© S.B. 2023 All Rights Reserved.
Reproduction and distribution of this writing without the written permission of the author is prohibited. This writing is not to be included in any publication - free or otherwise -, with the exception of the author's self-published works.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, events, and incidents are the products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. All characters are over 18.
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There's a voice in Tamara's head that's both inviting and familiar even if she can't associate it with any recognizable name or face. It doesn't say much but when it speaks, it's impossible not to listen, and of all the words that echo inside her mind when she's driving home to the airport or relaxing on a comfortable sofa with a bowl of ice cream on her lap, none sounds more appealing than
"Sleep!"
The voice in her head lulls her to a dreamless slumber where everything is dark yet soothing. She lingers there time and time again not knowing for sure if she'll ever wake up again and not worried about it either. It feels good to let the voice take her to this entrancing abyss, surrounded only by the echoes of the original command, constantly urging her to
"Sleep!"
And sleep she does, whether she expects it or not. Sometimes, the voice gives notice that it's about to call on her with a faint hum in the back of her mind preceding the drop into mindlessness. However, most of the time, it announces nothing at all, relying on the power of surprise to effortlessly bring her down, down, down... like an elevator plunging into a never-ending shaft or a deep-sea diver whose tethers were cut off. She falls, sinks, spins, and twirls, her physical body left behind to embrace the overwhelming desires of the mind where kinkiness is not an illusion but the very core of her existence. And all it takes for her to get there is to listen and repeat the numbing order to
"Sleep!"
Tamara never fights it and never tells herself that resisting is an option. The voice in her head has silenced those venues, replacing them with more blissful paths to conformity. She accepts there's pleasure in surrendering and often dreams about hearing it again. The best choice in life is to not have choices at all, a brainwashing mantra she'll carry with her to her grave.
* * *
She first started hearing the voice at the beginning of the year, shortly after the first session with her new therapist. Her name was... was... funny, she couldn't remember it. It started with a V, she thought, but who was to say, her thoughts meant anything at all right now? The woman was beautiful and exuded confidence and power. She had been highly recommended by friends of her family, and it had taken a long time for her to go through with the idea.
Tamara was convinced she didn't need therapy. She had no traumas to speak of, and no bad memories or underlying frustrations connected to them. A bit of stress plagued her here and there but that's true for almost everybody. Some could argue that spending half of her life in the air was a sure way to slowly dissociate herself from the physicality of solid ground, but she didn't see it that way. Being a flight attendant wasn't a burden that had been imposed on her. It was what she always wanted to be, a rare opportunity to travel the world and discover new things to look forward to. When she was crossing the sea of clouds heading to another city or continent, she always felt free.
Not that everything was perfect while in the air. Tamara had a lot of stories to tell about her domestic and transatlantic flights and not all of them pleasant. From passengers feeling ill mid-flight to unexpected storms and turbulence that had threatened many a trip and even an attempted hijacking once promptly thwarted by the sky marshall onboard, she had enough memories to fill a 600-page volume or two and, perhaps one day, she would do just that for the fun of it all.
Tamara loved every city she had landed in, but her innermost predilection lay in Asian countries. Landing in Bangkok, Jakarta, or Kuala Lumpur was always a different thrill, one that could be explained by her ancestry. A recent genealogical survey she had conducted on her own dated her genetic roots to that part of the world yet no one in her family talked about it because of pure ignorance or wanting to forget where they had come from. When her flights crossed into Asian skies, Tamara was often seen sighing in her seat before her next round of the plane, yearning for something more, a deeper connection to the ways of the land.
She hadn't found it yet and was unsure if she ever would. The voice in her head now discovered things for her, beautiful and twisted fantasies where she closed her eyes to the world to obey and nothing more. Her days were no longer exciting when awake. It was best to simply rest for a bit and
"Sleep!"
In her silent slumber, Tamara's consciousness sometimes floated across a sea of fleeting images depicting things she was certain hadn't happened. She remembered vague impressions of pain on her exposed back, thin red lines drawing a map of her journeys and beyond. She saw leather boots clicking before her half-dreamy and elegant, three-piece suits that highlighted the generous curves of a woman she loved to see in her dreams. Her name was Va... Va... it was at the tip of her tongue and yet she couldn't verbalize it no matter how much she tried. Her therapist was always kind, always enticing, her words dripping all over her face like a honeyed concoction or a batch of fresh cum. Tamara savored the bittersweet fluids of her ongoing capitulation and smiled, begging silently for more.
"Silence won't do it," the voice in her head teased her, insinuating itself even deeper inside her. She imagined the sounds taking on the shape of a burrowing worm that moved freely inside her body, traveling from her brain to her parted legs and trimmed pussy before wriggling back up again, hidden from view but not from the heart. The voice was always there, a perennial presence that would never let her go. It was as strong as relentless only content by spreading its power and making her more and more eager to
"Sleep!"
And so, Tamara did, falling once, twice, three times into infinity. There was no bottom and the depths of depravity only grew wider and stronger.
The voice was right. The voice was always right. Silence was not the answer to the growing needs of her body, mind, and soul. Silence was a betrayal of all the teachings being imparted to her. The longer she remained silent the more desperate she would become.
"What do I do then?" she asked to the enveloping darkness, seeing collars, leashes, nipple clamps, and butt plugs flashing in and out of her vacant eyes.
"First, you sleep," the voice replied, caressing her dark blonde hair and her aching nipples. "Then, you sleep some more. Deeper and deeper... deeper and deeper... and when you feel you're on the verge of losing yourself, you open your mouth and scream for more. Scream! Beg! Let your vocal cords explode from the writhing pleasure you want more than anything in this world and the next. Sleep!"
