On Sacred Ground
You dance through fantasies, each word an innuendo, each pause an invitation to another.
You are the flame, the spiral, the pendant, the unattainable that makes hearts aflutter, thoughts spin, knees sink… You are loved and you know it.
Tread softly, hypnotic women because you tread on eager minds, the most sacred ground of all.
Two different things served as inspiration this time around. The first was a piece of music by Yanni entitled “On Sacred Ground” from the album If I Could Tell You (one of my personal favorites) that was playing on the background when I started writing it. The second, a passage from William Butler Yeats’ famous poem He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven, first included in his thrid poetry book The Wind Among the Reeds.
The Wrong Question
“Jack, I noticed you stopped asking me to put you under… What happened? No longer interested?”
“No, I’m interested, Bev. I stopped when I finally realized I was asking the wrong question.”
“Really? What is the right question, then?”
“When haven’t you put me under?”
“I like that question a lot.”
“I know you do.”
Questions, questions… it’s funny how they go, even funnier where they end up leading… a bit on an impromptu based on that.
Typing Her Will
“I must obey,” Andrew typed, feverishly. How many times had it been now? One hundred? Three hundred? A thousand? It didn’t matter. Only when Samantha released him, was he allowed to stop but, the more he kept going, the less he wanted to… to…
“I must obey,” he kept on typing, plastered smile, empty mind.
One of the most common ways of classic conditioning is to have a sub write things repeatedly, mechanically, until they begin to seep into one’s brain, rendering him pliable. Maybe I’ve been conditioning myself by writing these with clockwork precision, who knows?
Disheartened
“How are you, Bill?”
“Disheartened, Jeff.”
“What happened?”
“I summoned a succubus last night and she took out my heart… literally!”
“What? How are you still alive?”
“Magic, I suppose. I’m her slave now, and her orders were clear.”
“What were they?”
“Get her more servants. I’m sorry.”
“She’s right behind me, isn’t she?”
“Smile.”
A bit of dark magic and a literal title. I believe you should smile as well, but don’t look back, okay?