Black and Silent

The world was black and silent. Grace breathed in and heard the quiet steadiness of it like water rushing over rocks inside of her. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, pulsing in the darkness…a drum keeping time to the steady, sharp swats across her ass.

She’d known it would come to something like this the moment Jack had walked in the room, wordlessly waking her from an afternoon nap, hooking his fingers between the buttons of her flannel shirt and ripping it open. He shoved his right hand between her breasts, wielding the center of her bra like a handle, pulling her to a seated position in front of him. From his back pocket, he retrieved a blindfold, covered her eyes, and then placed what she assumed were noise blocking headphones over her ears.

Taking both wrists in one hand, he pulled her to standing. He spun her to face away from him and proceeded to tie her hands behind her back and then placed his hand on top of her head, pressing down, to signal his command for her to kneel, which she did immediately.

She could smell him before she felt him, his cock rubbing back and forth across her lips, the salty slickness of his pre-cum like balm. Her mouth opened instinctively to receive him, and he pressed to the back of her throat in one forceful thrust. She wasn’t expecting it and gagged, attempting, too late, to relax her jaw to accommodate his width. Her teeth had grazed him, and she knew there would be a price to pay.

Jack pulled out of her and she felt herself being lifted and dumped, unceremoniously, onto the bed. His hands took hold of her, guiding her into place.

The world was black and silent, but Grace began to see shocks of color behind her lids as the impact of his hand sent waves of pain from her ass to every extremity. She didn’t need to hear him to know that he was chastising her clumsy lack of preparation.

She’d known it would come to something like the moment Jack had come into her life, silently taking control from across the gallery, holding the stem of his wine glass as if it were a rose begging to be offered. He’d pushed through the throngs of art enthusiasts, parting them like weeds, finding his way to her. From his pocket, he’d produced a business card, upon which was only his name and number. It smelled like expensive cologne and gunpowder.

Taking a lock of her hair between his thumb and forefinger, he’d drawn her to him. He’d placed his other hand on the small of her back and then guided her toward a painting of a woman tied and suspended from the ceiling.

She could feel his heat against the back of her, the crispness of his starched white shirt rubbing against her spine, skin exposed in a backless, black cocktail dress. Her mouth opened, and she breathed in sharply, as if the touch were fire or ice against her naked flesh. She tensed, and he reached his hand around her neck, gently bending her gaze from one part of the painting to another.

Jack stopped smacking her ass, and the absence of movement against her inflamed cheeks increased the pain and focused her attention directly to the place where it hurt the most.

The world was black and silent, and Grace was aware that she existed in a vacuum. It wasn’t heaven…or hell. She was simply suspended, like the woman in the painting, tied, blind, and waiting, in perpetuity.

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