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Raymond Pist
07-06-2012, 04:10 PM
There’s this married woman I see two or three times per month. She “lets” me rape her, as best as she can, but her heart isn’t really in it. It just doesn’t make sense to her to struggle or scream, beg or cry, since she wants it, and since it doesn’t really hurt.

Since I can’t seem to rape her properly, I’ve convinced her that what I really want is to see her get raped by a stranger. Surely, that would be more realistic, and more exciting, even if she consented to it in advance.

She’s not thrilled with the idea. But reluctantly, she agreed. It’s my birthday present.

She may not be thrilled, but I am. Giddy as a pre-teen at DisneyWorld. Much to her dismay, I’ve been making statements like “I think he should be a Black Guy. That would make it more realistic yet, since Black on White stranger-rape statistics show that it’s much more common that white on white.” Whether she believes that or not, she can’t admit to any prejudice, having been raised by “progressive” parents, was taught in college to embrace multi-culturalism, and has attended mandatory sensitivity workshops on her corporate jobsite. So a Black Guy it will be! A Big Black Stud! We’ll call him "The Bull."

She’s not the type of girl who’s ever seen porn, or seen male strippers. As far as I know, she’s only seen two dicks, mine and her husband’s. Both average white guys. So I’m not even sure if she’s aware of the stereotype of Black men having bigger cocks, or if she is, how much bigger bigger can be. So I broached the subject by saying “I’m going to find a guy with a bigger cock than mine.”

“Whatever” she responded with a roll of her eyes. But a bigger cock might make her gag, I pointed out. “Not likely” she replied. She has no gag reflex, and she’s always been proud of her ability to take my cock past where her tonsils used to dangle.

But it might hurt, I tell her, when it slams against her cervix, or stretches her asshole wide, and straightens the bends in her colon. “I don’t think God makes cocks that big” she dismissed, getting dressed after I pulled my cock out of her ass. She kissing me goodbye, rushing to make it home before her husband returned from work.

Meanwhile, I fired up my computer, to check on my rapist recruitment progress. 117 e-mails! I hadn’t seen that coming! She’s decidedly middle-aged. Not busty or tall. And her ass is more than a little bit plump. In short, she’s no swimsuit model. And the photos I posted were honest and true. But apparently, there’s an awful lot of horny Black Bulls in my area eager to unleash their inner rapist! The ad that accompanied the naked pictures was brief and to the point:

On November 15th at Midnight, White housewife, 45, will leave backdoor and bedroom door unlocked for one Big Black Rapist. Signed consent form will be tucked in the screendoor. BYO Magnum Condoms. Send photo of Big Black Cock, and if you’re the lucky chosen one, you’ll receive address by E-mail. ORAL, VAGINAL, AND ANAL RAPE is expected. You must make it real (except no blood or visible bruises, please.)

Many of the responders had added notes regarding the specifics on just how they intended to use and abuse her ass. I started perusing the photos. Even I didn’t know how big a Black Cock could be! The biggest was the size of a two liter Coke bottle. I ruled that one out because, well, let’s face it. Rape or not, it just wouldn’t fit anywhere. I mean, MAYBE with a full tube of K-Y and a relaxed, willing woman, part of it could be pried into a wide-open vagina. But a facefuck was obviously out of the question, and a buttfuck? Forget about it!

The next biggest one was still plenty big: The size of my fist and forearm. Anticipating skepticism, the photo was taken with the dick plopped down atop today’s local newspaper. Next to it was a 3-pack of Magnum Condoms, and a Tub-O’-Vaseline. On a sheet of paper he’d drawn an arrow to the condoms and written “one for each hole”; and an arrow to the lube “..and yes, it will fit up the booty-hole”.

CLEARLY, this was the man.

Her husband leaves for his annual hunting trip on the afternoon of November 15th. But by Midnight, I’ll be there, hiding in the bedroom closet, peeping through the slats. I can’t wait to see the look on her face when she sees the size of the black cock he’s going to make her suck down her throat. Maybe then she’ll scream, and struggle, and try to talk him out of raping her—all the things she never does for me.

But it won’t matter. He’ll be expecting her to resist. He’ll make it very real for her—even if it becomes real. After all, he’s got the written consent form in his back pocket, he has nothing to fear.

When he’s finished being sucked, he’ll rip off her teddy and toss her back onto the bed, slamming his shaft farther than any has gone before up her unlubricated snatch. His note said he can fuck for hours after his first cum, and even longer after his second. I hope so. Because by the time he’s done reaming her Vaseline’d asshole, by the time he leaves, by the time I step out of my hiding place in the bedroom closet, there are a few things I want to see:

1. The tear-streaked, make-up smeared, ruined face of a woman who definitely feels like she’s been raped (even though she consented).
2. A woman who’s mad at me for putting her through more than she could endure; and mad at herself for not having left any way out (It may be a woman’s perogative to change her mind at any time, but even if she did, she can’t go to the police to report this awful rape, since her role in it, and our affair, would become public, and it would destroy her marriage.)
3. A throbbingly sore-assed woman who has vowed to herself to never, ever take it up the ass again—at least not anytime soon.

And when the look on her face tells me all that, I’ll inform her of just one more birthday present I want: To fuck her in the ass myself. Right there, right then. And I’m going to, whether she lets me or not.

THEN we’ll see if she tells me “no” and means it.
THEN we’ll see if she fights me. If she begs me not to.
If she screams when I ram it in. If she cries.

And afterwards, if she asks “how could you?”
And I ask “how could I what?”
…and wait to see if she uses the “R” word….

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!

Marlene38EE
07-06-2012, 04:35 PM
These stories of yours, it's like touching a high-voltage line!! I mean that as a compliment!

scotty44
09-14-2012, 05:49 PM
Thats a great story, told so real it makes you want to get rapped for your birthday