Chapter 1
This writing is not a story. It’s a guided masturbation fantasy for women with forced, rape, or CNC desires. If you enjoy being overpowered—taken by someone stronger than you—this is for you. It contains aggressive acts to help you experience that scenario in the safety of your mind. It’s told in the voice of your attacker, so he can guide you to your inevitable orgasm.
Listen carefully. I’m going to explain how I expect you to read this.
I speak these words in an eerie, calm, authoritative voice. Picture me however you like. Make me tall and muscular, or fit and lean. Give me long or short hair in any shade you’d prefer. Maybe I’m wearing a mask, and all you see are my blue, green, or dark eyes. Construct me into the predator you crave. Maybe you already have someone in mind—someone you’ve always fantasized about taking you. Visualize him. Or better yet, ask him to read this aloud. Let his voice guide you. Imagine him lying in your bed, or standing behind your chair, giving you these instructions.
Obey my commands at all times. Don’t use anything except your fingers. I know that may be challenging, but this rule is essential. It stops some cold, lifeless object from separating us. What I’m about to describe is profoundly personal—and there’s no room for toys. The goal is for my voice to become your hand, so your mind is free to fully experience what I say.
I’m going to count backward from ten to one. Between each number, I’ll direct you—physically and mentally—ratcheting up the intensity step by step. Let your orgasm ebb and flow. Each time it builds, it should arrive a little easier than before. When I say “one,” I expect you to cum. If you cum before, it means you failed to pace yourself. If you cum after, it means I failed to excite you properly. If cumming on command isn’t a skill you’ve mastered yet, return to this piece and practice until you’re more disciplined.
Make yourself comfortable. Go somewhere quiet. Shut out the noise that pollutes your life. Be alone with your thoughts. Let these words move your still, rested body. Take a deep, chest-expanding breath. Hold it. Then exhale, slow and steady, until the air leaves your lungs. Let it carry your tension with it. Now, again—inhale, hold, exhale. The longer you exhale, the more negativity you push out. You become lighter. Your stress and worry fade.
Nothing can hurt you here. Not really. But I want you open to the helplessness.
Begin sweeping your hands up and down your skin. Keep breathing. Start at your neck. Glide across your chest. Then revisit your neck. Move slowly. Notice how your breath and your touch work together to carve out space in your mind. These aren’t just words—they originate inside you now. They’re guiding you toward powerlessness.
Let your fingers skid over your breasts… then your stomach… then back to your breasts. Circle them one at a time inwards and then out again. Breathe deeply. Let your ribs rise and fall.
I’m in complete control, guiding you lower. That’s why the pressure’s building. Let it become a slow torture, teasing you when you know what’s about to come. You need my permission for everything.
Now… trace your fingers down to your stomach, to your thighs, and back again. Keep moving. Keep breathing. Let them skate up and down.
Surrender. Follow these instructions. Giving your power away liberates you.
Keep that in mind… as you slip your hand between your legs.
Ten!
Imagine stumbling on a sidewalk after a night of drinking—or trekking across a mostly empty parking lot after work. The where doesn’t matter. What matters is: it’s dark, and every little noise makes you turn your head.
You’ve had this thought before—that someone could tackle you to the ground. He could do whatever he wanted, and nobody would stop him.
Your fingers move around your clit as you picture it. Let the fear excite you. Let your hips begin to rise and fall, chasing your touch.
You tell yourself, “I’m crazy. Nothing is lurking in the shadows.” But your chest tightens. Your stomach churns. Your hand moves faster. Even though you’re safe in bed, my words make your muscles stiffen.
It’s a chilly fall night. The wind howls and slaps your face. Really see yourself. What color are your jeans? What kind of jacket are you wearing? Are you in heels, or flats?
Leaves crackle as they’re blown across the asphalt, and your pulse kicks up. That anxiety only makes you wetter. Curl two fingers and gently push them inside—start shallow. Let them sink deeper as your fear grows.
The only sounds now are your heartbeat and your footsteps. Stars glimmer above in a clear, moonless sky.
You can’t see me.
But I see you.
Push deeper—because I’m watching.
My glare tracks you. You don’t know I’m there, but something feels wrong. You’re prey at the edge of tall grass, sensing the eyes that stalk you.
You swallow hard. Your breath catches. Blood floods your muscles. But don’t rush.
Nine!
Keep gliding in and out before smearing your wetness across your clit. That’s it. Do it again. And again. Drench that little nub. Picture fog spilling from my mouth. My fists ball up so tight my nails dig into my palms. My heart rate slows. I imagine tearing off your clothes. I haven’t decided to do it—at least not consciously. I’m acting on impulse, scanning side to side for witnesses. Your skin-tight jeans show off that round ass, swaying with every step. Teasing me. The more I watch, the more I picture forcing you to your knees. I rub the bulge in my pants, imagining you limp and helpless beneath my weight.
I know you put yourself in this dangerous position just to flirt. You probably walk this path every night, waiting for the man who’ll finally claim what’s his. If I ask, “Wanna hang out sometime?”—you’ll lie. Say you’ve got a boyfriend. Some other bullshit. God forbid you admit you’ve had a crush on me. Women always play so fucking coy. I tell myself, She wouldn’t dress like that if she wasn’t a whore down to fuck.
Circle your clit. Imagine scrolling through your phone, looking for a distraction from the solitude. From the dark. And I start to move in. I’m thirty feet away. Each step closer, I expect you to turn around—but you don’t. Now twenty. The wind picks up. You huddle in your jacket. Can you feel it? My hunger? I’m starving—for something very specific. I lick my lips and our connection intensifies. You rub faster. The rage in me has already arrived. It surrounds you.
I’m ten feet away, and your orgasm swells. Rub faster. I hear the tinny sound of your phone. Your hair shines in the pale light. Faster. I smell your conditioner. I feel your warmth. Five feet. Three. I stretch out my arm. No shadows warn you. Rub faster. Your jugular pulses. Around and around. I almost have you.
Stop.
Slide your middle and index fingers on either side of your clit. Don’t touch it. Let your hips go still. Shh. Run your knuckles up and down your lips. Let the energy drain. I’ll bring you to the edge again, and again, until we reach the end.
Eight
I clamp a hand over your mouth and jerk you into me. You crash against my chest, head snapping back from the force. Touch yourself as you picture it—watch yourself being taken. Look at how helpless you are. The big, strong man has you exactly where he wants you. You scream, but I silence it with the crush of my palm.
“You’re not strong enough to hurt me,” I whisper. Even though my violence terrifies you, run your fingers from your pussy to your thigh. Confuse your mind with the tenderness of your touch in spite of the horror of what I’m describing.
You bite my hand, but I jam it deeper into your mouth. “That’s it? Bite harder. You’re turning me on.” Imagine my growl hot in your ear, spittle splashing your cheek.
You gnaw harder but can’t break through my callouses. Circle your clit and visualize how you kick and heave. None of it weakens me. My large frame englufing you and your hips hoist above the bed.
“Don’t act like you didn’t want this. You fucking knew I was watching, didn’t you?” You shake your head and cry, but I bear hug you over your arms and across your chest, lifting you off the ground. “Didn’t you!”
The left side of my face twitches. I’m trembling—and the tremor runs through you, short-circuiting your ability to speak.
“That’s what I thought. You want this as much as I do.”
Draw slow circles around your clit. “Fucking whore.” My seething rage almost comforts you in your bed. Maybe you’re the one who quells my suffering. Let that thought simmer as you circle a little faster. You’ve learned you’re supposed to defend yourself from people like me, but your subconscious longs to be a vessel for a monster’s aggression. Tap into that urge. You’re just a defenseless little thing and it makes you so… fucking… wet…
I grope your tits through your jacket, your shirt, your bra. Mimic that sensation, ripping at your chest, clawing yourself. “I’m going to take my hand off your mouth. If you scream, you won’t like what happens next.”
“Please… don’t hurt me,” you whimper. Plow your fingers inside. Fuck yourself like you need it. You crave my cock. It’s okay to fight—but we both know the truth. You’re soaked. Move quicker, deeper—hear your wetness against your touch. I stroke your hair and you close your eyes. “I’d never hurt you,” I lie, guiding your hand to my bulge. Every part of you trembles. “I’m going to give you exactly what you’ve always needed.”
Seven
I spin you and lean in for a kiss, but you buck your hips and kick. So I lick from your chin to your eye. My thick tongue leaves a slick trail across your cold skin. You gag. Your face scrunches. You groan through fresh tears.
“Don’t act like you’re too good for me.” You stomp on my foot and I laugh. You kick my shin, and I sink my teeth into your shoulder. Scratch the base of your neck to feel me. “That’s a real bite, right there,” I sneer. Licking over my mark, I bite you again in the exact same spot. You wrench away, trying to drop to the ground, but I keep you on your feet.
Stroke your clit slowly. Imagine me grabbing your jaw, forcing your attention on me. I try to plunge my tongue past your lips, but you lock them. ”Fucking prude.” You snivel and cry and I crush your cheeks until your mouth opens. “Come on, you know you want to give me a nice wet kiss.”
You try to resist, but I overpower you with ease. Rub faster—circles around your clit. “Ha. I told you I’m too strong for you. We both know it.” I apply more pressure and you open a bit. Jabbing past your teeth, I swirl inside your mouth, your tears falling onto me.
Like a spoiled brat playing hard to get, you twist and squirm. So I pull away—then slam my hand across your cheek. The sound cracks through the night. You scream, “Please let me go! Please!”
Picture it. Thrust your fingers in deep. The next slap rattles through your bones, and your pussy clenches. “I’m telling you one last time: You’re going to give me what I want.”
You nod and I chuckle, resuming my assault on your esophagus as if my goal is to reach your stomach with my tongue. I know this is the most disgusting kiss of your life, and I don’t care. You’re just another cunt-whore who needs to be broken in.
Bring yourself to the edge. Circle your swollen little button. Let the image form—because this is what you dream about. After I drench your lips with spit, I pull away. I wipe your tears with my thumb. You stare past me, numb.
“See? That wasn’t so hard. I can be sweet if you just give me a chance.”
You don’t answer. Your body goes stiff. If I gave you permission, you could cum. But I didn’t.
Don’t anger your attacker. Slow down. Stop. Let your fingers glide up and down your soaked cunt. Let the climax melt back into your body.
Six!
You’re caught between eruption and restraint. Halfway to the edge. Keep petting your pussy, and let your fingers slide up and down your thighs—scratch lightly. The orgasm may have receded, but the fuse is still lit, sizzling just beneath your skin.
“You’re mine now,” I whisper as I unbutton your jeans. I yank them down—along with your panties—stuffing them around your knees. The cold air hits you, but you don’t feel chilled. You’re on fire. I grab your fuck-hole and jam a finger in. Cram your middle finger into your cunt. Thrust upward. Smack your clit with your palm, then fuck yourself faster, harder. “You wouldn’t be like this if you weren’t attracted to me.”
You shake your head. I smirk— amused that you think I give a shit. I force another finger in and you clamp around it. “Doesn’t it feel good to be stretched? I bet you can’t wait for the real thing.”
The battle inside you intensifies. Guilt, need, shame, lust—all crashing into one another as I violate you. Look at you. What do you really want? To be saved… or ruined?
I add a third finger, spreading your fuckhole wider, preparing it for my thick rapist-cock. I move in and out with slow, cruel purpose—like I’m tenderizing a piece of meat. Fuck yourself just like that. “You’re nothing. Just some filthy little thing I dragged out of the dirt to play with.”
Tears streak your cheeks—but your arms don’t push me away. They pull me in. Your nails dig into the back of my neck.
“This’ll be the greatest night of your life,” I growl, nearly forcing my whole fist into you. “This is what you bitches dream about, isn’t it? Somebody like me. Coming along to take what’s his.”
Five!
Your hand is soaked. Drag your fingers across your clit—slow, deliberate—and imagine me knocking you to the ground. The earth is damp and cold beneath you. You scramble backward on your elbows and ass, but I keep pace, casually strolling toward you as I unbuckle my belt. I scowl. You shiver.
“I thought we already went over this,” I say, catching up to your pathetic little escape attempt. “Playing shy is boring.” I unzip my fly and stomp my boot down on your leg, halting your crawl. I reach into my boxers and pull out my thick cock, gripping it as I loom over you. “Look at it. Take a good look.”
You try to turn away—so I slam it into your cheek. “Bitch,” I bark, beating my meat across your face. “I told you to fucking look at it.”
Your eyes flutter back toward me as I stroke brazenly. Build the image in your mind—circle your clit, fast and then slow—fast and then slow—feeling its pulse beneath your fingers. You’ve pictured this many times: kneeling before a monster. A beast like me. Rub faster now—torn between fight and surrender.
“That’s it. Come closer,” I say. You climb up onto your knees, almost instinctively. “You’ve never seen a cock like this, have you?” The faster I stroke, the faster you circle your nub. It’s like I’ve hijacked your brain. You sigh. Your shoulders sink. You hang your head in shame.
Let that shame drive you. Rub faster. Your hips start to buck. You’re not even pretending anymore. It feels so fucking good to give in—to hand your body over to whatever I want.
Race toward the edge. Let yourself believe you’re about to cum. Let your orgasm peak—and stop. Right now.
Your hips still thrust in the air, but your hands are at your sides. And my cock is inches from your mouth.
Four!
You’re still teetering on the edge when I drag my prick along your sealed lips, holding your face close. You taste my precum—and something clicks. Your jaw unlocks. Your tears stop.
“That’s it,” I whisper. “Now you understand.”
I guide your head, slowly feeding myself deeper. You try to resist—pressing at my thighs—but I only push harder. “Take it all, you useless bitch.”
Return your fingers to your clit. Circle softly. This is the final build-up. You’ve done so well. Don’t ruin it by cumming too soon.
My hips slam forward, stuffing your throat. You go limp as face fuck all my hate into you. Can you feel how the warm saliva falling from your chin quickly cools and becomes cold.
I pull out, and your mouth stays wide. I slap you across the face with my cock. You nearly smile through the streaks of mascara and then I force myself in again. “You love the way I’m abusing your throat, don’t you?”
You nod on my shaft. One hand reaches to stroke me—your grip tightens, twists. Somehow, I fuck you even harder. Your ears ring from the force. You gag. You gulp. “Look at how much you love this.”
I let go of your neck. And you start moving on your own. Up and down. Deeper than I ever pushed you.
Don’t stop. Keep touching yourself. Rub your clit harder—but stay edged. You’re not allowed to cum. Not yet.Three!
I slap you off my cock and mount you before you even realize what happened. Straddling your legs, I knead myself against your dripping cunt. “Say you want this. Tell me this is what you’ve always needed.”
I choke you and your lip quivers as you fight back tears. A heavy gulp climbs down your neck—and I squeeze, trying to trap it.
“Do you want me to rape you?”
You wince… and nod. I hope it stings—that deep, shameful recognition that your filthy whore nature has betrayed you. Your craving to be used overwhelms your instinct to resist.
What if they knew? What if everyone could see the truth about you?
Rub around your clit—because you’re just a little girl in a red cape waiting to be ravished by the Big Bad Wolf.
I let go and blood rushes back into your brain. Your whole body trembles beneath me. “You’re mine now.”
Rub faster.
“You fucking slut. I own you.”
Faster!
My thick, cock splits you wide as I drive in deep, filling every twitching inch with me.
Faster!This is where you belong—in the arms of deviants. Can’t you see I made the entire universe freeze. The only thing moving is me thrusting into you.
Two!
I growl, my lip curling, fucking you harder than anyone ever has. Like I’m trying to pound a hole straight through the earth with your ruined body.
You tilt your head, offering up your throat. I watch your pulse beneath the surface before grabbing you and squeezing again.
“Are you ready?” I snap. “Are you finally fucking ready to admit the truth?””
Your hands glide under my shirt. Nails scratch my back as you cling to me.
“I’m ready,” you cry out. “Take me! Make me yours! I wanted you before I even knew you existed!”
I spit on your face—my saliva streaking across the bridge of your nose.
“You fucking whore.”
“Yes. I’m a whore. I’m your whore.”
You grin through the mess and I lick that smile—then slap it.
“You disgust me. Do you know that?”
“Yes,” you moan. “I should disgust you. I was nothing until you made me into this.”
You’re shaking now because you know—this climax inside you is like nothing you’ve ever felt.
Don’t fight it. Give in. Rub faster.
“Split me open,” you beg. “Abuse me.”
Spank your cunt. Slap it harder.
“Rape every emotion out of me until I’m nothing but a hollow shell.”
Now rub as fast as you can. My cock throbs. You’re quivering. You were never meant to be in control. You’ve faked it your whole life—playing strong, trying to hide how close you are to falling apart.You’re right where I want you.
I squeeze tighter.
You rub faster and faster.
Your mouth opens—but no sound comes out.
One!
Let go. Right now, you have my permission. I unload inside you, my cum filling you up. Give it to me. Show me that you’re ready to be what you were always meant to be—that dirty rape-bait whore I saw walking alone in the dark, thumbing through her phone.
Show me you’re that lost little thing, waiting for the right monster to come along and take what’s his. Explode. Cum for me, now. Right now.
Keep rubbing. Don’t stop. Shake your little clit as quickly as you can. Go so fast your wrist hurts. Cum for me again. Create one long orgasm that feeds into the next.
Remember how I grabbed you. Remember how I covered your mouth and groped all over. Remember how good it felt.
Think about me forcing myself inside you. Recall the way I fucked your face. And even though you fought me in the beginning, it was worth it—because now you finally have my permission to let go.
Cum again. Now. Right. Fucking. Now.
It’s what you’ve needed your entire life. Maybe you couldn’t recognize it until I showed you, but you’ve been searching for someone to break you in all the ways you’ve needed to be broken.
You’ve wished for someone strong enough to help you feel absolutely nothing. Look at what I gave you. It’s inside you. It’s with you. You’ll carry it through your days and nights, and when you’re feeling crushed by all of it you’ll remember how I set you free. Now…
Cum again.
And again. And again.
Don’t stop cumming until you’re empty—until I’ve taken everything you have to give.
