The Men's Club

A better term for Rape Fantasy is FSRP - Forced Sex Role Play. Real rape is an evil, life-altering crime, so to differentiate from that, the use of the term FSRP is preferred. That said...when writing stories it would break the fantasy to use the term: i.e. "I'm gonna FSRP you slut!" is not as effective as "I'm gonna rape you slut!" So in my stories I use a lot of harsh language, all in service of the fantasy. Read at your own risk.

*****

I've got a confession to make. I'm addicted to sex. Not just vanilla sex though. No, my tastes are very particular, and potentially, very dangerous. Nothing gets me off like a good rape fantasy.

But, it's difficult, when you're into this kink, to find ways to enjoy it. How do you find playmates? How do you make sure everything goes right, and no one ends up emotionally scarred, or in jail?

Thank god for my friend Kyle.

Kyle made my first rape fantasy come true. He paid attention to what I wanted, he found the guys, got them all tested, made sure they knew their parts, and made it happen. It was the most intense sexual encounter of my life. I'm utterly ruined for vanilla sex now. I crave only the most dangerous, debauched sex imaginable.

Kyle craves it too, and he was so good at setting up the fantasy, that's he's started a kind of a side business. See, he figured there was a need for somebody to play kinky matchmaker—to put women that were craving a rape fantasy scenario, together with safe and sane men, who want the same. Kyle does all the work: background checks, STDs, location, everything. It's been very profitable.

I haven't been a client yet. I've been satisfying my urges by re-watching the nasty video he made of my first fantasy, when Kyle and his group of friends raped me on a pool table on New Year's Eve. Every night I go home, watch the video, and finger fuck myself to orgasm over and over.

Kyle keeps teasing me, asking when I'm going to let him set up my next violation. I want to, I really do, but I'm also scared as hell. But Kyle has been persistent, he said he's shared my rape video around, and I'm in big demand with customers. Everyone is asking when they can rape the cute blonde with the big tits, and tight pussy. Fuck...just the thought of that, the knowledge that men in the city are watching an illicit video of my rape, and jacking off to it, it gets me so hot.

Finally, I let Kyle persuade me, we hashed out some details and he pronounced himself my Rape Pimp. To celebrate finally getting me on board, the jerk gave me a present; a pair of tight booty shorts that says Rape Whore on the butt in glitter. I wear it to bed.

This week, Kyle told me I've got my first job. It's a little different from my first encounter—they, the group of guys that requested me, want to abduct me—and they want it to be a surprise. All I've been told is that sometime this week, between the hours of 6 p.m. and midnight, I'm gonna get taken. I've cleared my evening schedule. I work for myself, so there's not a job that will miss me if I don't show up for a shift.

It's kind of perfect.

And the anticipation is killing me.

I've kept my modeling appointments during the day this week. And every evening when I leave the studio I make sure I look cute, in case today's the day I get abducted. Blonde hair up in a ponytail, a little bit of makeup to enhance my blue eyes. Push up bra lifting my tits up high under my tank top, a pair of tight yoga pants and ballet flats—that's my uniform when doing modeling gigs. Of course, being a fetish model, I'm usually wearing far less inside the studio. Just several yards of silky rope, and nipple clamps.

Today's session was long, and I still had some indentations on my skin from the suspension shoot we did. It ran overtime, so the photographer had gifted me with the crystal tipped nipple clamps we used, and I stashed them in my purse.

Grabbing my purse and duffel bag, I slipped on my shoes, waved goodbye to the photographer Marcus, and headed out into the street. It was already dark, and my car was parked up around the block, so I fitted my keys between my knuckles, and put my guard up as I walked.

I was almost to my car when he grabbed me, a strong arm banded around my waist as a big palm came down over my mouth. I inhaled sharply and bucked instinctively, trying to break free, to scratch him with my fistful of keys. But he squeezed me tighter, constricting my breath.

"Settle down now beautiful," he said. His voice was deep, and silky smooth, with a hint of a British accent. "I've got a few mates in town, and like any good host, I want to show them a good time." He moved the arm from my waist and shoved his hand between my legs, grabbing my pussy roughly, his fingers digging into my sex. "Raping you is going to be quite a treat."

Lust and fear shot through me, and I shook my head, trying to dislodge his palm from my mouth.

"Really," he purred in my ear. "You should be flattered...Jessica. I've seen your video, and chose you specifically."

Removing my purse and duffel bag from my shoulder, the man yanked my arms behind me, and bound them together with something—it felt like the same kind of silky rope we use in the photo shoots. A dark sedan with tinted windows pulled up beside us, and the door opened. The man pushed me inside roughly, so that I fell over the seat, face first. I felt him toss my bags in beside me, then he climbed in too.

"Go," he said to someone, and the car started moving.

I turned my head, trying to see the man's face. The light was dim and it took my eyes a few seconds to adjust, but when I could finally see him clearly, he was smiling.

"Like what you see?" he said with a smirk that suggested he knew he was handsome. He was tall, and muscled, with a head full of dark wavy hair, a closely trimmed beard, and sparkling blue eyes set off by the deep blue of the tailored suit he wore. Fucking gorgeous.

"Fuck you," I said, murder in my gaze.

British Guy moved closer, and ran one large hand slowly over my ass, to my shoulder. Gripping me hard, he flipped me over onto my back and grabbed my pussy through my yoga pants again.

"No darling," he said with a growl. "You, are definitely the one that's going to get fucked."

My pussy clenched under his hands and he laughed cruelly.

"We know all about you, you see. What a trashy little slut you are, showing off this body for anyone with a camera and few hundred dollars."

"No, that's not what I do," I said, squeezing my eyes shut as his hands ran freely over my body, seeking out my most intimate places. "I'm a professional model."

"Really?" his tone was laced with derision. "Legitimate, professional models let strangers take photos of them tied up, their naked tits squeezed between coils of rope?" His hands slipped under my tank top and bra, his fingers finding my nipples, pinching them hard as he continued his taunts. "I saw those photos, your nipples were bruised, and red, and swollen. Just begging to be bitten." He twisted my nipples hard and I gasped, arching up off the seat as my eyes flew open.

The car jolted to a stop, and I went flying, but the man caught me, grinning down at me with a dangerous look in his eyes.

"Good," he said, lifting me up as the car door opened. "We're here. Let the evening begin."

* * *

British Guy popped me on the curb outside a brick building, dragged me around the side down the alley, and pushed me through a rusty steel door. We walked down a dimly lit corridor for a few seconds, and then pushed through another door into a warmly lit room, richly furnished in leather, and dark wood.

There was a bar to one side of the room, and straight ahead, a carved fireplace with a seating area in front of it, comprised of three large, tufted leather sofas, arranged in a semi-square.

They were full of men.

Quickly, I scanned the scene. All of the men were tall, with varying builds that ranged from lean to muscular. Their body language and attire, suggested wealth and influence. I spotted flashy cufflinks, and Rolex watches. Several drank from wine glasses, others had cut crystal tumblers of amber liquid. All had a confident, arrogant air about them, that let me know this was a powerful group of men, used to getting what they want.

I gulped, as British Guy stepped around me, one hand still gripping my bound arms, and cleared his throat.

"Gentlemen," he said, his tone casual and amused. "Tonight's entertainment."

In unison, the men turned around. I felt hot gazes stroking over my body, and fear lanced through my gut, my panties getting damp at the anticipation of what might be in store for me tonight. One by one the men rose from their seats as British Guy steered me across the room. We moved in front of the fireplace, and I noticed that there was a low, square wooden coffee table in the middle of the sofa arrangement. It looked sturdy and was empty of any knick knacks...it looked like...a stage.

"Kick off your shoes," said British Guy roughly. "Those shitty little ballet flats aren't sexy."

I started to protest, but then as my gaze flickered over the group, my brain began counting. Three, six, ten...I stopped there, my throat growing tight at the reality of my situation. At least a dozen men where looming over me, their gazes hot and dangerous, lingering over my body like they could see right through my clothes.

It might be wise to choose my battles here.

Without a word, I kicked off my shoes. British Guy bent down and put a pair of pink glitter stripper heels in front of my bare feet.

"Put those on," he said.

"Pink glitter?" I scoffed as I raised one foot and slipped on the first shoe. "That's a bit much isn't it?"

Me and my smart mouth. Immediately I regretted my comment, as British Guy wound one hand around my ponytail and yanked my head back, forcing my gaze to his.

"Cheeky." He purred. "I like it. As for the shoes...it's all you'll be wearing tonight my little fucktoy, so we thought we'd make them special for you."

My mouth gaped, my mind searching for something to say but as my gaze flickered back to the men, again, fear clenched ahold of me.

Slowly, I slipped my other foot into the shoe, and British Guy nudged me forward, forcing me to step up on the coffee table.

"Gentleman," he said. "The auction is now open. Bidding starts at $10,000.00."

"Auction?" I said, whipping my head around.

"Well of course," said British Guy with a jaunty lift of his eyebrows. "You're the famous Jessica, rape slut with the magic fuckholes. One doesn't just give that away for nothing. I've got bills to pay, an establishment to run. These gentleman," he gestured to the group. "Will bid over who gets to use you first. In fact..." He furrowed his brow, as though he were thinking. "I think we'll do this by the hole. Gentleman, bidding starts at $10,000.00 per hole. We'll start with her mouth."

Several hands shot up, and my eyes popped wide.

My mind raced. Instinctively I felt the urge to run, to escape, to get away. This was a fantasy, I knew that, knew that I wanted this and they did too—but still, the whole point was the fight, the resistance, the thrill of having a thick cock forced inside my body against my will.

My gaze darted around the room as the voices of the men slipped into the background of my consciousness. How could I fight this? My arms were tied behind my back. I had no idea where I was, I was outnumbered, and totally hobbled by a pair of ridiculous shoes. My only defense against these men was my smart mouth.

Realization dawned. British Guy had called me cheeky, he said he liked my smart mouth. That's what they wanted. For me to fight back with words.

"What a bunch of losers," I said, interrupting the bidding and the banter. "Rich and powerful huh? Gentleman huh? Gotta resort to this to get a woman to fuck you? Pathetic."

My head was yanked back again, British Guy had grabbed my ponytail with one hand, slapped his other over my mouth. He pulled me ear close to his lips and growled.

"Keep it up bitch, this will not end well for you."

British Guy removed his hand and I glared daggers at him.

"Fuck. You," I said, my gaze level with his. "Fuck you right up the ass with a pine cone—Ahhhhhh!"

One hand went around my throat this time, squeezing just enough to cut off my sentence. British Guy put the other hand around my waist, while the hand at my throat moved up to capture my jaw, moving my head, so that I was looking at each of the men in turn.

"So much disrespect," said one guy, his Green Eyes sparkling with amusement. "She needs to be taught a lesson."

"Oh I dunno," said another, taking a sip of his whiskey. "I like the sass. It's much more satisfying to ruin an uppity cunt, than a willing one. A few thick cocks rammed into that rapehole, and she'll soon learn who's in charge." He laughed, and I could hear the whiskey in the sound.

"Enough of this," said a man with Dark Eyes. "We're up to $50,000.00 for her mouth. Is my bid the the final?" He looked at the other men. No one spoke up.

"Sold," said British Guy, still holding me tight. "Her asshole is next, same start. $10,000.00."

My mind started to buzz as I watched the bidding. The men laughed and teased each other, hands raising with each new bid. At $80,000.00 there was a lull, and British Guy ran one hand down my body cupping one of my tits through my shirt. The room grew silent, until Dark Eyes spoke.

"Well go on then," he said. "Show us some of what we're buying."

British Guy smashed me up against his torso, then moved both hands to the neck of my tank top, gripped it tightly and ripped it down the front. I was exposed, my large breasts pushed up high in my lacy bra, spilling over the cups.

"Keep going," said Green Eyes with a laugh. "For God's sake don't stop there."

British Guy ripped the tank top completely from my body and threw it to the side. There was movement behind me and then I heard the sound of a switchblade.

Fear lanced through me as British Guy slipped one finger under a bra strap and lifted it.

"Since your arms are bound," he said. "I can't slip this off of you, it has to be cut." He sliced through that strap, then moved to the other. "I'd apologize for ruining this lovely lingerie..." he sliced through the second strap and closed the knife, then I felt his fingers on the hooks at the back. "But I really don't care." With that, he snatched the bra off my body.

My breasts are 34DD, with large puffy areoles and nipples that are nearly always hard, and the size of gumdrops. My tits are my best feature, that's what all the photographers tell me. Right now, the men staring at me seemed to agree. Mouths had dropped, and eyebrows raised, and a few men were openly stroking their cocks through their slacks.

"Fucking hell," said Dark Eyes. "We're not bidding on the tits?"

"Well, we are now," said British Guy. "Oversight on my part. Apologies. $10,000.00. Begin."

They started fighting again and this time the debate was loud.

"Yes!" shouted a man with a Blond Beard, leaping from the sofa when he won. "Oh sweetheart..." Leaning forward he slapped one large palm over my right breast, his fingers digging into my flesh as he pulled them down the globe till they met at my nipple. He stopped there, trapping my nipple between his fingers, pulling it hard so that it elongated and I hissed in pain. "Oh yes...this is going to be amazing."

"Sit back down," British Guy ordered with a laugh. "Finally, gentlemen, the piece de resistance..." he paused and everyone laughed at his joke. Dark Eyes laughed hardest, repeating the punchline. "Piece of ass that's resistant...ha! I love it!"

British Guy turned me so that I was facing him. His grin was dark, but his gaze softened for a moment, he pressed a kiss to my forehead, then pushed my torso down. I was perpendicular to him, bent over, ass in the air, my body weight supported by his arms.

I felt one of his hands move, and then movement, like he was throwing something.

"You do it," he said to someone. "I'll hold her still."

"Hold me still for what you motherfucker?" I could hear the panic in my own voice and it ramped up my fear. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"Time to auction off that pink little rapehole darling," he said with a chuckle. "I'll get a better price if these men can see the merchandise first."

"No!" I bucked wildly, writhing in his grasp, trying to get away.

"Better settle down," said British Guy. "We're going to cut these pants off, and if you're moving too much, you're libel to get hurt."

His threat worked. Instantly, I stilled, my chest heaving from exertion and fear.

I heard ripping, a torturously slow tearing sound and the brush of cold metal as it made it's way all the way down my leg. The pants gave way, opening up and then metal was replaced by skin as more than one set of hands ripped the fabric totally from my body.

All that remained was my thong.

In a flash, that was gone too, the silk ripping loudly and the scraps tossed to the side. I was naked now, ass up in front of this dangerous group of men.

A rough hand brushed lightly over my sex.

"Come on!" said a male voice. "That's not nearly enough."

"You're right," said British Guy. Large hands palmed both sides of my ass, thick fingers walking across each round fleshy cheek until they met, on either side of my plump pussy. His fingers probed, capturing my pussy lips and slowly pulling my sex open. I felt a rush of cool air, heard the sharp inhales of aroused men, and my face flushed hot with shame and fear.

I was wide open, my tight pink hole clenching and unclenching as I wobbled on the heels, trying to keep my balance, and my dignity, in this humiliating situation. But British Guy, he kept pulling, his strong fingers denting my tender flesh as he peeled me open even wider, stretching my hole so wide that the fragile tissues grew taut and began to throb.

"$50,000.00," he said, his voice hoarse.

Immediately there was protest.

"You said $10,000.00!"

"That's absurd!"

"If you don't like it, don't bid." British Guy's tone was hard.

I gulped, listening, helpless and blind, as the men fought hard for the right to fuck my pussy. The bidding got heated, and harsh words were exchanged as they argued. All the while British Guy held my pussy open, his fingers hard stabbing points bruising my flesh.

"$150,000.00," said a voice and even though I hadn't been able to keep track of the bidding, I knew that jump was large.

"Going once," said British Guy. "Twice..."

No one spoke.

"Sold to...me," he said. "At $200,000.00. Unless you'd like to counter?" British Guy's voice was cold, and controlled.

$150,000.00 bid man was silent.

"Well then." British Guy released me, propped me upright, then whirled me around. His gaze was dark blue and dangerous, his nostrils flared and the set of his jaw hard and cruel. Fisting a hand in my hair, he slanted his lips over mine and kissed me, forcing his tongue deep into my mouth. "I win," he growled breaking the kiss. Forcing one hand between our bodies he grabbed a handful of my pussy, his two middle fingers stabbing up into my cunt.

"Let's get started," he said.

He dragged me by the cunt. Tottering on the heels I tripped along beside him, leashed by my impaled pussy, until we were clear of the sofas, approaching another seating area in the room.

Throwing me on a low tufted ottoman, he turned to the group of men that followed us, and loosened his tie.

I lay there, nude, legs pressed tightly together, my tits bouncing as my chest heaved, staring at the group of impeccably dressed "gentlemen" that were about to gang rape me.

"Stand back," said British Guy. "I paid good money for this, I don't want anyone interfering with my turn, unless I ask you to."

"Fair enough," said Dark Eyes, raising his hands. "Your money, your turn.