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marlo lane is the worst erogamer
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Of course. 

He's maybe a little bit visibly nervous, here. Hopefully he has a high enough SED that it'll look appealing and not, well. 

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"Hello!" a man says. "What sort of things are you into?"

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"— I'm not really sure yet but I like being hurt?" 

Is he blushing he is definitely blushing. 

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"Oh, cute, you're new," he says. "Don't be shy, everybody was new once."

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Okay. Okay. The erogame is not trying to hurt him and if it were going to hurt him it still wouldn't hurt him with this. 

He smiles at the man, still blushing. "I'm working on it!" 

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+1 ERO for correctly noticing that taking the more ero path will not hurt you.

"Well," the man says, "I have some rope. I could tie you up and try out a bunch of different things from my bag on you, and you can see what you think."

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"That sounds great." 

He tries to sound enthusiastic and it comes out a little wistful but it's fine. 

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Then the man will take him to the other room.

A man moans, tied to a St. Andrew's cross. The whip strikes him again and he writhes. His cock is hard and leaking. 

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...that's. A lot. He's not sure what he was expecting but that's a lot. 

He watches the man who's going to be tying him up, tries to mirror the way he reacts, but he keeps glancing at the St. Andrew's cross and wondering — 

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"Do you like that?" the man asks.

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He starts to say 'I don't know' again and then he remembers that he has a skill that seems to exist specifically for making sure he knows things like this. 

Sexual Communication. "Yes." 

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Then the man takes him to an empty St. Andrew's cross and says, "take your clothes off."

It's an order.

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He obeys. 

Is it physically possible to strip this fast? He's not sure. 

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Well, probably it is, since he didn't use Strip Tease.

The man efficiently wraps rope around his wrists and ankles and ties him to the cross, so that he's spread out and helpless.

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Oh. 

He used to be confused what Sasha liked so much about being tied up, after he'd asked about the rope marks on his wrists but before the erogame. He isn't confused about it anymore — he's helpless, anyone could do anything they wanted and he'd have no way — 

(He is very quickly getting hard.) 

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There's a sharp line of pain along his back.

"This is a Wartenberg wheel." 

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He whimpers and then nods. 

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"Tell me on a scale of one to ten," he says, "where one means you can barely feel it, five means just right, and ten means much too much."

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"— four?" 

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A flogger. It doesn't hurt, exactly, but it takes the wind out of you; it feels like being punched.

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His arms twitch in the ropes; it isn't bad, but it isn't — 

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A different kind of flogger. It's stingy; it hurts; little bits of flame bloom under his skin.

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It's perfect, it's so good, he can see sparks behind his eyes — 

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Well, then, he can keep getting hit, can't he, all along his back and his ass and his thighs.

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Yeah — yeah, he can — 

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