Rape Me ~ For patrick1

[fuckmeat]

http://webcamgirls.up4itnow.net/wp-content/uploads/liz-vicious-016.jpg

Adele Grey
Age 18
Petite at just 5ft tall, 32B tits, dark green eyes.

Rape me
Rape me, my friend
Rape me
Rape me again

i m not the only one .
i m not the only one...

Hate me
Do it and do it again
Waste me
Rape me, my friend

i m not the only one.
i m not the only one... ​

For about the millionth time, Adele read over the profile information she had just typed into the kinky dating site's online form. Her heart was racing. This was it. This was the first step towards getting what she craved. Did she really want this? Could she enjoy that kind of play when it really happened? Well there was only one way to find out and Adele was tired of not knowing.

About Me

Eighteen year old girl, fooled around a little but still virgin. Very young looking. I crave extreme humiliation, violence and rough sex. I'm not even interested in losing my cherry to a 'nice boy.' There isn't a great deal I wouldn't try. Need to realise these fantasies in RL with a dominant, sadistic, older guy (21-30 please supply pic). Serious about RL meet. Not interested in online relationship. PM in 1st instance, then phone and eventually RL meet. Serious and vaguely local respondents only please.

Interests/Kinks

All this is theoretical for me at this stage. My kinks/fantasies are verbal humiliation, rape, choking, spanking and maybe rougher than that, bondage, sense deprivation, spitting and no doubt much more.

Hard Limits

Minors, scat, animals, necro, vomit, drinking piss, foot worship, switching. I'm sure I'll develop a few more along the way.

It had started at her Upper 6th form leavers prom.

Adele had always been into hard rock and metal, her naturally gothic colouring made an emo-esque style pretty much inevitable for her. She had dated a couple of guys, subconsciously drawn to the meaner looking, more alpha types. The way young men tried to gently coerce and wheedle her into bed just frustrated Adele however. She knew she wanted to be swept off her feet by a guy who didn't treat her like she was made of spun glass. Her fantasies at that time were heavily influenced by Hollywood heroes, who saved the day and then kissed like the world was about to end, leaving their love interest breathless.

Adele put on her prom dress and was duly picked up by a guy called Jake. Jake was the lead singer in a local rock band and he looked the part. They enjoyed a great evening at the prom, drinking and flirting. They had been on a few dates beforehand and done nothing more than kiss. Later that night he pulled her into a deserted corridor and kissed her more forcefully. Adele actually backed herself up against the nearest wall, thrilling at Jake's solid weight pressing her into the hard surface. He groaned, his hand sliding up her corseted ribcage. Adele braced herself for a hard squeeze to her breast but instead Jake slipped his hand into her dress very slowly, cupping and stroking her so gently she barely even knew he was there. His lips travelled south to investigate the flesh his hand was stroking, lifting her breast free from her dress. Again Adele hoped for passion from him, to feel him suck her breast hard and lash his tongue over the nipple, maybe even bite... but again it didn't happen. Frustrated and too embarrassed to tell him what she wanted, Adele broke away from Jake and tucked her little tit back into her dress. They were both a little tipsy from contraband vodka but shock and rejection twisted his features, making Adele suddenly scared.

For the first time that night, a frission of real, palpable arousal shot through her.

"I'm really sorry Jake... this just doesn't feel right." She stammered, for want of a more detailed explanation.

Adele moved to walk away but Jake grabbed her forearm, yanking her back and putting her against the wall again. His lips were twisted in a feral sneer. He shook her, gripping her hard enough to bruise her fair skin, towering over her now. He slammed her into the wall, making her head whip back and strike it.

"Are you serious, Adele? You've been coming on to me all damn night!"

Adele's eyes widened as her pussy flooded. One appalling thought filling her mind.

Rape me.

Just do it.

I deserve it.

Jake let go of her, tossing her arm away from him. "Little fucking cocktease." He spat, turning on his heel and striding away.

Adele masturbated that night to fantasies of Jake hiking up her skirt and fucking her against the wall. In her fevered mind's eye he slapped her hard across the face, punched her stomach to make her kneel, twisted his fist in her hair and made her suck his cock, nailed her to the wall like a pneumatic drill, pinning her hard, squeezing her throat some for good measure. All the while he snarled venomous filth at her, telling her she was getting what she deserved for being a shameless cocktease, that only a born slut like her would like it.

You're gonna cum aren't you? Her fantasy of Jake growled, slowing his thrusts and focusing on making them as deep and hard as possible. He punctuated his next words with hard, deliberate thrusts. You're gonna... cum... on my... cock... while I... rape... your... virgin... cunt.

"Yes!"

Adele writhed on her bed, rubbing her pussy and cumming hard while Jake's cruel laughter reverberated around her skull.

A week later and with the whole summer in front of her before she started uni to study English Literature, here Adele was, posting a profile on collarme.com. She even put a pic of herself, taken with a time delay on her digital camera. Her make-up was dark and her hair freshly dyed a deep red. She was kneeling, wearing a choker and she hiked up her top to squeeze her small tits. It was an eloquent shot that got her a great deal of interest.

From the myriad moronic and spam messages she received however, a couple really stood out.

 

[patrick1]

Just once. To fulfil his darkest dreams, just once.

The sky bled purple on the horizon. He paused, breathless. Dammit, he'd climbed this fucking hill a hundred times and never felt this weak halfway up.
Fuck the world.

You can do it. Onwards. Upwards. Fulfil your dreams.

+

The six-storey derelict mill stood imposing by the canal. A few broken windows and some ancient scrawled graffiti – tagged by LYNX – couldn't detract from its dignity. Once looms had hummed and clattered here, once a hundred and more workers had gone to and fro with their cares and their joys.

Now the place was silent but for Patrick's workmen, on the sixth floor, creating the sound-proof 'recording studio' of his dreams.

Yes, he would make music there. A duet, for a man and a woman.
Now, to find the woman, the co-singer. The companion in horror.

+

Dear Adele

I too am a virgin though of a different kind. I am thirteen years older than your upper age limit, and have never engaged in this kind of relationship before, in person, though I have entered into unfulfilled online fantasies in which I am a dominant sadist. Twice my co-fantasist has come to a point where they begged me to enter into a real-life relationship; twice I have stepped back from the brink.

However my circumstances are such, now, that I have a great deal of resources at my disposal. Deploying these resources, I wish to take a woman like yourself in hand, and help her discover her profoundest depths and most sordid heights, even as I would be discovering my own profoundest depths and most sordid heights.

To be frank, in your description of yourself I feel you straining to sound like a certain sort of young woman. Don't try too hard. For instance, I am not a man who would wish you to look like a child, and if you draw such a man to you, I doubt he will fulfil the other aspects of what you seek, for such men are often quasi-children themselves and will damage rather than fulfil you, lie to you rather than explore a dark mutual honesty.

To begin our correspondence, if you wish it to begin, I want you to tell me two things: one, when these cravings of yours began and how they manifested themselves; and two, some favourite poems of yours – they need not be to the point, they might be vanilla – but I will be quite honest, I seek someone with an intellect as well as perverse desires.

If you decide to explore elsewhere, do take care, Adele. If you decide to respond, well, I look forward very much to hearing from you.

Patrick

 

[fuckmeat]

Her fingers drummed on the polished wood of her desktop, deliberating... There was nothing wrong with talking to this guy further, feeling him out. The three younger guys she had responded to had quickly descended into spouting abusive fantasies, uninterested in who she was or what she needed. It hadn't come as a huge surprise but Adele was still disappointed. Next on her very short list of people worth responding to was Patrick.

He had been right about the quasi-children she had attracted and Patrick's message just seemed too honest to be contrived. There was none of the pomp and swagger displayed by most other dominant men online. He didn't immediately demand to be called 'Master' or some other equally ridiculous and undeserved moniker. He basically won out for appearing the most sane and intelligent at this juncture. He could be a total sociopath but then what's life without a few risks? Adele's reply to him sat in the textbox, proofread and spell checked. All that remained was to click send.

Patrick,

One

These cravings began when I was about thirteen, though I didn't realise it at the time. I've always been a tomboy, never cared what boys thought of me or anything like that. At thirteen I started my periods and in the days before one started I would get really wound up. I wasn't the kind of girl to get bitchy or burst into tears. I'd get angry. I would provoke other kids until they were violent towards me. The fear, adrenaline and pain would get me wet, though I didn't understand at the time what that meant. I even thought it was something natural that happened in the days before a period.

At fifteen I started masturbating and was always attracted to bad boy, alpha types. At that age I couldn't tell swagger from genuine self assurance and that got me into a couple scrapes with young, hotheaded guys. I thought I was attracted to assholes because I've always had less than optimum self esteem. I always viewed it as something shameful.

Then a couple of weeks ago, Jake happened to me.

Adele recounted her night with Jake, feeling a sense of catharsis just in telling the sordid tale to somebody else.

That's when I knew it was something that went way beyond my psychological make-up. It's like I'm hardwired for pain, like I need to be treated badly on a fundamental, even neurological level. I don't even masturbate any more unless I've put clothes pins on my nipples and beaten my own ass with something. Only violent and non-consensual fantasies get me off. This is something utterly beyong my control and something that simply isn't going to abate.

So here I am.

Two

Security, by Robert William Service

There once was a limpet puffed with pride
Who said to the ribald sea
"It isn't I who cling to the rock
It's the rock that clings to me.
It's the silly old rock who hugs me tight,
Because he loves me so:
And though I struggle with all my might,
He will not let me go."

Then said the sea, who hates the rock
That defies him night and day:
"You want to be free? Well, leave it to me,
I'll help you get away.
I know such a beautiful silver beach,
Where blissfully you may bide;
Shove-off tonight, when the moon is bright,
And I'll swing you there on my tide.

"I'd like to go." Said the Limpet low
But what's a silver beach?"
"It's sand," said the sea, "bright baby rock,
And you shall be queen of each."
"Righto!" Said the limpet, "Life allures
And a rover I would be."
So greatly bold she slacked her hold
And launched on the laughing sea.

But when she got to the gelid deep
Where the waters swish ans swing,
She began to know with a sense of woe
That a limpet's lot is to cling.
But she couldn't cling to a jellyfish,
Or clutch at a wastrel weed,
So she gave a cry as the waves went by
But the waves refused to heed.

Then when she came to the glaoucous deep
Where the congers coil and leer,
The flesh in her shell began to creep
And she shrank in utter fear.
It was good to reach that silver beach
that gleamed in the morning light.
Where a shining band of the silver sand
Looked up with a welcome bright.

Looked up with a smile that was full of guile,
Called up through the crystal blue,
"Each one of us is a baby rock
And we want to cling to you."
Then the heart of the limpet leaped with joy,
For she hated the waters wide.
So down she sank to the sandy bank
That clung to her underside.

That clung so close she couldn't breathe,
So fierce she fought to be free.
But the silver band couldn't understand,
While above her laughed the sea.
Then to each wave that wimpled past,
She cried in her woe and pain.
"Oh take me back, let me rivet fast,
To my steadfast rock again!"

She cried till she roused a taxi crab,
Who gladly gave her a ride.
But I grieve to say, in his crabby way
He insisted she sit inside...
So if of the limpet breed ye be
Beware of life's brutal shock.
Don't take the chance of the changing sea,
But - cling like hell to your rock.



A wounded deer leaps highest,
I've heard the hunter tell;
'Tis but the ecstasy of death,
And then the brake is still.

The smitten rock that gushes,
The trampled steel that springs:
A cheek is always redder
Just where the hectic stings!

Mirth is mail of anguish,
In which its cautious arm
Lest anybody spy the blood
And, "you're hurt" exclaim

I have no life but this,
To lead it here;
Nor any death, but lest
Dispelled from there;
Nor tie to earths to come,
Nor action new,
Except through this extent,
The Realm of You.

By Emily Dickinson


Come to the edge, he said.
They said: We are afraid.
Come to the edge, he said.
They came.
He pushed them and they flew.

By Guillaume Apollinaire

Perhaps you will permit me to make the same two requests of you.

Adele

 

[patrick1]

Adele

You've taken me very seriously. Thank you. Perhaps you guessed I would be an Emily Dickinson man, which I am, though I'm prepared to confess I don't understand that 'Mail is mirth of anguish' verse.

For pleasure I set words to music sometimes. Perhaps if you become mine I will hang you by your wrists and make you listen – ah, exquisite torture. I have a to-electric-guitar version of Dickinson's:

I'm nobody – who are you
Are you Nobody too -
Then there's a pair of us – Don't tell
They'd banish us you know

How dreary to be Somebody
How public like a frog
To tell your name the livelong day
To an admiring bog

Thank you for your poems. I smiled and nodded at the limpet, and recognized the feeling in the the 'Apollinaire' – the pedantic would-be Master in me has to tell you, this is actually by Christopher Logue, though owing to a series of coincidences it's become attributed to Apollinaire.

Let me offer you my French poem, it's two verses of 'Le Balcon' by Baudelaire:

Que les soleils sont beaux dans les chaudes soirées!
Que l’espace est profond! que le coeur est puissant!
En me penchant vers toi, reine des adorées,
Je croyais respirer le parfum de ton sang.
Que les soleils sont beaux dans les chaudes soirées!

La nuit s’épaississait ainsi qu’une cloison,
Et mes yeux dans le noir devinaient tes prunelles,
Et je buvais ton souffle, ô douceur! ô poison!
Et tes pieds s’endormaient dans mes mains fraternelles.
La nuit s’épaississait ainsi qu’une cloison.

I'm a crap linguist but the translations around are a bit florid – and don't reflect how the poem makes me feel - so I've had a go at my own version for you:

How lovely it can be as as the evening falls.
The depths of the world – the heart in flood -
When I leant close to you, my queen of all,
I believed I smelled the perfume of your blood.
How lovely it can be as as the evening falls.

The night thickened like the walls of a prison
And in the dark my eyes divined your gaze
And I drank in your breath – such sweet poison!
And your feet lay safe, trapped in my warm embrace.
The night thickened like the walls of a prison.

- There will be another poem, and an account of my own fantasies with a response to yours, although of course I should add that when you say 'Perhaps you will permit me to make the same two requests of you,' I hope you envisage that in the life I imagine for you, sometimes such requests would be met with violent rebuttal.

There is a violence in me, dammed up.

I am busy with builders, and matters concerning my health, and a little training I am undertaking to prepare myself for you, or if not you, then someone like you. If you want to reply to this, do. Otherwise there will be more from me in a day or so.

Patrick

 

[patrick1]

Adele

Here is John Berryman's melancholy Dream Song 29, from a series of quasi-sonnets in which Berryman's alter-egos chat and do battle with each other:

There sat down, once, a thing on Henry's heart
só heavy, if he had a hundred years
& more, & weeping, sleepless, in all them time
Henry could not make good.
Starts again always in Henry's ears
the little cough somewhere, an odour, a chime.

And there is another thing he has in mind
like a grave Sienese face a thousand years
would fail to blur the still profiled reproach of. Ghastly,
with open eyes, he attends, blind.
All the bells say: too late. This is not for tears;
thinking.

But never did Henry, as he thought he did,
end anyone and hacks her body up
and hide the pieces, where they may be found.
He knows: he went over everyone, & nobody's missing.
Often he reckons, in the dawn, them up.
Nobody is ever missing.

You can even see and hear him reading it (actually, he was drunk with A Alvarez and slightly mis-reads it): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fGIr7fGdo6o

My violent dreams began before I ever knew that the thing I did at the same time with my prick was anything to do with sex. For a long time after that I had the same feeling as Berryman's alter-ego Henry, a feeling of horror at myself. But in the end I realized: Nobody was ever missing. Actually I had become a kind, unviolent man.

Well. Perhaps you would like to become 'missing', in some way. I am preparing a place for one who might come to me, and thereby be missing from the world. I have learnt a little of the arts of tattooing and piercing, in readiness. With a singletailed whip I whip hemp bags dangling from a metal beam, bags stuffed with old clothes, until now I can make a slash-mark in the hemp exactly where I choose. I have an encyclopaedic knowledge of the history of torture, and a lifetime of trying to understand different and difficult women.

There. What is it you want? Perhaps I have to trace you, find you, kidnap you in broad daylight, for your dreams truly to come true? Or perhaps you want to volunteer in some way? Tell me more of what you feel you want to happen, and I will see what I can do.

Patrick