."

"I don't know what you mean!" My voice was taking on as hysterical edge.
From the pitch of the voice I knew that my attacker was male. His large
hand ran along my calf, below where my night shirt ended.

I felt his fingers caress my skin there. I kicked out at him with that
leg and nearly got him. It cost me, though, as he grabbed the extended
leg's ankle and flung me face down again. I felt something being wrapped
around my legs, drawing them together. I tried kicking again, but it was
no use. The binding at my ankles gave him a good measure of control of
my legs as he knotted the cord.

The back of my nightshirt was flung up over my bottom. "Oh, god!" I
started. Suddenly, a huge hand was smacking my bottom with an open palm
the size of a small saucer, the fingers of the hand curling around the
globes of my cheeks.

"I (smack)want(smack)cooper(smack)ation!(smack)" I fought back on my
urge to cry out, to deny him the satisfaction of my suffering. I twisted
my bottom from side to side, seeking to avoid the blows. Somehow, it
only made it worse as his aim was well placed, even in this dark room.

Another tug on the cord at my ankles and then I felt something tugging
at the handcuffs on my wrists. The two were being brought closer to one
another, bowing me outward from behind. A hogtie!

By the time I realized this, it was too late to try to fight it. Kicking
with both legs only put pressure on the hard metal of the handcuffs on
my slender wrists. The metal bit upon my skin with unforgiving savagery.

"DAMN YOU! Let me go!" I was getting scared and angry, both at the same
time.

I was pushed over onto my side once again. I felt something hard and
slender pressed close to the neckline of my nightshirt.

"I can get the cooperation I want by hurting you bad," the sharp point
of a knife blade made the barest dimple in my skin, near my throat, "or
by hurting you...good." The man's voice purred as the knife blade slowly
was drawn down the front of my shirt, the tip tracing a line of rapidly
growing gooseflesh from my neck to my navel. "It is all up to how you
act, and how much I want to make it hurt good!"

Not even a promise that I wouldn't be hurt. Just a choice between two
evils. I shuddered.

So, this is rape, I thought in a detached corner of my mind that usually
takes no part in what is happening to me. The side that sits with calm,
dispassionate observance looking over my shoulder. The rest of my mind
was working on either finding ways to get out of this or to keep me from
sobbing uncontrollably.

A big hand on my shoulder spun me face down again. I steeled myself for
what I thought would come next, but things developed more slowly. I felt
more rope going around each of my ankles, instead of around both of them
at the same time. The rope connecting my ankles to the handcuffs was
relaxed and I lowered my legs to bed. The rope binding my ankles
together was released suddenly, perhaps with the knife and my right leg
was pulled down and outward toward the edge of the bed. The other leg
soon was pulled downward, but to the opposite edge.

"I am going to let one wrist out of the handcuffs, so that I can change
your position. It will on be temporary. I expect your full cooperation,
but will happily force your cooperation, if you wish." His damn voice
was so smooth, so confident. I hated it. I hated being helpless.

I felt him at the handcuff and waited. Sure enough, my right wrist was
soon free. I pulled that one under me, to push off from the bed and
tried to yank the other wrist from his grasp on the cuffs. I got it half
right. I had one hand free, anyway.

A lot of good it did. He used his grip on the handcuffs to twist my left
arm up behind my shoulder blades and leaned down, close to my ear.

"I see you still have a hard time with the issue of cooperation. I did
offer a choice, earlier, and you have chosen to see if I mean what I say."

I don't know if I felt the blow first, or heard it hit. A loud smacking
sound went off like a firecracker and pain raced up from my bottom to
let me know he had hit me with something. Not his hand, this time,
either. Something smooth and cool.

I didn't have much time to think about it. I kept hearing the sound of
him hitting me and pain kept screaming out from my behind. Over and over
and over. I then heard a scream and realized I had made it. The smacking
sound stopped and the pain in my bottom faded to a tingling burn.

"The price of not cooperating is being hurt bad. The price of
cooperation is being hurt good. Perhaps next time I ask, you'll want to
try the other kind." He reached down and pulled up my unresisting right
arm, then brought both arms forward and over my head. He recuffed them.
I felt him attach something to the handcuffs and then he was pulling my
arms toward the upper edge of the bed. I felt tension being placed on
the cuffs, I guess he tied it off to a part of the bed.

I felt him at the hem of my nightshirt next. I felt him tug at it and
heard cloth being cut. Then a great ripping sound and the cool of air on
my now bare back.

I heard the lamp click on beside the bed. From somewhere in my fear and
anger, a thread of shame came to the surface. This man was seeing my
body bare and I could do nothing about it. I went a bit crazy, fighting
the ropes and handcuffs, tugging on them, feeling them holding me down
and spread for this stranger's amusement.

"Let me go!"

Nothing. No threats. No motions that I could hear. Nothing. Had he left?

I fought the restraining bonds some more. If he had gone, then I was
going to get the hell out of this somehow.

His warm hand on my bottom told me that I was wrong. He was still here,
enjoying my struggles. The hand gripped and squeezed the flesh there.
His other hand was placed on the small of my back.

"Perhaps it is time to start showing you what I mean by making things
hurt good?" His voice was a silken purr, offering a threat worse than
pain. He wanted to make me enjoy this. I would NOT! I attacked the
bindings again with a renewed fury.

His hand began smacking my bottom again, this time with a lighter touch.
His strikes were not as hard as before, and varied their impact point
around and around my buttocks. As I fought the bonds my hips shifted
from side to side, but his aim was true and sure of its mark. I felt my
bottom's skin warming under his steady rain of flesh on flesh. It seemed
like his hands knew my body more intimately than I did.

It hurt, but it didn't hurt. The actual strikes were not great, but the
after effect was... upsetting to me. Did he know something I didn't?
That this would make me feel... hot?

I didn't want to think about it, I didn't want to admit it, even to
myself, but as he continued to work over my backside, I had begun to
realize that I was getting wet.

As my hips shifted back and forth, while fighting to free my legs, I
felt the lips of my sex sliding upon one another from moisture. It
wasn't sweat.

His hand stopped spanking me and instead moved to rub the area he had so
thoroughly gone over. The entire surface of my bottom tingled, and his
rubbing did not make it go away. I worsened that tingle. And that, in
turn, made the wetness worse between my legs.

His fingers dipped down in between my bound-wide thighs and touched me
there. His fingers touched me lightly, but I could feel some of the
wetness being smeared on his fingertips.

"Well, well, well. It looks like you *enjoyed* that!"

"Leave me ALONE!"

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. It seems you are forgetting your choices here. Now, that
was being hurt good, and now I will remind you what being hurt bad is like."

I felt him move away and I tensed, knowing that what happened next would
not be pleasant. It wasn't.

Some thing hard slapped down on my bottom. REAL hard. Harder than his
hand had ever hit me. I screamed, loudly. The after-burn of this stroke
was beginning to grow in my awareness when a second hard strike made me
forget all about it.

Slowly, methodically, ever square inch of my bottom was struck by the
thing he was using. It was a paced and measured stroke, waiting for me
to just get to tasting the after-burn before he would strike again.

If I had been warm back there before, I was enflamed now. My throat was
growing hoarse from screaming.

"This item is a strap. Not as heavy as a paddle, but narrower, to
provide a lot more sting. It is also longer, so it develops more
velocity for the same amount of motion. That was its medium-hard usage
level. Would you care to try for hard? Or severe?"

"No." I sobbed out, feeling relief flood my body as the blows stopped. A
more intense version of the warming after-burn that had made me wet
earlier was soaking through my skin, being rubbed in by his hand once
more. I didn't want to feel if this strap thing could hit me harder. I
didn't want this. Why was I wetter now than I had been earlier? Damn him!

His fingers drifted once more between my legs and tested my lips again.
"No what?"

"Huh?" A mistake, I realized too late.

I was screaming before I knew why. He had used the strap again. One
single blow, but it felt like twice as hard as he had last used it. "No,
sir!" The pain had cleared up some of my confusion.

"That's better! I knew you could do it!" What a time for him to go Mr.
Rodgers on me. That hand, once more between my legs. The aching
after-burn on my bottom was now reflected by an entirely different ache
in a place I didn't want to think about, and he was touching it.

"Hmm, you seem to respond as well, or better to such harsh treatment.
Interesting!"

His finger drew across my wet lips sending such a rush of sensation up
at me that I reacted before I thought about what I was doing. I moaned,
and moved my hips back as much as my bonds allowed, stroking against his
questing fingers. Too late, I realized that he wanted me to do that, to
react that way. I was playing into his hands, hating it. I choked off
the moan with a sob of near defeat.

"You are beginning to really enjoy this whole event, aren't you little
slut?"

Damn him. If I answered, it would be in admission of enjoying it, and of
responding to being called a slut. He was raping me, damnit! But if I
didn't answer, that strap thing would come at me again. Pain or
humiliation. Or both.

My attacker had a short fuse, which he demonstrated with another of
those godpleaseletmedieitstoohard strokes of the strap. Then, leaving
the strap draped across my bottom where he had struck me, he waited.

"Yes, sir...I am enjoying it." I had to force myself to say those words.
I couldn't stand another stroke right now. But I was sure that my ears
and face were as red as my bottom from the shame that burned in me.

"There, there, I have other things that also make things feel good,
too.." that horrible purring, confident voice was making nice-nice
again. Not good. Better than the strap, though.

A explosion was rocking the bed. I was being electrocuted between my
legs. No, it was just a vibrator, humming softly on my nether lips,
barely touching them. I was fighting the cords trying to push more of
myself against the vibrator.

NO! NO! NO! Stop enjoying it, he is making you do this against your
will, don't let him turn you on like this!

"Oh, you REALLY like that, don't you my little slut!"

"Yessir!" all one word, I can't think now. I hate this, I love this. My
sex is so wet, so hot. Stop it. Don't stop it. Please...don't...stop...

The humming of the vibrator stopped. I exploded, twisting, jerking,
fighting the bonds. To get away. To get my hands on his neck to throttle
him for stopping. To get my hands on that vibrator. To make him hit me
again. I felt my tears wetting the inside of the bag on my head before I
knew that I was crying.

"Lay still." Not a purr. A command. I fought my own impulses to a
complete standstill. Hoping there was more. Fearing there would be more.

I felt the tension release on my right leg first. Is this it? Is he
letting me go? No, just turning me over, apparently.

He turned me over one leg at a time. My wrists, fastened by only a
single strand at the handcuffs twisted with my body as I rolled over.
Soon, I was face up on the bed.

This is it, he's going to rape me now. He is going to stick his thing in
me and it will hurt. It will hurt bad. I will hate it. I hope it hurts a
lot. Where are these thoughts coming from?

Cold steel at my throat, moving slowly downward. Then he lifts the
neckline of my nightshirt. The cold steel moves away from my hot throat
and chest and I hear it slicing through the material. Cooler air rushes
across my chest and stomach, clear down to my thighs. He has cut it
clear down the front. He has the light on. I am bound and naked, face up
under his gaze.

The fear was making my nipples hard. No, it was the chill air. Like
hell, I knew what had made them hard.

Soft fingertips trailed down my chest, between my breasts, over my
stomach, and across my pubis. I fought the urge to thrust my hips up at
him as his hand passed there. I won, but for how long would I continue
to win?

"Are you my slut?" I shook my head, refusing to answer him. No, I would
not admit this. I couldn't.

The bag was yanked off my head. His dark eyes were right above mine. I
hoped that as I blinked at the light that mine held a defiant look. His
were angry, but in a cold, calculating way.

"I see we have another failure to choose carefully. Or perhaps you want
it this way?" His fingers touched my left nipple. They were poised to
pinch. I closed my eyes and turned away, expecting the worst. It was
worse, but it was delayed. He didn't pinch me, just yet.

A soft, evil chuckle came from his throat. "I sort of hoped you would
fight me. As much as I enjoy a willing slut, one that fights is more fun!"

A rattle of metal caught my ears and I peeked to see what was up. One
look told me I should have kept my eyes closed. He was holding up a pair
of things that looked like minature pliers. He squeezed on on the handle
and the jaws of the thing opened, revealing a set of white pads that
looked like rubber. He lowered it to my left nipple, still hard.

The thing began closing as he released it. Slowly, it was biting down
with its rubber jaws on my nipple. It went from nothing to a tingle of
pain. From a tingle of pain to a bit of pain. From a bit of pain to a
bite of pain. An angry, bulldog bite. My breath hissed out of me between
clenched teeth. I yanked on my arms, trying to reach it. Big mistake.
The movement caused my breast to shake, intensifying the sensation.

"Are you my slut?" Definitely a one-track mind in this one. I debated
telling him to go play on the train tracks, but thought better of it. I
just kept my mouth closed and turned away again.

"Strike two," he murmured. My other nipple underwent the same biting
process the first one had, only worse. I knew what to expect this time,
and didn't like the idea. I actually growled as the clamp finished
closing on my trapped right nipple.

He let me stew like that, just watching me. I could see that much out of
the corner of my eye. His face a mask of confident indifference.

Did he know what was happening in my breasts? Yes, there was pain. But
there was more. The years of secret fantasies came back to haunt me. The
playing with clothespins that bit too hard to bring much beyond pain,
the pinching of my own nipples as I imagined a lover might one day do to
me. Going just a bit harder than the light squeezing considered polite
and into the realm of pain that hurt good. These things he had put on my
nipples felt like I had only imagined they would.

That confident look knew. He knew, for all his talk about hurt bad and
hurt good, he knew that this was not a bad hurt. It was worse. It was
turning me on. Turning my body against what I knew was happening. Damn him.

His fingers drew me out of my reverie. Touching the lips of my sex.
Stroking me there. Oh...no!

I looked him full in the face. The indifference had been muted by a
small, smug smile. He pulled his finger from between my legs and brought
it up to my eyes. It was wet. He was turning me on, despite my feelings
about him and what happened here. He was arousing me and was letting me
know he knew it.

His finger went back to slowly stroking me. I shut my eyes tight and
clenched my teeth. I thought of math problems, shopping lists, anything,
and nothing. Trying to block out this hideous invasion. Trying to block
out the pleasure it was giving my body.

That slow, light stroke of his. Steadily growing bolder, slowly growing
firmer, parting the lips slightly to allow him access to my inner lips.

"Please..."

"Please what?"

"Just do it and leave!"

"No." He knows he has the upper hand here and is enjoying it. He's not
satisfied to just rape my body. He wants to rape my soul, too.

He wants me repeat what he wants to hear. He wants to make me beg. I
won't do it, I can't.

Even as these thoughts grew in my mind, a little more of my dignity
leaked out from between my legs.

His finger grazed my clitoris and I levitated in my bonds. The touch was
just the lightest of finger gliding across flesh, but the flesh it
touched was wet and erect with needs I had never had fulfilled. It
wasn't a climax, but it left me wishing for one. If you had asked if I
would rather breathe or climax I think I might have chosen breathing at
that point. For a moment, though, I wasn't doing either.

In that endless, awful moment hanging on the edge, I waited for the next
stroke of my clitoris, sure that he would take me over. When my body
finally unwound in frustration and exhaustion as the golden moment
passed, I drew breath and looked at him.

DAMN HIM! He was smiling! He had me right where he wanted me and knew it.

His palm cupped my open, wet, vulnerable sex and he asked again, "Are
you my slut?"

Desire and anger fought in me. Say yes and let's get this over with. I
want to climax. Don't let him do this to you. Keep him from degrading
you this way.

His other hand picked up the chain on the nipple clamps and he tugged on
them. I'd forgotten about them as the nipples had grown numb. I was
suddenly reminded of them as my nipples were pulled up and away from my
body. My back arched to take the strain off, but it did no good.

The pain was bad enough, but he wasn't satisfied with just that. He
pushed upward on the hand between my legs, massaging my lips, smearing
the wetness there, trapping the clitoris in the squeeze. I had to come.
I needed to come. Just a little more. A little more rubbing. A little
more pain. A little more...

"Are you my slut?" His voice so calm, as if asking for the salt at the
table. This was no strain on him, all on me.

If pauses can be pregnant, this one was going to have quintuplets at any
moment. I wanted to scream yes. I really, really did. But there was this
rational part of me who still fought this violation.

"No." It was barely a whisper, but it was a refusal, and I knew it would
come with a price.

"Strike three, you are out." He was still calm, not even disappointed.
Merely changing gears.

The clamps were relaxed and the hand left my body. I was swimming in
arousal, fear, lust, hatred, excitement, and ... arousal. My resolve was
leaving me faster than the liquid pooling between my thighs.

The next thing I knew, he was putting a blindfold on me. I shook my
head, fighting him, but he kept it up and got it on. My world once more
descended into darkness.

His fingernails raked my inner thighs from my groin to my ankles. I
screamed. He grabbed both of my breasts and squeezed them, forcing blood
into the nipples, trapped in the clamps. The pain I had felt earlier
magnified in this rush of blood.

"You have had a lot of time to consider, and you have refused every
chance I gave. Now we play this all my way."

I wasn't prepared for what came next. I'm not sure even being able to
see would have helped prepare for it.

I felt the jolt as he struck me. On my left inner thigh. Something soft,
but moving very fast. It stung, briefly, and left a lingering burn in
its wake. I gasped, jumping in my bonds. A second strike came on the
heels of the realization that this was pain, but not more than I could
stand. This time on the right side. The burning sensation seemed to make
a beeline straight into my groin, stirring something there, sending a
throbbing hum through my body. One strike after another followed, over
and over upon my inner thighs.

Each strike was nothing, but with the building burn on both sides of my
sex I felt the humming grow stronger. I twisted in my bondage, but the
position left me no room to close my thighs. My mouth opened in a silent
imitation of a scream. I ached with a passion to...

To come. From being whipped. From being forced to enjoy it. From being
made to feel like a slut.

The beating of my inner thighs stopped. The lingering burning on my
inner thighs kept me on the edge, though, kept building me
towards...something big.

A single, sudden stroke of the whip he was using directly upon my lips
drove me over the edge. I screamed, louder than ever before, and came,
hard. I was coming down from the orgasm when the concept of what had
just happened drove me back up. A second stroke upon my pussy sent me
over again. I had no breath to scream this time, but I would have
screamed even louder if I could have. I was coming harder.

"You see, don't you? You see the truth of my question, even if you
aren't ready to admit it. You are my slut. You just enjoyed coming from
my whip, and you are eager to come on my fingers or whatever I might
want to use on you.

I was sobbing. With relief? Relief from what? All I knew is that I could
not deny him now. I waited for him to ask again his question.

Instead, he made a statement. He punctuated his statement with strokes
of that soft whip. Over and over and over on my cunt.

"You..." snap, snap, snap, "Are..." snap, snap, snap, "My..." snap,
snap, snap, "SLUT!" SNAP!

I screamed again with another orgasm and with realization. I screamed a
word.

"YES!"

The whip stopped falling but the lashing continued. His fingers spread
my cunt lips as his tongue dove between them to plow into my aching wet
need. His tongue fucked me, and lapped up my juices, and stroked my
hard, aching clit. I kept exploding in a chain of orgasms that soared my
body and soul through a hundred thousand renditions of the same word.

"Yes! Yes! Yes!" It was a chant of ecstasy, of surrender, of pleasure. I
was lost in the realization that I did want to be his slut. I reveled in
being his slut.

His tongue left my cunt, but I hardly noticed until it was in my mouth,
my own cunt juices smeared all over his lips and chin. The scent of my
own pussy in my nose as I eagerly kissed him in return. I was gasping
hard to start with, I was nearly blacking out from the lack of oxygen
when he parted with me.

Something hard in my mouth, metal, cool. Chain? The sensation in my
nippels as the clamps twisted told me it was the one that connected the
two clamps.

"Take the chain in your teeth, slut!" His voice was commanding, allowing
no thought of disobeying.

I felt it. What I knew had been coming all along. Before I knew I would
be coming. His cock. At my cunt.

"Do you want me to fuck you, slut?"

"Yes!" My words were slurred around the chain and as I nodded for
emphasis I involuntarily tugged on my own clamped nipples. Somehow, the
pain was right. Right there, making my need to be fucked, hard, even worse.

He didn't disappoint. His cock was rock hard and it split my sopping wet
cunt with the force of an invading battering ram. It slid in deep,
deeper, all the way to the bottom and rammed against my cervix. It was
thick, stretching me on its way in. There was some pain, but it was good
pain. Pain that was sending me up again.

"You are enjoying it, slut, enjoying being fucked. Being raped. Being
used like the slut you want to be. You want to be my slut!"

"Yes!"

You want to be my slut-slave. You want to come from my whips, from my
hands, from my vibrators."

"Yes, please let me come!"

"Let who come?"

"Your slut!"

"Come on my cock, slut, NOW!"

I exploded. I came hard, then again, harder. My head flew back as my
back arched, sending my hips up to meet his downward thrust, spearing
myself on his hard cock. It also yanked the clamps from my nipples. The
pain in them sent shockwaves through me that should have shown up on an
earthquake detector. The pain washed down my body and into my cunt and
set off another shockwave there, dashing what was left of me into
oblivion. I felt his hot come spilling inside me and came yet again.

Then I lay as if dead. Slowly, I remembered to breath and drew a breath
only to sob it out. My entire body ached, but my cunt and my nipples
were the loudest voices in the chorus of pains.

His lips found mine again and he chewed upon my lower lip tenderly as I
sobbed behind the blindfold.

"I hadn't expected...you home...until tomorrow, master." I gasped the
words out, reverting back to our true lives. To reality. Where I am a
slave in love with a man who loves to surprise me. To fulfill our mutual
fantasies.

"I missed you, my slave." he murmured.

"No, sir. You didn't miss me. I can still feel it where you hit me.
Over, and over. Thank you!"


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