Silenced

Silenced

She was accustomed to being bound by then, tied to the bed-frame in a position of his choosing, to be taken and used however he wished. She even enjoyed it; so thoroughly possessed and so completely pleasured, until the memory of fear was long past. With him, it was safe—and so good she ached for it.

So she didn't resist at all when he undressed her, laid her out on her stomach, and chose a length of thin rope to bind her hands. He laced it between her fingers in complicated patterns, both hands totally immobile, and then a thicker length of rope around her wrists and forearms to secure her to the bed.

He ran his hand down her spine, and she purred, tilting her hips up in invitation. "Spread," he murmured, and she complied, stretching her legs wide for him. Next her ankles were bound apart, leaving her exposed and helpless. It didn't matter. She knew how he would take her, how he would fill her, how his hand in her hair would tug her head back and make her back arch more sharply. He did such terrible, wonderful things to her that she was eager for this, already wet, and if it became too much she could always slow or stop him. That was the purpose behind safewords, after all.

He straddled her waist, his weight on her making her hunger for it, and rubbed her back, his hands spanning her tawny skin. She sighed, her eyes closing; sometimes he liked to do this, get her nice and relaxed before something intense. In the beginning, it had also helped her to associate being bound with things that weren't frightening. He ran his hands all the way up into her hair, twisting it into a loose tail at the nape of her neck. She smiled a little, trusting, quiet.

Come on,

she thought, almost lazily.

Take me. Spread me open. Shake my very bones with your thrusts. Make me yours.

His hand cupped her throat, and she tipped her head back, offering him her neck. He squeezed once, lightly, before moving up to her jaw, his thumb tracing her lower lip. She opened her mouth for him, and he slid his thumb inside for her to suck. A strangely visceral pleasure, that. Not as satisfying as his cock, the way she could make his eyes roll back and hear him groan her name, but still sweet for its tenderness.

That was when things began to change.

He barely let her get started before his thumb was pressing down on her tongue, forcing her mouth open wider. Automatically she pulled away, trying to evade the pressure, but he had a firm hold of her jaw and she couldn't escape. Her eyes shot open, rolling back to try and see his face, wondering just what the hell he was doing.

She got her answer when his other hand pressed a piece of cloth into her mouth, knotted fabric behind her teeth, suddenly drawn tight enough to skin her lips back. She snarled in outrage as he knotted the scarf at her neck, tossing her head and pushing with her tongue to try and spit the gag. How dare he gag her, he knew full well how it had happened to her last, what it meant....

He grabbed her hair, tight, immobilizing her head and bringing tears of pain to her eyes. "Don't fight," he commanded, but when he wrapped a second scarf over the first, taut around her chin and jaw to hold her mouth closed over the first gag, she couldn't obey. She struggled, thrashing and trying to curse, her breath coming hard through her nose. He was sitting on her, using his weight to pin her down, and she couldn't stop him from tying the second gag securely.

Not quite silenced. She could moan and growl, but nothing intelligible was getting past the cloth. Her breath whistled, her nostrils flaring, and she twisted her head to look up at him in horrified surprise. What the hell was he doing?

Gently he combed his fingers through her hair, making sure it wasn't caught in the knots. "Relax," he told her.

Her eyes flashed fire. Relax, hell! They hadn't discussed this, she hadn't agreed to it ... not that they discussed everything. She had wanted to put her fate entirely in his hands. The notion of complicated inventories of acts permitted and acts forbidden took all the spontaneity and sensuality out of it for her, turning sex into little more than a list of menu items. Ridiculous.

I'll have bondage with a little orgasm denial on the side, hold the spanking.

So there was nothing expressly forbidden to him, but he knew her history, he knew what this would do.

And that was why he'd done it, she realized. This entire experiment in bondage and submission had come about because of her past trauma, all the things she feared. He had conquered them one by one, or more accurately, enticed her to conquer them. The trust it had taken to let him bind her, when another man had abused her, was incalculable. She'd done it, though, for the promise of pleasure it held, and now it was one of the sweetest ecstasies she knew.

He knew that other man had left her bound and gagged and helpless, not a state with which she had much familiarity. Over time he'd made being bound a pleasure, and taken bites out of her fear of helplessness, too. She liked to be overpowered by him, held down while she struggled, and taken anyway.

But this ... this was too far. Taking away her voice, her only means of stopping a situation if it became too much?

That

she couldn't handle. As the full realization that she had no safeword hit her, she bucked and thrashed beneath him, a desperate whining snarl through the gag all that became of her frustrated scream.

"Relax," he said again, his voice low and soothing. She growled, imagining a thousand tortures for him if she got free. Oh, for once

she'd

hurt

him

, she knew just where he was weakest, he'd pay for this once she was loose!

And wait, there was an emergency stop, in case she couldn't speak—sometimes her mouth was otherwise occupied, after all. All she had to do was snap her fingers...

...fingers that were bound, too. This was deliberate, he had intentionally taken away her ability to refuse him, to call a halt to whatever he was about to do.

She had no control

.

Panic hit, and she struggled blindly, the bed frame creaking under her desperate strength. He covered her with his body, pinning down her limbs, keeping her from hurting herself against the ropes ... but all she felt was further restraint, and she panicked still harder.

Of course, the human nervous system couldn't sustain such fear for very long. The adrenaline coursing through her eased off, and she lay panting beneath him—trying to pant, rather, feeling like she couldn't get a full breath with her mouth full of cloth. He stroked her hair back out of her face, gently. "Just calm down. You aren't being hurt. Nothing is happening to you yet, and nothing will happen until you relax."

She managed a defiant snort at that. Easy for him to say. He wasn't the one who had to take this, helpless to even slow it down. And the feel of him hard against the curve of her ass was

not

reassuring at the moment. He loved her struggle, loved it when she fought him, but best of all he loved conquering her again and again. She felt like she was losing her mind with fear, and it was turning him on.

The last sharp panic had taken her rage with it. Fine, if he wanted to control her she would be controlled, she would be meek and yielding, she would do anything he wanted if only he would take the gag off. She looked up at him beseechingly, trying to express all of that with only her eyes.

He smiled, so kindly, and stroked his knuckles over her flushed cheek. "Such pleading looks, my love. You would do anything for me to release you from this, wouldn't you? Kneel and serve me, or lie still and accept the lash of my belt across your back, or anything else I could think of. Wouldn't you?"

Her skin was stippled with sweat from exertion, and broken out in gooseflesh from trepidation. She nodded quickly; anything, yes,

anything

. Crawl on her knees for him, let him hold her hair tight and fuck her mouth, anything at all, anything he could imagine. Anything but this. To her surprise a few tears began to trickle down her cheeks, and she blinked rapidly. She did

not

cry.

Gently, he smoothed the tears away. "This is hard for you, isn't it? The hardest thing I've asked of you."

Yes!

She tried to show that in her eyes. To be

this

helpless, so completely at his mercy, yes, it was the most difficult thing he'd ever asked for.

He leaned in and kissed her forehead, and a pleading little whimper escaped her. She felt him smile against her skin. "You'd beg me to stop if you could," he whispered.

"Mm-hmm," was the only response she could make, muffled by the gag. Please, oh please, anything he asked. He

loved

to hear her beg precisely because she rarely did so. There wasn't much that could move her to shed her self-control like that. But right now she'd beg shamelessly—if she could only

speak

.

He breathed deep, then rested his forehead against hers and met her gaze directly. "No," he said.

Her eyes widened in shock. No? When she'd offered him anything? When she would've begged for him?

No?

She couldn't understand, trembling in shock.

Stroking her face, he explained. "I want this

because

it's so difficult for you, because you fear it so much. And it's such a little thing, really. Just a gag. I've covered your mouth with my hand before, and that didn't bother you."

Yes, he'd done that, but it had been at the moment of climax and

nothing

bothered her as she strove for that ecstasy. Gradually it dawned on her that she wasn't getting out of this, he wouldn't show any mercy, she had to bear the gag as long as he wanted her to. She had no choice. At that, she broke down at last. She closed her eyes, the tears brimming over now, unstoppable.

He kept petting her as she wept, and spoke soothingly. "Such a very little thing, to cause you such distress. You're actually going through the five stages of grief over it, do you realize that? Denial at first, then anger with a side of panic, bargaining, and now depression. This, too, shall pass, my love. You are the strongest woman I know, the most courageous, the most magnificent. You have given me so much, so much more than you thought you could give. You can accept this, too."

She laid her head down on her arms and cried. All the while he stroked her hair or rubbed her back, keeping up an encouraging litany in his low, persuasive voice. She barely heard most of it, sunk so deep in misery. How could a man who claimed to love her so much put her through this torture? The only reason she wasn't outright

sobbing

by now was because she knew it would stuff up her sinuses, and then how the hell would she

breathe

? Bad enough that tear-tracks wrecked her mascara and she couldn't help drooling around the gag; she didn't want to add mucus to that mix.

Thoroughly humiliated, the last tears finally wrung from her, she managed to stop crying and lie still. Whatever he wanted, he would have. It was inexorable, the force of his will, the power he had over her. She was his, completely, to do with whatever he pleased. She had no will of her own, no ego left, and didn't even flinch when he tilted her head up and cleaned her tear-streaked face with a tissue. All she could do was wait, mute like any dumb beast, for him to work his will on her flesh.

He ran a hand down her back, finding no tension at all in the muscles there anymore. "Acceptance," he murmured, and kissed her hair. She bowed her head again in surrender. There was no more fight left in her.

The bed moved as he got up, and she heard him unbuckling his belt and sliding it through the loops. She didn't turn to look, didn't move; she didn't need to. Whatever would be, would be, and she was free from choice or fear. He paused then. "You

did

defy me. That cannot go unpunished."

He rarely struck her. Though he liked her bruised, he preferred the marks to come from his hands or mouth in moments of passion: a too-strong grip on her hips or a too-rough bite on her breast leaving her skin purple and blue, claimed by his desire. But he

would

whip her with the belt, if he felt like punishing her for some transgression; more likely if he felt like taking her arrogance down a notch. Normally she fought it, struggling against the ropes that bound her as the leather came down on her skin. It stung her pride more than her skin, and she tolerated

that

less easily than mere pain.

Now she didn't even move. She was gone, sunk so deep that she didn't even feel apprehension. The belt swished through the air and cracked against the backs of her thighs, and she jumped at that, pain sparking through her nerves. But immediately she put her head back down to indicate her submission. If he wanted to beat her, then he would beat her. So be it.

A dozen times or so he hit her, striking the backs of her thighs, her buttocks, and the small of her back. Her skin reddened under it, flushed hot by pain, but she didn't struggle or cry out, accepting this punishment as her due. When he was done, he ran his hand over the marks he'd made, massaging the tender skin, and she shuddered.

Then he slipped his hand between her thighs and stroked the velvety seam of her sex. Pain vanished, and she shivered for a completely different reason. She was

soaked

, and just that exploratory touch sent a tendril of lust coiling up her spine and down the backs of her legs. "You are so very

wet

, my love," he whispered, laughing under his breath, and played with her, teasing those swollen lips and the tender bud they concealed.

She moaned into the gag, rocking back against his hand urgently, her movements rubbing her stiffened nipples against the coverlet and adding to her arousal. God, if he only stroked her like that a moment more...! Instead he backed off, making her whine, and she heard him unzip his pants, then rustling fabric. Finally he rejoined her on the bed, kneeling between her spread thighs. But it was his hand that rubbed against her again, a firm stroke that made her back arch eagerly.

He slid two fingers into her, his thumb alongside her clit, and oh, yes,

yes

...! She tried to beg around the gag and couldn't do more than make needy little wordless cries. He chuckled, the fingers inside curving down to press into her g-spot, and her entire body trembled. Almost, almost....

Again he stopped, and she whimpered beseechingly, thrusting her hips up to the limits of her bonds. "Patience," he warned, and she subsided. If he wanted to tease her, then he would tease her. Her only duty was to take whatever he gave her. Nothing else was expected of her. Nothing else mattered.

Now at last she felt him at her entrance, the blunt head pushing between her slick folds, and she moaned. He entered her slowly, taking hold of her waist, and she arched her back as sharply as she could for him. God, he always felt so good, just a little too thick to be comfortable, and if she could angle her hips just right ... oh, yes, fuck

yes

, with each stroke he'd hit her g-spot perfectly.

At first he was slow, just rocking against her, and she whimpered greedily. She couldn't help writhing, but that was all right, the ropes and his hands held her tightly enough. Gradually he picked up the pace, thrusting harder, faster. She took him in gladly, squeezing tight around him, feeling every inch of his length. Her breath grew harsh and heavy as her pleasure built.

"Not yet," he growled, and she clenched her teeth on the gag. Trying desperately

not

to come, when his every movement sent lighting searing through her, when her toes were already curling and sparks were already bursting behind her closed eyelids. She whined pleadingly, trying to convey the urgency, not knowing if she could hold out when ecstasy was so

close

.

He leaned over her, grabbing her hair and yanking her head back. Her lust-dazed eyes flew open and she looked up to him, begging mutely.

Please, please let me, please I need it, please just let me,

please

!

That made him smile, the wicked grin she only saw at times like this and which never failed to make her wetter. "Come for me," he commanded, with an extra-hard thrust.

Relief rushed through her, closely followed by the hot starburst of orgasm. She moaned, louder than she'd ever been before, bucking beneath him. He groaned too, half-breathless himself, and leaned his forehead against her shoulder as he sped up. He was close, too, and she met him thrust for thrust, making an astounding array of greedy sounds, seeking for her second climax.

Close, so close, sensitized by the first, no thought in her head other than completing that circuit and coming with him, feeling him spurt inside her as she spasmed around him, driven by wild lust, in that moment she was

free

despite the ropes and the gag and his weight on her back. He bit her then, his teeth clenched in her neck, and the pain of it shot to her core, a keen contrast to the heavy charge of pleasure in her veins. She came again, just as he did, and

screamed

when she did, a raw cry of fulfillment only slightly muffled by the cloth.

He was panting, after, and she tried to control her racing heart and catch her breath. It was harder, with the gag, but she didn't care anymore. There was no fear left in it for her.

After a moment he withdrew from her, turning to untie her feet first. She drew her legs up, her sex still throbbing, as he freed her hands. At that she caught his arm and brought him down beside her, curling up in his embrace. Safe, here with him, she was always safe in the aftermath, able to relax and sort through the powerful emotions a scene always called up.

Even though he'd released her, signifying that the game was done for now, she didn't reach for the gag. He had to undo that, first the outer scarf, and then she spat the now-soaked knotted one without a trace of embarrassment. Her breath came easier then, and he held her as they both calmed down.

She was still not quite herself, even when her breathing had evened out, still in a state of utter subservience. He would not—could not—leave her like that. "A bath?" he murmured, and she nodded. He gathered her up, carried her downstairs to the full bath, and let her sit on the edge of the tub while he ran the water. Adding a few drops of scented oil for her benefit, he slid in with her, cradling her in his arms.

The hot water loosened her up and gradually brought her back from the deepest reaches of submission. She leaned back against him and smiled lazily. Her entire body still hummed with sumptuous pleasure. "God, that was good."

"It was a risk," he murmured back, stroking her stomach.

"You read me well enough," she replied. And it was true; if she really, truly couldn't have handled that, he would have stopped. The whole point of this—in the beginning, anyway, before they'd discovered how much they both

liked

it—had been forcing her to face the fears she couldn't bring herself to deal with.

His hand came up to stroke the corners of her mouth; she winced, only a little. Small pains were making themselves known: the stinging where he'd whipped her with his belt, the deeper ache where he'd bitten her, and the sweet soreness throbbing in her sex. "Will you be all right?" he asked.

She nodded, and knowing that wasn't enough, added, "Oh yes. I won't say I especially

like

being gagged, but...."

"It has its uses," he finished for her with a chuckle. "I didn't know you could scream like that."

"Neither did I." Silence had been trained into her as a child; strange how something designed to quiet her had actually made her louder. Then again, this whole world they were exploring together was full of paradoxes, where the man who tied her up and beat her was the one she trusted above all others.