Sweet Torture

Mondays Musical Musings

A story inspired ( or begun) by listening to:

Express Yourself

by Madonna

A Research Story for NaNoWriMo 2008 - Moonshadows.

Anissas hand lingered over the sweaty chest of the warrior hanging between the posts. Her beautifully manicured fingernails traced the blood trickling down his chest as she delicately dipped and brought one to her mouth. Her tongue flickered out as she tasted the salty liquid.

He suddenly lurched toward her; his arms pinned but pushing her bodily with his chest. Anissa was caught off balance and landed in a flutter of silken gowns on the cold stone floor. Glancing up, she looked directly into the fierce eyes of a caged predator. Catching her breath, Anissa continued the stare, marveling at the strength and anger behind the eyes. Her other mates were compliant, easily guided. Even the outer world mates, she occasionally bought as a diversion, would succumb to her demands within moments of her persuasive measures.

Regally rising from her ungracious position, she leaned in as close as she dared towards his face. Cheekbones chiseled from granite and piercing blue eyes filled with hate bore into her skull. A flutter of an unknown emotion buried deep in the pit of her stomach arose. His eyes and face haunted her every waking moment. She needed to end this now. A week of persuasion was unacceptable.

“You are an enigma Dorel. I am offering you the bedside of the second most powerful being in the Empire. Kneel to me and accept the wristbands of servitude. You will want for nothing. Your place in my palace will be elevated towards that of one of my maids. Most men of the Empire would give their lives for one day of this privilege.”

Growling, Dorel spoke at last. “I came as one of the victorious Chosen, under the protection of the Holy Ones and of the Empress; not to become the plaything of some power hungry woman” He distastefully spat the last word as he glared at her.

Despite his blasphemy, Anissa was impressed with his spirit. She forced herself to laugh at his pagan beliefs. “Women have always ruled the known universe – they are the Holy Ones. You will survive a little longer if you stay your sacrilegious tongue. You accepted the guise of the Chosen. It is not of my concern if your provincial beliefs confuse the contracts clearly stated in the sacred writings. You must place the wristbands on yourself, else the energies are broken and you will perish as they are drawn from your body.”

Pushing himself to stand as straight as the bonds allowed him, Dorel looked at Anissa evenly. Her waiflike body emulated a power he had never experienced. They stood watching one another, glaring, taking in every microfibre of one anothers being. His eyes tracked her long creamy neck, a dreamlike colour and texture he’d never seen before. How harmful could it be to wear these jeweled wristbands and become the lover of this very beautiful woman before him? Dorels head ached and his muscles screamed in agony. Despite her appearance, she was ruthless and skilled in the art of torture.

“And if I refuse?” Dorel replied, the first admission that he might consider placing the bands over his wrists.

A wry smile came across Anissas face ,knowing he would crack shortly. “I could choose to gift you to another politician; who I am sure would not be as patient or gentle as I have been.” She smiled with a genuine warmth. A flicker of emotion stabbed Dorels heart. “But my guess would be that you would refuse to the end.” Her sweet breath filled his nostrils as she slid closer to him and loosened one of the bonds. “What a waste of a fine specimen. I would hate to have to terminate you” she continued, scrutinizing his physique.

With a twist and flick, the bonds lay on the floor. Dorel crumpled to the ground, rubbing his arms and wrists and meekly accepted the pair of jeweled wristbands Anisa handed him.

Twisting them around, upon inspection, they appeared to be nothing more than a beautifully handcrafted set of thin metallic wristbands set with precious stones; so Dorel clamped them in place and looked up at Anissa.

Screaming suddenly as pain shot from his wrists and through his body, he crumpled to the floor; unconscious.

Anissa sighed. “If you don’t fight it, it won’t hurt”. She bent over to check the clasps and detractable tiny needles and programmed the compliance drug dosage to its highest level. She had hoped that it wouldn’t have to come to this, but reasoned that she would be able to drop the dosage over the next few years; optimistic that he would keep some of his intelligence and spark.