“Don’t say anything. Not a sound. Not a whimper.”

I am hyper-aware. The fur tickles my eyelids and I feel the buckle pressing into my skull, just behind my right ear. My splayed limbs are tense against the unyielding bands encircling my ankles and wrists. I am a fallen star.

"Don't move.”

I feel a warm shock of smooth skin against my thigh. Soft, so probably... but I can’t feel your hair, so... and then the cool curve of leather tapering to a spike resolves the geometry of your body.

“I said don’t move. Now open your mouth.”

Communion.