The continuation of a story about a woman taken sexually against her will by her husband’s friend in her own home.
To Listen To Me Read This Story, Click
“Submission Of A Married Woman Part Two”
A 19 min 50 sec recording.
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On further direction by my therapist, I’ve made a follow on recording, as part of my “recovery.”
This one is spoken directly to my therapist, to put into words how I felt when I first heard the original recording and to explore my feelings about subsequent events.
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I really don’t know if I can ever explain the full depth of my shock the first time you played back the recording for me. I lay on your therapists cough, listening in horror, utterly fixated, wanting to shut it out and yet unable to stop myself getting drawn in.
My heart pounded in my chest. I was shaking as I heard myself telling that God-awful story. I listened in sheer disbelief as I heard myself describe “loving the impure feel of him inside me, raping me.”
The words echoed in my head as head-spinning images of him raping me came flooding back. Wave after wave of memories, that I had denied, washed over me, a deluge of mental pictures.
Only moments ago I’d known nothing about this. Had my subconscious hidden this from me? Was it blocked out because it I couldn’t deal with it? Or was something more sinister at play?
I felt overcome with by a sense of unwellness. I was cold, shivering in my seat as I began vividly reliving the turmoil in my head. Oh my God, I could hardly breathe. Suddenly I remembered how it felt, the initial penetration when he pinned me down and thrust himself bare into my pussy. A trusted friend who took advantage, who lifted up my dress and raped me without protection.
I turned my head, trying to look away, but these visuals were not something I could unsee. These memories and feelings were internal, inside my head, to be re-experienced no matter in which direction I turned.
It was an overwhelming assault on my senses, just like it had been, when he’d raped me. I’d been completely enraptured by him, helpless, disempowered, swept away by a raw prickling ecstasy at every extremity on my body.
All of a sudden I was back there, in the moment, remembering in detail his slow deliberate movements, how it told of his intent, to draw it out, to keep on raping me for as long as possible.
As I listened to the playback, I was overwhelmed by images and emotions. An aching pulsing knot grew and twisted, tightening deep inside my pussy. I found myself once more turned on, not wanting to be, yet filled with a sickening kind of anxious arousal.
I was so drawn in now, so immersed in the moment I jumped, badly startled by the sudden silence of you pausing the audio.
Jesus, I had been so deeply engrossed I’d completely forgotten where I was, laying here on the therapists couch, on your couch.
I was suddenly afraid, aware of how heavy and oppressive the atmosphere was in this dimly lit room. I was alone in a room with you, listening to a recording of a self-described rape. I felt unsafe.
“Do you want to stop listening? Are you OK to continue?” you asked softly in your soothing therapist’s voice. It reassured me.
Before I could say anything, you interrupted, confusing me further by saying a single word loudly and clearly.
“Blancmange!”
I tried again, but couldn’t speak, couldn’t say anything. Was I too much in shock?
Your leather chair creaked. I tried to look towards you but I couldn’t move a muscle. What the fuck? Panic stricken, I heard your soothing therapists voice.
“Don’t worry Ruth, the paralysis is only temporary, rooted in your subconscious mind. Last time around, I took the liberty of little post-hypnotic suggestion. You’re unable to move or call for help. Go ahead, try if you like.”
I tried to sit up, but my body was unresponsive, unable to move, a statue made of living flesh. You watched me through gleaming eyes, lying there, helpless. I was beginning to understand the predicament I found myself in.
You reached down, your fingertips glided delicately over my body, my breasts, my belly, my pelvis further demonstrating my helplessness.
“Mmm, what man in my position could resist your feminine charms?”
You knelt at the foot of the chaise lounge, exposing yourself to me before straddling it.
God, what an ugly cock you had, disgusting, bloated, with a fiercely swollen beetroot colored head. The way it twitched, Jesus, it looked pregnant with vile intent.
I tried, but was unable, to plead. I wanted to beg you: “Please don’t stick that repulsive twitching obscenity in me.”
“How do you think it made me feel when I heard you telling your story, Ruth?”
Oh god, you reached up my dress without hesitation, and lewdly grabbed my pubis.
“I’ve been listening to your recording all week, stroking my cock to you Ruth, imagining that it was me you were speaking to.”
You’re invasive fingertips were inside my knickers now, dipping into the folds of my slit. I was disgusted, ashamed and surprised by my arousal. I’m supposed to be a devoted wife. I’m not supposed to be turned on at thoughts of forcible penetration by another man.
I couldn’t think. My mind raced. This was fucking crazy. Why were you doing this to me? If you have the means to hypnotize me, you could have made me want you. Why this way?
I felt so afraid, utterly powerless. It came as no surprise when you dropped your bombshell, telling me that what I really need is a good raping. Shame, guilt, fear, vulnerability, knowing what was coming, your crude turn of phrase, all of it melded into a thrilling turn-on, an agonizing need that I resented.
You sidled up closer, grabbed me beneath the knees and pulled me towards to you, spreading my legs, draping them over your thighs, one at either side of you.
My silky dress rode up as you slid me down along the chaise lounge towards you. I felt so exposed, ripe for the taking.
I remember thinking it mustn’t be real, it must be a dream. Mere moments ago, I’d learned of a forgotten violation, now I was facing an identical reality.
No, it can’t be real. But I felt your cock wedged tightly in my slit, pressing insistently inwards. Oh god, it was real alright, your bulbous beetroot head so hard, impinging into my unwilling wetness. It was utterly shocking.
The dreadful anticipation was agonizing, knowing what you were about to do to me, knowing I couldn’t do anything to prevent you.
Your hands were splayed wide, all over my hips, belly, breasts as you sat, taking your sweet time, relishing my total vulnerability.
Without warning, you impaled my pussy in a single fluid motion, tainting me from inside with vile, darkly tempting, energy, consummating my rape, my wicked revelation. It was a single moment, after which, things would never be the same for me again. My whole body turned to goose-flesh.
My vaginal passage thrummed, as you perpetrated your illicit occupation. It resonated deeply, into the physical, into the psyche, into my being.
Time seemed to stretch, the world in slow motion as you filled me with the fullness of you sinfully scintillating cock. It felt charged, raking the walls of my pussy with miniature needles that poisoned my flesh with insatiable cock-hungry lust.
You clicked something in your hand, a remote control. My recorded voice resumed telling of my rape at the hands of my friend’s husband.
All I could do was meet you gaze, pleading with my eyes. You stared back, your eyes cold, unforgiving. Completely disempowered, at your mercy, I knew all I could do was lie there, listen to my own words and feel you corrupting me as you took complete control of every facet of my being.
It was suffocating, I silently screamed.
You cock was incendiary! An invasive bomb of concentrated ecstasy that ravaged my pussy from inside, changing me forever more. Listening to my tape describing what it was like to be raped that first time, intensified the electricity of your penetration. Sensation heightened, it felt somehow more real.
I felt dirty, sick. It felt like your cock was fibrous, cloaked in a layer of blackest sin that wove it’s way into the very fabric of my pussy, infecting me.
From nowhere, an explosion, an unwanted orgasm flaring in my pussy, so deliciously flavored with the unwilling intimacy of you raping me.
I was nothing more than extension of you, an adornment to be worn, on your exquisitely profane cock.
My pussy was clenching repeatedly, a sodden sponge that wrung it’s gushing juices all over your beetroot erection.
Suddenly, here I was again, knowing the absolute truth, having it thrust unto me. I’m a whore who can’t help but love to be raped.
I don’t believe I stopped orgasming from that moment on.
Even though you were gentle, this was nothing like lovemaking, the stolen intimacy of you bare inside me was insufferable, blinding intensity.
You mirrored the recording, doing as I described, raping me slow and deep. Long slow lengths of your dire cock, shrouded in jagged electric ecstasy that spiked the spasming walls of my dripping snatch.
The connection between us was profound. I know you felt it too.
I couldn’t help it, I was falling in love with you, while you indulged yourself as you pleased in the sanctity of my feminine succulence.
The slower you moved, the more vivid the feeling and emotions became. Then you whispered a single word.
“Plasticity!” Your voice was soft. I felt an immediate change, a radiant warming glow flowed from my core, through me, to every extremity. Another of your special post-hypnotic words, reversing the effect of my paralysis.
Strength returned to my arms and legs, my voice came back. I started whimpering uncontrollably, sighing like a banshee as you took my wrists in your hands, pinned them against my thighs and continued degrading me, using me bareback.
My legs kicked out and flailed as your cock slid slowly inwards, from tip to hilt, reducing me to a juddering heap of convulsing bliss. My head rolled from side to side as my body bucked and buckled, wrenched by a torrent of protracted orgasms.
The progression was abhorrent, I couldn’t help myself. All I wanted now was for you to rape me and piss your glorious seed deep inside me.
Sensations of purest love, shameful lust and adulterous betrayal all blended into a glorious pinnacle as seed exploded in warm surging jets from your retching cock.
My heels dug instinctively into your ass, locking you in, as my head lolled back, carried away on rolling waves, unrestrained whimpers of ecstasy at thoughts of being raped and impregnated by you.
My succulent wetness massaged your twitching bulbous head, my spasming orgasming flesh coaxing every last squirt of semen from your twitching rape-rod.
Our mutual orgasm seemed to go on and on, seconds becoming minutes, then timeless eternities.
Some time later you withdrew. Sniveling, I got up to leave, I had no idea you were only getting started. You grabbed my hair, dragged me to your desk, threw me down and raped me again.
Then holding me against the wall, nailing me in another flurry of countless thrusts, kissing me for the first time, drinking deep from the wells of my passion. Your tongue in my salivating mouth, your cock in my drooling cunt.
I remember hoping it would never end. How many times would I be raped and cummed in? It didn’t matter. I could never get enough.
Then on the floor, feeling your weight pin my struggling body, treating me so awful, making me fall more deeply in love with you. It was all a blur. How can one man ejaculate so many times?
I didn’t know then that your sustained trespass into my most vulnerable territory, my innermost femininity would captivate me for a lifetime.
After you eventually finished with me, you handed me a CD copy of the recording. How I must have looked, my dress torn and cum-stained as I hobbled towards your office door.
“Same time next week Ruth,” was all you said.
Despite knowing how wrong what had just happened was, I turned back, looked you right in the eye, giving an implied confirmation of our appointment. I knew I’d be back, glammed up for you, wanting to make you hard again, wanting you to be be tempted by your unwilling whore, time after time.
Just as I got back to my car, I was startled by a noise. Footsteps echoed in the dimly lit lot. My heart began to hammer. Oh god, could it..? I was terrified. Was I about to be raped again?
Panic was quickly followed by sweet relief when I spotted a security guard doing his rounds. But Jesus, I knew my pumping heart had expressed more than base terror. There’d also been a pinch of anticipation, a glimmer of hope, that maybe, just maybe, you’d followed me down here. Maybe to rape me over the bonnet of my car in this dark dingy basement. Now there’s a thought for you.
I can’t explain it. I don’t understand what was happening to me. After all that, I drove home to my husband, in an orgasmic trance, still dreaming of you, lusting for more of what you had to give me.
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The above story was written by a client of mine for a custom recording they wanted made. I did not write it, nor do I claim to. I asked for permission to post it and was told I could for others to enjoy it. No one else has permission to copy it or post it.