Perfect Silence

In this world there is no one else, there is only you - my god, my master, my keeper. My own self falls away, I am devoid of a name, of an identity, of a person. I am transformed, I am elevated to pure energy, I become my true shadow-shape. You whisper into my ear and pour me into the mould of your desire. Sometimes I think I could disappear forever beyond the velvet edge of my meditation, sometimes I think I could fall and cascade into deeper levels of relinquishment. In the farthest realms of our play, I have found myself peering into that place, and blinded by the light of my adoration for you, I have stepped toward the edge. Sometimes it is you who pulls me back and sometimes it is I who wakes and flees the edge, but it is always like coming out of a trance, and, reunited with my body, I feel heavy.

Tonight you ask me for my voice. Unsheathing your penis from your pants, you tell me to put my mouth on it. I am on my knees as you stand over me. It is a blessing to receive you in my mouth and I am not ungrateful. I worship you, a priestess to her god, and after licking from beneath your testicles to the tip of your head, I close my lips around you, taking you deeply, filling myself with you. You fit as though we were made from the same stone and then broken apart. I press my tongue against your shaft. My motions are slow and deliberate, ritualistic, precise, and thorough. I dare not take a wrong step at your altar, I dare not shame my god that way.

You place a firm hand on the back of my head and tell me to pause, yet keep my mouth open. I obey, merely an orifice to receive you. You pull yourself out completely and then slowly reenter. As you continue into my throat, my instinct is to draw away, but your hand holds my head still. You tell me to put my hands behind my back and I fold my arms as you command. My lips are now pressed against your body, you have taken me completely. I resist the urge to gag, I struggle to breathe, but I am not permitted to move. Tears wet my eyes in discomfort and I begin to fall away, the darkness begins to envelope me in soft liberation. You tell me to look you in the eyes. I behold you.

"Your mouth is mine, your throat is mine, and your voice is mine," you say. "If you utter one sound, the consequences will be great."

You place your task upon me as you release my head and pull back, strings of saliva draping from my lips to your head. I gasp, catching my breath, but make no other noise. I have no voice. It is yours. To let any utterance creep from my throat would be defiance. And more than I fear your punishment or disappointment, I cannot bear to fail you, to fail myself, to disobey you. My adoration is great and I shall complete my worship.

"Do you understand?" you say.

I nod.

"I want you to look at me at all times, even if I am not looking at you."

I nod again, my gaze still locked with yours, my mouth still open, ready for you. You clasp my chin with your thumb on my tongue. "You are beautiful." I cannot help the smile that comes awkwardly to the corners of my lips around my open mouth. You stare deeply into my eyes, your own hard and searching. My throat tightens to form words of gratitude, but I refrain and you smile, reading my near mistake in my eyes. "Good girl."

Your approval delivers me. My ecstasy manifests itself between my bare legs.

You release my chin and tenderly push my mouth closed. You kneel down beside me, gathering my hair in one hand, exposing the back of my neck, which you firmly massage with your other hand, pressing your thumb and index finger down along either side of my vertebrae. The sensation sends chills down my spine, and I swallow the moan that rises from my depths. My breath quickens, shallows. I keep my eyes on your face as you examine my back. You move behind me, I can still see you out of the corner of my eye, and with both hands, you massage my shoulders with skilled pressure. I stretch my body out for you, pursing my lips against the sounds of pleasure in my throat. I know that you know my voice is one of my greatest sensual and primal indulgences. And I know that's why you have taken it now, to see if I can yield my pleasure to yours, to see if I can control myself as much as you can control me.

You move your hands down my back, firmly easing out the tension in my muscles, as if pressing air or liquid out from beneath some surface. Your touch is rapturous, it is the hand of a god admiring his creation, of a master admiring his slave, of a keeper admiring his possession. You tell me to spread my legs as your hands round my buttocks, caressing the supple flesh.

I am on tiptoes of desire, of a sexuality driven more and more wild by your slow, deliberate touch. I feel myself falling backwards with arms outstretched into an ocean of warm velvet water. The water fills in around me as I go under.

One hands creeps under my body to grasp my mound as the other yanks my hair. I grit my teeth, but no sound escapes me apart from my breath. With your middle finger you rub my clitoris circularly, igniting the heat between my legs, drawing the blood and moisture to my vagina. Everything falls to the pit of sex in my abdomen. I squirm, but remain desperately silent. Your index and ring finger peel apart my lips, as if exposing the flesh of some succulent fruit. I close my eyes tightly as I feel your middle finger release my clitoris, stroke the opening of my vagina, and then slowly - so agonizingly slowly - penetrate me.

I feel my whole self rise, arching in the water, electrified, and I quickly pull myself back down into a trembling silence before my voice breaks my lips, before the animal of my body betrays my mind's hold.

You withdraw your finger. You grab me around my breasts, pulling on one of my nipples as you place your finger to my lips. I can smell my sex, it is a hot sweet scent. You shove your finger past my lips and I taste myself. I suckle your finger, cleaning myself off of you. You now pull my other nipple, harder than the first. I buck slightly against you and I can feel your erection against my buttocks. You kiss the side of my neck, you bite my ear lobe.

You whisper, "Not a sound, not a single sound."

How could I forget? The growls, the whimpers, the moans force themselves against the backs of my teeth. I strangle myself with silence and the denial of my voice only makes me want to scream more.

You release me all together and tell me to position myself on my hands and knees at the edge of the bed. I do so and you immediately place your erection in my mouth as you undo your belt. I am reconnected with your eyes, which I stare widely into. I try not to look at the belt as you fold it in half, establishing a firm grip on it. I know what it is going to happen and I can feel my vagina throb with blood, my labia swelling at the mere thought of the exquisite lines of fire you are about to open on my skin. The anticipation is accompanied by an even greater terror at the cries that will threaten to destroy my perfect obedient silence.

The leather cracks across my back, and I swallow your penis to force the scream back into my stomach. You strike me again, and I gag, but make no sound. I release you long enough to fill my lungs with air, then take you again, just as another lash brightens my skin. I know you can see the struggle in my eyes, I know you can see the pain and the longing, and you return my gaze with only a stern regard. Again and again you hit me, and again and again I am grateful for your erection in my throat, corking the cries of pain, the cries of pleasure that flood it.

You drop the belt, grabbing my hair instead, and force yourself to the hilt in my mouth, your other hand cupping my neck. I squirm, choking, my eyes panicked. You let me go, you tell me to turn around, I do not hesitate to obey you. You force me down on my elbows, raising my rear for greater access. You strike my vulva with your hand. I suck in a breath, grabbing the sheets.

As I struggle to maintain my silence I begin to disengage from my body, to move farther and farther away from the jolts of electricity you send through me with each touch, be it gentle or violent. I sink deeper into a velvet tunnel which closes in around me as I submerge myself in it. After all - what is my body anymore? It is simply an organ, it reacts upon instinct, it is my mind that submits, it is my mind that wants this, it is my mind that transcends my flesh, it is my mind that empowers me through your careful manipulation.

You alternate between strikes and strokes and the sensations whirl into one intense pulse between my legs. I imagine the folds of my sex glistening with heated wetness, inflamed with desire and with pain.

And then, oh sweet sir, you take me. You give no warning, you give no precursor, you give no time for me to shore up my strength against the scream that rises from the very primal depths of my being. My submission, however, is greater, and my mind is more powerful, and I do not make a sound, not a single utterance. My body tenses around you. You tell me to release. My orgasm is immediate, shaking me, almost wresting a whimper from my lips, but I catch it, I swallow it, I grab the sheets more tightly. I have become full of light, I have become radiant, I have become perfect.

You stop and hurriedly tell me to roll onto my back as you climb onto the bed. I wordlessly do so, spreading my legs, preparing my altar for your blessing. You take me again, pressing my legs back to either side of my head, curling my body up to receive you better. You thrust into me deeply and mercilessly, and I am invigorated by the violence of your desire. We are two pieces fitted to one another, we are complete, we are as we were meant to be. My eyes are locked on yours, and I shrink at the intensity in them. Your face is creased with concentration, the sweat drips from your brow and falls onto my lips. I am too mesmerized by your eyes to notice. I am in a trance of silent submission.

I grip your arms, I want to connect to every part of me to you. I am alive with energy, I am alive with the energy you are transferring to me, and it passes between us, rising and falling, filling us both with light. I am absorbing you, I am receiving you. Every thrust falls deeper and deeper into me, touching the spot of life light inside. It blazes, consuming you, consuming us. I am ravenous to scream. The orgasm rises inside of me, drawing my muscles to a point. But I make no sound, and again I am falling falling falling into a place of suspended darkness, my body rising even as it sinks.

Caught between two greatly opposing desires, I withdraw. The light is so bright that I take a step back, perhaps to fall to the ground in total and complete adoration of my perfect god. I can no longer remember who I am or where I came from, only that I am here before you and that my knees are weak to yield to you. Suddenly I have no throat with which to make a sound, in fact, I have no body. I am drifting, I am untethered, the dark velvet waters are pulling me farther and farther out into an unknown sea.

You kiss my forehead as I falter at the edge. I come up gasping for air. You tell me what a good girl I have been, my heart soars, and then you tell me to scream.

I do. I scream your name, I scream my gratitude, and it is a delightfully violent return to my body. The orgasm rolls through me like an earthquake. You throw your head back to moan as you shudder through your own release.

A smile creeps across my face as we lock eyes again. You return the smirk. I know you could see me hovering at the edge only moments ago, I know you intentionally drove me to it, and I know you pulled me back just as I called you back from your own edge, a delicate tug-o-war.

In that way we are perfect.

You and I - we are perfect.

The Game

Every game has its rules and ours is no exception. When we play, three glowing buttons appear before me suspended in the darkness of my mind's eye. One is yellow, one is red, and one of them pulses with white light. They are connected to a language that I share only with you.

Your first gift to me was these words, which you instructed me to use as often as I need to without fear of judgment, penalty, or interrogation. They are a gift of power, a gift of trust, a gift of acceptance, a gift of acknowledgment of my inherent weakness as a creature made of flesh and histories, a gift of respect for my personal boundaries.

Those buttons hang above me now as, arms tied behind me at the wrists, I rest my face against the mattress. My knees are tucked up under me, my parts are on display for you. You regard me as a musician regards his favorite instrument. I cannot see you well out of the corner of my eye, but I can tell that you are considering how to play my body tonight. Whatever the tune, I will bend and sigh and scream as your bow commands.

You tell me to open my mouth. I do. You place two fingers on my tongue and I close my mouth around them, taking them inside of me, taking you inside of me, my body made to take you however you choose to give yourself to me. You press your fingers farther into my mouth, bending the tips down my throat. My throat tightens around them, and a stinging moisture creeps along my pressed eyelids as I slightly gag, but I hear you moan softly, so I do not object, though I know I could. I am sinking into my meditation, I am falling into the place where my pleasure transcends my physical limitations. The buttons glow before me, a quiet reminder that for now, I ignore.

You remove your fingers and I am saddened to be emptied of you, to break the connection. But it is not long before you press a wet finger against my anus. Now I understand.

You press harder, until your finger penetrates the tight ring of muscle, and without lubrication, my body objects, pushing against you despite my own desire to fill myself with you. I suck in a breath as you force your second moistened finger into my body alongside the first. A cry escapes my lips as you shove your fingers deeper. The pain is not unbearable and you are gentle enough to prevent breaking skin, yet the motion is stern, your desire shall not go unfulfilled. If you want me this way you shall have me this way, and I will give myself to you this way.

"Are you all right," you whisper, though it is more a formality than a question. I have not said the words, I have not spoken the true language. All other words mean nothing now, it is only your words that matter. I have no words of my own save the ones you gave to me as a gift when we first embarked on this journey.

You do not wait for my answer before once again inching your fingers in deeper. My body rejects you, but I crave more. I want you inside of me, I want to be filled with you, I want to hold you inside of me forever, completing me, elevating me. Sweat forms on my brow and I become aware of the ache in my arms, which are pulled tight against my back and secured there with rope. I struggle to push myself under, to dive into my space, to release my body, but the pain focused between my legs keeps drawing me back to the unfortunate realities of my body.

Mercifully you begin stroking my labia with your free hand. You run your fingers along the folds of my lips, gently parting them, opening up my vagina to you. My wetness betrays my masochism, you finger just the opening, not quite entering, only teasing me. But it is enough to draw my attention away from your other fingers, which stretch my anus, until I hear you spit, and then feel the saliva drip down between my buttocks, seeping in between your fingers. In one swift motion, you begin thrusting your fingers in my anus as you slide a finger slick with my wetness up to rub my clitoris. Everything hits me at once and I cry into the mattress, muffling my agony, my pleasure, my dizzying fall into total submission.

I am all at once yours and completely my own, my body merely a vessel, an object, my mind jumping to a heightened state of ecstasy, a private level of being that you can only take me to but never know for yourself.

You begin thrusting faster, each pump digging deeper as you continue to press a finger against my clitoris. I scream louder into the mattress. The ache in my shoulders yanks me out of my head space, and between my legs I seesaw between pleasure and pain and the point where the two intersect in a perfect union of sensation. I begin to squirm, to buck against your body. I feel the orgasm coming, rolling up onto me like a tsunami, about to crash and wash everything away.

"Sir, may I? May I please Sir?" I beg. You do not answer. I am holding the waters at bay, but my dam bends beneath the pressure, I can hear it creaking. I am about to explode with light, my whole body trembles with an unleashed and growing energy. I cannot have it unless you grant it, and the consequences are dire. I am desperate now, vibrating between my body and my darkness. "SIR MAY I PLEASE!"

You answer only by driving your fingers into me harder, equally increasing the pressure on the bundle of nerves which crowns my vulva. I know you love it when I beg. It is part of the game and it is a role I play with total enthusiasm. I imagine your penis hardening inside your pants at the tone of panic in my voice. The wave of orgasm towers over me, about to fall, nearly beyond my control.

I ask again, this time more quietly, but I still receive no answer. The orgasm is more than I can hold and the three buttons flash before me with new light. Is it too much? Can I do this? Can I obey you? Is it too much? All it takes is one word, one word to control you, one word to end the game. These are the rules. You made them just for me. I wield them as I choose.

I fail, I orgasm. It shakes my entire body, I feel everything tighten and release, and I know you can feel it too. The water rushes over me, the flowing energy unloosing a scream from my mouth. "Sir I'm sorry," I plead quickly. But I am not really sorry. I am glowing from the inside out, my orgasm was selfish, it was all my own, you could not control me, I am secretly pleased.

Just as I am secretly pleased with the punishment that falls swiftly across my buttocks as you strike me again and again with your open palm. Then you pull my hair and drag me off of the bed. The motion is awkward, I falter, my arms are numb behind my back, you do not care, and again the buttons flash in my mind, but I am not ready yet.

You lead me to the bathroom, you open the toilet seat, you tell me to sit, you tell me to urinate. Shame flushes my cheeks. You command me to urinate again, but in the heat of the moment and my embarrassment, I cannot. You stare down at me, I cannot look into your eyes. For a third time you order me to relieve myself. You mock my orgasm, you tell me it's nothing more than bed wetting, and since I took one without permission I must give you something lesser now. I can feel the urgency, but nothing comes. I cannot obey you. It breaks me. The buttons come to me again, flashing brightly.

Finally I relieve myself. It is only a little, but I have done as you commanded. You tell me to get up, you tell me to bend over, and tearing a piece of bathroom tissue, you wipe me clean, as if polishing some machinery. I blush deeply.

You command me to my knees, and when I hesitate, you shake me by my hair, causing me to cry out. You grab my face.

"You have disappointed me," you tell me. It is almost a death sentence.

The part of me that remains in the real world sinks a little, my tether to that place weakens. You are my everything right now, I live, I breathe, I exist exclusively to your design. Such damning words push me to an edge I may not be able to recover from.

On my knees, you drag me to the toilet bowl. I feel the pressure on the back of my neck and the smell of my own fluids wafts into my nose. My heart is pounding in my ears, the buttons - big, bright, and central in my mind - pulsing in time with it.

Can I do this? The prospect of my inadequacies crushes me. If you place me here surely you believe I can accomplish this - right? Is this a test? Do you not already know my undying loyalty? How could you question me? Have I not served you well?

The words, my own words, echo quietly in my mind, coupled to the glowing buttons and my roaring heartbeat. I can see you standing before me, your hand outstretched to give me this gift, this gift of a language that is completely and utterly ours, this gift of power, this gift of mercy, this gift of love. I reach out for the button.

"White," I say, "White white white." It is the word to end the game all together. The other two merely ease or transfer the energy of our play, but "White" breaks the spell, "White" brings everything back.

You cease completely. You wordlessly and urgently untie my arms, close the toilet, take me away from the bathroom and ease me into bed, where you hold me and stroke my hair and kiss my forehead.

"I wasn't going to do it," you say, "I was going to stop."

I curl up into the curve of your body. You say, "You knew that, right? I wasn't going to do that to you, you knew that, didn't you?"

I consider lying to you, but to do so in this exquisite exchange of power and trust would be to commit a grave sin. "No, I didn't," I admit.

You squeeze me tightly, affectionately.

"That's why the game has rules," you say.

Need

When you put your hand around the back of my neck, reaching your fingers up to tangle them in my thick dark hair and tug ever so subtly, I become instantly and utterly yours. It is the signal that play time now begins.

My breath quickens as my body melts to your command, I am suddenly turned to soft gold in the alchemy of your hands. The rest of the world falls into a velvet darkness and it is only you.

I cannot tell what you will do next and I do not try to wonder - it is solely to your discretion how you may worship me, how you may desecrate me, how you may shape me into your perfect object to use and use and use, but I do know that whatever world you drag or lead me through, you will return me safely home and tuck me gently in the folds of your affection.

You systematically remove my clothing, as if undoing the wrappings from a package. You raise my arms and pull my shirt over my head, you undo my jeans and tug them down to my ankles, and tell me to step out of them as they pool on the floor. You unhook my bra and I am naked save for a dainty lace thong. You tell me to bend over on the bed. I do.

You part my legs like a honey bee seeking nectar from a flower and pull the strip of fabric to one side of my lips. I suck in a breath as you spread my lips, examining the hole which is already slick with wetness. I know I need not voice my desire for you to penetrate me already, I know you can smell the hunger between my legs. Will you let me have it? Do I deserve it?

You release the thong. You tap my mound with an open palm, not quite a slap, but it sends a jolt of painful pleasure through my body, firing up my skin with electricity. I fall deeper into the velvet darkness, my mind untangles from my body, held only by a thread, a nerve that pulses in time with the blood that engorges my sex organ.

There is a pause, I do not look at you. Instead I shiver to imagine you stepping away from my body, examining it as a plan forms beneath your eyes. Will you take me? Will you test me?

You tell me to get on my back on the bed and I obey, glancing once into your eyes. They are stern but I can see the light of tenderness inside. I adore you.

You gently place my arms above my head, locking them at the wrists, and tie them together. As you pull the knot through, the end of the rope brushes over my lips, over my stomach, over my breasts, a series of petal soft kisses. You raise my head and place a blindfold over my eyes. I sink further into that soft glowing darkness. My surrender is complete.

You slide the thong down my legs and again, I feel the moisture rush to my vagina as my final gifts become exposed to you. I am electric with anticipation, my ears sharpening to every little sound. Yet all I can hear is my breath and my heartbeat...and the sound of you loosening your belt from your pants.

You tell me to breathe as you trace the end of your belt over my skin, but I can no longer think as the leather licks my clitoris. My whole body reacts and I pull my legs together. You tell me to keep them spread. I have disobeyed you. My punishment falls in one lash across my stomach. I swallow the accompanying cry and dare not move. The leather whispers a thousand promises and as I fall deeper into my darkness, I realize I want it all. I want everything. I want you.

You let the belt fall across my body in symmetric strokes with increasing force. I struggle against my reflexes to pull in to myself. I want to obey you. I want you to know how good I am. I want you to know that in this place I will follow you to the ends of the earth. Each lash burns, but I am better than my body. I have entered a mind free of all suffering, I am empowered, I am no longer of this world and it is you who has put me here. I adore you for it.

I am a point of burning white light focused between my legs and all my being, all my energy radiates from that place, from the life light inside of me. The belt falls across my labia, striking that soft pink head of nerves, and the flames flare up, engulfing my body, filling me with light which bursts out through the seams of my body.

With one last gentle stroke across my cheek, you cease, and lean in to take my lips in a soft full kiss. The taste of you fills my mouth and it is like water falling onto my parched tongue.

"You're still not breathing," you tease. I realize I've been holding my breath. I sigh gratefully and my body relaxes. I am back.

But not for long.

You untie my wrists and remove the blindfold. I stare deeply into your eyes and even without you touching me I feel profoundly comforted, protected, and supported. But there is something else there and I know what it is. Play time is far from over.

You tell me to roll onto my stomach, and as I obey I find myself once again entering that soft darkness where only you exist, and it is through my complete subjection to your desire that I become more whole.

Because my obedience is just a facade for power, because I know that just as I need you, you would be nothing without me.