My Victim

by Margaret B

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© Copyright 2009 - Margaret B - Used by permission

Storycodes: F/m; fem; bond; hum; toys; anal; reluct/nc; X

My victim, I just love that term victim.  It is so dehumanizing making this abusive act more of a degrading anti-social experience.  I realize that “my victim” is not receiving near the emotional or physical enjoyment that I am, but I don’t give a shit.  Strapped to the bench, pantyhose shining, legs raised and drawn back high over the shoulders, and red high heels sticking up in the air like pikes to hold back an attack my victim looked great.  Those pikes will be of no help. 

First, a tender kiss on the cheek to suggest an affectionate encounter, however, it is only mockery.  Now, down to business, I cut away the short white pleated skirt with a large pair of shears.  Oh, panty less, I like that! There is nothing to do now, but tear a gapping slit in those pantyhose and enjoy myself.  My victim has nothing to say with head off the bench and mouth gagged.  Being helplessly tied, void of any personal control, and raped over and over must be hell on earth.

The body trembles under my fingers as I caress the silky smooth surface of the nylon tightly encasing the ass.  I am patience and continue to molest the helpless object even though I am fully aware that my victim would much rather get this defilement over and done with.  I believe and know this to be an immoral, criminal, and disgusting act, but men have been doing it to women since time began and I enjoy it.  This is not the first time I have raped this victim and it won’t be the last. 

My poor victim and his puckered little asshole are going to feel the assault of my strap-on as much as time and energy allow.  Doesn’t like it, don’t care!  My husband’s use of my body for sexual relief was never satisfying to me and his humiliation and even pain is a small price to pay for the joyful fulfillment I have in fucking him.  I could hear his quiet sobs as I gently squeezed his scrotum and the tender jewels inside with my hand.  The sweet thing, he knows how much his tears and fears add to my enjoyment.

The first time I fucked him (sorry, I need to be more graphic, more detailed, and perhaps more vulgar) it was his idea.  He had been viewing strap-on female to male sodomies on internet porn for years and thought my fucking him up the ass with a strap-on would be fun.  It was a bit painful and maybe I should have used more lube, but he realized almost as soon as I began that this was not his “thing.”  Hell, for the first time in my life, I was enjoying sex!  I don’t give a damn that his rectum was a little sore and tender for a day or two. I wanted to do it and do it again and again and again. It was fun! His ejaculation half way through was evidence to me that I was doing something to amuse him. 

To hell with how he felt, he never gave a damn about how I felt!  I wanted to fuck his ass every night.  He said he did not enjoy it and I thought, it is sex, what’s to enjoy?  He said it made him feel humiliated and degraded.  Yeah, I can understand that!  Ever have a guy shoot his load without a rubber into you just as you were about to feel something and have the asshole roll over, saying that was nice, good night.  It is like you are not there, or worse your feelings and enjoyment don’t matter.  Hell, do you have any idea what that feels like when you’re still frustrated and needing even more sexual relief.  He’s out of the picture and you can do it yourself, right?  You could have done it yourself without him and the mess.

I did not tell him how I felt when he complained about the first excursion up his private opening.  I did not tell him how empowered and on top of the world it made me feel even though I was really only on top of his ass.  I did not tell him I had only removed the intruder to take a breathe and get a drink of wine when he started telling me how that “really wasn’t working for him” and he was “happy it was over.”  Over! It is not over until I say it is over!  Shit, don’t you know what it is like to be raped?  You are not suppose to have fun, I am!  I believe I felt more used and abused fucking him up the ass and him not liking it then any other thing in my life. 

Why is it that guys always seem to think that sex is about them and not at all about us?  If it was not for us, they would not know what sex was.  Hell, they would not know how to brush their teeth.  They think that when the fluid has shot out of their prick that the world should stand still, rise up, and clamp their hands. The real value and power of sex comes sometimes nine months later when a woman screams at the top of her lungs giving birth to the child and starting the cycle of life over again.  Well, there maybe no child at the end of nine months, nor tiny drop of fluid up your ass, but dear husband your are going to scream over and over again.  Rape brings humiliation and degradation and it is my intention to bring it to you.

The second time I fucked him was better for me and worse for him!   It was a super bowl bet last year.  I knew he had bet on the wrong team and even given me four points!  Well, getting screwed by him was, yeah, what else you want!  But, screwing him would be wild fun and even if he didn’t like it, I would.  You should have seen the look on his face when he realized he had lost and I was going to fuck him.  He didn’t try to talk his way out of it, but I did make a few suggestions.  Pantyhose, bra, and an old wig were basically what he would expect from me.  Fair, is fair!  Also, because he did not like sex, I mean the way I like sex, he should be secured for his own protection.  After he dressed in the garments I provided, I secured him very tightly.

Then I left him for two and a half hours stretched out and tied down in nylons, bra, and an old wig.  He was fit to be tied, no he was tied, and totally unhappy as he was kept waiting in a very humiliating condition.  A gag went in and the old nylons were torn open.  I really think his tears started right then and did not end till long after I was finished.  Gawd, how men hate feeling like a woman!  Is it so much to ask you to be there for our pleasure when we are there for your pleasure?  If I enjoy sticking a piece of plastic up your asshole once an a while, can’t you make the effort and meekly except a little humiliation in private if it gives something to me?  Or, is my pleasure your pain?  Physically, I don’t get a thing out of it but exercise, emotionally, wow!  Is that too damn much to ask?

He moped around for a few days turning his head away rather than look at me as though he were ashamed of himself, me, our relationship, I don’t know.  I tried to talk to him.  I tried to explain it was only a physical thing and no one knew and he should not feel upset, but you know men.  I offered to give him sex anyway he liked although I personally hate it up the ass.  Yes, it is disgusting and humiliating for me, just like it is for him.  Well, maybe not just like!  After all guys have this fear about being gay.  You can’t really explain it, it is just there.
Finally, we made love which helped some. I mean it helped him some; I still wanted to ream his asshole and make him scream like a slaughtered pig.  I know it is inappropriate, unlady like, and a little sick, but I love it!

This was not like the other two invasions of his manhood.  This was the real thing, or at least as real as it gets.  Three weeks before I had playfully attached a male chastity device to, well, where such devices go.  He came to me naked on his knees and kissed the tops of my rather smelly stocking feet.  He was patient, at least for a man about sex or lack there of.  Sitting to pee had played no small role, I am sure.  I smiled, almost laughing out loud when he woke in the middle of the night in “personal discomfort” from my little toy.

“Speak, asshole!”

“Will you please remove this device?  I will do anything, anything at all.”

He was beginning to cry even as he started begging, but a few words later and the flood gates opened with uncontrollable sobbing.  I lifted my left foot for him to get a better position for sucking and he took the hint licking, kissing, and sucking like a dog on a bone.  Continuing to raise my leg slowly he followed suite.  When his mouth and my foot were in alignment, I kicked him square in the teeth with more shock and surprise than pain or harm.  I then presented my other foot for him to worship and he received it with thanks.  When I gave the next kick, he had forgotten the last and after the surprise flattened out on the floor.

“It can’t be like it was!  Tomorrow, go and buy yourself an outfit.  Dress from tip to toe like a prom queen.  Remember, if I don’t like what you wear, you won’t like what I do!”

After fucking him up the ass, I locked his collar to the foot of the bed then slapped him on the bottom a few times with only a surrendering moan.  I flopped into bed and slept like a baby, his whimpering and sobbing actually seemed to help with my slumber.  I have found the whole experience most intriguing.  While I was able to easily adjust to the change in gender role, he was totally destroyed by the simple fact that a woman had done what a man was supposed to do.  I think that is what led me to my final choice.

“You can make one last decision as a man.  You can become my feminized transvestite slave for as long as you amuse me and my friends or I will wrap six large rubber bands around your balls for six hours and then using a sharp sterile knife remove your manhood forever.  After all you have no use for those little balls and they really belong to me any way. I’ll put them in a jar and you can visit them anytime you like.”


So the question is which would you choose? 

Do write and remember this is fiction.  I am not really going to cut you balls off or turn you into some queer bitch, honestly.