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Message-ID: <50810asstr$1111831802@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Carlos Malenkov <cmalenkov@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Forcible Rape  (MF MM bi mc anal rape magic)
Lines: 298
Date: Sat, 26 Mar 2005 05:10:02 -0500
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FORCIBLE RAPE
by Carlos Malenkov (writing as Kien Reti)
Word Count: 2425
Copyright (c) 2004 by Carlos Malenkov
Posting and archiving rights granted to assm. All other rights reserved.



On the way to work I stopped off in the town square to fuck the rapist.
I had been feeling tense and just a bit horny that morning, and I needed
something to take the edge off.

His asshole was still dripping come from the last Citizen who had
relieved himself, so I didn't even have to dip into the ceramic urn of
lubricating unguent. He was docile and compliant, and it wasn't necessary
to administer discipline with the electric cattle prod to get him to
spread his legs. All that time bent over like that, with his head and
wrists pinioned -- confined in the stocks -- must have thoroughly broken
his spirit. His ass was warm and slick inside, and it accommodated my
physical needs quite adequately. I felt better afterwards.

My supervisor was very understanding. "So, Johnnie boy, you had a little
therapeutic errand to attend to, did you? Hey, hey, we all need to get
our ashes hauled every once in a while, huh, kiddo? How about you stay
an extra half hour this afternoon to make up for the time you were
late. Just don't let on to Mistress Lenore that I let you off easy."

_Sacred Womanhood!_ I had no intention of saying anything at all to _her_,
not now, not ever. Not if I had any choice. She was one of those hardasses
who'd stick you into forced labor for a month just for looking cross-eyed
at her. She was also rumored to be a Conduit of Power, one of _those_
women -- the ones who ran things from behind the scenes, the ones who
could bend the Divine Mysteries to their will.

As it turned out, Mistress Lenore summoned me that very afternoon.

"Jonathan Enoch, assistant clerk."

"At your service, mistress."

"We have been monitoring your progress in the organization. Work reports
have been uniformly excellent, and you are under consideration for a
merit pay increase."

"Thank you, mistress."

There was a long pause. She was leading up to something. Something I
would probably prefer to avoid. Something that no doubt meant trouble
somewhere down the line.

"I have taken a special interest in you, Jonathan Enoch."

_Oh shit!_

She paused again. I didn't say anything.

"First, we must test your suitability for rendering certain services.
Remove your clothing. _All of it._"

I was standing there with my arms wrapped around my chest, shivering. My
shirt, pants, and underwear, and socks lay on the chair, folded neatly.

"Come here. Bend forward. Yes, over the desk. Reach behind and spread
your cheeks. Good. It will be necessary to determine the capacity
and flexibility of your rectum and lower intestine. _Relax your anal
sphincter._"

She was using the Command Voice. I couldn't have resisted even if I had
wanted to.

There was something HARD AND COLD AND SLIPPERY being inserted into me.

"_You will feel no fear. All tension will leave you._"

I sagged into a puddle on the desktop. Every muscle in my body had turned
to jelly. I didn't seem to have any conscious volition left.

"I am probing you with a measuring device. It is an adaptation of
a pre-Change proctoscope, but with certain cunning refinements. Ah, yes.
This will do."

The whatever-it-was slowly withdrew out of my body cavity. It came out
of my ass with a liquid slurp. I had just been sodomized by a metal
instrument. Of course, I couldn't feel any anger or resentment over it.
I was _grateful_, deeply moved that one of the Women of Power had seen
fit to _touch_ me.

We men have become accustomed to such things. And this wasn't the first
time that my own inner cavities had been intruded upon by a woman in
authority. Some of these women, I've heard tell, even enjoy strapping
on a dildo -- or worse -- and having their way with a man in the manner
that men used to "take" women, though that hasn't happened to me. In the
olden days, we would have considered it an invasion or even violation
of our body. Something akin to rape. But most everything is different now.



We live in a calm and well-ordered world since The Change. Everyone
knows their place in the Grand Design. Women run things, as is right
and proper. We men know our place. We serve and obey, as we must, for
we lack the Power. It's really quite a small price to pay for security
and stability -- the _comfort_ we enjoy.

Men had pretty well messed up the world with science and technology. We
had damn near succeeded in destroying the environment. It had taken a
series of catastrophic ecological disasters to wake everyone up. That,
and the paradigm-shift magic of a small group of female visionaries,
the New Enchantment Group, the ones later called the Women of Power.

They were witches, or perhaps sorceresses would be more accurate. They had
inadvertently hit upon a system of symbol manipulation that worked, and
not only worked but tore open the very fabric of reality, the structure
of the physical universe. It wasn't really magic in the classical sense,
but it was close enough that it didn't really matter.

What really _does_ matter is that women rule. Men obey. Most every woman
has enough of the Power within her to command and force her will on men.
A few women have much more of the Power. And woe to any man who offends,
or, heaven forbid, actually injures a woman. And double woe to rapists.

Rapists. A few men still get the urge to physically assault women, or
even to . . . to force sex upon them. These men somehow manage to find
victims. There are still a very few women out there either deficient
in the Power or lacking in the will to use it. But the rapists get
caught. Always. And the punishment fits the crime.



Mistress Lenore granted me a two-day leave of absence from work. "We have
something special in mind for you, Jonathan Enoch. Rest and recuperate,
and when you return, report directly to me." She favored me with a cold,
cold smile and dismissed me from her presence.

Uh-oh. I had a pretty good hunch about what she planned for me. Yeah. Even
Women of Power, exalted as they are, have certain urges and desires to
satisfy. Unspeakable desires. There are persistent rumors that they take
hapless males for personal playthings. It seemed like a pretty good bet
that Mistress Lenore had chosen me as her man-toy, her butt-slut.

There would be compensations. I had been running low on personal funds.
But, when I checked my account, the balance was over 25,000 Creds. I
checked again. No mistake, there had been an authorized transfer from
the Regional Finance Authority. For "special services," the notation
read. Apparently, my new status carried with it certain, well,
privileges. But I knew payback time was coming.



I received the summons to Mistress Lenore's chambers on the afternoon
of my return to work. I had been feeling pretty good all morning --
well-rested for the first time in months, upbeat about my finances,
optimistic now that I had a powerful protector. But, as I took the long
walk down dark echoing halls to the Executive Suite, it was as if a cold
hand had gripped my heart.

I sat on a hard bench in the anteroom and waited. _It can't be that
terrible,_ I told myself. Anticipation is always worse than the reality.
I knew better, though.

Later, much later, a steely-eyed older woman ushered me in, into Mistress
Lenore's sanctum.

I bowed, and kept my head lowered.

"Undress."

I did. It was cold in the room.

"Turn around. _Look at me._"

Mistress Lenore slowly removed her uniform, one item of clothing at a
time. She had a statuesque body, tall and well-proportioned, full-breasted
and wide-hipped. What we would have called voluptuous in the old days,
the Bad Times before The Change. I had been granted the sight of her
Naked Self. It was either a high privilege or a doom.

"Come. Come over to me. Kneel."

I did.

She didn't need to tell me what to do next. I _knew_. I was on my knees,
at the exact level to service her with my tongue. To worship her Organs
of Female Power. To pleasure her.

I did.

"On your feet. _Look at me._ Look me in the eyes. Ask me to take you.
To possess you totally and utterly."

I did.

"Look again."

I did.

It was getting warmer in the room, much warmer. The atmosphere was
thick and the ambient light seemed to melt and ripple. Something was
happening to Mistress. She was _changing_. Her body . . . her _knob_,
her clitoris . . . it was . . .  altering, growing. It was transforming
into . . . into a penis. A monstrously large penis. A penis that was
standing erect, fully erect. Mistress Lenore had a penis, a hard cock
that must have been fully a foot long, and it was _pointing directly at
me_. She smiled and beckoned.

"Assume the Submission Position. _Now!_"

My conditioning took over. Without thinking, I was on my hands and knees,
with my forehead lowered to the floor. Submission. Total submission.

Again the Command Voice. "_Release muscle tension. Relax your sphincter.
You will feel joy._"

And I did feel joy, a blanketing, all-consuming ecstasy as she entered me.
I discovered that I vastly preferred being penetrated to penetrating. In
that instant, I belonged to Mistress Lenore. Totally. I _worshipped_ her.

I realized now why she had measured my rectum's "capacity and
flexibility." She meant to stretch it to the limits of its flexibility
and fill it to capacity. With her huge cock. She was going to _fuck_ me.

I opened up and received her into myself. Mistress Lenore's swollen
member filled me and reached deep into the very heart of my being. Her
long strokes stretched me and widened me and transformed me. I became
the receptacle of her magical force.

In and out of me she plunged, like the hard-metal piston of an unfeeling
machine. She would press all the way into me, then slowly pull all the
way back, only to enter me again. Her pitiless flesh ramrod was pumping
air into my intestine, then compressing it, only to expel it again in the
vacuum created by the return stroke. The sounds it made! The gas whistling
in and out of me -- tortured winds haunting the twisted corridors of
my intestines, howling their plaintive wail, like the maddened voices
of the dead seeking escape from the coils of my bowels! She was playing
the music of Damnation on the flesh-and-blood pipe organ of my body!

Then there was the smell. The faint scent of shit -- _my_ shit hung in
the air. It was a humbling reminder that I was on the receiving end
of anal sex, that I was the one being fucked. And the distinct odor
of sperm! Was it my own sperm -- or sinister fluids streaming into
me from that gargantuan penis chewing into the depths of my tortured
backside? Mistress Lenore took a deep whiff and laughed.

The heat. Almost unbearable waves of heat. A liquid, electric fire
was roaring into my depths as Mistress groaned her pleasure and her
organ swelled and throbbed and discharged into me. My guts filled to
bursting and I could no longer contain the pressure. I screamed in an
agony of rapture.

She withdrew from me, and it left me empty and grieving. There was
a throbbing within my guts as the vast hole at my center gradually
contracted down to its natural girth. But the fire still burned within
me.

"Indeed, the flame fills you still, and now you must return it to the
source," she said.

It became clear what she meant when she bent forward over the desk and
presented her hind cheeks. I entered her from behind and my flesh joined
with her and I experienced ecstasy of a different sort. The fire flowed
back out of me and her Divine Cleft accepted it.

Finally, I understood. This was the closing of the circle, the key ritual
in the dark chain of sorcery that fueled the magic of the Women of Power.
From Woman to Man, then back again. This was the innermost secret of
the New Enchantment. It was the driving engine of the Power that had
toppled the unnatural order of things, the evil reign of Man-science
and Man-technology of the bygone era.


"You have served us well," Mistress Lenore said. She was sitting beside my
reclining body, spoonfeeding me flavored ices and praline-like delicacies.

"We reward those who Serve," she intoned. "Meditate on this as you go:
that of you something greater can be made. Our craft can metamorphose a
man into the more powerful sex. Indeed, we have the means to completely
purge the foul maleness from your physical corpus, down all the myriad
pathways to the cellular level and far beyond. We would complete you,
make of you a woman. Consider it well."

I thought on it, and was sorely tempted. I could be a master (or rather,
a Mistress), rather than a servant. I could _give_ orders, rather than
receive them. I could enjoy all the privileges of belonging to the ruling
elite. I could even . . .

But, no. No! I had been born a man. And I still remembered . . .
remembered when being a man was not a badge of shame, a mark of Original
Sin. When being a man stood for something, something proud. In spite
of all the misery we men had inflicted on the world, still we had kept
things running. Almost as well as the Women of Power we had kept things
running. And I wasn't about to have my cellular chemistry rearranged and
my very genetic makeup interfered with just for the sake of an easier
life. Even if that meant staying at the bottom of heap. Even if that
meant being subject to the whim of just about every woman whose path I
crossed. Even if that meant letting this Mistress or that Mistress have
their way with me. Even if that meant letting Mistress Lenore continue
ravaging my nether regions. Even if that meant enduring all the shame
and humiliation, all the _shit_, that women used to have to put up with
in the Bad Old Days.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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