NOTE: A year ago, I ran a blog named Virginia’s Secret Garden for the purpose of making fun of “red pill women” and their beta orbiters in the manosphere. I wrote under the nom-de-plume of “Virginia Robinson,” a happy submissive Christian housewife living in the Midwest… who blogged about her sex life in nauseating detail. You can read more about the hoax here.
Because I’m no longer updating the site, I’ve decided to let the domain VirginiasSecretGarden.com expire. Here is one of the articles I wrote for the blog, originally published on January 27, 2014.
I fell on the bed squirming and writhing, my half-undone bra fluttering around me. The man glared at me with evil in his eyes.
“No… please… don’t…” I begged him.
“I told you to shut up!” he growled as he slapped me across the face.
This was the last straw. I started bawling, my face morphing into contortions of fear and hate. My tears were cut short by a cold metal sensation against my temple.
“If you make so much as another peep, you die.” The man poked the barrel of his pistol against my head.
Terrified, I shut my mouth, tears continuing to stream down my cheeks. Producing a penknife, the man sliced my panties off, slightly nicking the side of my hip with the blade. Flipping me on my back, he shoved my face into the pillow. I could hear him undoing his belt. I wanted to fight him, but it felt as all the strength had been drained from my bones. I was paralyzed, helpless.
“This is going to hurt you a lot more than it’s going to hurt me,” he taunted.
A jolt of fear went up my spine. I felt the tip of his cock teasing my pussy, which was dripping with juices. The pillowcase was stained with my sweat and tears.
Satisfied with my involuntary arousal, the man plunged his prick deep inside me. My legs seized up in response. I knew I wasn’t supposed to, but I was… enjoying this. Clasping my cheeks with both hands, the man violated me with pitch-perfect rhythm, each slam against my cervix bringing me closer to nirvana. Smacking my face back into the pillow, a strained scream escaped my lips, muffled by the fabric.
“Oooooh, aaaaah, oooooh…” my assailant grunted. As he ravaged my body, his strokes became quicker and more vigorous. We were both going to blow.
“Mmmmmm…” My body was wracked with convulsions. Regaining the use of my arms, I gripped the railing for dear life.
The man stopped thrusting. I felt his cock twitch, and an ocean of cum flooded my pussy. He released his grip as I panted into the pillow. I felt terrified, aroused, and most of all, satisfied. Rolling over onto my back, I gathered up the courage to face my attacker.
“That was wonderful,” I purred. “I love you, honey.”
“I can tell,” my husband replied.
I was inspired to tell this little story after reading Runsonmagic’s article “How Women Train Men to Rape” over at Return of Kings. His words resonated with me because they’re the truth: we ladies do teach men to rape us (or at least treat us roughly in bed, haha). I certainly did it to my husband.
When we first married, my husband was extremely gentle in bed. He assumed that because I was a virgin that I would be put off by the rough, violent sex he was used to. And while I was fine with him taking it slow at first, over time I became progressively dissatisfied with our bedroom sessions. This combined with our frequent fights nearly ended our marriage.
I started by asking my husband to be more aggressive in the bedroom; pulling my hair, slapping me on the butt, telling me to do things instead of asking me. The first time we tried it, I kept mouthing “no no no”; he immediately stopped. I then asked him why he stopped and tried to tell him that just because I say “no” doesn’t mean I actually mean it. I wasn’t trying to fight him or get him off me; I sat back and passively submitted to his ministrations. I told my husband to ignore my words and watch my actions instead.
That night, I came harder than I’d ever came before. :D
Ever since then, my husband has a free hand in dominating me in the bedroom. He’s learned that in my case, “no” means “yes” most of the time, and “stop” means “no.” He’s told me he’s somewhat uncomfortable with the things he does to me, but he keeps it up because it’s what my body craves, haha. But had I never told or shown him this was what I wanted, he would still be handling me with kid gloves.
Bottom line, fellas: just because a girl’s telling you “no” doesn’t mean she wants you to stop. It’s on us ladies to say what we mean and mean what we say. We shouldn’t treat “no” in bed in the casual way we do, hehe.
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