“Explain it again,” my friend Chelsea insisted before I left for my vacation.

“No talking. There’s no talking allowed.”

“You mean ‘aloud.’”

I laughed as I finished packing my suitcase.

“Can you do that?” she asked.

“Do what?”

“Laugh?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t think that’s ever come up. Most of the time, I don’t walk around like an idiot, giggling for no reason.”

“I would,” she said. “I’d go fucking crazy if someone told me I couldn’t talk for ten days.”

“You’d go crazy after one day,” I agreed, knowing my friend’s limits. “But I look forward to this. In fact, I’ve been dreaming about nothing but silence for weeks now.”

Although Chelsea thinks I’m off my rocker, I head off to a retreat every summer by myself for ten days. She doesn’t think I’m nuts for needing a vacation. Everyone needs time off, after all. She simply believes that where and how I choose to spend my time is absolutely insane.

See, I work like a fiend all year long, and I spend most of my days talking on the phone. I answer clients’ questions, do research, and fill in the gaps. My mouth often hurts by the end of the day from chatting so much, and I drink a lot of green tea with honey to soothe my vocal cords.

This is where the ten days come in.

Every August, I jet to a special spot and take a vow of silence. I’m not the only one. The retreat specializes in this sort of thing, so guests know what to expect. When you see another vacationer, you might nod or smile. But there is no speaking. Yet on this trip I discovered that there was spanking. And bondage. And dominating. Which, I have to say, made the first part somewhat difficult.

I’ll start at the beginning. The retreat is in a beautiful part of the state, and known for the exotic fauna, the sunsets, and the clear, warm weather. The food is divine. The staff is exceptional. Every unspoken need is wordlessly fulfilled. I have never gone to the retreat with a boyfriend because I’ve always considered this trip my “alone” time, even surrounded by strangers. But when I arrived this year, I spied a man who piqued my interest. For the first time at this spot, I was sad to have no voice.

He was exactly my type: a little older than me, with silver in his thick black hair. He had striking blue eyes and a lean, limber body, which I tried not to ogle too hard in our shared morning yoga class. If I’d met him at a bar, I would have wandered over for a drink. If I’d seen him at a party, I’d have begged the host for an introduction. As it was, I employed silent flirting techniques, which I was happy to see him mirror.

Every time we ran into each other, his eyes roamed my body. I would have told him my name, but I was going to be true to my vow. Ten days. Not a word. As the first week progressed, he made things difficult. At breakfast in the great room, he played footsie with me under the table. By the swimming pool, he oiled me up with sunscreen. I had to bite my lip not to moan at the feel of his big hands on my nearly naked skin. (Would a moan have been a problem? A moan is not exactly a word, after all.) Finally, one night at dinner, he made sure we were seated next to each other. He slid a hand under my napkin and, when I didn’t protest, began to stroke me through my dress.

I could hardly finish the meal. Once the dishes were cleared, I practically sprinted with him to his room in the hotel. I was wet, excited, and ready. But he had other plans. Within his room, he still didn’t speak. I didn’t either. He sat me on the edge of his bed and we kissed passionately, our hands roaming, our lips parting. I became more turned-on by the second, and I was ready to strip and go for it — until he pulled away.

Was something wrong? I wanted to ask, but I was now on day four of my vow. Breaking the promise I’d made to myself would have felt wrong.

The man went to his drawer and came back with a paddle. My eyes widened. Who travels with sex toys? Well, I often have a vibrator with me. But that’s different. A vibrator you can use solo. A paddle generally requires at least two people interested in participating.

He handed it to me, and I ran my fingers over the handle, the edges, and the cool, flat surface. Then I looked up at him. What did he want me to do? Did he want me to spank him?

He sat next to me and patted his lap. I felt my heart racing. This was going to be interesting. I’ve had my share of kinky partners, but this was the first time I’d ever been spanked while engaged in a vow of silence. Exactly how was this going to work?

I looked into his eyes, and he smiled at me. That made me relax, so I handed him the paddle, spread myself out over his lap, and held myself in place. We were both completely still. I could hear his breathing, and I could hear my own. There was that beautiful moment of anticipation while I waited for the first blow to land. I found myself pressing my palms against the floor, my whole body tense. Only when he was ready did he begin. He used the paddle on me through my jersey dress, which muted both the noise and the pain. But I definitely still felt the sting in my ass cheeks, and I could also feel his erection pressing up at me from below.

He spanked me in a slow, gentle rhythm. He smacked my right cheek, then my left, then delivered a firm blow that covered my sweet spot. I opened my mouth, but I didn’t let out any noise. I was pleased with myself for being able to behave. I’d never had to accept a spanking in total silence before. This added “rule” heightened my awareness of the entire experience. People say that when you remove a sense (like when you’re wearing a blindfold), your other senses become more acute. That’s how I felt at not being able to cry out. Every blow seemed to echo more thoroughly within me.

When I started to squirm, he pushed me off his lap and stood up. That was it? I was so horny I couldn’t believe he would stop.

To my relief, he simply went over to the stereo and hit the “play” button. In a moment, the room was filled with pastoral, woodland sounds. I found this comical, yet I didn’t protest — and Chelsea would have been proud because I didn’t laugh, either. I knew the soundtrack would muffle the noises we were going to make, so I was grateful, even if the melodies were the ethereal type you’d generally hear while getting a massage or meditating.

He moved to the desk by the window, and I saw him pick up a pen. My mind raced, wondering what he was writing, but I didn’t have to wait long. When he stepped back to my side with the pad, I saw he’d written only, “Safe word?”

I shook my head. I didn’t want to have to speak. Vow-breaking was serious to me. He stared at me for a moment, set down the pad, and then took my head lightly in his hands and nodded it forcefully up and down for me three times.

I smiled. Now we had a “safe gesture.” This was getting funnier by the second. Like if mimes decided to have a go at kinky sex.

He resumed his position on the mattress edge, and I prepared to drape myself over his lap once again. I wanted more spanking. Even though my ass was already hot, I craved that paddle. He stopped me from coming forward by putting his palm up in the air, and he motioned for me to undress. I took off my soft black dress, and I felt him watching. There was something extra erotic about the fact that we were not speaking, that he was issuing commands with gestures alone. I undid my bra and let the little lacy item fall to the floor. The man stood and picked up the bit of lingerie, surprising me for a moment. Did he not like the fact that I’d littered his carpet?

No. He pushed me onto the bed on my stomach, and then wrapped my wrists over my head with the bra. I knew I could get free if I wanted to. He didn’t tie me tightly. This was more like symbolic bondage, but I didn’t care. I felt bound, and that was good enough.

I still had on my panties, which he pulled slowly down my legs and then all the way off. He moved so I could see him bring them to his face and inhale. A delicious shudder ran through me. I loved the sight of him breathing in my heady scent. Then he balled the panties and tucked them between my parted lips, giving me an extra barrier to stifle my moans.

Back he went to his drawer, and I was left in that fantasy place of wondering what might happen next. When he returned to the bed, he showed me two clothespins. I would have swallowed hard, but I had the panties in my mouth. I know my eyes went huge. He rolled me onto my back and straddled my body. I could see the outline of his erection through his pants. If my wrists hadn’t been tied, I would have reached down and stroked that sexy ridge.

His eyebrows went up as he held the pins in front of me. I read the question in his deep blue eyes, and I easily guessed what he wanted. Permission. I nodded once, and he flicked one of my hard nipples with his fingertip before attaching the clip. I groaned softly, but the panties held the sound. He smiled at me, and I could almost hear his voice in my head saying, “Good girl,” even though I’d never heard him speak.

In seconds, he had the second clip on my right nipple. I lifted my hips off the bed, grinding upward against him. The pain in my breasts somehow emphasized the desire in my cunt. The man seemed to understand this. He moved down the bed until he was between my legs, and he started to lick and suck at my pussy. I almost came right then, but I closed my eyes and breathed slowly through my nose, trying my best to hold off the tidal wave of satisfaction. The man seemed to see this as a challenge. He upped the ante, sliding a finger inside me.

Wow, he was good. I’d lucked out. I couldn’t help but lift my hips off the bed and then set them back down, rocking to meet the sweet ministrations of his mouth. Right as I was about to lose my battle with my climax, he stopped and brusquely took the clips off my nipples. To make the pain go away, he sucked on each one in turn, his mouth warm and lovely on my smarting skin. I sighed in relief, but the relief was short-lived. He took one clip and, looking me directly in the eye, attached it to my swollen clit.

I would have screamed. I would have hollered out at the sensation. But I remembered where we were and I held entirely still, clenched my eyes shut tight, and simply absorbed the pain. I’d never felt anything like this before. Not that I hadn’t delved into painplay. But the silent factor really ramped up every other part of the experience. I couldn’t cry. I couldn’t beg. I could only be. Wasn’t that the point of the retreat? To learn from the silence. To be one with the silence.

My lover moved slightly away from me on the bed, and when I opened my eyes, I saw that he was simply observing me. He had a curious expression on his face, and then he rocked the clip on my clit so that a small flicker of pain transformed into a flood of pleasure. I realized I was holding my breath, and when he removed the clip without warning and resumed his licking games, I exhaled and came simultaneously. The man drank me up, not stopping as the orgasm rushed through me. I wished for my voice then. I would have told him how exquisite he was making me feel. I would have thanked him for the extreme joy that lifted me up. Tears sparkled in the corners of my eyes, and my lips parted and I spat out the panties. The man seemed to guess that I was going to speak, because he shook his head and silenced me with his lips on mine.

The kiss quieted me inside and out.

Then he gagged me with the panties once more, flipped me back over, and positioned me on my knees. My bound wrists were in front of me, my body poised on my bent elbows. What was he going to do next? The paddle answered the question for me. He spanked me a few more times with the toy, and I set my head against the mattress and accepted every blow. He heated my ass cheeks until I was sure they were bright cherry red, then finally — oh, dear God, finally — he stripped out of his own clothes and prepared to fuck me.

I was a ball of desire by then, my pussy ripe and dripping with sex juices, my tits still on fire from the clamps he’d put on them. He pressed his cock against my clit before he slid into me, and I couldn’t help myself. A true moan ripped through me, one that he spanked me for with the palm of his strong hand.

I braced myself for the ride, holding as still as I could as he gripped my waist and began to fuck me roughly. I’d never heard his voice, but I told myself a story in my mind to match our actions. I said to myself, in the deep rich baritone I gave my new partner, I’m going to fuck you good, Stella. I’m going to fuck you until you cream. And then I am going to take your ass. I wonder if you’ve ever had to be quiet while a man takes your ass.

I didn’t really wonder that, of course, since I was writing the dialogue and I could say anything I wanted to. But although I enjoy anal sex, I had never been able to be quiet through it. Not that I’d ever tried. I wondered if this stranger would be game. And I wondered if I’d be able to play along.

He stretched me around the girth of his cock, and he worked in and out with the finesse of a man who likes sex. He strummed my clit knowingly while he fucked me, and I came again in minutes, feeling the pleasure radiating all the way to the edges of my fingertips, to the tips of my toes.

But he didn’t come. What was he waiting for? I couldn’t ask, so I turned to gaze at him over my shoulder right as he bent down once more.

My mouth opened and out fell the panties again. Oops. I’d have to be quiet on my own, and this was going to be supremely difficult because of what he was doing now. I shivered all over as I felt his tongue tease my rear hole.

I wriggled on the comforter, wordlessly begging with my desperate body. He seemed to hear every unsung desire. He continued to trick the tip of his wet tongue around my asshole until I was on the verge of another monster climax. He slid his pinkie inside me, and I keened long and low under my breath. I couldn’t help myself. I was transported. If I’d been allowed words, I would have been a raving lunatic. What are you doing to me? How do you know how to touch me like that?

I was desperate. How could I be desperate? He’d made me come several times in short order. But I’m a bit of an anal fetishist. How many men had I been with who’d never thought to knock on my backdoor? This man seemed to know which buttons to push without me saying a word.

He had two fingers in me with one hand and was gently petting my pussy with the other while I shook and trembled for him. My cheeks flamed with embarrassment of how easy I was, but I honestly didn’t care. So I wanted his cock stuffed up my ass to the hilt — that was nothing to be ashamed about, was it?

After bringing me to a new plane of excitement, he stood and walked back to his magic drawer. I knew that had this been a different sort of encounter, there would have been many words between us: “Is this okay?”“Do you want me to keep going?”“Are you ready?” Instead, we were talking with our bodies, and the encounter felt decidedly more primal for this lack of verbal discussion.

I watched as he rifled through his drawer until he came out with a plastic bag. He showed me the contents: a bottle of lube. My pussy positively fluttered. I had hooked up with a man who was so prepared he actually packed lube.

To let him know I was willing, I spread my knees apart on the bed. I wanted him to understand my lust. He did. He greased me up with the lube and then pressed his cockhead against my tight back hole. Oh, for a voice. I would have cried out or, at the very least, I would have whispered, “yes.” Instead, I pressed my face into a pillow and moaned long and low as he slid his cock all the way inside me. The feeling of being filled like that was overwhelming, and I waited for the next part, when he would pull out and then fill me once more.

My new bed companion did not let me down. Over and over he thrust inside me, and each time he pulled out, he pinched my clit. I was a wordless, breathless, hot mess of longing. I wanted to let him know I was going to come, but I still refused to break my vow. I hoped he’d be able to tell when the climax broke. There was no stopping or holding back now. The next time he pinched my clit, I came. Hard. My whole body was wracked with the vibrations that slammed through me. He seemed aware of the very second of my climax, because he gripped me at the hips and then shot his load deep inside me.

Bliss. That’s what this vacation was supposed to be about. Finding your bliss. And now I’d found mine. He pulled out, undid the binding at my wrists, and herded me with him to the huge waterfall shower in the bathroom. We rotated under the spray, soaking up the heat and steam. Then he kissed me once more, dried me off, and led me back to the bedroom. He reached for the notebook and wrote, “My name’s Stephen.”

I wrote back, “I’m Stella.”

I started laughing as I looked at what he wrote next: “Round two?”

I reached for my bra and dangled it in front of him. As he bound my wrists once more, I reveled in the silence of the room. Not a word was spoken. But lust was in the air.