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rolledtrousers:

Breadcrumbs

The first of them was waiting just inside the door, laid innocently enough on the top of the modest pile of mail that had accrued during the day. She wouldn’t even have noticed had it not been for the neon pink, standing out bright against the off-white of junk mail and bills. 

She didn’t pick it up at first. Her heels were digging into her ankles, and she wanted to get clear of her jacket, be able to relax a little now that she was home. But she tried to read it from standing, somehow will her eyes to focus on lettering that was far too far away for her to read. It was two lines, maybe five words, and that was all. Block capitals, single spaced, written with a marker, from the looks of it. 

Her bag hit the ground, jacket slung on the peg, and she picked it up. The words made her arch an eyebrow, blush just a tiny bit, but she dismissed it as some innocuous game of his, a way to tantalise and tease, get her excited before he got home in half an hour. The sentence was simple, an expression of a desire. 

I want to kidnap you. 

The post-it fluttered a little, and she closed the door behind her, went into the kitchen to put the kettle on and consider exactly what it was that he was up to. 

There was another on the fridge, and this one she really did almost miss, as it was lost among a feathering of other notes, all neon, some pink, others yellow, a few green. If it wasn’t for the relative sparseness of the writing, she might have lost it in the sea of colours, but as it was it stood out. 

I want to do it today.

At which point, she had to ask herself how he knew what route she’d take through the flat, how he knew where she was going, and that she’d figure this out as she went. She turned around, and there was another one on the kettle, dangling from the handle. 

There was more written here. Enough that she knew that this wasn’t innocuous, that he really did intend to follow through with it. That she was standing there in the kitchen, and he was somewhere close by, waiting to see how she’d react. Her mind blanked, got stuck five seconds ago and hadn’t quite caught up with where she was now, didn’t, until the pounding of her heart in her ears suddenly became noticeable. 

If you’re ok with that, get undressed. 

That’s what it had said, what it still did say, trembling in her fingertips as it was. Except it wasn’t the paper that was shaking, it was her, and she quickly looked around herself as if expecting him to jump out from behind the doorway, put a bag over her head and be done with it. 

And then… nothing. Just a minute of silence, for her to think and consider. She didn’t know what he was planning to do, but she knew him well enough not to worry about it, not properly. That didn’t stop the anxiety, the fear, the concern and trepidation to shudder through her body with all the force of a chilblain. And it certainly didn’t stop her from thinking about all the ways it could go wrong, if it hadn’t been his handwriting gracing these little scraps of paper. 

Taking off her work clothes felt like a surrender. There was something of the prisoner about her as she did that, as though she’d been caught and was being summarily incarcerated. She did it slowly, methodically, and with great hesitation, folding each item and placing it on the counter in a neat little pile. She stopped at underwear, and then turned around. 

He wasn’t there. She wasn’t sure why she necessarily expected him to be. Maybe she was counting on that same prescience that he’d displayed with the notes to tell him when she was ready, but it had apparently not managed to carry him this far. So she walked out of the kitchen, wandered down the hall. 

She stumbled into the next note on the back door, sitting pretty on the frosted glass. It was teeming with words, each of them vying for space until there was almost more black than pink. She leaned forward, squinted, read. 

On the other side of this door I’m going to abduct you. I’ll put a blindfold over your eyes. Tie your hands. Put you in the boot of the car. And then take you somewhere. If it gets too much, you know what to say. Don’t hesitate. Love you. 

Somehow that reassurance made it worse. It had the effect of smelling salts, grabbing her by the scruff of the neck and hurling her towards the surface, so that she couldn’t sink happily into the mystery and lust of it all. She needed to be present, at least for that moment, so that she knew what she was getting into. She knew this. She knew, too, that what he was doing was good, and right, but she couldn’t help but resent the sudden formality of it all, if only for a second. 

So she waited. For the moment to come back, to slink around her and pull her under. It was like being hypnotised, just waiting for your mind to become occupied with the pageantry of it all, and then suddenly she was there, trembling again, riding that exhilarating line between aroused and terrified. 

She turned the handle and opened the door. Stepped out, and waited to feel his hands. 

Ughhhhh please and thank you.

There and Back Again

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rolledtrousers:

Oliver was changing the sheets ten minutes after she’d left.

It would be a lie to say he hadn’t counted each second, run through the hypotheticals in his mind about how far away she’d have to be before she might realise she’d forgotten something, past the distance where she could just turn around. She’d have to take out her phone and actually let him know she had left something behind. Five minutes away seemed like the threshold, and so he counted to ten, watched the number on his phone tick up as if pulling him out of a trance. He did it in the living room, so he didn’t have to occupy the same space as the offending laundry.

It was the thought of going back to sleep, of lying down and trying to fall unconscious with that most olfactory of reminders enveloping him, that was too much to bear. So he stripped the mattress, emptied the pillowcases, hurled the duvet from one side of the room to another to make a little space. Morning light flooded his room like bleach, and for a minute he paused.

Mistakes happen. Even grand ones, the pile-ups of the world, start with something small; a distracted driver glancing at their phone, a patch of black ice. But most curious are those which seem to take a life of their own, continue apace even though he should have the ability to stop them, should be able to intervene and divert the evening away from that most regrettable of directions. He could have done something. He should have done something.

He changed his sheets, and he went back to bed.

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Guys rolledtrousers is baaaaaaaaaack.

A Conversation with Rolledtrousers

Chat

Him: I want to buy [a vibrating egg].
Me: For your butt?
Him: But I’m not sure if I should. The dilemma, if I buy it…would it be gross if I use it on two girls? Like one relationship…then another?
Me: Hahahaha.
Him: Is that sort of thing okay? Because I don’t want to buy another.
Me: Usually the girl sort of keeps it after it’s been inside of her.
Him: Yeah, but I want that shit.
Me: Yeah, probably not happening.
Him: Not even if I clean it?
Me: Not even if you clean it.
Him: Guess I’ll have to have a long-term relationship, then. Balls. Same deal with gags? Or are they okay because it’s just spit?
Me: Nah, not the same with gags, I don’t think.
Him: I mean there’ll be spit on my dick. So I figure it’s okay.
Me: Oh my God stop.

Psst. Guys.

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Rolledtrousers had a little bit to drink tonight.

Go to his tumblr.

Go check the tags on his last four posts.

I’m dying. I’m literally just dying of laughter.

He’ll kill me for advertising this and making him seem less intimidating and infallible, but whatever, he left it up for everyone to find anyway.

Sorry, Trou. It’s been too long since I was last mean to you.

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It’s moments like these that make being an incorrigible brat actually kind of awesome, even when things get humiliating. 

Okay. Especially when things get humiliating. And the other party totally knows how to dole it out. 

This is a fabulous example.

rolledtrousers:

“I’m just worried that my oxygen supply might be cut off as your ego creates a vacuum in the room. That’s all.” She was smirking, and she was watching him. Hoping for a reaction. 

He sat there for a moment, letting it settle in the air like a bad smell, before he held out his hand, as casual as anything. An eyebrow arched expectantly, and she narrowed her eyes at him, suspicion over confusion.

“What?” She folded her arms, still staring.

“Your underwear.” His voice was casual, utterly assured, and a touch too nonchalant. She felt herself twitch as they fell upon her, as if it was the words themselves forcing her to throb. She resisted biting her lip.

“Why do you want it?” He shook his head, and snapped his fingers. The sound made her jump.

“Put them in my hand. Say another word and I’ll make sure you’ll think of me every time you sit for a week.” The threat was clear, and the method was implied. It was enough for her to bite down her response, as acerbic as it had been.

Still, she hesitated, if only for another second or two. Then the moment passed, and her hands slid down her sides, catching underneath the waistband of her panties, before she pulled them down over her legs. They were heavier than she’d like to admit, the dampness giving them weight. Delicately, she placed them in his hand. 

Suddenly he was up, moving around her before his free hand went to her face, finger and thumb digging into her cheeks, forcing her mouth open. She resisted for a moment, but the pressure was painful, and she didn’t want to see what he would do if she struggled. Her lips fell open, and the panties, balled and damp, went in. Stuffed, gagged, held. He forced them against the roof of her mouth with one thick finger. She squirmed.

And then he let go, moving back to his seat, and picking up his book. Her brow was furrowed, and she could feel the cotton and lace expanding to fill the space of its new home. She could taste herself. One hand started to quest upwards, to touch them, maybe remove…

“No. They stay there until I say so. Once I think you’ve earned your voice back.”

She moaned. He smiled, and picked up where he’d left his bookmark.

Faith – Audio

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Rolledtrousers has made another audio. 

Some of you have learned by now how I feel about this man’s audio posts.

And if you haven’t caught his first, go listen to this one. It’s super sexy.

rolledtrousers:

The full audio here, hosted on SoundCloud.

An erotic short story written and read by My Trousers Rolled

Tumblr’s audio limit stops me uploading the full recording, as it’s over 10mb, and I can’t host both today, as I’m only allowed one a day. So here it all is, with the rest to follow tomorrow. 

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This is one of my favorite games.

rolledtrousers:

I like to play a little game, when you can’t speak. It’s a mean little game, but I find it amusing. You find it infuriating. That’s quite possibly what amuses me so about it, but then I always was a sucker for your reactions. 

I like to talk to you, hold long conversations when your only input is the most monosyllabic of moans, perhaps a ‘uh uh’ if you really try. So I do your half of the conversation for you, because I’m generous like that. 

“You know, the way you’re looking at me, it’s almost like you like being tied up and gagged like this. Do you like it?” You fix me with a piercing, angry gaze, all furrowed brows and needles for eyes. 

“You mean you do? Oh that’s wonderful news. We should keep you like this more often then! I’d hate to get in the way of you and your passions.” 

And so forth. It’s just a little game, but it’s one I enjoy ever so much. 

Won’t you indulge me?