By the morning, Alyssa was ruined. Her body was a sticky mess, and her mind was tangled, confused, and despairing.
She had fucked eleven men, and one women, and some of them had used her several times. Most of them had cum in her pussy, with the girl, Twyla, licking her cunt clean between loads. Several had cum in her mouth or anus. Two of them had ejaculated into a dog bowl, and they had all laughed as they made Alyssa lick up their sperm from the bowl on all fours like an animal.
Many of them had fucked Twyla, too. They had made Alyssa lick the girl’s pussy clean once, but after that they had had Twyla clean herself off using Alyssa’s clothes, and it was clear Alyssa would be expected to wear the cum-soaked dress home again when she left.
Each person she fucked allowed Alyssa to remove two of her rules—but each of the men had first offered to fuck her pussy with a cattle prod, and each time Alyssa had said “no”, she’d been forced to make another rule, and after each four such denials she was required to make a rule permanent. After the sixth such rejection, she had actually said “yes” to the cattle prod, hoping to simply submit and not make it worse on herself. But Harry turned out to actually have such a cattle prod, and when he discharged it into her pussy Alyssa had screamed in agony—even as she simultaneously found herself experiencing an embarrassing orgasm—and then Harry had had one of his friends kept asking her if she wanted more until she said “no”, thus triggering the creation of a new rule.
It was after the cattle prod incident that Harry had come up with his cruellest twist. “Hey cunt,” he had whispered into her ear. “You should make it a rule that you can’t consent to sex, but that you always cum from rape, and you thank your rapist afterwards.”
Alyssa pulled away in disgust. “No!” she protested. “And anyway, I can’t. My rules have to make it more likely that people will fuck me.”
“This will absolutely make you more fuckable,” said Harry. “Once people know that your mouth says “no”, but your body says “yes”, and that you’ll thank them afterwards, they’ll stop caring whether you consent to being fucked. You’ll get raped much more often.”
Alyssa was horrified. “But if I don’t consent, I’ll have to make up a new rule…” she said.
“And you’ll lose two rules when they rape you,” said Harry. “It’s a net win. And—well, the idea’s in your head now, isn’t it?”
It was. And when the next man offered to shock her pussy with the cattle prod, Alyssa found herself sobbing as she said “no”, because she knew that afterwards she would be unable to ever say “yes”. The rule settled into her brain, ironclad, and after that she began to protest and struggle as the men used her—even as her pussy spasmed with orgasm after orgasm, and she thanked her rapists with gushing and unfeigned affection after every abuse.
When the last man was spent, Harry called up a few of his friends, as he had promised, to further proposition Alyssa, just to make sure she still had plenty of rules to follow.
All of Alyssa’s degradation was caught on film. Harry promised her he was absolutely going to release it to the public—but only after her film “The Rape Liar” had debuted. It would be worth more money then. (And she, of course, would see none of the profits.)
In the morning, Harry made her write out her rules. She was no longer required to by her hypnosis—that was one of the rules she had lost in the night—but by now she knew that she would do what Harry told her to, or she would be punished, and then still end up doing what he wanted.
There had been many changes during the night.
- Every four times I reject a man, I make a rule permanent. (Permanent!)
- I can’t consent to sex, but I’m always wet for rape, I cum from it, and I thank my rapist. (Permanent.)
- Whenever I think about how not to be raped, I take off a piece of clothing and leave it behind. Or if I’m naked, I stuff something in my pussy or ass. (Permanent.)
- I don’t like it when men call me by my name. I prefer to be called degrading names. (Permanent.)
- When men discipline me, I accept that I deserved it, and am grateful.
- I tell every man I meet that I cum from being raped.
- I can’t protect or cover any part of my body with my hands.
- I like to make out with pretty girls while men watch.
- I dress like a slutty teenager.
- When a man shows interest in me, I ask if he’d like to squeeze my tits.
- When I’m with a man and don’t know if his cock is hard, I feel anxious and insecure.
- I believe that all men are smarter than me.
- I treat abuse as affection.
- I have to be honest about my rules with anyone who asks.
Four more rejections until my next permanent rule!
I deserve these rules because they are all things that my own mind made up for me to do, and no one is doing this to me—I’m doing it to myself.
When she was done writing the rules, Harry looked at her, sizing her up, and then slapped her across the face three times, hard.
Alyssa wanted to cry with frustration at the confusion caused by the multiple mental triggers the slaps caused. They were painful, and degrading, and she wanted to flinch away. She wanted to cover her face to protect herself—but her hands refused to move, pursuant to her new inability to protect or cover herself.
At the same time, she knew that she deserved this punishment—even if she didn’t know exactly why, and she heard herself say, “Thank you, daddy.” (She was no longer compelled by a rule to call Harry “daddy”—she had deleted that after her final rape of the night—but there was no sense in not behaving the way he wanted her to.)
And worst of all was the flood of sudden love she felt for Harry. Her rules told her that abuse was affection—and she felt suddenly, pathetically grateful for the love he was showing her by slapping her face. At some level she knew it wasn’t real, that it was a hypnotic compulsion, that it was perverted and backwards—and yet she couldn’t stop the oxytocin and endorphins of real love from flowing through her system, and couldn’t stop herself from gazing up at Harry with adoring eyes.
“I’m bored of you, cunt,” said Harry. “Get dressed and get out. I’ll call you when I want to rape you again.”
She was only too happy to leave.
She regarded the clothes she had worn to Harry’s house—a long, tight sheath dress, underwear, and high heels. It was a sexy look—arguably a slutty one, particularly as her dress was now soaked in cum—but it was an adult look. And her rules now made her dress like a slutty teenager.
She did the best she could. She left her underwear behind, and then ripped the bottom off her dress, so it now only just came down to below her cunt. She pulled it on over her head, wincing at the sticky wetness of it. Then she put her hair up in pigtails, and checked herself in a mirror.
Yes, it would do. She was dressed like an insecure woman trying desperately to look like a teenager. It met her requirements.
She went to use her phone to call a ride-share to get her home—but took a moment to amend her details in the app. She changed her name to “Cunt” in her profile. After all, she would rather be called a cunt than called her own name.
When the ride-share car turned up, she left Harry’s house.
The driver of the car was a young and rather handsome Indian man. Her app told her his name was Ashwin. He watched her as she walked down the driveway.
She realised that he would have seen her name as “Cunt” in the app. She realised that he was seeing her now—dressed like a ridiculous teenaged whore. She realised when she got in the car she was going to tell him she orgasmed from rape.
Her step faltered. She was going to get raped. Again. She had to stop this madness. She had to…
She still couldn’t think of way to avoid rape, and as soon as she did, her rule triggered. She grabbed the hem of her dress and pulled it up over her head, dropping it on the driveway, leaving herself completely naked. Ashwin’s eyes widened as he watched.
She got into the passenger seat of the car, and gave the driver the address. It wasn’t her home. She had somewhere more urgent to go.
The driver was just staring at her.
She blushed. “Would you like to squeeze my tits?” she heard herself ask.
“Absolutely,” said Ashwin, eagerly, and reached out and began groping and squeezing Alyssa’s breasts. She gasped, both with humiliation, and with pleasure. It did feel good.
“Is your name really ‘Cunt’?” Ashwin asked as he played with her tits.
“Not really,” said Alyssa, “but it’s more appropriate than my real name. You should just call me ‘Cunt’.”
“Do you… do you want to go somewhere and have sex, cunt?” asked Ashwin.
“No,” said Alyssa. She actually wanted to say yes—she wanted to lose more rules, and Ashwin was handsome enough—but she could no longer consent to sex. “Please don’t fuck me,” she added—and then, after a pause, “But you know, when men rape me, I’m always wet, and I always cum, and I never tell anyone.”
As Ashwin struggled to process the mixed signals she was giving him, her hands reached out to stroke his cock through his pants, to check that he was aroused by her. (He was.) And at the same time, her mind came up with a new rule to punish her for rejecting sex.
She could still taste cum in her mouth from the night before. It tasted good. She decided she would be addicted to the taste of cum now. She would crave it.
Her eyes fixed on Ashwin’s groin. She wanted to give him a blowjob right here. She wanted to suck his cock until he filled her mouth with tasty sperm. But she couldn’t consent to sex.
Ashwin took his hands from her tits and started the car. He began to drive, and Alyssa kept massaging his cock through his pants as the car moved.
After a while, she realised something was wrong.
“We’re going in the wrong direction,” she said.
“No, we’re not, cunt,” said Ashwin.
Her mind went fuzzy. She knew this wasn’t the right way—but Ashwin said it was. And men were smarter than her. He must be right. She must be wrong. She fell silent, and said nothing further.
They arrived at a house—not the house that Alyssa had wanted to go to—and Ashwin said, “Get out and go into the house, cunt.”
She looked at him nervously. “This isn’t my destination.”
“I thought you said you liked being raped, cunt,” said Ashwin.
For a moment, Alyssa thought about getting out of the car and running, as fast and far as she could—and when she did, she found herself kicking off her high heels instead, leaving them in the footwell of the car. Then she did as she was told, exiting the car and walking to the front door of the house, with Ashwin behind her.
Inside the house were two more Indian men.
“Hey, Ashwin,” said one, as he saw Alyssa. “Who’s this nude slut?”
“Fuck,” said another. “Isn’t she—isn’t she the actress from those films?”
“You know I don’t watch movies,” said Ashwin. “Hollywood rubbish. She says her name is ‘Cunt’, and she says she wants us to rape her.” He looked at her, and said, “These are my brothers.”
Alyssa blushed. “Would you like to squeeze my tits?” she said to Ashwin’s brothers.
The younger of the two came up and began to grope her breasts. “Can we really fuck you?” he asked.
“No,” she said. “I absolutely don’t consent to sex. You’d have to be rough with me and force me. But I’m always wet for rape, and I cum from being raped, and I never tell anyone.”
There was laughter from all three men at this. Alyssa made herself a new rule, as a punishment for not consenting—that once a day she would find one of her fans online, and text him a nude photo of her along with an invitation to rape her.
“Is this for real?” the man squeezing her tits asked.
“Yes,” said Alyssa, quietly.
There was more laughter—and then the man took his hands off her tits and slapped her across the face.
Alyssa staggered back and fell to her knees—and the man already had his cock out, pushing it towards her lips. Alyssa opened her mouth and admitted it, and was rewarded with the taste of his pre-cum on her tongue. She wasn’t allowed to consent to being facefucked—but thankfully the man grabbed her hair and began to forcefully rape her mouth.
Alyssa felt her heart fill with love for this man, even though she didn’t know his name. Her rules told her there was nothing more romantic than being slapped across the face and having her mouth raped. She tried to use her tongue to express her gratitude to the man for using her mouth as his cum-toilet.
Ashwin stepped behind her, pulled her ass upwards, spat on her anus, and then began to work his stiff cock into her asshole. Alyssa moaned with pain and fear and shame—which soon became a moan of affection and love for the romantic abuse that Ashwin was showing her.
The third man moved to her side, and grabbed one of her tits by the nipple, pulling it sideways to rest against his erect, exposed cock. He began to masturbate his cock against the soft flesh of her tit, and he did it with such force that each of his upward strokes effectively punched Alyssa in the tit. This, too, felt like love to Alyssa’s hypnosis-muddled brain, and she wondered if any woman had ever been shown so much love by three men at once.
She hadn’t consented to this third man using her sexually—but nor had she said no. And with a cock in her mouth, she could hardly say anything one way or the other. Did it count for her rules?
She decided that the important thing was the intention. She tried to say “please don’t rape me” around her mouthful of cock. It was completely incoherent, of course, but it was enough to trigger her brain to create another rule.
She would understand that she was worthless if a man wasn’t using her as a sex object.
She moaned with humiliation at this new rule—but also with pleasure, because she immediately understood that, right now, she was doing exactly what she was supposed to do in life, and the only thing she was actually good for. She was helping men to cum.