Stay a while, and listen

What is the harm in listening? It's just a radio after all. With a sheepish smile, he slid a little closer, clutching his makeshift radio as he followed the voice across the dial. His fingers flicked with increasing confidence, finding her voice almost as if they were moving in unison. "... good boy..." the voice called out, as if knowing that he'd crossed a major decision to keep going.

Some far off part of his mind jolted a little at her words. How did she know? But he was past the point of caring. Instead, he simply smiled, the deeper, primal thrill of this woman's voice far outweighed whatever momentary nerves he may have. It was so good to hear another human. If only he could talk to her, get closer to her. In futility, Samuel crawled closer still, head pressed to the speaker.

He couldn't tell if the voice was moderating, or if he simply had stopped hearing the shrill wails as much, but he found it easier to listen to. With every passing minute, the song became easier. Every high seemed more melodious and every low sounded more sensual. "...listen to my song...hear my voice...carry...away..." The words flitted in and out of hearing, but the mantra became steady enough that Samuel began to fill in the missing words. The vibrations of the speaker on his face felt almost like the gentle brush of a woman's hand. He wasn't sure exactly how long he'd been listening, but time wasn't a concern as the woman's song seemed to go on forever. Until...

"...close your eyes..."

In an instant, his eyelids felt too heavy to remain open. Sliding them shut felt like a small, blissful concession. Dimming the shaded sun from above, his head drooped as he listened. The call continued without pause, but only now, he could see the sounds forming like swirling colors in his mind. Watching them twist and curl, the woman's voice filled his mind, pressing down on any thoughts, like a wine-press squishing grapes, inch by inch.

"...my voice... will carry you away..." his hand barely moved, twitching only slightly to maintain the best connection. "...and it feels so good to listen... you want to listen... to my song... to my voice..." Samuel could almost hear the smile on her face as she said this. So confident, so sure of herself. He was so lucky to have found this radio transmission.

"... you are so lucky to have found my song... so good... to listen...it feels so good to listen...to stay..." her voice was capable to be both melodious and breathy, all at the same time. "... to obey...." Samuel shuddered as the word pressed into him, like an ancient archetype imprinting on fresh wax. He let out a soft groan, cheek rubbing on the speaker as he nodded his head. "...good..."

"...mmm, hear my song... my voice... and obey..." the song modulating, old and new lyrics in a kind of tantric chant. "....relax..." the word seemed to fill the length of the whole song, words beginning to layer on top of one another. Samuel, one hand still on the dial, indeed locked to it, rolled onto his back, adjusting his sand-crusted pants as he found her words to be sedating as well as stimulating. Her voice stirred through him, causing his member to stiffen even as the rest of him grew limp.

As he reached and tentatively began to stroke with his free hand, "...yes... good... relax and obey," the words were embedded so deeply now that they echoed in his mind. His hand began to stroke more insistently, the song building, as if by his own actions. He was pumping steadily, to the encouragement of the song, but just at the moment of satisfaction, the music shifted ever so slightly, and he lost his edge. Wimpering a little, Samuel began to redouble his efforts, but the pleasure slipped away like sand between his fingers.

"...here my song... listen and obey..." the voice continued, pitch sliding around, the colors in his vision a myriad beyond what an artist could render. As the pitch quivered and pulsed, it slipped again into a groove and Samuel felt the pleasure grow again. His hand didn't stop, but his heart pulsed at the approaching climax. Once again however, the voice turned away at the final moment and Samuel began to backslide, in spite of his most ardent attempts to achieve climax.

Time and time again, the voice carried him to the brink of satisfaction, only to teasingly pull back. Samuel became ****, aching with desire. What few thoughts he was able to form through the steady pulses of the song, were not of survival, or rescue, but of reaching that sought after moment of release. Minutes turned into hours, and the song wouldn't let him go. Behind his eyelids, the light began to shift and slid into darkness. Some part of him realized that the day had past. Some time later, he realized the sun had returned. Throughout it though, the song would not let him go.

Concerns about water, about food, about rescue, none of it seemed to matter. The song had him locked in her vice-grip and he had no choices, no thoughts, he could only obey. Time stretched out beyond all meaning, only his hands moved. One to adjust the dial ever so slightly, the other to futilely work to achieve an ever elusive climax.

Some time later... his body felt dry, felt cold, felt empty and ached, but a smile, almost manic was locked across Samuel's face. Night had fallen and he couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten food, his parched mouth felt dry and dusty. He could barely move even if he wanted to. The only parts of him with any life were those that followed the song's subtle demands.

In the distance, barely heard over the song was the steady flap of leathery wings. The song shifted to a stereo beyond what one speaker could achieve as he heard the subtle swish of bare feet on sand. The voice grew in intensity, new this time. After an age of a steady rise and fall of the song, he felt a shiver of surprise. This was more urgent, more insistent. ".... give in... obey... relax..." the voice was so close now. He was so close now. His motions had renewed life, he could feel it growing, nothing could stop him this time, he was sure of it. The footsteps grew closer but he couldn't be bothered. "Good boy," the words came to his ear as soft lips moved against his earlobe, and with one final shift of tones, it pushed him over the edge into climax.

He let out the cry of a marathon runner, of a castaway finally reaching the shoreline, the orgasm shook him, rocked him out of all sense and reason. The spike of pure pleasure filled the void as the song at long last died away. And like a marionette whose strings had been cut, he fell into a coma-like sleep of one finally freed. The last thoughts he had before all sense left him was whose hands were casually lifting him from the ground?