Please note: this powerful fantasy describes scenes that some readers may find upsetting or triggering.

I’m still not sure, but on some deep level I think it’s a no. She isn’t moving away but she isn’t coming any closer either. She stiffens when I put my arm around her but I carry on regardless.

I remember this feeling. It reminds me of being a teenager. How many times did this happen to me then? The uncertainty, the lack of clarity? I feel something deep in the pit of my stomach. Disgust, maybe. Disgust at myself – accompanied by a rising feeling of anger towards her.

I pull her in closer and tell her that I like her. She squirms. I’m sure now, sure that she will say no if I ask. So I don’t ask. I keep talking, talking about nothing, talking about nothing and stroking her hair idly with my hand. It feels uncomfortable, awkward, a bit weird. I feel 17 again. We are talking but we aren’t saying anything. Everything is unsaid, through the awkwardness of our bodies. Everything important, that is.

I turn my body round to face her more fully, pulling her in with my arm at the same time. I feel her pull away slightly, subtly, trying very hard not to be too obvious about it. A wave of anger and frustration rushes through me. How fucking dare she push me away? I pull her in harder and move in to kiss her. She turns her face away and I end up planting a kiss on her cheek.

I look at her pitifully, my eyes pleading. Here we go again: this is just like being young. What’s happening to me? I’ve completely forgotten the basics with this one: respect, consent, tenderness, care. Taking no for an answer when the answer’s no. I can’t explain it but something is rising in me and I can’t resist it. I look at her for a long time and then pull her towards me for another attempted kiss.

I feel her pulling away, but I am stronger than her. I turn her face towards mine and kiss her full on the lips, pushing my tongue past her lips an teeth, into her closed mouth. I know this is wrong but I don’t care anymore. FUCK IT! This bitch is like all the others, the ones who hurt me, the ones who fucked me around, the ones who fucked my mates and then told me their problems. FUCKINGCUNTSFUCKINGBITCHESFUCKINGWHORES this one is going to get what the others deserved.

I pull her towards me and kiss her hard on the mouth. She relents a bit and kisses me back. She tastes sweet and scared. I like the taste. It feels good, knowing I’ve made her so terrified. It makes me want the dirty little slut more.

I kiss her some more and start touching her tits through her top. She pushes my hand away and shakes her head. Fury rises up in me and I slap her hard across the face. The slap is so hard it brings tears to her eyes, and she tries to get away from me. But I’m set on a course now and nothing is going to stop me. I grab her and pull her down, using my strength to dominate her. She struggles but it’s futile, I’m nearly twice her weight and she doesn’t really stand a chance. I pin her down on the sofa.

With my weight pressing her down I feel calmer. “So listen,” I say, with a slight smile. “I want this to be pleasant for both of us, so why don’t you stop struggling and take your clothes off?” Her eyes widen in shock and this makes me smile. I feel immensely powerful. I’m going to win this time.

“Fuck you,” she says, and tries to push me off. I pin her again and laugh at her. I tell her that yes, she will fuck me, whether she wants to or not. That tonight I will have her, whatever she wants. That tonight is for me.

I slap her again. Harder this time. So hard that she bursts into tears and curls up into a ball. I grab her by the hair and pull her through to the bedroom. I push her onto the bed and start ripping at her clothes. She has stopped fighting now, she is just trying to curl up small and hide. Her face looks absent, distant, like she’s no longer there. I don’t care. I am enjoying this. Something in me has completely broken, and all regret, compassion, empathy, concern for her well-being is gone. All I care about now is having her.

I pull off her clothes slowly, almost tenderly, and lay her out on the bed in a prone position. I stay clothed but unzip my fly to release my semi-erection. I stroke it until it’s full and put a condom on. It’s not for her protection, I don’t fucking care about the little bitch at all, but she’s such a skank she’s probably got every VD going.

By now she is far gone, completely absent. I grab a fistful of her hair as I mount her, and make her look into my eyes. I look deep into her face as I slide my hands between her legs, opening her up, making her mine. She is quite dry so I spit on my hand to make her wetter. No point in hurting myself, is there? Once I’ve spit-lubed her a bit I slide my cock deep into her, all the time looking in her eyes and making her look back at me.

I pump her hard and fast, thrusting my rage and anger into her with each stroke, wanting to hurt her like every woman who’s ever hurt me. She comes out of her trance and starts to cry, deep awful sobs from the very bottom of her soul. Her face is flooded with tears and she can barely speak, she only makes a guttural noise like the world’s pain condensed into a single sound. She starts to match my grunts with her sobs, until we find a weird twisted sort of rhythm.

It doesn’t take long for me to come. As I shoot my load into her my field of vision fills up with red and black for a moment. Then it’s over. I get off her as quickly as possible, knowing that I’ve done something terrible. I pull the condom off, throw it onto the bed and leave the room.

A few minutes later I am holding her, rocking her gently, cradling her. Neither of us has spoken since the scene ended. I whisper into her ear, not quite a word, something, a little gentle noise. It is my way of saying thank you, of letting her know that I love her. She replies by pressing her body against mine, and that is enough for now.

Later, when we debrief, I tell her that it was scary. She says it was for her too. She went to a place of pure fear, where every hurt she’s ever felt came back through her body again. It was the same for me, but the other way round – I felt all the rage I’d ever felt go through me and out, into her.

At the time I felt scared but afterwards I was filled with an enormous calm and serenity, an amazing peaceful love for her and for myself. It was the hug that did it, the long tender hug we shared when I went back into the room and found her curled up in a foetal position, on the bed. The hug that said that it was OK, that we’d released that rage, that it was gone now, that what was left was love, pure love. The hug that said that we could forgive those who’d hurt us, and release our hurt through our love.

Anon.

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