Roleplaying with a Stranger

In theory I could have wrestled my arm out from under his foot. In reality, as soon as I tried, he applied more weight to his foot punishing the soft flesh for my efforts. The pain of the hold made me whimper and cease the attempt. He didn't ease up on the weight, leaving me to endure the result of my own misgiving till he was done weaving and was ready to bind the other wrist and thus release its arm from the iron hold of his foot.

When a random playmate reaches this point, with me on my back and two arms firmly secured. There's still plenty of delightful resisting to go. I had no illusions this would be the case with this man. He knew his ropes too well. Again he took at single thin rope. A simple go around one leg and I could either move my leg the way he pulled the rope, or endure the pain of resisting the thin rope and still have my leg be pulled where he wanted it. He tightened the rope giving it a good painful tug before even pulling, I moved my leg where he tugged.

Where he tugged was where I had guessed he would. Up and to the side. Then the other leg. A cruelly thin rope, painfully tightened. Up and to the side.

That's the point where the game is over. That's the point where it begins.

He stood over me, leaning on the railing, drops of sweat falling from his face landing hard on my face, on my breasts.

I stared up, trying to read his face. Trying to see if I would be ok. But without my glasses his face was just a pale oval thing with blurry darker patches for eyes nose and mouth.

He said some things to me, dirty things, dirty talk. About being a sow and such. The derogatory words hadn't much of a derogatory effect. I don't really understand the shamefulness that fiction would have me believe that people at large put into sex. Even now that I am single and thus free to fuck strangers, and have done it enough times to rightfully call myself a slut, I don't truly understand the word. I have an academic understanding that some people feel that casual sex is dirty, and that by some logic dating back to times pre-birth-control it is much dirtier for women to engage in casual sex than it is for men. But I have no real understanding of it. The mindset is utterly alien to me. It's archaic. It's a ghost of a notion that has no place in the world that I grew up in.

It was still nice though, listening to the dirty talking. Mostly because it was nice to have something to gauge his mood by. His voice was firm, solid. There were no splinters of uncontrolled rage or anger. No shiver of insecurity.

He lowered himself to his haunches. I can't quite remember in which order events came after that, so I'll just have to guess that what happened first was him roughly running his hand back and forth along my crotch. His fingers tracking lines from my sliminess to the edge of my hairline. I say sliminess instead of a more amorous word because that was how it felt then. Loosened, jiggly, slimy. Something alien, with more of a semblance to an organ transplanted from a giant snail than to the erotic zone usually inhabiting that place between my legs. I like my cunt well enough, but the way it gets when I've been thoroughly manhandled, I can barely recognize the feel of it.

He stuck fingers into me and moved his hand. I don't know how many, I don't know what he was doing with them. But it hurt, and it felt good, but most of all it hurt. Too much.

"Av," I complained repeatedly (that's Danish for ouch). But he didn't stop. "Mercy," I called. "It hurts. Mercy." And only then realized I had forgotten to tell him that was my pain signal. As in a codeword designed not to stop the game, but simply lessen the pain a bit.

"You can beg for mercy," he said, and it seemed he was offering mercy, the pain lessened a bit.

I think there was a short interval of me whimpering, saying, 'av', and pleading for mercy, and then he got really rough again.

"Mercy," I cried again and again, to no avail, and then, "Ko-kodeord. It hurts. Kodeord. Kodeord."

He stopped.

There was an immediate relief. Relief at cessation of pain. Relief that it had now been proven that we were still playing a game. Disappointment too, that I had to shatter the pretense by using my full stop codeword. The quiet moments left me to feel too thoroughly the strains of being bound in such an unaccustomed position. Most every part of my legs and back complaining not only at the awkward stretches and angles but also at the mere immobility of it. The still cruelly single ropes on the legs biting, scaring me a little with their reminder that he hadn't bothered to make that part of my bondage kinder.

"Are you about ready again," he asked.

"Yeah," I said, no longer on the verge of tears but still tense. "I forgot to tell you about my pain word, 'Mercy'," I rambled insecurely. "It's the word I use for when it hurts too badly." I think I said the same thing twice more, with different phrasing. That's a thing I do, I stutter whole sentences, repeating the same meaning over and over with slightly different phrasing.

While I was rambling he resumed his punishment of my pussy, though now a bit gentler, the pain more tolerable. There was pleasurable sensations too, though it was hard to sort them from the pain, and hard to mix them with the pain.

Yet it was nice.

There was a while of that and some more dirty words, but it wasn't the same. It's never the same after I've had to use my 'kodeord'. But that's the thing, it takes time to get into a person's head. A new playmate, no matter how skilled, cannot read your mind. He will always be too gentle or too rough.

He rose and again towered above me, dripping sweat on me. Still talking dirty he masturbated above me till semen came falling down on me in big whitish drops.

'Oh crap,' I thought as one landed close enough to my slimier self to be within the border or hair.

"Be careful not to get me pregnant," I poked.

"Can't," he claimed. "Piping's been fixed long ago."

'Well, there's no doubt you've given me some little scratches inside and I don't really want any semen to bloodstream disease-transfers either.' I didn't say it out loud. There didn't seem to be a point, he had sprayed his load and luckily enough his load had landed just far enough from the danger-zone that things should be all-right. Then, to my surprise and, tentatively withheld outrage he again shoved fingers inside me.'Please let that be the hand he leaned on and not the hand he masturbated with,' I thought, unable to think of what to say out loud. For the life of me I couldn't remember which finger he had used for what.'Please don't let there be semen on those fingers.' If there was it was kind of too late to go,'What the fuck are you thinking. That's not safe sex.'

Well, I suppose even if it was too late to stop semen from getting into my pussy I shoulda' said,'kodeord, I need to go wash my pussy out with soap now, thank you very much.' Thinking up the proper response is always so much easier in retrospect.

While it was happening my thinking was too slow for me to think up any response at all. Then he pulled his hand out, stood up, and said:

"We are stopping now. I am going to untie you now. I don't want any complaints."

I thought it was a curious thing to say. Maybe it's a BDSM thing.

I felt good. So good that even the semen misplacement incident was but a minor grievance. Looking back, I suppose I should have made a bigger issue of it. We had agreed safe sex between the legs, and not safe oral-sex. So for him to slack on that at the expense of my safety really wasn't ok, and the responsible thing for me to do would have been to make him aware of that. Well, so I failed at doing the right thing, if it ever happens again I will know what to do.

He untied the first knot, enabling me to bend one leg. Oh, the sweet relief of being able to bend a leg too far stretched. And the sweet relief of having had a fill of what I've needed so long. I felt good. I was hardly worried about the unsafe sex thing at all.

"I need to wash my hands before I untie the rest," he said. "I've got blood on my fingers."

"Oh," I said, groggily trying to force my brain into processing this new information. "Did my period resume itself or is it from scratches you made in there?

"I don't know," he said. "I need to wash them before I untie the rest or there will be blood everywhere."

"Oh," I might have said again.

He went downstairs to wash his hands. Leaving me to my still in bondage aches.

'You can handle it just a little longer,' I silently informed my legs and back.'Just that little longer. We don't need to cry kodeord. We can take it.'

Didn't take him long to clean his hands and come back. It took a while to untie me, though. Once it was done I still felt too good to run down and rinse out any possible traces of semen with soap. So, for starters I simply wiped the semen off my breasts and belly with a t-shirt. One thing universally true about sex. It makes us stupid. Stupidity has its upsides. I was happy, and giggly, and had this calm feeling inside.

Apart from fingers he had also used a dildo of a somewhat intimidating size on me. While it was going on I hadn't been able to tell what he had been doing. Just pain and filling sensations and pain. But obviously the dildo had been used. It was smeared with blood. Smeared being too dramatic a word for it actually. Dappled with drops and then smeared would be more like it.

I escorted him downstairs, and downstairs again, and cleaned his dildo for him at the bathroom sink.

We talked a little while I did so. Pleasant after sex talk.

Then we parted with a hug and a thank you very much.

I took a shower and went to bed to enjoy the calm inside.

And sleep. I ought sleep. After all, I was expecting my next stranger at ten the very next morning.

Instead I sat to write. Maybe half of this I wrote. Then, still enjoying the calm inside, I went to bed.

Painful late night peeing and the fresh red look of the blood in my sanitary towel clarified that the blood was not a vestige of my most recent period. I didn't mind a little vaginal tearing, if it was the price I had to pay for the calm inside. Though, on a deeper (but easy to ignore) level I did mind that I didn't mind. It's a worrisome trait.

My ten o'clock stranger was a gentleman and didn't complain to have our plans altered from pretend rape to enthusiastic blow-job and facefucking.

And now, quite a many hours later, actually, I am done writing for now.

***

Afterword: I'm gonna try to be more careful in the future.

Since writing this I've written the guy a message online, explaining to him that safe sex isn't just about protecting yourself from contagion, it's also a matter of protecting your partners from catching a disease from you, even if you think you don't have any.

P. S. I am aware that condomless oral sex is also a means to catch and spread various diseases. The risk is not quite as great as with vaginal intercourse though (as long as your gums are in good condition and you don't have any bleeding wounds in your mouth, at least).