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
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
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
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 you.
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.