I stand at the foot of the table watching you intently. The silence is wreaking havoc on your already overexcited senses. My eyes travel over your face taking note of the slight parting of your lips, the furrow between your brows, and the flaring of your nostrils, all signs of your heightened awareness. My gaze wonders over the muscles of your upper arms, bunched and tight, to the leather cuffs around each wrist, linked together and held over your head with a single tether. Though I can follow the tether only to the edge of the table, I know that after disappearing from my sight, the thick black rope wraps back to travel under the length of the table and separates into dual tethers that eventually lash each foot to a table leg.

As I watch you lying there, naked and trembling before me, I cannot help but become aroused at the sight of you. Though you willingly submitted to the restraints, the blindfold that now keeps you in a state of constant awareness was a bonus you weren’t expecting. I know you were aroused by it though; the soft moan that escaped your lips as I slipped it over your eyes a dead giveaway. I know your body as well as I know my own; every contour, every flaw as familiar to me as my own face. I know you are aroused, and I know you are nervous.

After slipping the heavy leather blindfold into place, I moved to the spot where I now stand and watch and wait. I’ve watched your nipples grow hard with chill and with nerves. I’ve watched your breathing go from slow and steady to shallow and quick. I now watch as the tension in your muscles builds and your body tightens in fearful anticipation. There is a thin layer of moisture on your skin and the pulse in your neck is visible as your heart beats wildly in your chest. I cannot believe you have been silent. I asked for your silence but thoroughly doubted your ability to give it. This small measure of obedience sends my hopes soaring. How far will you let me go? How much will you endure before you utter the words that will demand your release? I’ve such plans for us if only you will trust me, surrender to me.

I am aware of the exact moment you reach your limit. Your lips part and you draw in a single deep breath in preparation to speak. I drop one palm firmly on your left knee. You exhale in relief. I’m unsure whether you are relieved that I am still here, or that the game has begun. No matter the reason, your body relaxes back onto the table, quiescent and still. I begin to prepare the room around you so that my plans will go smoothly. The very sounds of my labor seem to soothe you and your breathing returns to normal. A predatory smile lifts the corners of my lips as I envision all the ways I plan to disrupt your current calm.

The first item to catch my attention is a set of grooming clippers. Recently I’d asked you to stop shaving your pubic area, anticipating the day when you would set yourself firmly in my hands. Picking them up, I return to stand between your spread thighs. Staring at your face, I am curious as to what your reaction to the next sound will be. My attention is rewarded when your entire body jerks against the restraints as the clippers hum to life. I lay the vibrating trimmers against the skin of your inner thigh and you become rigid. Your chest heaves as your breathing becomes ragged. You have no idea exactly what is sending the tiny vibrations across your most sensitive areas, only that the sensations are there. With my free hand, I grasp the pubic hair you are now sporting and pull it firmly away from your skin. As the clippers move beneath my fingers and close to your skin, a whimper escapes you, loud enough to hear over the buzz of the trimmers. In an automatic defense reflex, your flat stomach dips in on itself, becoming concave as your body readies itself to flee or fight. It only takes a moment for understanding to dawn and the defensive posture to relax somewhat.

On the first few swipes, the clippers never touch your skin taking off only the ends of the bush you’ve grown. When the excess has been trimmed away, I place a warm palm flat on your thigh, silently bidding you to stay still. I place the head of the clippers against your skin and begin to shave the remaining hair. Though the clippers are brand new, I know that they will often catch a hair and pull. I’m anxious to see your body’s reaction to these sharp tugs of pain. Moving slowly, I trail the trimmers over every contour, every nook. Your body responds with obvious arousal, the vibrations from the clippers strumming your most sensitive nerve endings. I lift and part, poke and caress, reassuring myself that the job is being done. When your groin is as smooth as I can get it with the tool at hand, I take a large make up brush from my stash. Its bristles are soft and worn. I brush it gently over your entire groin, each stroke a whisper of touch that pulls your body deeper into the fantasy.

You hear me as I move away from you once more. Now there is the sound of running water and your mind frantically sifts through the hundreds of possibilities.