The Rape of the Cock

"And now, I’m going to fuck you like the whore you really are."

I looked up— not understanding, my face wounded puzzlement.

"I’m sorry, I’m sorry," my lover said. "I didn’t… well, you know, I didn’t mean it."

Physically he was the perfect man— 6 foot 3, about 200 pounds— all muscle. He had jet-black hair that swept off his face in tight waves, long eyelashes, dark eyes, olive skin and a perfect "Roman" nose. Motorcycle, black leather jacket. We’d go to the gym together and work on our bodies. His: the most perfectly proportioned I have ever seen— not too lean, not too bulky, stomach like the thorax of an insect, ass two high knots with indents on the sides. Mine: a dancer’s body— 5 foot 1, small and lean, a body he could pick up with one hand and force into any position.

We liked to return from the gym, sweaty and tired after pushing our bodies as far as they could go. We’d watch ourselves in the mirror of my vanity table and he’d fuck me from behind as I balanced myself— one foot high on the wall and held tight, one on the bed high on toe. Or he’d push my head into the bed, taking my hips and ramming my body onto his until he came in rapid burst.

In the beginning there were games. He would blindfold me, tie my hands together and lead me around his mother’s empty house while teasing me that the drapes were open and the neighbors were gathering on the lawn watching. He would take a crop and whip at my calves, running me into his childhood bedroom and tying me to the bedposts spread eagle. I’d hear him rustling in the duffel bag he brought for the weekend and a cold, smooth object would pry my lips open.

"Hey," I’d snap, "Are you sure that thing is clean?"

He’d apologize and put it away.

He liked letting the world know about his interest: he had a small leather mini-bullwhip on the rear view mirror and he wore tight, thin t-shirts that showed off his nipple ring. At first I wanted to bite it, this nipple ring, to tease and pull it, but he wouldn’t allow me— it was still new and he feared it would get infected.

"You don’t understand bondage and S&M do you?" he’d ask.

"I don’t. Why don’t you explain it to me?" I genuinely wanted to know.

And then he’d explain control, the safe word, the line between pleasure and pain and the pushing of that line. He’s bring over handcuffs, a crop, silk scarves, candles, a tray so he could make ice cubes.

"But it doesn’t feel good when you hurt me," I’d explain. "It doesn’t turn me on at all."

"It’s okay— I guess I can do without," he’d reply.

I tried to understand what it was that made it all seem so silly to me. Maybe there was some place in myself that I was unwilling to go. And why did it always seem to fall apart when I put myself in his possession? My waiting, primed body, hot with adrenaline and anticipation would quickly deaden with the first sting of a slap, a pinch, his apology.

"And now I’m going to fuck you like the whore you really are," he said. And I was taken aback for a brief moment before I realized that this was just stupid, some sort of Dungeons and Dragons fantasy, a Star Trek fixation, a waiting in line for three hours to see Time Bandits sort of thing. For no apparent reason, a marquee for the midnight laserium show of "Dark Side of the Moon" flashed in my head and I remembered the photograph his mother had on her dresser of a fat kid with black chia-pet hair standing next to his grandmother.

The next day we returned from the gym— the usual fucking. He had worked until 4 a.m. the previous night and fell into a deep sleep while I got up and took a shower. I returned to the bedroom. He was sleeping with his hands above his head— his face an expression of infinite sadness.

I wondered what troubled him— if it had anything to do with me— and then, admiring his arms and they way they framed his face, I quickly grabbed the handcuffs out from under the bed. I quietly climbed on top of him and leaned down as if to kiss him. I put the handcuffs around one of the bars on my headboard and slapped them on his wrists. He awoke, startled. He started to laugh, saying, "What do you think you’re doing little girl?" He lifted his legs and swiftly bucked me off his body. I rolled onto the bed. "Come on, game’s over" he said. I reached under the bed and he smiled, thinking I was retrieving the key. Instead I picked up a bra from off the floor. As I watched his puzzled expression, I threw myself onto his body, pushing my knees onto his chest. I went for his neck with the bra and his face broke into terror. The bed flew with each thrust of his torso and I had to fight my way to stay on him. His head twisted as he tried to bite my forearms and he tried to kick me with his feet.

I had the bra around his neck. Yanking it tightly I said, "No more kicking, okay?" His face flushed, he looked as if he would gag. He nodded. I held the bra around his neck with one hand and moved my other hand lower to the fullest, hardest erection I had ever felt on him. As I wrapped my hand around his tight cock, I looked him in the eye and said, "So, you like being my little bondage girlfriend?" He closed his eyes in painful humiliation. I took his eager cock into my hand— a drop of pre-cum. I put it on my index finger and held it up to his mouth. "Taste it," I said. He held his mouth tight, twisting his head to either side. He was the type of man who didn’t even like to kiss me after I had given him head. "Taste it," I said. He started to buck. I clenched the bra and pulled tightly until he gasped. I stuck my finger in his mouth. "Tastes good, slut," I said, wiping my finger off around his lips.

Now, holding the bra with both hands, I mounted him. As I worked my cunt up and down his shaft, he began to quiver. He lifted his legs up as if to fuck me and I pulled the bra tight. "Bitch," I said. "I’M fucking YOU— not the other way around. Be still." He went rigid, flat against the sheets. I could feel the sweat under his back against the sides of my feet. I held the bra tight and worked myself up and down slowly, knowing that it was excruciating for him. His cock was full and tense. I looked at myself in the mirror and admired my taut stomach muscles and my ass flexing— the long line that separated thigh muscle from bone. Clutching the bra, I got up on point and worked my lips on the soft ridge of his head as I fingered my clit. In, almost out, in. I felt his hips move again. I grabbed the bra with both hands and yanked tight. "I told you to settle down, cunt…"

I continued to stare at myself in the mirror, admiring my body. I watched the way he looked at me with a mixture of fear and awe and I knew that all along, in the deepest part of him, this is what he had really wanted. My body was crackling with electricity as this new power and knowledge filled me. I imagined him on his stomach, this time HIS face pushed deep into the mattress. I saw myself holding his hips and thrusting furiously, a huge black dildo violating his tight pink hole— ripping him as he screamed in fear and pleasure.

I convulsed involuntarily as I floated on a slow wave of bliss. I had almost forgotten that he was beneath and in me— his body had become part of mine.

I reached back and warmed my hand with the juices that were trickling down his balls. I gave him a tight squeeze as I yanked the bra with my other hand. He shuttered.

As I slowly slid my cunt up and down on his shaft, I visualized my huge cock sliding in and out of his ass. I began to grind my hips into his pelvis and I imagined the sweat collecting on his back, the goose bumps on his arms and his soft whimpering as I plunged deeper and deeper inside of him. With each thrust, blood would flush into his skull, running cold waves throughout every part of his body.

His cock had become rock hard and kneaded the very top of my pussy— I held on and pushed harder, enduring the exquisite ache. "Do you feel that?" I asked. "That’s what it’s going to feel like when I introduce that little ass of yours to my fat cock…"

His eyes flared with terror and he began to violently kick at me, his body flailing and bucking. At the same time, I felt his prick tighten inside and I knew— that although he was going to play hard to get— that one of these days, I was going to fuck this little cunt like the whore he was.

Rape of the Cock, 2003 excerpted from Cliterature, ed. Madelena M. Christian, Doublewide Press 2003

Rosalind Cary is proud that her first foray into smut landed her the "Best Lay of the Month" honor in Penthouse’s Letters Magazine. In addition to Cliterature, her work will appear in the Best Women’s Erotica 2004 Collection published by Cleis Press. She lives in Manhattan.

Editor Madelena M. Christian lives in New York. She is currently completing a collection of short stories

Contributor

Rosalind Cary

Rosalind Cary was awarded "Best Lay of the Month" honor in Penthouse’s Letters Magazine.

ADVERTISEMENTS