Alyssa didn’t even remember how she got home. Kieran must have had his chauffeur drive her. All things considered, she could have been at the mercy of a much less kind and respectful couple, she supposed.
She could still remember the feel of Melina’s tongue on her clitoris, her nipples brushing against her stomach. Her mouth was still full of the taste of Melina’s cunt-honey. She shuddered, both with self-loathing, and remembered arousal.
At first she didn’t know what had woken her, but then she heard the knocking at the front door again. She didn’t know who it was. Had she ordered pizza so that she could fuck the delivery boy again? She didn’t remember doing that.
She took quick stock of her rules:
- Draw attention to my tits.
- Become aroused at the idea of being raped.
- Tell each man I meet that I enjoy a sexual activity. Don’t use the same one twice.
- Play with men’s cocks when I’m near them.
Not ideal, but the shortest that her list had been in quite some time. An improvement.
She had slept nude. She cast about for some clothes, but couldn’t immediately find any clean ones, so she settled for the soft, expensive bathrobe hanging over her bedroom mirror. She drew it tight around her body, belted at the waist to cover her nudity, and made her way to the front door.
She got a shock when she opened it. It was Harry, her ex-boyfriend, the one she’d dumped back when she was scared of physical intimacy. Back then, the mere idea of having sex had left her afraid—but more than that, Harry himself had scared her. His intense interest in her tits and the hole between her legs had seemed cruel—almost predatory.
In fact, from the moment she opened the door, his eyes locked not on her face, but on her chest. She felt herself blushing immediately.
“Harry!” she exclaimed. “What on Earth are you doing here?”
“Alyssa, sweetie,” Harry said in a sleazy, sugary drawl. “Have you forgotten already?”
She clearly had. “Forgotten what?” she asked.
But even as she asked, her hand unconsciously drifted across the front of her bathrobe, parting it slightly down the middle, exposing the milky upper slopes of her tits and her copious cleavage to Harry’s gaze.
“Well, first I see you on the front cover of Celebrity Slut, with some guy’s sperm all over your face,” said Harry. “And here I remember you telling me that you just weren’t into sex, that you weren’t sure that you ever wanted to have sex with a man.”
Alyssa blushed. “Things change, Harry,” she said, and then added, because of her hypnosis, “I really like having men cum on my face now.”
“You don’t say?” said Harry. Without being invited, he stepped forward, into the house, pushing past her. “Nice place you’ve got here,” he said, looking around.
“Thank you,” said Alyssa reflexively. “But why are you here, Harry?”
Harry ignored her. He walked into her lounge room, went to her alcohol cabinet, and poured himself a drink of whiskey.
“Harry!” said Alyssa, a little sharper now. She wanted to pull the front of her robe closed, but instead her hands just kept playing with her tits, stroking them, jiggling them, trying to get Harry to look at them.
Harry took his whiskey to the couch and sat down. He patted the space beside him, indicating that Alyssa should sit, and she did, nervously. She didn’t want to at all—but another part of her hypnosis was poking at her now, a rule that she needed to follow. She was near a man—so she needed to play with his cock.
She sat next to Harry, leaned in, her tits brushing against his arm, and began to massage his dick through his pants.
Harry’s eyes widened. “Holy shit, Alyssa! You really are a slut now!” he exclaimed.
She blushed—but didn’t stop playing with her tits or with Harry’s dick. “No, I’m not,” she said. “It’s… complicated.”
“I can see that,” said Harry, staring down the front of her robe. “And then there’s this text exchange we had the other night.”
“Text exchange?” asked Alyssa, still rubbing Harry’s cock, which was now quite hard. The last few days felt blurry to her, as her mind tried to help her forget her degradation, and she couldn’t remember what he was referring to.
“I sent you a message that said, ‘Saw you in the magazine. Want to hook up and show me your new skills?’” said Harry. He waved his phone at her as proof. “And you replied, ‘Thank you for wanting to fuck me in the mouth. I guess I invited this by being such a cocktease to you and such a slut to the guy who photographed me—but I have to turn you down right now, sorry.’”
Alarm bloomed in Alyssa’s brain. She remembered the exchange now—and she remembered what she had said next.
“And then,” continued Harry, “you sent me another message, which read, ‘It’s okay to rape me though.’”
She felt herself go pale. She had told this man—a man she didn’t like at all—that he had permission to rape her. She had put it in writing. And she was massaging his cock right now and showing off her tits to him, and she couldn’t stop.
“No, no, please,” she said, desperately. “I didn’t mean it. Harry, you can’t.” She felt her nipples stiffening and her cunt becoming distractingly wet, as the realisation that she might be about to be raped began to hypnotically trigger her arousal.
“Your mouth is saying one thing, Alyssa,” said Harry, “but your hand is saying something else.” He reached down and undid his fly, and then pulled his stiff cock out of his pants. Alyssa’s hand went to it as if drawn by magnets, and began pumping him in a slow, erotic handjob.
“No, you don’t understand,” she whimpered. “Please, Harry, I don’t really want you to rape me.”
“Yes, that’s the right kind of thing to say for a really hot rape roleplay,” said Harry. “I can tell you’re really into this. If you really didn’t want me to fuck you, it feels like you wouldn’t be pumping my cock with your hand like that.”
“Please…” she whispered desperately, her spare hand lifting up her tits so he could see them better.
“I’ll tell you what, Alyssa,” said Harry. “If you tell me what’s going on here, I’ll leave you alone.”
A new rule had clicked into place in Alyssa’s mind. She had turned Harry down, and so she needed a new rule to make her more available.
She would never lie to a man, directly or by omission, to spare herself humiliation or abuse, she decided.
“It’s hypnosis,” she said, feeling her hand starting to become lubricated with Harry’s pre-cum. “I got it for my new movie. It was supposed to help me look like less of an ice queen, but it’s going too far, Harry. It’s really fucking with my life. Every time I turn down a man, I make myself a humiliating new rule. I can’t help myself.”
“Really?” said Harry, and his eyes were lit up with a cruel light that made Alyssa’s cunt get even wetter.
“Yes,” said Alyssa, searching his face for a hint of mercy. She found none.
“What kind of rules?” he asked her.
“I have to draw attention to my tits,” said Alyssa. “I have to stroke the cock of any man I’m near. I can’t lie to spare myself humiliation. I have to tell men about a sex activity I like. And… “—she swallowed nervously—“I get wet when I think I’m going to be raped.”
Harry reached out and pushed her back, hard, against the couch. He forced her legs apart with his hands, and then reached between her legs to her pussy. Alyssa tried to struggle, but she couldn’t take her hand off his cock or stop playing with her tits, so it was hard, and Harry overpowered her quickly. She felt his fingers probe into her twat, and come away covered in her slut-goo.
“Do you think you’re about to be raped, Alyssa?” said Harry.
“Yes,” said Alyssa, quietly.
Harry smiled. “You are—but not just yet.” He got out his phone, and dialled a number. “Hey, Paul,” he said, when the person on the other end picked up. “I’ve got a slut here with me. Do me a favour and ask her if you can fuck her, will you?”
Harry pushed the phone against Alyssa’s ear, and said quietly, “If you say yes, he will.”
A rough voice spoke down the phone. “Hello, sweetie,” it said. “How do you fancy meeting up so I can fuck you?”
Alyssa moaned. “No,” she said. “Please no.”
Her brain clicked. A new rule formed.
Harry hung up the phone. “What’s your new rule, Alyssa?” he asked her.
“I need to buy myself a dog collar to wear all the time, with a name tag that says ‘RAPE ME’,” moaned Alyssa.
“Good girl,” said Harry. He dialled another number on his phone. “Oi, Steve. I’ve got a bitch here with me, she’s very hot. Ask her if you can fuck her.” He put the phone to Alyssa’s ear.
“All right,” said a voice. “Hey, honey, can I fuck you?”
“Noo!” wailed Alyssa. A new rule formed.
Harry hung up. “Well?” he asked.
“If someone looks at my tits or cunt when they’re covered, I have to ask them if they’d like to see it, and expose myself if they say yes,” she said.
Harry stared pointedly at her tits.
“Would you…” she began.
“Yes,” said Harry immediately.
Blushing, Alyssa shrugged her bathrobe off her shoulders to expose her breasts to his gaze.
“Please stop,” she said. “These rules are destroying my life. You can fuck me, just… stop ringing your friends.”
“Oh, I don’t just want to fuck you, honey,” said Harry. “I heard the guy who sold that photo of you to Celebrity Slut made a small fortune. Imagine what I could get with a porn film of you.”
“No!” protested Alyssa.
“Yes,” said Harry. He got out his phone and pointed it at Alyssa. “What I want you to do is beg me to rape you, and beg me to film it. And make it convincing. Understand?”
“No!” she wailed. “Harry, no!”
He dialled another number on his phone. A minute later, Alyssa had rejected another man, and formed another rule. She began to wonder if she was better off just saying yes to these anonymous men.
“What’s the rule?” Harry asked her.
“When I’m talking to a man, I need to regularly ask him questions that help him visualise fucking and degrading me,” she sobbed. “Harry, do you think you’d enjoy raping me more in my mouth, my ass, or my cunt?”
“Oh, definitely your cunt, sugar,” said Harry, laughing. “Now, is there something else you’d like to ask me?”
She wept, tears running down her face, for a long minute, until Harry raised his phone to begin dialling again. Then she looked up, and said, quickly, “Please rape me, Harry. I want you to rape me. I’m so wet. I need you to rape me. And you should film it. Film me being raped. Please.”
“About fucking time,” said Harry, and put a hand on her throat, and forced her back down onto the couch.
Alyssa struggled, because she didn’t want this, and there was nothing to stop her struggling, but she was still trying to tease Harry’s cock and offer up her tits, and it only took moments to find herself pinned on her back, Harry’s hand on her neck, her legs spread, and his cock forcing its way into her fuckhole.
She was so terrified of this rape that her hypnosis made her cum on Harry’s first thrust into her pussy, and when he slapped her across the face and she realised that he was going to make this painful for her, she orgasmed again.
He did everything he could to make the rape awful for her. He forced her mouth open and spat in it, then slapped her across the face again. He pinched her nipples and pulled on them, slapped at her tits, reached between her legs to pinch her clitoris, and called her a dirty slut and a nasty little rape-hole. He flipped her over for a while and jammed his cock into her anus, not because he particularly wanted to fuck her ass, but just because she didn’t want him to. And after he turned her back over to finish by cumming in her cunt—completely unprotected, of course—he finished the ordeal by scooping his cum out of her violated twat and smearing it across her face and tits.
With each degradation, Alyssa orgasmed, harder and harder, even as she screamed and cried. She bucked her hips against him, eager for more stimulation to her pussy, even as she swore at him and begged him to stop.
And through it all, his phone sat on the coffee table, filming her degradation.
When he was done, he whispered in her ear, “Look at the phone, tell them who you are, thank your audience for watching, and tell them you hope it made them cum.”
She sat up, blearily, the cum on her face masking the tears running down her cheeks. She looked at the phone and did her best to smile.
“Hi, everybody!” she said. “I’m Alyssa! You’ve seen me in movies. Thank you for watching me get raped! I hope you enjoyed it and that it made you cum!” And she blew a kiss to the phone.
“Good bitch,” said Harry, and shut off the phone.
She looked up at him. “What happens now?” she asked.
“Now I go and see how much this little home movie is worth,” said Harry. “You can look forward to seeing it on the internet. And if it goes well, maybe I come back and we explore your new career as a porn actress.”
“Please, no,” whispered Alyssa, but Harry ignored her.
“Thanks for the fuck, babe,” he said. “Enjoy your new rules, and I’ll see you soon.”
And he departed, leaving her lying nude and covered in his cum on the couch.
She tried to look at the bright side. She had fucked a man. She got to delete some rules. But which ones?
The one about lying had to go. She couldn’t tell more people about her condition, or else they could control her as Harry just had. She concentrated, and felt the compulsion vanish.
And what would the second one be? Surely either playing with men’s cocks, or asking them questions to help them visualise fucking her. Playing with their cocks, she decided. That would almost inevitably lead to sex—or rape—every time she did it.
She briefly considered the rule about becoming aroused from rape. But then she remembered the orgasms she had just had—more than she could count. And even as she had hated the rape, an orgasm was an orgasm. She had cum harder and more often than she ever had in her life. It had been… good. And if this went on, it seemed likely she would be raped again. She could either have that rape be a horrible, traumatic experience—or she could cum from it.
Phrased like that, it was an easy enough choice.
It was time to go see her agent, Blake, she decided.
But first, she needed to go buy herself a dog collar. And a little nametag that said “RAPE ME”...