This post will probably spend most of its word count on disclaimer, but today ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to discuss Rape-Play.
Firstly, I am a firm believer in each to their own. Everyone has little sexual quirks and if they claim not to, they are either lying or in denial, or would be my worst choice of sexual partner.
Secondly, I am sharing with you my experiences and the experiences of others that are all consenting adults. Any game I play with my partner is never done so under the influence of alcohol or substances. If any of the following takes your fancy, please don’t just surprise it on your significant other, it has to be discussed first. Don’t just fashion a balaclava and creep up on her during the wee small hours and shout boo, she is likely not to be appreciative.
Thirdly, please don’t attempt to throw the domestic violence, sexual abuse or misogynist “card” at me. I fully sympathise with any form of victim but cannot see how acting as prey in my very own personal space with a person who is in full character, is any way linked.
So as a full hit…
… There is a big difference between rape fantasies, and real rape. In a fantasy, you can decide what occurs, and no one is actually hurt. I do not endorse rape, violence against women or blackmail in any way and all blog content herein is supplied for entertainment purposes only. I understand the difference between fantasy and reality, and understand that rape is an abhorrent crime.
Pheww, okay, so yeah, rape-play…
I’ve always liked to play-fight so perhaps it started there. Tumbling about, pinning down, tickling, scrambling and scrabbling to get away, there’s something about it, it always made me horny. I remember a BBQ filled with family friends and children. I was “attacked” by my friend’s husband with a toy Power Ranger sword and a battle quickly commenced. Things turned boisterous, when the shoving and wrestling began. I had to concentrate to refrain from “doing” my friend’s husband right there on the lawn. I think I just like the struggling sensation?
I’ve always fantasised about Rape, silly little scenarios in my head, nothing too daring or obscene but really wanted to experiment with role-play, however at the time I was in a crappy long relationship with a dreary sex-life. As things were coming to an end, during a desperate attempt to spice things up, I built up the courage to suggest something along the lines of forcing and fighting, then may have said “in a rapey.” He said I had ISSUES!
It’s pretty difficult to suddenly suggest midway through a relationship something that is pretty “out-there.” Maybe the partner feels inadequate or embarrassed, even suspicious of the motives behind change and seems to struggle with sexual development during a relationship rather than embracing it. So going forward with new lovers, I made my sexual intentions clear.
Currently I am in a relationship where the other half fully understands my preferences. He willingly holds his hand over my mouth and nose, while gripping me from behind and whispering into my ear.
I haven’t bothered to research anything to do with women’s rape fantasies and the psychology behind it, largely due to not caring. My motivation is pleasure and it was something that appealed to me somewhere along the line, inspiring me to bring the fantasy to life. I was never something suggested to me or encouraged.
According to the interweb, practitioners refer to the game as ravishment which sounds much zealous than rape and in my experience, playing such games of abuse are always fueled with such enthusiasm and emotion, that it feels more passionate than ordinary sex.
I have delved into this game with different levels of intensity.
Sometimes it is a wriggle as his weight shifts over mine, his hands stroking my legs before pushing them open, , futile attempts to try to push his hands away and turning my head as he forces his tongue into my mouth. Sometimes it’s his grip around my wrists as my hands get pinned back above my head, he calls me names like bitch or whore as my wrists fit into one of his palms, it clenching around tighter, freeing his other hand to pull down my knickers. My legs kick and my arms try to pull and release. I’m fighting back and saying no, it just arouses him more.
I’m not a fan of shouting or anger, I love the sinister whispers, his breath violating my ear. His fingers push inside me then move to my mouth to cover my protests. My game can change, I can play the mortified victim throughout the attack or I could be the slut, who deep down wanted and deserved it all along. Slapping features heavily, pain isn’t my bag but lose of control is. My face slapped or maybe my breasts. Sometimes my legs may be pushed open further and his hand hits between. My inner thighs have been hit hard repeatedly too, every time I attempted to move after he had snarled at me to remain still.
It could be a sleepy text from bed asking him to make use of me when he arrives upstairs but to leave me asleep. It’s not just about a brutal rape scene with violence and thrashing, it’s about manipulation too , abuse, preying on the vulnerable. It’s not always a physical thing but very wordy. Calculating filth pouring out of his mouth, pushing my boundaries further and further.
Back to play fighting, Its always guaranteed to get the juices flowing. I think it was my first force playing. A partner messing about asking me to lift my top up and I declined, then trying to lift my top up while I complained. It turned into rolling about on the bed until I was stuck in a position where my top was over my head, my hands were restrained, my knickers had been yanked down and he was copping a feel of wherever he wanted, my face flushed with anger but undeniably wet as anything.
Occasionally the game has been played outside before and I have been held against a tree in a small patch of wasteland in daylight, close to pedestrians and dog-walkers, my denim skirt pulled up over my hips and my knickers pushed aside, his hand around my throat squeezing to stop my protests, getting tighter and tighter, lifting me until I was standing on tiptoe. Knickers being pushed aside or ripped off is such a winner.
I’ve been encouraged to walk along a secluded path late at night, alone. I could hear his footsteps behind me and could feel my adrenalin flurry. I hate being chased. When you feel the arm wrap around your chest dragging you backwards, you are not 100% sure that it is definitely your partner. You look for any sign, smell, voice or glimpse, but you get nothing. I was knocked to the floor, face down and felt slightly winded. I could feel my eyes filling with tears as I still wasn’t sure who was doing this to me but the overwhelming tingles between my legs increase with intensity with each twist and turn.
Forced blowjobs are usually part of the sport. I love having my hair yanked, it tousled around his fingers so I can’t pull away and my nose held until I HAVE to open my lips for a split second. He is always too quick for me and as I gasp for breath, his cock is thrust deep into my mouth. Face fucking is a more appropriate term as I am little more than an orifice as his hips do all the work. I’m simply held still. The more saliva produced, for him, the better. He gets off on the choking sounds, the gurgles as my throat closes around him.
The comical downside of forced oral sex is on more than one occasion (twice) it has turned into a vomit fest…
Pushed to my knees, he was towering over me. Gripping my hair and positioning my face so he could grind his hips and fuck my mouth quickly and deeply, we were mid-game and mid-afternoon. He had been a darling and made me brunch (cooked breakfast) and I was having to really concentrate with my breathing to fight the baulking reaction. I couldn’t contain it any longer and I felt the burn as my mouth filled with sick. His groin continued pumping his cock harder between my lips and I could feel the vomit escaping out of the corners of my mouth. I thought I was safe, that he wouldn’t be able to see the chunks of sausage and beans escaping onto the laminate floor beneath me. I tried to kick the sick under my bed to escape embarrassment, my dirty thoughts now turning to a brain storming session on how to cover up the situation. Next thing I heard roars of laughter. I was mortified that he would think I was revolting or incapable. Turns out he was proud of himself and his penis.
It’s not about pain for me and even though rare, the most I have suffered is bruising, usually to my hips if I have been pressed against a table on an awkward angle for some time or my stupid wooden bed-frame has sometimes gotten in the way. The alcohol abstaining is a personal recommendation. In the early hours after drinking a fair bit we got pretty rough, we both hit, him slapping me harder than usual and me retaliating when I could. We thought nothing of it and I awoke late evening and went straight out clubbing in a strappy dress. The bruises developed, leaving hand marks on my neck, shoulders and face and my arms and legs were fully mottled. The alcohol had numbed any contact for me and he had not realised his strength. Although there was luckily no injury, I had to cover and hide for a few days and had a fair bit of explaining to do to my mate who was accompanying me. Since then we always avoid really physical play or breathing games when we are boozing.
There are so many variants of this game I have played with various play-mates. Utensils have been used for affect such as the wrong side of a knife being held close to my throat, ties or belts for restraints, tape and blindfolds are usually a favourite of mine.
Below are controversial images from advert campaigns featured in high-fashion magazines and billboards supposedly implying various assortments of abuse. Pretty huh.
As with masturbation, I wonder how many women really partake in this role-play, I’m betting more than let on. If Dolce and Gabbana want to spend a large fortune on rape-based advertising hoping to appeal to women, maybe ravishment isn’t that risqué at all. Is it a taboo that people don’t discuss? I know friends who say they like rough sex and being flung about, so is that code? Is there much of a difference?
But for me, at the right time, with the right person…