The idea of creeping up on someone & ravishing them in their sleep is one that runs though quite a lot of my fantasies. And as pre-engineered scenes go it’s an easy one to put together on the spur of the moment. So last night I decided to throw tia a mighty swerve and ‘rape’ him in his sleep.

My mojo has been seriously limping lately. Worries about money, about the kids, about my health and that of my loved ones; all the usual crap of life has been dragging me down. And I’ve been going around bitching and whining about needing a domme fix for weeks.

We’d shot a scene together yesterday that went pretty well. It wasn’t enough to get my fires blazing, but it was a decent spark. Then after I tucked tia in bed I did a few more solo clips that fanned those flames a good bit higher. By the time I was ready to quit for the night I was also ready for some serious action.

And tia was asleep.

Naturally my mind supplied the favorite arousal-button of the sleeping violation, so I quickly assembled my “rape kit”: Strapon (of course) but no lube, as I happened to know my victim had some on his bedside table. *whistles innocently* A long scarf to tie his wrists with. A nice fat ballgag and a damp washcloth.

(I actually took some time debating how best to secure his wrists. Shackles? Rope? I needed it to be fast but not terribly secure; knowing my slut he was more likely to beg for more than put up any serious resistance. The scarf won on grounds of speediness.)

Silently opening his door I saw that he had a pillow over his face. Good; the light wouldn’t wake him and I’d be able to be on him before he knew I was there. I pulled the door almost shut; leaving a sliver of light that was just enough to see by. Didn’t want to rouse my victim’s roommate! Then, laying the washcloth down beside the bed and moving the lube within easy reach, I climbed on top of him. I shoved the gag into his mouth and leaned down to growl in his ear “do exactly as I say and you won’t get hurt bitch”.

The gag fastened in place I pushed him over onto his stomach, grabbing one arm and twisting it up behind his back as I did so. My scarf made a quick lark’s head around one wrist and the ends were available to bind the other, which I was already tugging into place. His hands secured, I climbed off his shivering body. I stopped beside him, my hand on his ass, to murmur in his ear again: “Mmm, that’s a sweet ass you got there bitch. I’m really gonna like sticking my dick in it. And if it’s not as much fun for you as it is for me…well, too bad”. He shivered as I gave his ass a solid smack.

Moving around to straddle his legs, I spread his buttcheeks and slid my silicone hard-on between them. I could feel the moisture of our earlier congress still present; there seemed to be quite a lot of it. “Well well, the little slut’s all juiced up already” I taunted him, rubbing my cockhead around his anus. “Were you waiting for me to come and fuck you bitch? I bet you were, I know how you slutty little sissy whores are, always wanting to have a cock in you. I bet I don’t even need to use any lube do I?” I continued, abruptly shoving the first two inches of my dick past his sphincter.

I immediately pulled back out as his sharp gasp let me know how much the sudden intrusion hurt. A few seconds pause to let the spasm subside and I knew he would take me much easier. Wanting to be on the safe side but still maintain the illusion of an unprepared entry I sneakily squirted the tiniest dab of lube I could onto the head of my dick while I was at it. Then, taking aim once more, I pushed my entire length into him in one firm stroke. “That’s it, take every inch of it baby. Gonna fill that sweet ass up with my cock whether you like it or not.” He moaned as I began to slide in and out.

After a few seconds of fucking I shifted position so that one of my knees was between his thighs. Now I was at a better angle to tease my clit with the strapon, and I could balance my weight on my legs, freeing my hands to do other things. I kept one hand on his hip, squeezing it, using it to pull his pelvis toward me in time with my thrusts, occasionally giving him another smack. My other hand was at his wrists, pinning them down. Then in his hair, pulling his head back as I snarled: “oh yeah, you like that bitch, don’t you? Having that big ol cock all the way up in there, being used like the slutty little whore you are. We both know what a filthy sissy tramp you are, don’t we? DON’T WE?” He moans in helpless acquiescence as I yank his head back even harder.

I continued shoving my fucktool into him, telling him what a whore he was, a horny, cum-craving sissy whore, telling him that I knew slutty little sissy bitches like him needed their hungry asses filled, murmuring words of filthy humiliation in his ear as I ground my pelvis against his soft white ass. Until, at last (though it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes really), I came.

I always am a little surprised I don’t ejaculate when I cum. It sure FEELS like I do; a jumping, throbbing pulse that squeezeshoots out bursts of…something. From the cock that’s not my flesh squirting into the body of my lover/victim, which I can almost(still not really) feel squeezing around me. I guess it’s at these moments that I most feel a…lack…in my body, or a closeness to the genital equipment I might have opted for, if given a choice.

A-ny-way, back to my story…I gave tia’s ass one more smack and informed him “you’re a nice piece of ass bitch, a fine little piece of fuckmeat. I really enjoyed sticking it to you.” Three more pounding thrusts HARD into his butt to emphasize my point and I yanked my purple phallus out of his abused asshole.

“But you’re not done yet bitch” I continued, hastily scrubbing the dildo with my damp washcloth. (Were you wondering when I’d get to that?) I released one of his bound hands and tugged both arms so that I could re-tie them above his head. Then, moving to kneel beside his face, I unfastened the ball-gag and placed the tip of my cock against his lips. “You got my cock all dirty, now you have to lick it clean” I said as I shoved it into his whimpering mouth.

I swear, that boy never gives such good blowjobs as when he’s half asleep. Or maybe it’s just that his throat is more relaxed, he’s able to open up and let me just fuck the shit out of his face. That’s definitely what I was doing now; I’d meant to give a few thrusts just to drive home his enslavement and humiliation. But he was so receptive, taking my dick down his throat with such moaning ease, that I started to get really aroused again. I wound one hand through his hair and with the other reached down to grab his little cock. I kept pulling and yanking on it, roughly jerking him while I fucked his face. I didn’t think I was likely to cum again but it felt so good I didn’t want to stop. The physical sensations, the dildo pressing rhythmically against my mons, pulling his hair, feeling his cockette twitching in my hand…and the sense of sheer dominant triumph at having him helpless, at my mercy, and using him so…the combination was intoxicating.

But stop I did, eventually, pulling my dick out of his mouth with an audible ‘plop’. I smacked him with it a few times, rubbing his face in it, then used the palm of my hand for one last stinging slap on the cheek. “See you later bitch” I threatened, and as he lay there naked and trembling, hands still bound and whimpering with frustrated need, I walked, laughing, out the door.

Sometime in my late 20's I said to myself "fuck it; the only people I'm hurting are figments of my imagination". I decided that I deserved sexual satisfaction as much as anybody else, even if my fantasies WERE exactly what my feminist peers hated most. I decided that I was an honorable, ethical person, and that I did not need to live my life ruled by the moral exhortations of people who obviously cared more about controlling my thoughts than about my actual well-being. I decided that I wanted to fucking well enjoy my fantasies for a change.

And that was when understanding began to dawn on me. Before this point I would have insisted that I viewed these scenes from outside, as if watching a movie, and that I wasn't in any role. Now I could see that I was MUCH more interested in the aggressor's perspective, imagining in minute detail what they said, did, & felt. I realized first that I was not, in fact, ever interested in mentally playing the part of the victimized girl, but that I totally got into the part of the raping man. Or, more accurately, the role of the men. ALL of them, simultaneously. Which is impossible in the real world, yes? And so the second thing I realized was that the sheer physical impossibility of my fantasies was important to me. It was significant that my role in the scene was as the sort of big, hairy, masculine guy that I had no interest in being (or shagging). It was significant that I often mentally played the part of a whole GROUP of these guys. It was significant that I also loved things like Japanese tentacle porn which were equally impossible.

It would be easy to assume that my rape fantasies have male aggressors and female victims because we live in a culture where women are shat on. That IS the feminist party line, isn't it? Nowadays the dogma goes so far as to call this a "rape culture". (And that assumption was a HUGE part of why I felt unable to talk about my fetish with anyone. A huge part of why I still avoid talking about it.) But that explanation just doesn't ring true for me. As I said I grew up in a household headed by a strong woman who ruled over us all, including her husband. I was taught that girls could do anything they wanted to, including have free & satisfying sex lives, and that equality between the sexes was the order of the day. And I lived by that teaching too. For instance, in 99% of my relationships I've been the one who made the first move toward sex. Heck, I'm accustomed to making the first move even in asking for a date. And maybe I've been freakishly lucky but I've had dozens of male lovers and never yet encountered one who was NOT greatly interested in my pleasure. In my world women have always been free sexual agents.

So yeah, the idea that my mind fixed on these archetypes because of some underlying belief that woman=victim simply does not hold water. But we also live in a culture where MEN are presumed to be victimizers. Even the 'good guys' are supposedly only a hair's breadth from turning into predators at any time. That is the message sent by things like the ubiquitous falsehood "1 in 4 women will be sexually assaulted". It's the basis of the entire "rape culture" theory. And women, according to this dogma - the dogma that I grew up with, remember - are supposedly so morally superior that they would never, ever be sadistic rapists.

Take that message - that only men are capable of being sexually sadistic, and women are never rapists - and layer it with the usual prohibitions against ANY violence, and it hardly seems surprising that I might have had difficulty coming to terms with being a sexually sadistic woman. The funny thing is, I haven't ever really felt any of the agonizing guilt about 'abusing' people I like that seems so common with other doms. I figure its because my subconscious did this neat little trick, and turned my darkest fantasies into something that relied on it's own impossibility. I don't want to be a big, hairy, brutal guy. I don't want to be any guy. And thus on a very basic level I never worry that I'll go too far in realizing my dark dreams, because I never could!

This all makes even more sense when taking into account my disposition. If I had a D&D orientation it would be 'lawful good'. In a way you could say I play the role of an impossible villain because I can't imagine myself as the villain.

Now if all this sounds like I'm anti-feminist you've got the wrong idea. To repeat what I've said several times already - I grew up believing very strongly in the ideal of equality among all sexes/genders. I STILL HAVE those ideals. I think this sense of justice is at the heart of at least one part of my kink. But I've also had a pile of life experiences that've led me to doubt some of the feminist dogma I was taught. And in this case it makes a whole lot more sense to me to think of my fetish as being a response to negative messages I absorbed about men rather than negative messages I absorbed about women.

A self-protective twist of my subconscious elegantly accounts for the gender oddity in my fantasies. But I believe the core need expressed in them is a need for CONTROL. In many ways I was not in control when I was growing up. I guess this is true for every child, but perhaps more than usual in my family. And knowing the extent of my drive to control things (including non-sexual things) nowadays it makes perfect sense. My fantasies in the end are all about control.

And this final realization illuminates yet another facet of my fetish. You know how they say 'rape is not about sex, it's about control'? (Another one of those items of dogma I grew up with.) Well, in a way the girl in my fantasies IS also me, even while I consciously inhabit the role of the man/men. They are all symbolic figures constructed by my psyche. And the dramatic enactment of the rape itself symbolically represents me controlling my own sexuality.

That about sums it up for an analysis of my fetish. But it's really only the beginning of analyzing my sexuality. This entire essay has been about what was going on inside my head though the years; it says very little about my behaviors. It doesn't explain, for instance, how I got into sex work...how I became a domme...what I get out of forced feminization...or a lot of other things one might wonder about. This fetish is like the keystone of an arch: it's central to my sexuality but it's meaningless without all the other building blocks. I aim to try putting all the rest into words as well, but considering this bit took me weeks to compose I recommend not holding your breath in waiting for the next installment. :p

Tia's recent bout of self-analysis has prompted me to try doing the same for my own kink(s). I have so far avoided doing so because I feel like it's just too complicated to be able to express. I'm sure that people will focus on one thread of what is really a big tangled mass and miss the larger picture I mean to convey. And frankly, I don't feel like the general public has any claim to this kind of intimacy with me; I'm very comfortable sharing my body but the deep, dark corners of my mind belong to me alone.

But there are other things I want very much to say that will make a lot more sense after I fill in this backstory. So {deep breath} here goes..

I think I need to begin by talking about my fetish. I have a rape fetish. And I don't mean a fetish in the sense of 'something I like a lot that gets me really turned on'. I mean in the CLINICAL sense: something that I cannot achieve sexual satisfaction without. Something that has to be there for me to have an orgasm.

(Complication #1 - I don't know how common this is, but I know I'm not the only woman who has different sorts of orgasms from different kinds of stimulation. I have at least four kinds of orgasms. But my clitoral orgasms are like steak while the others are more like strawberries: they're all tasty but one leaves me satiated wheras the others aren't really filling unless I have a whole bunch of them, and then I'm hungry again soon.

When I speak of not being able to achieve orgasm without my fetish involved it's clitoral orgasms I'm talking about. And while I enjoy the other sorts very much, it's the clitoral orgasms I need to have to feel truly satisfied.)

I hope it goes without saying that I do not need to actually rape anybody to be satisfied. But I do need to be mentally focused on a certain kind of fantasy. The exact elements of these fantasies varies, but they generally involve some poor, helpless, innocent girl being sadistically raped and tortured by one or (more often) a whole gang of vicious men. And here we come to complication #2: the gender kink.

My fetish is something that has been a part of my sexuality for as long as I can remember, from the time I was a pre-adolescent dressing my Barbie dolls up in clothes made of paper towels so that Ken could tear them off her. But I didn't figure out until I was almost 30 that when I played these scenes out in my mind I was always in the role of the man.

It's not that I was sexually unsophisticated or inexperienced either. I was often the most lustfully adventurous person among my peers. In fact, sometimes I look back and wonder how the heck it took me so long to figure this shit out. But on the other hand, considering all the societal factors that come into play I suppose it makes sense.

Perhaps the single biggest obstacle to my understanding was the cultural assumption that one's sexual fantasies directly correlate with what one wants to make real. This assumption is SO prevalent it's difficult for most people, in my experience, to even grasp the idea that some of us are not wired that way, that for some of us the very impossibility of the fantasy is a necessary part of the thrill. It seems pretty obvious that this assumption is what's behind people's objections to "extreme" porn; it is certainly true that this assumption permeates discussions about porn ethics. So just imagine how it was for me as a girl, having grown up in a woman-headed family with STRONG feminist ideals, to be inescapably fixated on sexual fantasies that could not have been any more opposed to those ideals.

I couldn't talk to anyone about them because dude - violent rape fantasies? That I could not reach orgasm without? Yeah; you can imagine how most people would react to that. And I completely didn't understand that I saw myself as the big bad raping MAN either. I'm not only female, I'm femme. I'm very happy with my womanly body and not at all interested in becoming a man. I don't even want to look butch. That meant I MUST want to be the girl in the scene, right?

Right?

Of course not, but a decade or so of hearing about how porn - even ordinary vanilla porn - "objectified" and hurt women, well, that was plenty enough indoctrination to fuck with my ability to know myself. And MORE than enough indoctrination to fuck with my ability to communicate this shit to anyone. So I was left in a state of perpetual guilt, unable to share my whole sexuality with my lovers, unable to talk about it with my friends, unable even to discuss it with the several therapists I saw at various times during those years. I tried, more than once, to exorcise this dark part of myself. To stop 'giving in' to these thoughts that I was convinced were harmful. Which was useless of course.

{to be continued..}