On my mountain, I sit in silence most days. Working from home, I often choose not to listen to music or put the TV on to drone along in the background. The contrived noises are a foil to the silence I enjoy. The truth is, it’s never really quiet. The voice in my head is constantly active, a barrage of thoughts, songs, and snippets of words and phrases later to be written are always flowing. The birds and bugs that live here in the woods with us provide a lovely background of sound. Chirps and squeaks, buzzing, singing and scratching, the sound of a falling branch, the light pitter patter of rain and the deafening thunder of a torrential downpour are the soundtrack to our lives.
Sound is important to me, the pitch, the volume. I am not attracted to people with grating or unpleasant voices. If they are too loud, too whiny, too smokey, it bothers me. It’s me, and I know that, I would never admit that to someone because it would be cruel. A person usually cannot help the way they sound.
He has a sexy voice, soft around the edges, the pitch is right in the middle, a lovely baritone that can creep higher if he wants to make me laugh or lower if he wants to get his point across. His sexy whispers bring goosebumps to the surface of my skin. His laugh, the real one that bubbles up when he finds something truly funny, is wonderful, a chortle that starts deep from within and bursts from his mouth in a series of staccato giggles. It makes me smile every time.
I especially enjoy the sounds he makes for me, the groans of pleasure that spill out when I wrap my lips around his cock, the desperate pants as he fucks my throat faster and faster as he gets closer to filling my mouth with his come. The soft whisper in my ear, good girl, when he slips his cock in my ass, bottoming out as his hips press into my ass cheeks. I melt for these sounds.
I also like the words that tumble from his lips as he fucks me hard, dirty words that make my cunt clench around him. Yes, take my cock, whore. You’re a hungry come slut, aren’t you. You’re mine. I eat the words he spits at me. I drink them in as I happily swallow the offering he gives me. They cause me to gush, they push me closer to the precipice and over the edge.
I’ve been a singer my whole life, and my speaking voice can be songlike, hovering in a higher pitch, then dipping low for dramatic effect. When I speak to him, my voice takes on a different quality, one that is unmistakably polite and demure, far different than the voice I have with clients, colleagues, friends or family members. It’s something that has come about with conscious effort and practice, but I want a voice that is just for him.
He brings sounds out of me that are wild, noises that I’ve never heard before, hidden deep down inside me and suppressed for many years. I was largely silent before we started exploring BDSM, only allowing lady-like sighs and moans to escape my lungs during sex. Now, I sometimes bellow, a howl like an animal that starts in my belly. I scream, pounding my fists, gripping and thrashing and gritting my teeth. I moan and grunt and growl. I cry, the tears pouring down my cheeks as the intensity of a well earned orgasm crashes over me. High pitched moans come out in warbly pants as I try to catch my breath, sniffles and sighs of relief indicate that I am coming back to reality. I giggle, coming out of subspace as if I’m wading through crashing waves, my limbs weak and unable to make sense of gravity. I curse loudly to the sky as he thrusts into me, making all of my wobbly bits dance to his rhythm. Yes, please fuck me! Fuck my ass, I’m your whore! Come inside me! I never felt comfortable with dirty talk before, but now it comes naturally when he’s being rough, when he’s taking what he wants and I give myself willingly.
The sounds we make blend in to the forest. We don’t have to worry about someone calling the cops because I’m screaming while he hits me with a deluge of filthy insults. The slap of his hand on my reddened ass and my pleas for mercy will never raise the eyebrows of nosy neighbors. No one will ever be aware of my slutty, greedy need to be dominated, used and owned. Here on the top of our mountain, we can raise our voices in worship to each other, we can drown out the noises of the wild animals and rejoice in the sound of our own primal needs.