rape fantasy – ProblemCollectionLove

‘Princess’ had been your pet name for your girlfriend from the start. You even used it around others. Your mean coworker thought it was girly and a sign of weakness. He made fun of you frequently and mercilessly.

“You’re such a fucking beta, bro! ‘My princess!’ Eesh. But seriously dude you’re just giving her too much power worshiping her like that. A girl needs a man to take a stronger hand. Call her babe, chick, or slut even but not princess. Unless…is it like a sex thing? Does she dress up like a bimbo Disney princess and let you ravage her while she calls out for Prince Charming to save her?”

“What? Ew. No, we’re not into weird infantalizing and rapey stuff like that.”

“Yeah, right, dude! If she likes being called princess then she’d love being treated like one. You just need to make sure you get the better end of the deal. All girls secretly have rape fantasies. That’s what rape culture means.”

“I…that’s not…no.”

“You try getting raised to be a sex object and see what fantasies you end up with. I’m just helping girls who are already broken by the system achieve some joy.”

“Uh, you’re such a woke meathead, huh? That’s not us. We love and respect each other.”

“Sure you do, but she doesn’t call you her Prince, does she? Thought so. Wise up and give your girl what she craves or someone else will.”

Later that week your Princess mentioned the meathead had friended her on Facebook. She hated him but didn’t want to cause trouble for you so she accepted. You tried to get her to unfriend but she thought that would be more trouble than sticking it out.

Soon she started complaining about all the sexist, rapey memes he posted. Some to her wall! Just block him, you urged. But now she was looking at it as a sociological experiment. She wanted to understand the mind of a misogynist bro. Maybe she could change him.

That’s how she ended up agreeing to get coffee with him once a week. She didn’t tell you. He did. When you brought it up she just said she thought you’d overreact. He wasn’t as bad in person, she said. She was getting through to him. Though she did have to listen to his weird hypotheses about how women could find liberation by embracing objectification. So dumb, she told you.

So it was a surprise when she agreed to an exchange of principles. She’d dress really slutty all week and post OotD to instagram if he’d stop catcalling women and be really respectful instead. Then they’d see how much this changed each of their minds. He swore she’d like the attention if she just leaned into it for a while. She thought he’d come to find women responded to him better if he didn’t harass them. You hated this. But she wouldn’t back down.

At least you got most of the benefit of seeing her dress up. And he was nicer at work. You asked him about it.

“I figure you’re so emasculated that you’re basically a girl, dude, so I should be more respectful to you too.” Ugh. Had to ask.

At the end of the week you got this snapchat while they were out on their coffee date…

trigger-warning-rape:

Good, that’s how you should be treated. So tell everyone all about how you were raped.

Your best friend spread the news after you’d had a fight. The fight was about her borrowing your car without asking. But she decided to attack where you were most vulnerable. She’d never fully believed that the gang bang had been fully “unwanted.” Despite what you said about having been drugged. After all, she had searched out the video footage you’d said your parents had used legal action to get taken off the web. She contacted the girlfriend of the ringleader of the “rape” to get a copy. The girlfriend was glad to give it over under promise of anonymity. Your “best friend” Tina didn’t think you looked that out of it. More horny. You’d had enough coordination to suck a cock and give a handjob while being fucked from behind, after all.

Soon the video was spreading again. This time by encrypted Signal messages that couldn’t be stopped like before. “Slut machine” was written on your door in permanent marker. Your name was in stalls all over campus. Girls would grab your tits in public and moo. Guys would wolf whistle at you. You started getting invited to all the frat parties. Some were even held in your name.

It took months but eventually the excitement mostly died down. You met a nice girl. She said all that had happened to you broke her heart. After a few dates, she convinced you to go to a party with her. You hadn’t been to any since the rape.

You felt cautious but good. Really good, actually. Your girlfriend kept feeding you drinks. She led you to a bedroom and started making out. She pulled your shirt over your head and then you heard a ratchety click. Huh? Then another. You could see again as your girlfriend cut away your shirt and you realized you were handcuffed to the bed. Then she secured your legs. You were panicky but you trusted her.

That’s when some guys and girls came in with a nice light and a camera.

“Time to make another film, baby.”

After the third guy came, you were sobering up. All that was left was the shame and the sensation. It was just like before. You didn’t want this but your body did. You burned. You’d had enough of being a victim. No one even believed you.

“Release me!” They all laughed. “I want to turn over…So someone can fuck my ass properly! I haven’t had good anal since last time…” They laughed and cheered. Your “girlfriend” uncuffed you. You slapped her hard and then pulled her in for a kiss. “Does anyone have a strap-on? This bitch deserves a piece of me.”

They let her keep her secret identity. No one really cared. They wanted to expose her body, to rape it. The only thing they wanted to destroy was what she stood for. And they did.

She saw multiple opportunities to escape. To take these low level operators down. But she didn’t. The evidence of her humiliation was out there. It was too late. Sure, she could probably get to it all with her particular skill set, delete it. But she couldn’t erase everyone’s minds…. but who would believe it was really her?

Still, she hesitated over and over. The reality was she couldn’t erase her own mind. Convince herself it was all a lie. Deep down she believed she was a silly, worthless slut. The proof was repeated each night as she moaned out her pleasure at her own debasement.