October 30, 2008 Leave a comment Go to comments

Happy HNT!

Something I thought of doing but which, regretfully, never became reality was for SR to enter my room and find me on my bed, lying on my stomach facing away from him, with my knees tucked under me and my hands cuffed behind my back.  Wearing nothing but garter and stockings.

And I’d have my comforter covering most of my body, so he’d have to get close and move it to see what was going on.  I wonder what his reaction would be.  Would he look at me like I’m a freak?  Or would he grab my hair and stuff his quickly hardening cock in my mouth?

I like to think it would have been the latter.

Along that line, I was lying on my friend’s couch earlier, fantasizing about a scene I have played in my head since I first started masturbating.  I imagined myself struggling to get away from a man who has my body pinned down under his, and is slowly tearing away at my clothes while I wriggle slowly away.  And, like a cat with its prey, he loosens his hold and lets melets me try to scramble out from under him a few inches before he pounces again, and tears away another piece of clothing.  And it’s not long before I feel his cock against my ass, but only briefly because he shoves it into me without word or warning.  All of my struggling only enhances that feeling of utter violation and penetration, of his cock filling me against my will.

And even though I know rape fantasies are among the top female fantasies, I can’t help but feel a little guilty about enjoying them so much.  I like struggling and feeling overwhelmed by someone so much stronger than I am that I can smell the testosterone on him.  The act of being penetrated while struggling, for me, makes it all the more arousing and, strangely, even more intimate…perhaps because he is taking away all power from me, and forcing me to accept his control.  If I can overpower my partner, I don’t think I would be able to feel that level of intimacy with him.

In Ayn Rand’s The Fountainhead is a scene that I think illustrates this point pretty well.  It is a rape scene between the protagonist and his love interest.  He pursues her because he knows he wants her, because she is intelligent, beautiful, powerful, and confident – “had she meant less to him, he would not have taken her as he did; had he meant less to her, she would not have fought so desperately”:

He came in.  He wore his work clothes, the dirty shirt with rolled sleeves, the trousers smeared with stone dust.  He stood looking at her.  There was no laughing understanding in his face.  His face was drawn, austere in cruelty, ascetic in passion, the cheeks sunken, the lips pulled down, set tight.  She jumped to her feet, she stood, her arms thrown back, her fingers spread apart.  He did not move.  She saw a vein of his neck rise, beating, and fall down again.

Then he walked to her.  He held her as if his flesh had cut through hers and she felt the bones of his arms on the bones of her ribs, her legs jerked tight against his, his mouth on hers.

She did not know whether the jolt of terror shook her first and she thrust her elbows at his throat, twisting her body to escape, or whether she lay still in his arms, in the first instant, in the shock of feeling his skin against hers, the thing she had thought about, had expected, had never known to be like this, could not have known, because this was not part of living, but a thing one could not bear longer than a second.

She tried to tear herself away from him.  The effort broke against his arms that had not felt it.  Her fists beat against his shoulders, against his face.  He moved one hand, took her two wrists, pinned them behind her, under his arm, wrenching her shoulder blades.  She twisted her head back.  She felt his lips on her breast.  She tore herself free.

She fell back against the dressing table, she stood crouching, her hands clasping the edge behind her, her eyes wide, colorless, shapeless in terror.  He was laughing.  There was the movement of laughter on his face, but no sound.  Perhaps he had released her intentionally.  He stood, his legs apart, his arms hanging at his sides, letting her be more sharply aware of his body across the space between them than she had been in his arms.  She looked at the door behind him, he saw the first hint of movement, no more than a thought of leaping toward that door.  He extended his arm, not touching her, and fell back.  Her shoulders moved faintly, rising.  He took a step forward and her shoulders fell.  She huddled lower, closer to the table.  He let her wait.  Then he approached.  He lifted her without effort.  She let her teeth sink into his hand and felt blood on the tip of her tongue.  He pulled her head back and he forced her mouth open against his.

She fought like an animal.  But she made no sound.  She did not call for help.  She heard the echoes of her blows in the gasp of his breath, and she knew that it was a gasp of pleasure.  She reached for the lamp on the dressing table.  He knocked the lamp out of her hand.  The crystal burst to pieces in the darkness.

He had thrown her down on the bed and she felt the blood beating in her throat, in her eyes, the hatred, the helpless terror in her blood.  She felt the hatred and his hands: his hands moving over her body, the hands that broke granite.  She fought in a last convulsion.  Then the sudden pain shot up, through her body, to her throat, and she screamed.  Then she lay still.

It was an act that could be performed in tenderness, as a seal of love, or in contempt, as a symbol of humiliation and conquest.  It could be the act of a lover or the act of a soldier violating an enemy woman.  He did it as an act of scorn.  Not as love, but as defilement.  And this made her lie still and submit.  One gesture of tenderness from him – and she would have remained cold, untouched by the thing done to her body.  But the act of a master taking shameful, contemptuous possession of her was the kind of rapture she had wanted.  Then she felt him shaking with the agony of a pleasure unbearable even to him, she knew that she had given that to him, that it came from her, from her body, and she bit her lips and she knew what he had wanted her to know.

  1. qarlcarl
    October 31, 2008 at 1:09 am

    three pictures… and they’re all sexy
    1. the photograph at the top of a sexy woman waiting for a lover, for someone to ovepower her, take her, fill her need
    2. the picture of the scenes you describe, the fantasy of your bound available body waiting for him, the fantasy of having your clothes torn and your body raped
    3. the picture of a strong and vulnerable woman, your heart tender and longing for fulfillment and the confusion of wanting protection and love but also wanting to lose control, lose your safety to a powerful man who needs to have you now and will not accept your “no” because he knows it’s a lie

    please keep writing, and please share some ideas for punishment at

  2. October 31, 2008 at 2:29 pm

    Hi qarlcarl,

    Interesting site and interesting concept. I’m not sure I can submit ideas for punishment, as I am not usually the one doing the punishing! But I’ll let you know if I think of something…

  3. qarlcarl
    October 31, 2008 at 3:03 pm

    Hi nell,
    Thanks for the response! I understand that picking a punishment is a little odd for someone who’s normally the recipient, so I respect your choice. It’s funny because I thought when people had the chance to take a free shot and offer someone else a punishment that I’d be getting quite a few people chiming in. But I wonder if people are reluctant to “get involved” or if they don’t want to lose their anonymity or something.

    One way you could look at it if you’re even remotely interested would be to think of it like a bratty little sister who wants to get her dumb brother in trouble. “Moooooommmmm… carl should get a spanking!!!!” etc You don’t have to administer it, just make a bratty suggestion of what you think you’d like to see happen to the poor slob.

    Or, if all suggestions are off, I’d love to just hear your teasy voice chime in with a comment of something sassy that torments my predicament. any comments welcome.

    Thanks for your great blog and I hope to keep reading more.

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