Hush. I don’t want you to make any sound. None at all. If you do you will spoil this moment. This is not a time for noise, of any kind. Yes, I admit I normally like you to be making some sound. Whether it is your words of admiration, your scream of terror, your murmurs of delight, your shouted anger or moans of passion.
All the noises which you make for me are welcomed, so long as you coat them with your feelings. I do not care for bare comment, neutral and anodyne, that does nothing for me and may even harm me, but you won’t do that for me will you? You do not want to hurt me, ever, do you? You are not like that.
Your kind are not like that, you care and you love and you give. No, no, stay silent. You have no need to speak. Just lie there. Be still. I want to allow my eyes to roam over your naked form as you lie there next to me, exposed, vulnerable. I know you are looking at my eyes, I can sense it. My gaze is not meeting yours at the moment though as I am allowing my eyes to slowly move across you.
I regard your toes, pointing upwards, bare and free of varnish. You rarely apply such gloss to them but you do ensure they are clean, cut and presentable. I know you can see me looking at them. I know you are wondering whether I am going to lower my wonderful mouth to them and suck them or bite them. I am not going to do either of those things but you are uncertain.
I can tell that you are because your apprehension is flowing from you and I am drinking that in. That tiny shudder you just gave was not from the cool air that permeates this twilight space. No, that was indicative of the apprehension which has taken hold of you. I know you are stood at a fork in your mind. I know what you will be thinking. I know because I make you think this way, why else would I do it? I do it for control. I control everything about you.
You stand at that fork wondering whether I will lead you down the line to explosive pleasure or down the dark road towards hurt and pain. You have no idea which it will be because as you have come to learn these last few months, I am capable of both. Should you feel excited? Should you feel nervous? Which is to be? Hush now, do not speak. Oh I know that you want to speak, you cannot help yourself. You want to ask. Always the questioning isn’t it?
Ask, question, query, challenge and so forth. Not now. You want the answer but you are not getting that answer. Not yet. I make a gentle shushing sound. Is it a noise of reassurance, that which the doting mother provides to the new born offspring or is the noise of patronising chastisement, treating you like a child? You do not know. How I revel in your confusion.
I know you are looking at my face desperately looking for some kind of clue, some hint, some acknowledgement of what is going on in my delinquent mind. You are denied. My face is frozen, mouth set straight, brow neither raised or furrowed, eyebrows unyielding and then there are my eyes. You cannot see yourself anymore in them. I have stopped that for the time being.
Usually you get to see exactly what you want to see in them. Whether it is joy, hope, love, passion, excitement, intrigue and so much more. You are only seeing what I know you want to see because I reflect from these eyes what is showing in your eyes. You do not look upon me.
You look upon yourself. That has changed tonight. Now two impenetrable black orbs are all that you can see. The place where you usually lose yourself has become lost to you. You will find no succour for you there. You will find no reassurance or indication of what is about to happen. That is hidden from you now.
You make to issue a further sound and a shake of my head halts you. My fingers trace the red weal on your thigh, the pads of two of my fingers running either side of this mark. Another shudder and I can sense you are desperate to speak buy hush my dear, hush my love, this is not the time for speaking. I know you will wonder why my fingers trace this mark.
Am I soothing you or reflecting on its origin? You have no idea have you? I allow my fingers to move upwards across the tender flesh of your thigh. Is it now that it will happen or will I wait? You lift your left thigh in anticipation and I continue to allow my fingers to drift northwards. I hear your intake of breath and know that again you are making so as to speak.
My hand leaves your thigh and I place one finger against your lips. The gesture clear and unmistakable. The moment where you might have broken the silence passes and I wait and wait a while longer before I move my finger away. Your body beside me is ramrod straight as you are unable to relax, every nerve-ending alert and bracing itself for whatever comes next, whatever that might be.
The outside of my hand brushes your soft cheek, your impressive complexion noticeable even in this half-light. A cheek that sometimes glows red from the consequences of my endeavours. Is it the glow of shame which will coat your cheek? Is it the surge of a passionate flush that will linger there? Or something else?
Now I look at your eyes and this is when I begin to derive the true benefit from this enforced silence. My eyes convey nothing. Yours tell me everything. They flit back and forth, scrutinising my face for some kind of signal, some kind of sign.
I am not transmitting. I am only set to receive and receive I do as I drink in the earnest anxiety flooding from your eyes. I see the attempt to mollify me as you allow those beautiful, expressive eyes to reach out to me. I see the look of apprehension cut through the attempt as the nervousness returns.
You are obedient now. Remaining silent, my repeated exhortations, soft and low, for you to remain silent have been heeded. Now you are trying to speak to me using your eyes and you are doing so magnificently. The lack of noise, the absence of speech, now makes the emotions in your eyes a hundred times more intense. I absorb those feelings which flood from your eyes.
I drink them in, consuming them for my own benefit. This is why it works so well. Complete control of you as you lie there, still, unmoving on the bed, slight and occasional tremble from your limbs as you wait in conflicting anticipation for what may come. What will it be this time? How will I deal with you? There can be no spoken protestation, no elucidated request for confirmation, only this continuing silence, punctuated from time to time by my hushing you.
My eyes remain locked on yours as my left hand once again begins to glide about your body. The lightest of touches which glides from throat, to breast and to stomach. Back and forth moves my hand, like some wizard commencing the gesticulations for his spell-casting. My spell is already working as you remain frozen, barely daring to move, only allowing your chest to rise with your breathing and your eyes to dart left and right, still probing, still seeking those answers.
Hush my darling, hush my dear, hush my love.
My hand rises and then clamps over your mouth.
Your eyes widen. Fear and excitement fighting against one another and all the while giving me what I need.