Trigger Warning: Extreme Horror: Contains Strong Sexual Content, Violence, Drug Use, and Language. Read Online Free PDF

a man, and men can’t help but rape; they’re filthy animals (unevolved ape-men) that only think with their little heads. “Progressives” love to hate on the white male, but it’s all of them: red, yellow, black, and white—they’re all fucking rape-machines. And they call us whores? Ha.
    But I guess I deserve to be down here with him. After all, according to the Bunny, we (the ape-man and I) are both sinners.
    Then again, that Bunny (behind his mask) is probably a man. Only a man could be this cruel. Only men love kidnap and torture and violence. It’s the only thing they read about and watch on TV. And it’s always from their perspective. We watch through their eyes as they commit these violent, disturbing acts—and if we are men, we stroke our dicks. But the women are left out, only to ponder how anyone could be so turned on by such atrocities, and confused about what to do with our hands…maybe catch the rising bile from the backs of our throats?
    I haven’t moved an inch from my spot: back against the wall, legs drawn to my chest.
    I hear a muffled voice, giggling, screaming, a high-pitched whining (some kinda torture device?), followed by more screaming.
    I quiver against the cold stone wall of this prison.
    The ape-man starts pounding on the wall near the source of the noise (the next room, maybe?), crying, “STOP IT!” Probably the same thing your victim cried out, but you refused to listen, didn’t you, ape-man? You know what you want and no one is going to tell you to stop. You don’t care that she was a child once, just like you, you don’t care about her feelings, her hopes and dreams, her parents and brothers and sisters who love her…just that wet, squishy spot between her thighs. You don’t understand the importance of consent because you always want it. You don’t understand not wanting it. You want what you want and you’ll take it no matter what. You don’t think about how it’ll hurt her, damage her; destroy her confidence and self-esteem, her fucking life. You don’t think about the years of therapy she’ll go through after; the times she’ll break down crying when she tries to be intimate with another man (they all remind her of you), the apologizing and the excuses she’ll make up trying to make the men stay, not think she’s crazy, not leave her for not putting out at the appropriate time (man-time, which is always now ; of course, some of the ape-men will promise to wait for her, but that waiting period will usually be two to three days; by then, they will take what they want or leave), but they only want what you want, don’t they?…her fucking cunt. They don’t care about the pain and hurt and PTSD and triggers, the constant struggle she goes through every day to exist in a callous world ruled by raping and killing machines. And it was foolish of her to think there would ever be a man who cared, who understood, who would be patient and wait as she nurtured her damaged sexuality back to health…the sexuality you took and destroyed with your angry phallus. It never crossed your filthy mind again, but she lives with it every day you fucking pig. You swine. Hope you die.
    “STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT!” the ape-man cries.
    I want to kill him. Make him shut up.
    I’m wondering how I’m going to die and my stomach turns. I need to puke. I want to, but I can’t. The back of my throat keeps going into spasms...but nothing.
    I stare down at my hands. At the chipped purple fingernail polish. I don’t know why, but I think about the time I gave a guy a hand job down at PUSSY CATS. The club I was a stripper at before I met the Bunny.
     
     
     
    …YESTERDAY
     
     
     
    The hot pink neon sign above the strip club floor winked: PUSSY CATS—except the C, A, and T bulbs had burnt out, so the neon simply flashed PUSSY   S. And that’s what they (the ape-men) were here for. The girls danced and the “gentlemen” watched, hooting and hollering. Stupid, simple-minded beasts.