The room was warm and almost completely dark. The only light was the fire in the fireplace, its tongues casting dancing shadows on the walls. I stood by the window, holding a glass of red wine, and watched him enter. He closed the door behind him and stood, waiting for my signal.

"You know that not a sound is allowed today?" I asked, not even turning around.

"Yes, Mistress," he answered quietly.

I turned to him slowly, placing my glass on a small table. I was wearing a tight black leather bodysuit, and high heels emphasized my every step. I knew how this look affected him. Each time it turned him into a mixture of trepidation and desire.

"Strip," I said, and my voice sounded like music in the silence.

He began to take off his clothes, slowly, as if he was afraid to disturb something in this ritual. When he was completely naked, I stepped forward, stopped right in front of him, and ran my finger down his chest, over his collarbone, feeling his skin tremble slightly under my touch.

"Okay," I said, then pointed to the soft carpet at my feet.

He knelt down, silently, as I had demanded. I took a thin leather belt from the drawer of the table and wrapped it around his wrists, tying his hands behind his back.

"You will not speak today. You will only feel," I said, stepping closer and taking his face in my hands.

His gaze met mine, and I saw submission in it. But also a slight hint of challenge. That always amused me.

"You think you can stand the silence, right?" I chuckled, leaning close to his ear. "We'll see."

I leaned over the table and picked up the eye mask, covering his face with it, plunging him into darkness. He tensed, but quickly pulled himself together. I liked how he was trying to control himself, although inside he was already all anticipation.

I led him to a low couch and helped him lie down on it, fixing his arms above his head. Then I sat down next to him, running my fingers over his skin, so slowly that it was more like torture.

"Every touch of mine will be a test for you," I said, taking a thin riding crop in my hands.

I ran it over his stomach, slowly, just marking the lines. Then I lightly touched his thigh, leaving a barely noticeable mark. He flinched, but did not make a sound.

The first blow was light, like a warning. Then I intensified it, adding a little more force. His breathing became ragged, but he held on.

"You're doing well," I said.

I varied the force of the blows, alternating them with gentle touches. It was my game - to confuse him, to make him not understand what was coming next.

After a while, I stopped, took off the mask from his eyes. His gaze was clouded, his face covered with a slight blush. He looked at me with gratitude and, perhaps, with relief.

"You did it," I said, untying his hands.

He sankdown on the carpet, resting his head on my lap. I ran my hand through his hair, smiling.

"You were perfect today. But remember: I will always find a way to test you again."