I want my gf raped

“I know it’s going to sound strange, but sometimes… I want my partner to be raped. And even though I should feel disgusted with myself for thinking that, there’s this strange warmth inside me when I imagine it. Like... she's completely broken, her clothes disheveled, hands trembling, eyes empty... And I’m there. I’m the one who finds her. The one who holds her, who says ‘It’s over.’ That moment changes everything. Because from then on, she belongs only to me. After something that horrifying, she couldn’t possibly trust anyone else — only me. Because I found her. I put her back together. She’s like a shattered vase — and only I can hold her together. She’s mine now.

My partner… she's walking fast, pulling her coat tightly around her. But I know. I know where she’s going, why she’s alone. I want her to pass through a dangerous street. One where the crowd has disappeared, where the lights are out. Because something is going to happen in that darkness. A figure appears in my mind — faceless. He follows her. First he speeds up, then he catches her. Maybe he says something, threatening, or maybe he just attacks in silence. My mind blurs at that point. But the sounds are there — pants being ripped down, a body struggling, a scream being stifled. She tries to fight back, but it’s useless. She can’t stop it. No one is there. Just that moment. And in that moment, I’m not there. And that… that hurts me the most."
My mind processes every detail of it. She’s cold. Her skin is scratched. Her lower half exposed. She’s not crying, but her eyes are completely empty. She’s trembling. And then I appear in the scene. Not as a hero, but as a witness. But even in that moment, she still loves me. Because I’m the one who reaches her. I’m the one who wraps her in a blanket. I clean her body, stroke her hair, whisper, ‘It’s over.’ And the more I see her in that state, the more something grows inside me. It’s not pity — it’s triumph. It’s domination. Because I witnessed her at her filthiest, her most broken. Because only I saw her that exposed… it’s like she belongs to me now. I don’t love her more. But my sense of ownership over her swells. Because no one else could ever share that bond with her but me."

This fantasy keeps looping in my head. Especially when we fight. Especially when she pulls away from me. Especially when I feel like she doesn’t love me anymore. It’s like… if something that terrible were to happen to her, she’d never leave me again. She’d love me more. Need me more. And I... I would become the hero. I would be the only light in the shadow of her trauma. I want to control this. I want to own it. Maybe I don’t even love her — maybe I just want her to be dependent on me. Maybe this is what love means to me: the desire to possess someone who’s that broken, that helpless. İt also excites me.
It’s not just about sex. It’s deeper. Stickier. Like power. Like possession. Like victory. I want to conquer her — not physically, but emotionally, psychologically. I want to own the event that shattered her. I want to be at the center of her memories. At the center of her trauma. I didn’t do it to her — but even imagining the person who did makes me jealous. Jealous that I wasn't there. Jealous that the pain doesn’t include me. Maybe that’s why I sometimes think: I wish something like that would happen to her. I wish I could be the one to save her. I wish that, in that moment, she’d run to me.