Desired rapist
A lot of time has passed since I was raped, but when I recall that incident in my life, I don't regret what happened at all. But let me tell it in order. The second academic year at the institute was over, I had successfully passed all my spring semester exams and was invited by two classmates to celebrate. Without thinking, I agreed, fully understanding how we would mark the end of the school year. As a young, shapely girl with size-three tits and an ass that all men turn to look at, I knew the guys would hit on me. But I wasn't going to play hard to get; during the entire exam period, I hadn't fucked a single guy, only masturbated before
sleep. So I really wanted to get a dick inside my pussy. Anyway, everything happened just as I expected and hoped: we drank wine, the guys groped me, kissed me, then I took control of the situation and, citing the heat, suggested we undress. The suggestion was met with enthusiasm. When the guys were completely naked, I realized I hadn't agreed to this party for nothing—two beautiful young dicks stood at attention, greeting the naked girl ready to take them into her womb right then and there. That evening, I fully enjoyed the young, handsome male bodies and their dicks; each of them fucked me three times. As I left, as a token of gratitude, I gave one guy my panties and the other my bra. The sex celebration ended, I got out of the taxi near my house, entered the stairwell—the elevator wasn't working, so I walked up to my third floor. I passed two flights and saw a man coming down towards me with a large travel bag in his hands. As soon as we were level, he threw the bag on the floor, grabbed me in his arms, and pinned me against the wall with my back. With one hand, he pressed my neck against the wall, and with the other, he reached under my skirt. I felt his hand squeezing my labia, which hadn't fully closed my pussy after the two dicks that had been inside it. Discovering I wasn't wearing panties or a bra, he growled angrily—"What the fuck, coming from a job?" At that, his hand left my pussy alone; I heard the sound of a zipper being undone, and then a hot, hard member started poking between my legs. But I'm tight, and his dick (from the front and standing up, dicks don't go all the way into me) only entered my pussy with the head. I was afraid he'd get angry about this and beat me up. For some reason, a seemingly joking piece of advice came to mind—if you can't resist a rapist, relax and enjoy it. I jerked sharply and turned my back to him. He bent me forward, and without any resistance, his dick plunged into my pussy. My vagina felt that this dick was a decent size. I'm being raped, and a thought flashed through my head—today's the third one, well, so be it, it won't kill me, as long as he doesn't hit me. He started energetically pounding my already well-fucked pussy. Gradually, I began to enjoy his movements; against my will, I started moving with him, involuntarily took his hand and placed it on my bare ass. He understood my desires and started squeezing it. I melted, wrapped my arms around his ass myself, and started helping him move towards me. In response, he growled—"You fucking bitch, you're really getting into it." Soon, he started speeding up and suddenly asked—"Where can I?" I was even a little stunned—a rapist asking where he should cum. Anticipating my approaching orgasm, I said—"Don't you dare pull out, in my pussy, I have an IUD." And then the dick twitched, the rapist gasped, a wave of bliss washed over me from that dick's movement, and I came too. Then he pulled his dick out of my pussy, bent me down—"If you're such a horny slut, suck the rest." Without any resistance, I took his still not fully soft member into my mouth and skillfully—something I'm good at—sucked out every last drop. Then I took a handkerchief from my purse and wiped the semen dripping down my thighs. He put his dick back in his pants and said in an apologetic tone—"Sorry, but that slut drove me crazy, I lost my head, decided to take revenge on all women." Then, putting his arm around my shoulders, he told me his story. He worked on a shift basis, and after finishing his shift, he wouldn't get off his wife for days—she was beautiful, busty, with an amazing ass, and what she did, only she wouldn't give it up in the ass. This time, he returned two days early, looking forward to getting to his wife. He arrived, opened the door with his key, and saw—in the living room on the floor, his naked wife was on all fours, and a man was fucking her doggy-style, and it was clear he was fucking her in the ass, growling himself, while his wife moaned and begged—"Slower and deeper, deeper." The betrayed husband rushed at them, kicked the man in the balls, punched his wife in the face, and ran out of the apartment, and then there I was. So he snapped and decided to take revenge on all women. For some reason, I felt sorry for him. Stockholm syndrome. I invited him to my place. We arrived, and he suggested we toast his newly grown horns and our close acquaintance—he had cognac and a bottle of champagne in his bag. I sent him to the bathroom to shower after the journey, while I quickly set the table. We sat down, drank, poured our hearts out to each other. I tried to convince him that I wasn't a slut, that I only fucked because I loved sex, and he complained about his fate—this time coming home, he really wanted to fuck his wife in the ass, but saw another man fucking her that way. I started comforting him, saying he'd find a woman who'd let him fuck her in the ass. And then it hit me—anyone can feel sorry, but you should help a person with action. I asked him to sit, watch TV, while I went to the bathroom for a bit. In the bathroom, I prepared myself for anal and came out naked in all my glory. Seeing such beauty, he didn't wait long, quickly got out of his clothes, grabbed me in his arms, and threw me on the bed. I took a tube of lubricant from the nightstand, greased my asshole and his dick. Watching all this, he trembled like a rabbit before mating—clearly inexperienced in this matter. But I took the whole process into my own hands, laid him on his back, and carefully started lowering myself onto his rock-hard dick. The student turned out to be capable, quickly grasped everything, and fucked me properly; I came intensely several times. We rested, drank some more. Went back to bed; at night, he climbed on top of me two more times. In the morning, he said he'd go look for a room. I offered him to stay with me until he found one. He gladly agreed. He stayed with me for three days. During the day, he looked for housing, and in the evening and at night, he wouldn't get off me, always entering me through the ass at least once. I was surprised where he got the energy—after all, he was 15 years older than me. After three days, he found a room, and we sort of parted ways. Why "sort of"? Because whenever I was without a fuck buddy for a while, I'd call him, and he'd come visit me. And once, he came and said this visit would be the last—he was getting married. Something came over me; I pulled off my panties and bra, grabbed his hand, and dragged him to the staircase. There, I had my last fuck with him—the most passionate, the hottest.