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.

Pray Prey

Mondays Musical Musings

A story inspired ( or begun) by listening to:

Californian Dreaming

‘I stepped into a church just along the way. I got down on my knees and I began to pray.”

Dorel knelt at the makeshift alter.

Kneeling at the makeshift alter in the mud, Dorel clasped his strong hands around the hilt of his sword. He allowed his head, thick with sweat to rest gently on the hilt in prayer. Others from his clan also knelt behind him. Each ferverently praying for glory at the end of the day. A light misting rain began to fall around the kneeling group. Dorel smiled and turned his face upward, taking it as a sign from the Holy Ones that he would find his place amongst them today.

The battlefield had been set amongst the valley pines. Dorel could see the standards from the other tribes and could make out the hulking muscle bound champions. He knew his lithe agility would bring him victory over brawn so long as he remained focused.

Dorel rose and faced the men of his tribe. “Too long have we been disregarded and disrespected. Our womenfolk and childrens survival depends on this one day. Boars, it is our turn for victory!”

A roar erupted as the men thrust their weapons into the air. As one, they marched through the forest towards the valley and to their glory. A grand Pine Tree lay in splinters, decimated by one of the many meteorites which heralded the coming of the Choosers. High above the battlefield floating on their thrones sat the five Choosers; watching, taking note of every muscle flex, every movement, every victory. Great prestige and honour were bestowed upon the chosen victors. Additionally the tribes they originated were gifted with technologically advanced farming tools which in turn ensured the survival and abundance of the remaining tribe.

A low braying horn heralded the commencement of the battle. As one, the men of the Boar Tribe, cheered, their throats now raw from exertion as they ran head first into the pits of mud which lay before them, before glory. Dorel and his men, spearheaded the mass of bodies clamoring within the sucking mud. Swinging his great sword before him and chanting a prayer to the Holy Ones, he cut a path of blood into the middle grounds. With predetermined accuracy, the Boar warriors followed their leader, uninterested in individual skirmishes, with one goal in mind; that of reaching the firmer grounds before their strength gave out.

A shout and cheer from the far ground forced Dorel to curse. “The Deer Tribe have broken through! Hurry!” His muscular arm clutched a strangler still stumbling out of the mire, pulling him to firmer grounding. A wooden wall, twice the height of a man towered over them. Different tribesmen began to struggle out of the mud pits beside them, panting heavily from the hand to hand battle and the exertion of escaping from the deep mud.

The men of the Boar formed a human pyramid and as the uppermost man reached the top, unwound the strong rope from his waist; forced his sword into the wood and secured it to the hilt. Each man was then able to clamber up the wall with assistance and drop to the platform on the other side. Dorel ensured each of his men had a strong hold on the ropes and suspended bridges before encouraging them to cross quickly and toward the pinnacle. Although there were only five flags fluttering in the breeze, Dorel ensured the twelve men held a part of a flag as they lofted it upward toward the Choosers.

“ We claim the great prize - in the Name of the Tribe of the Boar.” Dorel shouted.

Silently, the thrones drifted down to their level. A tall commanding figure stood gracefully. Her long hair shimmered in the mist, fine drops forming pearls around her head.

.“What a fascinating display of manhood and leadership and dare I say it – team work. To think I was growing bored with the rivalry and bloodshed I usually see. I am sorry there were not more Choosers to witness this unusual tactic.” She smiled confidently. “ Under the laws set by the Holy Ones and the Great Empress, all of you must be included in the Chosen. Your tribe will be richly rewarded for each man who decides to leave this land and travel to us , never to return. There is no shame in stepping aside and returning to your tribe, but once the decision is done, forever must you uphold it.”

Here on the battlefield they risked their lives in tests of strength, agility and fighting ability. The Chosen would be taken from the battlefield, still slick with blood, sweat and mud and crowned victors before lead into the great flight ships the Choosers arrived in.

One of the younger men, more slender than the others, shuffled his feet and looked uncomfortably toward Dorel. Without turning his head, Dorel spoke to him.

“Go Kegan, with our blessings. Your wife is heavy with child and you must honour the Holy Ones first laws of life.”

He turned and grinned at him. “Besides, we need someone to sing our praises and tell the stories of this Choosing at the hearth. It will be a half lifetime before this battle happens again. You will be a greybeard with grandchildren on your knee.”

Reflections

Anissa scanned the sweeping grounds like a queen surveying her court. Her gaze confident, assured, and she allowed herself a wry smile. He’s out there. She could feel it. Would he come for her today?

She had taunted him, tortured him, teased him to almost to a dark despair. He was the strongest of her mates and had escaped the compound. “Damaged people are dangerous”, she thought, “they know how to survive.” She shivered with a mixture of dangerous delight and dread. Despite her impeccable defenses, she knew he would find a way in to kill her.

As a young girl, she had taken the traditional pilgrimage to the oracles to seek her future fortunes. They had showered praise and glory upon her. As she left, a voice from the shadows warned her of men. She remembered sneering, likening the danger of a man to that of a cockroach. Being the voice of one of the oldest oracles, Anissa had politely listened. The oracle had sworn that there was a time when men ruled much of the Known Universe. A ridiculous notion, as women held the power of creation within their bodies and therefore the ultimate power of life. Of course, even if she accepted the story of male dominance as a metaphor, she would be blaspheming, but the idea had always intrigued her.

She sighed, suddenly tired of this existence and illusion. Anissa was the most powerful Mother in Galax 5. Entire communities could be exterminated with one of her frowns. Unless she sought to usurp the Empress, she had reached the pinnacle of prestige and power. Bored, she had begun to be reckless with her mates. She cruelly tested her incarcerated mates seeking reality and truth. Each had failed, until one of her new mates, brought in from a distant planet, defied her. His eyes dark with fury which would have bested the most powerful of her allies. She was bemused at his insolence, an unknown quality amongst the feeble minded male species. She had given him a free reign within certain boundaries, discovered that he had a sharp mind and could speak on most subjects with the ease of a highly placed woman in any court of the Known Universe.

Anissa clenched her fist, remembering being angry at him for stealing her power. His mere presence in the room would distract her thoughts and she could feel her strength ebbing away. She believed he drew on the godly powers beyond science and had punished him cruelly; sobbing behind the door with every blow struck to his body. And yet, he remained insolent and silent.

She gently stroked the glass window in front of her and breathed out, misting the highly polished surface. “ You’re here.”

Anissa turned on her heel and swept past her fawning servants. She had no time for the weak or subservient. She intended to dress in her most beautiful gowns and await the dance of death he had promised her.