I see from the most recent poll that quite a few of you have a secret fantasy to be taken roughly by a stranger. I'll tell you a story I've never told before, and you can decide if it would really be for you. This is definitely not the Harlequin romance "rape" fantasy carried around by some women.
I was 20, naive and stupid, and I hadn't learned how to fight. In other words, I couldn't control a "rough taking" for my own purposes, as I have sometimes done later. It was a typical late spring Saturday night in college, bar-hopping with girlfriends, cockteasing, drinking. I vividly remember everything, right down to what I was wearing: a khaki miniskirt and tight olive-green top, braless. I had a boyfriend at the time, but had gone out with some female friends. We were in one of the bars near campus; it was late and we were flirting with some of the louts from town. They desperately wanted to fuck us, and quietly hated us because they thought we felt we were above them (and we were). Still, there was much laughing, touching, propositioning...my pal Heather was giving each man a kiss after she did a shot of Jager.
I broke off to go pee. The bar had two unisex bathrooms with locks on the doors. I waited for a girl to finish in one and went in, starting to close the door behind me.
I never got that far.
A man was right behind me and pushed me inside, locking the door behind us. I let out a shriek but it was drowned out by the band. He was only a little taller than me, but very muscular and stocky, with skin so black it shone. I barely had noticed him hovering on the edge of our little group out at the bar. He was very drunk and I smelled the beer and cigarettes on his breath as he shoved me against the wall and mashed his mouth against me, pushing a thick, long tongue between my teeth. I flailed my arms ineffectually as he pulled up my top and roughly sucked on my nipples.
I was pinned and knew I was in real trouble, and my mind wasn't really working. Was I being raped? The thought never really came into play. Everything was overwhelmed by this masculine force and the primal insistence on what he wanted. He pushed me hard against the wall as he grabbed at my legs, fondling me under my skirt, getting big fingers under my panties.
Then I was spun hard toward the sink, barely reaching out to grab on before I ended up on the floor. I stared at the dirty porcelain as I felt my panties being literally ripped off. Then the hem of my miniskirt was pushed up on my hips and I was forced forward. His strong legs spread me almost like a cop ready to perform a frisk -- but that wasn't what he was about. A voice in my head: "You're going to get fucked..." And then, over the music, he yelled the exact words, adding some choice misogynistic terms.
He stood close behind me. Then there was a sudden, searing pain in my pussy. I didn't even have time to feel his cock about to enter me. The air was knocked out of me and I felt my pussy walls straining to fit him. I wasn't even very wet at that moment -- and I was wet almost all the time back in those days. It took several strokes before the lubrication made it easier, but he was hung and fucked like a thug. Hard and fast and like I wasn't even there. I was bent forward, heaving out with every stroke, but his strong grip was on my hips and there was always another "in" stroke coming. Sometimes it went painfully up to my cervix. I was completely in his control. I felt like his cock was so thick it would split me, a feeling that only gradually eased as I got dripping wet and my pussy changed to accommodate such a big one. I looked down and saw his pants at his ankles, undulating on the floor to his movements inside me.
I hung onto the edges of the sink and looked up to see my face, grimacing with each pounding of his shaft. Behind me, he looked smug and angry as he fucked me standing up, his mouth half open, grinning when he saw me watching us. My little skirt was hiked high and the black of his hands were amazing in contrast to the peaches-and-cream paleness of my ass. I had a little orgasm in spite of myself, which just made him fuck me more roughly.
Just as the band finished the set the room was silent enough for me to hear him grunt loudly, and I felt several spurts of semen going deep into me. Thank God I was on the pill. He kept fucking me, slower now, for several minutes, and I think he even came again. By this time my forehead was down on my arm, my eyes closed. I didn't want to look.
He pulled out as roughly as he had entered. As he pulled up his pants, I got a look at his big cock, with little ridges and swirls of our white juices on it. Even deflating, it was the biggest one I had seen so far. Then he opened the door, showing me still proned out over the sink, my legs opened, cum starting to run down my leg. I could hear his buddies applauding and knew they were debating whether to come in and take turns. Somehow I got enough strength to slam the door and lock it. I sat on the toilet and watched his semen dribble out. I didn't know how I was supposed to feel. Angry? Guilty? I mostly felt numb, and very sore. Later, as I walked back to my dorm -- my ripped panties gone, he took them as a trophy -- he kept dribbling out of me, down my shaking legs.
I was raped then and now I'd cut his balls off with a combat knife. But I'd be a liar if I didn't admit to looking back on that encounter and feeling a little aroused by the memory. People are weird that way. And as some readers have told me, I do have a latent submissive side.