The Sound of Her Voice – Dark Femdom Romance

Themes: Bondage, coercion, CNC, dark romance, impact play, tease & denial, orgasm control, brainwashing, mindfuck, sensory deprivation, breath control, toxic girlfriend.

It wasn’t a busy day at the diner, but I was still feeling distracted. I guess the breakup had taken its toll on me, even though it had been my idea. I thought I would be feeling better by now but, despite the numerous reasons I had ended things, I still couldn’t keep my mind from wandering through all the old memories of good times together.

              Like that day at the beach. Watching her kick sprays of water with her pointed toes, smile shining brighter than the midday summer sun, damp bikini clinging to all her slender curves. The way her green eyes pierced me when we finally got home and I peeled that wet swimsuit off, running my hands over her body and feeling the few wayward grains of sand that still clung to her soft skin. The sound of her clear voice, always tinged with a playful seduction, as she leaned close and whispered into my ear, “Take me.”

That had been a perfect day, hadn’t it? And a perfect night. It felt endless, the way we moved from the kitchen to the bathroom, the shower, then to the bed, finally back to the kitchen table­­—our bodies clinging and hugging one another until the seemingly unbearable heat climaxed—

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!”

Water was everywhere. Lost in thought, I had fumbled the glass while dropping it at a table that had just been seated. I pulled the dingy cloth from my folded apron and began mopping up the spilled mess, frantically dabbing at the puddle on the table and only managing to spread it around even more. The liquid began dripping off the edge of the table, puddling in the customer’s lap and soaking their clothes.

“I’m really sorry,” I repeated, focused on cleaning up the mess, my mind still in chaos as the sunshine-soaked memories faded away and I was snapped back to reality. “I’m so clumsy, I wasn’t paying attention.” Like an idiot, I began dabbing at the customer’s lap before my brain finally took over and I snatched my hand back, mortified. “Oh shit, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, that was inappropriate.”

Defeated, I sighed and let my hands drop to my sides and stared at the floor. I’m definitely getting fired, I thought.

“You did always know how to get me wet.”

My heart did a weird flip in my chest. That voice. The one that always managed to make me feel a thousand things at once: apprehension, happiness, insecurity, sheer blinding euphoria… and god, did it always make me instantly horny.

My head snapped up and I stared, only vaguely aware that my mouth was hanging open like a moron. Her mischievous laugh wormed its way through my eardrums and directly into my brain, paralyzing me. In shock and disbelief, I managed to mutter out her name: “Ruby….”

“Hey, Em.”

She grinned up at me like we’d bumped into each other in a grocery store. Like she hadn’t vanished for weeks after I walked out on her. Like she wasn’t the reason I’d been dragging my bones through each shift, haunted and horny and miserable.

“I heard this place had decent coffee,” she said, resting her chin on her hand. “Didn’t expect the service to be so… hands-on. Remind me to leave you a good tip.”

I couldn’t move. My apron suddenly felt too tight around my waist, the room too loud and too far away. Ruby sat there with perfect posture, legs crossed beneath the table in that mini skirt—damn you, you know that skirt drives me wild—auburn hair gleaming in that same messy-yet-meticulous way she always styled it. Like she’d barely tried, and yet she always looked devastating. Even better than I remembered. More dangerous.

“You can’t be here,” I said before I really thought it through. My voice came out quieter than I meant. “You shouldn’t be here.”

She tilted her head. “Why not? I’m a paying customer.” She picked up the laminated menu and scanned it like she actually gave a shit about the food. “Unless you’re saying you don’t want me here?” She cocked her head and looked back up at me, the same way she used to look up at me while kneeling, those perfect lips parted in the most fuckable pout—

I shook that thought from my head. Ruby saw. She could always see through me. A sly smile crept across those plump lips… the same one she used to give right before she said something that would wreck me in bed—or ruin my whole night.

“I asked for your section,” she added, fingernails tapping rhythmically against the table. “I’ve missed you.”

The flesh on the back of my neck prickled. My throat felt tight.

“We broke up,” I said dumbly. “That means—”

“—that you left,” she interrupted. “I didn’t break anything. You did.” She said it so casually, like we were talking about the weather, but something cold had gripped her voice. My spine locked in place.

“I just wanted to see if you were ready to fix your mistake.”

The words hit me like a slap, quiet but precise. My hands clenched at my sides before I caught myself. I racked my brain for something to say. Anything. Anything that wasn’t fucking stupid.

“So?” she asked.

I looked down at the floor again. “I’m working.”

“I noticed. You’ve already spilled in my lap once.” Her lips curled, wicked and pleased. “Might be time for a break. Go ask your manager.”

I stared at her. She didn’t blink.

“You’re serious?”

Ruby leaned forward, voice low and syrupy. “Unless you want me to go talk to him instead.” That cold, dangerous tone again. The hairs on my arms stood up. “Time to decide, Em. I’ve already waited a month. That’s long enough.”

She stood slowly, brushing past me with the faintest touch of her fingertips down my arm, like a whisper I couldn’t unhear. A whisper from that wet, warm mouth.

And then she was gone, leaving behind the faint, familiar smell of her perfume and a hotel keycard tucked under the empty water glass.

The keycard sat heavy in my apron pocket, like a glowing ember I was too afraid to touch but couldn’t bring myself to throw away. I didn’t even remember sliding it in there. Just blinked, and it was part of me.

I ducked into the supply closet, breathing heavily, suddenly drenched in sweat. I kept imagining her fingers brushing mine again, that voice threading its way under my skin, coiling around my ribs like smoke.

I hadn’t said yes. But I hadn’t said no, either.

Gasping for breath, I straightened my apron and ran a shaky hand through my hair. As I left the closet, my numb legs carried me toward my manager, seated at his desk in the back office. His hand paused, hovering over inventory forms as he looked up at me. I caught myself rubbing the keycard through my pocket, toying with it as I struggled to form a coherent, believable lie. Whatever it took to get me out of this restaurant.

Whatever it took to get me back to her.

I stood outside the hotel room for a full ten minutes, just staring at the slightly off-white door. Room 503. I didn’t even have to double-check the number on the keycard; it was already memorized.

I tried to remind myself of all the reasons I left. The way she used to tell me what to wear. How she tracked my location “just in case.” The cold silence when I tried to set boundaries. The night she held me down and whispered, “You’re not leaving this bed until your mind is broken and utterly mine.” The way she had hurt me, made me scream for her to stop and beg for her to keep going.

I should’ve turned around. Walked back to the restaurant and finished my shift.

But I didn’t.

I pressed the keycard to the reader, heard the soft beep, and stepped inside.

The room was dim, spotless, and cold in that way expensive rooms always are—too clean, too quiet. The curtains were drawn. The lights were low.

And she was already waiting for me.

She sat at the edge of the bed in nothing but a black silk robe and those leather gloves I remembered too well. She didn’t say hello.

Just patted the space between her knees.

“I knew you would come,” she said softly. So quiet, so cold. This was the dark side of her that I always managed to forget. That chilling tone she used to get whatever she wanted from me.

But it was too late now. Stupid little bug that I was, I had crawled right back into her hot, sticky web. And now there was nothing for me to do except wait to be eaten; watch helplessly as she sipped and sucked every last ounce of freedom and joy from my soft insides. It gave her life, killing me slowly. She had always been at her most beautiful when I most wanted to die.

She smiled knowingly. “Strip.”

I stood, brain utterly empty.

She didn’t speak again. Just watched me. She didn’t blink. Her legs spread a little wider.

The silence wrapped around me like static, humming through my skull. I dropped my backpack. My hands moved on their own. First the apron. Then my shirt. My fingers felt clumsy, like I was unraveling myself in slow motion.

“You’re slower than I remember,” Ruby said coolly. “Maybe you need reminders.”

She stood and crossed the room in two fluid steps. One gloved hand cupped my chin while the other slid down my chest, long nails biting even through the soft leather. Her face was close—so close I could feel the warmth of her breath, even as the chill of her control ran through my spine like icy lightning.

“You left,” she said. “You thought you could disappear. Thought I’d just let go?”

I didn’t answer. My mouth felt dry, stomach twisting. I wasn’t even fully undressed, yet I was far too conscious of the bulge growing tenderly in my pants, pressing painfully and begging to be released.

“You should be on your knees right now,” she whispered into my ear, “thanking me for being so patient. So… forgiving.”

Then she pressed a strip of worn, sweat-slick cotton to my mouth. One of her socks. Still damp. Still stinking of her. My nostrils flared and I tried to turn away, but she clamped my jaw shut with her hand and shoved it between my teeth.

“Gag,” she ordered. “Bite it.”

I obeyed. The warm, rancid wetness mingled with my own saliva and oozed down the back of my throat. A weak, stifled whimper escaped me before I could stop myself.

My body had betrayed me. It cooperated fully with her expert movements, my mind retreating as she pushed, pulled, bent, and turned my willing limbs. Within minutes, she had me stripped and blindfolded, wrists bound with thick black rope and hoisted up to the ceiling beam. My toes barely brushed the floor, calves trembling as I strained to keep balance. The muscles in my arms screamed. She’d tied me too high on purpose.

“Tiptoe, Em,” she murmured. “You don’t get to stand in my presence.”

Then the room was quiet. Blind. Bound. Gagged. I could only hear her slow, deliberate footsteps on the hardwood and the unsteady rasps of my own breaths through her dirty sock, occasionally broken by tiny sobs.

And her voice.

“You look pathetic like this. This isn’t what I wanted, Em. You have to believe me. But after you left… walked out on me like we were nothing… like I was nothing to you.”

A sudden sting bloomed across my bare thigh—she’d slapped me, hard. Before I even had time to react, it came again. And again. I jolted, ropes biting tighter into my wrists, whimpering.

Then she was behind me, breath on my neck. One hand wrapped around my throat and the other inching down my stomach, fingers trailing between my legs and gripping my rock-hard shame.

“Oh,” she purred. “Already hard. Just from my voice? Or maybe from the stink of my socks filling your mouth? You’re disgusting, Em. I knew you were. But seeing it… feeling you twitch in my hand while you dangle here like a fucktoy? It’s worse than I imagined.”

I shook my head. No, I didn’t want this. I didn’t—

Both her hands squeezed hard. My stifled groan was cut short as she tightened around my throat. My toes scrambled for grip on the hard floor as I tried desperately to move away, but within seconds I felt my head growing light and that old familiar rush fill my body as my brain struggled for oxygen.

“Don’t pretend, Em. You do want it. You’re drooling. You’re leaking. You’re mine.”

I lost track of time. It must have only been seconds, but by the time I came to, her hands were gone and my head had lolled to the side, resting against my aching, outstretched arms. My hands throbbed and I realized that my full weight was on the rope around my wrists; my legs had given out.

I slowly lifted my head. At first I didn’t realize what I was hearing. It sounded like just faint echoes, looping from a speaker behind me. Then I recognized it. My voice. From one of our nights together. A recording she’d made.

Me, begging.

“Please—please let me—please, I can’t—”

She turned the volume up. The sound of my own desperation, my gasps, my crying voice begging her to stop while she mocked me, filled the room like poison. She had been recording us? Just audio, or had she hidden a camera somewhere in our bedroom?

“You remember that night, don’t you?” she said sweetly, interrupting the countless questions running through my head. “You cried so hard. Said you couldn’t take any more. But you came for me anyway. Just like you will now.”

I tried to scream into the sock. Tried to jerk away. But I was too dizzy, too exposed, too utterly hers. My screams turned to soft, resigned sobs. I felt the long strings of drool stretch from my stuffed mouth and drip thickly down my bare chest.

I didn’t even flinch as her hands descended unexpectedly upon me. She rubbed something smooth and warm onto my neck, my chest, down my stomach. Slick. Tingly. My skin started to burn—not painfully, but with a building sensitivity that spread like fire across every nerve, bringing every inch of my flesh to life with electricity. The air suddenly felt both scorching hot and burning cold against my skin.

“I’ve been traveling, you know. Since you left.” She worked quickly, rubbing the substance across each bare surface of my body. “I wanted to see more of the world. Germany, Japan, Peru… in fact, that’s where I picked up this little potion. The locals in Peru call it… well, you don’t care what it’s called, do you, Em? You just care how it makes you feel.” Her gloved hand gripped my throat again, holding me steady as she pressed her soft lips against my full, drooling mouth.

Within seconds, I was squirming. My body betrayed me fully, straining toward her. Gagged, blindfolded, leaking down my own leg, my cock suddenly, painfully harder than it had ever been in my entire life.

She pulled away with a dry, cruel laugh. “Look at you,” she said, voice dripping with disdain. “I’m not even touching your cock. And you’re leaking for me like a bitch in heat.”

A muffled scream was ripped from my lungs as a sudden, intense impact jolted through my groin and gut. Had she flicked my cock? It had felt more like a cattle prod, leaving me wheezing for breath through my nose as I fought back tears and the nearly-irresistible urge to explode.

I heard her step closer, circling me like a predator who’s caught the scent of blood. I could feel the heat of her against my back, her voice crawling into my ear.

“No one else is ever going to want you like this. You’re broken, Em. And I’m the one who broke you.”

She reached around and dragged her fingers down my shaft, slow and tight, just once. I bucked forward, nearly losing my footing. My toes scraped for balance. The burn in my arms flared. Scream after scream came now, unstoppable but still so faint against the fabric of her soggy sock on my tongue.

She laughed, low and breathless. I could hear her getting off on this. The recording continued to play behind me.

“Fuck, Ruby—please don’t—I can’t take anymore—stop—I’ll do anything—”

My own pitiful voice taunting me as it mingled with my now endless screams and moans of desperation.

I felt her body against me. The robe was gone. No fabric now, only her skin, burning so hot against my heightened nerve endings. I strained against my bonds, wanting—needing more of her touching me. Something wet trickled down the side of my thigh and I realized she was humping her dripping cunt against my leg.

“Shut up, Em,” she snapped in my ear. Instantly, like a trained dog, I fell silent.

“Do you want to cum?” she whispered.

I nodded violently, breath quickening and member twitching with anticipation.

“Beg.”

I couldn’t speak.

She ripped the sock from my mouth. A pool of saliva fell from my mouth and splashed across my erect cock. I gasped raggedly for air.

“Please….” Barely audible through my cracking, defeated voice.

She pressed the sock back in.

“No.”

Then she stepped back, cold air rushing in to sting my sensitive flesh where her warm skin once pressed. The screams came again, rocking my body as I twisted and yanked my wrists against the rope. Every cell in my body screamed with me, aflame with an unbearable lust bordering on agony.

She let me hang. Let me twitch. The loop of my own voice kept playing in the background, now mirroring my exact thoughts.

Please… please let me… Don’t go—you can’t leave me like this—

She didn’t touch me again.

Didn’t let me cum.

Didn’t even let me fall.

I heard a faint squeak as she sat down on the bed. She just watched me squirm, humiliated, soaked in my own arousal, dangling by my wrists with a piece of her filthy laundry stuffed in my mouth. Even after the effects of her evil Peruvian tincture had worn off and my hoarse screams had faded to slow, pitiful groans. Even after my legs had given out and I slumped like a broken ragdoll, hands and wrists numb, my slowly softening cock throbbing and balls aching—no, cramping with the pain of denial. Still she sat, silent.

And finally, after what felt like hours, she whispered:

“Good boy.”

By the time she finally cut me down, there was nothing left of me.

I collapsed like a puppet with the strings torn loose, crumpling to the floor in a slick, shivering mess, huddled in a pool of my own drool and precum.

Ruby crouched beside me. I could feel the heat of her breath against my cheek again. Her glove smoothed along my jaw, deceptively gentle.

“You did better than I expected,” she said quietly, solemnly, brushing sweat-matted hair from my face. “I almost expected you to have forgotten how to obey. But you remember.”

She peeled the blindfold off slowly, like she wanted to savor the moment my eyes adjusted to her smile. My vision was blurry, eyes weak. I gazed up at her vague silhouette from my place on the floor.

“I didn’t hurt you,” she added, though we both knew that wasn’t true. “Not really. I just reminded you who you are.”

Then she stood. The warmth disappeared. No apology. No comfort. No kiss. She didn’t even offer me a towel. Didn’t offer to help me dress. Didn’t ask how I felt.

She left me. The same way I had left her, I suppose. She just walked away, heels clicking across the floor towards the hotel room door like punctuation marks, each one a definitive stamp on my heart.

I don’t know how long I lay there, gathering the strength to move. The will. For a while I thought I might just stay there forever, melt into the cold, hard floor—disappear. Disappear into the nothingness that filled me now.

When I finally rolled over, slowly and weakly, each muscle straining in protest, and looked toward the door…

She was gone.