Idol of Rape

by All These Roadworks

Tags: #cw:noncon #dom:male #exhibitionism #f/m #humiliation #sub:female #supernatural #curse

Pretty Sophia, touristing in a foreign city, doesn’t take the warning not to touch the ancient idol seriously - but she soon learns her lesson as she falls victim to its degrading curse…

Idol of Rape
Story by All These Roadworks (2021)
This is one of 17 stories collected in my e-book Cast A Slutty Spell - Stories of Supernatural Erotica, available for only $3.99 USD at  Purchases support me to continue creating new, free content!
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The ancient Sumerian idol had a big sign on it, in the museum’s prissy serifed font, reading “DO NOT TOUCH”. But Sophia, on holiday and feeling daring, was still pissed that the tour guide had corrected her so archly in front of the other tourists.
“No,” the guide had said loudly in response to her question. “It’s not a *fertility* idol. Does it even *look* like Ninhursag, God of Fertility? It clearly depicts a mating between Enki, the patron of male virility, and Innana, the whore-goddess. It’s an idol of lust, young miss, or possibly an idol of rape.”
Sophia flushed with humiliation at the treatment, and pouted, and when the other tourists moved on, she hung back to engage in an act of minor rebellion - when no one was looking, she reached out and, very deliberately, touched the idol she wasn’t supposed to touch.
There was a feeling like a static shock, and for a moment she worried she had set off some security system. But there was no alarm, and no one seemed to notice, so she assumed her tiny rebellion has been undetected, and hurried to catch up again with the group.
She found herself keeping her hand in a pocket all day, responding to some memory of that staticky feeling. At the end of a day of touristing, she retired to her hotel room, undressed, and then decided to enjoy a little private time, slowly masturbating to thoughts of a certain handsome foreigner she’d had her eye on in the tour group. Using that hand to touch her pussy - the same one that had touched the idol - felt a little naughty, and of course that made her feel hotter, and she quickly orgasmed.
It was afterwards that her problems started. Naked, glowing, and flushed with sexual pleasure, she strolled languidly to the lounge room, and picked up her hairbrush with the intention of brushing her hair.
However, as soon as she picked it up, she felt a powerful urge come over her. Gasping, not understanding what she was doing or why she was doing it, she took the handle of the hairbrush and pushed it up into her pussy. She watched as she fucked it in and out of her cunt a couple of times. It felt good, although she’d just cum so it was unnecessary. But she didn’t understand why she was doing it.
Then, to her horror, she realised she needed something else from the hairbrush. She watched as she turned it around, and then pushed the other end - the spiky plastic end - into her fuckhole. She squealed with pain as it went in. The spikes weren’t hard enough to do any real damage, but it *hurt*. She felt tears forming, and she watched as she pulled the brush out of her cunt and pushed it back in two, three times.
And then, as suddenly as she had started, she stopped. She withdrew the brush from her pussy, and then began to brush her hair with it. She knew she was brushing her own cunt juices into her hair, but she had as little choice in this as she had in pushing it into her fuckhole. She understood now what she was doing - she had touched something, and so she had to fuck her cunt with it and then use it for its intended purposes.
And not just touch it - touch it with the hand that had touched the idol. The hand, she now realised, which had been *cursed* by the idol.
Once her hair was brushed, the compulsion left her, and she immediately tossed the hairbrush away as though it were a venomous snake. What had happened? Was it over now? How could she make it stop?
It was not over. Her first instinct in the face of her fear was to put her clothes on and cover her vulnerability. However, no sooner had she picked up her panties than she found herself stuffing them into her pussy, before eventually pulling them out, damp with cunt juices, and wearing them. She tried to pick up her skirt with her other hand - her non-cursed hand - but she found her cursed hand reaching for it. It *wanted* to touch things, and it got to the skirt first, and then she was pushing aside her panties to try and stuff the skirt inside her. It wouldn’t fit, but she got a visible damp patch on it before putting it on.
By struggling, she managed to force herself to pick up her bra and shirt with her left hand - and then stood helplessly, trying to work out how to button a shirt or cinch a bra one handed. Eventually, weeping with defeat, she let her right hand touch the shirt, and then that went into her pussy too. It ended up damp enough across the front that it became semi-transparent over her nipples. The bra she just dropped - she couldn’t bear the thought of trying to push that rigid underwire into her snatch.
Last were shoes. Her left hand got the left shoe, but her right hand got the right, and she had to sit on the bed, remove her panties again, and spread her cunt as wide as she could to force first the toe of the high heels up her cunt, and then (turning it around) the six-inch heel.
She should have stopped there and put it on, but she became aware of how good it felt. To her surprise, her pussy was responding to this repeated violation by becoming sopping wet and needy. Was it the curse, or was she just a slut? Either way, she knew what she needed, and she spent a good five minutes working the shoe painfully in and out of her vagina until she was rewarded with another powerful orgasm.
Gasping, she looked at the sodden panties now lying on the ground, thought about stuffing them back into her pussy, and decided to just leave them there. She could go without panties.
She picked up her purse carefully in her left hand, and went to leave the hotel room. She had to go back to the museum. Someone could tell her how to fix this, surely. On the way out, she mistakenly used her right hand to open the hotel door, and had to stop and hump her groin against the handle for a few seconds before being able to actually leave.
Out on the street, the city was alive with nightlife. A vendor was selling hot dogs near her hotel, and the smell made Sophia realise how hungry she was. She gravitated to the small cart, and used her left hand to fish money out of her purse and hand it to the vendor. He passed her a hot dog in exchange - and Sophia moaned as she realised she had accepted the food with her right hand.
She didn’t want to do this. There were several dozen people on the busy street, at least a dozen right near the cart. But she had no choice. She felt her cheeks go bright red as she lifted her skirt, baring her cunt to the world, and then spread her legs and carefully began to push the hot dog into her fuckhole.
She could have died. The feeling of the mustard and sauce squelching around the entrance to her pussy was obscene, and the feeling of the hot, wet wiener penetrating her was devastatingly erotic. She heard gasps as people saw what she was doing, and snickers and outright laughs as she began to fuck herself with it. “Look at that whore!” she heard someone exclaim. “Someone should arrest her,” muttered someone else. 
After twelve slow pumps of the sausage into her cockholster, she withdrew it, and shut her eyes with humiliation, knowing what was coming next. She fought it, but her mouth opened anyway, and a moment later she was eating the hotdog - the hotdog that had been in her cunt - tasting her slut-honey mixed with the sauce and mustard and bread. The worst part was that it tasted good. Was that the curse? Or was she a whore who enjoyed eating food that had been in her pussy?
When she’d swallowed the last bite, she was free to scurry away in shame, heading for the museum, promising herself she would touch nothing else.
The museum was dark; it was closed. But when she tested the doors - with her left hand - they were unlocked. Should she go in? She could get in trouble. but she knew she had to.
She padded quietly through the dark, cavernous rooms of the museum. What was she hoping to do? Who was she hoping to find? She couldn’t have said, until she came to the room with the idol, and then she knew.
She had touched the idol with her hand. Everything she touched had to go in her cunt. The idol was no exception.
She took it down from its stand. It was about 12 inches long, four inches thick - just right to be painfully oversized as a dildo. She sat down on the floor, then laid down on her back. After a moment’s consideration, she removed her skirt, and spread her legs wide, and then began to fuck herself with the idol.
Almost immediately, she heard footsteps approaching. She tried to stop, and sit up, and cover herself, but she couldn’t. She just kept fucking the idol in and out of her rapehole as the person drew near.
It was the guide who had humiliated her on the tour. “Well, young miss,” he said, smiling broadly. “You were told not to touch the rape idol, and you went and touched it.”
“Please,” she begged him, still masturbating. “Help me.”
“Sure,” he said. “I’ll give you some advice. If you’re not a total whore, just pull that idol out of your slutty cunt and throw it away.”
She couldn’t. Surely he could see that?
“You really should,” he told her. “It’s your own fault for being a slut. Touching the idol would have been fine, if you hadn’t then given yourself an orgasm with the same hand. I imagine that activated the curse for you. And that’s what happens for touching it. If you orgasm with the idol actually inside you - well, it’s a rape idol. I expect you will find that your cunt will become irresistible as an object of rape. Men will begin plotting how to rape you from the moment they see you. And nor will you be able to protect yourself from or complain about any of those rapes.”
She moaned in horror. She had to stop masturbating. But she couldn’t. She needed to cum.
“I can help you,” he said. “But you’ll need to show you really are a whore.” He unfastened his pants and extracted his erect cock, and then knelt near her. “Touch my cock,” he told her.
She understood immediately. If she touched his cock, she would need to put it in her cunt, and she might be able to choose between the two objects. She could stop fucking the idol before she orgasmed. But she would be choosing to let this man rape her.
She was desperate. She let her left hand masturbate with the idol, and used her right hand to grip his dick firmly.
At once her compulsion changed. She needed the cock inside her. She tossed away the idol and sat up.
But the man was backing away from her. He dropped several sheets of paper on the ground, and a pen.
“Please,” she begged. “Fuck my pussy.”
“Only if you sign those papers, young miss,” he said. “The first details a list of sexual encounters you’ve had - with family members, with women, with dogs - in exhaustive detail. Your signature admits to them all. The second transfers all of your financial assets into my name. The third is a general irrevocable consent to strangers engaging in sexual activity with you or causing you pain.”
She moaned again. She saw he had taken her purse. Her passport and credit cards and phone were in there. She didn’t want to do this. But his cock had to go in her pussy. Weeping, she used her left hand to sign all three documents, and then began crawling towards him.
Laughing, he grabbed her hair, pulled hard to turn her around, and then sank his cock into her pussy. She squealed with happiness and relief - she had needed this to happen so much. He fucked her, until she felt her orgasm approaching - and then abruptly pulled out.
“What?” she gasped. “No. Please.”
“Shut up,” he told her, and grabbed her hair and began dragging her again. Dragging her back to the idol.
“No!” she cried. “Noooo!”
Laughing, he reached out and put her left hand on the idol, then her right. She felt the staticky shock as the curse reactivated. Her right hand took the idol and pushed it back into her pussy. Her left hand helped. She tried to complain, but as she opened her mouth he pushed his cock into it.
He ejaculated quite quickly, and then slapped her face until she swallowed, but the slaps brought on her own orgasm, and she felt the staticky feeling in her cunt, and then of course the guide *had* to rape her pussy. He wasn’t gentle, but she orgasmed again anyway, and then he pulled her by her hair to the museum exit, threw her out the door and locked it behind her.
She lay there, naked, cum dripping from her violated lips, with no passport, no identification, and no money, in a foreign city, and already the first men passing her by were feeling the lure of the curse and beginning to walk towards her with rape on their minds...

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