Hey IT, I know we are having our differences, to put it mildly, but maybe sometimes we should make an attempt to understand each other.
I would like to start by proposing a thought experiment to you, it will be a little bit distastefully but considering you sift through this site on a regular basis, I doubt it is something you cannot stomach.
So please bear with me here, all will make sense in the conclusion.
Please close your eyes (not really, of course) and image for a moment that you are a young white woman (about 17 years old) living somewhere in the US of A. Your life is totally ordinary, you have a loving family, a circle of friends and you’re studying semi-hard to have a chance at your dream job.
Your hobbies include many things, but also makeup and experimenting with clothing and different styles. To share this hobby with the wider world, you have an Instagram account were you upload photos of your creations. To make some money on the side you work in a store somewhere in your town.
The day starts like any other, you wake up, take a shower, brush your teeth and are ready to tackle the chores of the day. The evening however goes differently than you expected, very differently.
You find yourself in an enclosed space, maybe it’s a breakroom in the store you’re working in or the confines of a car. Point is, you can’t escape and you are not alone. There is a young man in there with you. Maybe you know him fleetingly from Instagram or maybe as one of your coworkers.
You are immediately reminded of Bianca Davis and Riley Whitelaw, two young women, just like you, who were brutally murdered by some rando.
And just like in those tragic cases, he is upon you.
His hands are on your throat within less than a second, his fingers are like iron spikes pressing in your soft meat. The first thing you feel is the pressure on your neck and the heat shooting into your head. You try to pry his hands off but there is just no way that you can get your weak fingers under his. You want to scream but there is only a weak croaking escaping your mouth. You are getting dizzy.
Your pathetic struggling stops complete as you barely hold onto consciousness. Thinking you incapacitated your attacker releases your throat and turns his attention to your clothes instead. He pulls here and rips there to relieve you of your light summer fashion, grunting in frustration as he is confronted with the more resistant parts of your attire.
Producing a small but doubtlessly sharp pocket knife, he frees your breasts from the light fabric and starts mauling them savagely with his free hand. The pain brings you back to reality and as soon as you feel able to you release a sharp scream for help.
But just as you were to breathe out your attacker punches you in the throat with his knife holding fist. You feel something tear within you and every following breath is like pulling air through a thin straw. There is no way you could scream now…
But the man in front of you is not done. Following the throat breaker, he keeps punching while holding your head in place by the neck. You feel your nose break, your jaw, your teeth, your entire face feels like hot ice as it is violently displaced and deformed. Each punch is like a shockwave blasting through your skull, bringing with it pain, disorientation and the strong taste and smell of your own blood.
Strangely, you are not unconscious, but you have given up struggling regardless. You decided to submit to this man raping you if he only stops hitting you.
And for a time, he honors this unspoken agreement. He pulls, rips and cuts off your short pants and pantys, releasing the smell of the urine you released while being brutalized. He pushes your legs to the sides, not caring if he accidentally cuts you with the knife still in his hand.
You can feel how hard he is, and tears of shame burn down your broken face as he hurriedly enters you. The pain is indescribable. Each thrust is like a sharp equivalent to the blunt punches he already subjected you to. For a moment you consider fighting again but decide against it since all is lost anyway. You have been broken and penetrated already, utterly defeated, nothing to win but more punishment.
He quickens his pace and after an eternity of rhythmic pain and humiliation he stops. You think him done when you suddenly hear him mutter “…too loose…”. Before you have time to think what this could even mean he discards the knife and has both his hands on your throat again. Breathing is impossible now and you flail around in a new rush of panic. You can barely see, instinctively trying to claw at him, you maybe are giving him a few scratches in the face and arms, but he does not care.
All he care for is an orgasm and now that your strangulated panic spasms are clenching up your pussy real good, he is getting it. Realizing this is the last thought you had since, while cumming, his hands clenched so tight that he snaps your neck, killing you instantly.
But then… you know what, fuck it. There is no fucking thought experiment.
I just wanted to remind you worthless rapemeats of what a man can do to you if he really wants to. Please consider that the only difference between you and Bianca Davis or Riley Whitelaw is nothing but sheer luck (and the fact that, unlike them, many of you are fugly). And men like Brandon Clark or Joshua Johnson are around every corner in growing numbers.
Once under their hands you are just a semi sentient lump of wax waiting and wanting to be molded to accommodate their throbbing dicks and to die when they are finished with you.
So go on, make your jokes, but remember them when your time comes.
I hope this helps you understanding the situation a little bit better.
I would like to start by proposing a thought experiment to you, it will be a little bit distastefully but considering you sift through this site on a regular basis, I doubt it is something you cannot stomach.
So please bear with me here, all will make sense in the conclusion.
Please close your eyes (not really, of course) and image for a moment that you are a young white woman (about 17 years old) living somewhere in the US of A. Your life is totally ordinary, you have a loving family, a circle of friends and you’re studying semi-hard to have a chance at your dream job.
Your hobbies include many things, but also makeup and experimenting with clothing and different styles. To share this hobby with the wider world, you have an Instagram account were you upload photos of your creations. To make some money on the side you work in a store somewhere in your town.
The day starts like any other, you wake up, take a shower, brush your teeth and are ready to tackle the chores of the day. The evening however goes differently than you expected, very differently.
You find yourself in an enclosed space, maybe it’s a breakroom in the store you’re working in or the confines of a car. Point is, you can’t escape and you are not alone. There is a young man in there with you. Maybe you know him fleetingly from Instagram or maybe as one of your coworkers.
You are immediately reminded of Bianca Davis and Riley Whitelaw, two young women, just like you, who were brutally murdered by some rando.
And just like in those tragic cases, he is upon you.
His hands are on your throat within less than a second, his fingers are like iron spikes pressing in your soft meat. The first thing you feel is the pressure on your neck and the heat shooting into your head. You try to pry his hands off but there is just no way that you can get your weak fingers under his. You want to scream but there is only a weak croaking escaping your mouth. You are getting dizzy.
Your pathetic struggling stops complete as you barely hold onto consciousness. Thinking you incapacitated your attacker releases your throat and turns his attention to your clothes instead. He pulls here and rips there to relieve you of your light summer fashion, grunting in frustration as he is confronted with the more resistant parts of your attire.
Producing a small but doubtlessly sharp pocket knife, he frees your breasts from the light fabric and starts mauling them savagely with his free hand. The pain brings you back to reality and as soon as you feel able to you release a sharp scream for help.
But just as you were to breathe out your attacker punches you in the throat with his knife holding fist. You feel something tear within you and every following breath is like pulling air through a thin straw. There is no way you could scream now…
But the man in front of you is not done. Following the throat breaker, he keeps punching while holding your head in place by the neck. You feel your nose break, your jaw, your teeth, your entire face feels like hot ice as it is violently displaced and deformed. Each punch is like a shockwave blasting through your skull, bringing with it pain, disorientation and the strong taste and smell of your own blood.
Strangely, you are not unconscious, but you have given up struggling regardless. You decided to submit to this man raping you if he only stops hitting you.
And for a time, he honors this unspoken agreement. He pulls, rips and cuts off your short pants and pantys, releasing the smell of the urine you released while being brutalized. He pushes your legs to the sides, not caring if he accidentally cuts you with the knife still in his hand.
You can feel how hard he is, and tears of shame burn down your broken face as he hurriedly enters you. The pain is indescribable. Each thrust is like a sharp equivalent to the blunt punches he already subjected you to. For a moment you consider fighting again but decide against it since all is lost anyway. You have been broken and penetrated already, utterly defeated, nothing to win but more punishment.
He quickens his pace and after an eternity of rhythmic pain and humiliation he stops. You think him done when you suddenly hear him mutter “…too loose…”. Before you have time to think what this could even mean he discards the knife and has both his hands on your throat again. Breathing is impossible now and you flail around in a new rush of panic. You can barely see, instinctively trying to claw at him, you maybe are giving him a few scratches in the face and arms, but he does not care.
All he care for is an orgasm and now that your strangulated panic spasms are clenching up your pussy real good, he is getting it. Realizing this is the last thought you had since, while cumming, his hands clenched so tight that he snaps your neck, killing you instantly.
But then… you know what, fuck it. There is no fucking thought experiment.
I just wanted to remind you worthless rapemeats of what a man can do to you if he really wants to. Please consider that the only difference between you and Bianca Davis or Riley Whitelaw is nothing but sheer luck (and the fact that, unlike them, many of you are fugly). And men like Brandon Clark or Joshua Johnson are around every corner in growing numbers.
Once under their hands you are just a semi sentient lump of wax waiting and wanting to be molded to accommodate their throbbing dicks and to die when they are finished with you.
So go on, make your jokes, but remember them when your time comes.
I hope this helps you understanding the situation a little bit better.
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