Cat and Mouse: A Written Agreement
Author's Note: Typically, I don't do this sort of thing, but I wanted to accomplish one of two things. One, I wanted to reassure you that yes, if you are fan of one of my other series, they are still coming, hopefully soon. Two, I wanted to make sure everyone who reads this, knows what they're getting into. This story follows two switches obsessed with CNC. For the uninitiated, that's consensual non-consent. Basically, it can cover a wide spectrum of different dynamics, like rape fantasies, power struggles and some aspect of free-use. Also, these stories WILL contain scenes of the usual NSFW affair plus scenes of pegging and prostate play, choking, ownership some type and amount of degradation, and definitely scenes of one of the main characters being caught by surprise and forced to perform any number of sexual acts. Sometimes the male character comes out on top, sometimes the female. If this does not interest you, I HIGHLY suggest you move on and find something more towards your preferences. Otherwise, please enjoy.
Often when you mix two seemingly harmless components, something far bigger, far more chaotic is produced. When you mix coke and Mentos, well, I'm sure you've either been to enough science fairs or seen more than a few online viral videos to know the result of the two mixing. Fact is, that applies for many things. When you mix ammonia and bleach, a deadly chlorine gas is created. When you mix vodka, ginger beer and a bit of lime juice, why, you get a lovely Moscow Mule.
See, the thing is, generally, when you start to combine any two things, you know what the result is. You know what the outcome is supposed to be. You know what's supposed to happen. I would like to think the same can be said for people. What happens when you put two headstrong loudmouths in a room together? What about two nerds with a love of old science fiction campy movies? Well, you can usually predict the outcome. These combinations of personalities don't tend to make a... chaotic result, one as unpredictable as...
Here's what I'm saying. It's not my fault. Granted, once I saw the bright light of train headed my way, I probably shouldn't have ran head first towards it. Metaphorically speaking, I mean. Obviously, or else I wouldn't be typing this... Whatever this is. Does the Mentos know what coke is? Can it sense it when it's near? Does it know the danger if it gets too close? I'm rambling again. Sorry. That happens when she gets in my head.
That's where I'll start this story. With her.
See, when I moved out of my old apartment, I left on a bit of a bad note with my roommates. That tends to happen you live with five other 20-something year old guys who quite haven't gotten over their frat days. I was a week away from moving out and I needed to find someone, anyone, to get a room with. Honestly, I could've lived with them in their new lease for a few weeks until I found someone, but I don't think I am being hyperbolic when I say if I hear Gasolina one more time in my entire lifetime, I will actually go insane.
It was just my luck, then, that I seemingly stumbled on the perfect solution at the library, of all places. I was sitting by my lonesome, nose buried in a book, probably detailing something about rope tying and knots. Okay, look. There is one very important aspect of this story I should introduce before we continue.
My taste in dating tended to be more... creative? Yeah, that's probably not the best way to put it, but considering that I mentioned reading a book on rope tying, and the fact that, well, you're reading this, I probably don't need to go into much more detail than that. Of course, reading was basically the extent of my experience in the wilder side of things. Don't get me wrong, I was definitely interested in BDSM at the time, but when you're in college and you tell a girl that you want to blindfold them and tie them up, well, they don't exactly swoon at the mention of it. If anything, they tend to cover their cup and avoid you for the rest of the semester. Just my luck that Abigail found me alone at that library, then.
I had seen Abby around campus before, that was for sure, but someone like Abby was hard to miss. I mean, when someone is six-foot and built like a fucking tank, you tend to notice them. Abby hadn't been weightlifting competitively for about a year, she had instead decided to sign up for the wrestling team, so she wasn't exactly built like a brick shithouse anymore, but that's something you tend to remember. Don't get me wrong, she was still... well, I don't think I need to tell you that wrestling is harder than it looks, especially when you know what you're doing, and not just roughhousing like a couple of drunk teenagers.
Granted, I certainly didn't know about her... other hobbies. I wouldn't find out about that until later.
"What's that you got there, Derrick?" I looked up as Abby stepped into view.
"Oh... Uh, nothing, really. Just, you know, passing the time." I placed the book faced down, slightly embarrassed. Truth be told, honesty probably would've been less obvious than my natural reaction. She glanced at the book for a second before meeting my gaze, lips drawn tight in thought.
"I need to do some reading for Humanities. Mr. Handers is going to be the death of me. Mind if I..." she trailed off, gesturing at the empty seat before me.
"Oh, no. Go ahead, it's all yours." I brushed my book off the table, hoping to get it out of sight as soon as possible, and pulled out my phone. I flipped through a number of roommate finding apps, before opening one and thumbing through the listings. When you live in a big city like mine, you practically have to rely on technology to find a roommate, especially if all of your friends were nightmares to live with.
"Oh, no. You don't want to use that app. They track your phone and sell your data to anyone whose interested. Who knows, you might go to meet a possible roommate and walk away with one less kidney."
I looked up at Abby, who was smiling ear to ear.
"Can that happen?" I asked, chuckling quietly.
"Oh, yeah, dude. One minute, you're a perfectly healthy tenant, the next, your lungs are being sold to the KGB."
"Hell, if it means finding somebody that doesn't fill squirt guns with red soda to have a firefight in the carpeted living room, then that's a risk I'm willing to take."
Abby closed her book, setting it down. "Now that, that sounds like quite the story."
