His voice was faint when he finally spoke again, with a deeper, more piercing timbre and the slight reverberation of muffled echo. “Come to me,” he said. “Follow my voice with your eyes still closed. You will do this.”

So strong was the urge to open her eyes that she trembled from her shoulders and felt it course all along her body until -- at last -- it reached her feet. As if by their own volition, her feet moved, stumblingly forward, her hands reaching out to grasp…only air. As she carefully put one foot in front of the other, her fingers groping, her mind was split into two racing companies of thought. What am I doing? Can I do this? Why am I doing it? These questions spun and whirled against a maelstrom of other thoughts, more elevated and comprehending. Blind, groping forward, unsure, yes, she thought, this is like every new relationship -- the inner feelings transcribed and transliterated into the physical movement, the physical sensations -- one small, shuffling step forward at a time with the threat, the fear, the potential of looming pain on the unseen horizon. Despite her misgivings, she smiled to herself, listening intently for the sound of his voice leading her forward into…whatever he chose to do or say.

Suddenly she felt her outstretched left hand grasped tightly at the wrist and her body was jerked forward, almost falling. He was pulling her quickly along, his voice a bit muffled as he spoke over his shoulder.

“Follow,” was the only word he said.

Her other hand flailing, she felt it scrape along the close wall. It was cold and wet and rough like the deep unpolished stone of a mine. Her feet shuffled, the soles becoming clammy and more sensitive to the uneven pits and sharp bumps of the flooring. But he pulled her ever more quickly -- now turning this way and that in a twisting, veering dance. Her mind, too, continued its whirl and she focused on his one word command: “Follow.”

Strangely, as they raced further, she was gradually aware of herself becoming more calm and surefooted. The warmth began to return to her body as her mind toyed with imagining what would come next -- the inevitable mix of pains and pleasures, the yielding to his overpowering fuck, the taste of his body, the surrender to whatever desire he displayed…whatever the cost or sacrifice of herself. I will do all that pleases him, she told herself, in a curiously musical mental voice.

At that instant, she felt his hand, the palm flat against her chest, stopping her. She swayed where she stood.

“On your knees,” he said softly, his whisper at her right ear.

Slowly, she lowered herself to a kneel. Her hands and arms automatically behind her back, her eyes still closed. With a sharp intake of breath, she felt the warm skin of him pressed against her lips. She knew from the strong scent, from the taut smooth flesh with its slight crease and bulbousness that it was the tip of the head of his cock.

“Kiss it,” he murmured. “Only once.”

She licked and pursed her lips and leaned closer, but barely had she touched it with a kiss than it moved away again. She whimpered in protest and -- again felt his strong fingers clasp her neck pulling up upward. He released her and she heard his footsteps moving ahead.

“Follow,” he repeated. “Keep your eyes closed.”

Without his hand pulling her along, she swayed and faltered. Then she stretched her leg forward, hands out to grope along the close walls.

“Please,” she whispered in her own darkness. And she followed, moving forward, step by cautious step…listening as his voice faded in the distance. “Follow.”