From A to Z, and all the Flavors of Weird In Between

So this is my first semi-erotic story written exclusivly for this site. I have quite a few more on the back burner, so if you enjoy this I'd love to share some more of my work, though only a small portion of it is in the BDSM scope. I'd love any feedback! 

It had been a lovely evening, and the anticipation Allishia felt had been building since she exited the uber in front of the bar. She attempted to preserve her composure for the sake of her expensive lingerie, but gave it up as an inevitable loss almost immediately.

 It was a small place, and not especially fancy. One of those establishments built into an old downtown building with chipped stone brick walls and peanut shells on the floor. But it was nice despite its simplicity, it glowed with a social warmth and the abundance of regular patrons who joked and riffed on each other, while the bartender made jokes at their expense gave the impression of a large family, or a group of brothers drawing their cares in the bottom of light beers and well whiskey. A working class watering hole, Kit had called it. 

She felt completely over dressed in her single piece red dress and black shawl, the one that pushed out her less than ample bust and stuck to her thighs like glue. Self conscious amidst all the med in their work clothes, she perched at the bar, and ordered a martini. Dirty, extra olives,well shaken, and in a rocks glass. Her nerves relaxed as she took her first long draught. It was quite good, cold as an ex’s heart, with crystalized ice suspended in around the large queen olives. 

The bartender chatted with, flirty, a bit coy, but it was clear he was just playing a part, he wasn't hitting on her, and she was more than reciprocal to his conversation. Midway through their small talk, her eyes perceived movement at the door, and she glanced up. The room seemed to go silent. 

Kit wasn't an imposing figure, but in her mind he towered over everyone else, and she felt her guts attempt a series of acrobatics they were in no way qualified for. He sat next to her, but ignored her as he signaled the bartender for two more of the same, tipped generously, and asked for a basket of peanuts. 

She didn’t feel overdressed anymore, she felt like a child playing dress up next to Kit. Polished black shoes with cast iron tips buffed smooth, immaculate grey slacks, a charcoal black dress shirt, unbuttoned casually and matching vest. His hair was slicked straight back and bound in a bun pinned at the nape of his neck. She could feel the blood rushing to her nethers and her cheeks felt fevered. She stayed silent, meek, only opening her mouth to thank the bartender for refreshing her drink. 

Finally, Kit ordained to address her. Crushing the shell of a peanut between his muscular thumb and index finger as he did. 

“Not exactly a 5 star establishment, but it’s friendlier than any bar downtown. Nowhere I’d rather drink.” He sipped his martini, and skewered an olive from his glass on a toothpick. 

“It’s nice, It feels like somewhere you don’t have to be on guard or anything.” Allishia could feel the comfortable rush of warmth from the gin swirl in her body, complementing her arousal as she shifted her legs on the bar stool. 

“I enjoy it, glad your comfortable.” 

Allishia  smiled, then started the game. 

“Yes Mr. Carillo, I like it very much.” 

Kit peered at her over his raised glass without taking a sip, and lowered it slowly, revealing a devious and satisfied smile. He reached into his vest pocket and produced a chain of intricate interwoven black metal, perhaps a quarter of an inch in diameter. 

“Get yourself ready, I’m going to buy my friend a drink, but don’t keep me waiting.”She wondered just how long she could keep him waiting. She bit her lip to hide her smile. 

 Kit dropped the surprisingly weighty chain into her lap, directly on top of her swollen sex.. Allishia sat up very straight, perched like a bird on her stool. 

“...Y-Yes, Mr. Carillo.” She stood, chain enclosed in a sweating fist and walked towards the room labeled ‘catchers,’ with the silhouette of a squatting baseball player on the door. She assumed ‘batters’ was the mens room, as it was adorned with a comic sign. Players with short bats must stand closer to the plate. Her thighs were slick. 

In front of the mirror, she clasped the chain around her neck, hands trembling. It had little slack, like an inflexible iron choker. The metal was warm from the heat of her hand. Every breath she took was a reminder of the sturdy metal band around her neck. 

She explored the state of her panties with an investigative finger, and carried a bridge of slick moisture that stretched a full foot before collapsing. She stood in front of the bathroom door, counting the seconds, waiting as long as she dared. Back in the bar she stood behind Kit, as he said farewell to a friend, then escorted her out, holding the door open for her. 

The game was beginning in earnest now. 

_______________________________ 

“I want you to say it, tell me, what is the one world that will give you power over me, the word that ends the game unconditionally, and give you back all your power?” Kit stood behind her, his pinkly looped through the little slack the chain around Allishia’s neck afforded. He had removed his vest when they had arrived at his house, but Allishia was now completely naked, kneeled on the hardwood floor, knees protesting the prolonged subjection to the unyielding surface. 

“Alabaster.” She whispered. 

“I can’t hear you, girl.” Kit gave a little tug with his smallest finger, and Allishia’s spine shivered. 

“Alabaster.” She said more assertively. 

“Very good.” Kit smiled. “Now don't move.” He left the room. 

Allishia waited patiently, and when he returned, he carried several lengths of wound chord. 

“Onto the bed, on your knees.” She complied, as he led her again with a single finger looped through the chain. This time it was his middle finger, and the pressure was ever so more pronounced. 

He began to bind her. Loop. Knot. Pull. Tighten. Repeat. Tight, but not biting. Immobilizing, but not uncomfortable. Soon she was incapable of any movement, other than subtle shiftings that redistributed her weight, and eased the tension on her muscles. They were immaculate knots. The bulge of intricate laced rope between her legs slid against her every time she so much as took a breath, not enough to bring her to climax, more than adequate to drive her mad. Logic and reason where distant memories as she squirmed. It was wonderful 

But everything went wrong. 

Kit had his hands around her throat, and the pleasant light headedness nearly brought her to climax just there. But when he released her, she lost her balance and fell facefist into the fluffy comforter of the bed, and tried to inhale. No oxygen made it to her lungs, and she began to thrash reflexively. The ropes dung into her skin, and her lungs burned as she tried again to breath. 

Something gave way in her wrist, and the knot cut deeply into bound hands, searing them with rope burn. 

She was going to die, she was going to suffocate, bound and blindfolded. She was dying, lungs burning. The panic sparked a flood of cold adrenaline that shot through her veins, and she redoubled her struggling. 

She was thrown onto her side, and sweet, fresh air flooded into her lungs. It had lasted only seconds, but the game was over. 

“Kit, fuck, get me out, come one, get me out!” She gasped for more air as she babbled, and her hyperventilations made her as light headed as the oxygen deprivation had. 

Kit hesitated for only the slightest moment, but complied, starting at the finishing end of the knot and working deftly. 

But Allishia was dead to reason. “Fuck, I’m done, get me out Now!” She jerked her body, trashing against the knots. Her muscles screamed, and her wrists burned like she had touched them to a stove. 

“Allishia, I’m untying you,” Kit’s voice was calm, like a metronome, but she was still panicked, the adrenaline drowning his words out in a tide of pure survival instinct. 

“TAKE BACK CONTROL, GIRL, SAY THE WORD!” It was an order. Her brain frozen mid frenzy for just long enough to reach out and grab it. 

“Alabaster, Alabaster!” Her voice quivered, but Kit’s domineering demeanor melted, and his hands seemed to soften.

“Do you need me to cut them?” His safety knife was already in his hand, and concern in his voice. 

Allishia forced herself to slow her breathing. 

“No, no… Just, untie me.” She forced herself to calm, and the room stopped spinning around her slowly, by degrees. 

“Of course, Allishia, I’m doing it down.” The knots came apart faster than they had come together, and soon she sat on the bed, rubbing her wrists gingerly. 

“Are you alright, really” Kit asked, as he poured her a glass of water from the jug on the dresser. 

“Ya, no, I’m good, really…” She sighed, mind lapsing back into normalcy. “It was just… a bad knot.” 

Fin

This is more so a question for any male subs reading this then a proper post, but I didn’t feel it deserved a forum post, at least not yet. 

So my predicament is that while I have desires for a submissive role in play, in my real life, I identify incredibly strongly with a very traditional masculine identity. I want to be the breadwinner in any romantic relationship, not only do I feel obligated to do so, and to be a traditional patriarch, but that role brings me great satisfaction. Whenever I think of myself in a familial or social context, I am a man, and an imposing one at that. I’m kind of what you would think of if you imagined a human tank. I’m big, a bit fat, but fitness is important to me, and it shows, despite my beer belly. I’m not confrontational, but I feel confident in my physical ability and my strength. That’s all well and good, but how do I reconcile that with the desire to be dominated in the bedroom, when I identify so strongly with traditional masculine social roles. Not to mention that fact that unless my partner was insanely ripped for a woman, (which is not something im into, but thats besides to point) I would always be in a position where I could physically take control if i wanted to. Is that where restraints come in? Is that part of the appeal to being bound, it levels the playing field in a physical sense? 

Any other males with submissive proclivities have any impute? I’m not willing to compromise my values when it comes to being a man, but I also want my submissive desires to be met in a satisfying context. 

Though many people are considered to be on the Autism spectrum today, including people you probably know, it’s not something that's often talked about in the context of sexuality. That’s probably because a lot of autists are generally quite reserved, and the mental image that comes to mind when you tell someone you're on the spectrum is typically the worst one, so we generally don't advertise it. Thanks media, really appreciate that. 

Though I can in no way speak for all people with autism spectrum disorders, I can speak for myself, and to some extent speak about the challenges that A-Neurotypicals generally face when it comes to romance, sex, and intimate relationships. 

First, a bit about the phrasing. We generally don’t like being called autists. The word has a negative connotation that we’d rather not be shackled to. Personally, I prefer A-Neurotypical, or New Type, but to each their own.

I exhibit a condition known as aspergers, specifically a neurotic and high functioning variety. Basically, I rolled natural 20’s across the board for Intelligence and arcana, and snake eyes for everything social and interpersonal. I have near photographic memory, can read and write faster than most, and I intuitively understand maths, science and computers. On the flip side, I routinely get confused and flustered buying beer and chew at the corner store when the cashier asks me how my day is going. I’m not good with people.

It’s not all bad though, I compartmentalize emotions far more easily then most of the population, and I don’t tend to make decisions rashly or based on impulse. This let’s me make very good decisions very quickly under immense stress or pressure, and I have an incredibly high anxiety threshold, which is a highly marketable skill that I employ at every opportunity. 

The problem is it doesn’t have an off switch. This makes romance and intimate relationships… Difficult. You can’t analyze or calculate your way to love. Believe me, I’ve tried. I once legitimately calculated the probability of finding an adequate mate by employing a modified version of the drake equation, a mathematical model used to calculate the probability of finding intelligent life elsewhere in the galaxy. Except in this case, Intelligent life was girlfriends. And sometimes that's what it feels like, like you’re searching for something nearly impossible to find, something you’re not even sure exists. 

 I did that. I know. 

So what am I getting at here? Partly, I just wanted to expose people to a neurological phenomena that they might not think about in romantic or sexual contexts, which is odd, since if Autists didn’t reproduce, we would have been selected out by mother nature a long time ago. So why weren't we? And why are there more people with high functioning Autism spectrum disorders today than ever before in recorded history, and by orders of magnitude? Well, my headcanon is that autists tend to be object oriented, and we like solving problems. And we’re really fucking good at it. People will pay an obscene amount of money to solve problems that seem impossible, but that’s what autists excel at. So a lot of us are financially successful, which attracts women. (The majority of high functioning autists are men.)  

A-neurotypicals like sex, just like everyone else. But like everything we do in life, we tend to be borderline obsessive about certain aspects of it. Which leads me back to why I’m even posting this here. A synonym for autist could be nerd, and what are lovers of BDSM if not sexual Nerds? No? Don’t think so? I see you motherfuckers roleplaying, you’re a bag of dice and a few miniature models away from a raunchy DND session. Roll for initiative, bitch. 

There seems to be an overlap between BDSM enthusiasts, and the passion they have for their kinks, and the obsessive nature of a-neurotypicals. This seems to be a community in which we might not even stand out, you wouldn't notice our obsessive and neurotic behavior, because everyone else is just as obsessed, and we don’t feel the need to cloister our behavior or interests because everyone around us is just as interested in the same things. TLDR, we, or at least I, feel comfortable being weird around other people doing the same things. 

Quite a tangent, that, wasn’t it? How about we talk about sex now, you crazed degenerates.

 I like sex. Shocker, I know. But because of my nature, I’m inclined to pursue things that others might find… objectionable. Which is how I ended up here, I guess. The sheer fact that I’m comfortable posting this and sharing it at all speaks to the inherent trust required for these kinds of relationships to function. Trust is typically a big ask for new types, personally, I have difficulty trusting casual sexual partners, so I almost never seek out flings, or one night stands, or even friends with benefits. But the foundation of a BDSM relationship is entirely predicated on trust, it’s totally essential, and without it, it can be dysfunctional, toxic, and even dangerous. 

It’s beautiful, in a way. That the foundational cornerstone required to pursue a, for me personally, dominant female partner, totally assuages any social anxiety that I typically experience when pursuing sexual partners. Personally, I’d find it difficult to ask a romantic partner to choke me, slap me hard enough to leave marks, spit in my mouth, drag me around by a collar, or use me like an animate sex toy. Ladies. But I do want that, it turns me on, and god damn it, I’m going to find it, or die trying. Probably surrounded by a mountain of smut and a raging hard on. I’ll be the king Midas of porn. 

Jokes aside, this is one of the few communities I don’t feel compelled to censor myself in, I get to be my genuine, freaky self. That feels good. Most of us wear a mask some of the time, but when you’re like me, and like tens of thousands of other a-neurotypicals out there, you wear the mask more often than not, and it's easy to forget what you look like underneath it. Honesty is important, but sometimes society expects you to lie for the sake of other people's comfort, and being in an environment where you can dispense with that is truly freeing. Ironic for a bunch of perverts who like to be tied up and turned into slaves half the time. 

So next time you learn someone is an autist, maybe think about what interests you have in common, because if you share an obsession, there’s no better partner in crime than an autist. We may be oddballs, but no one can question our passion.  

We’re all at least a little weird. I like to say that everyone has a thing, something that if it ever got out would mortify and shame them. For me, It’s my unconditional love of erotica and really fucked up porn. The kinkier, more eyebrow raising, and extreme, the better. That’s not to say I don’t enjoy a good old Vanilla binge, but I like weird stuff, and If you’re reading this, I feel safe in the assertion that you do too. 

If someone can look you in dead in the eye and tell you they’re completely normal, and have nothing to hide, run. That’s the craziest person you’ll meet all year, and I’m very much including your Inlaws in that. 

Everyone has a thing. Everyone. It’s what makes us unique sexual creatures, and because of that, you’re just like every person who has ever existed. To me, that's a very comforting sentatment, that our weirdness is caged in the total mundanity that is the human experience. 

So why do we hide our intimate nature? The parts of us that would attract a partner willing to fulfill our fantasies are the parts of us we bury the deepest, and are the least willing to share. If you live in the west like I do, then the puritanical roots of our culture have some burden of responsibility to bear, but I think it's more complicated than that. Even if we lived in a totally sexually enlightened society, people would still hide their kinks to at least some extent, and I think that’s a good thing. Hear me out, I swear this is going somewhere. 

What makes sex, especially kinky sex so pleasureable? And no, I’m not just referring to the stashing the salami bit of wikihood. The actual act of intercourse is typically brief, unless you're a massive big dick chad with unparalleled sexual stamina like me, a culling of the pleasure of the flesh that’s only a small part of the total equation that results in satisfying intimacy and “good sex,” whatever the fuck that means. Think about the whole act, from start to finish. 

There’s build up, tension, anticipation, even before any form of foreplay begins in earnest. The act itself is way more complex then just the actual fucking bit, and then there’s the whole part afterwords, either the Aftercare, or as I refer to it, the “satisfied wallowing in chemically recumbent bliss.” That whole process is amplified by sharing a fetish or kink that’s indulged in consensually, and I don’t think it would be nearly as fulfilling if everyone wore their stripes on their sleeves, and was totally upfront about what they want at all times. 

What I’m getting at is the guarding of sexual proclivities and desires, the keeping of secrets about what we genuinely want to do and to be done to us, makes revealing them and finding someone to indulge in them with us more special. It fosters trust, and intimacy not just in a sexual sense, but in an emotionally gratifying one as well. 

Secrets can make us feel safe, and in the information age we live in, a little piece of a chaotic world that we get to keep all to ourselves, and a select few who we let in, is more precious than any gem or precious metal. You can’t put a value on that kind of trust, it’s not quantifiable. And that’s what makes keeping and sharing secrets so special.