Blindfolded and Bound to His Voice
The heavy velvet curtains separating the alcove from the main floor did little to muffle the relentless bass of the club. It thumped against Soren’s ribs, a restless, heavy rhythm that matched the hammering of his own pulse. Kneeling on the leather-padded platform, he felt the cool bite of Riven’s cuffs closing securely around his wrists. Over three years of belonging to Riven, he had learned the exquisite terror of nights like this—nights where Riven methodically stripped the world away until nothing existed but the space between them.
Riven circled him. The floorboards offered a faint creak beneath heavy boots, the sound a predatory promise in the dim amber light. Soren’s breath hitched as a ribbon of black silk slid across his vision, pulled taut, and knotted securely at the base of his skull. Total darkness swallowed him. The air suddenly felt ten degrees colder on his exposed skin.
“You remember the rules,” Riven murmured. His voice was a dark velvet rasp, his mouth so close that his breath ghosted over the shell of Soren’s ear. “No speaking unless I ask. Nod if you understand.”
Soren nodded once, a sharp, submissive dip of his chin. Riven’s broad palm flattened against his nape—heavy, grounding, utterly possessive.
Then came the foam earplugs. Riven rolled them with agonizing slowness before pressing them deep into Soren’s canals. The thumping bass of the club instantly vanished, replaced by the rushing vacuum of Soren’s own blood and the erratic thud of his heart. The sensory void was absolute. He was adrift in his own mind.
Thick leather straps crossed over his bare chest next, buckling tight against the padded post to force his shoulders back. He was completely exposed, hyper-aware of the subtle shift in air currents every time Riven moved past him. Riven dragged a single, deliberate fingernail down the center of Soren’s sternum. Deprived of sight and sound, that tiny point of friction felt like a live wire sparking against his skin, leaving him trembling in the dark, desperate for the first real touch.
Riven’s hands descended lower, finding the worn leather belt at Soren’s waist. The buckle released with a muted click that traveled straight through bone. Denim rasped down his thighs in one deliberate drag, cool club air rushing over heated skin as the fabric pooled around his knees. Soren’s cock sprang free, already stiff and twitching in the sudden exposure, the vulnerability sharpening every nerve after three years of learning exactly how Riven claimed him like this.
A callused palm closed around the shaft, stroking once from root to crown with unhurried pressure. Thick pre-come welled at the slit, smearing under the thumb in slow circles that left Soren’s hips jerking forward against the straps. Riven withdrew the touch entirely, letting seconds stretch into an eternity of aching emptiness while the darkness and silence magnified the throb between Soren’s legs.
The hand returned slicked with cool gel, fingers gliding in measured pulls that twisted at the head and eased back down. Soren’s balls drew tight, his breath sawing through parted lips as the grip tightened and released in teasing pulses. Another withdrawal followed, the absence leaving his length pulsing against nothing, the faint vibration of distant bass seeping through the floor into his knees while the imagined weight of eyes beyond the curtains pressed against his bare ass.
Heat enveloped him without warning—Riven’s mouth sinking down in one wet glide, tongue pressing flat along the underside. The suction pulled hard, cheeks hollowing as spit mixed with pre-come and ran in thin rivulets down Soren’s shaft. He fought to stay silent, every muscle locked, until Riven pulled off abruptly, leaving the swollen head cooling in the air and Soren’s thighs shaking with the effort of holding still.
More gel followed, viscous and thick, coating two fingers that pressed between his cheeks and circled the tight ring without entering. They rubbed and teased, spreading the slick until Soren rocked back as far as the chest straps allowed, silently begging for more after years of trusting Riven to read every tremor. The fingers finally pushed inside, scissoring open with deliberate patience, curling to press against that swollen spot until his cock jerked and spilled another bead of fluid onto the platform.
Riven pulled away again, leaving Soren clenching around empty space, the cold air licking at his stretched hole while sweat traced paths down his spine. The blunt crown of Riven’s cock replaced the fingers at last, nudging forward with steady pressure until the head breached and the thick length sank deep in one controlled thrust. Heat bloomed inside him, a searing contrast to the chill of the room, hips flush against his ass as Riven held there, letting the full stretch settle into Soren’s core.
Each subsequent drive came measured and deep, dragging across that sensitive place with relentless friction. One hand reached around to fist Soren’s cock again, matching the rhythm of the thrusts while the other gripped his hip hard enough to leave marks. The three years of surrender anchored Soren here—absolute trust letting him give everything, the power exchange earned through countless nights of Riven knowing precisely when to push and when to hold back.
Riven’s pace built, the slap of skin echoing inside Soren’s skull. His release crashed through him without permission, pulsing hot over Riven’s knuckles in heavy spurts while his inner walls fluttered and gripped. Riven followed moments later, burying deep as his own climax flooded Soren’s core in liquid pulses.
Riven eased out slowly, then removed the earplugs and blindfold with careful fingers. Light and sound returned in soft layers. He unbuckled the straps and cuffs, lowering Soren onto the nearby couch and catching him when his legs folded. A warm cloth wiped him clean, strong hands massaging blood back into stiff shoulders and wrists. Soren leaned into the solid warmth of Riven’s chest, breathing easing as fingers carded gently through his hair.
“Still with me?” Riven asked, voice low against his temple.
“Always,” Soren whispered, the single word carrying the weight of every night they had built together. Riven drew a blanket over them both, holding him close while the club’s distant pulse faded into the background and the world narrowed to the steady beat of two hearts.