Silence

Then his hand is gone, and, a moment later, the end of the flexible metal rod touches the inside of my thigh, dragging down towards my center, but stopping at the edge of my underwear to move over the skin nearer my ass. He pulls it away. "You should have listened to me before."

My heart pounds, and I want to hide, close my eyes, but I keep looking at the ceiling, trying not to jerk away from the shock of cold metal against my leg. "I'm sorry."

He pulls the light touch of the rod from my skin. "Hold your breath."

I don't want to, oxygen deprivation makes every sensation more intense, but I do, biting my already swollen lip to keep my mouth closed when the impact streaks fire over the back of my thigh. It hurts more than I thought it would, more than seems warranted, but I can feel moisture building between my legs anyway, soaking through the already damp underwear now riding up some in the back. Since he's done, at least with the first blow, I let the breath out, trying to focus on the muscles of my exhale, breathing through the fine line of pain stretching over my leg.

"I didn't tell you to breathe yet." Another strike of the rod, this one harder, with more heat behind it, and crossing the exposed part of my ass as well as my leg. I bite back a pained cry, pulling against all three restraints in a jerking, instinctive motion. "It's alright. No one can hear you." But he can, and I can tell he's enjoying the noises I'm making, or trying not to make, as he drags the end of the rod over my skin again. When he pulls his arm back, I twist to the side, and the next blow lands on my ass, striping up the side of my hip. "I told you not to move." But, he can't be too opposed, because when I try to return to my previous position, he holds me still with a hand against my knee. "You need to listen to me; don't make you tell me again."

I start to answer, but am cut off by the streak of pain that stretches from my hip to my stomach. Leaving me a moment to feel my heartbeat, he presses the metal to my skin, the touch of it so faint, it's almost not there. Then, it's really not there, and I feel the warmth of his palm instead, running over the welts rising on the back of my leg. The increased temperature only makes them sting more. "Stop." He doesn't, the calluses on his hand catching at the lines of heat crossing my skin. "I want you to stop."

He moves back, and, faster than I can really process, another impact steals my breath and brings tears to my eyes. "Don't lie to me."

The next lash is even harder, and I cry out, unable to stop myself. Tears spill over my cheeks, and I try to wipe them away, but there isn't enough slack in the restraints for me to reach. "I'm sorry, it just hurts."

He moves in closer, pulling my leg over his shoulder again, though this time the welted skin on the back of my thigh smarts at the heat of his chest against it. He grips my waist, one hand on each side, pulling me against him so his pelvis presses into my ass, erection lined up with my opening through our remaining clothes. Then, so gently it makes my breath catch in the back of my throat, he wipes tears from my cheeks with his thumb. "Tell me," his other hand slides into my underwear, fingers settling on either side of my mound. "What you really want."

"I want," He moves his hand slightly, and I stop to breathe for a second, feeling my pulse pound in my clit and the lines of welts across my leg and side. What do I want? This. I'm pretty sure I want this. His hand moves again, this time building to a slow, regular rhythm that snatches words from my mind, replacing them with the mindless wash of ecstasy that is spreading throughout my body. "You." It comes out more moan than anything else, and he presses just a little harder in response.

Under his hands, the need for orgasm is growing, reaching tendrils for my lungs, painting a flush across my face. His fingers move the tiniest bit faster. "What is it you want me to do?" Untie me. Fill me. Hit me again. He moves his hand from my cheek, tracing the edge of my mouth with one finger. Oh, gods. The muscles of my stomach spasm, reaching for release, but he slows, keeping me right on the edge. He smiles, cold, laced with the knowledge of his hold over me. "You can't even answer me." His hips shift against mine, the hard evidence of his arousal insistent against the saturated cotton of my underwear, and my back arches, wrists straining against the ties.

He lets the building tension slip, cupping a hand over my left breast, carefully touching my nipple through my shirt, until the stiff peak creates a visible bump in the fabric. He pinches it between thumb and forefinger, and I shy away, the muscles of my back contracting, trying to pull from his hold. When his fingers, coated in my arousal, move over my mound again, though, I forget completely about moving away, about the difference between pain and pleasure. I'm drowning in sensation, and a soft groan escapes my lips, prompting him to just squeeze harder.

He must enjoy this. I mean, clearly, based on the grind of his heat against mine, but I don't really understand. I don't think I have the desire to subjugate. I don't think I could get off on just touching someone else, with no reciprocation. That's the thing, right? Usually we touch each other, but right now, it's all one way. He acts, I react. I couldn't hold his face in my hands, kiss the side of his neck if I tried. It's deliciously one sided, though. I'm not even in control of the sounds coming out of my mouth. The way my body moves, the sensations patterning every exhale, it's all instinct. There's something primal and deep seated about the way we fit together like this, and when he takes his hand from my breast, pressing on the left side of my ribs instead, it feels exactly right.

He pushes down, forcing the air from my lungs, maintaining the regular rhythm of strokes against my clit. And, gods around me, everything is more intense when you can't breathe. Mmm. The rough edges of climax are building in my ribs, my throat, but right when I don't think I can bear it anymore, he takes his hands away, releasing the tie around my knee, and sliding my leg from his shoulder so my heel hits the bed. I suck in a breath, shaking. Fuck. The feeling of being hopelessly unfulfilled soaks into my body, and I try to reach my hand down to finish the job myself, but am pulled up short by the restraint around my wrist.

"No." The sting of the metal rod flashes across the top of my left leg, leaving a line of heat from hip to inner thigh. "You were doing so well, Mike." I kind of thought we'd moved on. But then, a second strike doesn't come. Maybe we have. He's doing something; I can feel his weight shifting around at the end of the bed, but I don't dare lift myself to see. It's a waiting game, and honestly, I don't mind. At this point, I'm more just wondering what else was in the bag, and when he's going to touch me again.

I feel the mattress shift, then his hand skimming over the top of my thigh, fingers slipping into the opening of my underwear to trace tantalizing circles on the skin of my hip. I squirm; it kind of tickles. When I move, though, he makes his reason for freeing my knee clear by pulling my underwear down my legs, towards him, and then off entirely. Here we go. He pushes my legs apart, then touches two fingers to my opening, not entering, just probing the skin around where he's planning to penetrate me. Apparently deciding my natural moisture is not enough, though I'm not sure I've ever been this wet in my life, he drips lubricant over my heat, working it in a little with one hand, before reaching to grab me by both hips.

His grip is painfully tight, and, weirdly enough, he pushes me back towards the headboard instead of pulling me to him, the ties on my wrists loosening almost imperceptibly, shifting closer and lifting me at the same time. I end up with my ass on his lap, one leg draped over each side, gripping the ropes connecting my wrists to the headboard to keep my weight off him. I can feel the heat of him, so close, but I can't reach for it. He leans in, the head of his arousal brushing against my opening, and I take in a sharp breath, waiting for him to fill me. Nothing happens. Another breath, and another, my heartbeat pounding in my ears, but nothing happens.

"Say it." His voice is cool and calm, running into my mind like liquid mercury, all bright and dangerous.

I know what he wants. "Please." His hands tighten on my hips, pulling me closer, just the tiniest bit, and I let out a small sound of frustration.

He laughs, and I can feel the muscles of his stomach tense. "Please what?"

I want to close my eyes, but don't, conscious of the looming threat of that metal rod. Instead, I hold my breath, letting the words build in my throat. "Fuck me." It sounds obscene coming out of my mouth, almost absurd, but at least it's honest. I want him inside me so badly, at this very moment, I'd probably do anything for it. Which I guess is the point.

He laughs again, fingers digging into my hips, and starts to slide into me so slowly the change is almost not noticeable. "Like this?" My previous statement was apparently not enough of a surrender.

"No, I" but he cuts me off.

"No?" He lets go of me, pulling out, so my ass is still on his lap, but I can't feel him other than that. Fuck. This is not going how I want it to.

The muscles in my arms are growing tired. I don't want to let go of the ropes and let myself fall, though maybe that is exactly what I need to do. "However you want. Please."

And, as easy as that, his hands are bruising my hips again, and he's edging into me. Slow, achingly gentle. The first push is always the worst, but he takes his time, moving as deep as he can go, half supporting my weight as I melt into sensation. At first, it doesn't feel different than what I was expecting. The heat of his body against mine, the dart of pain each time forces himself in further, the emptiness as he pulls away. His hands on my hip, my back. But then, as each thrust pounds unerringly into the same spot just behind my pubic bone, it starts to feel better and better, little rushes of shaky ecstasy working their way up my spine.

My arms are starting to tremble from holding myself up with the ropes, but I don't let go, afraid of how it would feel to put my body completely at his mercy. I can't quite bring myself to totally give up control, to let myself fall within his influence, not even supporting my own weight. But I don't know how long I can keep this up. I take another breath, strengthening my resolve, and open my hands, letting my shoulders rest against the bed, and my hips against his legs.

He groans softly, shifting his hands to support my back, holding me against him. In this position he's angled just slightly up, hitting that same spot, but now with more force behind it. It feels good. Terrifying, to let go like that, to let him rule me, but better than I could have imagined.

I have to pee. Like, really have to. Which is weird, because he made me go to the bathroom, and it's not like I've had anything else to drink. The urge to pull away and run for the toilet is stronger with each thrust, until I don't think I can bear it anymore, I don't think I can hold it in. I try to pull away, straining my wrists against the ties. "Lee, I" A particularly harsh thrust steals the middle of my sentence, leaving me with just "Bathroom," which probably made no sense. My breaths are loud in my own ears, and my body feels weak, muscles spasming with pleasure, and this incessant need to pee. Shit. I really don't want to pee all over him; can you imagine how embarrassing that would be? I think this is over now. I try to say 'nej', but it comes out more like "Nnh" because his pelvis grinds into mine, right over my clit, as I open my mouth to speak. Double shit.

Giving up on talking, I move my arms towards the headboard, feeling the knots slip from my wrists, then reach down to push him away, hands moving ineffectively against his grip and the solid wall of his chest. He apparently doesn't stop to think that the conditions he set for me freeing myself included the words 'safe word territory', and, instead of pulling away, or at least holding still for a second, he just turns, pressing me onto my back faster than I can really keep track of, his body suspended above mine as the rhythm of his thrusts increases, my answering rush of want eclipsed by the need to use the bathroom. He groans into my ear, pounding harder into the same spot on the inside of my stomach, pinning my arms above my head, tight enough I can feel his hold bruising my wrists.

I do my best to struggle against him, but every time his body slams into mine it takes my breath away, and I can feel climax building inexplicably within me, tensing weakened muscles, dragging at the base of my lungs, running rough tendrils up the back of my throat. Another thrust hits that same spot, and he moves his hand between us to rub a thumb over my clit, sending a spike of pleasure up the base of my spine, right next to the improbably persistent need to pee. Another thrust, and he keeps touching my clit, and everything is building inside me, until I let my head fall back, a half unintelligible cry escaping from my lips, resolving into his name. And that's enough.

I come apart under his ministrations, the need to pee disappearing, turning to rough heat in my center. I lose track of his face and the ceiling behind it in favor of the waves of orgasm that shoot up my spine, curling my toes, and clenching every muscle in my body. Each rise of climax comes fast and hard, leaving me reeling, gasping for breath, with my back arched and hips lifted to press into his. My core refuses to relax; I can't stop the cycles of spastic pleasure moving within me. I let each one come, as his thrusts build to a fever pitch, until my body goes tingly and releases, my weight slumping unevenly into the mattress.

Delayed gratification indeed. I've never felt like that in my life. He's not done yet, though. Taking careful, measured breaths, I try to tilt my hips to relieve the pain of him forcing himself inside me, since he's apparently going for depth instead of angle now that my climax has been dealt with. I think he's pretty close though, since his exhales tear out of his mouth, and a drop of sweat falls to my face from his. He clutches my wrists tighter, twisting his other hand into the neckline of my shirt to pull me closer, and comes with a terrifyingly animalistic roar, before his body relaxes on top of mine. I can feel his heartbeat in his stomach, just slightly off time from my own, and I pry my wrists from his grip, twisting my hair out of the way, then drape my arms over his back in a loose embrace.

We stay like that, languorous and silent, my heart racing, for long enough that I think he must have fallen asleep. I yawn and move my hands over his shoulders, startled when he holds the sides of my face in response. His kiss is gentle, before he sits back, tired, but smiling at me, and helps me tug my shirt over my head, so we are entirely skin to skin. Pressing my shoulder, he turns me onto one side, the back of my body fitted to him, his arm draped over my stomach. "It's good, right? Playing with control."

I mean, that must have been part of it; I've never climaxed from penetration before. That's really what this was. Penetration. I tend to shy away from that word, because it feels very one sided, very injection of bodily fluids, and reminds me of some stressful conversations with the doctor after everything last year, but that is exactly what happened here. He penetrated me. My body. All the things I never knew I wanted. But part of me wonders, that angle. It felt so intentional, that can't have been an accident. Could he really have been saving that up to convince me his predilections are worth succumbing to? Not that I didn't enjoy it; gods around me, I never thought my body could react like that, and to such a deceptively simple series of events, but it gives me pause. Why hasn't he done that before?

And waking me up how he did, saying he wanted me in an amenable mood. Not paying attention when I was really done with the situation, when I needed him to let go of me. As much as I want to say this is just a game, I don't think it is. He knew exactly how he wanted tonight to play out, from the beginning, and set it up so I could just follow the path of least resistance. Saying he knows this is a stretch for me, that he's not into sadism. I'm such an idiot. I know the kind of stuff he used to get up to; the phrase 'whatever you want' should never have passed my lips. I can't deny it felt good, though. Like nothing else. He works his hand into the tangles of my hair, still breathing hard, letting me use his arm as a pillow. "You okay, Mike?"

I'm not sure how to answer that. I let my eyes close, hoping to all the gods he's done enforcing that particular rule. I don't think I could take more conflict right now, even engineered conflict, without freaking out. Though, I guess he can't actually see my face. "You should have let me go." My voice catches in my throat, so it sounds like I'm crying. And then, tears start rolling down my face, slow at first. Faster. Sobs wrack my body, but I don't pull away from him. He's always been the one to hold me and tell me everything is going to be alright, and I need that now, even if it's his fault in the first place.

He tightens his arm around my waist, tucking his face into my hair so his voice sounds right next to my ear. "Feeling like you need to pee is part of that kind of stimulation. I didn't want you to miss your orgasm."

I don't say anything yet, just take choked breaths, trying to control the tears. That's not a good enough reason, but at least he noticed and made a conscious decision, right? And it really did feel good. That's the fact of the situation I've been avoiding. I was into it. Desperately. "I'm okay."

His chest is warm against my back, and I try to ignore the liquid evidence of his climax leaking from my opening, the insides of my thighs sticky with it, burning where it comes in contact with the open wounds left from the lashes. I focus instead on the comforting weight of his arm draped over me, familiar as my own heartbeat. "It's alright not to know what you think. I mean, I remember the first time I... well." He squeezes me closer to him for a second, like he's trying to physically press reassurance into my body. "It's fine to be a little stunned."

I don't know how that's supposed to make me feel better. "Have you ever gone the other way?"

"Submitted, you mean? Sure." He laughs, and the sound of it is like cool water on a hot day, all immersive relief. "I like both; I just kind of thought this would be easier since all you'd have to do was roll with it."

"Okay." I start to count my exhales, trying to bring my heart rate down, but only get to three before he continues.

"Why, would you rather try that?"

"No!" I cut him off before the words are even entirely out of his mouth, because the image of myself in that position, not listening if he asked me to stop, taking pleasure in forcing my will on him, makes me want to throw up.

"Calm down. No one's making you." He moves his hand over my stomach, not trying to start up again, just giving me something to focus on other than the image rebounding inside my head. "Or, no one's making you do that, at any rate."

That's too much. Pushing his arm off me, I sit up, and then slide off the bed without looking for his reaction. I stare out the darkened window at the trees that surround the house, searching in the depth of shadows between them for something I actually want to say. By the time I turn back, he has propped himself up on one elbow and is watching me with a curious mix of intensity and amusement. The metal rod and the lubricant are at the foot of the bed, making small depressions in the duvet, and our clothes are in a pile on the floor. The restraints, which I can now see grew directly from the vines carved into the headboard, are retracting slowly, already mostly reabsorbed into the wood. This is all too much. "I'm going to the bathroom. Assuming that's okay with you."