I can still remember the first time I raped another woman. It was a few years ago, but the sexual thrill it gave me is still as vivid now as it was then. You notice I said “the first time.” The thrill I got I’ve never been able to recapture with normal sex, so since then I’ve raped other women on numerous occasions. What surprised me then but doesn’t so much now is how easy it is to get away with. It’s certainly easier than if I were a male raping women.

You see, what I know now that I didn’t know that first time was that the shock and humiliation of being raped by another woman is usually enough to keep them quiet about their ordeal. I don’t hold with this crap about rape victims enjoying it. I’d hate to think anyone but myself gets any pleasure out of the whole thing. So I can only assume it’s the shame of the whole situation which keeps their mouths shut.

Being a lesbian, I don’t really need to force my women into submission. A lot of them I pick up in gay bars anyway, so from a sex point of view, I was usually going to get them naked anyway. But ordinary sex with women bores me. There is no drug in the world which could give me the high I get out of wrestling some poor girl to the ground, stripping her naked, and violating her captive body. I could crack a feeble joke and say it’s better than sex, but I won’t.

But the other things that always stick in my mind about my first one were how strange it was. Firstly, I was 18, and the other woman was twice my age. Secondly, although I’d known for some time before then that I was a lesbian, I’d never had any sexual experiences with anyone, let alone another woman. Thirdly, although I’d planned the actual rape for a few weeks, I was probably as scared as she was while it was going on.

I guess I’ll have to set the scene a bit. I was about 14 when I began to suspect I might be a lesbian; I didn’t fancy boys as much as I fancied the women around me in school or in the small town I lived in. I had a long-term crush on the woman, Angela, who lived over the road from us. She was about twice my age, but every time I saw her, I’d get little butterflies in my stomach. As I got older, I began to play with myself while fantasizing about being in bed with her.

By the time I was approaching 18, I knew I was a lesbian, but in the small town I grew up in, it would have been virtually suicidal to come out. Being a very solitary girl, I didn’t have a friend in whom I could confide anything like that. So at weekends, I started going to the city about 40 miles from town and buying books about lesbians. But although they confirmed that they were out there, they didn’t do much to satisfy my curiosity about what lesbians actually did. So shortly before my 18th birthday, I decided I would visit one of the sex shops in the city and see what magazines about lesbians there were.

I guess it’s fortunate that I’ve always looked older than I am. So armed with a bit of fake I.D. proclaiming I was 18, I entered my first sex shop. I have to admit it was a bit disappointing, just a few magazines amongst a pile of very non-pornographic stuff. The few male customers when I entered quickly left, which made my job a bit easier. Ignoring the malevolent glance of the assistant, I walked over to the small section marked “Lesbian”. But before I got there, something else caught my eye; it was a magazine cover showing a woman lying on a bed with her hands tied behind her while another girl was biting her tits, none too gently either.

I immediately felt a tingle between my legs – this struck a chord with me, and I knew immediately that I wanted to be the girl doing the biting. To my delight, there were quite a few of these types of magazines, so I grabbed 3 at random and hurriedly paid the assistant (who probably made more from me than he would have done from the men I frightened off).

I couldn’t wait to read this stuff, so I went into a nearby pub, ordered a coke then went to the loo and locked myself in the cubicle and rapidly opened the 3 magazines. They were all brilliant; all featuring very beautiful girls capturing, binding up, and generally abusing other equally beautiful girls.

I could almost feel the jigsaw pieces in my head slotting into place; very dark thoughts were swimming around my brain, and my hand slipped between my legs in response to the delightful sensations there. I got so excited that I had to frig myself off there in a cubicle of a back-street pub in a dodgy part of the city.

I spent the next 6 months constantly re-reading the stories and imagining myself in the dominant role. I no longer fantasized about just being in bed with Angela; now I wanted her tied and helpless and unable to stop me from doing whatever I wanted. Gradually, what had started out as a nice fantasy to help me get to sleep became a very dominant thought; I really wanted to do this. At some point over those six months, the fantasy crystallized into a definite plan.

I knew I would have no trouble getting into her house. I had made a faltering attempt at making a pass at her once (well, I’d gone over to see her on some flimsy pretext and hoped she’d make a pass at me), and still popped in every now and again. I also knew that even though she was twice my age, I was physically a match for her. I was always good at sports such as Judo at school.