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I want Sonny to stalk me through the streets at night, following me through every side alley, every twist and turn I take trying to throw him off. I want to slip up in my panic, force myself into a dead end as I become more frantic; I want him to corner me, close the gap between our bodies and press a gun into my side, threateningly, a detached smile on his face, telling me that if I comply he might just let me leave. I want it to scare me so badly that I barely even notice I'm pissing myself under my skirt until he begins to laugh at the sheer amount of terror I'm in, grabbing my skirt and pulling it up forcefully, pressing the tip of his gun into my wet panties as he mocks me. I want him to rape me right there as I stand, flat against the wall, over the puddle of my own shame, calling me filthy and disgusting, saying I'm lucky he still wants to rape me after that.