Emma looks at her phone on another sleepy Saturday night. Her husband Ben gets up to go bed early after fighting sleep through their 3rd episode of their most recent Netflix obsession. He gives Emma a peck on her forehead as he leaves the room, telling her not to stay up too late in a drowsy voice. She quickly opens the tab back up in her iPhones web browser, loading video after video of girls struggling against threatening aggressors as they have their clothing ripped off and are forced to take a brutal pounding from the somewhat comically endowed actors.
She fidgets in her comfy chair as she feels her excitement pool between her legs, yearning to be the poor girl running through the woods with her breasts exposed, and leggings torn, presenting her plump slit as she falls over a conveniently placed log, holding her vulnerable flower at just the right angle for her pursuer to bury his shaft into her as she fills the forest with her faux screams. It was something that Emma had fantasized about for years, knowing it would be outside her mild mannered husband’s comfort zone. It was something that even if Ben tried to do for her, it would end with her laughing and him going even further into sexual repression. She knew her fantasy of being safely “raped” by a stranger was not in the cards for her.