Vow of Silence

by Roxy Harte

I try to pull my hand from his, but he holds it tightly.

  Silently, he pulls me through a door I hadn’t noticed in the wall beside us. A long, dimly lit hallway stretches away from the dance floor. The walls throb but the song is no longer recognizable. I assume it is too late to turn back now. Cast in shadows, I try to appear confident, nonchalant.

  “Doctor Psycho took the liberty of explaining your situation. I want to assure you that I will do everything I can to make certain you leave here satisfied. However, if you start to feel panicked we can stop the scene at any time.”

  I struggle for inner calm. I fight the urge to flee, instinct clenching my gut and insisting I run for it. I don’t need this anymore. I learned my lesson. Really! Adrenaline floods into every muscle, demanding I go. Now!

  I make the mistake of looking up at the same time he utters, “Relax.”

  In the darkness his eyes glow ferally. Matthew Farris appears to be in his element. Maybe it’s my imagination, but I feel like prey. Quarried.

  He commands me to relax. He lifts a blindfold into my field of vision. I back away, shaking my head. In my mind I see the crowbar coming at my head as I collide into the wall behind me. He lifts the leather close enough for me to smell it. I feel my mind snapping. I feel myself sway, but he steadies me. He whispers close to my ear as the blind closes over my eyes. “I won’t hurt you any more than you want me to.”

  He’s going to hurt me. That’s the plan. That’s why I’m here. Because I need this. Sure, I’m scared. I’m terrified. Who wouldn’t be after coming face-to-face with God?

  “We need to take precautions. Doctor Psycho told me that it would be very dangerous to your condition if you were to scream. You understand that it would be damaging for you to try to use your voice in any way?” He turns me to face him and I feel his lips kiss the tracheostomy scar at the base of my throat. I know he waits for an affirmative response. I nod. How am I supposed to not scream?

  His hand wraps around the back of my neck, raising gooseflesh, raising expectations of pain, but yields only a gentle massage. Out of nowhere—pain. It almost takes me to my knees but I don’t scream. I don’t make a sound.

  “Very good, Gigi.”

  He removes the blindfold and shows me the electric prodder he just jolted me with. “You need punishment as much as normal people need air, don’t you, sweetheart?”

  I whisper, “Yes Sir,” letting him hear for the first time the graveled ruin of my voice.

  “That’s why you almost allowed a stranger to kill you? Seeking the high that comes with pain?”

  “Yes.”

  He shakes his head. “I don’t believe that.”

  I stare at him bug-eyed.

  “I think you were chasing death. Hoping for it.”

  I shake my head, but he’s already guessed the truth.

  “Don’t bother denying it. Do you want to die still?” He crowds into me, trapping me between the radiant heat of his chest and the cool, solid wall.

  “No.” I am suddenly very afraid of the man in front of me. He has a face of an angel and the body of a warrior. He could woo me or kill me should he choose to do so…and I would let him. “I shouldn’t be here.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m not the same as I was—before.”

  “Yes, you are and that’s exactly why you are here. Because George knows as soon as you are able to you will be seeking another stranger on the internet to do horrible things to you.”

  “I won’t,” I promise, but I think we both know it is a lie.

  I’m not sure why I follow him onto an elevator, or why when he steps out and I see that he has exited onto the building’s roof that I follow. Curiosity? Need? A lingering death wish?

  I don’t believe for a second that he intends to kill me.

  The sky is dark and the cold wind whips through my hair. I dare not think how high we are. Fear wraps tight tendrils around my lungs. The sound of traffic below seems muffled and distorted. My knees buckle and I reel unsteadily, fearing plummeting to my death, before regaining my balance.

  “It’s a beautiful night.”

  He wants to make small talk?

  He takes my hand and pulls me closer to the roof’s edge. I don’t look down. I don’t look up. Instead I focus on the base of his throat.

  He pushes my jacket open and pulls the fabric down off my shoulders. “Take this off. Let me see you.”

  I don’t know why I obey but I do and drop the coat to the ground. I feel his hands slide down the front of my blouse and the buttons seem to fly open at his touch. Magic or skill? I don’t look at his hand when he cups my breast through the thin, lacy fabric of my bra.

  His hand is warm, making me very aware of how quickly I’m growing cold.

  “Strip, bitch!” Farris’ barked command shakes me from head to toe. And yet I obey without question, my unbuttoned blouse sliding easily off my shoulders. I reach behind my back to unzip my short linen skirt, olive green to match the blouse. I feel the wrinkles in my skirt as I skim it slowly over my hips. I was properly attired for a day at the office or a business luncheon. Now, a little too late, I realize I still wear pantyhose over panties and very businessy low-heeled shoes. Sexy I’m not, and I wonder why, or if, I purposely sabotaged this meeting by forgetting all about the fetish wear still draped and waiting over a chair at home.

  I tug at the elastic top of the hosiery, pulling them down over my hips. He squats before me and runs his hands over the bare skin of my thighs. My hands stall, balled in the silk hosiery still tangled just below my knees.

  “Tell me about your dark fantasies, Gigi.” His warm breath falls in an unbearable caress over my bare thighs.

  “I don’t want you to pleasure me.”

  “Pleasure?” He chuckles. “Is that why you think I’m kneeling? You think I’m going to lick your pussy?”

  I don’t like being made fun of, but I fully intend to finish the job I started. Stepping out of my shoes, I tug off the pantyhose. I straighten again and slide two fingers beneath the elastic of my panties to take them off as well, but his hands close over each of mine, effectively trapping them at my sides.

  “I’m. Going. To. Hurt. You. Now.” Each word spreads more heat over my thighs, making me tremble in anticipation. I squeeze my eyes tightly closed, not believing my body is betraying me. Heat builds in my uterus, a throbbing need shooting through my veins. This can’t be happening. I will not come. Not over words.

  He runs his stubbled cheek over my thigh, ending with his face buried against my crotch, and he inhales loudly, saying, “You smell so fucking good.”

  Without missing a beat, he taps the prodder on my ass, shocking me.

  I jerk and make a pained sound in my throat but I don’t scream. Screaming isn’t a possibility—my vocal cords are ruined—but trying to scream would ruin any chance of ever having surgery repair what’s left of them.

  He zaps me again, and I’m not sure how I’m left still standing.

  He reaches his tongue out to find the clitoris hidden beneath the soft cotton fabric of my panties. He closes his mouth around the sensitive nub and sucks, soaking the fabric through.

  “Please, I don’t want to feel any pleasure.”

  His tongue is merciless. “Why do you need punished?”

  “I didn’t say I need punished.”

  “But that’s why you seek out men willing to hurt you, isn’t it? What sin are you trying to atone for?”

  “Did George put you up to this? Asking me these questions?”

  Matthew pulls on the bud of my clitoris, sucking, licking—demanding.

  “No!” I gasp as my body responds to him. This can’t happen again, I refuse to let this happen. I. Will. Not. Come.

  A hand closes around the nape of my neck and my mind breaks in two. Matthew and I aren’t alone on this roof, and the new fears of who and why only push me over the edge faster. I come and come against Matthew’s tongue. As I slump forward, spent, with four hands supporting me, I wan
t to curl into a ball and die. I feel every morning-after emotion known to females—cheap, used, remorseful. I can’t think about what just happened. Or why.

  And then I hear a woman’s voice whispering in my ear. “Go ahead, honey, tell him your secret. What sin makes you want to die?”

  I imagine my mother on the roof. “No.”

  Turning my head, I try to see who is behind me but Farris zaps the top of my foot with the electric prodder. “I didn’t give you permission to look at Mistress Morgana.”

  Who?

  Whoever she is, she licks and sucks the side of my throat and the sensation sends shards of need down my spine. I smell clove-flavored tobacco just before her lips touch mine. I am repulsed and turned-on at the same time. I’ve never kissed a girl. She nibbles at my lips playfully and my head rears away in reflex. I feel the grimace my mouth makes before I can stop myself. I do not expect laughter in answer to such insult, but she does laugh. “You don’t like my kisses?”

  “No.” I whimper, struggling to free my mouth. She traps my hands when I try to push her away. She licks my tears from my cheeks as Farris draws my panties away, exposing me fully.

  “Shhh, baby,” the woman whispers close to my ear. “Relax.”

  Farris stands and the woman passes him a flogger. He fans suede thongs over my shoulder in a soft caress. “Don’t be afraid.”

  Afraid? Not a chance. I don’t know what I am feeling, but fear isn’t on the list. The first blow is like lightning, ripping across my hip. The next blow is light. A rhythmical shower of soft, thuddy blows follow. I soon memorize the pattern as each slap lands—left, right, left, right. The pattern flows evenly from shoulder to thigh, then reversing to travel thigh to shoulder. A warmth builds, and a strange, languid weight fills my limbs.

  The slap of the leather thongs increases in intensity, offering a little sting, but the rhythm remains the same.

  Morgana’s hands close over my breasts, massaging then focusing fully on the nipples. I react by pulling away. It is too much, too confusing, having two touching me—one causing pain that isn’t really pain, and the other creating pleasure that isn’t really pleasure. I try to twist away from both of them.

  “Stay still,” Farris commands.

  Morgana zaps me with the prodder and I jerk away from the pain. She zaps me again and again, touching the tongs of the prodder to the tops of my thighs, moving closer and closer to my mons. “Like that?”

  “Yes.” Tears fall over my cheeks.

  I get the odd sensation that these two have worked as a team before. They are too attuned to each other’s moves to have not worked together before. Between them, they generate a powerful idiom of pleasure and pain.

  Why didn’t I ever seek out a professional? Someone who knew what they were doing? It might have made more sense…except—it’s too safe, too sane—they won’t really hurt me. They might cause me temporary pain, but this isn’t real. This is just a day at the office for them.

  Morgana squeezes a nipple painfully and my eyes refocus. My body refocuses too, and the slaps of the flogger aren’t nearly as kind. Loud thud, sting. Morgana’s pincer fingertips. And the jolt of the prodder when I least expect it. I cry out. It is too much.

  In response, Morgana draws swirling circles around my breasts, the gentleness a stark contrast to the pain. Her touch brings such sweetness to the scene.

  I don’t want this.

  I don’t want to feel anything good.

  I spit in her face and she reacts predictably. I find myself flat on my back and looking up. Did she leg sweep me?

  It happened so quickly, I don’t know.

  What I do know is that I am lying on my back on a bed of gravel—I’m naked and cold, shivering—and Morgana steps over me, her feet on either side of my ribs, to look down at me. “I think it’s time you learn your place. On your hands and knees, dog.”

  Dog?

  I seem to remember George talking about some of the fetish play. I’m not into games. I don’t want to role-play. “I’m not your dog.”

  Morgana smiles wickedly and presses the prodder against my shaved mons. I jerk and curse, trying to scurry out of the way, but I am blocked by Farris when I collide with his legs.

  “You will be what I want you to be. If I say that you are my dog, you will be my dog. If I call you my cunt or bitch or whore, you will be those things.”

  Yes, yes. I’m all those things. I am the dirt under your boot.

  “On your hands and knees!”

  She pushes the prodder between my pussy lips and I see stars. I scream. I can’t help it. Of course it doesn’t sound like a scream, it sounds more like the whelp of an injured animal, but it’s the only sound I’m capable of making.

  I should be worried about my vocal cords but I’m not. I can only think about how it felt to feel the jolt of electricity feed through my pussy. Sharp, immediate pain. A ten.

  I want it again!

  I roll over onto my hands and knees, hoping she will zap me again.

  Farris crouches in front of me, showing me that he is holding a length of rope. “Doctor Psycho wants to make certain you have an experience you won’t forget. So we’re pulling out all the bells and whistles for you. Does that make you feel special?”

  The question takes me by surprise. Why would I feel special?

  He ties me with the rope, arms behind my back, knees together, ankles together. I can’t get onto my hands and knees now. All I can do is roll around on the ground like a worm. Farris kneels beside me. He leans over me, whispering in my ear, “When’s the last time you had a good spanking?”

  The question brings to mind the senator. He’d given me a spanking that had made me believe he had even more up his sleeve…

  Farris slaps my bare ass. “Lift your ass in the air.”

  I manage to wiggle onto my knees and lift my ass. Farris’s hand falls again and again. I lift my ass higher and arch my back deeper, begging with body language for more and more. I’m not left disappointed. He gives me a spanking that makes me forget anything I’ve ever had previously. My cheeks sting and I can imagine them flaming red.

  He caresses what feels like a raised welt. “This is going to leave you with a nice bruise.”

  I shrug. I’ve been bruised before.

  He touches lower, his fingertips brushing lightly over my labia. “No, no. Please just hurt me.”

  “But you’re so wet.”

  “Please.”

  He stands and walks away. I’m both surprised and relieved that he didn’t try to stroke away the pain with pleasure.

  Morgana tosses an electrical prod on my left and a vibrator on my right. “Choose.”

  I angle my body toward the prodder. It is an easy choice.

  “Pain it is.” She picks up the tool, different than the one she’d used previously, and touches it to the back of my thigh. It isn’t a quick zap that I can jerk away from. She draws a line down my leg that makes me feel cut. I roll away after I’ve taken as much as I can of the pain but she follows my motion, drawing a second line down the front of my thigh. I cry out and she stops.

  “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

  “Then you better develop some manners very quickly. Thank me for the pain I’m giving you.” She touches the new prodder to the inside of my thigh.

  “Ooohhh.” I cry out. “Thank you, Mistress.”

  She touches the tip to my mons.

  “Thank you, Mistesss.”

  She touches my labia.

  “Thank you, Mistress.”

  She touches the hood covering my clit and I see stars. The pain is more than I could have ever begged for. “T-thank y-you, M-mistress.”

  Using the toe of her boot, she pushes me over onto my stomach. I don’t know what to expect, and I don’t care what she does to me as long as it hurts.

  I watch Farris hand her a metal dildo-shaped prodder. She asks, “Have you ever been fucked with electricity?”

  I’m terrified. “No.”


  She pushes the cold metal into me and pulls it out. It doesn’t hurt, and I’m disappointed. She fucks me with it, thrusting in and out, in and out.

  I growl. “No pleasure.”

  She laughs and keeps fucking me.

  I can feel the pleasure building. It doesn’t take much, I’m so damn close, and just as my pleasure crests she pulls the dildo all the way out of me. My orgasm doesn’t happen. I’m not disappointed. My body is, but I’m not.

  She pushes the dildo back inside me and the difference is intense pain. I try to squirm away from it. The electrified dildo robs me of all cognitive thought. My body wants to escape the pain as she fucks me with it. I make sounds I’ve never made in my life.

  Farris lends a helping hand by touching the vibrator to my clit.

  Pain and pleasure collide.

  “Beg me to let you come,” Mistress Morgana commands.

  “No. I don’t want to come.”

  My body immediately rebels and I can feel my pleasure rising. No, no, no!

  “Beg, bitch.”

  I try to block out everything except the glorious pain arching my back and for a moment it works, but then I realize I’m babbling incoherently. “Please, please, please.”

  “Please what?”

  “Please let me come, Mistress. Please?”

  “Not yet,” she answers.

  Farris jerks away the vibrator.

  The pain in my pussy seems to double, and I try to escape but there is no escape.

  “Double your pleasure?” she asks, and I don’t realize what she’s talking about until the butt plug slides in. It vibrates but does nothing to take my mind off the electricity she’s fucking me with.

  “Stick out your tongue,” Farris commands.

  I don’t know how I follow the command but I do. He taps my tongue with a glowing purple bulb that zaps me.

  “Ahhh.”

  All of my holes are being zapped at different intervals.

  I can’t take much more.

  “Please, Mistress. Ah-ah-ahhh. Please.”

  “You think an orgasm will end this torture?”

  I don’t know, I don’t care, I only know something has to give.

  “Please, Mistress.”

  “Give her what she thinks she wants,” Morgana tells Farris.