Hush
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.
Hush.
20 thoughts on “Hush”
Vent Your Spleen! (Please see the Rules in Formal Info)
This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.
I was trying to think of a word for this tale yesterday.
Today I am going to call it sordid.
I think different articles are posted for very different reasons. Some to teach, some to illustrate, some to question, some for the sheer love of writing. Different articles will appeal to different people for different reasons with the learning absorbed in different ways.
This one has the shock factor on the face of it. It lacks sincerity though and as such I consider it to be more of an indulgence of creativity. There is an element of truth here, of that there is no doubt, but it has been embellished for dramatic effect. The later paragraphs are too thought out, too regimented and too edited for this to be written from memory. My conclusion therefore is that it isn’t memory, it’s written from fantasy. Beautifully written, serves a purpose, will appeal to some, but lacks the usual authenticity to make it to my top table.
Don’t forget, HG will take on the voice of a mid-ranger or a lesser if that’s the purpose of the monologue. He’s suiting the voice to the character, which is one of the things I find most user-friendly about his work.
Correct
HG, I have read both books in the Disorder series. I could not put them down. In fact, I read the second (Ensnared) before I read the first not realizing it was a series. Now I am wondering if/when you will publish the third book in the series?
I was also surprised at how well you were able to identify with the victim in that series.
Let me just thank you here again for your insight.
I cannot give you a date yet for when it will be published. Thank you for your compliment. I listen to my victims, observe them and then transfer that it into my writing.
I like HG’s writing. It is one of the things that draws me to him.
I also write.
Placing yourself in the character’s shoes is paramount to a good story, sordid or otherwise.
That I could imagine the scenario, its import, and also the emotion involved means it had an impact on me.
And that is also the purpose of a good story.
In this case, HG achieved his aim.
Shocking, disturbing, suspenseful.
And leaving me wanting more.
Thank you.
Absolutly wrong truthseeker. In fact so wrong its brimming over with wrongability.
Just because YOU have not personally experienced it does not make it impossible.
I knew a MME. He did precisely what HG has described. He even placed his finger on my lips. Before going down on me and giving me a screaming orgasm.
When I’d recovered, I asked him how he did it. How he knew me so well. He said this. There are many chapters in this book and we are on chapter 1.
Cocky sod. Granted. But he knew what he was doing.
Dont be so quick to dismiss on the face of it what seems improbable.
Hey Renarde 🙂
Not suggesting at all, that this couldn’t happen. Just that it didn’t happen here. I understand that articles are posted for different reasons, some based on HG’s personal experience, some created to teach, some based no doubt on the experiences of others etc. This just didn’t feel like a personal experience post. It felt creative. That’s not to say there aren’t guys out there that would do that or similar with similar or varied results.
I can remember an ex trying something similar with me, it was around the time I’d been reading Fifty Shades lol. I ruined it by giggling though, I wasn’t being mean, I just set off giggling. ‘ Sorry, give me a minute, let me just get my face straight.’ Which set him off giggling. All was well, so the story has a happy ending 😜
REN.
There are many chapters in this book and we are on chapter 1.
OMG…Trigger, Trigger, Trigger
My N told me we would write a book together at the start of seduction. Chapter 2 was Titled…”getting to know you”. I was star struck.
Fast forward a couple weeks later, I of course ahd been rereading all the “words” and noticed there was a Chapter 1 that I had never noticed. It was titled “The Chosen”.
I felt over the moon. Here this beautiful man 25 years younger than me had “chosen” me over all the others.
I lived on that word for a long time. Now I hear it and I cringe…………
OH MY GOD . YOUR KILLING ME . ITS HOT IN HERE . AND YOU LEFT ME HANGING LIKE THIS , OVER AND OVER AND OVER . THE FIRST TIME WAS ON OUR WEDDING NIGHT , YOU SAID ( GET UP SHAR & MAKE DINNER ) WHAT. ????? I WAS 18 I DIDN’T KNOW .WELL I DO NOW .HATE AND ENVY. A MAN HAS TO HATE WOMEN TO DO THAT .
If you’ve never read Colette’s Claudine series, see if you can get ahold of it. Maybe there’s an audio version if it’s not available in large print. It starts out when Claudine is a schoolgirl, already cynical about the sexual hypocrisy of the adults around her, but one of the sequels, Claudine and Annie, focuses on Annie’s realization that her absent husband, whom she thought she missed, is a narcissist who has kept her dependent, insecure, and unsatisfied. I don’t believe Colette ever used the term Narcissist, but the pattern is clear enough.
Is it just me who always imagines that photo, of Sarah Ferguson and that grey haired pot bellied guy when anyone mentions toe sucking? (gravelly voice) “Give me your foot.” God no, anything but that. (well not anything but you know what I mean).
Truth-seeker no I don’t see that old thing that was with Sarah Ferguson years ago I see a little of my husband Gene when we first got married and I was this little hundred and 14 pound I was so pale and so blond and so scared and so numb and so thankful for him but now I’m not little skinny girl the blond hair is turning platinum silver and I’m not that scared. The narc male friend of the last few years that I’m trying to do this no contact with , I have done it and I’ve broken it .I’ve seen some of that I’ve seen the callousness and the nothing in the eyes , the voice that was raspy I felt the pain he was causing me I see the nothing in his eyes .wow I mean wow that’s all wow but I certainly don’t see the old fart with Sarah Ferguson I think he was just a passing page on her little book .every time I pick up one of these posts from HG I see my life I see my wants my desires my fears my frustration my hopes my dreams the things that were dashed the things that will never happen I’m not in my 20s 30s 40s or 50s anymore and it’s all gone it’s all gone it’s never going to come back again but I have things I didn’t have before I have the confidence to look anybody in the eye tell them where to go how to do it how to shove it and that’s a relief because if I was like that before I could have conquered the world Thank you h. G. For showing me so much of me , good or bad whatever it is . ALWAYS WONDERED WHAT PLANET I CAME FROM . WHEN I WAS VERY YOUNG IF I DID ANY THING STUPID MY FATHER CALLED ME ANNA MY MOTHER CALLED ME HAROLD IF I SHOWED ANY KIND AGGRESSION, I KNEW I WASN’T LIKE EITHER ONE OF THEM , THANK GOD. so when I married Gene if I did something dumb didn’t understand a.word he called me Anna Gene called me HAROLD when he picked an ARGUMENT for negative feedback if I fought back . ( NOW I KNOW ITS PROBABLY TOO LATE FOR ME I HURT TOO MUCH BUT I’LL TELL YOU THIS , I MAKE SURE EVERYONE IN MY CIRCLE , UNIT, COMPANSHIP IS HELPED BY YOU HG. ) SINCERELY THANK YOU SHARON
Smarinucci,
I read this a few days ago and needed to think about you for a bit before commenting. My experience pales into insignificance at the side of yours in all honesty. Things are relative, my hurt is very real, so I can understand, just not compare. It sounds like you were manipulated by your parents first, married young and then manipulated by your husband. There you stayed, Signed away all your young years to someone who did not and will never deserve you. You must look back at that young slip of a girl and feel heart sorry for her. As time passed she was becoming ever more trapped. The more she tried to make it better the worse it all became. She had no understanding of what she was up against, how could she?
But you do. You understand.
You have paid a very high price. No more.
And, you know what? It is never too late. The blonde hair may now be specked with silver but you have one hell of a lot of life left in you yet! One hell of a lot of love still to give, but only to one who deserves it. You put up with so much for so long. You are strong. Stand up, shake the dust off, move forward, and be exactly who you want to be. Who you deserve to be. It is not too late for you. The world is filled with amazing people and amazing things. Think of something that you really want to do. A place that you really want to go, even if it’s only an hour away. Then go there. Start there, focus on you, build, keep building, and never look back. It is not too late for you. You will not be beaten my girl!
I wish you all the luck in the world x
Dear truthseeker 6157,
That was beautifully stated, so supportive and encouraging
I too wish that for smarinucci1970
💕
Luv Bubbles xx 😘
Thank you Bubbles
You always always make me smile x
SMarinucci:
Have you seen the movie Harold and Maude? He’s in his 20s and obsessed with death; she’s pushing ’80 and living the full-on quirky life years before anybody ever heard of Zooey Deschanel.
Yeah, it’s a movie, and I’m not saying you need to hook up with somebody half a century younger, but there’s a lot to be said for not having two fucks to give what people think of you.
Do you think its possible for a female empath to have Madonna/whore mindset?
My husband recently suggested nipple clamps and I felt uncomfortable. However when narc and I talked about them I was totally into it.
I don’t get it…..I suppose the narc represented all things forbidden? Or maybe I just like the idea of being dominated but can’t actually get behind it in real life? That would certainly explain why narc was always frustrated with me lol.