The saddest thing, or a classification of rape
First, the saddest thing.
Forced To Be A Sex Slave Ch. 01
I sit in the food court of the local shopping mall, looking for just the right woman, slim, slender, between the ages of 18 & 24, and, must be wearing a skirt.
I sit there for a few more minutes, when, I spot her, standing there with her friends, she's perfect, she's wearing a very tight fitting mini skirt, she's about 5'10, with a very nice b cup chest, I'm guessing, with long blonde hair, and wearing a pink tank top and pink floral print mini skirt.
I wait for her to separate from her friends, and stand in line at the pizza stand.
I walk up to her, feeling nervous, but, I get my courage up.
"Hi, let me buy you a slice of pizza." I say.
"No thanks, besides, I have a boy friend, so, back off, old man!" She replies.
"I'm sorry for offending you, just thought I'd be nice, I actually have a business proposal for you."
"Look, asshole, I'm not a prostitute, so, fuck off, or, I'll yell for security."
"I don't think you're a prostitute, and, I don't want you yelling for security, I was hoping you'd let me buy the dirty panties that you're wearing, I'll pay any price you ask."
"Oh my fucking God! You're a fucking pervert! You want to buy the panties I'm wearing? You sick fuck! Get the fuck away from me! I have pepper spray, so, go the fuck away."
I walk away from her, feeling kind of dejected.
I sit back down, hoping to find someone as perfect as she was, when I'm shocked to see her walking towards my table.
"Ok, look, asshole, I'll sell my panties to you, it'll be $75, these are Victoria's Secret, they aren't cheap, you still want to buy them?"
"Yeah, I still want them, how about your bra?"
"You want my bra, too?"
"If you're willing to part with them both."
"Oh my fucking God! Fine! My bra and my panties, since you're such a fucking pervert, for them both I want $200, can you pay that, pervert?"
"Yes, I can pay that, I have the cash on me right now."
"Ok, I can slide my panties off here at the table, but, I'll have to go to the ladies room to take my bra off, want me to slide my panties off now?"
She slides her panties down, and puts them on the table, they're a beautiful pink satin thong panties, slightly wet.
"Ok, um, I'll be right back." She says, walking towards the ladies room.
She returns a few minutes later, holding her bra, a beautiful pink satin and lace bra.
"Here, where's the money?" She says, throwing the bra at me.
"Here you go, $200, and, I'll give you an extra $100 for your trouble. I just have one more question."
"And, what's that, pervert?"
"I'd just like to know your name."
"It's Jennifer, my friends call me Jenn."
"Hi Jenn, I'm Steve. Jenn, If I gave you more money, would you go to a hotel with me?"
"Look, I'm not a prostitute!"
"I never said you were a prostitute, I was just hoping to have a drink with you, you are old enough to drink, right, Jenn?"
"Yes, I'm old enough to have a drink, I'm 21, and, only my friends call me Jenn, you can call me Jennifer."
"Fine, Jennifer, how much is it gonna take for you to come to a hotel with me and have a drink?"
"I fucking hate you!" She says.
"How much, Jennifer?"
"Fine, you fucking asshole, $500, it'll take $500 for me to come back with you, and, I won't touch you, and, I certainly won't sleep with you, I'll have one drink, $500, can you pay that, asshole?"
"I don't expect you to do anything, Jennifer, and, yes, I can pay you $500, are you ready to leave now?"
"Yeah, let's get this over with, asshole."
We leave the mall, and get to my car, and drive away.
"How far is this hotel?"
"Not very far, five minutes away."
"Good." She says, sounding angry.
We pull into the hotel parking lot a few minutes later.
"This looks like a nice place." She says.
We get inside and I quickly pin her against the door and start kissing her, forcing my mouth onto hers, forcing her to kiss me.
"What the fuck are you doing, stop touching me! Steve! STOP!"
I stand back and slap her very hard with the back of my hand, knocking her to the floor.
"OW! What the fuck?" She yells, crying.
"Shut up, slut!" I say, grabbing her and forcing her to bend over the arm of the chair in my room.
"Don't you fucking dare! Don't you fucking dare rape me!"
"You're gonna get what you deserve, whore!" I say unzipping her skirt, exposing her bare ass. Raising my hand and spanking her ass hard.
I pull my pants down and begin to rub the head of my cock around the rim of her dirty asshole.
"No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no!"
I start to push the head of my cock into her asshole.
Then I just ram my cock as hard as I can into her asshole.
"OW! HOLY FUCK! NO, NO, NO, NO!"
I begin slamming my cock in and out of her tight asshole, making her bleed.
"You're bleeding, whore! You dirty fucking whore!"
"Yes, I'm a whore, I'm whatever you want to call me! Just please stop!"
I slowly pull out of her ass, making the pain last as long as I can.
"Roll onto your back, whore!"
She rolls onto her back.
"Open your mouth, slut!" I says, as I begin wiping the head of my dirty cock over her mouth.
"Open your mouth!" I yell, slapping her hard
Finally, I just reach up and pinch her nose shut, making it impossible for her to breathe without opening her mouth, once she opens her mouth, I slide my dirty cock into her open mouth, making her gag.
"That's it whore, gag on it!"
I begin fucking her mouth, deep and hard, until I'm about ready to cum.
"I'm gonna cum, whore! Want me to cum in your mouth, whore?"
Jenn shakes her head no, just as my cock jerks, shooting my load in her mouth, I again pinch her nose shut until she swallows my load.
"Did you like that, whore?"
"FUCK YOU!" Jenn yells, gasping for air.
"Do you want your money, whore?"
"I don't want shit from you, leave me alone."
"I think you want one more thing, open your legs, slut!"
"No! I'm not opening my legs! No! No! No! Let go of me! NO!" She yells, as I grab her legs and force them open, and rub my hand over her smooth pussy lips.
"No, stop! You've done enough! Stop, don't do this, please!"
I do the unexpected, and roughly ram my fist into her pussy, spreading her pussy wide.
"OWWWWWW!!!!" She screams out, almost passing out.
"You're and owned slut, say it, Jennifer, say it, bitch!"
"I'm an owned slut, I'm an owned slut!"
I begin to pump my fist inside her pussy, feeling her walls tighten around my fist.
"No, don't make me cum, please, anyhing but that, please......NOOOOOO!" She yells out, as her body tenses up, and, she has an intense orgasm, soaking my wrist.
"I own you now, Jennifer!"
"No, no, no!"
"You're mine, Jennifer! Say it."
"You're my property, and, I'm your Master, say, slut"
"I'm your property, and you're my Master, Master!"
I slowly pull my fist from her pussy.
She curls into a ball, and, begins crying.
"I'm gonna pimp you out, Jennifer, you're a sex slave, and, I'm gonna use you like the cum dump you are."
"Get some sleep, whore, you have a big day tomorrow!"
Jenn just lays there and cries herself to sleep, as I prepare for her torture test tomorrow.
So now : there are many kinds of rape.
There is that kind of rape where you, and by you I mean everyone, does not bother to ask the woman anything. Women can be socialized to disregard their (imaginary, like all ownership ; conventional, like all ownership) control over their own cunt, and to serve the natural purpose... naturally just like they can be socialized to regard the same. There is strictly no difference between these approaches, and they are most similar at the point where the woman doesn't enter into it!ii The advantage of this arrangement is that women don't expect their opinions be regarded as valuable or important merely for existing, and as far as advantages go this one is not negligible. The disadvantages are many and varied, if you inquire with the normatively-interested group. They also happen to sound eerily similar to the imaginary, putative and experience-contradicting "disadvantages" of dismantling the state (oh dontchaknow, bugaboos are gonna rain from the sky, for all that's good and nice and pleasant in human nature was put there by the state, don't believe your own two eyes showing you how every time human nature fails to be nice and pleasant, the state was somehow involved).
Then there's that kind of rape where we're at with this writing. The old man still has some juice left in him, and he resents that there's no way to scribble this outiii into the great tapestry of human history on earth (which, like all good books, is made out of very fine vellum, to be found between the thighs of selected shes) ; while the poor man targets, in his dreams, the Jewish princess that slighted him, in New York cca 1950, in Merv cca also 1950, wherever and on it goes. This kind of rape is, other than blatant wish fulfillmentiv, masturbatory material not in the sense that it excites othersv but in the sense that it's the familiar and comfortable rut-of-thought that the author himself goes to sleep (that lesser death!) with. It is about as dangerous to the predicated subjects of interest as reddit (or the VC circus it tracks) is significant to Bitcoin - which is to say very significant in the eyes of the insignificant only, and otherwise somewhere between meaningless and orthogonal.
Then there's that kind of rape which is itself meaningless. When a woman falling from a window ends up atop a spiked fence - the penetration as they say is always pleasurable for the first few inches. When an alien being either disinterested or incapable of communication, one whose mental processes apparently work but substantively are incomprehensible picks her off the street and does strange, unspeakable, fascinating, horrible, ultimately meaningless and therefore incomprehensible things to her. There's very little to say here, because wovonvi.
You will notice, of course, that none of these are proper crimes - group activity is politics ; fantasy is not of this world, and nonsense is unprosecutablevii, which leaves us exactly where we started. Obviously, any of these can and in fact are prosecuted all the time, and for the usual reason : enemies of the people!viii
And with that, a bon entendeur, salut!———
- The gentleman describes himself as "33 to 40", short, large and single. It is my estimation that he's telling the truth on all but one of those.
He's an extremely active fiction writer, of a specific quality which would probably be best described as "fan fiction" (in the sense of "very bad fiction", to copy that "I'm what you would call twitter famous" "Meaning ?" "Not famous" line of thought). His "literary" work is not able and perhaps not even intended to stand on its own, but like houses built by the overactively uneducated (and birds), it supports itself against a convenient side of a hill or similar. In fanfiction of the usual description that hilly support is, obviously, the work being fanfictioned (often it in turn the result of the great American maculature mill, so in no sense able to stand on its own either - the complicated patterns of layered rust and mold our colonies contributed to the cultural productions of Europe could perhaps be replicated by leaving a sealed fridge to rot undersea for a few centuries). In fanfiction of this nature the hilly support is, ironically, "the author's own internal life" in the shape of "fetishes" and other such rank nonsense.
Whether the product is in any sense different is a question perhaps best left to the anaerobic organisms that make it their lot to consume the sort of revolting cheese. On disinterested examination, while certainly useless and strictly devoid of any value whatsoever in the usual field of literature (permanence, specifically as the correct and fine description of situations, phenomena and agents' behaviour that the author could not have been acquainted with - in which sense fiction is the exact opposite of science, and science-fiction not possibily literature, ever), it is nevertheless still useful and perhaps even interesting in the subrogate use of writing as self-description. While it may or may not be true that the "best paying writing is ransom notes" (it isn't, but the thing that is - science and engineering - is of the exact same literary kind, so let's let it wash), it is certainly a fact that any jury and any psychiatrist and any future wife and any future employer and everyone else aiming to engage in some sort of commerce will require written material from their victim if they have any sense. So there is that much. [↩]
- She does not. The indignation of the group of feminists at the women who dare choose for themselves, say a life of "rape", or going back to their husband, is exactly the same, structurally, functionally, has exactly the same drivers and sources, aims and purposes and in all other points is exactly identical to the indignation of the group of other activists that tell "women" what to do in church or in the mosq or so forth.
It's a group activity, with aspirations and oft delusions of being normative. It has exactly nothing to do with the individual individuals it aims to oppress. [↩]
- It is, I would suspect, the saddest thing. Because just like the true joy in life is being used for a purpose recognized by yourself as a mighty one, being a force of nature instead of a feverish, selfish little clod of ailments and grievances complaining that the world will not devote itself to making you happy, just so the saddest thing in life is, being left with a little bit of that joy left when cast on that scrap heap, deemed "equivalent to empty" by whosoever was doing the using (you've never yet thrown out a completely empty bottle of anything, have you ?).
The words matter, and thoroughly is there for a reason. Here, have some stuff from the bottom of the sea to cheer you up :
It was thrown there, you realise, long ago, for being exactly the above. It's fighting the determination, and has, for a while now. As it's fighting the determination, maybe you could put a little more thought into that silly shlog zich mit Got arum thing you got going ? Just a thought. [↩]
- Think about it - if any significant number of poor fucks managed to have their way with the delicious products of their imagination, if this were even vaguely a thing rather than a fantasy, who would be rich anymore ? Nobody'd bother, everyone'd move over to scribbling nonsense. [↩]
- And in this, it's below even the worst of the worst literature. In fact, it's closer to a used paper towel than to written material. [↩]
- Wovon man nicht sprechen kann, daruber muss man schweigen. [↩]
- Because mens rea. Yes, it still matters. Of course it does. Of course it will, long after we'll have forgotten that so-and-so yet-another empire with slightly dumber than average people in it.
The reason we even bother with study in the first place is the bizarre property of things we find in books, that while in appearance the most fragile things in existence - in point of fact the moving finger writes; and, having writ, moves on. Nor all your piety nor wit shall lure it back to cancel half a line, nor all your tears wash out a word of it.
Other than for the Bitcoin property as dimly found in books, I'd have long abandoned the chasing of fleas on paper to dedicate myself to horses and women as no doubt god intended. [↩]
- Obviously in any pseudo-democratic society those sides which perceive they have an electoral advantage in driving the cunt-regarding perspective will pretend like it's only natural and somehow flows from the very fabric of logic, "science" or whatever divinities are then fashionable, just like Louis the whateverth was certifiably and in point of fact the actual son of the very Sun! Why not ? How else ? And no, the damage they do to the society they're trying to capture is not a point of consideration, just like Suleyman was not particularly impressed by the damage his cannonballs did upon Constantinople as part of his bid to make Constantinople his bride. And just like, you've guessed it, the rapist's not particularly interested in the tears, vaginal or otherwise, the actualisation of his internal reality imposes upon... hey, I wonder why "society" is always a woman.
Just as obviously, any authoritarian society will pretend like cunt-disregarding is equally natural and flowing from the very juices of Mother Gheea if you'll excuse the poon. What's to be done ? Confronted with the organised other, the self is, as they say, vershtook. [↩]
Saturday, 1 August 2020
Oh, so this is where that great picture of the sea snails went, that I had been searching forever to include somewhere else, long ago that I've meanwhile forgotten where the fuck... god damn it!