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#Bisexual #Rape #Tween #Virgin
By anklets
a delicate bloom of curiosity, with soft olive skin, mischievous eyes, and full lips made for whispers and kisses, embodying youthful desire.
I was about 7-years old when I discovered porn. I was fascinated but unlike most boys I actually was enjoying the female’s perspective. Like, really into it. Imagining how it would be like to be her, feeling those things, and doing those things.
More than penetrating someone, I was more into being penetrated. I’d sneak glances at dirty magazines, my heart racing as I studied the expressions of the women, their faces contorted in pleasure that I didn’t fully understand. They were the goddesses of my secret world, and I yearned to know their secrets. I’d mimic their sounds in the shower, the echoes of my own voice bouncing off the tiles and filling my ears, a strange sort of comfort in the solitude of my curiosity.
I was enthralled with the idea of femininity and the power of sexual submission, and as I grew older, the internet became my gateway to a world of endless visual stimulation, and I discovered the vast spectrum of pornography. The more I watched, the more I realized that my desires weren’t just a phase; they were a part of who I was. I was a young boy craving to experience the sensations of a woman, to understand the depth of her pleasure and the rawness of her surrender.
Now before I go further let me tell you about me. I’m Rahim, an orphan of sorts who’s being taken care of by my feisty aunt, Auntie Sana. She’s a bit traditional so my burgeoning sexuality was definitely a no-go topic at home. But that didn’t stop me from exploring my feelings.
I began to emulate becoming feminine. How? Well for starters, I wanted to rid my body of all sorts of body hair since the women in the videos had none. I’d steal Auntie Sana’s wax strips and apply them in the dead of night, my skin stinging with the coldness of the wax before the searing pain of ripping it off. The smoothness that followed was heavenly, and it brought me one step closer to feeling like the women I envied.
I was only 10 by the time I really began to think about taking dicks, not just giving them. I’d seen it in the videos, the way the women would gasp and arch their backs, the way their eyes rolled back in ecstasy. It looked like the ultimate act of submission, and I craved it with a passion that burned deep in my soul. I knew I was different, but I didn’t understand why. It was like I was born in the wrong body, but I had no idea what that meant, or what to do about it.
Yeah I was probably born in the wrong one, hehe…sometimes wishing I could just cut my dick off and throw it away. But hey, that’s not how things work, right? So, I had to find other ways to cope. I started wearing Auntie Sana’s clothes when she wasn’t home. The soft fabric of her lingerie felt like a second skin, wrapping me in a warm embrace that soothed my confused soul. The way the lace caressed my skin, the way the panties hugged my hips โ it was like a secret ritual that brought me closer to the female form I so desperately desired.
But more than the clothes it was the jewelry that truly sparked something within me. Auntie Sana never wore any owing to her religious beliefs, but this is India and it was filled with Hindu women flaunting their gold jewelry. I found myself drawn to it, the way it shimmered in the sunlight, the way it felt cold and heavy in my hands. It was a symbol of femininity, a declaration to the world that I wasnโt just playing dress-up, but that I truly felt like a girl.
We had a neighbor, Mrs. Gupta, who was quite friendly with Auntie Sana. Her daughter, Anita had moved out for college, leaving behind a treasure trove of girly stuff that she had outgrown. It was like the universe had answered my prayers, as I snuck into their house when I knew everyone was out. The smell of her perfume still lingered in the air, and I could almost feel her presence as I rummaged through her drawers.
I found a pair of dainty earrings, studded with little faux diamonds that sparkled under the streetlight seeping through the window. My heart raced as I clasped them onto my ears. They felt so foreign and yet so right, the metal pressing gently against my earlobes. I looked at myself in the mirror and for a brief moment, I saw a reflection that didn’t quite match the one I was born with, but rather a glimpse of the girl I felt I truly was inside.
Then my eyes fell on the anklets and it was like the universe had aligned all the stars in my favor. Mrs. Gupta was a traditionalist, so her daughter’s anklets were the real deal – gold, jingling with each step I took. They were snug on my skin, but I didn’t care. I felt like a rebellious princess, tiptoeing around in my aunt’s house, the soft chime of the bells a secret melody that only I knew the tune to. It was liberating, and yet, it was just the beginning.
What do you think happened next? I began to adorn my feet with anklets at school. I would hide them in my bag and only wear them once I was settled in class. It was risky, sure, but the thrill of having a piece of my true self with me at all times was worth it. The jingle-jangle of the bells became the soundtrack to my secret life, a constant reminder of the girl I was becoming.
Of course I was made fun of, teased relentlessly by the other kids. They called me names like “Rahim-Rani” and “Chakka,” which only made me feel more isolated. But even in the face of their cruel taunts, I couldn’t deny the exhilaration that came from expressing myself in this way. Each day, I’d push the boundaries a little further โ a touch more makeup, a slightly more pronounced sway in my hips. The whispers and pointed glances only fueled my determination to live as authentically as possible.
Oh yeah and I began to get a bit zesty too. The teasing turned me on, like the catcalls of the construction workers in the alleyways, their rough laughter bouncing off the buildings as I’d walk by, feeling their eyes on me. It was a strange sort of power, knowing that I could elicit such raw, primal reactions from them. It made me feel seen in a way that no one else ever had.
Strangely the girls who were making fun of me, included me in their group to make me their own personal entertainment for laughs. Little did they know, I was getting off on the attention. It was like a double life. I’d go from being the butt of their jokes to being the star of my own private fantasies. And in those moments, I felt alive.
Sure enough, all the teasing, catcalling, and attention has given me exactly what I wanted when a school senior, several years older to me cornered me in the bathroom. I am just 11 now and the excitement of wearing the anklets in school has become a habit, almost an addiction. He’s a big burly guy, Rohan, one of those who’d laugh the loudest at my expense. But today, his eyes are different. They’re not mocking; they’re hungry, and for the first time, I feel a thrill that’s not entirely unpleasant.
“Hey, you like wearing those?” he sneers, pointing at my anklets peeking out from my school socks. I swallow hard, nodding. He smirks, a glint of something predatory in his gaze. “Let’s see how much you like wearing them, then.” He grabs my arm, pulling me into the stall. I’m terrified but also… excited? It’s a confusing mix of emotions that I don’t fully understand.
He shoves me against the cold tiles, his body pressing into mine. The smell of his sweat and the cheap cologne he tries to cover it with fills the small space. His hand reaches under my shorts before I can protest.. “You want to play dress-up, I’ll show you what it’s really like to be a girl.” His voice is a growl, a promise of something dark and thrilling.
I can feel his hardness against me, and I realize with a start that I want this. This is the closest I’ve ever been to the kind of power those women in the videos have, the power to make a man crave them. And as much as I fear the pain, there’s a part of me that craves it too. It’s like I’ve been waiting for this moment, like it’s a rite of passage.
“Yes, bhaiya….daddy,” I blurted out, my voice a strange mix of fear and longing. Rohan’s grip tightened, his grin widening. He was enjoying this, the power he had over me. His hand slipped lower, his fingers probing my tight entrance, and I couldn’t help but gasp. It hurt, but the pain was a strange kind of pleasure, a sensation I’d never felt before.
“That’s right,” he murmured, his breath hot against my neck. “You’re going to take it like a good little slut.” He pushed a finger in, and I whimpered, my legs trembling. His other hand snaked up to my chest, squeezing my small nipples, and I felt a warmth spread through me that had nothing to do with the cramped, stuffy bathroom stall.
‘I’m gonna get raped and yet I’m enjoying it?’ I thought to myself, feeling like the world’s biggest mess. But here I was, my heart pounding in my chest, my breath coming in short gasps as Rohan’s rough fingers invaded my body. He chuckled at my response, mistaking my fear for eagerness. He pushed another finger inside me, and I bit my lip to keep from crying out.
“You like that, don’t you?” he whispered, his voice thick with lust. “You’re a natural.” His words only served to excite me more, and I found myself nodding, unable to form coherent sentences. He withdrew his hand and unbuckled his belt, his eyes never leaving mine.
The sound of his zipper was like a gunshot in the quiet bathroom, echoing in my ears and sending a jolt of fear through my body. But fear wasn’t the only emotion I felt. There was also anticipation, a strange excitement that grew as he pulled out his thick, throbbing member. It was the first time I’d seen a real one up close, and I couldn’t tear my eyes away from it.
‘Oh my god, I can’t believe this is happening,’ I thought, as Rohan pushed down my shorts, his eyes never leaving mine. The coldness of the tiles seeped into my skin, sending a shiver down my spine. He grabbed my wrists and pinned them above my head, leaning into me, his weight pressing me against the wall. His other hand was busy fumbling with his own shorts, and before I knew it, he was naked from the waist down.
The tip of his erection brushed against my thigh, leaving a sticky trail of precum. I could feel the heat of him, and it sent a strange thrill through me. This was it, the moment I had both feared and longed for. I didn’t know if I was ready, but I knew I couldn’t stop it now. The bathroom door creaked open, and for a brief second, I thought we’d been caught, but it was only the wind.
Rohan pushed my legs apart, and I felt his cock nudging at my entrance. “Ready?” he asked, and I nodded, my voice barely a whisper. He pushed in, and pain ripped through me like lightning, stealing my breath. I bit down on my lip so hard I tasted blood, my eyes filling with tears that rolled down my cheeks. It felt like my body was being torn apart, but I didn’t scream. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d hurt me.
He started moving, his hips pumping into me, each thrust sending waves of pain that crashed into the growing pleasure deep inside. The anklets jingled with every movement, a twisted reminder of my feminine fantasies. The pain and the pleasure swirled together, creating a cocktail of sensations that was both terrifying and exhilarating. His grip on my wrists tightened, and his breathing grew ragged.
He glanced at my cock, still standing proudly despite the situation, and smirked. “Looks like you’re enjoying this more than you let on.” He released my wrists, and I didn’t fight him, letting my arms drop limply to my sides. Instead, I wrapped them around his neck, pulling him closer as he continued to thrust into me. The pain had become a background noise to the overwhelming pleasure that was building with each stroke.
I felt his hand snake down my body, expertly avoiding my cock as he didn’t want to admit the effect he had on me. ‘Probably doesn’t want to seem gay,’ I thought to myself, trying to ignore the burning in my eyes and the way my own erection was pulsing in time with his thrusts. Instead, his hands found my tender ass cheeks, and the sudden sensation was like a switch had been flipped. The pain was still there, but it was now a distant echo compared to the intense pleasure that surged through me as he began to fondle it.
It was like nothing I’d ever felt before. His rough fingers digging into my skin, spreading me wider as he pushed deeper, his hips slapping against my ass with a wet smack that seemed to echo through the empty bathroom. The tension grew, coiling in my stomach like a tight spring. And as much as I didn’t want to admit it, I was enjoying it. The pain was a strange sort of release, a way to feel something real, something that made me feel alive in a world that had always felt so out of reach.
I looked up at Rohan, his face a mask of concentration and lust. His eyes were closed, his teeth gritted, and his breathing was heavy. It was like watching a beast claiming its prey, and somehow, I didn’t mind being that prey. I wanted to be consumed by him, to be the thing that brought him to his knees. And as his grip tightened, as he pushed in one final, brutal thrust, I knew that I’d found a piece of myself that I hadn’t even realized was missing.
The orgasm hit me like a freight train, my entire body tensing as I came, my cock spurting hot, sticky cum onto the floor. The pleasure was so intense it was almost painful, my vision going white as stars danced in front of my eyes. Rohan grunted, his own climax following quickly after, his cock pulsing deep inside me, filling me with his warmth.
I had masturbated before so I had an idea of how much cum flows out upon orgasm but when Rohan came inside me, it was a whole new sensation. It was hot, sticky and overwhelming. I felt his cock twitch as he emptied himself into me, his body shuddering with the force of his climax. When it was over, he pulled out, and I slumped against the wall, my legs feeling like jelly. He tucked himself back into his pants and zipped up with a smug look on his face.
I winced as I tried to comprehend the amount of cum he had just deposited in me. It was a strange feeling, his warmth still lingering inside. Rohan wiped his hand off on a piece of toilet paper, tossed it in the bowl, and flushed it away, like the whole encounter was nothing but a dirty secret to be disposed of. “You’re a good little slut,” he said, zipping up his pants with a smug smile.
‘So much cum,’ I thought to myself as I felt it slowly ooze out of me, staining my underwear. It was a strange feeling, a mix of violation and… something else.
Rohan leaned against the sink, washing his hands as if nothing had happened. “You’re going to keep this between us, right?” he said, turning to look at me with a smirk. “I don’t want to hear about you telling anyone. You’re just a faggot who enjoys it.” His words stung, but I nodded, still in shock. I didn’t want to admit it, but a part of me liked the dirty, forbidden nature of what had just happened.
“Oh and you aren’t?” I asked with a chuckle that was forced through the ache in my voice. Rohan smirks, turning off the tap and drying his hands with a rough towel.
“What?” He feigned ignorance. “I’m just a guy who enjoys a good fuck. Nothing queer about that.” He says it like he’s reassuring himself, but the way his eyes linger on my disheveled state, the swollen pink of my cheeks, and the mess of cum seeping through my underwear, tells me he’s more invested than he lets on.
“Whatever,” I mumble, tugging my shorts up and straightening my shirt. The fabric clings to my sticky skin, a constant reminder of what just happened. I want to feel used, but all I feel is a weird mix of excitement and confusion. Instead, I realize, it’s he who looks disgusted at the very thought of admitting his own desires.
He opens the door and peers out before gesturing for me to leave. “Go on, before someone sees us.” His voice is cold, like he’s already forgotten the heat of the moment. I stumble out, my legs wobbly and my heart racing. The hallway outside the bathroom is empty, but it feels like the walls are closing in on me. The jingle of my anklets is the only sound in the silent corridor, a stark contrast to the chaos that had just unfolded in the stall.
Back in class, I find myself grinning from ear to ear, despite the pain between my legs. The secret thrill of what just happened in the bathroom is a constant buzz in my brain. I can’t stop thinking about the way Rohan’s cock felt inside me, the weight of his body, the smell of him, the way his eyes had lit up when he came. It’s like a dirty little treasure, a piece of me that’s now forever changed.
Even though he looked absolutely disgusted at his own actions, the way Rohan’s eyes had lingered on me as I left the bathroom was a clear indication that he wasn’t as straight as he claimed to be. But that was the least of my concerns at that moment. I was too busy trying to process the overwhelming sensations that were still pulsing through my body. The pain had subsided to a dull throb, but the feeling of fullness remained. It was strange, like my body had been marked by the encounter.
Thinking it was the last of him, I did my best to recollect every little memory of that and kept remembering it while jerking off in my room at night. But apparently, Rohan wasnโt done with me. Over the next few weeks, he’d find reasons to be alone with me. Each time, the tension grew thicker, the air heavier, until finally, he’d push me into a corner and take what he wanted.
Now we were like fuck buddies with a twist, except it was never consensual. Each encounter was a silent battle of power, my submission a silent victory, and his aggression a secret thrill. After school, Rohan would often take me to secluded spots, his eyes gleaming with lust and something more. Something darker. He’d push me against the wall, his hand over my mouth to muffle my cries, and his other hand would pull down my pants, revealing the anklets that had become a silent invitation to him.
The jingling sound grew louder in my ears with each thrust, a symphony of pain and pleasure that played out in the shadowy corners of our lives. He never talked about it, never acknowledged it outside those moments. It was our dirty little secret, and I was his dirty little slut. The other kids at school didn’t know, but I sometimes wished they did.
When I turned 12, Rohan finished school and moved away, leaving behind a void in my life that I desperately tried to fill with more porn, more stolen moments in Auntie Sana’s lingerie drawer, and the constant jingle of anklets that seemed to call out to me, reminding me of what I’d experienced. His departure was bittersweet; the fear of discovery had been a constant weight on my chest, but without him, my secret world felt empty.
So I took the initiative to find others like Rohan, to fill that void he’d left. I started looking for guys like him in school, guys who’d bully me but also had that glint in their eye that said they wanted more. I found that in Manav, the fat dude who sold weed behind the school. Not knowing how to approach him, I’d drop by to buy weed that I never smoked. Until one day I said I had no money.
“What do you mean no money?” He looked at me with a smirk, licking his lips as he took in my anklets that had become a permanent fixture on my legs. “Maybe we can work out a different kind of payment.” He suggested, his eyes dark with a hunger that mirrored Rohan’s.
I nodded eagerly, my heart racing with excitement. This was what I wanted, wasn’t it? To feel desired, to be used, to experience the raw power of submission. And so, we made a deal. In exchange for my silence and a secret rendezvous behind the school dumpsters, I’d let him fuck me. It was simple, really. A trade of pleasure for pain, of fear for a twisted kind of belonging.
Our encounters grew more frequent, each one a little rougher than the last. Manav didn’t have Rohan’s finesse, but he had something else. He had a desperation that fueled his lust, and that desperation was intoxicating. He’d shove his thick cock into me without much care, his panting breaths hot in my ear as he whispered obscenities that sent shivers down my spine. And with each thrust, I felt a strange sense of belonging, like I was finally living the life I was meant to live.
But it wasn’t just about the sex anymore. It was about the control, the power dynamics that played out in those stolen moments. It was about being seen, about being wanted, about being something other than the weird kid who liked to wear girls’ clothes.
When I began to gobble up his dick like a starving whore, Manav’s eyes bulged in shock. He’d never seen a kid like me, eager for a cock, and I reveled in the power that knowledge gave me. His hand tangled in my hair, pushing me deeper, and I took it, loving the way his cock hit the back of my throat, making me gag. It was a power trip, and I was the one holding the reins.
The smell of weed and sweat mingled with the scent of my arousal as he fucked my face, and I could feel myself getting wetter and wetter. It was a strange, twisted dance of dominance and submission, but it was a dance I knew the steps to. When he was ready, he’d push me to the ground, tearing my shorts off and bending me over. The sound of his belt unbuckling was like the opening notes of a symphony, a prelude to the pain I craved.
“You like it, don’t you, slut?” He’d pant, slapping my ass as he drove into me. And I’d nod, my voice muffled by his hand, the pleasure building with each smack.
The sting of his palm on my skin became a strange sort of comfort, a reminder that I was alive, that I was desired. And as he’d come, his grunts and curses echoing off the metal dumpsters, I’d come too, my body shuddering with a pleasure so intense it was almost unbearable. It was a feeling that I chased every time, a high that nothing else could match.
And this feeling…I didn’t want it to end anytime soon. Only wanting to look forward to my next sexual escapade.
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By anklets
#Bisexual #Rape #Tween #Virgin
