[poll id=’1′]I’m proclaiming today ‘fantasy pride day‘. And I’m doing a very informal poll to find out how many of my readers have have sexual fantasies that include non-consensual elements. Furthermore, I’m going to challenge you, if you do, to write one out. I figure that one of the best ways to get rid of any embarrassment or shame about this is just to write it out, and put it out there. If you’d like, you can either post it anonymously in the comments area of this post (the verification part asks for an email address but it won’t show on the comment – if you’re really nervous, type in a fake one), OR, you can blog it on your own blog and paste the link into the comments area.
Here are the rules:
- The fantasy must contain some element of non-consent.
- It must be a fantasy – i.e. you dreamed it up yourself and it’s erotic to you.
- It doesn’t matter if you’re not a writer or you’re not very good with words.
- This isn’t about writing prowess, it’s about celebrating your sexual imagination.
- It doesn’t matter what gender or sexual orientation you are.
- It doesn’t matter if, in the fantasy, you are the ‘victim’ or the ‘perpetrator’ or both! Because if it’s your fantasy, you’re inventing both anyway. It’s all really you.
- You don’t have to identify yourself in any way if you don’t want to.
- It doesn’t matter how weird or raunchy it is.
- This is fantasy. Remember you’re the author of of it. You control the elements of it.
- Please don’t comment negatively about someone else’s fantasy. You’re welcome to say it’s hot, but if you criticize someone else’s fantasy, I’m not going to post that comment. This is just about letting it out, not being critical.
- Please remember that, if you might be offended by these fantasies, you’re a grown up – choose not to read further.
N.B. Any comments are (c) the author of the comment and should not be copied or used elsewhere, even when the comment is posted as ‘anonymous’.
Someone DM’d me and rightly said that if I was going to ask anyone else to do this, I had to have the balls to start it off and be first, so this is mine. I have a lot of them, actually, and usually I have to have a plot (groan) and they’re quite complicated, but here’s a really straight up, almost embarrassingly cliche one that I have. No snickering – it works for me.
I wake up on my back on some kind of table, my arms stretched out and tied above my head but my legs are free. I’m not naked. I’m wearing some sort of scratchy sack dress, but nothing beneath it. It’s a huge room, old and there is a sort of early morning light coming through narrow windows set very high up into the walls.
Suddenly there is swishing footsteps and a monotonous chanting in a language I can’t understand (yup, you’re laughing now, aren’t you?). And I realize I’m in some kind of medieval chapel.
This man in a hooded robe comes up to the table – which I now realize is an altar. I can’t see his face, just his chin. He wrenches my legs apart and pushes the skirt of the dress up, and I start to scream and cry.
He slaps me hard across the face and tells me to shut up. That he can’t do it if I’m screaming. And that it has to be done. That the magic won’t work without it. But I can’t stop. He starts to penetrate me anyway, and I scream louder. So he puts one hand over my nose and mouth until I feel like I can hardly breathe, and I shut up so he won’t suffocate me.
I can feel him bruising my legs as he fucks me. And at first it really hurts, because I’m not wet at all. But I can feel my body reacting – making lubrication to protect itself from tearing. And then it all happens in this strange echo-y silence. He finishes and pulls out, and steps away, and I lift my head to realize there are five more of them.
What’s puzzling about this fantasy to me is that, in the fantasy, I don’t orgasm. But of course I actually do because I’m wanking while I fantasize.
yeah, cliche, I realize. Can you tell that when I’m not writing erotica, I’m reading bad fantasy novels? But you know…works for me! 😛
This reminds me of stories I read in My Secret Garden, way back in my teens. Almost every fantasy completely undercut what I thought I knew (or had been taught to know) about women. I hardly guessed just how complimentary women and men’s fantasies really were. Women frequently reveal complimentary fantasies that I might have been scared to write, but wanted to write.
Certain people have something about them that triggers this fantasy, I have never been able to pin down what quality in a person kicks it off. When I see these people with that thing, I want to beat the fucking brakes off of them. No talking, no arguing just put a serious hurt on them. More like being jumped into a gang rather than a I’m going to tie you up and beat you thing.
Afterwards they get fucked by me. More often than not I am doing the fucking with some kind of strap on. Then I finish I don’t care if they do or not. I put my pants on and go home. The only talking in this fantasy usually revolves around me saying things like I will fucking kill you etc.
Looking at the poll I am not sure if this fits into the non-con sphere or just the violent little bitch sphere.
This is one of my Nightmares and Visions. I wrote it a few years ago, and I’d like to think my writing has come a ways since then. But, as RG said, this is wank material. Almost all of the N&Vs are non-con, and every single one of them passed the wank test at least once.
One of my evolutions as a writer has been shifting POV. I used to write almost exclusively from the female POV. All of the nightmares are first person. Make of that what you will.
-Monocle
“Playtime”
My wrists were bound to each other above my head, and I was held fast to the padded table with belts around my forehead, neck, upper arms, and just under my breasts. My upper thighs, knees, and ankles were strapped to sturdy, widely spread, stirrup-like rods—rendering me obscenely open in the empty white room.
A rubber plug filled my mouth, connected to and covered by a leather gag, preventing all but the smallest sounds from escaping me, no matter how I tried to scream.
My exposed pussy faced a featureless door in the opposite wall, and it was the first thing the man and woman who entered saw and focused on. She was older, conservatively dressed, and strangely familiar, though I didn’t know from where. He was a stranger, tall, young, muscular—and completely naked. He was definitely an adult: his erect cock was bigger than any I’d seen before outside of snuck pornography. His face, however, had the blank expression of a simpleton.
He listened to the woman’s words while his eyes roved over my displayed body, and followed her instructions of where to go. She was telling him how the pretty girl wanted to play with him, and that the table and room were part of the game. She described, as if to a child, what he was supposed to do, and how much fun it would be for both of us.
I tried to struggle—to scream—to shake my head to show her words were lies, but my motions were too restricted and my sounds too muffled. The woman translated them to him as my eagerness to play. He was definitely interested in both my body and what was happening to his as she gently grasped his shaft, pulling him between my legs as she smoothed lubricant on it.
She guided him right to my pussy, stroking him as she positioned him at my entrance. Then she took his hands in hers and placed them on my belly, telling him to feel how soft and warm I was. How I was trembling because I liked his touch so much. He didn’t even notice his cock slowly starting to press against my slit, but I certainly did.
She told him my muffled protests were sounds of happiness. That he was playing the game just right and he should feel all the soft, warm parts of me. He smiled timidly, hands moving up to touch, then squeeze and play with my breasts, as his penis pushed harder.
The cockhead popped into me, startling us both—almost scaring him. She soothed him and said it was all right—that it was part of the game. I panted through my nose.
He was too big!
Already I felt as if I were stretched too much. But she was asking if it felt nice, and he nodded shyly. She gently cupped his balls and urged him to continue to touch and play. He obeyed, pushing further into me as his hands ranged over my helpless body.
Instinctively, he began rocking back and forth, forcing himself ever deeper into my protesting pussy. She encouraged him, telling him I liked it too, and wanted him to play more as I cried behind the gag.
Just over half of his length was inside me when he froze. I felt him swell inside me and spastically jab forward another inch. A mix of confusion, pleasure and fear showed in his eyes as he throbbed and came inside me. He jerked and trembled, making tiny noises as the jets of semen sprayed into me, hands squeezing my breasts too hard.
I howled in desperate but silenced protest. She had a hand on his back, as if to keep him from pulling out, cooing soothing words into his ear. She was flushed as well, clearly turned on by what she was orchestrating.
The tableau held for ten, twenty ragged breaths as he emptied into me, then slowly began to go soft. She patted his chest, telling him how well he played and how proud she was of him. He was still confused, but obviously happy. She guided him to step back, and he finally slipped out, the hot flow pouring from me after his departure.
She was talking to him now, but looking at me. She complimented him once more, and told him how much I wanted to play with him again. Whenever, he wanted. Then she took his hand and led him out.
My tears had not yet dried when they returned.
My goodness, I’ve been having non-consensual fantasies since I was a child, before puberty, before I even knew enough to spell out what was going to happen to me. I remember Nancy Friday writing about how so many women have rape fantasies (sorry, I’m too lazy to get up and give you an exact quote).
I have a repeated fantasy based on a paragraph in a Harlan Ellison science fiction story. It’s a gang rape. I often have those. Two or more men hold me down while another rapes me. The sex is violent, aggressive, demeaning, painful, and always includes my being fucked in the ass. And I’m getting wet from that sketchy outline outline.
It’s a fantasy I share with the sadist. I can make him cum with stories of his tossing me to a bunch of his friends. It’s consensual in that I will do what he wants, submit to what he orders me to do (and some day it WILL happen), but I am used as if it were a rape and experience it both as that and as a gift to my Master of what I know will please and arouse him. I lay out the scene and he cums hard. Works every time.
I’ll play. 🙂
Mine are generally about someone I like or trust. Like being someone like an actor like David Tennant, trust being someone like my best friend. Usually these are public, a mall, a movie theater, maybe a burning building.. but not always. So as an example..
My friend and I are enjoying a day at the mall. Things are happy at first, just chatting away. Slowly his mood changes. He becomes agitated, sullen. I grow quiet, just watching him, unsure. The dark look in his eyes gives me pause. He’s almost stalking me. I want to run, and sometimes I do. Sometimes, he even tells me to run, with a look of heat in his eyes and a twisted grin that makes me afraid. He always catches me if I run, his pursuit slow and toying at first, only to throw me down like a wolf catching it’s prey. We’re in the middle of the mall, surrounded by others. He throws me over a round, platform like bench. I’m surprised and try to scramble up. He keeps me down. Clothes are lifted, panties are possibly torn off. “What are you doing? Not here. Please” I tell him. I’m almost too polite about it. He tells me something like “You don’t understand I need it. I’m harder than I’ve ever been.” There’s people watching, crowds, it doesn’t matter. Only what he needs matters. Sometimes, it’s because he wants me, most times, it’s like I’m not even there. Not at that moment anyways. After, I will be, but not now. There’s no mercy, only need. Human becomes vessel, to be filled, to be broken at his will. And he takes me. I don’t fight. I let it happen, panic frozen at first. Until, what I want just doesn’t matter. I transform into a void, the black hole his darkness is pulled toward. I put my head down, try to ignore the people watching. He grabs my hair, the sex is rough, fast and hard. He might choke me and if my life is a thing he wants he can take that too. He might bind me with his belt. In that space it doesn’t matter. Humiliation, pain, nothing matters. He might bite me, so that blood runs down my neck as he comes. He uses me like I don’t even have a soul. When he’s finished, I’m real again, maybe even more so, at least to him. Then we buy action figures. Yay!
I am a male erotica author. Many years ago, I had a recurring fantasy about raping a woman I know. It was a ‘rape by deception’ fantasy because she’d made it clear that, to her, I was an undesirable geek who couldn’t possibly be good in bed. Meanwhile, she drooled over another man we knew who was unavailable.
In the fantasy, she was so desperate for this other man that she agreed to a scenario he claimed was hot–to be blindfolded and tied up before he entered the room and screwed her silly. Except, of course, it was me coming into the room and not the other man. I’d fuck her in the pussy and face fuck her and untie her, flip her over, retie her, and fuck her doggie style (her favorite position). I’d make sure to come deep inside her pussy and also in her mouth. Having her swallow my semen was a key element of the fantasy. And when I was done, she’d never realize that it was me instead of him.
It is difficult for me to write this out in a way that would be erotic. Some day I may take a crack at it, but it won’t be under any existing pen name or my real name if I do.
You know…I think it could be IF – and this is the hard part because our egos are very much bound into our fantasies – you could really pinpoint how the element of deception, the tricking her, the way you felt about it being your semen she was drinking instead of his – mattered emotionally. If there is one thing I’ve learned about writing erotica (as opposed to porn), it is that what makes it powerful is revealing the motivation, the vulnerabilities of both characters. Just the mechanism that leads to the sex and the sex itself won’t do. But as a fantasy for masturbation, I can really understand this one.
It could be erotic. I’m not in a place where I could write it right now. The emotional core for me was/is rage. It’s a powerful and difficult emotion and feeling it and harnessing it without letting it burn me out is currently beyond my skill.
Without writing the full story/fantasy here, the other key elements do fall from rage. It wouldn’t be enough to fuck her. That’s anger, but not rage. It would have to be fucking her and having her *like* it. It’s claiming not only her body, but her sexuality. It’s gaslighting her self-confidence. Rage isn’t coming on her face–that’s puerile in comparison. Rage is leaving my smell and my sounds and my taste in her psyche as well as my touch. Rage requires more violence than blows can ever accomplish.
And rage is not sated. It merely runs out of steam.
Can rage be erotic? Perhaps, but it certainly wouldn’t be easy to write.
Hi Anon,
You know, nothing really worth writing is easy to write. That’s an understatement. Anything really worth writing is fucking hard to write. And yes, I think rage powers a certain type of eroticism far more than most people are willing to admit. You wrote:
Well, that was pretty honest and amazing writing right there. Seriously RIGHT THERE. Why do people think they need to write anything more than eloquent honesty? That was eloquent and honest and damn analytical. Plus, I think you’re only inches from being able to produce a really good story from it.
If you would, allow me to be cheeky and suggest a way to turn this into a story. It think the key is identifying what is at the bottom of the well of rage: It may not be her rejection of him but his inability to stop desiring her. So, turning her into a martyr doesn’t sate the rage. It just feeds it. I think a good story would be that epiphany in your male character.
My current preferred fantasy is my partner being overpowered, tied up, gagged and locked in a cupboard, forced to watch me through a peephole having sex in all sorts of ways with other men whom I don’t even know. His powerlessness and rage just makes it even hotter for me. And I’ll come buckets, very noisily, so he will also have a hard-on himself which he is unable to reach.
Long-time lurker here. It’s technically the 6th where I am, but this is too interesting not to post on due to a mere technicality, so here it goes.
In my fantasy, there is a girl I am attracted to, who has found herself in a serious financial situation of some kind – she’s about to be evicted, she has nowhere else to go, and she begs me to help her out. I agree to let her, as long as she pays “rent” – she services me sexually, and I’ll take care of all her problems. Otherwise she’s on her own.
So, although she might not want to sleep with me, she has to – otherwise she’s in trouble. So she pays the rent by doing whatever I want. I tell her to dress up in lingerie or a sexy outfit, and she will do it. I make her suck me off and slap her around as she does it, insulting her the whole time and calling her a whore, and she has to do it. I want to tie her up and come on her face, then leave her tied up in the house while I go out for the day, only coming home to fuck her mouth again, and she has to do it.
There’s a fair amount of degradation and mockery, with me always reminding her that she’s my personal whore and she’ll do what I want. The words I use matter – I think of saying things like “See, you’re where you belong now”, and “Doesn’t it feel natural being such a fucking whore?” I’m putting her in her place, punishing her for ever thinking she was anything but a slut.
This fantasy always works for me because I can always vary the specifics – whatever I want to do, she has to follow through. It’s the idea of having this real-world, practical power over one person that’s kind of hot.
I consider this a non-con-type fantasy because I always imagine the hesitation and concern in her eyes if I tell her to do something that she’s not going to enjoy – so, for example, I tell her that I’m going to invite some friends around to fuck her while I watch and mock her for being a slut, and she gets a look for a moment that makes it clear she is uncertain and not especially willing, but she knows if she doesn’t agree then she’s out in the cold, on her own. So she does it, and she’ll do her best to pretend she likes it.
There’s something pretty erotic in knowing that I have a lot of power over someone else, and I can leverage that into whatever I want, and not have to give a fuck about her pleasure or needs.
I have to admit I have a soft spot for the mythos of the Greeks. So when my brain goes the non-consensual route, it’s cast into the sacrificial world of the Greek myths. A bit cliche, but, heh, I can’t help it 😉
It varies, but the nuts and bolts of it boil down to *me* being the sacrifice. And I’m okay with that….up until the moment I realize that I’m not to be a blood sacrifice, but something more. . . lasting. The gods get bored with fucking each other, y’know.
Some days it’s Ares or Apollo or Hephaestus, other’s it’s Artemis, Athena or god forbid, Hera. Each one has their own way of destroying me, of taking me and using me, but everyone does exactly that. It’s never about me climaxing in the fantasy, but about the persistent, thorough, and terrible way my penetration/sacrifice is taken. Some times I’m a virgin, but more often I’m just a normal woman(though on the rare occasion I’m a young man 😉
Thank you for hosting this! As someone with a lot of non-consensual fantasies, it feels good to have a platform to discuss and be open about this particular part of my kinks. Please do another when you encourage people to discuss the downright strange in desire; that would be wonderful.
Anyway, here is my fantasy: http://ladygrinsoul.com/2011/11/05/fantasy-pride-day/
Hi RM. Good thread. I was alerted to it by Monocle. Here’s what I wrote at EW:
“Interesting stuff. The only truly non-con stuff I’ve written is Pro-Life Hitman.
When I wrote the sequel, my heart wasn’t in it. My sense of reality often interferes too much with anything enjoyable in (the writing of) true non-consensual/rape fantasy. Is there a difference between rape and non-consensual? When reading non-consensual fantasies the women (or men) never cry rape. At some level the characters are really the alter-egos of the characters “raping” them and, in that sense, there’s an element of consent, but there’s also a sense that the characters are not so much “human” as two dimensional sexual objects. If not, the stories would be horrific. But that’s only my perspective as a writer. As a writer, I’ve found that I enjoy portraying persuasive and realistic characters.”
But what would you consider non-consensual? For instance, would a story about forced orgasm be non-consensual if the woman (or man) willingly let himself be constrained?
The trick for me, which I’ve used in many of my own stories, is to portray the character as consensually having non-consensual sex (if that makes any sense). That makes the stories more believable. In reading the comments above, which are inspiring me (and especially Anon’s), the secret element is that they are all, at some level, consensually non-consensual. As Anon writes, for example, the key to turning his story into Erotica “would have to be fucking her and having her *like* it.” Exactly. In yours, RMyou are willingly having the fantasy that you are being raped unwillingly. It’s a fine line, but if that little distinction is missing, then stories like these seem more like rape.
First let me say that I think this particular survey and question ROCKS!
I’m a 38 year old male and when I was younger anytime my fantasies went toward non-consent or humiliation I was extremely put off by those mental images as well as immediately turned off physically.
The past 4-5 years however I find myself increasingly going there (if you guessed that this correlates with my now being in a monogamous relationship–you are right). Specifically I mentally construct detailed scenarios over a day or two before I have a complete enough “picture” to masturbate to.
Generally that picture includes specific (almost architectural) plans for a remote home or steel building that has a concealed and obviously soundproofed basement or other captive room. The fantasy usually centers around outright kidnapping of an 18-20 something female who is almost always a Norman Rockwell innocent late bloomer walking home from the library type.
My main “interest” in these fantasies is being able to play with someone’s body while they are blindfolded and bound. It almost never has to do with inflicting pain other than the type that goes with a little rough sex, especially if someone isn’t used to that. I get off more on simple things like imagining her arms tied behind her back with her prone over my lap and getting my fingers and palm in her in a way that it difficult to do in consensual sex, like a bowling ball, with my fingers in her and my thumb in her ass. In real life I’m major into spanking, so of course I do so until my hand-prints are raised on her goose-bumped flesh and take my time enjoying pulling her cheeks apart, inspecting her, and running my hands along her thighs and under her belly and probing with my fingers until I just can’t handle it anymore…
So I lift her up and throw her face down on the sofa so that her face is buried in the cushions and it’s hard for her to breathe and I drench her ass and hole and my dick with olive oil and run my cock between her cheeks like I am titty fucking her and her hair is kind of matted and her shoulders are pulled back uncomfortably because of the rope tied tight around her upper arms and wrists and she is pale skinned and so much of her flesh is red now because of the slaps and the rope and seeing that is what pushes me over the edge and I cum almost the second I drive my dick into her anus which is pulsating and milking me and she’s sobbing but she’s also pushing back into me which keeps me so hard that I can’t take it out, I just start fucking her and know that I’ll cum again soon.
A new feature in these fantasies has been a drain in the corner so that after sex I can drag her across the cement floor and when my erection has half-eased urinate all over her and in her mouth and leave her there wet and shivering while I go clean myself up and maybe take a long reflective walk through the woods…
It’s about him taking possession, ownership, staking claim to & occupying (how contemporary…) me, he’s so overcome and overwhelmed by his desire for me that he cannot control what it unleashes in him. The fire I’ve, we’ve, ignited in him is uncontrollable and I like that, and I want it, I want to be consumed by it, but, I don’t know what it will be like when it is unfurled, when his passion is unleashed, I have no idea…
To some degree I’m willing, I’m willing at the beginning, but, I don’t really know what it is I’m letting myself in for, I have no idea, really, what he’s capable of… I gift myself to him, almost ritually, on an alter if he likes, or a rug by a fire, I don’t care, the setting and environment are irrelevant, all that matters is the gaze between us, being locked in it, his eyes boring into mine, watching him change, watching him lose control, lose himself…
He comes to me, but, as he comes something else rises in him, out of him, something otherworldly and aethereal and he, the man, has lost control. I never had control, I don’t want it, but, I don’t realise that what has taken over him is nothing I’ve ever even imagined.
He, it, begins to fuck me, it’s the most intense sensation of pleasure I’ve ever felt, orgasm after wave of delicious orgasm in, through, me until I realise that he’s changed, changing. His eyes darken and narrow, his jaw clenches, his body hardens, he roots in me and I feel his cock change shape inside me. His cock narrows, becomes finger like, serpentine and tentacle-like as it pushes past the entrance to my womb, the heat and pain are searing, but even though I feel my body ripping, my mind is wanting him to tear me asunder in this way. I’m immobile, paralysed, partially from fear, in part because of his sheer force on top of me now and an almost preternatural strength.
I’m in shock, the pain so intense I think I’ll die, but yet my body doesn’t close to him, my mind has no control over my body, my mind cannot comprehend what’s happening. A soft claw like protuberance latches onto the wall of my womb, it feels as if he’s plugged into me, we are now one being, symbiotic. My eyes wide open, unmoving, shocked, he comes, orgasms, rushes his seed into me and I know, I can feel it as it happens that he’s impregnated me with himself, something will grow in me now, he’s planted himself in me and I have no choice but to allow it to grow for if I try to kill it, that act will kill me… this creature of our union will be born and may well kill me as it’s birthed.
The black in his eyes begins to dissipate, to turn grey and then to his own blue/grey, he ‘comes to’ and realises what has happened, what’s taken place, that he was taken over by this creature that raped me, seeded itself in me, but, even though he loves me he doesn’t care that this has happened, I don’t care anymore either, it just is as it is. My body scratched, bloodied, torn, bruised, changed forever, his, there’s no going back now… I’m as owned, claimed and possessed as it’s possible to be and in ways that I can’t even imagine yet.
‘The kidnapping’…
I’m captured while walking down the street minding my own business by a bunch of (6 or so) men in a van, I’m bundled into the side door, ankles and wrists tied before I know what’s going on and tape slapped across my mouth. I can see some faces, others are in shadow and others are covered and stay covered.
The van travels some distance, they talk about me, how they’ve stalked me, watched me, followed me, wanted me, desired me, what they’re going to do to me. They’re all going to fuck me, but, they don’t want me to pass out or be ”useless” to them, so, they’ll treat me as they wish, but, not so badly that I’m not a good ”toy” any longer. I am petrified to my core, sure I’m going to die, painfully. There’s a ring leader, they all do as he says, if somewhat reluctantly sometimes, he doesn’t fuck me.
They keep me for two or three days, I’m fucked every possible way that I can ever imagine, and then some, cum all over my face, in my hair, in my ass, my cunt, cocks every I look shoving themselves into a hole or my hands. They make me come again and again and again and again, over and over and over and over, my throat raw from moaning orgasms. My mouth now silent and incapable of noise from having been face-fucked so often and screaming for hours. My flesh raw from struggling against my wrist and ankle cuffs, even though they’re fur lined I’ve been in them, naked and sweating like an animal for days, only bathed once a day with a sponge.
I don’t know who I am anymore, where I am, how long they’ve had me, how many times I’ve been fucked and orgasmed, how many cocks have been in me, I’ve lost count of it all and I want to die, perhaps I have died….. and then I hear and feel the cuffs being opened, my body completely collapses and he, the masked ring leader, catches me in his arms, his soothing whisper at my ear, strong arms wrapping me, pick me up and lay me in a warm bath. He caresses, soothes, nurtures, bathes, feeds… He takes me out of the bath and lays me on a large, soft bed, my legs fall open, I have no fight left in me and then so slowly he fucks me for the first time and I see that it is him, ”my man”, he has orchestrated the whole thing, instructed all the other men to do his bidding for him… I have no words, I lie below him and watch him love me tenderly with his eyes, claiming my body, my heart, my mind back from the others for himself again with his cock that moves so slowly, gently, but with purpose, and I love him.
RG,
(This has been rolling about in the mind, so much more to go into it but you get the idea…)
As a powerful ruler he sits upon the throne before the court. The captured princess of a bitter rival is brought before him. She is well groomed and holding her chin high, obviously of royal stock. Petite, beautiful, and the look of defiance in her eyes. She is a prize that could be used to benefit his people, even end the war that has been lingering for a generation.
“Strip her… bind her in shackles!” He orders firmly.
The attendants pause for a moment before complying. Eyes locked, jaws numb as court looks on as this princess is degraded before them, they cannot turn away. He must have a reason for this, for he is good and kind. The word ‘loving’ has been uttered by the majority of his people.
Today he will demonstrate Absolute Authority.
Thank you,
-TFP
er *fans self* Any time you feel like fleshing that fantasy out, I’d be more than happy to read it. *clears throat and pretends to look casual.*
Been lurking for quite a while and first time I’ve felt compelled to comment. Am somewhat gratified to find that I am not alone with non-consensual fantasies (which is kinda the point of a fantasy pride day?). Also wanted to say RG, that I find your writing sensual yet sensitive with great characterization; my favourite stories of yours are Click and The Virtue of Patience.
Okay, so here goes.
Unseen hands rasped against the tops of her thighs. “What the hell are you doing?” she screamed even though it was patently obvious what he was doing. The palms of his hands were rough, callused. He was supposed to be the good one. The one who had been gentle with her. Oh, she had been so relieved when he was elected to ‘babysit’ the hostage.
Her breath hitched as she held on to shredded control. “Please, you don’t want to do this.” Surely he would listen to reason. He had not been the brute of the gang who had busted her lip earlier. Or tied her hands behind her back so tightly even now only a few hours into her capture her wrists had rubbed raw.
His fingers hooked under the crotch of her underwear, pushing it aside. His breath turned heavy, and she regretted her indulgence in pretty lingerie. His silence scared her more so than when his buddy’s fist had knocked her to the ground. She tried to clamp her thighs together, but he had wedged himself between them. “I don’t want-” The rasp of the teeth of his jeans coming apart made her panic. “No.” She shrank away, but there was nowhere to go. Nothing but the back of the chair. She leaned as far as she would go, the chair tipping backwards.
Only to be brought back down abruptly by her gentle captor. Her head snapped forward, her teeth clacked. No, she will not counterfeit a romance. He had been the only one not to hurt her. Why did he have to do this? Dammit, he had been the nice one. The one who wiped the blood away. Gave her a drink. Some food.
She jerked against the back of the chair as he thrust into her. Behind her back, her fists clenched. Every inch of him hurt her, although he probably was no bigger than any of her boyfriends.
“At least put on a condom, bastard,” she swore at him.
“No.” His hand, so big and strong, curved around her nape. The scent of him surrounded her. It had appealed to her earlier; he had washed whereas the rest of his gang of robbers seemed unaware of the concept. Now, it was another assault to her senses. “You will feel everything.”
She did. Every uncaring pound into her cunt. Every agonizingly long stroke. She felt herself getting wet and her mind rebelled. “Can’t come?” she snarled at him.
He laughed and slowed even more. His thumb went to her clitoris.
“Don’t!” She squirmed away. To no avail. Tears wet her blindfold, making the cloth stick to her skin. She gnawed at her busted top lip, the pain a distraction from his fondling. Yet, too soon she came around him, sucking at his cock as if eager for it. As if wanting every drop of the hot wet liquid from him.
He held himself deep in her for a long moment. They remained in a parody of an embrace.
Then, he slid out of her, his semen following a path down, seeping, trickling a curve towards her ass. He patted her cheek lightly.
“There. Now, you’ll remember everything, my pretty little cheerleader.” Cheerleader? She hadn’t been a cheerleader since high school. She felt his breath tickling her raw lip as he leaned closer. A brush of his lips. “Remember me.”
Late to the party…
Winter break after the first semester of college. Connections still strong to high school. Lauren and Dan are alone at her house waiting to meet up with some friends to catch a midnight movie. They are exaggerated in their playfulness and jokes. The better to forget Princeton and Williams and those new relationships. On the couch, she straddles his lap, mockingly punching him in the chest. The girls could never be as good as me. It’s joking and it’s not. Her skirt bunches up over her knees. She notices his erection going down one side of his jeans. What’s this she says archly as she presses her knee against his erection. He works both hands under her skirt and into her inner thighs. For balance, she falls forward and presses her head into his shoulder. He whispers in her ear. Do you want me to fuck you? She knows he needs her. She reaches for his jeans zipper. He stops her, firmly grabbing her wrist. She giggles awkwardly. Let’s make a deal, he whispers, still holding her hand. He uses his free hand to slowly massage her thighs, gently touching the outside of her pussy lips. If you are sopping wet in there (a teasing tap to the top of her mound) then we just get dressed and go to the movies. Her cunt twitches. She halfheartedly tries to grab his crotch again. He squeezes her wrist until it hurts. He traces circles inside her thighs. Her mouth is open, her teeth pressing into his shoulder. He roughly pulls the panties up and out to the side. He pulls firmly on one of her lips to keep the panties clear to the side. Time to take your temperature, he whispers. With one hand, he splays open her lips and gently inserts a finger. She is biting his shoulder and moaning. She shivers as he pulls out a slickened finger. The doorbell rings as he snaps the panties back over her engorged cunt.
Er… yup, too late to read the challenge rules. Ahem, NON-CON?
Got it.
Now that I think about it I realize that I’ve had obscure and often violent sexual fantasies since I was ten. And no I was not molested as a child and yes I’m sure that I have no repressed memories lurking about.
Almost all my fantasies include either minors or power inbalances bordering on non-con or both. On the other side I totally don’t get role play. I may enjoy being a sex slave in my fantasies (where I am actually in control of what’s being done to me) but anyone having real control over my body makes me absolutely uncomfortable (tried it with an ex-girlfriend once, was a total desaster, I’ve had trust issues for weeks after).
Now what are those fantasies? One of them has me as a student in a boarding school. There’s a teacher who visits some of the students regularly at night – boys or girls and I’m either of them. He puts some kind of spell on them so they can’t open their eyes or talk or fight. He takes them slowly: the first-years he only touches lightly on the stomach, on the back, on the legs. In their second-year he starts touching them with his hands. In the next year with his mouth. Then he teaches them how to suck a cock. In the fifth year he penetrates them. The clever ones of course know what to expect when it’s his first visit in a new school year. And oh yes, they enjoy it. This fantasy is for when I want it quick, just before going to sleep.
Another one: a powerful Lord, Sultan, gangster boss etc and I’m his mistress. Power games, control, deception, punishment – all involving intense, often violent sex. I can’t really give the details here because they vary greatly every time I play it out. One of these can keep me occupied for days, because the story line is usually complex.
I realize right now.. maybe I enjoy those fantasies because when I’m really turned on, my desire can be so strong that I (and anybody who may be with me) become helpless because I don’t know how to sate it. In my fantasies, there is someone who knows and does. So actually, in those fantasies where I give myself up to some imagined stranger, I gain power over my desire.
Is Fantasy Pride going to happen again this year?