Sally experienced her first rape at the age of 19. She was abducted from outside the fast food restaurant she worked at, dragged into a van, and taken to a dingy basement.
“Now, a lot of girls like you, after they’ve been raped, they get tattoos,” said her rapist, as he stared at her nude, bound body. “They feel it gives them back control over their bodies, after the rape took that control away. But I don’t want you to have control over your body, Sally, so we’re going to do something a little special.”
He hypnotised her, again and again, over several days. Drugged, deprived of food and sleep, Sally found herself slipping into trance against her will with greater and greater ease. And each time he whispered the same suggestions into her brain.
When he was done, he raped her, holding her down as she struggled, pumping his cock in and out of her cunt until he ejaculated. And as he did, the first of his suggestions triggered – and Sally found herself orgasming, violently and humiliatingly, from her own rape.
He let her go when he was done, and Sally went home – but she found that his second suggestion to her prevented her from reporting her rape. She told everyone she had gone away on a spontaneous holiday. And as she did, she made plans to fulfil her third hypnotic requirement – the worst one of all.
She went to a tattoo artist, and described what she wanted. She had to strip naked and pose for him, so he could get the details right, and then he went to work. The tattoo was on the upper slope of her left breast. It was painful, but the pain was nothing compared to the humiliation of what she had asked for. It was a picture of her, nude, her arms tied above her head, her legs spread, and her rapist’s cum leaking from her pussy. Her rapist had shown her a mirror after he finished with her, so that this image would be burned into her brain – and now whenever she looked down at her own breasts she would be visually reminded of her violation.
There were three further tattoos. One went on the back of her left hand, and said in clear, black, legible letters “I ORGASM FROM RAPE”. The second was on her right hand, and read “I’LL NEVER TELL”. And the last went just above her pussy, in flowing, girly script, and read “NO MEANS YES”.
She tried to hide her new tattoos by wearing gloves, but inevitably people saw them from time to time. She wasn’t allowed to wear gloves at work, for instance, and customers would notice them.
It only took her two weeks to be raped again. A customer stopped her in the alley outside work, after a late night shift. He forced her up against the wall, ripped open her shirt to expose her tits, and laughed when he saw the tattoo on her boobs. Then he pushed her to her knees and shoved his cock into her mouth. She managed to swallow most of his cum – orgasming herself when she felt him cum inside her – and only a little leaked out past her lips to drip on her boobs.
She went back to the tattoo artist, and got a new tattoo, showing her pretty mouth wrapped around a cock. This one was tiny, little more than a beauty mark – but it went on her cheek, where everyone would see it.
A week later, a friend raped her at a party, laughing at her tattoos, telling her that he knew she was saying no, but her ink said yes, and that she would never have gotten tattoos like this if she didn’t want to be pushed down and raped. He slapped her across the face when she kept protesting. So when it was over, she got a new tattoo that read “Slap me if I mouth off” across her collarbone.
As the tattoos multiplied, her rapes became more and more common, and each new rape produced a new piece of art on her body – either a lewd pornographic depiction of her violation, or a new suggestion for how to use and degrade her. Her first anal rape produced an image on her left buttock of her spreading her buttocks for use, with the text “MAKE ME CRY”. Her first gang-rape was commemorated with a full-sleeve tattoo on her left arm depicting her nude, crying, masturbating, and dripping with sperm. Her first incestuous rape resulted in the words “RAPE ME, DADDY” running around her left ankle – which her father had made her say by slapping her repeatedly before he stuck his cock into her.
And as humiliating as all this was, it was nothing compared to the final suggestion the rapist had given her. Which was that every time she saw one of her tattoos, she would vividly re-experience the rape that it commemorated. Looking down at her own tit would take her back to her first raping, and all the violation she had felt – and the orgasm it had ended with.
If she was unlucky enough to see herself in a mirror, she would lose a solid hour, as she writhed, and wept, remembering all her rapings – and furiously masturbated to orgasm after orgasm after orgasm.
In time, she realised that the orgasms were her only escape from the cycle of violation and humiliation – and once she realised this, it all became easier. Any time her new life of rape became too much for her, all she had to do was look down at her tits, and re-experience her very first raping – and lose herself in the humiliating, wonderful orgasm that it led to…
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