clothing end up on the floor and goosebumps pop over my flesh. The room is a little chilly, something vampires would never notice. Christian rubs the little bumps off my arms and kisses the hollow of my throat.
He leads me to straddle the bench and to lie across it on my stomach. A rounded rubber protrusion sticks up and he guides my body, adjusting me until the rubber presses right against my clit. He chains my arms and legs down, and locks something around my waist, making me immobile.
But he isn’t finished. He blindfolds me, gags me, puts earplugs in my ears, and then something else I can’t define goes over the earplugs to muffle the sound even more.
For some reason I don’t resist any of this. Each sense that is taken away makes me feel more his, wrapped more tightly in his web. I belonged to him when I was nearly dead in the parlor and his wrist was suddenly in front of my mouth offering salvation, but now, that feeling is more. I didn’t think I could feel more at his mercy than in that moment, but I do.
Everything is gone. Sight, sound, the ability to scream. I’m alone and exposed in front of all of these people in a dark little space of the universe, but because I can’t see or hear them, they aren’t real. It’s only me that exists now.
I’m right, there was something wrong with that music, something that lowers defenses, something they’ve created to make those they bring happily compliant to their every demand. Now that it’s gone and I’m in silence, I’m more afraid. It’s a panic that wants to bubble up from somewhere deep inside me.
I want to struggle and scream, but there’s nowhere to go and no words can come out. On some base level, I know panicking will only make me suffer. It’s better to accept that which I cannot change, to relax and let myself roll and flow with what’s about to happen. I was never an alcoholic, but the serenity prayer seems appropriate here.
I wonder for a moment how this music can enthrall me when Christian can’t. I imagine the power of a suggestion from a thousand vampires has somehow been embedded into the track. My illusions about being so special that all vampire rules no longer apply to me, have faded into oblivion along with most of my senses.
My only knowledge of the music now is the way the bass pounds through my body. If not for that, I could be lulled into feeling the music had been shut off, that it’s as quiet for everyone else as it is for me. Whether I can hear it like before, or not, I can feel it. Feeling is all I have left. I hold onto it like I’m holding the last flower in the world, trying to keep the petals from wilting.
Christian’s hand runs over my back, stopping to cup my ass, then all at once the rubber protrusion begins to vibrate against my clit. Although I’m upset, I can’t deny how aroused I was before he cut off my senses. My body was so worked up and excited that now I’m swamped in a sea of sensation. All I can do is feel.
Time is measured, not by seconds or minutes or hours, but by orgasm count as I writhe shamelessly against the rubber. After awhile it becomes too intense and I struggle to pull away from the vibrations. All I need is a couple of inches distance to ease off the sensation enough to breathe. But a hand presses my ass down, pushing me so I’m in contact with the rubber again. After a few moments, something that had been strung tight inside me loosens, and I just give in to it until the next orgasm rolls over me.
Other things begin to happen. The pain of my virginity being ripped away again, this time by a glass, phallic-shaped object. The feeling causes me to scream behind the gag, but then another orgasm comes and I forget it.
I experience a sharp sting across my back, a flatter pain, another sting of a different nature. If not for the earplugs, I’m sure I would hear something slice the air or crack against my body, but all I have is the feeling. The fire licks through me, making me squirm and
He leads me to straddle the bench and to lie across it on my stomach. A rounded rubber protrusion sticks up and he guides my body, adjusting me until the rubber presses right against my clit. He chains my arms and legs down, and locks something around my waist, making me immobile.
But he isn’t finished. He blindfolds me, gags me, puts earplugs in my ears, and then something else I can’t define goes over the earplugs to muffle the sound even more.
For some reason I don’t resist any of this. Each sense that is taken away makes me feel more his, wrapped more tightly in his web. I belonged to him when I was nearly dead in the parlor and his wrist was suddenly in front of my mouth offering salvation, but now, that feeling is more. I didn’t think I could feel more at his mercy than in that moment, but I do.
Everything is gone. Sight, sound, the ability to scream. I’m alone and exposed in front of all of these people in a dark little space of the universe, but because I can’t see or hear them, they aren’t real. It’s only me that exists now.
I’m right, there was something wrong with that music, something that lowers defenses, something they’ve created to make those they bring happily compliant to their every demand. Now that it’s gone and I’m in silence, I’m more afraid. It’s a panic that wants to bubble up from somewhere deep inside me.
I want to struggle and scream, but there’s nowhere to go and no words can come out. On some base level, I know panicking will only make me suffer. It’s better to accept that which I cannot change, to relax and let myself roll and flow with what’s about to happen. I was never an alcoholic, but the serenity prayer seems appropriate here.
I wonder for a moment how this music can enthrall me when Christian can’t. I imagine the power of a suggestion from a thousand vampires has somehow been embedded into the track. My illusions about being so special that all vampire rules no longer apply to me, have faded into oblivion along with most of my senses.
My only knowledge of the music now is the way the bass pounds through my body. If not for that, I could be lulled into feeling the music had been shut off, that it’s as quiet for everyone else as it is for me. Whether I can hear it like before, or not, I can feel it. Feeling is all I have left. I hold onto it like I’m holding the last flower in the world, trying to keep the petals from wilting.
Christian’s hand runs over my back, stopping to cup my ass, then all at once the rubber protrusion begins to vibrate against my clit. Although I’m upset, I can’t deny how aroused I was before he cut off my senses. My body was so worked up and excited that now I’m swamped in a sea of sensation. All I can do is feel.
Time is measured, not by seconds or minutes or hours, but by orgasm count as I writhe shamelessly against the rubber. After awhile it becomes too intense and I struggle to pull away from the vibrations. All I need is a couple of inches distance to ease off the sensation enough to breathe. But a hand presses my ass down, pushing me so I’m in contact with the rubber again. After a few moments, something that had been strung tight inside me loosens, and I just give in to it until the next orgasm rolls over me.
Other things begin to happen. The pain of my virginity being ripped away again, this time by a glass, phallic-shaped object. The feeling causes me to scream behind the gag, but then another orgasm comes and I forget it.
I experience a sharp sting across my back, a flatter pain, another sting of a different nature. If not for the earplugs, I’m sure I would hear something slice the air or crack against my body, but all I have is the feeling. The fire licks through me, making me squirm and
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