The companion piece to A Punished Slavegirl.
The power of His voice was like nothing I had ever experienced.
It was a tangible thing, something I could drag my fingers through, like heavy, warm water.
His voice was an ocean, and I slipped under the surface of it without ever a splash. Underwater, I could finally breathe, with the power of His voice touching every part of me. He let me… breathe. Just like that.
Ever since the day I met Him, it was like a breath I had been holding for years, finally was released. My body folded naturally at His feet, the warmth of unfettered joy thawing each frozen bone and tendon.
I had never met someone like Him.
This was exactly where I belonged. Where I should be.
The feeling of breathing, of the terrible rightness of being at His feet, was the most intoxicating thing. As He dragged me down deeper into the black water of His voice, as the shimmering lights of the world around us dimmed from my vision, every tension eased. Every anxiety evaporated. There was only Him, and the crushing weight of the song of His words.
I’ve never dropped so easily. It was like my mind was eager to be smothered by His power. Eager to be violated by the rhythm of the syllables, eager to be drowned in those insidious, dark currents.
I asked Him why, constantly. Why does this happen? What is it about You, and me, that makes my body ache for You, like this? Why does it feel different, with You? Why does my anxiety melt away, when You wrap Your fingers around my neck? My thoughts, a mess of chaos, are calmed by the feeling of Your chains wrapping around my mind.
Why?
“I have simply told you what you are, and what you need,” He said.
I thought about that for a long time.
As my mind sinks deeper and deeper into the undercurrents of those words, I do not struggle. He’s right, of course. I don’t want to struggle; I want to see how deep I can fall. Every new depth, and my breath comes easier.
What am I?
I am nothing, but His. His slave, His property. His possession. He controls everything: my mind, my actions, my desires. Even typing the words gives me an undeniable calm, knowing that this is true. Undeniable comfort in my eager helplessness. My body recognizes the truth of these words, as the tightness in my muscles loosens. He lets me finally breathe. He lets me sleep, knowing that He controls everything.
I am not a simply a submissive. That is too much for me. Choice feels wrong in my body, like a scratchy coat that never fit, no matter what I tried to do to make it work. I am glad to be rid of it. As I kneel here, beside Him, my choicelessness feels as right as my naked body.
His fingers trace idly over the curve of my shoulders, up along the side of my neck, where the big artery pumps blood to my captive mind. He stops to feel the quiet thumping, so close to the surface. That fluttering beat, beats for Him, beats at His whim.
That knowledge should scare me, but it brings me nothing but quiet content. It brings me nothing but comfort, knowing that I have rightly given Him the authority He deserves.
This is exactly where I belong.
His touch trails up my jawline, and He tucks an errant piece of hair behind my ear before running the pads of His fingers over my lips. Slowly, they push their way inside, and I shiver at the pleasure of feeling Him inside me, even in this small way. It’s a delicate violation, in the same way His words slither into my mind; first, slowly, a trickle of water, then more and more, until I am drowning in the ocean of Him.
He pushes His fingers deeper and deeper, until they breach the entrance to my throat.
I can feel my eyes roll back in my head, as He massages the pleasure point that He convinced my mind, was there. He is so kind as to not only take my independence, but also to give me a shadow of pleasure, in a way that serves Him directly. With the pleasure point in the back of my throat, He has addicted me to the feeling of having His cock rub against it. He has addicted me to having Him in my mouth.
He unbuttons His jeans and takes His cock out in one deft motion, already hard and ready. I watch Him run His hand over it, making the head bulge and glisten with precum. As His fingers continue to fuck my throat, a needy little noise escapes my lips, as I watch Him manipulate Himself from inches away.
I want His cock. Want it. Need it.
My brain fuzzes out with the intensity of my craving, as everything else around me loses color and shape, except for Him. The dark waves pull me deeper and deeper, as the glimmers of reality dim.
The currents suck me down deeper, and even the craving for Him feels like a comfort. I can breathe, when I crave.
I push my face forward, swallowing more of His fingers. The pain of His nails scraping along my tongue is perfect. Perfectly intoxicating, swirling feelings of violation and adject need through my mind. I know, deep in my core, that I am His, and I am nothing but His. There is no anxiety in that thought, just the heavy comfort of truth.
My throat convulses, and He draws His fingers out of my mouth. Thick strings of saliva yawn from my lips, as He brings His hand over my eyes and lets the slime coat them, pooling the evidence of my helpless degradation in the hollows of my face. It covers my eyelashes and they flutter closed, heavy with my own debasement.
His slimy fingers ooze up the side of my cheek to wrap themselves in my hair. The pain of His grip both steadies and unmoors me, as I float along the riptide of His power. He pulls me between His legs and impales my lips with His cock, pushing Himself all the way down, until my spit-covered face is flush against the muscles of His torso. I can feel His cock bulging in my throat, stretching me to accommodate the size of Him. He holds me there until the air in my lungs turns sour, and I begin to struggle.
“Hands behind your back.” The command is concise, unwavering.
I cannot disobey.
Even as my lungs burn and my body screams for relief, I grasp each elbow behind my back.
I will let Him use me; the only breath I truly need is the one He allows me.
I can feel the waves of dizziness slide through my shoulders, and the only thing that keeps me from slumping into a puddle on the floor, is His grip. He holds me down for what might be a second longer — or it might be an eternity, as I drown in the black water around me — before bringing me back up to the surface.
My eyes blink, wide and frightened, as I draw in big lungfuls of the sweet, fresh air.
He lets me breathe.
This is exactly where I belong.
I don’t have a chance to truly catch my breath before He pushes me down on His cock, again. And I know this game will go on as He wishes, bringing me to the brink of consciousness again and again, letting those dark waves pull me down with every burning second.
I am so grateful for the freedom He allows me, in my chains. He has simply told me who I truly am, and what I truly need. His words, His power, is the depthless comfort of the black ocean, and I am happily helpless against Him.
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