Asking for it

// drug use, rape, graphic

She’s been watching you all night. You weren’t sure when you noticed at first, but afterwards it felt like her eyes were on you whenever you glanced in her direction. The party swirls, you change rooms, get into a debate that has you laughing, and there are her eyes on you again.

You try to play it cool, pull one of your friends aside to ask about her, but they assure you she’s great. You’re always paranoid, it’s probably nothing, maybe it’s just the drugs. You decide to drink more, you clearly need more social lubricant.

She’s still watching you, does she know what you are? Can she tell by the way you nervously fidget and startle, the way your body tenses and twitches whenever there’s an unexpected noise. She’s so pretty, what would someone like her want from a scrawny frightened thing like you?

There’s a momentary tension within you before you shove down the fear and drop into a seat next to you. She introduces herself, you talk, and she does seem really nice, even if the intensity of her stare remains just as unsettling.

You may have drank too much. The room sways and time flows irregularly, the party rushes past you in staggering jolts. It’s a lot of fun, but as you lean against the wall staggering to the bathroom to puke, you’re beginning to mildly regret your choices.

You collapse in front of the toilet and manage to barely get your head in before everything starts coming up. You’re confused but grateful when hands gently hold your hair back while you experience the holiness of puke.

She hands you a cup of water after you sit back onto the floor trying to catch your breath and ease your nausea. You gulp it down and stare blankly at the porcelain, thoughts still swimming in alcohol. You thank her, she smiles and rubs your back.

You’re getting ready to try standing and going back to the party when her fingers curl around your hair and yank you upwards. Your yelp is cut short as she throws you against the wall and you feel something cool and sharp at your neck.

Panic grips you, fear battling with intoxication, your world tumbling over itself in an attempt to make sense of the sudden threat. You totally saw this coming. Why didn’t you see this coming? Stupid doll. She chuckles, amused, as you shake in fear.

“You know what this is?” She asks you, gently pressing the knife into your skin. You nod wordlessly. 

“Good. Then you know what’ll happen if you don’t do what I want. Now take your pants off.”

Fear, shame, and half-unwanted arousal grip you as she presses your face into the wall and runs the knife against your neck. You can feel her hardon pressing into your ass. You don’t want to listen to her, but something holds you more transfixed than the fear.

You’re at a party, she can’t actually do this right? She couldn’t actually get away with just killing you in the bathroom right? These are your friends, you’re safe, you just need to call for help, you just ne–her fingers cover your mouth and nose. You take your pants off.

Without a word, she drags you backwards by the hair and shoves you over the sink. Her hand closes over your mouth and she shoves herself into you. You scream into her fingers at the sudden starburst of pain. It doesn’t slow her down at all. The knife is still at your throat.

You feel yourself twitch in pain every time she slams into you, tears run down your cheeks, smearing your makeup, you’re so scared and upset….why are you also so turned on? Why is this the horniest anyone’s made you in years? You can’t actually be enjoying this can you?

At first you were fighting back, testing her grip and trying to see how you could slip away, but the fight has completely gone out of you, you’re not even trying to resist anymore. You feel her fingers in your hair as you realize you might be moaning in pleasure and not pain.

She shifts to get a better grip on you and speeds up. 

“You’re being such a good victim,” she whispers breathily in your ear, “I don’t need this anymore do I?” The cool metal brushes your skin, and for the first time in the encounter you say something.

“Please keep using it.”

You’re not sure where that came from. You don’t want to admit you’re actually enjoying this, but you are, aren’t you? You can feel her smirking as she speeds up. She singled you out carefully, she knew exactly what you were, even if you didn’t.

You’ve never been more attracted to someone. You feel her knife gently scraping into your back and drawing a trickle of blood. You’re fucking her as hard as she’s fucking you at this point, not even trying to hide how much of a freak you are anymore.

She finishes inside you and shoves you onto the floor. You stare up at her, hungry, utterly transfixed. She grins lecherously at you and licks the knife clean. You suppress a drunken giggle in the moment of quiet.

“So uh,” you ask awkwardly, “You wanna come over next week?”

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