I can't see you, but I can hear you.
The setup is perfect. I'm wearing my mask, which you've taken the liberty of installing a pair of blackout lenses inside. Without my glasses I might as well have been blind, but you insisted on complete isolation.
My hands are bound, each in a pair of mitts designed with little paw pads on the palm. These in turn you've linked together on a rigged spreader bar stuck behind my head. I must have been cute as you set it up. I heard the shutter of your camera. You've put me in my prong collar which has been clipped to a rather short leash that I can only imagine looks perfect in your hand.
You've set me on top of you. My purpose is clear as you guide the tip of my strap inside you. I'm not even allowed to feel the stretch of your body around me.
I'm not given instructions, instead left to figure out what you require of me. On top of you, whining, forced to control my pace with just muscles of my core and legs. I can feel the pressure of your thighs where I kneel between them. Even if I were deaf to your noises I could feel the responses to my effort from the way you grip and squeeze me. Part of me wonders if later you'll train me to respond to just those like a horse without its bit.
You feel my pace start to falter. My legs are burning and the muscles of my core are spasming from the effort of maintaining the pace you demand. Between the harsh intakes of breaths you can hear a pleading whimper start in the back of my throat. Something nips where you touch it to me. I feel myself instinctively twist away from it before I force myself to adjust back. You press it again and I don’t flinch the second time. I've played with enough electric toys to know how they feel.
Every time I stray from the pace you desire, I'm shocked. Any time you see me lose focus I'm shocked. When you want me to shift or change my position you adjust me by the collar. The prongs, digging into all that tender flesh, yank me out of whatever empty mindset I'd retreated to.
My purpose is clear. Keep myself exposed for you and hammer my hips just the way you like.
I can't see you, but I can hear you.
I can hear your moans. The sharp intake of breath when I grind myself against that sensitive spot inside you. I've memorized the way you babble my name. A mantra, your steady prayer as I devote myself to you. With every thrust I push you closer to the edge, each of us desperate to hear your sharp cries of pleasure.
I can't see you, but I can hear you, and that's enough.
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