Teaser: An unhappy fat chick gets some visits from a serial rapist, and they're the closest thing she gets to emotional validation.
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The author of this story has read and accepted the rules for posting stories. They guarantee that the following story depicts none of the themes listed in the Forbidden Content section of the rules.
The following story is a work of fiction meant for entertainment purposes only. It depicts nonconsensual sexual acts between adults. It is in no way meant to be understood as an endorsement of nonconsensual sex in real life. Any similarities of the characters in the story to real people are purely coincidental.
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Index:
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Title: BBW's Love Letters
Author: SoftGameHunter
Content Warnings: The trope that fat chicks are unhappy and lonely is played straight here.
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BBW's Love Letters
BBW's Love Letter to my Rapist
I don’t know if you ever knew that you broke into my home on the worst day of my life. Maybe that’s not literally true, but I lost my job that day and I had no money in the bank, no friends in the city I’d just moved to six months before, and I was feeling pretty low that night as I scarfed two pints of Ben and Jerry’s before passing out on the couch, sweating in the summer heat, and as you know, naked as a jaybird to anyone who might break in to rob me that night. And that’s what you did.
That’s why it scared me so much when I woke up in the wee hours of the morning, TV still running, to find you standing over me clad all in black, masked, with that big knife of yours resting with the tip on my nose where I couldn’t miss it. I was so scared I just about peed on the couch, but you stayed calm, putting your finger to your mouth to remind me to stay quiet. You kept cool and in control when I couldn’t. I thought you were going to stab me to death right there. Murder my body and steal my laptop and i-phone for the hundred bucks they might fetch out on the street. I’d spent so long hating my body, my fat, flabby body, that it never occurred to me that you might want to sexually abuse me. Even though I was a single woman, naked at knifepoint to a home invader, the thought of rape never flashed across my brain. That’s the mental point I was at back then, that night we first met.
“You’re going to cooperate, right?” was what you said, the first words you ever said to me. Or something like that. Maybe it was “Don’t scream and you won’t get hurt.” I’m not sure. It could have been “Nice tits, bitch. I can’t wait to slap them around.” Okay, I really don’t remember how the conversation started. You said all of those things at some point in those first few minutes. Forgive me for jumbling them. I didn’t think I’d be wanting to recall them later.
But words aside, you shocked my system by unzipping and pulling your cock out for me. It was so large. And so hard. Hard, for me. For me. “You’re not so fucking innocent, bitch. Get to work on it. Put that pretty little mouth of yours to good use!”
Holy fucking crap I was so freaked out by that. You were actually going to sodomize me, and that knife meant you were going to get your way. I was on the verge of tears, wishing like crazy I was fit and strong and could krav maga you to the ground and run away. But I had no such skill or strength for that. You controlled me completely and you put your dick in my mouth to let me know that. I sucked it and swirled my tongue on it, thinking it was gross and horrible and wishing I wasn’t naked while you were fully clothed. God I was so vulnerable, so helpless. But I swear, every time I whimpered, your cock surged in blood flow. You got off on my shame! The worse I felt, the hornier you got. And you must have been pretty horny because I tasted your oddly fruity cum in my mouth just a few minutes later. You grabbed my head and held me with my mouth impaled on your shaft as you dumped all that cum down my throat. And you made me swallow, which was really gross. I’d never swallowed cum! It seemed horrible. But you didn’t leave it as an option, did you? “Drink it, bitch. I know you like to swallow stuff,” was how you put it, which made me feel ashamed of how fat I was. But I responded to your strength, to your control. I swallowed your cum, and that’s how you marked me.
Now if it had ended there I’d have nothing to say. It would have been just one more fitting end to my week. But despite my hopes, you didn’t leave. You didn’t just steal my laptop and i-phone, no. You had to stick around. You tied me up, which was scary as fuck! There I was, entertaining a rapist, bound hand and leg. You had my arms behind me, tied at wrist and elbow, really rendering me helpless. You tied my legs, but at my knees, so I could walk around, just not very well. Little did I realize how much that was for your convenience.
“Got any beer?” you asked after I was bound and you were seated on my spot on the couch.
“No, I don’t like beer,” I said.
“What have you got in a can?”
“Pepsi. Mountain Dew. Barq’s,” I began, rattling off my list of sugary fizzy drinks.
“Barq’s, get me a can of that,” you ordered me. “And hurry up!” You were actually giving me orders. You raped me, tied me naked, and were now demanding drink orders. Well, there wasn’t much I could do but sort of waddle into the kitchen for you. I don’t like to say waddle. I don’t like to use fat-related words and imagery to describe myself or our relationship. But tied as I was, barely keeping my balance, waddling is what I did, wasn’t it? When a girl like me topping two-fifty and tied tightly hurries into the kitchen, my breasts swaying back and forth with each unnatural step, well, if that’s not waddling then what is? You must have liked it, though. You tuned the TV to a late night movie, but you were staring right at my body the whole time as I left, and again when I returned. And I’m pretty sure you were watching me in the kitchen, weren’t you? Spying on me as I tried to open the fridge door with my hands bound, and bending so awkwardly to fetch you your soda. Did you know the root beer was on the bottom shelf in back, or was that just my bad luck, having to find it by feel as the cold fridge air flowed out over my sweaty body?
Somewhere on the way back the reality of what was happening to me just sort of hit me. I had to pause while I shook badly. It was just so, so unreal. And that was the first moment, the first of many, when I realized that my sex was quivering. No, I don’t mean my vagina was vibrating. I mean that part of me deep inside where I feel turned on sometimes, it was freaking out on me. I think literally it means I was producing hormones like crazy, not to mention adrenalin and a few other things. But my loins were so inflamed I could hardly stand it. I didn’t feel sexy, not yet, but to my shame at that moment, I felt incredibly sexual. A fantasy of you holding me down and doing proper intercourse on me flashed through my mind, and it scared the bejesus out of me how powerful it was. A rape fantasy during an actual rape! How messed up was I that night?
I returned to the living room with your soda, turning my back to you so you could take it. But you just tsk-tsk’d me. “Not like that. Don’t just dangle it in my face,” you said. I got defensive. What the hell did you expect? But you had other ideas. “Present yourself to me, facing me. Show me your body on the front side. Tell me that you have my beverage when I wish to drink it. When I ask for it, then you turn around and let me take it.”
You were so serious, but I thought it was stupid. Still, I had to obey you, didn’t I? You gave me no choice. So I faced you, and you soaked in my nudity! “I have your beverage, sir. At your convenience.” Wow. I added the sir myself. I didn’t even think about it. I just did it because it seemed right. You were my captor, yeah, but I wasn’t just your hostage. I was, apparently, your waitress. And since I’ve been a waitress, calling you sir seemed to work.
“I’ll take it now,” you said. I turned around and you took it, taking a moment to run your fingers along my ass! So you were still interested. I wasn’t done with you controlling my body yet. Somehow, I wasn’t scared of you. Overwhelmed, yeah. Crazed. Sexified. But not so scared. Okay, a little scared. I still am. Frankly, I lost the ability to really know what I feel about you when I was sucking you off that first time, and I haven’t really recovered. Despite everything that followed since that night, you still befuddle me.
It seemed like you were going to watch a movie, and it seemed like I was just going to stand there, naked and tied up, waiting for your next snack order. And you’d already blown your load in my mouth, so why not? I was resigned to just standing there, looking vulnerable and exploited. I couldn’t think looking sexy. Now I can, but not then. But I had overthought things. You had no plans to ignore me. You snapped your fingers, and you pointed to a spot right in front of you. And like a naughty little dog, I stepped over to you and stood there. You reached up and began playing with my breasts with your one hand, drinking root beer with the other. I remember how it felt when you grabbed my left nipple and started casually playing with it, rolling it around in your grip, pinching it a little. It was scary, because you could have really dug your fingernails in at any time. Hell, you could have still stabbed me to death at any time! But I knew you could hurt me there, and maybe you would. You were a rapist and burglar, after all. But while I was standing there, getting electrified jolts of physical pleasure through my left breast, knowing I should be more frightened, my main wish soon because that you would do my right side too. Oh god, I really wanted you to touch both breasts. Do both nipples. Really grab onto them and make me squirm and whimper and writhe like a slut monkey! That, that right there was the thought in my mind. You were molesting one breast, and I was mentally begging you to do the second.
You tormented me pretty long like that, just twisting around that one naked nipple, and I felt myself getting moist and aroused. Really aroused. I was about to cum just by nipple-play! And then there was a creak in the floorboards. A loud one. It could have been anything. Maybe the building was settling. Maybe a neighbor was up peeing in the night. But it scared us both, and you jumped up with that knife in your hand and you pressed it to my neck! You were looking around rapidly, trying to see if we were really alone. Which we were. I just stood there. I was tied up, so what else could I do? I stood there, trembling, terrified, in pain because you were holding the knife pressed to hard to my throat. And I was in agony, wanting to cum so very badly. With your knife at my throat I finally remember how much real danger I was really in. It made me fear you, a fear I still hold, but it didn’t void my passion. The knife made it stronger. God, I needed to cum so badly it hurt. But you weren’t thinking of my nipple anymore.
The moment passed, of course. It was, in the end, just a random creaking of the wood. We were alone, which I knew all along. You could get back to molesting me if you wanted to.
You sat back down, but instead of my nipple, you put a finger to my pussy and slid it in. And it went in easy. My crotch was sweaty and meaty, and my insides were just slick from arousal. You grabbed a handful of me, and slid that finger in me and felt how horny I was. “I thought so,” you said. “You got a boyfriend, bitch?”
“No. I’m alone,” I said. “No one’s coming for me.” I don’t know why I added that part at the end. Maybe I should have said my policeman boyfriend will be home in twenty minutes. But I think you would have seen through my lies. No one was going to notice me gone for a while if I vanished. There was no point in trying to hide that fact. You had me for as long as you wanted me.
“Hard to believe, but good,” you said. You said it was good. Did that mean maybe you wanted me? It almost certainly meant you wouldn’t be disturbed as you raped and robbed me. It almost certainly didn’t mean you were glad I was available. Hell, you made me available, even if I had had a boyfriend. You took away my choice!
And as it happened, you also took away my TV, my laptop, my i-phone, my wallet, and my car keys. You took most of what I still had. And then you tied my ankles and bent my legs back to hogtie me in the bathtub where I couldn’t escape or roll away. I remember lying there, rolling back and forth, trying to do something. You popped your head in as you were heading out. “Bye bye, babe. It’s been grand. Maybe I’ll come see you again, huh?”
“Fuck you!” I cried. I was really upset, and not least because I was still horny, and whatever little fantasy I had going on was gone. You were stealing all my stuff and leaving me tied and naked, and I was still wishing I could get off somehow. And it reminded me of how low I was in your eyes. Just another fat woman to rob and humiliate. And that was how you left me.
Of course, as you know, I did eventually get myself freed. I couldn’t undo the knots; you had them too tight for that. I had to scream for help. But since the neighbors in the next unit were out of town, I had to lie there all of Saturday and into Sunday afternoon before anyone heard my cries. What a long, horrible wait it was. The only saving grace was that the tub dripped slowly, so I could swallow a droplet of water every five seconds. But I was still hungry and sore when the landlord finally came in and found me like that.
So I was jobless, friendless, broke, and now I had no entertainment at home. It was a pretty bad time for me, and I should have blamed you more overtly than I did. But I didn’t. I used my library card and read a lot. Trashy romance, mostly. Lots of ravishment. Lots of strong men and women in need of correction. That sort of thing. And as you know, two weeks later you did what I never expected. You came back. And this time it wasn’t for loot. It as for my body.
I was sleeping again, in my bed this time, flopped down on the top sheet and uncovered because it was even hotter than before. Naked. I was the perfect target, I guess. I woke up to find the light on and you there dressed in black and masked, just like before. You had the same knife, but it wasn’t pointed at me this time. “Told you I might see you again,” you said to me.
“What do you want from me?” I asked. “You took everything last time!”
“Maybe, but I’m here for you this time,” you said, and your words electrified me all over again. I sat up to face you. Our eyes locked. Maybe. Or maybe I’m a silly girl for thinking it.
“You’ve got the power. What are you going to do to me?” I asked you. I was already horny and not in any mood for futzing around. I had nothing left to live for except this half-assed fantasy life built around a rapist.
“Lie back down. Let me see you,” you ordered me, and I complied. I even spread my legs out a bit for you, and you stared down at me, soaking me all in. “How much do you weigh?” you asked me. The most dangerous question to ask a woman, particularly a fat woman, but you asked me anyway and you wanted an answer.
“About two-fifty,” I said.
“Let’s see for sure. Get up. Go stand on your bathroom scale.”
“Okay,” I said. I got up and walked. Walked normally this time. I walked to the bathroom and stepped up on the scale. And it betrayed me, displaying the needle at two hundred sixty-one.
“Hmm, looks like you lied to me,” you said.
“I didn’t lie. I was wrong.”
“That gets you a spanking,” you told me.
“Are you serious?” I asked you. I certainly wasn’t as scared of you that second night. “A spanking?”
“Get back on that bed,” you ordered me. “Lie down. Face down.”
“Okay,” I replied, but secretly I was practically rejoicing. If this wasn’t a fantasy rape come real, I don’t know what was. You scared me; you still do; but you also thrilled me. I laid myself down for you, sticking my big butt up for you to punish. You stroked your fingers along my buttocks first, sliding your index finger precisely along my butt crack and making me shiver and squirm. Because it tickled! But then you started slapping those buttocks with your open-handed swats. They stung me a little at first, but the stings got harsher. You were hitting me harder, and my ass was getting tender with each new swat.
“Yeah, that’s right,” you said as you swatted me. “Look at that butt fat jiggle!” It was a crude way to say it, but that was my butt fat you were enjoyed watching. All mine, and it made me happy. Someone appreciated my body, even if it was only the lewd parts doing lewd things. My pussy was tingling, enjoying the raw sexuality of being forced into a spanking. But my ass was really starting to hurt. And I realized that this might get painful. As ever, I had to remind myself that you weren’t my boyfriend. You were my rapist. And now apparently, you were my stalker as well. And I had to lie there and take whatever you did to me, even if it progressed to things much harder and scarier than spankings. I could enjoy my fantasy, but I was going to have to live my reality, even if you turned out to be a crazed torture-killer. You could have been literally anything and anyone. I hadn’t even seen your face. I’d seen your hands and your cock. While you’d never seen me anything but stark naked. The power imbalance was insane and made me want to cum, god help me.
But for that moment, you were spanking me, and I was squirming and flinching as my ass got more inflamed under your hand. You were hard and strong and not pulling back at all. This was an adult spanking. No half-measures.
“Oh god, that’s enough,” I finally cried, trying to roll away from you. I was lying. I think you knew that, didn’t you? Well, maybe not outright lying. I really was hurting. I wanted to choose to make it stop. But the real reason I said it was to see if you actually would stop. Would you respect my wishes? And you didn’t. You didn’t stop or let me stop. You grabbed my hips and rolled me back into place, and then you sat down straddling my lower back, pinning me to the bed while you resumed hitting me. Spanking me. You didn’t listen to me at all. You inflicted what you wanted on my body and acted like I was nothing. Just a toy to play with. And god help me, it’s what I’d hoped you would do. And you did. You kept spanking me. I won’t say it was past my limits. I didn’t have limits. I’d looked at bondage porn before you came into my life, but I didn’t practice it. I didn’t think about what I could take. You spanked me and hurt me past the point where I would have chosen to stop. And that gave me such a more powerful physical and emotional reaction that I can scarcely describe it in words. When I started crying, for real, you ignored me. When I begged you to stop, you ignored me. And I thank you.
Of course, you had to stop some time. I laid there sobbing after you got off me, my ass burning under your strong hand, but then you pushed me and rolled me over. My ass hit the mattress and just about exploded in pain, but I saw now that you were undressed. Everything but the mask was gone. I have to admit, seeing that you had a lean and fit body made me want to cry. Why would you want to stick your cock in me, when there were thin girls out there you could seduce or rape? Why me? But I couldn’t think like that because there you were, in my home, my bedroom, about to violate my body. You chose me.
I think we both remember the next part, where you got on top of me, pressing me down. I’m bigger than you, but I don’t have the strength to push you off, while you have the strength to push me anywhere, and you did. You pushed me down. You pressed your cock to my wet pussy. I tried to stop it. My mind was reeling. I was horny, but I was scared. We’re programmed by life to try to not be raped, and you were about to rape me. Really rape me. And you did. I tried to wiggle, but your cock slid into me easily and I couldn’t stop you, no matter how much I tried. In you went, wham, bam, thank you man. I didn’t even cry. You just started thrusting, and I just laid there feeling it happen. And it felt good, god help me, it felt good.
It felt good, and it felt even better when I managed to shift just enough so you slid your big cock against my clit harder. That put me in heaven. Scary heaven, but heaven to be sure. And you fucked me hard. And fast. It was for you, after all, not for me. I don’t think you knew back then what kind of wild effect you were having on my lust and my common sense. I should have moved when you talked about coming back. Not that I could move, but I should have tried. I should have done a lot of things. Instead I stayed there and waited for you to come back to rape me, only to be in distress and joy when you actually came back to rape me. As I came, I cried tears, real tears, but tears of joy and satisfaction, and mostly of release. Because, as humiliating as it is to admit, you are the first man who could make me cum with your cock. I wasn’t a virgin. I’d had men before, men who relieved their urges with me before the good women came along. But their cocks only got me hot. They didn’t get me off.
You came soon after that, as I was building for another. Isn’t that always the way? But what else could I complain about. I felt your spunk filling me, hot and sticky and gooey. Not that I could tell all that from inside me. I just knew it. But it was all those things, a gross, slimy marker that you men use on us women to mark us as yours. Isn’t that it? Well, you marked me with your cum because I wasn’t strong enough in body or mind to stop you.
“Hey, don’t cry, babe,” you said. It was probably the nicest thing you’d said yet. “It was good, wasn’t it?”
It was good, damn you for asking, it was good. But I just lost it. I thought for sure I scared you off when I blurted out my whole sad story. Jobless. Friendless. Broke. Facing eviction at the end of the month. No where to go. No way to get a sugar daddy even. How often does a rape victim, and I’m embracing that term, I was a victim. How often does a rape victim sob out her personal woes to her rapist? And the weirdest part is that you stayed? Why did you stay? Why did you listen to me at all? Wasn’t I just a piece of fuck meat to you? A big freaky chick you could come and slap around and shoot your wad into? Wasn’t I? But you listened to me. You didn’t say much, but you listened.
“Gotta go, sweet cheeks,” you said finally.
“Okay,” I said. I was sorry to see you leave.
“And I’ve got to tie you up. So sorry.”
“What? Oh, no! Please! I’m not going to call the cops. Oh, please don’t tie me up!” I begged, but you were insistent. I had no choice. You lashed me right to the bed, my ass on the wet spot. Spread eagled and open to the world. Hell, neighbors in apartments across the street might have been able to see me like that. You tied me tight and I couldn’t move at all. No matter how I squirmed. And then you left. You left me there, like that, to find my own way out. And like before, that meant screaming until someone heard me and came. Luckily it didn’t take a day and a half like last time. My landlord came and released me, looking at me askance this time. He must have suspected something was up.
There was a lot I didn’t know at that moment. I didn’t know if you would come back a third time. Coming back once was risky. Would you try for twice? Did I want you back? As horny and passionate as you made me feel, could I really enjoy being a rape toy to a stranger? I tried to ask myself what I wanted from you. If I even wanted to see you. And I was facing imminent financial collapse. I had nothing left. I was walking home with my final bag of groceries when my replacement phone rang. It was an employment service saying they had a job for me. Catastrophe was averted. But there was a part of me that wished it had ended, but differently. You see, I was hoping against hope that you would come back for me. I was hoping to wake up in desperation and terror only to see your masked face above me, waiting to take me yet again. And the third time, maybe, you would take me with you. Because if you took me with you, and didn’t just pulverize me and leave me to die, I would have been happier. My job is crap. Everything is crap. My life is crap. I think I am crap. And the only time I felt anything in the last twenty years were those times you came and used me. You used me with great callousness and selfishness, and even some cruelty. But it was better and more exciting than all the conventional ‘joy’ I ever knew in this rotten, pathetic thing called my life.
So that’s why I’m writing you. That’s why I’m not putting my name or your name on this letter. I spoke to a lawyer. Your lawyer, actually. She gave me the evil eye but said that you would either see this letter or she would read it to you, but somehow you would experience my words exactly as they appear here. When I heard your voice on the news, I knew it was you. Arrested for sexual assault. They had a weak case, but somehow, they made it. I could have come forward. I could have testified. I don’t mean that in a threatening tone. I didn’t want to do any such thing, and I didn’t. I want you released soon. And then I’m going to hope that you come to me. You remember who I am, of course. That’s why I had so much detail here that you already know. I haven’t moved. I’m here. I sleep naked. I’m still fat. I’m still pliable. I still won’t fight. I’m a whore. I need you. I love you. If that makes me a stupid, needy whore, then I’m a stupid, needy whore. I don’t know when you’ll be out. Not too terribly long, but it wasn’t a big enough case that your release will make the news. I’ll be waiting, wishing, and counting the nights until I wake up and find you holding your knife to my throat so I’ll know I’m alive.
BBW's Love Letters
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This forum is for publishing, reading and discussing rape fantasy (noncon) stories and consensual erotic fiction. Before you post your first story, please take five minutes to read the Quick Guide to Posting Stories and the Tag Guidelines.
If you are looking for a particular story, the story index might be helpful. It lists all stories alphabetically on one page. Please rate and comment on the stories you've read, thank you!
Story Filters
Language: English Stories | Deutsche Geschichten
Consent: Noncon | Consensual
Length: Flash | Short | Medium | Long
LGBT: Lesbian | Gay | Trans
Theme: Gang Rape | Female Rapist | SciFi | Fantasy
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SoftGameHunter
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- Graduate
- Posts: 428
- Joined: Thu Sep 18, 2025 1:59 pm
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SoftGameHunter
- Moderator
- Graduate
- Posts: 428
- Joined: Thu Sep 18, 2025 1:59 pm
Re: BBW's Love Letters
Content Warnings: Harsher than part 1. He's not a nice guy.
BBW’s Love Letter from My Rapist
June 4:
Of course I remember you. I remember all my pieces of ass, and yours was the largest. Ha ha! Yeah, I’m not going to let up on you. You described yourself as a fatso, so don’t expect me to be all ‘no no, you’re just a dainty fucking ballerina.’ You were a lard ass, but I guess I like a lard ass because I enjoyed the fuck out of raping you twice. And I could tell you enjoyed it. Right from the start. What I did to you, it wasn’t even a crime cause you were fucking begging for it, bitch. So, what have you got planned for me when, I mean if, I show up for you? Huh? A .357 with my name on the bullet? A squad of cops, or maybe a private dick? Doesn’t matter. If you really wanted me back, you’d have kept your pie hole shut up tight. Begging me to come back for you is like inviting a pig to a Christmas dinner.
But I am going to tell you one thing. That cunt lawyer of mine can’t say when or if you’re going to see this or not, but since I already got convicted of a lesser charge, they can’t do shit to me if I tell you how I spent all the money I got from pawning your personal shit. Got me about two hundred. How’s that? Course I had to go through and toss out all the photos from the album before I could get thirty bucks for it. Wiped your hard drive, too. Nothing personal.
I got two hundred, right? So the shop had this lady running it, about your age. Blonde more or less. Bit of a spread on her ass, but nothing like yours. Probably about one-eighty on a five-foot four body. She didn’t give me the time of day, just underbid me on everything. She was pissing me off, too, though it wasn’t even my stuff. Well, not until I took it all away from you. But I figured, raise a stink, make sure she remembers me, and still not get more money, or just keep my head down, take the two c-notes, and go back and rape the bitch. Wanna guess which one I did?
Yeah, I went back there. Couple days later. Waited for her outside. She was perfect, walking into the alley. It’s like watching fish jump into the barrel so you can shoot them. I came up behind her and I clobbered the back of her head with a brick. She went down hard. So I dragged her ass to my car and got her into the trunk, tied her up nice and tight, put a hood over her head too. Gagged her. The works. She didn’t come to for two hours. Fuck, I was already out of town by then. I didn’t even need to tie her. But whatever. She woke up and I had the bitch naked. Tied up to an old railway trestle out by the river. Wasn’t no one around to see her or hear her. No one but me.
She wasn’t hooded any more. I was. I wanted to see her eyes as I wrecked her. Yeah, it was just a few flashlights shining on her. But I had her there tight. She opened her eyes. She took in her situation. And she started bawling her little eyes out right there. The bitch was freaked! Freaked with a capital fucking F! Hell, all I did was move towards her, pointing my big boner at her, and you’d have thought she was being eaten alive by a bear or something. She was all “No! No! Aagh! Aagh!”
Well I had some ah ah for her! It was fun. I grabbed her neck and squeezed her while I pulled her legs apart and shoved my Johnson into her meaty old gash. She’s not bad looking, but she acted like I was stealing the crown fucking jewels. She was a loosey-goosey bitch anyway. She’s put that cunt through her paces, count on it. But not with me. No, she didn’t want me there at all, which made it all the better. I fucked her hard! I slammed her. And I choked her until she stopped breathing. And then I let up and choked her more. And I smashed her head into the trestle a few times for fun. Like, really smashing hard slam. Fucking cunt. She won’t forget that rape any time soon, let me tell you that.
Now, I’m no dummy. I was gonna just leave her like that, which meant she’s going to a hospital once someone finds her. Alive or dead, they’re doing a rape kit. So I cleaned her up. Dumped a bunch of bourbon up her hoo-ha and scrubbed her out with a wire brush. She didn’t like that! No, she was screaming her fucking mouth off, even after I clocked her a few times. But I wanted that hole sterile, and that’s what I got! Then I just left her there, bawling her little eyes out. She was all, “Please let me go!” and “I can’t feel my hands!” Goddam cunt. Her hands were just fine at the trial. Just shook a little. They got me for stealing her clothes. I was dumb; went right home. Forgot about her stuff in the trunk. But my cunt lawyer pled it down, and they can’t bring new charges, so fuck it, I gotta brag. I think I’ll write the bitch and ask her if it was good for her too. I’ll bet you it was her best ever! Anyway, it was the money from pawning your crap that bought me the bourbon. I drank the rest. The leftovers I got in singles and shoved them into some stripper’s panties. Didn’t even rape her.
If you ever read this, feel free to go kill yourself with cheesecake at your earliest opportunity. In fact, please do.
June 29
I was thinking about you the other day when I learned my parole hearing is coming up. I thought maybe, just maybe, you were serious about wanting me to come by after I get out so I can rape you again. Or maybe you think I’ll fall in love and we can ride off into some fucking sunset. Listen, babe, that’s not happening. Not ever. Even if I wanted that, it wouldn’t be with you. I’ve already taken what I want from you when I raped your ass, and there’s nothing left that interests me. Except maybe doing it again. So, go ahead and buy new jewelry and a good stereo system. I’ll be needing money when they let me out of here. I’ll even fuck you again. Maybe in your actual ass, if I can dig that deep. Ha ha!
Seriously, if I do show up, you’d better be fucking naked or I’m going to break all your fingers, bitch. Think about that one.
August 11
So obviously I’m still here in prison. And you haven’t seen my letters yet. I know that, but my cunt lawyer says you might see these three all at once. I’m not changing anything I said in the earlier ones. I won’t be by to see you anytime soon, but there was just the one parole hearing. Next up is my release date when I’m done serving the sentence. It wasn’t that long a term. Parole would have been nice, but that cunt redhead on the board didn’t like the way I looked at her, so she voted against my release. What’s with you fucking cunts anyway? Not a one of you knows your place. On your knees sucking my dick, that is!
Yeah, but I think I’ll visit you. I remember your name and where you live. So if you read my letters and decide I’m too much of a real man for you, well, you can just go and move. But I’m heading to your home, and I’ll wreck anything I find there with a cunt. Seriously, I’m going to destroy you. And you’d better be naked for me or I’m going to really fuck you up! Like I said, bitch, if you don’t like it, move.
Want to know my release date? I think you said you didn’t know it in your gushy little letter you sent me. It’s, oh, wait, never mind. Not going to tell you that. But you’ve got time to scram if you want to.
I’m going to rape my cunt lawyer when I get out. That’s right. I’m saying it because she reads these letters, and I love the look of shit on her face when I say something shocking. She was assigned to me, by the way. Some judge made her take my case. I haven’t forgiven her for it either. I’m going to rape her good. I’m going to learn where she lives, break in, rape her ass, rape her mouth, rape her cunt, and then call over some buddies of mine and rape her some more. I’m going to spend the whole weekend savaging that cunt’s body. I’m going to beat her with belts and brass knuckles. I’m going to pack dirt and bourbon into her ass and stick a zucchini into her cunt and pound it in with a hammer. Then I’m going to give her five minutes to get it out of her cunt before I break her knees with the hammer. I’ll bet she fails, like she’s failed me so far. My only regret is that I have to write this down before I see her actual expression as she reads it. It’s going to be amazing! God I love being an asshole to women.
Do you still love me? I’ll bet you do, because no one will ever love you. No one but the bakery supervisor at Albertsons, and he’s just loving his bonus. Seriously, you’re disgusting. A decent enough fuck, but I’ve had two-bit whores that were a better lay than you ever could be. How dare you make me want to vomit by inviting me back to fuck you again! I haven’t stop puking at the memory of our last fuck.
Your birthday
I’m not writing to you anymore. You’re beyond worthy of it. I’ll address you, but this is for the benefit of whatever doctors and lawyers and hackers might see it. And yes, I know your birthday was two weeks ago. I’m dating this to the day I returned to you. It was your birthday, and I didn’t even know it at the time. Lucky lucky lucky me, right?
I just couldn’t believe my eyes. I raped you twice and yet there you were, still in the same apartment. You invited me back in your anonymous letter and you promised to be naked and compliant, and you were right there, naked and compliant. You had your dresser drawers by the front door so you would maximize your odds of being naked for me. I guess my promise to fuck you up otherwise helped you out, huh? Fucking whore.
You looked up when you saw me. It wasn’t late at night. You weren’t in bed. You were cooking, go figure. Pasta something, because you really need more carbs, right? A fat naked blonde bitch cooking noodles, how could I not want to fuck that up? But you looked up and you just froze. Like you wanted me to make the first move.
“On your knees, bitch!” I said. You dropped to your knees, almost at once. You didn’t dare defy me. I walked over to you, slowly. You had that look in your eyes. Love? Lust? Terror? Like I could tell. I see fear in a cunt’s eyes because that what she ought to have around me. If she had any sense. They don’t always.
My cunt lawyer didn’t. When I showed up at her house, she acted all brave and defiant. Kept trying to convince me I wouldn’t hurt her. That it wasn’t in me. So wrong. She didn’t realize I was on a spiral. Once I was satisfied with rape and burglary. No more. Even when I had her tied up and naked on the kitchen chair totally immobilized, she thought she could tell me I wouldn’t cross a line. I wouldn’t really harm her. And even after I nailed her nipples to her kitchen table she was still spouting that same line. She was all, “You’re not a killer. You’re not that person. Don’t let your baser instincts win!”
Ha! My baser instincts, like I wasn’t in total control. Well believe me, I was in total control of that cunt lawyer. I was in control when I raped her, four times. I was in control when I knocked some of her teeth out of her fucking head. I was in control when I stuck that serrated knife up her cunt and buried it there and pounded those last couple inches in with the hammer. And I was really in control when I strangled the bitch to death with the length of barbed wire.
You might be dull in the head and have the personality of roadkill, but you have enough of a head of your flabby shoulders to show me the respect I’m due. Respect and a warm, wet pussy. You might be the perfect woman after all. You actually remember affection in my words when there was none. Perfect, or at least ninety percent, what with being a lard ass and all. But there you were, naked and cooking noodles and then crawling over to me to suck my cock. And this time you didn’t whine and you only cried when I wanted you to cry, and screamed when I wanted you to scream.
Did you lose your little job, that week when I kept you home for four days? How did it feel, knowing that your co-workers and your boss were thinking you were a fuck up, when you were actually tied to your bed being fucked by a rapist five times a day? Huh? Did they even listen? Did you try to explain? Or didn’t you want to tell the cops how you were waiting for me naked and waiting? Pathetic cunt, that’s you alright.
Well, I’m not wasting time writing down shit you know. Watch for me again, bitch. Watch real careful and make sure your affairs are in order. Next time is the last time.
This morning
It’s a short Post-It so I’m getting right to it. You’re in my trunk. The light stays on so you can see you’re in the trunk. We left town hours ago. It’s me, my shit, and your naked body from now on. We’re gonna have some fun, bitch, and you’re going to share the blame. I own that head of yours. You’ll join me for this spree and then we’re both going to go down in the end. It ain’t love, but it’s the most you’ll ever get and it’s what I can offer.
BBW’s Love Letter from My Rapist
June 4:
Of course I remember you. I remember all my pieces of ass, and yours was the largest. Ha ha! Yeah, I’m not going to let up on you. You described yourself as a fatso, so don’t expect me to be all ‘no no, you’re just a dainty fucking ballerina.’ You were a lard ass, but I guess I like a lard ass because I enjoyed the fuck out of raping you twice. And I could tell you enjoyed it. Right from the start. What I did to you, it wasn’t even a crime cause you were fucking begging for it, bitch. So, what have you got planned for me when, I mean if, I show up for you? Huh? A .357 with my name on the bullet? A squad of cops, or maybe a private dick? Doesn’t matter. If you really wanted me back, you’d have kept your pie hole shut up tight. Begging me to come back for you is like inviting a pig to a Christmas dinner.
But I am going to tell you one thing. That cunt lawyer of mine can’t say when or if you’re going to see this or not, but since I already got convicted of a lesser charge, they can’t do shit to me if I tell you how I spent all the money I got from pawning your personal shit. Got me about two hundred. How’s that? Course I had to go through and toss out all the photos from the album before I could get thirty bucks for it. Wiped your hard drive, too. Nothing personal.
I got two hundred, right? So the shop had this lady running it, about your age. Blonde more or less. Bit of a spread on her ass, but nothing like yours. Probably about one-eighty on a five-foot four body. She didn’t give me the time of day, just underbid me on everything. She was pissing me off, too, though it wasn’t even my stuff. Well, not until I took it all away from you. But I figured, raise a stink, make sure she remembers me, and still not get more money, or just keep my head down, take the two c-notes, and go back and rape the bitch. Wanna guess which one I did?
Yeah, I went back there. Couple days later. Waited for her outside. She was perfect, walking into the alley. It’s like watching fish jump into the barrel so you can shoot them. I came up behind her and I clobbered the back of her head with a brick. She went down hard. So I dragged her ass to my car and got her into the trunk, tied her up nice and tight, put a hood over her head too. Gagged her. The works. She didn’t come to for two hours. Fuck, I was already out of town by then. I didn’t even need to tie her. But whatever. She woke up and I had the bitch naked. Tied up to an old railway trestle out by the river. Wasn’t no one around to see her or hear her. No one but me.
She wasn’t hooded any more. I was. I wanted to see her eyes as I wrecked her. Yeah, it was just a few flashlights shining on her. But I had her there tight. She opened her eyes. She took in her situation. And she started bawling her little eyes out right there. The bitch was freaked! Freaked with a capital fucking F! Hell, all I did was move towards her, pointing my big boner at her, and you’d have thought she was being eaten alive by a bear or something. She was all “No! No! Aagh! Aagh!”
Well I had some ah ah for her! It was fun. I grabbed her neck and squeezed her while I pulled her legs apart and shoved my Johnson into her meaty old gash. She’s not bad looking, but she acted like I was stealing the crown fucking jewels. She was a loosey-goosey bitch anyway. She’s put that cunt through her paces, count on it. But not with me. No, she didn’t want me there at all, which made it all the better. I fucked her hard! I slammed her. And I choked her until she stopped breathing. And then I let up and choked her more. And I smashed her head into the trestle a few times for fun. Like, really smashing hard slam. Fucking cunt. She won’t forget that rape any time soon, let me tell you that.
Now, I’m no dummy. I was gonna just leave her like that, which meant she’s going to a hospital once someone finds her. Alive or dead, they’re doing a rape kit. So I cleaned her up. Dumped a bunch of bourbon up her hoo-ha and scrubbed her out with a wire brush. She didn’t like that! No, she was screaming her fucking mouth off, even after I clocked her a few times. But I wanted that hole sterile, and that’s what I got! Then I just left her there, bawling her little eyes out. She was all, “Please let me go!” and “I can’t feel my hands!” Goddam cunt. Her hands were just fine at the trial. Just shook a little. They got me for stealing her clothes. I was dumb; went right home. Forgot about her stuff in the trunk. But my cunt lawyer pled it down, and they can’t bring new charges, so fuck it, I gotta brag. I think I’ll write the bitch and ask her if it was good for her too. I’ll bet you it was her best ever! Anyway, it was the money from pawning your crap that bought me the bourbon. I drank the rest. The leftovers I got in singles and shoved them into some stripper’s panties. Didn’t even rape her.
If you ever read this, feel free to go kill yourself with cheesecake at your earliest opportunity. In fact, please do.
June 29
I was thinking about you the other day when I learned my parole hearing is coming up. I thought maybe, just maybe, you were serious about wanting me to come by after I get out so I can rape you again. Or maybe you think I’ll fall in love and we can ride off into some fucking sunset. Listen, babe, that’s not happening. Not ever. Even if I wanted that, it wouldn’t be with you. I’ve already taken what I want from you when I raped your ass, and there’s nothing left that interests me. Except maybe doing it again. So, go ahead and buy new jewelry and a good stereo system. I’ll be needing money when they let me out of here. I’ll even fuck you again. Maybe in your actual ass, if I can dig that deep. Ha ha!
Seriously, if I do show up, you’d better be fucking naked or I’m going to break all your fingers, bitch. Think about that one.
August 11
So obviously I’m still here in prison. And you haven’t seen my letters yet. I know that, but my cunt lawyer says you might see these three all at once. I’m not changing anything I said in the earlier ones. I won’t be by to see you anytime soon, but there was just the one parole hearing. Next up is my release date when I’m done serving the sentence. It wasn’t that long a term. Parole would have been nice, but that cunt redhead on the board didn’t like the way I looked at her, so she voted against my release. What’s with you fucking cunts anyway? Not a one of you knows your place. On your knees sucking my dick, that is!
Yeah, but I think I’ll visit you. I remember your name and where you live. So if you read my letters and decide I’m too much of a real man for you, well, you can just go and move. But I’m heading to your home, and I’ll wreck anything I find there with a cunt. Seriously, I’m going to destroy you. And you’d better be naked for me or I’m going to really fuck you up! Like I said, bitch, if you don’t like it, move.
Want to know my release date? I think you said you didn’t know it in your gushy little letter you sent me. It’s, oh, wait, never mind. Not going to tell you that. But you’ve got time to scram if you want to.
I’m going to rape my cunt lawyer when I get out. That’s right. I’m saying it because she reads these letters, and I love the look of shit on her face when I say something shocking. She was assigned to me, by the way. Some judge made her take my case. I haven’t forgiven her for it either. I’m going to rape her good. I’m going to learn where she lives, break in, rape her ass, rape her mouth, rape her cunt, and then call over some buddies of mine and rape her some more. I’m going to spend the whole weekend savaging that cunt’s body. I’m going to beat her with belts and brass knuckles. I’m going to pack dirt and bourbon into her ass and stick a zucchini into her cunt and pound it in with a hammer. Then I’m going to give her five minutes to get it out of her cunt before I break her knees with the hammer. I’ll bet she fails, like she’s failed me so far. My only regret is that I have to write this down before I see her actual expression as she reads it. It’s going to be amazing! God I love being an asshole to women.
Do you still love me? I’ll bet you do, because no one will ever love you. No one but the bakery supervisor at Albertsons, and he’s just loving his bonus. Seriously, you’re disgusting. A decent enough fuck, but I’ve had two-bit whores that were a better lay than you ever could be. How dare you make me want to vomit by inviting me back to fuck you again! I haven’t stop puking at the memory of our last fuck.
Your birthday
I’m not writing to you anymore. You’re beyond worthy of it. I’ll address you, but this is for the benefit of whatever doctors and lawyers and hackers might see it. And yes, I know your birthday was two weeks ago. I’m dating this to the day I returned to you. It was your birthday, and I didn’t even know it at the time. Lucky lucky lucky me, right?
I just couldn’t believe my eyes. I raped you twice and yet there you were, still in the same apartment. You invited me back in your anonymous letter and you promised to be naked and compliant, and you were right there, naked and compliant. You had your dresser drawers by the front door so you would maximize your odds of being naked for me. I guess my promise to fuck you up otherwise helped you out, huh? Fucking whore.
You looked up when you saw me. It wasn’t late at night. You weren’t in bed. You were cooking, go figure. Pasta something, because you really need more carbs, right? A fat naked blonde bitch cooking noodles, how could I not want to fuck that up? But you looked up and you just froze. Like you wanted me to make the first move.
“On your knees, bitch!” I said. You dropped to your knees, almost at once. You didn’t dare defy me. I walked over to you, slowly. You had that look in your eyes. Love? Lust? Terror? Like I could tell. I see fear in a cunt’s eyes because that what she ought to have around me. If she had any sense. They don’t always.
My cunt lawyer didn’t. When I showed up at her house, she acted all brave and defiant. Kept trying to convince me I wouldn’t hurt her. That it wasn’t in me. So wrong. She didn’t realize I was on a spiral. Once I was satisfied with rape and burglary. No more. Even when I had her tied up and naked on the kitchen chair totally immobilized, she thought she could tell me I wouldn’t cross a line. I wouldn’t really harm her. And even after I nailed her nipples to her kitchen table she was still spouting that same line. She was all, “You’re not a killer. You’re not that person. Don’t let your baser instincts win!”
Ha! My baser instincts, like I wasn’t in total control. Well believe me, I was in total control of that cunt lawyer. I was in control when I raped her, four times. I was in control when I knocked some of her teeth out of her fucking head. I was in control when I stuck that serrated knife up her cunt and buried it there and pounded those last couple inches in with the hammer. And I was really in control when I strangled the bitch to death with the length of barbed wire.
You might be dull in the head and have the personality of roadkill, but you have enough of a head of your flabby shoulders to show me the respect I’m due. Respect and a warm, wet pussy. You might be the perfect woman after all. You actually remember affection in my words when there was none. Perfect, or at least ninety percent, what with being a lard ass and all. But there you were, naked and cooking noodles and then crawling over to me to suck my cock. And this time you didn’t whine and you only cried when I wanted you to cry, and screamed when I wanted you to scream.
Did you lose your little job, that week when I kept you home for four days? How did it feel, knowing that your co-workers and your boss were thinking you were a fuck up, when you were actually tied to your bed being fucked by a rapist five times a day? Huh? Did they even listen? Did you try to explain? Or didn’t you want to tell the cops how you were waiting for me naked and waiting? Pathetic cunt, that’s you alright.
Well, I’m not wasting time writing down shit you know. Watch for me again, bitch. Watch real careful and make sure your affairs are in order. Next time is the last time.
This morning
It’s a short Post-It so I’m getting right to it. You’re in my trunk. The light stays on so you can see you’re in the trunk. We left town hours ago. It’s me, my shit, and your naked body from now on. We’re gonna have some fun, bitch, and you’re going to share the blame. I own that head of yours. You’ll join me for this spree and then we’re both going to go down in the end. It ain’t love, but it’s the most you’ll ever get and it’s what I can offer.