The first time her phone beeped, she was finishing up with the last of her work emails and readying for her shower. Just a bit of work, little items she hadn’t had time to deal with at the restaurant and wanted the quiet of home to concentrate on. She had the discipline to ignore her phone until she was done.
She was still in the black work blouse, but had switched over to a pair of fluffy cat pajama bottoms the moment she got in the door. She had forgotten about it by the time she finished and began to strip, but was reminded when phone beeped again. When she saw who it was, she smiled broadly. Her stranger. Her danger. Her challenge.
His first text read – “My lovely little slut. Does your heart flutter knowing I’m coming for you? Does the fuck hole you call a cunt drip? Knowing I’m out here. Searching. Hunting. My little pretty prey. My victim. You will be mine soon. And there is nothing you can do about it. Just remember, as I’m doing the most awful of things to you, vile, disgusting things that no woman should enjoy, you will know that it is only happening because of your challenge.”
The second read – “You brought this on yourself.”
Her body reacted almost instantly. She could feel the blush spreading and the wet between her legs. She could feel the smile spreading as well. Grinning like a teenage idiot. She wanted to respond immediately, but stood, naked, considering how to reply. She let her sharp fingernails scratch along her stomach, breast and nipple while she thought. Imagining it as a lovers touch. His touch. Claiming her. Taking her. Hurting her. She bit her lip as she let the nails dig deeper into her soft skin while she began to type with one hand.
The challenge had been her idea, and a simple one. He knew nothing about her but the town she lived in, her first name, and her secret naughty screen name and email. Her offer? If he could find her. Find her house. He could have her. Have anything and everything. Every dark fantasy they had ever shared. Every perverse desire. Things that she had admitted to almost no one other them him out of embarrassment and fear of being judged. No woman, no sane woman, should desire the awful things that she had admitted to him.
Her left hand still scraping across her skin, toying with herself, she typed back – “Big words for someone that hasn’t managed to rape me yet. I’m here, all alone, naked, and about to shower. How sad that I’ll be going to bed unmolested. It’s already Tuesday big boy. Another day lost, only three to go. Better get to it. Tick Tock.”
When she had issued the challenge, it had been a whim. She had wanted to meet him so badly. Wanted to take him up on his offer to explore the fantasies that they shared. She barely even knew him, just his screen name. Just the conversations. His voice during two, very dirty, Skype sessions. He turned her on so deeply. He knew just what to say, how to act, how to get her so worked up. She felt like she had spent every day horny since first talking to him. The little notes they would send each other. The little teasing comments that had her worked up all day long.
She had spent the day at work. Painfully aroused as she sent him teasing notes and he responded with sexual threats. It was half the reason she needed a shower, she smelled like a slut in heat. Just knowing how long she had spent at work, dripping, horny, wanting, aroused her even more. What was she becoming? What was she allowing herself to truly be?
The crux, the problem of course, was that her fantasies scared her. She had done some things sure. Violence, pain, and humiliation had always been what she sought in the bedroom. What she had wanted from her lovers. But so many of the men that wanted that, were not the type she should have been dating. And so few seemed to understand what she wanted as instinctively as him.
The challenge was impossible. But it was such a lovely thing to imagine. She left her phone on the bed and turned the radio in the shower on. Thinking about him. Thinking about the challenge.
He wouldn’t be able to do it without help. It was in part why she had decided to actually propose it to him. It was more about the thrill, the excitement, the fear, of imagining he could do it. And if he did, if he did, oh gods. Fear and excitement mixing together in such a delicious way.
Her hand slipped between her legs imagining it. Rubbing and teasing herself, she considered dropping him hints. Bigger and bigger ones until on the last day of his trip . . . . maybe. Just maybe. He’d find her. She’d let him find her. Her fingers pushing her closer to the edge. Imagining what he would do to her. Maybe she would, but probably not. But maybe.
She stopped at the edge of pleasure. A tease, but it was only fair. This whole thing was a tease. For them both. But that was part of why she had done it. The pleasure of the tease. The nerves building and building. Eventually, when she allowed it to burst, the torrent would feel like if flooded the world. And who knew, maybe, just maybe, if she did let him find her on Thursday . . . maybe Friday . . . she liked the idea of her being wound up to the point of explosion. Her body thrumming at every violation.
She thought he would too. Explode against her. His pent up aggression and arousal. She decided to let him find her on Friday and changed her mind almost immediately.
Singing along to the radio she dried off and stepped into the bedroom to get her pajamas. She checked her phone and saw a number of messages from her stranger. Her danger. Her challenge.
They were photos, which was unusual from him, and took a moment to load. It was a picture dark haired woman sitting on a bed that looked just like her and just like her bed.
It took a moment, an embarrassingly long moment, to click. It WAS her, the picture was taken from outside her bedroom window. The second picture was her naked, tattoos all on display, standing by the entrance to the bathroom, one hand pinching her nipple while the other held her phone, also taken from outside.
For a moment, all she could think was that he was outside her house. He was outside, HER, house. Her mind reeled in a mix of excitement, disbelief, and fear. She started to go to the window to look, pulling her towel tighter around herself, when her phone dinged again. She paused, looking down. It was a picture of her bathroom, the edge of the shower just visible . . . but from low down. It was too close to be from outside and . . .
She spun around starring at her bed. The picture had been taken from under the bed. He was hiding under the fucking bed. She almost stooped down to look, but froze as in that moment the terror was real and growing. Fear and arousal coursing along Together as the enormity of the situation made itself clear. She hadn’t really expected this. Even in the fantasies where she allowed him to figure it out, it was on her terms. Her terms. Not this, not for real.
It was too much. Too real. Too stupid. She had done this. Invited him. Asked for it. Rape. Violence. Fear. No safeword. No condoms. She had only given him one rule, no marks that she couldn’t hide at work.
It hadn’t been real for her. Not really. Just a fantasy, so why put real limits on it? Fear swarmed through her, tried to freeze her solid, she could barely think for a moment but was painfully aware that she was also more aroused than she had ever been in her life. She made the only decision that made sense. She ran.
***************************
By the time she had offered him the challenge, he already knew how to find her. He wouldn’t have done anything with the information. He was capable of doing awful and lovely things to someone that wanted such things. Enjoyed such things. But actual rape, true rape, did nothing for him.
He knew she ran a restaurant. She had said it was high quality pizza and Italian, but not one of the junk food chains. Her little town only had one such place.
He had eaten there on Monday night. Watching her, knowing she wouldn’t realize who he was, she had never seen him before. It was incredibly arousing to send her little threats and watch as she discreetly checked her phone. It was lovely seeing her blush and knowing the effect he was having on her.
Then he had simply waited in his rental car, discreetly following her home. He was too tired from travel and decided to wait a day, though it was an almost painful decision. He wanted her so badly. Had wanted her so badly for some time.
But he knew, that taking a day to rest, and having more time to plan and stake out her home, would make the experience better for them both.
***************************
She ran out of her bedroom and down the hall towards the kitchen and family room. She could grab her car keys and lock herself in the car while figuring out what to do. Talk to him maybe. Slow it down. Set rules? Bring it back onto her terms? Call for help?
Had she not been panicking, she might have noticed, as she turned the corner, that the couch cushions were laid out on the floor directly in front of her. But instead, she charged forward and into the foot that stuck out at the last moment. Sending her sprawling. Her arms spiraling. Losing her grip of the towel and almost flinging the phone across the room.
It was too much to process in the moment. Confusion. Shock. Fear. She was falling, naked, helpless, and then she was hitting the ground, safely on her stomach on the cushions. Before she had fully grasped what was happening, her instinct to flee was still in charge and she began to scramble, trying to get up, to get away. But it was too late, far too late. A massive man-weight crushed into her back, pinning her down. She tried to fight, to throw him off, but he barely budged, he was so much bigger than her. So much stronger. She could feel that he wasn’t evening straining to contain her.
One of his hands, quite large, snaked around her mouth and nose, clamping down and squeezing her mouth shut, leaving just enough space to breathe through her nose. She tried to yell, to scream, to beg, to cry. But in her state, no words came out, just an animal scream of fear, surprise, and anger. But it was to no avail either way, only a muffled noise came out, as he squeezed her mouth shut with his painfully strong grip. She heard him, above her, behind her, chuckling, but saying nothing as his other hand grabbed her bare ass, squeezing it hard, before sliding a finger to her asshole.
She tried to yell again, to thrash around, to get his hand away. But it was no good. He had her pinned. Helpless. He didn’t even need his hands to keep her down. She squeezed her eyes shut and moaned. It was just a noise through his hand, but deep down she knew it was as much arousal as fear. Anal was a limit, but he knew that her fantasy was to have her limits ignored. What would rape be after all if he only did what she liked?
His finger teased at her, pressing in just slightly. Enough to make it clear to her that he could take it if, and when, he wanted. She felt her eyes starting to water. What had she agreed too? What had she done? His words coming back to her. That she had brought this onto herself.
But luckily, or by design, after a short tease, his fingers moved on to their true goal. He had fallen onto her with one knee between her legs, holding her them open enough for his hand to reach his prize. She tried in vain to force her legs shut, but could do nothing but feel. And to her shame, his fingers found her soaked. Of course they did. Of course she was. It was what had brought them together. Her being exactly the sort of slut that was turned on by the idea, and apparently the act, of being raped. Violated. Used.
Another chuckle from him, mocking her arousal, as the fingers felt her. Outside and in. Sliding easily, sensually. Touching each inch of her, as he had promised. Sliding across her labia and clit. Sliding one, then two, then three fingers inside, before starting over.
Light caressing touches that pushed her to pleasure great enough she wanted to moan, but forced herself quiet in defiance. And sharp painful pinches and grabs, that she was unable to stay entirely quiet for, crying out into his clenching hand. Tears pooling at the corners of her eyes.
He shifted his weight above her slowly, trying to get his second knee between her legs. She fought. Fought hard. Part of her screaming for her to stop Him. Part of her screaming to make it easier for him. The fear and anger winning out. She wasn’t going to make this easy on him and maybe she could distract him enough to get away. It seemed to be working, his knee stopped pushing, but then his free hand left her cunt and was sliding under her chest. His fingers finding her breast and squeezing lightly before, with a suddenness that made her shriek into his hand, he began to crush her breast, letting his fingers dig painfully into her soft flesh as his knee pushed hard again. But to make it worse, his hand clamped down fully over her nose as well, cutting off all air.
His meaning was clear. Pain if she didn’t spread her legs. No air until she gave in to his silent demand. She fought for a time. Stubborn to her core. Pain mounting. Knowing that he was leaving finger shaped bruises in her breast. Her lungs beginning to hurt. Prideful. But he only squeezed harder. His hand didn’t move from her mouth or nose.
He breathed loudly in her ear, the very noise mocking her struggle. It was a calm relaxed breathing, this wasn’t even taxing him. He was toying with her. Teasing her and her lungs screamed. No sign of stopping. No sign of relief. The pain began to drop compared to the fear. She didn’t know this man. He could kill her. Easily in fact. She could die right now if he wanted. Would die if he didn’t stop. She couldn’t breathe. This wasn’t playful. This was serious, methodical, and planned. He would let go wouldn’t he?
Her mind flashed to one of the fantasies she had shared with him. Being slowly strangled until she passed out. And then waking up later to find that she had been raped. No sign of her attacker. Just bruises, cuts, and an aching pussy. Her attackers semen running down her thighs. Was that his plan? Was that what he was going to do?
The panic and pain mounted until she had to give in, whimpering into his hand, defeated. She stopped fighting his knee and squeezed her eyes shut as she felt him spreading her legs open, causing the waiting tear to slide down her cheek.
His hand let go of her breast, and the blood running into it made it hurt even more. But he kept his death grip on her mouth and nose for a few more moments, as if to make his point. He was in control not her. She could fight him. He expected her to fight him. But he would win and the battle would be painful, scary, for her. She was helpless beneath him. He could, and would, do what he wanted.
Finally, he released her nose, and chuckled again, as she sucked in what air she could, snorting the air in, her tears now running steadily down her face from the strain and shame of it all. Shame because she could feel hot hot she was. How ready for him. How needing. How badly she wanted him inside her. Anywhere inside her.
She was so busy getting her air back, so busy reflecting on how she felt, that she didn’t really notice he was moving until his weight shifted, moving off of her enough that he was able to move the couch cushions under her. She didn’t try to fight to get away. She had painfully learned that lesson and was still catching her breath. His hand was still on her mouth and she knew it could clamp onto her nose any moment. He could easily just crush her back down. But he had other plans, she understood his goal as he moved more pillows under her waist, raising her pussy and ass into the air for easier access.
She shivered against him. Fear. Pleasure as she felt his skin brushing hers as he prepared her. Helpless as she felt his weight on top of her. Deliciously, terrifyingly, helpless. Excitement as well. And fear. But also anger. Perhaps even a touch of hate? She hadn’t really meant it, this challenge. Or she did, but only because he couldn’t accomplish it. Didn’t he know that? It had been a tease. It wasn’t supposed to be more than a tease. He wasn’t supposed to be here, raping her. Making her feel this exposed. This helpless. This . . . . good.
Rape that she had asked for. Rape that she had fantasized about. Rape that she had teased him with, taunted him to do. This was her fault.
She clearly heard a zipper and shut her eyes. Her emotions spiraled. Against her will, she felt her body pushing back against him. Wanting him. Needing him inside her. But at the same time he small tears rolled down her cheeks and she tried to scream again. NO NO NO. She struggled to control herself and began to struggle again, in vain of course. There was nothing she could do to stop this, no signal, No safe word.
The head of his cock was sliding against her pussy. YES, she thought. NO, she thought. He wasn’t using a condom. Please put one on, she wanted to beg. But was glad, deep down, that he wasn’t.
Her mind fought itself. But she did nothing. She hated and reveled in it. The fact, the understanding, that it didn’t matter what she wanted at this point. It didn’t matter what she would or wouldn’t like. He was going to take what he wanted. And it was her fault. And she knew, she felt, she thrummed with pleasure as she felt his cock sliding up and down her slick opening. She was loving it. Deep down she was hoping he fucked her good and hard. Deep down, she wanted him to be cruel. To violate. To take. Anything. Even her ass, maybe especially, her ass. That was the problem with her. That was what made her the slut she was. She needed so badly to be used and broken.
Then his cock was pushing deep into her pussy. Uncovered. Bare. And she fought the moan back. Fought the sounds of pleasure that wanted to press uselessly into his hand. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. But it felt good. So good. And he was large. He felt surprisingly large. And he was fucking her. Fucking her. His hand grasping her mouth tight. His free hand holding her for leverage. His cock sliding in and out. In and out. Each stroke reminding her of her helplessness. Her place in the world. With each thrust she wanted the invader out of herself, but each time it left, her body yearned to be filled again.
What was wrong with her?
He increased the speed of his thrusting. His free hand moved from grasping her and she felt it sliding down her back, nails scratching, then down her ass cheek and to her cunt. The pressure of it sliding in against his cock for a moment. She knew why and could do nothing as his finger, wet, lubricated by her own shameful arousal, pushed into her asshole.
She tried to scream at the violation, at the discomfort, at the shame of knowing she had asked for this. The shame of knowing it was only making her pleasure raise higher. She had asked to have her limits broken. Asked for him to do things to her she didn’t enjoy so she could feel used and helpless. Now here she was. Here she was. Her own fault.
She was why she was feeling this shame. This pleasure. Not from the finger. No, to big for a finger, his thumb, it was violating her in a gross and uncomfortable way. The pleasure of being helpless. The pleasure of being taken. Fully against her will. The humiliation. It felt so good. So good. She fought to hold back the moans. Fought to keep him from knowing how good this felt.
But the pleasure was building quickly. Maybe if she hadn’t asked for it. Maybe if she hadn’t teased herself in the shower. Maybe if she hadn’t spent days teasing him and being teased by him. Maybe if she wasn’t a slut. Maybe she wouldn’t be so close to cumming.
His thrusting sped up and his breathing was becoming more pronounced. He was getting close. Because of her. Taking his pleasure from her, out of her. Turning her into a vessel for his pleasure. Using her. Humiliating her. She felt herself surging closer to climax with he knowledge. This was her propose in life. To be some man’s fuck toy.
She was getting close when his hand clamped down on her nose again. She understood that it must mean he was close. Must mean he was going to fill her with his seed. What if he had lied about the vasectomy? The very thought filled her with dread and shame and the pleasure of it, the humiliation of it, almost finished her. But she fought. Fought hard.
She didn’t want to give him that satisfaction. He was violating her, but she wouldn’t let him know how much she enjoyed it. He was getting every other part of her, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of her orgasm, her pleasure, her mind.
His orgasm came before she was in painful need of air. She felt a disgusting mix of pleasure and self hate as she felt him finish inside her. But a sense of triumph as well as the need to breathe started to become painful. She had fought the pleasure. She had denied herself the orgasm. She hadn’t let him take that last bit of control from her. She had kept something for herself.
He grunted in pleasure, gasping slightly, and thankfully pulled the thumb from her ass, but left his cock planted firmly inside her. He loosed his hand from her nose and she sucked air in. One painful deep breath in through her nose, panted out, and a second. His free hand was sliding under her stomach. Why?
She quickly understood his intention, as his fingers found her clit, as she felt his cock beginning to slowly soften inside her, she whined. Pathetically. She was going to lose in the end. She had only delayed the climax. Of course he would want it. Need to claim it from her. How could he not. She should have known from all the time spent talking to him that her body wouldn’t be enough.
His hand clamped back on hear nose. His fingers roughly, painfully, began to slide against her clit. He wouldn’t be happy until he had taken it all. He wouldn’t be happy until he had violated her Fully. Forced her to accept that she was enjoying every moment. And the roughness of his fondling her, the pain and pleasure of her clit being handled in such a way. It wouldn’t be long.
She was getting close fast. Already was so close, had barely held it back. And now she was hating it. Loving it. The humiliation was so intense and amazing. She ached. She couldn’t breathe. His cock was slipping out from her, wet with her own arousal and his cum. The thought that his semen was dripping onto he couch cushions disgusted and thrilled her.
The pleasure was radiating across her body, mixing with the pain. His fingers pushing her further, pleasure and pain as they roughly ground into her. He knew just what to do. He knew just what she wanted. And she wanted it as badly as she didn’t.
And fear, real fear. He was a man she didn’t know. Not really. In her house. She was helpless in his power and he wasn’t letting her breathe. He had raped her. At her invitation true, but what sort of man did that? What sort of man had her in his control? What else might he due to her? How badly had she fucked up in asking for this?
His fingers didn’t slow even as she fought. Fought to maintain her dignity, what little she could. Fought to keep this part of herself to herself. Fought not to give him the satisfaction. But it was a losing fight. She had spent the day turned on, imagining this very thing, or something close to it. Had teased herself in the shower. And now he had taken her. Was hurting her. Was scaring her. And she was loving it.
Then he spoke for the first time. His voice slightly deeper than it had sounded in the few audio calls they had done. “Cum for me whore.”
It was like a switch. He spoke. He ordered. He demanded. He took. She came. Her body arching and shuddering beneath him. Trying in vain to pull air in past his tight fingers. Trying to scream in pleasure and rage as she felt the world going fuzzy with pleasure, with the lack of oxygen. With the shame of her body turning against her. Of letting him win.
She was blacking out by the end of it, as his hand came off her mouth and nose, letting her finally suck in oxygen, gasping and crying. She was exhausted, physically and emotionally. So much so that she barely registered the pressure leaving her as he moved off of her. She didn’t move. Couldn’t. Her body shaking in the after effects of orgasm and lack of oxygen. She didn’t try to run or fight. She should have. But she was just a whore. A slut.
It was the blanket falling on top of her, the one she kept folded on the couch normally, that brought her back to her senses. He had thrown it over her, covering her from head to toe.
His voice again. “I’m leaving now,” he said in that deep voice. “Don’t move. I have your phone. Consider it insurance. All the evidence I need of what a slut you are. Stay there, under the blanket for another 10 minutes or so and you will find the phone sitting, waiting, in your driveway.” And with that he was gone. The sound of his zipper going up by the front door.
She followed his orders. She was too tired not too. And some part of her, no, most of her, was hoping it was a trick. That he would come back in and take her again. Hurt her. Worse this time. So much worse. Violate her in ways she had asked him not too. But it wasn’t. He was really gone and she realized, she had never seen his face.
After what she judged to be 10 minutes she got up and stumbled into her room, pulled her pajamas on, the kitty cat ones, and walked out into her driveway barefoot despite the cold. There was her phone as he had promised.
When she picked it up, she saw two things. The first was pictures her herself, on the floor, on her stomach on her couch cushions. Nude and freshly raped. He had sent them to himself. The second was a message from him.
”It’s only Tuesday,” it read, “three more nights. All you have to do is say no and you won’t see me again.”
She bit her lip as she headed back into the house. She spent almost an hour considering how to respond. What to say. How to say it. But at no point did she consider using the word no.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/tlawcv/the_challenge_mf_dubious_consent_bdsmnc