Mastery of Silence

Eileen lounged on the sofa. She was softly caressing the dark head in her lap. Silence lay stretched out, hands clasped over his stomach. She reached for a bunch of grapes and pulled one off to feed it to him. His gray eyes sparkled as he accepted the treat from her hand. The silver collar at his throat glittered as he swallowed. They had been together for almost six months. He had spoken only once, when she had placed the collar, and not since. She didn't seem to mind and he was used to being silent. He turned his head slightly to kiss her skin and tickle her belly button with his tongue. He was rewarded with a soft hum of pleasure and the caress of her fingers on his cheek.

Their relationship had changed. She was still his Mistress, his...owner. Yet, in a subtle way, he was as much owner as owned. He knew he would obey her in all things. That was in his contract. Yet, he would give her more because she gave to him as well.

She tapped his nose and gestured to the bedroom. He was up in a swift, graceful movement and had her in his arms before she could get up. It was a liberty no other mistress had ever allowed him and he enjoyed her pleasure in the spontaneous act. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers caressing his collar. He set her among her pillows and sat on the edge of the bed.

She was softly stroking his arm, her fingers tracing the hard muscles. "Have you ever wanted to be in control, Silence?" she asked softly.

He held suddenly still, considering her question. He nodded slowly.

She smiled up at him. "I would like to give you something," she said.

His expression asked the question.

She stroked his arm again, then she slid out of the bed and knelt before him. The surprised shock in his eyes almost made her laugh. "I want to give you tonight," she said. "Tonight you are the master and I am yours." She sat back on her heels and lowered her eyes. "What is your desire, Master?" she whispered.

A shudder of fear went through him. Master? Could he? More importantly, should he? She waited still and silent. He lifted her chin to look into her eyes. Her gaze was soft with desire, unafraid. He gestured to the bed. She obediently climbed back in. There were silk cords on the bed posts. She had bound him once or twice, but he had not really enjoyed it. The fear was too strong. He had one of the cords in his hands. She offered her wrist at once. Slowly, watching her eyes, he tied it. Then the other one, and her ankles, spreading her on the bed. She tugged lightly. One wrist came loose. She offered it again. He tied her more securely.

"What is your desire, Master?" she whispered again. He was amazed at the effect her bound body has on him. His penis surged to in immediate, massive erection. He moved over her, pressing his hot penis against her. He put his finger on her lips and shook his head. She nodded.

Then he plunged into her, forcing her to accept the entire massive length of him in a single savage thrust. Her jaw clenched as she arched in pain. He had not tried to arouse her and she was still dry. Somehow, she managed not to scream, panting with the effort to keep silent. He drew back and slammed into her again. She bucked under him, her head whipping back and forth as the pain again ripped through her. He felt something hard and cruel coiling in his mind, her pain feeding an emotion he shied away from and yet wanted. Again, he thrust.

A soft whimper. His hand lashed out and he slapped her. Hard. She sucked in a shuddering breath as her tears slipped down her cheeks. His eyes were flat and cold as he plunged hard and deep. He slapped her again. She made no sound, her tear filled eyes locked on his, her body now limp as he pounded deep into her. His orgasm was hard and sudden. As it faded, he realized she had not moved with him, had not joined his release. He pulled out of her. His hand went between her legs. She trembled. He felt the wetness, but it seemed...wrong. He saw the blood when he looked at his hand. That shocked him. He released her at once and backed away from her.

What had he done? He saw the marks of his hands on her cheeks. The hard coil of hate and rage surfaced in his mind. Master. He was Master tonight. He could do anything he wanted to her.

A soft touch on his knee. He felt the rage flare. He looked into her eyes expecting, wanting, to see fear. He saw tears and pain. And understanding. She crossed her wrists and held them out to him. He gripped them tight in one large hand. He drew the other back to strike her again, watching her eyes, waiting for the fear. It did not come. Tears. Pain. Understanding. Trust.

He released her wrists and turned away. The rage died, leaving him cold and empty. He felt the bed shift as she moved. A feather touch on his shoulder. And he broke. He hunched over in pain, crying like a lost child.

She gathered him against her breast, rocking him, caressing, holding him safe in her arms as his grief and rage poured out of him. She held him until the tears finally stopped and he leaned against her breast, emotionally exhausted and physically shaking. Her fingers gently wiped away his tears. She turned his face to hers.

"I gave you tonight," she whispered, "shall we continue?" She again offered her crossed wrists. "What is your desire, Master?"

He jerked as if she had slapped him. He shook his head. No.

"Master?" she whispered.

Again, he shook his head. No. He took her hands and uncrossed her wrists. Then he placed her hands on his collar and bowed his head.

Her hands caressed his throat and then his face. "I understand," she said softly. "You fear being in control. You fear that you will have no control."

He shuddered and nodded. A gentle finger traced one of the scars on his body. She felt his skin quiver.

"Look at me, please," she said. Slowly, his smoky gray eyes raised to hers. "Tonight is yours," she said. "I am yours. You must continue." She offered her crossed wrists again. "Master." She saw his fear. And the old hate and rage still lurking in him. He had hurt her and he might yet hurt her worse. Yet she needed him to face the fear and hate and rage. For himself and for her.

He again gripped her wrists in his hand. Then he pulled her against his body, holding her tightly. She could not put her arms around him since he still held her wrists. He was trembling. He held her for long moments then released her and gestured for her to lie down. She lay back and positioned herself to be bound. His hands shook so hard, he had trouble fastening her.

He touched her reddened cheeks, the imprint of his large hand still clear. She did not flinch or try to move away. He sighed and kissed the marks gently. His tears wet her cheeks and mingled with hers as his lips moved over her face to her lips. Soft, soft kisses. Her lips parted under his, her tongue teasing, her breath merging with his. The rage and hate battered in his mind, chasing the fear around and around. His lips felt the heat where he had slapped her.

Again, said the rage.

Hurt her, said the hate.

Why, moaned the fear.

He lowered his body onto hers, pinning her under his weight. He felt her heart beating steady, her breath soft and warm on his skin, the soft sigh of pleasure as his weight pressed against her. He raised his head to look into her eyes. Desire. He kissed her again to show his need. Take, said the rage. Punish, said the hate. The fear just trembled. Her lips welcomed him, yielded to him. He kissed her throat, his lips brushing her pulse. Then down to her breasts.

Her breathing as faster now, her heart beat quicker. He tongued her nipples, then slowly sucked them into his mouth. First one. Then the other. She was writhing against him now, aroused, wanting.

No, said the rage.

Pain, said the hate.

Alone? quavered the fear.

His hands began caressing her body, barely touching her skin, feeling the heat of her arousal. His penis was now steel hard. He slowly pushed into her. She was now very ready for him, her hips rocking against his, urging him deeper into her tight warmth.

Take, insisted the rage.

Take, demanded the hate.

Share? asked the fear, which was changing so slowly to something else.

He finally penetrated her completely, her body quivering around him. He began moving in her, long, slow penetrations that had her writhing in passion. She arched against him, her orgasm sudden and hard, massaging his massive length with pleasure. He kept moving in her, now thrusting hard and deep, now moving long and slow. Her orgasm burst again. And again.

Take, whined the rage.

Take, cried the hate.

Give, said the new emotion that had been fear.

Give. Yes. He gave her kisses. He gave her the hot friction of his massive penis sliding deep into her throbbing body. He gave her orgasm after orgasm until she could only writhe and convulse around him. He gave her his fiery climax pouring deep into her, spilling the rage and hate with his seed. He gave her pleasure.

And she gave him peace.