Roleplaying with a Stranger

This is not fiction. This is something I actually did. You might find it disturbing. I, myself, find some of it disturbing.

***

In the real world, sex is a whole lot different than in the stories. For one thing there's a lot more burping and farting. For another, strangers aren't very good at guessing what you are thinking. Yet another matter is that real life people often have garlic breath. Like the man I just played a little sex game with. He was a gentleman for sure, he was meticulously chewing chewing-gum even as he fetched his bag from the back of his car. His very new looking car.

That's a bit disheartening, actually. Looking at a date's car and seeing that he is certainly not a bottom feeder, before even seeing him. It sort of makes me think,

'Ah, crap, is he thinking, 'Oh, I've gone slumming'.'

Ignoring the disheartening as best I could, I opened my door, put on a smile, and as soon as he approached welcomed him and beckoned him inside. Another disheartening, he was casually stylish, wearing everyday clothing and making it look good. Not a cat's hair or a wrinkle to be seen on his mostly black ensemble. Making me feel a bit like a bag lady, standing there in my big black t-shirt and big black undies.

"You want a hug?" I asked, wondering why I asked even as I did so. Usually I just give them a hug, no awkward words required.

He said something along the lines of "Sure" and we hugged, and I led him from from my front door, up the stars to my kitchen.

I sort of hate it when they are neat and good-looking it makes me feel so small. So, of course, I kinda do like that too. There's a spice to just about everything, when meeting a new partner for my games.

Maybe taking a second to brush my hair would have been more appropriate than the minutes I'd spent brushing my teeth. His hair was short, obviously kept neat by a professional. Me, I cut my hair once a year by gathering it under my chin and chopping off a lump. It's cheap and easy. Well, he was warned, that was the plan after all. He was to do his social gathering. 'Hygge' with friends. Yeah, that's an untranslatable concept. A flaw in all English speaking cultures, but no nation is perfect. Oh, I derail, let me get back on track. So, he was to go do his thing - which unavoidably would involve eating a lot of garlic, I'm guessing white bread with melted garlic. Yum. Not much says cozy dinner with friends like freshly heated (or baked) white bread with garlic butter, and cozy goes with 'hygge' like... I'm sorry, again I derail. So, the plan was, he'd do his thing, and I'd try to catch some sleep while waiting for him to call.

I tell you this, so you can understand how it came about that a gentleman happened to eat garlic just prior to a date. Which anyone should agree is not normally to be considered a gentlemanly act. His continuing effort to chew out the stench was valiant and appreciated. But also somewhat chilling. He was chewing with big roundish jaw-movements while breathing through his mouth and his eyes were strangely cold. They are usually a bit nervous, my first time dates. Some more than a bit. This one had no hint of it. Now that I think of it, I believe he seated himself sooner than I thought to invite him to. No insecurity in him.

Not so the case for me. I'm always nervous when meeting people, less nervous when it is people I am about to have sex with but none the less. Him being of a higher league than me in every way made it even worse. Not yet a sign of appreciation. Of course, I try to hide it when I am nervous, mostly it is quite obvious though. My hand movements gain a fluttery quality and there's a stiffness to my lips when talking and adjusting my facial features into various friendly expressions. Both quite Hallmark traits of nervous, recognizable by just about anyone.

Gosh, I can't remember what we talked about. I got him a cup of water - he had had plenty of coffee before coming. There was a few words exchanged about some nothing in particular. We reviewed my safety word. ('Kodeord', like my fictional character Louise has in Unwanted Obsession, when I wrote that story and figured out that that was her codeword, I decided that if I ever needed one, it should be mine too. So now - that I actually do regularly need one - it is.) We also went over clapping with hands to be used in the same manner whenever I would be unable to speak. That alternative is always important. When I'm about to cry my throat sometimes constricts hard enough that I can't form words. Breath-control play makes the forming of words impossible too.

Our date had been swiftly made. He had written me a slightly sloppy, "liked your profile. have had years of experience of dominance. might have been up for taking you tonight if i werent on my way elseplace" that wasn't the exact phrasing, but the general gist was so. All low letters, sparse punctuation. Telltale signs of people using that sex site through their smartphone.

I replied with, "Auuw" followed by a weeping face.

He wrote, "why ar you crying?" Yes, there were typos.

"Because you showed me a lollipop," I replied, adding another weeping face. "Then you told me how good it was. Then you said I couldn't have any." I added a a third weeping face into there somewhere. They have good weeping faces on that site I use to find men to play with. Big blue tears running down the sides of a little yellow face, mouth open in a wail of anguish.

I think I shared with him my sob story of how I was supposed to have been set for a sex date that saturday but had, yet again, been tricked by one of the 'oh so annoying' cockcheats on that site and was now finding the day fading away and hardly anyone online from the force/humiliation category.

Well, as a true gentleman, he apparently decided to aid this damsel in distress and offered that he could come by after his thing. Thus came about the somewhat unorthodox arrangement that lead to him showing up with garlic breath and me opening the door with unbrushed hair.

"So, you needed to shower?" he asked, with really no tone to it.

The question caught me unaware. I was on some other trail of thought and speech when he made it.

"Yes, I did," I replied, fighting back an urge to blink compulsively with confusion at every of mine own words. "I do." I corrected. "I mean if the chemistry is there and..." Might have even swallowed nervously. He hadn't yet expressed attraction so even though the question rather implied his consent to proceed, I felt unqualified to assume as much. "That is if you want to..." His out of my leagueness made me unable to say it outright so I simply gestured upstairswards with both hands.

I can't remember exactly how he said it, though there was this feeling of ease to it and a little smile, when he informed me that he was willing to continue. He had no trouble saying it directly.

So, I went downstairs and showered off the nap. I listened, somewhat expecting him to leave while I was showering. After several mishaps in a row with the fakers online, I guess the feeling of constantly being dumped was still in my system. When I came back up, now undieless (hadn't brought a clean pair to the shower), I couldn't help but say, "You're still here."

"I don't scare off that easily," he said, his smile wider and his tone warmer.

We went upstairs. Yes, my new apartment has a lot of stairs. I love it, automatic daily exercise. I go down two stairs every time I need to pee. Good for my legs, good for my heart. Also, my stairs have metal rails and those are awesome for bondage.

"So, this is my mattress," I told him, pointing at the thing. "It's primitive conditions." I say that every time a new date comes to play. "I haven't lived here so long." It's true enough. But I'm not really planning to up-scale my play-room any time soon. I like the primitive of it. The 'we've got what we need' of it. It's sort of a rebellious streak in me. Things don't have to be fancy to be good.

Like why I have hair under my arms. Between my legs it's as much rebellion as that it is damned hard to reach well enough to do a proper job of shaving without cutting myself. But under my arms I have no trouble shaving. I can reach, and look in the mirror etc. etc. And if half of Europe retained their armpit hair the way American movies imply, I probably would shave under my arms. Cause it does look neater. But damn it if I'm gonna let the world tell me to shave of all my natural hair, just because everybody else does it.

At heart I am truly a... Ah. Damn. Can't even remember the word for someone who takes a stand at the opposite end of an argument solely for the sake of doing so. Kværulant is the Danish word, direct translation would be 'quarrelist' but I'm fairly sure that word does not exist in English. I should look it up sometime.

He seemed well-prepared, having brought his own bag of toys and all, but for good measure I grabbed my own pair of leather cuffs. and a handful or two of rope, and laid out on the floor too. If nothing else it might count for a symbolic gesture that at least I am a little prepared for the game I invited him there for.

The getting undressed part is sort of awkward. As I am actually disgusted by vanilla-sex, there is no spice to undressing each other with caresses. The kind of being undressed by another that I enjoy has a rather terminal effect on whatever I am wearing, and I hate shopping, so I tend to hurriedly slip out of my clothes before commencing the playtime. Slipping out of a big black short sleeved T-shirt is very little work. So, I'm not really sure how I manage to feel awkward about it, but I do.

As I recall it, we managed to put a conversation into those few moments it took to walk up the final stairs, and me getting undressed, and him dressing down a bit.

He told me that what I was doing, the inviting men to my home and being tied up by them, was quite risky. He told me the site we're using has a lot of sickos, that he has heard tales from women there.

I told him, "If it happens the guy will have to kill me." Not that that would be much of a comfort if worse should come to worst, But that's just the lay of it. I curled a hand into a claw, displaying my short, sharp nails. "I'll scratch DNA of of him and go straight to the police." I don't have much of a true argument against the insanity of how dangerous it is to do what I do. I know it is a risk and I know that if it goes badly I will regret ever having taken it.

"Well, I hope I don't end up being reported to the police tomorrow," he said.

"Well, you have our communication on the site, same as I have," I said, for some reason smiling widely. Likely a true monkey-smile, by our very base nature nothing is quite so funny as that which should make us fearful and nervous. "It states the boundaries of the game we have agreed upon. It's proof for you as much as it is for me."

Where goes the boundary between playing at rape and the actual thing? That's simple. It lies in what was agreed upon up front and it lies in adherence to safety words and signals. When I play a game 'No' does not mean 'No', but 'kodeord' sure as fucking hell does.

After awkwardly undressing, I went to the mattress and asked, "Are we ready to begin?"

I might have also asked if I should sit, for after his confirmation I clumsily seated on the mattress. At my size and lack of fitness getting up and down from floors is a clumsy affair. I scuttled to my knees, laid my hands against his pants and moved as to open them. I enjoy having a cock in my mouth, and have my own way of integrating them into noncon-games. The noncon there being that they can grab my hair and against my will pull me off their cocks. The other way around just doesn't offer proper roleplay since my kink is to resist and struggle without being cowed into compliance and obedience. (In my mind any assailant putting his cock between the teeth of a person who has not been cowed into utter submission... Well, you know, darwinism in action.)

Can't remember exactly if he opened his pants for me before or after his first couple of attempts at catching and binding a wrist. Grab, hold, bind. Well, grabbing a wrist is easy. Holding it, not so much. Holding and binding, very much not easy. One handed wrist-grabs are very easy to get out of. A guy once showed me how. So, now I demonstrate it every chance I get. Well, whether it was before or after those first attempts, he opened his pants, zippered down, and pulled his cock out for me. I engulfed it. Cocks have such wondrously soft skin. Well, I know Americans don't appreciate cockskin, I mean most of you mutilate your boy children at birth to be sure they have less of it and say it looks prettier that way. Well, each culture to its own. I do judge, but I try not to be too mean about it.

I like taking a cock into my mouth till my nose presses against a man's belly and the bumpy skin of his ball sack teases my lower lip. Some men are too large for me to do that once it grows hard. But when it is not quite hard yet, it's usually possible. I like to feel it growing in my mouth, changing its position, working itself along my tongue into the back of my throat. Sometimes I imagine having a little conversation with it.

"Hello, Buddy, you are nice and warm and a soft to my touch. I like having you here. Oh, you're growing. Darling, I do believe you like being here. Oh. Don't quite have room for all of you anymore, gonna let just a little of you outside. Maybe a little more."

While I was having my imaginary conversation with his cock. My playpartner's attempts at wrist binding became more insistent. He even managed to spin a rope twice around one wrist so that I had to use my other hand to get it free. After I'd done that he switched strategy and tried making loops of the rope before trying to pull them onto my hands. That was a little harder to wrestle out of, but not by much. I give my playmates a password too. It's "pause". If a playmate says "pause", I cease all resistance, allowing him to more easily apply further bondage. If he says, "pause is over", or tries to touch me in an intimate manner the pause is over and my struggling resumes. I was sort of expecting him to use it any moment.

Then, while I was happily occupied gorging on his cock. He grabbed hold of one wrist and pulled that arm far to the side, stretching my arm away from my body. So, that if I were to do my arm-twisting, wrist-hold-breaking thing I would have to first pull away from his cock. His earlier attempts at applying bondage to my wrists had been easy enough to wriggle out of, so I decided to ignore the move and keep his cock in my mouth. But it wasn't a new attempt at properly bondaging a wrist. Instead of spinning rope around my wrist, he spun a single line of thin rope around my arm. It was closer to wrist than elbow for sure but it wasn't in the hard part close to the wrist, it was in the soft flesh between wrist and elbow. Sooner than I realized it was too late to react, he tightened it, letting the rope dig into soft pliant body, filling me with a phobic kind of pain.

Whimpering out little sounds of panic, I reached for the caught arm to free it with my other. Somehow he managed to keep his legs in my way keeping my free arm from reaching the caught one. Not that he had needed to. All it took was a good hard tug, a further tightening of the rope around the soft flesh, intensifying the phobic input from my caught arm. I stiffened, holding absolutely still not to prompt him to tug harder.

Technically, using pain to make me keep still was against the rules of the games. But technically up and down are figments of ignorance and that does not keep me from going up stairs and down stairs several times a day. Although I had neglected to mention it up front, the aspect of stiffening in painful holds is something that turns me on. If I had been displeased, I could have used my codeword.

He tied an end of the rope attached to the caught arm to the metal railing - I suppose it's called a bannister. A black painted, metal bannister - and proceeded to spin a thin rope around the wrist of my other arm. By then I struggled as much as I could while keeping the already caught arm still, but with me being held in place by my fear of tugging on the caught arm and him having two hands free for the project. He had no trouble stretching out my second arm and holding it still long enough to get that single line of rope in place. That done, he tugged it and my second arm too told me of phobic tight pain, though this one at least came from the harder area around the wrist.

Again I stiffened and the thought filled me that he could let me remain tied with those single cruel strands of rope. He could ignore the darkening of skin signaling loss of blood flow. He could. Though a decent man would replace the bondage now that he had me good and pacified. He tied the end of the rope holding my second arm to the bannister too and then, to my relief, put soft leather cuffs on my wrists and unbound the cruelest piece of rope.

Of course, being an ungrateful kind of kinky, I rewarded his kindness by resuming my efforts to get loose by leaning in and chewing at the nearest knot. Thus earning myself a delightful tug, as he grabbed my hair and pulled my head away from the knot.

"None of that, you," he said.

I glared at him defiantly, thinking,

'Of course that, you. You no like, you find a way to keep me from doing it.'

He made no further comment, but proceeded to rearrange the bondage.

"Get on your back," he commanded, when both of my wrists were leather cuffed and both leather cuffs had rope through them, but only the one cuff was attacked to the bannister.

This time, I believe I was scowling, but there was no mirror to check, and the thought of course, was,

'Make me.'

Well the making me turned out to be so easy I do wonder why he even bothered to ask. He just pulled the 'free' hand under me, leaving me the choice to cooperate and roll along or simply fall hard on my side once the hand was pulled long enough. With me properly on my back, he started reattaching the 'free' arm to the bannister. This time tying the wrist closely to the bannister.

That's the point of the game where a chess player would have to be a nutcake not to lay down his king. There are so few possible moves left and they all end in futility. If the game was not truly a game. This would be the point at which there would be no chance for me to turn it around. No possible chance at all. This is where the thoughts come. The real understanding of what I already know. That what I am doing is crazy.

I am parachuting and allowing a complete stranger to fold my parachute, although I know nothing of his skills nor the state of his humanity.

'You've done it this time.'

A voice inside calmly informed me. As it has before and before.

'The next rope is going around your throat. He is going to strangle you. You are going to be dead.'

We both knew, like we always know, my inner voice and me, that it has always been wrong in the past. We both knew that one day it might be right. We both knew that this time might be the one.

He spun the rope around my wrist and the bannister, and spun it again, and again, weaving my wrist to the metal. Then moved on, weaving the rope higher on the bannister, leaving no knot anywhere near my reach. In the meantime I worked to free my other hand and to my surprise found that he hadn't tightened the cuff properly. I folded the base of my thumb to my palm, tugged and twisted back and forth a couple of times, and my hand slipped out of the cuff. Of course, it was too late to do anything with it. I would have needed minutes to myself to free the other wrist by then, and he was right on top of me. All I earned for my ingenuity was a heavy foot on the soft flesh of my freshly freed arm.