Chapter 5: Bouncing

Later my flatmates and Lisa decided to go out, but I stayed in spite of their insistance to take me with them. I just wasn't in the mood, although it was almost the end of intro week and it'd be a wonderful time to just flirt. My life was difficult enough with the stranger and with Clara, my possible girlfriend, at least I hoped that's what she was. I wasn't going to add pieces to a board that was already getting pretty crowded, and which seemed to be rather lacking in viable moves for me. So I just went to my room, laid in bed, and thought.

I had always thought of myself as a fairly rational person, someone who used his mind to sort things out. Nonetheless, probably because of the whole weirdness of being away from home, as well as the extraordinary things that have happened to me (you must admit most people don't get targetted by people like my stranger), I had been reacting by pure intuition, and that was being rather kinder to myself than I really deserved. In reality, I had often let myself be led by my cock, which, given the particular problems I was confronting, was far from the wisest possible strategy. Thinking back, I realised a lot of what had happened had been, if not exactly my fault, not exactly not my fault either.

When things started going really badly for me was when the stranger got his leverage to blackmail me. If it hadn't been for me masturbating while I smelled his dirty socks, none of this could have possibly happened. At worst, I'd have ignored him or found who he was, and maybe he'd have made some fun of it all, but he would never have had the opportunity to force me to do anything that I didn't want to.

In a rare moment of honesty to myself, or perhaps even of self-awareness, I allowed the truth that I may even have enjoyed doing some of the same things he forced me to do, if it simply had been my choice to do them, if I had been something more than a toy to play with and tread on, an object of humilliation and scorn. Even a pet is cherished, to a point, even when it worships us as gods. It wasn't even the humilliation: is there even a way to have someone do the things I did without it being humilliating? More to the point, isn't that part of the experience, part of what made me excited about it all? It was the sense that, at the end of the day, the stranger didn't at all care for me. I was just a convenient outlet for his cruelty, his mockery, and his need and desire to dominate and debase someone inferior to him.

Of course all that may have been a subjective impression of mine. Perhaps he really was a caring guy beneath all that bluster, but he hadn't shown any of that at all. Given the way he had got what he wanted, too, I couldn't give that possibility much credence. It was one of those things which while possible in principle were rather unlikely to be the case in practice, and so I had to keep thinking of the stranger as an enemy, someone to defeat. In order to do that, the key asset would be information: I had to track him down, find out what were his blindspots if any, and forge a plan to make use of it all in a way that would release me from his control.

I was very tempted to tell someone about this all. Two things stopped me, however. On the one hand, it would simply be awkward as hell to tell anyone how your flatmate is treating you like a foot slave. On the other hand, I couldn't fully discard any of my flatmates from the pile of suspects. I thought of discarding Ron, but realistically I just couldn't tell. There had always been something selfish and assertive in him, and the way he pulled my girls was proof of it. I didn't really think Ron was the stranger, but then I couldn't really see either of the 3 flatmates in that place either: Chris with his deliberate and thoughtful ways, much less Alan and Victor, too spontaneous, plain and transparent to ever give birth to something like that.

There were a couple of central issues which needed working out. First was the matter of the lock: somehow the stranger had managed to get a copy of my key, or something which functioned as one. I thought I could neutralise this fairly easily, once I was ready to openly confront the stranger, but in the meantime it would be useful to try to work out how that may have happened. On the other hand, the matter of the observation. I didn't know whether the stranger had a camera in the room. Being logical about it, I didn't know if it was true that he had a video of me or whether he had just seen me somehow, but I wasn't sure that helped any. I couldn't think of a way he could see me without placing a camera inside the room. Of course, I wasn't sure I could think of a way he could place a camera inside the room either, so that didn't say much in my favour. I'd also have to be careful about my actions in my room, and take it as a given that I was being observed all the time, but somehow a part of my brain told me that wasn't the case. I wasn't going to listen to it, though: being careful in this matter would be annoying, but being careless and getting caught could be far worse.

So I needed to look for information about small cameras, and try to find out how big or small they could actually be. Then I'd have some notion on where it might be hidden. I didn't want to do that from my own computer though, as I might have been seen, and I remembered the only rule the stranger actually emphasized: I should not take any unauthorised action directed to discover his identity. The lock I'd just have to leave as it was for now, until I managed to find a way to avoid the blackmail. Something told me I needed an offensive counter here, that I couldn't just react, but at this point I couldn't even think of one. The e-mail was promising, but I wasn't sure how I could go about tracing it. I didn't have the right knowledge, and showing it to Chris, aside from being rather embarrassing, would not turn out well if he was its author. Somehow, I had to find another way.

Anyway, I was almost ready to sleep, after having given some thought to all this for the first time. Going out had done me some good, it had cleared my head a bit and let me stop thinking of this all as fate and of myself as a helpless victim. Whether that'd work out or not remained to be seen, but it was a start.

I had been given permission to masturbate, and I didn't know whether I wanted to do it or not. On the one hand, I felt like doing it: if it hadn't been for all the weirdness of the situation, I surely would. I used to masturbate almost every day, and I often felt it helped me go to sleep. On the other hand, I didn't want to do it just because I had been given permission. I didn't want to seem desperate for it, and I wasn't yet, but if I didn't do it then, who knew when I'd next be given a chance? In the end I decided to do it, and to try to forget about my problems. I'd think of Clara instead, and just take what opportunities had been given to me.

I got some tissues and got ready to do it. I started imagining Clara, and in particular thinking of the last time we had met. I thought of her body, so firm and taut, and how she could overpower me any time she wanted. I thought on how her nails had raked my back, how she had pressed me so hard against herself. I remembered the way her small but firm breasts felt against my own chest, how her body quaked under mine. How she held me, how she led me with her words and with her hands, and directed me to her cunt, where I pleased myself as much as her. How she wanted me inside her, how she laid on me covering my whole skin, encompassing my whole body. How her tightness felt around my penis, as she gasped and moaned, and how her strength shaped my body, constraining my arms and legs. How I tried to buck beneath her, but her body set the pace, and how she screamed as she reached orgasm. How she bit me, and how I could no longer hold it anymore.

I thought about what it'd be like when we met again. I imagined receiving her in my room, sitting on the bed by her, as she looked at me with hungry eyes. I imagined her lust building up until she could no longer stand it, and how she'd then toss me on the floor, throwing herself on top of me, and ripping off my clothes. I imagine how she'd take no care in being gentle, no time in asking for my consent, and she would instead take all she wanted from me. How she would ride me, right there, on the carpet. How my back would burn against it from her movements, and how my mouth would only be able to kiss her and moan, how my will would only mirror hers. How my hands would seek to hold her against me, exploring her back, trying to keep her close, attempting the impossible fusion of both our bodies. How she'd handle my penis, deft but brusque, placing it in her, and how she'd rock to her own inner rhythm, pleasing herself on my cock. How she'd speak my name, with neither tenderness nor scorn, but simply with hunger and lust, with a will to make it hers, just as she'd make hers my whole self, my very soul. How she'd grab my hands and place them behind my back, on the floor, supporting her weight on them, her arms almost stretched. How she'd kiss me, as assertive and demanding as a projectile. How her tongue would enter my mouth, as an intruder, assaulting me and leaving only pleasure behind. How her explosion would culminate, a loud scream as her whole body pressed against me, denying me even my breath, and just then, how I would, too, yield the seed she had come to claim.