Red String (special 1)

It’s almost midnight when he arrives.
I’ve already showered, and I’m in my pajamas; the house is quiet because everyone is asleep, except for my sister who will probably sleep outside today.
I’m in front of my computer, busy completing a video game mission, and I only realize its arrival because of the sudden (albeit almost imperceptible) change of air.
I turn towards the window and I see him: he’s wearing a short sleeve shirt, cargo shorts, and two amazing sneakers; I immediately catch a glimpse of short sporty socks that reach down to his ankles, then my attention shifts to the fingerless gloves he’s pulled on his hands, the baseball cap he’s wearing, and the backpack he’s carrying around his shoulders.
<<Hi Mathias.>> I greet him as if nothing had happened, since I’m now used to finding him sitting on the window at night.
<<One minute and seventeen.>> is his answer.
<<It took you a minute and seventeen second to notice I was here.>> he says, jumping into the room; he hardly made any noise when he hit the ground, and I still don’t understand how he’s so quiet when he moves <<You’re getting better.>>
I wince and watch him as he takes the backpack off his shoulders and places it on the floor; he opens it, and from there he takes out another pair of shoes and… duct tape?
<<What are you going to do with that?>> I ask, pointing to the tape.
He shrugs <<I don’t know…>> he puts it on my bed, then turns towards me <<but I want to try a few things today. Starting from these.>> and picks up the shoes that he has taken out of the backpack.
They are brand new, sporty black shoes but also elegant; he places them on the desk, above the keyboard of my computer, and gives me an eloquent look followed by a mischievous smile.
<<Do you like them?>>
I don’t know how to answer. The shoes are certainly very beautiful, however… there is nothing about them that particularly attracts me. For me they are just shoes.
<<Pretty.>> I said at the end <<Are they new?>>
<<Yes. I bought them just for you.>> he continued to say <<Would you like to try them?>>
“Try them” … I know what he mean by those words.
I look him straight in the eyes; the light from the screen makes them glow with an unnatural red glow.
<<Today it’s up to you to decide what to do.>> is my answer <<So if you want to “try them” … go ahead.>>
<<For how long?>>
I hesitate for a moment before answering; Mathias is not a normal kid, dealing with him is very dangerous … I have to be very careful of what I say.
<<Until … uh … until you get tired.>>
He tilts his head slightly to the side <<I never get tired.>> he says.
<<Uhm … Are three hours okay?>>
He thinks about it for a moment, then spreads his right hand in front of my face saying: <<Five.>>
A shiver runs through my entire body. Five hours are a lot of hours.
<<I don’t know if I can resist that long.>> I retort.
<<If you can’t, it’s better.>> he replies staring me straight in the eyes <<I enjoy it more when you cry and try to stop me.>>
By hearing those words, I feel a burning tingling in my legs… if Mathias weren’t so damned handsome and didn’t have this innocent little angel face, he would really scare me.
<<I … I’m not sure that …>>
<<Okay, I have an idea.>> he says, then he moves his shoes off my keyboard and sits next to me, on the chair I had prepared for him; he puts his feet up on the table and point to my computer screen <<Choose a game. Something that we can play in two, me against you.>>
<<Do you want to do a 1v1 and whoever wins decides?>> I guess.
<<More or less.>>
Sighing I choose a shooting game, not the actual videogame but a part of the game dedicated to aim training.
<<Here, the game is simple.>> I begin to explain <<There are fifty balls, and they fly very fast in random directions. You have to destroy them all in the shortest time possible. Whoever is the fastest, wins. Okay?>>
He smiled arrogantly <<Okay. And now choose an exercise.>>
<<An … exercise?>> I ask, confused.
<<Yes. Squat or jump rope?>>
I am confused by that question… what is he trying to tell me? Why should I make this choice?
<<Uh … ehm …>>
<<Be fast.>> he spurs me on <<You annoy me when you stutter.>>
<<Squat.>> is my answer.
He nods <<Fine. So if you win, I’ll only do fifty squats.>>
<<Only fifty squats…?>>
<<If I win instead, I’ll do 100 squats and 100 jumps with rope.>> he adds.
<<Um… got it. But why would you do a hundred squats if you win? Shouldn’t it be the other way around?>>
<<Don’t think about it for now.>> is his answer, after which he points to the computer screen <<Think about shooting rather.>>
I started training and in the space of just four minutes and 25 seconds I destroyed all the balls.
<<Is that all?>> was his reaction once I finished my try <<Is this the challenge?>>
<<Yeah …>>
<<Okay. Get up, let me try.>>
I sigh and leave him my seat; I already know that I will lose, I have never won against him in a game … and I believe that apart from his brother nobody I know ever has.
I start the game as soon as he confirms that he wants to start, and … well, the fifty balls disappear within 25 seconds.
Mathias turns to look at me <<I won.>> he says <<Now take off your shirt and get on the floor. Let’s play for real.>>
I’m still a little confused, I don’t quite understand what the point of doing this challenge was, but for now I decide to stop asking questions and go along with him.
I make sure the bedroom door is locked, I don’t want my parents or sister to suddenly enter in the middle of our “game” … after which I do as he said: I take off my pajama top and lie down on the floor of the room.
I observe Mathias from below as he walks around me; I focus my attention on his shoes, on the black socks that protrude from there, on the beauty of the swollen shape of his calves … and while he too is preparing to “play”, I wonder once again how I ended up in this situation.
I’m only fourteen, and he’s almost twelve. We shouldn’t be here doing these things, at our age we should be playing video games and reading comics, which we actually do when it’s up to me to decide how we spend the evenings … but when he’s the one to decide we always end up doing this kind of “games”.
But why do I indulge him? I might just refuse… yet I always end up saying yes to him.
I don’t even know if I like what we do or not. It’s painful to be under him, and being used as a doormat or treated as a punching bag really sucks… but at the same time… I don’t know, I can’t refuse … I don’t want to refuse.
I really like playing with him, even if I don’t like the game at all.
Mathias in the meantime has also taken off his shirt, and I am once again amazed at his physicality; a normal 11/12 year old would look dry as a branch, but he is tremendously robust for someone his age, chiseled and defined like a miniature bodybuilder.
Sometimes it seems fake, fake like a drawing or an exaggeratedly perfect statue.
Now he has also put on a mask that covers half of his face, which combined with the cap and the gloves makes him look like a member of a gang of thugs.
<<Ready?>> he asks me, looking me in the eyes.
<<Y … yes.>>
He adjusts his gloves, then climbs on top of me.
He does it with a single foot initially, using my stomach as a support; the hardness of his shoes is immediately felt, but at least for now I don’t struggle to hold him up, because no matter how muscular he is, he’s always a child and therefore he’s also very light.
How much will he weigh? Technically he should weigh around 40kg, but considering the muscles I’d say 50kg… Maybe it reaches 60 if you want to really exaggerate. But no more.
He stands with one foot on top of me for a long time, posing and flexing now and then; I watch him in silence as I concentrate my body’s energies on contracting my belly muscles.
After two or three minutes he changes foot, continuing to put pressure on the exact same point as before; it’s already getting harder to hold his weight. Is he getting heavier or am I getting weaker?
At one point he puts himself on his toes, which amplifies the pressure so much that I let out a little scream of pain.
<<Ehi.>> he immediately admonished me <<Your parents are sleeping.>>
<<I … I know.>> I answer through gritted teeth.
<<Then don’t yell. I haven’t even started, I’m just warming you up.>>
He stands on tiptoe for a while, then decides to place both feet on me, one on my chest and the other still on my belly; now that his weight is distributed like this I can breathe again.
He stays up there for a few seconds, then gets off and heads towards his backpack from which he takes out a small skipping rope; now I understand what he meant by “squats” and “jump rope”.
He comes back on top of me, and once there he looks straight into my eyes.
<<We said a hundred jumps, right?>>
I gulp <<Yeah.>>
<<You have to count them.>>
<<Count them.And if I don’t hear the number I will keep jumping until you say it correctly. And you also need to stand still because if I fall or hit the floor, I will start over. So you don’t have to move and you don’t have to make me lose my balance.>>
Having said that he puts his feet together and does the first hop, with the rope passing underneath; it doesn’t seem terrible or painful as an action, just a little annoying and stressful considering that he jumps with his feet together, but it is definitely bearable … at least for now.
<<One.>> I say.
He jumps again; as usual he has an inhuman precision, he manages to land in the exact same spot and he does so without even faltering or showing any sign of difficulty.
He jumps again; I just have to get my body used to his weight and rhythm, then it will be easy to bear these hundred hops.
<<Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven …>>
When I get to ten, he picks up speed; the moment of pause between one hop and another becomes thinner, while I try to stiffen my belly as much as possible to make the task easier for him.
Arrived at twenty, I begin to struggle to keep up with him with the numbers; not only he’s starting to jump too fast, but speaking is becoming increasingly difficult for me.
By thirty, I start to be so slow in counting that he has plenty of time to do an extra hop or two between counts.
With difficulty I can count to forty; I’m barely holding back the tears, but I can still go on.
At fifty, the only thing that keeps me going is the knowledge that we’re halfway there.
At sixty the situation becomes hellish. My belly burns like hell, I have all the muscles in my body contracted, I can’t breathe anymore because of the pain… even my bones start to ache terribly, for some reason.
I count, but no longer following his jumps … now I go on based on my strength, and this involves undergoing up to five or more jumps between one number and another; he gets faster and faster at jumping, but I get slower and slower at talking.
I would really like to stop now.
At seventy I’m crying; my hands are clenched into fists, my legs shake and tremble … but I have to stay still because if he falls he starts over, and knowing him I already know he wouldn’t hesitate to repeat these 100 jumps. A normal person would never do that for real …
But he is not normal.
At eighty jumps my vision begins to blur; I’m going to faint? Or am I just tired? I open my mouth but I don’t know if sounds are coming out from there… I think that my voice is only heard in my head.
At ninety the only thing that keeps me going is the awareness of having reached the end.
<<Ninety-five … ninety-six … ninety-seven … ninety-eight … ninety-nine … one hundred.>>
Matthias stops.
With the mask on his face I can’t understand what expression he’s making, but I bet he’s smiling pleased.
<<Bravo.>> he said <<Now the squats … right?>>
I shake the brim slightly <<P … pause … please …>>
<<Pause, uh?>> he seems to think about it for a moment, then he descends from above me giving me a moment of relief <<Do you have something nice to drink in the kitchen?>>
<<I … I think … yes.>>
Said so he leaves the room, leaving me on the floor to catch my breath.
When he comes back he has a small bottle of iced tea in his hand; he sits on top of my chest like it’s nothing, picks up the phone, puts on his headphones and starts drinking.
Every now and then he gives me a sip too.
After drinking the bottle of tea he took off his shoes and changed them for new ones, after which he got back on top of me.
<<As before, you have to count every squat I do up to a hundred. If I don’t hear the number I won’t go ahead. Got it?>>
<<Got it.>>
The squats would have been easier to bear than the hops if it weren’t for his new shoes; they were annoyingly hard, much harder than the one from before… I started shaking in pain even before I hit thirty squats.
At fifty I necessarily ask for a break, I can’t continue, I’m really exhausted.
<<Please …>>
<<Rules are rules. Next time win the bet.>>
<<I… can’t count anymore.>>
<<Too bad for you. If you don’t count, I don’t move.>>
And he’s not lying. He is currently crouched over me, waiting for me to say the next number; until I say so, he won’t get up to continue the set of squats.
Right now, even if I wanted to, I couldn’t stop him. I don’t have the energy to take him off, nor the strength to scream for help…and then, to be honest, a part of me doesn’t want to take him off like that, I admit that I would rather pass out under his weight.
It’s true that my body is begging for mercy, but I’m not too worried… Mathias did me worse after all, and I’ve always come out unscathed… so in the end I force myself to go back to counting.
Slowly and painfully.
With every pause I take he remains crouched, waiting for me to count again; every now and then he picks up the phone and starts reading or writing messages.
In the meantime I’m struggling, every number I pronounce is pure suffering.
I get to sixty. Then at seventy. At eighty. Ninety. And at the end …
<<H … Hu …Hun … Hu …>>
<<Huh? I don’t hear.>>
He jumps off my body, finally giving me some breathing room.
I am so exhausted that even lying on the ground is tiring; I feel pain in my back, butt and stomach; arms and legs are still shaking, as is my vision; when I cough all my bones ache.
As I slowly and feebly catch my breath, he silently watches me; he’s standing next to me, his shoes are within a breath of my face.
He looks at me without saying or doing anything … every now and then he picks up the phone, but then immediately puts it down; his gaze is sharp and penetrating, it almost seems to be inspecting me.
After a while he reaches out his hand and opens it towards me; he starts closing it into a fist, finger by finger, making me realize that it was a timer.
When he reaches zero he takes off his shoes, leaving only his black socks, and without wasting any more time he climbs onto my chest; being an area of ​​the body that he hasn’t yet touched, his presence above doesn’t cause me great discomfort, but I start coughing right away due to the pressure and the previous effort.
I have to say one thing though… his warm, albeit a little sweaty, feet feel better than his cold shoes; I distinctly feel every single finger resting on my skin, and I must say that … I like it.
It hurts, but I like it.
In the meantime he takes out his phone, looks at it as if he were replying to a message, then shifts his gaze to me.
<<What bone is this?>> he asks, catching me off guard.
<<L-let me see it.>> I say, thinking he’s talking about a bone he saw on his phone.
<<You don’t have to see it.>> he answers instead, increasing the pressure on my chest <<Tell me what bone it is… or I’ll hit it.>>
I gulp; now I understand what he’s saying.
<<Ehm … is this the … uhm … chest?>>
<<Chest?>> he gives me a quick hit with his heel, making me vibrate in pain <<Try again.>>
<<R … ribs?>>
<<No. It’s called sternum.>> and he hits me again, this time harder <<Let’s try again.>> he stretches his foot towards my face and gently places his fingers on my cheek <<What bone is this?>> he asks.
<<Ugh … c … cheek …?>>
He kicks me in the face; not very loud, but with enough energy to make me regret that answer.
<<Try again.>>
<<I… I don’t know…>>
Another kick comes to me, quite strong this time; every part of my skull shakes on its impact.
<<Cheekbone.>> he says, then moves his foot just under my mouth <<And what’s this called?>>
<<J … jaw!>>I exclaim, frightened by the idea of ​​being hit there; he’d already dislocated my jaw once, and it causes a pain I don’t want to feel again.
He nods slowly <<Bravo.>> he brings his toes on my neck <<And this bone? What’s his name?>>
<<E … ehm … A-Adam apple?>>
He pauses for a moment reflecting on my answer, takes a quick look at the phone, then moves his foot up, bringing his fingers straight up my nose; I know the smell of his feet very well, and as usual I find it strangely pleasant and slightly spicy.
<<What bone is this?>>
He delicately runs his fingers up to the head <<And this?>>
<<F … front?>>
I don’t know if the answer is right or wrong, I just know that he places his entire foot on my face and shifts his full weight there; I feel the back of my neck being brutally pressed between him and the floor, and the situation gets worse when the other foot is also lowered on my face.
He is now entirely on top of me, and makes sure that from a crack I can see him so that he can flex his muscles while I watch him from under his feet, helpless and in pain.
When the pressure becomes dangerously unbearable I move my arms towards his ankles to lighten the load a bit, but his reaction is instantaneous.
<<Stay still.>> he tells me in an authoritative voice, thus blocking my every movement.
I stay below him for long, reflecting on the fact that when you are having fun time seems to pass quickly whereas when you suffer it seems much slower … but what about now? Is the time slow or fast? Am I having fun or am I suffering?
I go back to looking at Mathias to find an answer to this question; now he has his hands in his pockets, and he’s staring me straight in the eye.
He’s definitely enjoying himself. Even if now he seems to have a hard and serious expression, I’m sure that under the bandage that covers his mouth is hidden a sadistic and pleased smile; he loves what he’s doing to me, and the more evident my suffering is, the more he enjoys it.
I guess these long and interminable sessions are actually too short and too fast for him. If it were up to him, he’d be jumping on top of me for hours… days, actually.
I remember that one day he told me that one of his “weirdest” fantasies is to have some “human-objects” around the house… people to walk on and use as carpet, or maybe sit on and use as chairs. In short, he would never get tired of being on top of me.
I don’t understand it. Is a fetish? Is it possible to develop fetishes at his age? I don’t know… maybe he’s just sadistic. And if he’s a sadist then I must be a masochist… right?
So I guess I’m having fun now.
But if I’m having fun … why does time go so slowly?
I feel like my head is about to implode; the weight of that kid is becoming unbearable … when will he decide to get off?
I go back to moving my hands towards his ankles.
<<Stop.>> he tells me again <<The more you move, the longer I’ll stay here.>>
I stop again but the situation is getting worrying; I’m seriously afraid my skull might shatter under hiss weight.
And speaking of weight … if he weighed 40kg before, now he weighs at least 70kg. Strange to say, but this kid changes his weight. Continuously. The first few times I noticed it, I thought I was crazy, but now I’m sure of it. His weight is variable, and has now exceeded 60kg.
Or maybe it’s just me who is tired and in pain?
No, I have no doubts. He gained weight. It always does. Sometimes he’s light, so light that I can lift him without problems … other times he’s heavy, so heavy that he feels like a boulder.
And now he’s definitely heavy.
Too heavy.
I cannot resist.
I start to fidget, I bring my hands to his ankles and try to move him out, but nothing… he doesn’t move, he’s nailed above me.
<<f you continue, I’ll hurt you. Stand still. I’m not kidding.>>
I try to speak, but I can’t even move my lips.
His feet are like stuck to my face, they are sinking into my bones.
<<Stop.>> he says again, calmly and patiently; but I won’t stop, I can’t, this time I’m sure things will end really badly <<Stop.>> he repeats again <<You are making the situation worse, trust me. You’re just making me want to continue. The more you try to escape, the more I want to crush you.>>
His legs are so hard they look like two pieces of metal.
There is no doubt now, he no longer weighs 60kg. How many now? 70? 80?
I’m dying.
Every part of my skull is vibrating with pain.
I’m exploding.
I am afraid.
It all hurts too much for me.
I can’t move!
He’s too heavy!
Too … heavy …