The several seconds you had been sitting there with your fingers pressed to your lips felt like an eternity. Almost like you’d been put into stasis. 

Just waiting.

Waiting for your hypnotist to give you any indication that they had noticed your silent request to speak. To make any sound at all.

The seconds ticked by.

They must have seen the signal. It wasn’t like it was subtle. You pressed your fingers to your lips more insistently, and the tiniest corner of your hypnotist’s mouth twitched, just slightly.

They’d seen. Of course they had. They were just making you wait. Just toying with you.

The little whimper you would normally let out at this realization got stuck in your throat. You didn’t have permission to make any noise, after all.

You pleaded with your eyes for some kind of response, a permission, a denial, anything really.

It didn’t come. Only the mischievous glint in your hypnotist’s eyes gave you any indication that they were even aware of your internal struggle.

You started to squirm as the tension inside you mounted, as more and more little whimpers and moans got caught in your throat, the suggestions you’d been given making it quite impossible for anything more than your increasingly ragged breathing to escape your body.

You couldn’t even remember what it was you’d wanted to say in the first place. Not with the intensity of your hypnotist’s control over you pressing in on you from all sides. 

Your face reddened as it occurred to you how needy and desperate you must look, pleading with your eyes and squirming under your hypnotist’s gaze. Rendered completely silent, forced to simply await the verdict on whether you would be allowed to make any kind of sound.

Of course, however you looked now was nothing compared to how you would look- and sound- when you finally received permission to let all those trapped little sounds out. 

Which was, of course, the whole point of toying with you like this.

More eternal seconds passed.

“Permission granted.”