Destined to Play, Feel, Fly Trilogy (20 page)

BOOK: Destined to Play, Feel, Fly Trilogy
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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 there 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 again 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. God, what are they doing to me? I have become a sexual exhibit, something you might see depicted in the future of MONA’s darkest hours.

The striking continues, bringing the intruding pain to the forefront of my body and mind. Then the pleasure returns, albeit briefly. Then the pain. My body allows them complete control in alternating between these extreme sensations with the flick of a switch. I am Pavlov’s dog.

It is as if my body has acclimatised to the sensation of such pleasurable pain as it takes me a moment to realise it has been replaced once again by a low vibration flowing through my nipples. The fingers reassert themselves beyond my vulva, and attach something that emits an intense vibration close to my clitoris. Too close! I freeze with panic and desire; my vulnerability is absolute. The intensity of the vibration increases, slowly and steadily. I feel myself break into a sweat of sexual anxiety. The fingers bypass my buzzing clit and spend time probing and exploring my vagina, my perineum. If I could
move, I’d have collapsed in a heap on the floor by now. As it is, my body is like melting wax hardening in time against the mould the restraints provide. I notice that my body temperature is rising, along with my rapturous arousal.

The fingers are now warm, experienced, pleasure-seeking fingers and I feel my opening welcoming them in further, deeper. My mute throat groans with both shame and desire as I beseech my mind to stay alert. The fingers locate dimensions I have never found before, never explored myself. My perineum, my anus, nothing is ignored in this process. Oh god! Jeez, there’s that word again. They play and push and press and probe, as if monitoring and assessing the impact their every touch has on my body. I desperately try to control my responses, to rein these intensely sexual feelings in, but they are free spirits, they won’t be tempered. The fingers settle, positioning themselves carefully, then insistently, then rhythmically, then intensely as they set off rippled explosions through my muscles. I absently wonder if an orgasm can be forced upon you. Do I want to have an orgasm in front of others? Will I have the choice?

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