One Brutal Rape Was My Only Dream
My dream was to get brutally raped once.
Not some fake, consensual act in a soundproof room, but the real thing—where both predator and prey plunge straight into hell the moment it happens. I’m talking about fantasizing about a crazy bitch who completely loses her mind at the thought of claiming me, then shows up swinging a sledgehammer.
My standards for that “crazy bitch” were pretty specific. Drugging me with sleeping pills and tying me up with ropes was an instant no. Because after going through all that trouble, the only thing she’d do is drag me to a hotel room. In other words, zero fun.
What I wanted was the genuine article: a lunatic charging at me on the street with a sledgehammer, my legs already shattered before it even began. I wanted a delicate, beautiful girl dragging that heavy sledgehammer behind her, approaching me while I could do nothing but crawl across the ground with one crushed leg. I dreamed of the despair that would hit when her clumsy swing with the hammer completely destroyed my remaining leg. And finally, the moment my brain—sensing death—sent blood rushing to my cock not to leave offspring, but purely from survival instinct. That was when all the conditions would be met.
The crucial point was that the beautiful girl who raped me had planned everything out perfectly, right down to getting pregnant. Only then could she smash my balls without hesitation, convinced that my child was already growing safely inside her belly… and then crush what had become useless to her.
Another important detail: she didn’t actually want me to die. Right around the time she finished castrating me, she’d already called the police and an ambulance. We’d part ways in separate vehicles. The girl who raped me would go to prison without a shred of regret. After all, she’d thoroughly neutered me and had my child in her womb. From her perspective, it was a perfect victory.
And… it was the ideal paradise I had dreamed of right up until the moment of my death.
Beep— Beep—
I thought it had been a life with clear things I wanted to do.
I dreamed of being captured by someone whose name I didn’t even know, wrists and ankles bound tight, left in a pathetic state with only my cock exposed. I wanted to meet a beautiful girl who would spit lines full of self-justification like, “This is all your fault. You’re the one who made me like this.”
Beep— Beep—
Come to think of it, it wasn’t even that greedy a wish. To make a woman who locked eyes with me think, This guy looks so fucking hot, I had groomed my appearance and trained my body. I put in more than enough effort to make the dream come true.
Looking back now, maybe I should have gone for a frail, sickly image instead.
Beep— Beep—
With the dark hope that someday a beautiful girl might come to assault me, I anonymously donated to countless orphans. Using the fortune my parents left me, I established a volunteer organization and lived a spotless life for over seven years. I maintained a clean body and a virtuous image until the day I died, all to give the girl who would one day rape me the intoxicating rush of devouring someone so pure.
Beeeeeeeeep—
And the result was what lay before me now.
In my late twenties, as I lay dying from illness, countless people had gathered around my hospital bed. Old classmates from my school days, children I had helped, and even a doctor who was crying as if the world itself were collapsing—though I didn’t know his name. Quite the crowd.
But what did any of it matter?
My dream had ended without ever stepping out into the world.
“Haaah… What a fucking shitty life.”
My own voice reached me, lamenting. My voice had stopped working a few days earlier, so it seemed I had died and arrived in the afterlife. It had been so long since I’d heard it that I briefly wondered if this was really what I sounded like.
“All because of one stupid porn clip. Look what my life turned into.”
The reason I had lived this life was entirely because of a strange porn video I saw as a kid. And of all things, it wasn’t normal sex between a man and a woman. It was an extremely hardcore fetish video.
In the clip I saw, the woman wasn’t stroking the man’s cock with her hand. She was stomping on it with her foot, kicking it. Instead of normal acts like fellatio, I watched a woman with a huge ass smothering a man’s face with it. That was probably when the site’s algorithm decided I only needed this kind of content.
After facesitting came videos of women using a man’s face as a masturbation mat, soaking their thighs. Then I absorbed clips of them treating a man’s balls like a punching bag. That was all. Just a phase like that.
Back when I didn’t even know words like “cock” or “pussy,” when I had no idea what BDSM or femdom meant, I had seen those videos. And ever since those days began, the sight of a girl kicking a boy in the balls during play started to look charming. On days when I caught a glimpse of leather in a female teacher’s outfit, I would wonder what exactly she had been doing in the staff room just before.
To me, a kiss didn’t mean sharing love. It meant submission and domination. Sexy outfits like bunny girls or maid uniforms weren’t for giving men visual pleasure. They were clothes worn to deliver the thrill of “I’m going to fuck you while dressed like this.” That was my world. And that world collapsed not long after.
“Huu…”
When I opened my eyes and looked around, a very familiar space unfolded before me. This room was where I had begun my twenties—my old studio apartment.
“What… am I supposed to do with this?”
There were no good memories in this room. I had brought three different women here, but every single one ended in failure after just one night. I remembered how, despite having a girlfriend who wanted normal sex, I would go completely soft in front of her. A guy who had never even had normal sex couldn’t get it up no matter what he tried. The memory of desperately slapping my own balls, trying to force an erection, made me want to die all over again.
“Hup—”
My hand naturally slipped into my pants. Just like I used to do back then, I tried to scratch my privates in that crude way.
“…Huh?”
There was no hair.
“What the hell is this?”
At least the dick was still there.
“Fuck!…”
But… it was small.
“No way… It wasn’t like this back then, was it?”
Startled, I yanked down both my pants and underwear at once, staring at what had happened to my lower body with both eyes. Convinced something seriously strange had occurred, I frantically rubbed my cock, trying to measure its size when fully erect.
“Mirror… Mirror!”
Something of massive importance had happened. Forgetting entirely that I had died and arrived in the afterlife, I jumped up from my spot and dashed to the bathroom of the studio apartment. I stripped off my clothes and began comparing the twenty-year-old me in the mirror with my current self.
“…Eh?”
But there was no need to check what had changed. The person reflected in the mirror… wasn’t me at all.
“…Wow.”
The words “Is this… me?” never even left my mouth. The figure in the mirror looked exactly like a femboy who had been brutally trained into a female after meeting the wrong owner.
“Not bad at all?”
I meant it. This wasn’t bad. With this body… I might actually be able to fulfill the wish I could never achieve in my previous life.
My previous body had been tall and strong. A beautiful girl would have needed to bring at least a sledgehammer to overpower me. But this current body looked like it would collapse with an orgasmic expression if someone simply punched me in the stomach.
Gulp—
My heart began to race with excitement. What would happen if I went outside looking like this? Even though my cock had gotten smaller, maybe I could enjoy every single play I had ever wanted.
Perhaps this wasn’t the afterlife at all… but a place created to let me resolve the lingering regrets of the dreams I couldn’t fulfill in my previous life. If so, there was no reason to reject this new body.
Whoosh—
There was no reason to hesitate. I threw away even my underwear, pulled on only a pair of pants, and burst out into the street.
The scene outside was roughly the same as what I had seen ten years ago.
“But… where should I go?”
Being reincarnated with a body perfect for getting fucked and actually having a woman appear who would rape me were two different problems. Just because I could now ride the subway for free didn’t mean the subway would come to my doorstep.
“…The subway?”
It was a staple trope I had seen often in doujinshi. Shotacon boys getting attacked on the subway was a pretty popular theme. If I wandered around the subway with this body… maybe at least one woman would target me.
Then, while being aware of the woman who had begun to hunt me, I would slowly run away… only to be caught at the end of a chase and get fucked senseless by a beautiful girl drenched in sweat.
The chances of that fantasy playing out exactly were obviously low… but just the fact that the possibility existed filled me with ecstasy.
Gulp—
This was my second life, meant to achieve my dream. Already… I couldn’t stop getting hard.