Breaking the Silence

It's hard to write a story of a power struggle between two people when one of them refuses to speak. It's hard to keep this armor of silence idea going.

Besides, it had to be broken eventually. Have you ever seen The Three Amigos? It's not a kinky movie, by any stretch. But there's this one part, where Steve Marten is imprisoned, that always stuck with me. One that helped me figure out how to finally break the silent armor.

I've noticed something too: I seem to be much more sensual lately. Is that a good thing or a bad thing?

Breaking the Silence

Dyehen comes slowly back to consciousness. He flexes his jaw and goes to raise his hand to rub his head, but his wrist won't move. His eyes shoot open as the memory of the past few days comes rushing back.

There's a candle burning across the room, providing just enough light for him to make out basic shapes. He can see the chains running over the ceiling, down the walls. He can feel the cold steel against his arms, and the tight straps around his wrists and ankles. And, perhaps most importantly, he can see the glass of water next to the candle.

He opens his mouth, closes it, and realizes just how thirsty he is. That glass of water suddenly seems like the most important thing in the world. But his hands are chained to the wall, down by his waist.

Why his waist?

He looks down, trying to figure out why the chain runs through an iron ring just behind his wrist. He pulls with a bit more force, and the chain moves one link with a soft clinking sound. He pulls a bit harder, getting himself more slack. It takes effort, but isn't all that heavy. He keeps pulling until he can reach for the water, but it is ridiculously out of reach. He sighs and, as soon as he stops pulling, his hand snaps back into place against the wall.

His shoulders strain, his biceps tighten, and his forearms flex as he pulls both arms forward. The weight is about twice what it was before, which tells Dyehen that each wrist has its own weight attached to it. But he pulls them both forward and starts to lean his body forward, using his own body weight to help offset the weight. Leaning away from the wall, he gets several feet closer to the water, but still nowhere near close enough to actually reach it.

Keeping his arms taught, he pulls forward with one foot, finding a whole new weight there. Then another on the other ankle. He grunted with each step, pulling himself forward inch by inch. A deep breath, another pull, and he makes another step across the room. A sigh and a momentary lapse of concentration, and soon the wall is blasting the air out of his lungs.

With an angry growl, Dyehen pulls himself off the wall again, his pure rage pulling him off the wall and several steps towards the candle. The water gets closer and closer, and a sweat breaks out from the effort. His thirst intensified, he grits his teeth, pulling himself closer and closer. One step at a time, one clink of the chains at a time. He focuses on his task, knowing what will happen with a lapse of concentration. He forces another step, then another, the muscles in his arms and legs rippling under his skin.

His heart pounded in his chest, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Sweat stung his eyes. He shook his head, feeling the collar bolted around his neck when he did. He growled and stepped forward again. His muscles burned as he finally got close enough to reach the water. But he didn't reach for it, not yet.

As soon as he gave the weight any slack, it would pull him back to the wall. He knew that. He had to get further, had to pull just a bit more, enough that he could life the water to his lips without being yanked back, without the glass dropping to the floor.

His hand shakes as he finally lifts the water towards his mouth. He leans a far forward as he can, concentrating on the liquid, trying not to spill any. Trying to get as much of the water down his throat, and as little down his chest, as possible.

The glass drained, Dyehen lets out a sigh. His breath blows out the candle, and the brief lapse in conversation send him into an unstoppable drag back to the wall. He impacts the wall with a grunt.

Laughter in the darkness shoots his eyes open. Then the sound of two leather gloves clapping against one another makes him growl deep in his throat.

The lights come on, filling the room with a cold glare and momentarily blinding him. When the world finally came back into focus, he saw who was applauding. Her.

Nina sits with one boot crossed over her knee. When she finishes clapping, she runs one finger around the heel of the boot. It was flat, and something about it looks familiar.

“I wonder,” she says. “Do you think the bruise on your face matches?” She runs her finger around the heel again to be sure he knows what she means.

He glares at her, tensing his jaw and clenching his teeth together. He takes a deep breath, drawing his silence around him.

“We had a deal,” she says, standing up and stepping slowly towards him. She puts one foot directly in front of the other, smirking as she sees him watching the swing of her hips. “One on one fight,” she said. “You win, you never have to talk. I win, you tell me your name.”

She puts her hands on her lower back and looks around the room as if noticing it for the first time. “Doesn't look like you won,” she says. “Which means I did.”

He stares at her, daring to make eye contact, something none of her other slaves would do. Nina debates punishing him for it. Normally, when a new slave made eye contact, she'd beat him until every inch of skin on his body was covered with bruises. She'd punish him long after he had broken down to wordless sobs.

She considers, but she doesn't do anything. Doesn't even move her hands from her lower back. She adjusts her stance, and leans forward a little, but only to enjoy the way his eyes trace over her form.

“Are you disagreeing?” she asks. “Do you think that smacking your head against my boot heel until you were unconscious somehow means that you won?”

He grits his teeth, trying to settle his breathing, trying to get his muscles to unclench and relax. How fast can he move, with all that weight pulling against his arm?

Nina laughs and steps closer, knowing that she is right within range of his arms. If he could move quickly, he could grab her, hit her, or any number of other things. And she knew he would. Unlike the others, this one would dare lay a hand on her without her permission.

She smirks at him, almost daring him to make a move, and reaches down between his legs. The leather gloves rub against his skin, wrapping her fingers around an erection that appears fast enough to paint a smile on her face. She moves up and down, twisting her hand gently back and forth as she does.

“Tell me,” she says, her pace agonizingly slow. “You agreed to tell me.”

Dyehen bites his lips and tries hard not to press his hips forward.

Nina keeps her eyes locked on his. His knees buckle a little bit as she continues rubbing him with the soft leather. “Tell me your name,” she says, her voice a whisper. She leans close enough to nibble on his ear, close enough for him to feel her breath on his face. Her lips hover just barely off his skin, so close that he feels a tingle like she is invading his aura. Her hand moves up and down his cock, her other hand coming underneath to gently cup his balls

“Tell me,” her voice is barely a whisper, tingling down the back of his neck. The leather of her gloves gentle wears away at his silence. “Tell me your name,” she says.

He closes his eyes, trying to focus on something else. Anything else. But all he can see is her corset. Her boots. He pulls his silence tight around himself, trying to ignore the feel of the leather caressing his cock, the cupping of his balls.

“Tell me,” she says.

She squeezes gently. Then hard enough that he winces.

“Tell me.” Her voice gets colder. Crueler. She gives one more squeeze, tight enough for his eyes to force themselves open and for a tiny wince to break its way through the silence.

Her hands go back to gentle, and she moves close enough for him to feel the heat of her body radiating through the leather of her corset and her pants.

“Tell me,” she says, moving away from his ear, looking in his eyes, somehow looking down at him without being any taller.

She smiles. “It's okay,” she says. “It's just one word. Tell me your name.”

He shakes his head.

“Please.” the cold facade cracks, just for a second, and he sees past her eyes and into her soul. He sees her need, her desire. He sees why it's so important to her, what it means.

And his armor, the silence that had been holding him together, that had been denying his captivity and that had refused to be a slave, shattered like glass.

“Dyehen,” he says. “My name is Dyehen.”

She smiles. “I'm Nina,” she says, leaning in closer, pressing her lips against his. She slips her tongue past his teeth, and he opens himself to her.

Her hands leave him hard and unfinished, moving up to cradle his face as she kisses him, moaning and pressing herself against her body.

The chains clink and rattle, and she feels the muscles in his chest tense and strain. Her eyes close, and she rubs his head with her leather gloves.

His arms come forward, straining against the weight until they wrap around her shoulders, holding her tight against him.

The kiss breaks off, and she leans back far enough so he can see her smile.

“Dyhen,” she says. “Nice name.”

“You are so beautiful.”

She nods. “And you,” she says, “Are so mine.”

His arms snap back against the wall as her knee slams up between his legs.

He groans in pain.

She kisses him gently on the forehead, then walks to the edge of the room. She puts another glass of water on the table, lights the candle, and steps to the door.

“Until tomorrow, Dyehen,” she says. “Then we'll really start your training.”

She flips off the light.