Does this sound like rape to you

This post inspired by a recent comment on one of my erotic writing posts, where I described sex with my man, whilst I am heavily pregnant. I climbed atop him one morning and we had amazing sex.

Comment? “Reverse the roles and this could be Julian Asange’s story. Who is being accused of rape.

So I was raping my male partner, the father of my unborn baby, by straddling him and teasing him, even having this interlude:

Stretching up over him, kissing his lips.

“Don’t you have to get up?”

He smiles.

I know where I want to get up.

Doesn’t really sound much like rape to me. I pity this poor fellow leaving the accusatory comment, you have obviously never had an erotic fantasy in your life or perhaps you are merely jealous that some men in the world have a loving partner who find them so hot, so irresistible, so amazingly fucking goddamn sexy that they have to climb on top of them and practically beg to fill them with their skilled and warm and hard cock at every opportunity.

Or perhaps you don’t understand the definition of rape.

The only type of rape I will allow in my bed is of the fantasy kind. This may upset a lot of people, or people may secretly or I hope, openly, agree.

There are a lot of women out there who have rape fantasies.

A lot of these women are the survivors of actual rape.

This may not make sense to you, it barely does to me, a rape survivor (not victim) myself. But there we are. In bed with my loving, gorgeous, devoted partner, the man I have chosen as the father of my child, who I love thoroughly – I want him to ‘rape’ me. But I will be in control.

So it isn’t really that sort of rape at all. Not the criminal offence, the taking of a woman (or man) against their will, the use of force to penetrate them and have sex with them regardless of any stop communication given.

No. These fantasies are very different. The wilful sacrifice and surrender of control, even as she still retains all of it and more by being able to stop, direct and guide at any time with either body language or the predefined safewords, traffic light system and having a loving partner that simply wants to give pleasure to her in the way she demands and needs it most.

To meet his eyes and utter some cheeky sentiment that is designed to take him there, to that place where he knows what I want, what I need. The sign for him to come and get it, to take it forcefully. That I’m a wanton, wicked and sinful slut that needs him to ‘punish’ me, show me ‘who is boss’.

Treat me like his sex object, for the sakes of this fantasy, this session.

Pull me in for a brutal, lip biting, tongue aching, soul searching kiss, hand round my neck, the other of his hands already underneath my clothes, fondling, grabbing, mauling, feeling.

The grip on my neck tightening and then he throws me off his mouth with an audible smack of the lips to the unforgiving air, my mouth still open and turning into a gasp, as he in one practised move flips me over, hand forcing my neck, my head down into the pillow as his other hand sweeps around my waist to pull my legs around and under me.

Stripped naked by him… ok maybe I help just a little bit there… but don’t forget how much I don’t want this all the while…

Face down and kept down despite my mewled utterances that it isn’t fair, I don’t deserve it, oh please stop, please, no, no no…. all the while thinking fuck yes, carry on, more, more, hurt me, fuck me, I hope he makes me sore again for days, for a week, will I bleed again, will he fuck me and mash my cervix so hard that I feel it ache inside me like a fucking medal that I was a good girl and pleased him so much, that I turned him on so much he couldn’t help but to take it from me…

Both of us knowing I could stop it at any time… but why would I? Yes the word is always there to say, always mine to grab hold of as a defence shield should I ever need it – I don’t. He loves me, I love him, I love … this. All of this. The pain, the brutality from him, his violence. Him making me hurt for him, it’s fucking hot, it’s sexy, it’s raunchy, it’s erotic… all of these things, filthy fuckery of a debased, debauched nature and I want all of it and even more.

Take in all of his perversion, mingle our perversion and make a cunt and cock cocktail of sadism and masochism and love and bad things and all that is bright and novel and different and delicious and greedily gulped down in every second of our fantastic flesh clashing together in a need that is envied by all who hear of it.

His hand between my thighs as I lay face down on the bed sucking in the gasps of air that I can, face mashed into the pillow still even as his fingers seek what they already know will be there, the telling admission from my body, the wetness at my apex, the leaking that shows I am fucking ready for him even before this all started, before I started it.

Him telling me what a cock tease I am, a filthy naughty girl, how I deserve this and more, well I asked for it, I’m in for it now, I’ll regret saying ‘X, Y or Z’ to him, oh yes, I’ll regret it so much – my heart leaps into my throat with the ‘regret’ already, threatening to burst out of my chest with excitement. Nipples hard, flat against the sheets under me, my neck sore from trying to twist my head to the side to get some glimpse of light, perhaps a glimpse of his ‘evil’ face, the face he wears when he has a grim determination to take me, to fuck me, to make me all of his.

Pulling me up then by the hips so he has better access to my shiny wet pussy, so ready, slick with the need that already streaks through my mind yet the words still pour from my mouth – jumbled and messed up and muffled now – please, no, please, you don’t have to, I’ll be a good girl, I’m sorry… fuck yes fuck yes please fuck me

My body pulled up on to all fours, breasts dangling down, the movement of the sheets against my nipples so intense, like electronic charges against them with every faint brush, pussy clenches all up the inner walls, cervix throbbing feeling like a beacon, the destination… his hand from my neck travelling over me, seemingly everywhere at once, flicking and pinching those nipples til they’re red raw, making the sheets movement against them even more fucking gorgeously sadistically pleasurable…

The first strike on one cheek, then the other, he likes a nice warm rosy ass to slide against when he finally enters me, making the absence of him inside even more intense, almost unbearable. This punishment making me glow not only externally but internally, I want him to want me, he must want me now, I want him, I need him inside me… mouth still running with the story… no, please.. ouch, ow, don’t! you can’t…. only to be answered with, ‘oh yes, but I can…and I am’

Finally when my body is teased and tired from the exertions and I feel like I am about to rip into two with the sensations he places himself at my amazingly ready entrance (for one who doesn’t want it) and slams inside me… all the way, no mercy and no concession-

Hands over me, mouth, teeth to my neck – his hands almost in fists gripping my wrists down above my head. I struggle, now he is in me, now his weight bears down on me. Oh he does enjoy it when I am struggling, fighting against him but he always wins, always takes me anyway… and I fucking love that I am struggling so hard with all my might and he won’t let go, won’t stop giving it to me… I haven’t said the word.

I enjoy this, this is love, this pain, this brutality, this fighting

I need it, him giving me what I want and need is a sign of his love for me

I will be the naughty girl who needs such a harsh and memorable punishment and he will be the strong, ‘bad’ man who doles out my due and hard punishment… I get fucked til I am dizzy and crying and screeching and begging and he gets to fuck his girl while she’s writhing and wriggling underneath him and gets to take her fully and despite her spoken words…

It’s all safe and it’s all fun. It’s all consensual and it’s all done with the defence of a safeword and more importantly, because we know each other and love each other.

This isn’t rape, it’s a bedtime fantasy and I challenge you to find a handful of women out there that agree it isn’t a scorchingly hot version of sex.

If you haven’t the capacity for fantasy or simply cannot understand that pleasure can mean different things for different people, still within the boundaries of safety, compassion, love and care, then you have my genuine pity.







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  1. This story sounds familiar to me. And it definitely isn’t rape! Far from it! As you have said, definitely more about two people who love each other, who know what they want! Damn, I hope it’s bedtime now . . .

  2. I have written out my favourite, very hardcore, rape fantasy (much less erotic, much more like rape) but I don’t know if I will have the guts to post it. This is precisely because I am worried how it will be understood. I’m a very new blogger and I don’t want to alienate potential readers right from the start!

    The other commentator raised an interesting point though. Assange had sex with someone while that person was asleep without permission. This makes it rape. But consenting adults can (and in my case, do) have an agreement that they can play with each other while they are asleep. It is clear to me and many others that consent is very much present in your relationship. I think that might be the nuance that the other commentator missed, perhaps because they have been violated (or a troll), who knows.

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