I met Ryan in my second year at State University. His friend dated my roommate’s sister, or some tenuous relationship like that. We ended up at a lot of the same parties. Looking back, I think I caught his eye because I was so shy, because I didn’t flock to him like all of the other girls. He always had a flock around him. He was a charismatic theatre major who wanted to be a sportscaster. Ryan also played football. And in that town, college football players were treated like gods. They could do anything they wanted.
My first impression of him was “He’s a Norse God!” Ryan stood one foot taller than me. Plus, he outweighed me by over 100lbs of solid muscle. On top of all of that bulk, he had a head of cropped blonde hair and ice blue eyes. Looking back at our pictures, I see that we looked alike. I have the same blonde hair, just lots more of it, and blue eyes. But I am so much smaller than he was, so much weaker.
Do you know how huge men maintain their bulk? They eat and work out. Other people go out for dinner and a movie. We went out for dinner and the gym. When we went out to dinner, he ate two chickens, not two chicken breasts or two chicken legs. He ate two chickens! Then we went to the gym. He lifted weights for hours while I took aerobics and yoga. I never joined him at the weights though. I prefer to be flexible, not bulky.
I had been dating Ryan for about two weeks, no sex yet, when I was walking down the school hallway and another girl whispered, “He’ll want to handcuff you. That’s his thing.”
She quickly walked away, lost in the crowd, even though I pushed others out of the way to get to her. Her words made me tingle.
So finally my big night with Ryan came. He took me to his house. Instead of living in an apartment close to school, he rented a farmhouse out in the middle of nowhere. We rolled around on his bed, a King size. He was gentle, responsive and let me be on top. He wanted me to shave between my legs, but I was hesitant, and he said it was OK as is. His lovemaking was so sweet; I assumed that the girl in the hall was talking to someone else about someone else.
That school year, we spent most of our time together on his bed. We even watched television there because he had one on top of his dresser. As we lay on our backs, we would watch. He loved scary movies, Werewolves, Mummies and Vampires. Whenever a scary movie was on we fucked after.
Football season ended mid-year. He could drink again. So we spent more and more time in his bed with tumblers of Vodka and orange juice on the nightstand. He rented more films, all of them scary. One night, we were watching “Carrie.” It’s an old movie, but I hadn’t seen it, so the ending, with the hand popping out of the grave so suddenly scared the shit out of me. I screamed and jumped. Ryan jumped on me and began fucking me. I remember that I still had most of my clothes on. He was so urgent, that he just pulled things aside. When he finished, my skirt was at my waist and my panties were pulled to the side.
I remember it so well because it was our first time with him on top. All of the other times he was so conscious of his size. He let me ride him, or he took me from behind. But that time I was flat on my back with his massive thighs holding mine open. When he came, he rested all of his weight on me, forcing his cock deep down.
As we lay next to each other, panting, he asked, “Did I scare you?”
“Yea,” I answered.
A few weeks later, I was picking my clothes up off of the floor when I found a cuff attached to a chain attached to the bedpost. I found another one on the other side. Quietly, so he wouldn’t hear, I held one in my hand for a while. Soft velvet lined the inside of the cuff. That’s when my pussy started throbbing. I mean really beating, like a heart. My legs shook as I walked down the hall. In the privacy of his bathroom, I stroked my clit until I exploded, clamping my own hand over my mouth so that he couldn’t hear.
A few nights later, he said, “So what do you think of the ankle cuffs?”
I tried to pretend that I didn’t know what he was talking about, but my body betrayed me. I blushed all the way down to my hard nipples. He just grinned, a big, ear-to-ear grin that made his whole face crinkle up. His blue eyes sparkled. His breathing quickened as he reached above me and pulled out the handcuffs. They were lined in velvet, just like the ankle cuffs, and attached to the headboard.
“I want to cuff you!” He said from on top of me.
“No, no!” I began screaming. A genuine phobia, like claustrophobia combined with chest-tightening panic, seized me. I tried twisting away from him, but it was impossible. He was too big, too strong. Mid-struggle, I felt his hard cock hitting my thigh as I twisted under him. “No, don’t cuff me! You’re scaring me!”
“OK, I won’t fuck you, but listen to everything I am going to say . . . “
His deal with me was to have me pretend to be cuffed. He pulled my arms over my head, crossed my wrists and placed them precisely at the center of the edge. Then, he spread my legs, stretching them out until I felt the strain in my inner thighs. He held my feet down so that I could feel the bumps of the mattress as a reference. If I moved my hands from the center, or my feel from those specific lumps on the mattress, he said he would cuff me.
Do you see the position I was in? Can you picture it in your mind? No matter what I did, he was so much bigger that he could have cuffed me when he wanted. My only hope of staying out of the cuffs was to give up control by immobilizing myself.
