Destined to Play Page 14

  ‘Jeremy!’

  Silence surrounds me.

  I try to find where they are buckled, but can’t seem to locate an opening. Don’t tell me these, too, have been tailor-made. I feel my pulse quicken. I scan my body mentally to locate any other foreign objects and sure enough, there are also two, slightly larger versions around my ankles. Oh god, I go weak at the knees. In sheer defiance I quickly attempt to find an opening or buckle to remove. There is nothing. This happened when I was asleep?

  I’m startled to feel that another band is being swiftly placed around my neck; there is a strange sound as it is tightened into position. I’m momentarily stunned, finding it difficult to breathe as I adjust to the constricted feeling. It too, has a jingly metal component, one on the front and one on the back. I freeze. This is it. This is what Jeremy was talking about. Wanting to play harder, push the boundaries.

  What does he want to experience with me like this? More importantly, what does he want me to experience like this? Okay, I think to try and calm myself down, it is not as if I didn’t know this was coming in some way and here it is. It is apparently going to happen very soon.

  Oh, dear. The adrenaline pounding through my heart and pumping through my veins is more pronounced now than it was when I jumped out of the plane. The physicality of my emotions is as fascinating as it is astounding. So real, so intense, so vital. Am I prepared to stop now, when my response is this intriguing?

  What are the alternatives? I could speak. I could scream. Perhaps that is what I should do, right here, right now … but I don’t. I remind myself that I did exactly that at the dinner to no purpose whatsoever, and thank goodness he completely ignored me then because the sexual tension was exceptionally gratifying in the longer term. I literally feel carnal energy shooting through my body at the memories. Ah yes, it was definitely worth fighting through my own fear to achieve such phenomenal rewards.

  This must be part of his master plan. He has certainly succeeded in sending me into hyperventilating overdrive and nothing has even happened except for an exquisite massage and leather straps bound to my body. I love and hate that he can do this to me, make me feel and experience things I never believed possible. It makes me feel as if every beat of my heart is meaningful to my life. I will do this for him, for myself and for his research. I will be strong for him and maybe, just maybe, it may help set me free. From whom, from what I wonder …

  possibly, from myself …

  Am I willing to discover the truth first-hand rather than watch from the sidelines of life?

  I stand silently as my wrists are bound behind my back.

  Still silent, as a velvet hood encircles my face.

  Remain mute, as I am ushered along a corridor, my bare feet shuffling on the plush carpet.

  Demurely being led to a destination without force, by unknown, faceless strangers, without resisting. How many people surround me? I have no idea. I sense their energy, not their quantity.

  I am forced to confront the stark reality of asking myself once and for all, if I do, in all honesty, trust Jeremy. Imagine my life without the seductive, beguiling, enticing and challenging Jeremy in it. Of course I trust him, when have I not? He brings my otherwise black and white life into brilliant technicolour. Although I’d be remiss if I didn’t also acknowledge his expertise in creating phenomenal psychological dramas, such as the one I am currently in. My thoughts are suddenly interrupted by a deep baritone voice.

  ‘Bring her to me.’

  I am brought.

  Strong male hands lightly grip my upper arms.

  ‘Remove her robe.’

  It is removed.

  My legs are stationed apart.

  Life is strange, you know. We spend our whole lives building up self-esteem, learning to love ourselves, educate ourselves, ‘better’ ourselves, and then it comes to this? How incredibly quickly the confidence we build for ourselves, built carefully layer upon layer over the years, the decades, can dissolve into insignificance in mere seconds.

  The way people look and dress and act, what you do, what you earn, how well educated you are, means nothing when you are stripped bare, desperately naked, vision violated, symbols of slavery strapped to your ankles, wrists and neck.

  Two fingers deftly penetrate my vagina so efficiently that my mind is instantly silenced and reality slices through me. I stagger forward with the shock of the intrusion but am held securely in place. My breathing quickens in response.

  What power is left? What ounce of human dignity?

  How is it then, that if I had a penis, I’d have a massive erection?

  I have a sense of slipping into a psychological void, a place I have never dared enter within my own psyche, somewhat like I imagine Alice felt sliding down the rabbit hole in her mind. I am compelled to continue the journey.

  ‘Note that,’ says the baritone.

  Noting … I really am on the other side of the experiment now. Who would have thought that I would be standing here accepting the violation that has just occurred to my body? Not me, not in a million years.

  ‘Place her in position.’

  Outwardly, no voice, no sight. Complete acquiescence as I am lowered into a kneeling position.

  Something long, thin, smooth and cold slides under my breasts. I inhale sharply at the touch.

  Like the bow of a violin, it moves back and forward across my chest, sliding slowly below my breasts, then above, then carefully and accurately past the tips of my nipples as if tuning itself to my body. The sensation is slow and rhythmic and I’m grateful I’m already on my knees. My nipples harden in anticipation as illicit shivers cascade through my shoulders and back. The bow then moves seamlessly and elegantly between my thighs, creating such a heightened sensual tension it causes me to cry out in anticipation of what is to come. It is preparing my body for imminent play.

  ‘Hmm. She does react instantaneously, J, just as you said. This is excellent news.’

  J — Jeremy? He has been discussing me with others? Of course he has, I’m here aren’t I?

  I answer my own question.

  ‘Jeremy! Please talk to me.’ My voice escapes more softly than I expect; apparently it has been buried too long.

  Finally, his voice comes from behind me, I’m relieved to know he is so close. ‘Yes, Alexa.

  I am right here.’ His words whisper comfortingly against my ear.

  ‘Oh, thank god, there you are.’ I nestle my face towards him. ‘Is this honestly what you want from me, want me to experience?’

  ‘I have never wanted anything more in my life,’ he states quietly, sensually.

  ‘Really?’ Okay, this is it. Can I do this for him, for myself, for us?

  ‘I want you to embrace every emotion you encounter and accept it, knowing that it is part of you, part of your sexuality. I will never leave you and I will look after you. All you must do is trust me enough to give yourself wholly over to the process. Surrender yourself to me, to this experience, knowing that the fear is worth the pleasure. Only you can decide whether we continue or not, right here, right now. Just tell me, yes or no.’ How is it that he may as well be having this conversation with my clitoris, instead of my brain?

  Tears well up in my blind eyes. I can’t control the intensity of my emotions any more. Do I surrender to this innate longing that has haunted me for years and simply say, yes? Our shared memories dance in my mind. The tension. The game playing. The teasing, the tormenting. His dominance. My submission. And our combined love of these roles. So he wants to push the boundaries. Deep down I acknowledge that I, too, want to know how far they can be pushed, knowing I would only ever allow them to be pushed by him.

  ‘Yes.’ My decision relieves me beyond belief and I let out an almighty sigh as I finally succumb to my destiny, the destiny Jeremy has created.

  ‘Thank you. You won’t regret this. I promise.’ He removes the hood and softly kisses my lips.

  ‘I am going to silence you now so you are unable to speak. Is ther
e anything else you would like to say before I do this?’

  I shake my head. The reality that I’m willing to allow myself to enter such uncharted territory scares the living daylights out of me, yet arouses me so ferociously it’s intoxicating. He opens my mouth and squirts a citrus-tasting spray onto my tongue and the back of my throat. It produces a strange numbing sensation and I can’t help but test its effectiveness. No sound whatsoever — I am now mute as well as blind.

  ‘Please place her in position.’

  The strong arms raise my body off the floor, like a rag doll, as I am lifted to some higher place. A platform? It’s almost as if gravity is inconsequential and I am weightless. Once again, I am placed on my knees and, still in this position, my legs are separated with both knees and ankles anchored to the firm spongy floor, thanks to the added convenience of my leather binds.

  Given my wrists are still bound behind me, I am well and truly stationed in position.

  I want this. I need to understand where it leads me. I don’t struggle. I’m strapped to the floor. I am not free to see; I am not free to speak; I am not free to move. I am free to experience the complete and utter fear, excitement, shame and arousal penetrating each and every cell as anxiety trembles physically through my body. How peculiar and fascinating that these emotions can exist in unison.

  ‘There are a few items requiring clarification before we progress further.’ The baritone voice again.

  I have been remiss. I should add to my list, I am free to hear.

  ‘Please examine her again.’

  Once again, two fingers manoeuvre deeply into my vagina. They probe a little longer this time and are promptly removed. My body responds to the intrusion, but the impact is less obvious given my captured position.

  ‘Good, let us proceed.’

  I feel a strange sense of having travelled through time and participating in some ancient sexual rite of passage.

  ‘There is no requirement for the subject to acknowledge anything I say. It can be verified on her behalf by J. It is, however, important that she hears the words before we remove that sense as well.’

  I feel my breasts rising and falling with each breath; the anticipation as to what is coming next is so distinct.

  ‘It is our understanding, Dr Quinn, that the subject gave you permission to effectively render her blind for forty-eight hours?’

  The subject. I am truly a nonentity.

  Pause.

  ‘True.’

  ‘It is our understanding that you made her aware, on a number of occasions, that there were implications for her behaviour over this period.’

  ‘True.’

  ‘And that for each question she asked, there would be consequences?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Is it your belief that she understood these requirements?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Finally, you have discussed our research program and she agreed to be involved?’

  ‘That’s correct.’

  This is it, it is actually happening. I have handed myself over to him, to them. Although I do wonder why are they going through this mentally tortuous process.

  ‘This is truly excellent work. We can say categorically that she is perfect for our program. I am very much looking forward to analysing the results.’

  Wow, positive feedback. Jeremy must be very pleased with himself. I wonder whether all of this is turning him on.

  ‘We must address the consequences of her actions. How many questions has she asked in total?’

  Before I am given the privilege of hearing the answer, earplugs are inserted into my ears.

  Oh god, this is full on. Complete silence, complete blindness, completely mute and completely exposed. I have never gone into a state of shock before; I can only imagine that this is what I am feeling now. Completely devoid of … well … everything! Completely 100 per cent numb, frozen in time. There is now absolutely no sensory way to predict what will happen to me and absolutely no way of preventing it. Touch is my one and only remaining sense.

  Something helmet-like is placed over my head. It feels weird, a little onerous at first, and it takes me a moment to register that, of course, they will be monitoring the neural activity in my brain. This is the missing link in their research and I am their human experiment. Instinctively, I attempt to control my thoughts, then scream silently; I want to test the device and its tracking mechanisms to see if it will make any difference when they analyse the results. This situation is almost too bizarre to comprehend.

  My wrists are released from behind me and rebound together in front of me. My arms are stretched way beyond my head. No further please, I pray silently. My hips are steadied as the stretching continues and my body is then forced to bend over a spongy bar until I reach the floor where my bound wrists are attached and secured, along with my neck. This position ensures my chest is now lower than my now-protruding arse. I can only imagine my breasts dangling free as my breathing escalates, ensuring I understand this is all very real and not a dream at all. All hands are removed from my body. My restraints are now entirely non-human.

  The sound of my racing heart consumes me. It pumps so hard and fast I wonder if this is it.

  Is this what a heart attack feels like? Am I having a heart attack right this second? What a position to die in. Before I fully assimilate the possibility of heart failure, my body bucks against the intrusion of yet more probing fingers. I feel my nipples harden and my butt jolts at the invasion. I hold my breath as they stay longer this time, apply more pressure, test and stretch the confines of their now slippery surrounds. Warmth emanates from within me as my vagina moistens in anticipation of their touch. The sound of my heart racing threatens to explode in my ears. I exhale sharply as they retract; shocked at the emptiness they leave behind.

  Then nothing but my beating heart.

  I am stung so hard and fast on my arse I freeze, completely rigid.

  It happens again. It stops.

  There is no breath going into or out of my lungs.

  And again. It stops.

  I need to inhale.

  In quick succession, I am struck again and again and again and again. I inhale with each thwack of the strap landing across my arse, unable to exhale from the sheer shock of it. The oxygen intake is in stark conflict to the silent scream frantically attempting to leave my throat, rendering it impossible. I spasm as my head spins in turmoil.

  The stinging sensation is like nothing I’ve experienced before; not too painful but not un-painful. Just enough to feel the bite on the surface of my flesh for a second or two, then just as quickly the sensation begins to recede. It starts and it stops. I am left panting, overwhelmed.

  Cooling ointment is being caressed into my buttocks, so smoothly, so seductively I could weep at the miraculous change in intensity. I’m already emotionally spent. Can I really take this?

  Perhaps my thesis would have proved a very different piece of work had I experienced this first-hand.

  Then again thwack, thwack, and again higher, lower, within and around … and I lose count

  …

  My world slides into slow motion. I’m splitting in two.

  My body arches and retracts in both desperation and desire as it attempts to avoid the impact of the relentless lashes on my buttocks. I’m writhing and squirming internally as my arse maintains its rigid position as if it is begging for more. Is it, I wonder?

  My hips are held firm as yet again the probing fingers effortlessly slide in to reacquaint themselves with my vagina. I feel the deep vibration in my lower body that releases a seed of invitation to this entire experience. I feel my vulva swell in anticipation as if my vagina is welcoming a long-lost friend and I am throbbing, aching and wet. I have no doubt the owner of the fingers is ensuring this information is ‘noted’, given its extended stay within me.

  They leave. Cooling ointment arrives, applied with hands stroking softly, gently, my arse attempting to replicate the rhythm of the caress. Once a
gain tears flow with the relief and tenderness of it. What is happening to me?

  I’m left alone. I breathe. I sob.

  Blackness and silence encompass me.

  It is only now that I register I want more.

  The straps under my knees and binding my ankles are released. My legs tremble and shake in response. Knees are repositioned further apart, spread wide, re-strapped and ankles realigned and anchored accordingly. Oh, dear god. Abstractly, I wonder why I use the term ‘god’ in such highly sexualised moments. The bar is shifted into a higher position, resulting in my arse becoming an even more obvious spread-eagled target, if that were possible. The essence of my womanhood, the physical entrances to my inner sanctum being showcased, spotlighted, publicly stage managed for examination by however many people are present in this sadistic audience.

  This can’t possibly be who I am, can it?

  My heart cannot beat fast enough to accommodate the power my anticipatory arousal cascades over my entire body.

  Thwack. Pause. Then a smooth, cold, sliding sensation over the sting.

  Then again. Thwack. Pause. Slide.

  Thwack. Pause. Slide … It establishes a rhythm my body starts to anticipate and desire, shifting itself like a ladder across my arse. I try to prepare for the collision, but am left with only the sensation of the exquisite pain before the reassuring slide and relief of the more caressing touch. I throb in anticipation of this effect. The focus shifts to my inner thighs, not as forceful, but so enormously arousing.

  I want more.

  I need more.

  I receive more.

  The combination of pleasure and pain is blowing my mind and my body has no choice but to revel in this carnal ambush.

  It stops. I gasp. Given the concentration on my behind and thighs, it takes me a moment to acknowledge someone is fiddling with my nipples, tweaking them before clamping them. The sensation shoots straight to my groin. Something is belted around my waist that forces my body closer to the floor, my arse maintaining its position over the bar. All restraints are checked again and tightened, and their security is tested by my own body as a low current emits from whatever is attached to my nipples, the warm shock of it ensuring my entire body bucks against the restraints. I silently shriek at the tantalising impact. As I adjust to the sensation, it’s as if the current from my nipples is directly attached to my clitoris like a sexually charged triangular wire. The tingling warms my entire body and the pain becomes a teasing, pleasurable vibration.