u/dare-doll

Most days, I hate my rapist. The thought of his smug face makes me furious. When he convinces me to meet him again, I imagine agreeing only to lure him into a trap. If only I could restrain him somehow. I have no idea how, but I've thought about it plenty of times: inflicting as much pain on him as he inflicted on me, out of nowhere and without batting an eye. I want to see him rage while I say, in exactly the voice he used when I was crying, "I can see you like it, whore." Then spit on him and walk out of the building. Maybe then I'd finally feel better.

But I know that eventually he'll be free to move again, and then it'll be impossible for me to run fast enough. His physical advantage is so obvious and overwhelming that I'm terrified by the thought of how easily he could take revenge. He once told me that if I ever attacked him, fine, but I should be aware, little bitch, that he'd hit me back three times harder. "You don't even know, slut, how easily I could break your neck. Do what you want, but I wouldn't advise you to play any games."

And then, when I imagine him grabbing me as I run and throwing me to my knees, I know that even before he rips my clothes off, he'll feel how aroused I am. The more I fear what he's about to do, the harder I try to break loose, but my body has already answered for me. So in that moment, I don't hate my rapist. I need him. I desperately want to please him. I thank God that he's touching me in this sick way again. And I'm pissed off because the smug look will never leave his fucking face.

Most days, I hate my rapist. The thought of his smug face makes me furious. When he convinces me to meet him again, I imagine agreeing only to lure him into a trap. If only I could restrain him somehow. I have no idea how, but I've thought about it plenty of times: inflicting as much pain on him as he inflicted on me, out of nowhere and without batting an eye. I want to see him rage while I say, in exactly the voice he used when I was crying, "I can see you like it, whore." Then spit on him and walk out of the building. Maybe then I'd finally feel better.

But I know that eventually he'll be free to move again, and then it'll be impossible for me to run fast enough. His physical advantage is so obvious and overwhelming that I'm terrified by the thought of how easily he could take revenge. He once told me that if I ever attacked him, fine, but I should be aware, little bitch, that he'd hit me back three times harder. "You don't even know, slut, how easily I could break your neck. Do what you want, but I wouldn't advise you to play any games."

And then, when I imagine him grabbing me as I run and throwing me to my knees, I know that even before he rips my clothes off, he'll feel how aroused I am. The more I fear what he's about to do, the harder I try to break loose, but my body has already answered for me. So in that moment, I don't hate my rapist. I need him. I desperately want to please him. I thank God that he's touching me in this sick way again. And I'm pissed off because the smug look will never leave his fucking face.

Most days, I hate my rapist. The thought of his smug face makes me furious. When he convinces me to meet him again, I imagine agreeing only to lure him into a trap. If only I could restrain him somehow. I have no idea how, but I've thought about it plenty of times: inflicting as much pain on him as he inflicted on me, out of nowhere and without batting an eye. I want to see him rage while I say, in exactly the voice he used when I was crying, "I can see you like it, whore." Then spit on him and walk out of the building. Maybe then I'd finally feel better.

But I know that eventually he'll be free to move again, and then it'll be impossible for me to run fast enough. His physical advantage is so obvious and overwhelming that I'm terrified by the thought of how easily he could take revenge. He once told me that if I ever attacked him, fine, but I should be aware, little bitch, that he'd hit me back three times harder. "You don't even know, slut, how easily I could break your neck. Do what you want, but I wouldn't advise you to play any games."

And then, when I imagine him grabbing me as I run and throwing me to my knees, I know that even before he rips my clothes off, he'll feel how aroused I am. The more I fear what he's about to do, the harder I try to break loose, but my body has already answered for me. So in that moment, I don't hate my rapist. I need him. I desperately want to please him. I thank God that he's touching me in this sick way again. And I'm pissed off because the smug look will never leave his fucking face.

16 January 2023

Today I cut off contact with A., a guy I met four months ago, who raped me.

10 September 2024

Moving forward. I haven't spoken to A. in a month.

16 March 2025

I can't cut myself off from A.

1 August 2025

I made another attempt to end contact with A. for good.

2 August 2025

None of these attempts are working.

12 August 2025

Chain-smoking and sending provocative messages to A. I've genuinely started considering meeting him again.

12 January 2026

I'm not talking to A. at all, going on two months now.

9 April 2026

I managed to resist the temptation of meeting up with A.

15 April 2026

A. found yet another channel to contact me.

"I just wanted to know if there was actually an understandable, non-malicious reason why you cut off contact, or if in the end it is simply basic ghosting cunt behavior."

At this point, should I just give up and marry him?

In filth it will be found

But this is easier said than done.

"Defined by a fusion of rage and desire, tormented by unfulfilled cravings and insatiably demanding impossible satisfactions, hungry ghosts are condemned to inhabit shadowy and dismal places in the realm of the living. Their specific hunger varies according to their past karma and the sins they are atoning for. Some can eat but find it impossible to find food or drink. Others may find food and drink, but have pinhole mouths and cannot swallow. For others, food bursts into flames or rots even as they devour it. Japanese hungry ghosts called gaki must eat excrement while those called jikininki are cursed to devour human corpses. According to Hindu tradition, hungry ghosts may endlessly seek particular objects, emotions or people, those things that obsessed them or caused them to commit bad deeds when they were living."

I apologize for posting so much over the past few days. I'm trying to distract myself from all the things I'd like to say to my Daddy if I had one. I don't think I want one. I'm afraid I need one.

08/2025

"I spend whole days watching cartoons. I bought myself two dolls and a new Nintendo game. I want to be surrounded by sweets, pastels, soft blankets, and feel safe.

But I don't feel safe, no. Everything has become a trigger for me; often even the very idea of sex makes me uncomfortable. The whole world seems to revolve around anal rape. Funny."

We talked on the phone for a few months until he came for a visit. It was one of the most erotic encounters of my entire life. All we did was have tea (well, he had tea, and I had two beers, because I was so nervous) and spend the rest of the evening walking around.

I had never been pinched by a man before. It hadn't really registered as sexual in my head. But I swear I almost came all over my chair when the waitress was taking our order and suddenly I felt his hand brushing my knee under the table, followed by a series of sharp nips on the inside of my thigh. I didn't jump or scream and he was so proud of me. That evening, he pinched me everywhere, starting from the back of my neck and finishing with my hands.

I remember sitting with him on a park bench with no one around, and he was just having fun, slapping me around, reaching down the neckline of my dress to grab my tits and painfully twist my nipples, when we noticed a group of young people watching us from a distance. He joked that we'd better go before someone called the police, stood up, and then he jerked me by my hair off the bench so unexpectedly that I lost my balance and fell on my knees hard. In that moment, when I looked up at his face and then at the people watching us, I felt absolutely sure that I was going to need this forever.

At the end of the night, after a very long kiss, still holding my face in his hands, he apologized and told me he just couldn't take it further. I was just really too young, too innocent in person, and too desperate for the pain. He said he was scared of hurting me, not in a good way. On our way back, a lady stopped us to ask if I was okay, suggestively looking at my arms and legs covered in scratches and bruises, and it made me so proud and happy that I laughed. Then I cried for a week.

When I was 25, not too young anymore and definitely not too innocent, I reached out to him, and he came for a visit again. This time he wanted to go home with me, but I wasn't that much into it anymore. If I'm being honest with myself, I just needed to make sure that he never rejected me after all.

I don't know why I'm writing this. It was the first sadist I ever met on purpose and I still have those nipple clamps. I feel so much gratitude and respect for him for stepping back. I know none of you would.

Pretty please... 🥺

Won't you put my mind at ease, please?

And someone to braid my hair. And to bruise my thighs. Please...?

And someone to braid my hair. And to bruise my thighs. Please...?

Fun fact: I've only ever reported a man to the police once in my life, and I ended up falling for him after that. What does that say about me?

And someone to beat me to a pulp ❤

With a lil bonus at the end.

Correct me if I'm wrong, though!