It had been her darkest and purest fantasy for years. Night after night, she would hop on Reddit to scroll through Rapekink, touching herself to the stories of use and abuse. She had never been abused herself, but those stories had reached into the core of her being and made her wetter than anything she had ever experienced before. It was a terrifying thought to try something like that, to go rape-baiting, entice a man or men to ignore her words and just want her so bad that they take her. The thought was intoxicating.

That’s how she finally did it, actually. A fair amount of liquid courage, enough to dull her mind and obliterate her common sense. To make her reckless enough to throw on a cheap dress that barely covered her and left nothing to the imagination. No panties, no bra, just the dress and fuck me heels that made her look like a street walker. She smiled drunkenly to herself in the mirror as she headed out, all the fantasies of what she had read making her soaked as she stepped outside.

She had decided to hit a couple bars, but she never made it past the park. Some young punks, bored on a weekend, saw a cheap whore strutting around and decided to release some tension. She didn’t have to bait them at all, they just jumped her, tossed her to the ground, and laughed at how sopping wet she was. She was terrified but came as soon as one of the men thrust himself into her. Her back hurt as they took turns raping her, slapping her, choking her, scratched raw on the rough ground. But she kept cumming, until they got bored. Then they hurt her, hit her, and shoved the beer bottles they had been drinking inside her. They took her ass without lube and when she screamed, they slammed her head against the dirt until the world spun wildly. And then, done, they pissed on her battered body, laughing as they ran off into the night.

The next thing she remembered was the smell. Not of piss, but worse, as some strange homeless man fucked her, thrusting into her sore and aching body. He never said a word, just pumped in her, and this time when she came, she felt no joy. Just shame. He came not long after, leaving her too weak to move, more white dripping out of her.

Another group found her later. She never remembered what they did, except for the very start. She tried to scream and got kicked for that. Then black. She didn’t know what they did to her, but would later, the words they had written on her, that their fists were forced into her holes. When they were done, they left her on a bench, displayed like the common street whore they assumed she was. Her clothes were gone, blown away by the wind. Her heels were stolen for one of the men’s girlfriends, her purse and its contents long gone. Just her, bruised, bloodied, and used. Limp on a bench, leaking and concussed. Taught the difference between fantasy and reality.

Another homeless man found her, stroked his cock to her naked body, and came on her unconscious face. He covered her body with newspapers, to make her decent, and left. The cops would find her in the morning and take her to the hospital, where she would find out the multiple gifts she had gotten that night in addition to the injuries. Her life forever changed, she would never masturbate to those fantasies again. Only to reality, and her memories.