Leisl Ch. 04

"Oh really?" He raised both eyebrows, his tone giving away a mixture of surprise and excitement. He hooked the cane back on the rack, and turned to the floggers. Stroking a few of them, muttering to himself about their softness, he came to a large leather paddle, with studs in the grip and holes in the blade.

"This one looks interesting," he murmured, "I wonder what kind of sound it would make, smacked down onto a soft asscheek?" His question was passive, hypothetical, but I knew better. I could feel his real meaning deep in my pussy.

Shivering, I turned back to the books. I remembered that there was a particular book I had been looking for a few months back, a book about kink by one of my favourite non-fiction writers. But I didn't see it on the shelf, and was disappointed. Chris was intrigued.

"What was it? What are you looking for?" he asked eagerly.

"Oh, it's a book about BDSM by Tristan Taormino. Someone told me about it but I can't find it anywhere. I guess that's what the internet is for though, right?"

He nodded and agreed, and turned back to the pain implements. It was an oddly curt reaction. I suppose I felt a little let down that after seemingly showing interest, he now had nothing to say. He grabbed a crop with a tacky purple heart-shaped keeper, and looked like he was trying to hide the fact that he was also still carrying the studded leather paddle. Bless. He strode to the front of the shop and paid for his purchases, as well as asking the salesperson for a couple of bottles from behind the counter - I think it was lube. Within two minutes, he was gesturing for me to follow him back downstairs.

We blinked in the bright daylight outside, and he turned left. I followed him down a side street next to the church. Left again. We passed the Whateley Lane carpark, down a few blocks, and found ourselves at a tiny triangular patch of green.

"This is one of my favourite pocket parks. Mainly just because so few people know about it. Nobody comes here."

I had to admit, when he said that, it crossed my mind that he might have wanted to play, right here, in the sunshine, outside an apartment block. But he just sat down on the lone park bench, and patted beside him. "Sit." I sat.

"So tell me, Leisl, of the impressive rack and kinky taste in literature. Don't go coy on me," he grinned, when I looked down in feigned embarrassment, "I saw you checking out that little book about taboo. Tell me what it is about taboo that interests you?"

This, I could handle. Strangely, accepting compliments and talking about lovemaking made me want to crawl up inside a blanket and hide in shame. But this, taboo play and what was so hot about it, I could practically stand on a soapbox for this.

"Well. To begin with, rape play," I stated confidently.

"To begin with! That's quite a beginning," said Chris, eyebrow raised.

"Yeah, well, it's number one for me. I like it so much, it's practically a fetish. So many of my fantasies, even if they start somewhere else, they usually end up with some flavour of coercion, some tinge of non-consent. But you know, I actually find it fascinating, the cognitive dissonance of it," I explained.

"Go on."

"Well, the thing is, with non-consent, it has to be fake. Obviously, I mean, that basically goes without saying. But for the really hot fantasies, it's always best if there's just a touch, you know, like a teeny tiny voice at the back of your head, going 'Is it really fake? Does he actually mean it?' I mean, without that, you're far too aware of it just being a game, and it doesn't work as well. You can still play, but you just have to try a lot harder to suspend disbelief. But," I gestured, warming to my theme, "If that voice gets too loud? If you start genuinely wondering if it is really fake? Well then it gets too real, and you have to safeword out. Too real is just as much of a turn off as too fake."

"So what's the answer? What's the key?"

"There really isn't one, not in my experience. I guess you have to find that perfect storm, you know, where variables come together to draw that fine line that makes it hottest. I guess by the time you trust someone enough to play rape, you're pretty much already going to be at that point where you know it's a game. Which is why it doesn't really work in a relationship - I mean it's hot, but it's never real. And I mean you couldn't do it with someone on the first date, right, you just don't trust someone that quickly. Usually," I added hastily, in case he thought I was trying to tell him something. But he just looked as attentive as before, and nodded enthusiastically.

"I completely agree. You're saying that to play with power like that, you have to know that they're really a good and honest person, you don't normally know that by the first date. But if you've seen a lot of them, you trust them, almost too much, it just doesn't feel like they could actually be secretly a rapist, you know they're not, so it feels off. Yep, I get you, I get you." He nodded as he spoke, and I realised he was unconsciously mimicking me; I was nodding along like he was preaching the Gospel. Which to me, he practically was. This was my pet topic, my favourite subject, and he got it, he understood. It was such a relief. Yes, okay, and an exquisite turn-on. My god I was wet.

"To be honest, for me," he continued, "I could never be on the receiving end anyway, of any kinks really," I admit my cunt tingled when he said that; he was definitely on the Dom end of the scale then. "But I think I would have to trust someone to play with that, even if I were the top. I would have to know they weren't going to turn around and make accusations, or you know, get violent if they thought I was getting too real, you know, that sort of thing. Totally agree with you, not really a first date activity." He seemed thoughtful. A thought entered my brain - is this a date? - and I just as quickly dismissed it. Of course not. It's just coffee. And toy shopping. And sex talk on a park bench. And sex, later. But not a date.

We chatted for a while, about likes and dislikes, turn-ons and and turn-offs, limits and fantasies. He told me some things he was into, like sensation play, and some power games. I told him things that I had never told anyone, besides maybe Steve. I told him things I was almost ashamed to admit to, because of reactions I'd had in the past when I had admitted them to others - like the intense fantasy I had had about daddy/daughter-age-and-rape play. I told him about my thing for face slapping, choking, filthy talk - the nastier the better. He listened attentively to it all. Just telling someone about this stuff, who didn't judge me at all, who even agreed with me, the relief I felt was almost palpable, like a small weight had been lifted off me.

"Leisl, I have to say something. You are an incredibly cool girl. Woman. I mean, I think you're completely awesome, and I just feel really connected to you. I know that in reality we just met, like, a week ago, but I don't know, I feel like I can tell you anything, my darkest secrets. I hope I don't come off as creepy right now, but I just feel like we're basically already friends, and I'm hoping we will be for years, if that doesn't sound weird."

"Chris," I grinned widely, "I feel exactly the same way. I do. You are pretty awesome yourself, and I'm really happy you're in my life now."

"Look, I have to do some things at my place, but will you come over in about half an hour? I just want to make sure it's tidy, etc."

"Um, sure, okay," I wasn't quite sure what to make of this unusual request, but I could play along. There were some great shops in Newtown, I could kill half an hour.

"I'll text you my address, ok?" He threw over his shoulder, as he left me in that tiny little park. He was running a bit hot and cold; I had to admit I wondered what he was playing at.

Twenty minutes later, my phone blipped, and I copy pasted the address into Google Maps. His apartment was five minutes walk, give or take. I followed the directions to a small street on the Stanmore side of the train tracks, to a newish looking building on a corner. I buzzed his apartment. The door buzzed back at me, and I went in.

I half expected to get lost in the strangely shaped building, but I quickly spotted Chris lounging in a doorway up a flight of carpeted stairs. I smiled and walked up, my heart thumping in anticipation of what could happen now. He just watched me, the door propped ajar by his hip; he never took his eyes off me. He was barefoot. He wasn't smiling. He didn't move aside to let me in. He just stared in silence.

I thought to myself that it might be less creepy if he were looking me up and down, at least then I would be able to guess why he was being silent and odd. But he didn't. He just watched my face. I was uneasy.

I shifted nervously on my feet. "Um, can I come in?"

"Sure," he said, evenly, and still didn't move. I couldn't get through the almost-shut doorway unless I squeezed past him, just standing there, leaning against the door frame. He was being weird, and my heart was thumping for a different reason now. Eccentric and cute? No, ominous and threatening.

"Finally we're alone, Leisl," he said quietly, as I tried to pretend that making me press up against him to push open the heavy door as I entered his flat wasn't a seriously strange thing to do. The way he said my name, too, that was weird. Who uses someone's name in close proximity like that? It was unnerving. I realised that despite our big words earlier, I actually didn't know Chris all that well.

But it was too late. He came inside, and shut the door.

–––-

"Glass of water?" he asked, as though that were the only thing on offer. No coffee, tea, juice. I just nodded. Swallowed. Looked around. It was a tasteful two bedroom. I could see one bedroom from where I stood, empty and unlived-in. Lily's old room. A long wall, presumably with a room behind it - bathroom? - and a hallway ran down the other side.

"So ... How long have you and Justin lived here?"

"A while. Here." He handed me a rippled blue glass. I sipped it before I realised I should have poured the water myself. It occurred to me nobody knew I was coming here today. Just as quickly, I wondered at myself for even thinking these things about a man I had thought I trusted a few moments ago. I sipped carefully, and put the glass down on a side table.

"Um, so, where, where's Justin today then?" Nervous. Trying to stay lighthearted.

"Not here, Leisl."

At the sound of my name, again used inappropriately in close quarters, I looked at him. He stood about two metres away, unmoving. Then he advanced on me. Instinctively I backed away.

He laughed, a somehow cold sound. "What's the matter Leisl? Afraid you've bitten off more than you can chew, with that delicious mouth of yours?" My back hit a low table, dislodging a photo frame. It toppled and hit the wood with a loud bang. I jumped.

I had nowhere to go. I could try to run, but a small part of me still wondered what his game was. If it was a game.

He reached out and touched my face with one finger. He laughed again, quietly, knowingly. He slid the finger down my cheek, onto my shoulder, down over my breast. My shallow breathing appeared to make him smile to himself. Down, over my belly, down my hip. His hand stopped at my ass, cupping it. He drew his other hand around my waist, and pulled himself towards me bodily.

He whispered in my ear, so quietly I had trouble at first making out the words. "Come on, you've been teasing me all day. All I want is what you owe me." He bit my earlobe, gently. I turned my face away, he was biting a bit hard. I giggled nervously, but he suddenly grabbed my chin, hard, and turned my face to his. He stared into my eyes, silent, and held my face so firmly I couldn't move it. The hand that had been on my ass slowly, so slowly, began pulling up my skirt, bunching the fabric into his hand, exposing my leg inch by inch. "You can't seriously expect to be allowed to make me hard, and then not let me use you. That wouldn't be very neighbourly," he murmured, as he looked deeply at me. Stared into my soul. I was getting scared now, but was horrified to find that my blood sang and my mind thrilled at his words. I closed my eyes, and made a strangled sigh.

He seemed to take this sound as some sort of signal, because he released my face and sank his teeth into my neck. Not vampirishly, but passionately. I still stood, hands gripping the edge of the table behind me, as he held me tightly, so that running would be impossible without his getting the idea and stopping me. Finally finding the bottom of my skirt, he pushed his hand roughly over my waistband into my underwear, and began rubbing my pussy. I could hear how wet I was, which meant he could hear it too. I still wasn't sure if this was ok, and I nervously tried to bat his hand away. He immediately grabbed it, and slammed it back onto the table beside me. His pelvis pushed against mine, my hips now pressed painfully against the table. He held me there, hard, pressing the flesh of my palm into the grain of the wood.

"Don't fucking pretend to me you don't want this," he growled, , "Don't you fucking dare try anything stupid, like screaming or anything, and maybe I will decide not to fucking hurt you," He punctuated his vicious words with jabs of his fingers into my cunt. At this point in time, I wasn't sure anymore what I wanted. Did I still want him, as I had so much earlier in the day? Asking myself that when he already had one hand up my pussy and the other holding me tightly and violently seemed absurd, but I was still unsure quite what was happening. He had flicked a switch on his personality, and gone was the cute, funny, intelligent man I had had coffee with. Now I was being mauled by an aggressive, scary man who may or may not be about to rape me. I sobbed in confusion. I could feel a tear squeeze out of my eye and drip down my cheek.

He paused in his ministrations, just for a second. He pulled his fingers out of me, quickly and roughly, then grabbed my hips and flipped me around. I was pressed up against the table again, my hip bones grinding bruisingly against the wooden edge. I looked down. Happy photos. One knocked over. It seemed such a disrespect to be raping me in front of his family's christmas smiles. The difference between the happy man in the photos, and this angry, violent person behind me, was night and day. I sobbed.

Chris cruelly gathered a handful of my hair, and tugged hard so that my head snapped back to face the ceiling.

"Don't you fucking start with the waterworks, slut," he spat his words into my ear. "I'm going to use you as much as I want, your mouth, your cunt, and your ass, and nothing you do is going to change that. So don't make this worse for you than it has to be, by fucking crying," Even as he said this, a few more tears slid their way down my cheeks. I found this man attractive, sexy, and now dangerous and scary. Five minutes ago I had been happy, excited, anticipating fun and games. Now ... now I was trapped under his hands, held by his body against mine, terrified and yet turned on. I was confused beyond belief.

He let go of my hair, and picked up one of my hands, less roughly, almost gently. He stretched it out in front of me, so that it touched the mirror on the wall. He tapped the back of my hand with his finger, a strange gesture I thought. He drew his hand back, leaving mine pressed against the glass, and went back to squeezing my breasts with both hands. For a moment he did nothing, just played with my tits, and I wondered at his sudden pause. Then, I looked up, and written on the mirror, scrawled in red lipstick, I saw it.

"THE SAFEWORD IS 'FOREST'"

It took me a split second to read it, process it, read it again. I gasped when I realised what it meant. He had found a way of communicating the scene to me, without having to break character. I sobbed again, in relief, and pure unadulterated lust.

"Don't fucking move. Remember what I said about hurting you. All I want is to use your fuckholes for my own pleasure, is that really so bad?" He made it sound like he genuinely didn't understand what could possibly be wrong with wanting to fuck someone against their will.

This time, I knew what to do. This time, my sobbing was part of the scene. I was finally playing along.

He suddenly grabbed my hips, and jerked me backwards. I wasn't expecting it, I stumbled and fell backwards onto the carpet. He stood over me.

"Just as I like to see you. Sobbing and helpless, pathetic. But so tempting, your slutty little dress heaped up like that. How could I be expected to resist fucking you, whether you wanted me to or not?"

At this, he fell on me, hiking my dress up further, roughly pulling my underwear to one side and shoving his fingers back up into my cunt. His other hand curled around my throat.

"You resist, I will hurt you. I don't want to, but I fucking will. Jesus, you're wet! You fucking little slut! You're enjoying being raped even more than that consensual shit last week - you are one twisted fucking bitch."

My pussy pulsed around his fingers as his other hand clamped tighter around my throat. Thirty minutes ago, I had been spilling my guts to someone I barely knew about things I had rarely admitted out loud in my life, and here he was, giving me my perfect fantasy. Like a gift. The revelation was exquisite. If he wasn't careful I was going to come, way too soon.

"Those tits of yours scream out to be grabbed, you know. You waltz around, fucking bouncing tits and round ass, and expect to get away with it?" He punctuated his words with sharp stabs of his fingers up my cunt. "To get away with making me hard, and not following through? You fucking cock tease bitch, I'll show you what you fucking deserve for teasing men like that."

He pulled his hands from me suddenly, and I felt bereft and empty. He quickly undid his fly, belt still buckled, and pulled out his cock. It was immensely hard, and larger than I remembered - even though I had been fantasising about it for a week solid. "Do you see how you've brought this on yourself?" I nodded. "Well?!" He slapped me dead across the face, hard. Harder than I was expecting, my head snapped to the side with the force of his blow. I wondered vaguely if there'd be any bruising.

I took his slap and question as a hint that I should start participating more. To be honest, I had been enjoying the passive role, having things done to me that I had previously only dreamed about, but any excuse to deepen the fantasy was something I could get on board with. He moved his face down, close to mine, and nipped me over and over with his teeth, on my neck, my ear, my collarbone. I sobbed again, in distress.

"Yes, I'm sorry! Please don't hurt me. I'm only wet because you seemed nice before, but I don't want this, not like this. Please, please just let me go."

He grinned, evil and taunting. "Ha. You've got Buckley's of that. You don't want it 'like this'?" This was said in a nasal, high-pitched whine, making fun of me, then he growled the next words deep and low into my ear. "I'm going to make this last, bitch. I'll be done with using you when I'm fucking well done. You want me to rape you? You want me to use your cunt, and your ass as my own personal fuckholes for hours on end? Hmm?"

"No, god no, please stop Chris. I don't want you to fuck me. Please let me go, please," I sobbed, almost crying again, relishing my role as the set-upon victim, helpless and violated.

He flicked aside my underwear again, and without ceremony, he shoved his cock hard into my throbbing pussy. "Fucking lying cunt. You want this. You want me inside you, violating you, my cock inside your body, fucking every hole you have. I can tell. Your pussy at least tells the truth."