Letter from a Willingly Violated

Dear Sir,

I don't know exactly how to tell you this, but it turns out that with a little bit of time, I have come to be profoundly grateful for what you did to me. Some parts of me are still sore, both physically and emotionally, but for the most part, it was an experience I will always remember with a terrible delight.

You raped me. There's no doubt about that. I still feel your hands on my skin, on parts of me no one's touched before, so it seems. My ankles burn with the memory of your strong grip as you bent my legs forward, pinning me to my own bed, my knees pressed into my breasts, my pussy a gaping slash, hungry for something, I didn't know what, yet horrified at the helpless vulnerability of my situation.

I remember your tongue violating my mouth before you forced my mouth open and gagged me tightly despite everything I could do to prevent it. I can feel your tongue on mine now, even as I write this.

In my almost two decades of life, I have never felt as helpless as I did on the night you forced your will on me. No - in all my life, I have never felt helpless, it seems. If ever I did, I know now that it was an illusion. I have never been helpless before, until you took all my power away.

The way you trussed me up like an animal for slaughter - my thighs bound tightly against my body, my wrists tied fast to my ankles, my ass protruding like a rip fruit, my pussy a helpless, waiting victim...

I remember such fear, I thought I would die. I wanted to die. How foolish I was, how ignorant.

Thank you. Thank you for the way you slid your finger into my wet hole despite my tears and protestations. I had never known how hard my pussy could grip, before that fearful, terrible moment of violation. But you continued, first one finger, then another, then another... I thought I was dying, when you twisted your fingers around inside my tender flesh. (I could feel you wriggling inside me then, like a living, alien creature.)

I thought I was dying, but it was my G spot acting up for the first time. I finally understood that when your patient, insistent manipulations resulted in the most explosive orgasm I have ever had, greater than any I had ever given myself, greater than any anyone has ever given me.

And then you continued with another and another and another, all through the night.

I don't know how, Sir, but after a few hours, or it might have been a dozen, I don't know - the sun had come up - I no longer felt like a victim but a willing recipient of your violations. I craved - do still crave - your trespassing actions upon my body. And my soul. It seems that sometime during that night, you had taken me completely, and made me yours.

When you came inside of me, after you had pushed me beyond the bounds of exhaustion (but I was not too exhausted to feel your explosion of hot, liquid ownership deep in my most inner parts, setting your seal on me), I screamed and cried for fear that I might get pregnant. I'm not ready to have a baby, even if it were yours - I'm still in college, after all.

Silly me. When it was all over and I was nursing my tortured body slumped over in the bath with the shower pelting me about the face, I reached into my sore pussy and found a sponge sticky with your cum. I am impressed, Sir, both by how you managed to slip it in me without my realising it and by your thoughtfulness.

It's ironic that I feel that I can trust a man who would break into my room unheard and undetected to have his way with me. And yet, what is that way, Sir? I feel confused, for I realise that what you did was not selfish. What you did was for my benefit, perhaps, as much as yours. Your bonds have set me free from my bonds to convention and - yes - fear. You have set me free to be yours.

I know that you don't answer to anyone's instructions, but, Sir, I remain, with exquisite anticipation

Your willingly violated,
Sara

I derived great joy from my first muse, who suffered delights under my care, within the online fantasies I created for her. Are you in search of your online fantasy? I might have a spot for you - write me to say "Hi!"

Marisa's Predicament

Marisa was already on her toes. Yet the rubber dildo pressed into her groin.

She was strung up by her wrists. Her ankles were chained to the floor, her feet wide apart, so that she was spread eagle standing in the centre of the room.

From beneath her, the dildo had steadily risen out of the floor. So slow was its progress that it seemed hardly to move at all.

And yet, here it was, rudely pressing into the joint of her hip. That's not where her tormentors intended it to go, of course.

Shackled around the waist to a tight chain that ran from floor to ceiling just behind her back, Marisa could only move a little, and her attempts to get her pussy out of the dildo's relentless path only succeeded in having it dig into her groin. It was hardly a solution, she knew. The dildo was already starting to hurt her tender flesh next to the tenderest of her flesh.

Tears streamed down her cheeks and over the gag wrapped tight around her head.

"You know, the last girl who tried that ended up crippled for months, Mar. Are you sure you want to do that?"

It was Sheila who spoke. Sheila, the classmate she had gabbed with for months, had gossipped and shared stories about boys countless times. Sheila stood in front of Marisa, dressed in a black shift dress that skirted her straight thighs. She stood barefoot with toes painted blue.

Sheila looked leeringly at Marisa's naked form, pressed one finger firmly into her left nipple. Marisa jerked back with a strangled cry at the violation.

The dildo pressed resolutely into her joint, focusing her attention on one sharp point of pain. It wasn't stopping.

"Our last plaything wouldn't submit to the inevitable, so she had a dislocated hip covered by a mound of swollen flesh as her reward. Don't fight it, Mar. A dildo in the groin is so... unnatural. You know where it belongs rightfully."

This can't be happening, Marisa thought as she pushed herself higher up on her pointed toes. There was no more room for avoidance. She was stretched taut like a guitar string.

Big sobs broke out of her as she contemplated the terror of being impaled in the pussy by the grotesque dildo, versus the horror of having her leg slowly and painfully dislocated. Her sobs devolved into blubbering and she cast her eyes to the grey cement floor streaked in her sweat, tears and juices, mortified at what she was about to do. She knew she had no choice, but she felt like dying all the same.

With great strains, she shifted her hips by inches, dragging her pussy lips across the top of the thick rubber shaft. It rubbed painfully across her tender skin, stretching her outer lip, then her inner lip. And then it penetrated her with a sickening pop that drew fresh sobs, as her pussy snapped tight around the bulbuous, black head.

Marisa shut her eyes tight as Sheila shreiked in laughter, revelling in her humiliation. Marisa tried to block the thought out of her mind - what would happen when the damn dildo reached her cervix? Surely, surely, they had to stop it! They had to.

"Congratulations, Mar, you've just raped yourself," Sheila whispered in her ear, with her fingers running up and down her classmate's back as she held her close.

Inside her body, Marisa felt the dildo creep up a little more.