Main Page ~*~*~
I hear you enter the room as I lie on my bed silent and motionless
in the cold darkness. Your slender figure moves without a sound as
you come closer and closer to me. I hear the soft rustle of cloth as
your robes brush against the body that I so love. I know without
looking that you are first folding them neatly – you always hate
mess of any kind.
The covers are slowly peeled back as you enter the bed to lie
besides me. Always you come like this, under the cover of darkness,
always slipping away before dawn. I must be your shame, a vessel
from which you ask for bodily pleasure, and I give without
questions. Night after night you come to me, seeking release,
leaving after it is finished. No words are ever said during this
time. I content myself with simply accepting whatever little you
give, whatever scrap of affection you pass my way.
Tonight is no different, I think sadly, as your arms reach for me.
There is a silent agreement between us I suppose: you have that
which you seek and I have the cold comfort of your body.
My hands trace the lines of your body in the darkness of a night
without a moon. I shower my love on each part of you, saying what I
cannot say in words. Either you never notice or you ignore what I
express. My rough fingers drift over the small nipples that tighten
under my touch. I only know of your pleasure because of your body’s
reaction to me. You remain silent in your pleasure, not breaking the
oppressive mask of silence. Neither do I, afraid that what little I
have of you will be taken away from me.
My hands know your body by heart, offering it worship when you join
me in the night. But I am not permitted to see what you look like
under soft candlelight, nor touched by the morning sun. My hands
touch you, caress you, until every sensitive spot in your body has
been found, but I can tell you are not in a mood for foreplay this
night as a small bottle is pressed into my hands.
It hurts, knowing that the touches of my hands are not what you
want. I feel like a whore, merely there for you to find release.
However, I coat my fingers with oil and slide them down your cleft
to prepare you.
I do it with uttermost care, seeking to give you pleasure while
doing so, but there is nothing but silence, a mute request for more
as your hips press down further. I enter you slowly, pushing inside
that warm place, and still you are quiet. I move silently and
quickly over you and your legs wrap around my waist, urging me
faster. There will be no tenderness tonight - you want to be fucked.
Obligingly I thrust rapidly, hitting that spot inside you and making
your body tremble beneath me.
It doesn’t take long for us to finish. With my hand wrapped around
your shaft, I bite back my cry of release as you freeze, then spill
over my hands with a soft grunt – your only sound of the evening.
Never will I hear my name on your lips cried out in ecstasy; never
will I hear those three words from you, for which I would die.
I am your whore, not even allowed the honor of feeling your lips
against mine. In those few moments in which I am permitted to hold
you as the effects of our orgasms wear off, if you just kissed me
once, you would taste the bitter saltiness of my tears as they trail
down my face. Perhaps, if you stayed a few minutes longer, you would
hear my sobs when I can no longer hold them back. But you do none of
these things, leaving mere moments after we are finished, going back
to your own bed.
My bed is still warm where you have just lain, the scent of sex
still in the air and your seed still on my fingers. I can’t
understand it; none of it makes sense. Why do you do this to me? All
I want is to love you, but I fear if I tell you it will only push
you away and that I could not survive. I need you, I have to have
you, and so when you come to my bed on these nights I never refuse
One thing remains the same throughout all of this. Each night you
join me I lie afterwards in this bed wondering when you will grow
tired of me. Each night that you aren’t here, I wonder if you have
found someone else - someone better than I. Worries and fears such
as these keep me awake until I can no longer hold back the slumber
from my eyes.
I will lay in this bed of mine, until the morning, even though it is
dirty and stained by sex. Sleeping this way will not bother me, for
it cannot compare to the filth that I feel inside that stains my
soul, These are just sheets and can easily be cleaned.
No, this shadow can never be completely removed, unless removed by
the one who inflicts it.
Only by you, my beloved Erestor.