Can a woman rape a man? (NC-17)

 

“Do you admit it?  Want me to stop?” Katie stared down at me, arching one eyebrow.

“No,” I gasped.

“No, you don’t want me to stop?” she asked, giggling.  “OK then,” and with that she pulsed her legs again—her legs that were wrapped around mine in a grapevine.

“Aaaahhh!” I screamed.  It felt like my legs were being ripped from hips.

“Just say it, honey, and we can stop this,” Katie said. 

I tried not to look up at her.  Her brown hair hung down at me, framing her cute face.  I tried—continued to try—to pull away, to escape from her grasp, but to my ongoing humiliation, I couldn’t twist my arms out of the grip of her hands.  She had my arms pinned to the ground above my head.  Her broad hips were planted on my own pelvis, anchoring me to the carpet, and her legs were entwining my own.  With each passing moment my muscles grew more tired, and her advantage over me increased.

From the sofa, Liz, my wife, asked again, “Can you really not get up?  This is embarrassing.”  Her voice was icy with impatience and contempt.

If it was embarrassing for her, it seemed to be the peak of humiliation for me.  And yet it was just beginning.

“Just admit it, Matt,” said Katie, “and I’ll let you up.  We can stop here.  Otherwise, I’m going to do it.”

Realizing that maybe, just maybe, she really could do it, I renewed my struggles, redoubling my efforts.  But Katie, amazingly, held me securely to the floor.

Katie, with her flabby triceps.  Her dangling, maternal breasts.  Her widening hips.  She was a cute woman, not an amazon, not an athlete of any sort.  Just a thirty-something woman, average-sized, with big brown eyes and chestnut hair and a smattering of freckles. 

It had started an hour earlier.  Katie was my wife’s best friend.  The two of them loved to discuss books.  I knew it would be a bad idea, but this afternoon I had joined them in their discussion.  The book in question had a violent rape scene, and somehow in our discussion I had corrected Katie when she said that people have always raped people. 

“You mean, men have always raped women,” I interjected.  “We need to be precise.”

“No,” Katie replied, “I mean people raping people.  Men rape men, too, and women can rape women.  And women can rape men.”

“Oh, please,” I snorted.  I didn’t have any patience for Katie’s feminism.  “Women can’t rape men.”

“Of course they can.  Not in exactly the same way that a man can rape a woman, not in the sense of insemination, but---“

“Not in any sense,” I cut her off.

“Good grief,” said Liz, rolling her eyes, hating it when Katie and I got into an argument.  “I’m going to the bathroom.”

Katie and I ignored her departure.

“Actually,” Katie continued, “there are three ways a woman can rape a man.  She can sodomize him with an object, or perhaps another body part…finger, fist.”

I cackled derisively, but Katie forged ahead.

“Second, she can force him to ejaculate against his will,” Katie said, counting now on her fingers.

“What man doesn’t want to ejaculate?” I quipped. 

She ignored me.  “Or, third, she can force him to ejaculate inside her.  Stealing his seed, as it were.”

“You are so full of shit,” I said.

Katie shrugged.  “Just because you don’t accept it doesn’t mean it’s not true.  A woman can rape a man.  I could rape you.”

My mouth opened to reply, but I stopped short, processing her last statement. 

“Ok, ok, ok,” I began again.  “It’s one thing to say that some random woman somewhere could rape some guy.  But YOU could not rape ME.  That’s the dumbest thing I ever heard.”

“That sounds like a challenge.”

“What’s the dumbest thing you ever heard?  What sounds like a challenge?”  Liz asked as she walked back into the room.

Katie turned to her.  “May I rape your husband?” she asked. 

Liz stared, confused.

“No, you may not rape me,” I blurted.  “You CANnot rape me.  You’re smaller than I am, weaker, and you’re a fucking WOMAN!”

“Matt and I have a disagreement,” Katie tried to explain to Liz.  “And I would like to demonstrate to him that it’s possible for a woman to rape a man.”

“I don’t think he would let you,” Liz said, uncertainly.

“Well,” said Katie, “that’s part of the point.  If he allows me to rape him, then it’s not really rape.  It has to be against his will.  I am asking you for permission, since he’s your husband and you’re my friend.”

“This is all preposterous,” I shouted.  “It doesn’t matter if you have anyone’s permission or not.  You can’t physically do it.  You’re too small!  You’re a woman, for christsake!  Look at me!  I’m a man!”

Liz shook her head.  “You two do whatever you want.  Just don’t break my furniture.”  She rose and walked out of the room.

“Ok, big boy,” Katie grinned, kicking off her shoes.  “You better try to defend yourself.”  She walked toward me. 

I stood up, dumbfounded that this was actually happening.  We locked hands awkwardly.  She tried to push me down to the floor.  I easily overpowered her.  In a few seconds she was on her back and I was straddling her, holding her wrists to the carpet above her head.

“See?” I asked, sympathy and condescension in my voice.

Katie didn’t reply.  She bucked and twisted and gritted her teeth.  I felt as though I was sitting atop a bobcat.  Her body was amazingly limber and flexible.  Somehow she slipped her wrists free from my grasp and bent herself in two, then snaked her legs around and scissored her thick thighs around my stomach.

Now it was slightly more even.  I was able to recapture her arms, only to have her wrench them free again.  This pattern repeated itself several times: I would subdue her, then she would escape.  Her legs, however, became ever tighter around my abdomen. 

Then it happened…I went on the defense.  Rather than trying to control her, I realized that I was trying to free myself from HER grip.  I pulled at her feet, trying to unhook her ankles.  Her red toenails seemed to mock me as I clawed at her ankles.  Now it was she who seized my wrists, pulling them away from her feet.  I easily twisted my wrists from her grasp, only to have her grab them again.  This pattern repeated itself several times, until…

I lay still, not trying to break free from her grip, just trying to get a deep breath.  During our struggle Katie had been squeezing me methodically, and now I was gasping for air. 

“I’ll tell you what,” she said.  “If admit that I’m right, and if you kiss my feet now, I won’t rape you.  We can stop now.”

“Fuck you,” I snapped.  I renewed my struggle but couldn’t break free from her legs. 

“It’s the other way around,” said Katie.

We lay on the floor for an interminable amount of time, me occasionally try to break free, while she squeezed the life out of me.  At some point she releazed me from her scissors.

I rolled away from her, wheezing and gasping for breath.  She pushed me to my stomach and straddled my lower back, all her weight pressing down on me.  Katie twisted my right arm into a hammerlock, and I barely resisted.

“You know,” she said, “I wasn’t actually sure if I could rape you.  I was just mad.  But now,” she paused, then giggled, girlishly.  “Now I realize that I really can!  I’ll give you another chance, though.  Do you want to admit that I can rape you?  Or do I have to prove it?”

I didn’t answer.

Katie shifted herself so that her feet rested on the floor on either side of my face.  She was still perched on my lumbar.  “Kiss my feet,” she said.  

I didn’t reply.  Katie grabbed my hair and forced my head down onto her right foot.  She wiggled her toes as she rubbed my face back and forth.  I tried in vain to escape but she kept rubbing my face on her foot.

“Not going to kiss it, huh?” she laughed.  “Ok.”

Katie got off me, then rolled me to my back.  Before I could recover and fight back she lay down on top of me and wrapped her fleshy thighs around mine, hooking her slim feet inside my calves.  I couldn’t fight her off when she grabbed my arms and pinned them to the ground.

At this point Liz came back.  “Holy shit,” she said, seeing Katie holding me prisonor.  “Did you let her do that to you?”

“Nope,” Katie answered for me.  “He’s been struggling the whole time.”

Liz watched for a while in disbelief as Katie taunted me and asked me if I conceded.

But I couldn’t concede.  My manhood wouldn’t let me do it.  Even with Liz watching…or maybe especially because my wife was watching…I couldn’t submit to a woman.  Yet I knew that I couldn’t escape.

Finally Katie stopped asking me.  She looked up at Liz.  “OK, I’m asking you again.  As your friend.  May I rape your husband?  To prove this point?”

Liz was disgusted.  “If he can’t outwrestle you, he deserves to be raped,” she sneered.  She rose and stomped out of the room.

Katie looked down at me.  “What should I do first?  Sodomy?  Forced ejaculation?  Or do you want me to ride you to cum inside me?”

I couldn’t answer.  I turned my head and looked away.  Tears began streaming down my cheekbones.  Katie tensed her muscles again and I whimpered, my legs throbbing.  Knowing it wouldn’t do any good, I pushed and pulled with my arms, but her hands held my wrists tight. 

Katie bent down and licked the side of my face, then bit my cheek, hard, right below my eye.  I cried in earnest now.  “This is going to be fun,” she whispered.