It had been a fantasy for years, gnawing at her, tearing through her dreams again and again. She couldn’t help herself some days, masturbating furiously as she read rape stories on Reddit. Tales, again and again, about women rape baiting and getting what they secretly wanted, needed. It touched her deeply in a dark part of herself she told no one about. A dark part of herself, created by her first boyfriend who had often taken liberties with her. She hated that she felt this way sometimes, but it was there, and nothing made her wetter than those thoughts. Every sexual experience compared to her fantasies was just vanilla and disappointing. Even BDSM was too structured for her taste. She longed for what was in those stories.

It had built up in her during the crisis, contained mostly to her apartment for months. Boredom led to frustration, as she burned through story after story, experience after experience. When the order was listed, when bars were opened once again, she finally decided to try. The fantasy was no longer enough. She needed to taste and feel the violations she craved so much.

So, she found herself dressing in a low-cut dress that showed off her ample cleavage. She briefly thought about pairing a thong with it but decided against it. Just a red dress, high heels, and her clutch tonight. If her nipples got hard in the thin fabric, she wanted them to see. If they groped her ass or slid a hand up her dress, she wanted them to know. She touched herself, already wet with excitement, smelling her wetness, and dabbed the slickness with her finger behind each ear. She felt dirtier than she had ever before, but her heart was pumping, ready.

She went to the seediest bar she knew, looking very out of place in her red dress. A bleeding fish in a room full of sharks. Most watched her but did nothing at first. When she asked for some whiskey from the bartender, he asked if she really wanted to be there. She ignored him, drank the shot, and ordered another. A few men tried to hit on her, but they weren’t the kind of trouble she was looking for. She flirted with a few more and even danced with a couple in the corner as some others played pool, watching her. She slurred her words purposefully, playing the part of the victim, ignoring their gropes mostly, or playing swatting away their hands. It was wild, but it was clear the men were getting frustrated and bored being teased.

She pleaded that she had to use the bathroom, that she would be back soon, heading into it as she blew them a kiss. She smiled in the mirror, almost trembling, as she fixed her makeup. She heard the door open, a bit surprised but not really, as one of the guys who had been playing pool and had been watching her entered. She told him that he shouldn’t be in there, but he just kept walking toward her. His not talking made her nervous, so she backed up a bit, when he grabbed her arm and pulled her close.

“I know a fucking whore when I see one,” he said, grabbing her hair and shoving her against the sink. She screamed once and he just slammed her head down. Everything spun, white porcelain out of focus, as flecks of red dripped onto it. He pressed her against it, tore her dress, and just shoved inside her. She grunted, despite it all, letting loose a moan. Then he laid into her, ramming her, fucking her like the whore he had called her. He wasn’t gentle, pawing and clawing at her skin as he fucked her. Every time she got too loud, he’d slam her head down again, until she could barely focus on anything. He came deep in her, pulling out and wiping himself on her dress. She slid down to the floor, limp, her nose hurting, tasting copper in her mouth.