In hardly any other genre of erotic literature are fantasy and reality as far apart as in the realm of reluctance and nonconsent. Stories in which a woman (rarely a man) initially refuses, resists, feels fear – and later perhaps feels desire after all – can be highly arousing for many readers. At the same time, however, they raise serious ethical and psychological questions.

As a psychologist, it is important to me not to view these texts with moral indignation, but with a nuanced view of inner fantasies, coping mechanisms, and social impact. This article is aimed at authors who write such scenarios and want to take responsibility.

Psychological basis: Why fantasies of powerlessness can be arousing

Many women (and some men) have passive or even submissive roles in their sexual fantasies. Studies show that so-called “forced sex fantasies” – scenarios in which sexual activity begins against the express will of one of the participants – are among the most common female fantasies. However, this does not represent a desire to be raped in real life. Rather, it is the idea of receiving pleasure irresponsibly, without having to decide, consent, or be active.

Example:

Anna is lying on her back, her arms above her head, her wrists held down. “Stop,” she whispers. Her pulse is racing. But something else is raging in her head: Do it. Now. I want it. I mustn’t say it – but do it. She writhes beneath him, rehearsing the words, her “no” not a boundary but a façade behind which her desire is hidden.

Fantasies are not the same as desires for action. In psychology, this is referred to as fantasy as a relief mechanism: those who live highly controlled, autonomous, and performance-oriented lives can create a counterbalance in their imagination by imagining a loss of control.

These fantasies often serve to process past experiences—when reflected upon and evoked voluntarily, they can even be a form of self-empowerment.

The problem: when literature becomes a template for crossing boundaries

However, writing such stories can easily be misunderstood – both by readers and by the authors themselves. Anyone who writes non-consent scenarios runs the risk of romanticizing real sexual violence, trivializing perpetrator behavior, and obscuring structural power imbalances.

An example of a problematic portrayal:

“She fought back, but his hands were stronger. He tore open her blouse, his lips on her neck, her breathing quickening. She didn’t scream. She didn’t fight back. And when he entered her, she suddenly moaned—not in pain, but in pleasure.”

There is no indication of inner consent, prior agreement, or ambivalent desire. The excitement is sought solely in the transgression of boundaries—without psychological depth.

It becomes particularly problematic when:

• the perspective of those affected remains underexposed
• psychological and physical consequences are ignored
• consent is replaced by “subsequent pleasure”
• positions of power (teacher-student, boss-intern, doctor-patient) are portrayed uncritically
• or when the scene is not clearly identifiable as fantasy

Such texts can – unintentionally – encourage readers with boundary-violating tendencies in their belief that “no” really means “yes.” It can also be traumatizing for survivors of real sexual violence if the subject is treated carelessly.

Writing responsibly: strategies for authors

It is possible to write stories about reluctance or non-consent without reproducing toxic narratives. The following guidelines can help:

1. Clear separation of fantasy and reality

A foreword or a note in the blurb can clarify: This story is fictional and not a guide to real behavior. This is particularly important for self-published titles that do not have a publishing structure to ensure quality.

Example (disclaimer in the text):

“Everything you are about to read is a game. To outsiders, it may seem like assault—but for us, it was the opposite: a desire brought to life, safe, consensual, and wanted.”

2. Consent by context or “safe no”

Many reluctance scenes work on the basis of silent agreement: the protagonist resists verbally but wants it internally. This is a classic in erotic role-playing, but it must be unambiguously clear to readers in the text. An inner monologue that shows the ambivalence can help: “I didn’t want this – or did I?”

Example (inner monologue):

“I said no. I shrugged my shoulders, pressed my legs together. But my lower abdomen vibrated with anticipation. I had imagined it just like this, exactly like this. He knew that – and I knew that he knew.”

3. Safewords, contexts, codes

When BDSM or role-playing is the subject matter, the text should make it clear that consensual rules apply. An apparent assault can be part of a game—but only if this has been agreed upon in advance.

Example:

“When you say stop, it’s over. When you say red, we drop everything.” She nodded. “I’ll tell you when it’s real. Before that, I’m just the one who squirms.” Then he blindfolded her.

4. Change perspective: make victims visible

Instead of glorifying perpetrator fantasies, it is worth showing the psychological complexity of the character involved. What are they feeling? How are they struggling with shame, fear, excitement? The appeal here comes not from the violence, but from the psychological conflict.

Example:

“I wanted to scream. I wanted him to stop. But there was also a part of me that was trembling—not with fear, but with lust. I despised myself for that moment. But I couldn’t help it.”

What is the appeal – for readers and writers alike?

The appeal of such scenes often lies in their intense emotionality. When lust meets guilt, fear meets excitement, shame meets desire, an emotionally charged atmosphere is created that surpasses many classic erotic constellations.

Example:

A woman sits naked on a chair, tied up, alone in the room. She hears footsteps. Her nipples are hard from the cold – or from arousal? She hates the game. And loves it. She wants to stop – and wants more. “I didn’t know what I was feeling anymore. But I felt something. Everything. Now.”

Writing such stories also allows authors to touch on taboos without actually committing them. Authors explore their own dark sides, contradictions, and desires. And readers may feel for the first time: “I’m not alone with my dark fantasies.”

At best, this can be liberating – but at worst, it can also normalize boundaries that should not be crossed.

Responsibility is not a contradiction to pleasure

Erotic literature can be disturbing, it can provoke – but it must also reflect. Those who work with reluctance or non-consent are walking a fine line. The appeal of the forbidden thrives on the awareness of the prohibition. As soon as this awareness is lost, fantasy tips into danger.

Authors of erotic literature bear responsibility. But they do not bear it alone. Publishers, platforms, and readers are also called upon to read attentively, join the discussion, and draw boundaries where fantasy becomes reality.

Writing prompt for young authors:

Imagine a scene in which a young woman is staying at a remote riding stable for a summer internship. The riding instructor is attractive but gruff. There is a moment of physical closeness, but it remains unclear: Is this a game? An assault? Describe the scene exclusively from her perspective. Let her doubt, be frightened, desire—but force yourself not to provide a quick resolution. Find a way to capture the ambivalence in language.