Crucifixion of a Prophet - August, 1997
Blood Red Rose, Gerald (The Favorite)
Subj: Crucifixion of a Prophet
Date: 97-08-13 19:54:10 EDT
From: BldRedRose
::a parcel arrives at Merentha Keep - a familiar flash of gold lame, bundled up neatly with a thin ribbon of sanguine velvet... as the bow is loosed with a simple tug, a tightly rolled piece of vellum drops out from between the folds of the loin cloth... neatly scripted on the smooth ivory sheet, in ink the color of dried blood, are the following words, so simple, yet holding both the promise of untold pleasures and tortures heretofore unexplored::
Consortium front gate. 6 P.M.
::and embossed at the bottom of the parchment is a single blood red rose, an unmistakable indication of the missive's origin::
@)~~~)~~~)~~~
~~~
::at the appointed hour, Rose stands in easy repose beside the wrought-iron gate, her features all that is languid and calm, her gloss-black suit hidden beneath the inky velvet of a cloak, its hood trimmed in dappled ermine… at her feet rests a familiar basket, of lacquered black, its contents draped over with alayer of heavy satin, allowing only the faintest traces of crimson to peek out… she brushes the hood of the cloak back, to reveal the ever-startling display of fiery locks, made even more wild at her temple as the night breeze catches the curls and lifts them about her porcelain features::
I've missed you, Gerald... ::is all she says, the words drawled out in an aristocratic purr… in the distance, a wolf offers its mournful howl, and high overhead, the full moon casts an eerie wash over the pair::
::he walks up the path, from the direction of the keep, having gotten the missive to be at the front gates, his body clad only in the golden loincloth that was with the roll of vellum, muscles glinting from the shadows cast by the moon overhead, his eyes gazing to his mistress as he catches sight of her, an almost gasp at the beauty he has not seen for some time, closing the distance to her in a casual grace, bespeaking of his place before his assent into slavery, his reserved smile upon his face:: As I have missed you, Mistress Rose...
::with an almost imperceptible shudder, she averts her gaze briefly, so that he may not see just how his grace touches her... after a long moment, she returns her eyes to him, the twin emeralds braced once more with a stern fire... the front of the cloak parts, and her forearm rises, a gloved fingertip extended in silent command, and she waits, watching him, watching the gate, to see if he truly wishes to return to her service… and in that moment, as she waits in apprehensive curiosity, to see if he will put his back to the gate as expected, the silence is almost deafening::
::he almost quirks a brow as she avers her gaze, wondering if the sight of him has displeased her, though having noted the shudder, his cold blue eyes meeting hers as she looks back to him, noting the fire within them that he has so missed, watching as the front of her cloak parts, not understanding at first, and then noting her glance to the gate, walking to it and stepping so that his back is positioned to it, the moon casting long shadows over his face and the contours of his body::
::her eyelids drift closed for a brief second... but is it relief? or apprehension? ... only the thrumming of her heart knows... and lowering her arm in an elegant arc, she drops to a crouch, a gloved hand wrapping around the handle of the basket, another brushing aside its heavy black draping, to reveal a burst of crimson roses, the stems all at least a foot long, and every one untrimmed, the waxy prickle of thorns clearly visible as they glisten in the moonlight... peeking out from beneath the roses is a hint of alabaster, and her hand dives under the blossoms, to tug up what appears to be a long coil of ordinary hemp rope::
Subj: Re:Crucifixion of a Prophet
Date: 97-08-13 19:57:06 EDT
From: BldRedRose
::he gazes upon her as he sees her eyes drift closed, the silence almost unnerving, his own eyes following her movements as she goes to a crouch, watching her hands remove the draping, his view alighting upon the roses, never having seen as such untrimmed, the thorns catching the light of the moon, his back pressing to the cold gate as he awaits her missive, her every move caught by his eyes::
::rising once more, she levels her eyes to meet his, and there is a glimpse of fleshy pink, as her tongue darts out to the corner of her mouth in hungry anticipation... stepping forward, she nudges the basket ahead of her with a patent-clad toe, and draws herself up before him:: I trust you won't move? ::the timbre of her voice indicating more of a command than a question::
::he gazes within those emerald eyes as they meet his azure, the tongue caught within his mind as it touches her lips, feeling her presence more than seeing it as she steps forward, her body feeling so close as she moves in front of him, shaking his head lightly as she speaks, his own voice low and betraying no emotion:: Nae, Mistress Rose, nae unless it is your will...
::crouching, then, at his feet, creating the very deceptive picture of saintly acquiescence, she lowers her head to the task at hand... reaching aside, she lifts one of the rose stems from the basket, drawing it up slowly, and nudging his thighs apart, as she nestles the thorn-laden bloom between their muscle, the velvety head of the flower brought to rest just beneath the hem of the loincloth, to offer a velvety caress, even as the thorns bite into his skin... propping the rose there with one hand, she slips the rope up, and, taking one loose end, begins to wind it behind him, looping it through the gate and back again, repeating the process several times, to bind his legs together, increasing the pressure with each tug... and as she works, she leans forward, to press a delicate kiss to the front of his left thigh, and then the right::
::he swivels his gaze down to watch her as she crouches, remembrances of his former position within the church fluttering through his mind before being forgotten, opening his thighs for her, feeling the lightest prick of pleasure from the thorns, relaxing as he feels the head of the rose caress him, watching her as she begins to wind the rope around him, feeling as the pressure increases, licking his own lips softly as he feels her velvety lips pressed once each time to each of his thighs, awaiting the next move in this rather interesting display::
::catching up the remainder of the rope in a loose slip knot, she reaches again to the basket, this time drawing out two of the precious stems... one hand pressed to each of his calves, she wedges the heads of the roses under the rope at his thighs, then loosens the knot, drawing the rope down and winding it briskly, again through the rungs of the fence, and back around, pressing the roses and their piercing stems into the fronts of his legs as she goes... after four or five revolutions, she gives a constricting tug, and, with a satisfied nod, reaches towards the basket once more, taking up a pair of gardening shears and clipping off the end of the rope, leaving just enough to tie an intricate knot... snipping off another few feet of the seemingly endless coil of rope, she wraps the hemp around his ankles, and ties it snugly, knotting it in similar fashion, before rising once more, the basket hooked into the crook of her arm, the rest of the rope dangling from its lip::
Subj: Re:Crucifixion of a Prophet
Date: 97-08-13 19:58:57 EDT
From: BldRedRose
::he again looks down to what she is doing, watching as the stems are removed from the basket, his mind rolling with the feel of her hands upon him, feeling as the heads of the roses are popped through the bindings at his thighs, amazed at the speed and grace of her hands as they wind the rope once more, moving it around both the fence and his legs, his eyes closing a bit as the thorns upon these newest roses cut into the front of his legs, his eyes widening as he notices the gardening shears, and then relaxing as she uses them to cut the rope, his eyes following every move as she wraps the hemp around his ankles in the same fashion as the earlier knot, following her movements as she rises a bit more, feeling the soft trickle of blood from a few pierced places upon his legs::
::her chin tilted imperiously upward, her gaze never leaves him as she feels her way into the basket once more, drawing out another pair of roses... these she holds up with a delicate grasp before him, slender fingertips wedged carefully around the thorns:: Open your mouth, darling... ::she purrs, lifting the stems towards his lips like an offering::
::he relaxes and focuses upon the burning within his legs as he meets her gaze, seeing yet another pair of roses emerge from the basket, wondering that she would plan all of this for him, noting the gentleness within her grasp of them, a smile gracing his face at her command:: Aye, Mistress Rose... ::he opens his mouth as the roses near, his eyes remaining upon hers as he awaits the feel of the thorns::
::with a dainty curl of her wrist, she props the thorny stems between those appetizing lips, and a nudge from the pad of her thumb invites him to close his mouth around them... holding a moment, to assure that the roses will stay in place, she then lifts her hand, the wrist remaining bent as she brushes an adoring caress upward across his chiseled cheekbone... her gaze at last drifting to the side, she extends the same arm outward, running the leather-clad fingertips in a languid stroke down the underside of his right arm:: Lift your arm out to the side, level with your shoulder..
::he feels the first of the thorns as the stems are placed between his lips, then feeling the thorns break flesh in various places as he closes his mouth from her unworded missive, knowing she need not hold, but loving the feel of her hand upon his chin, feeling it more as she runs it over his cheekbone, his eyes following the movements of her arm, his eyes closing a bit as he feels the movement of her fingertips under his right arm, nodding and lifting the arm level with his shoulder::
::one brisk half-step to the side, and she is before the extended arm, lifting yet another rose from the basket... she angles it so that the full, velvet bloom is resting in his palm, the angry thorns pressed against his bare forearm... without so much as a glance, she drops the basket to the ground at her feet, catching up an end of the rope as it falls... in much the same manner as before, she begins to wind the rope around, lacing it through the fence, and drawing it back around in a snake-like coil, wrapping it evenly, so that it appears like a spring of sorts, as the hemp binds the rose stem against his flesh::
::he swivels his head to the side as the first taste of his own blood enters his mouth, savoring it past the burning within his lips as she removes yet another rose from the basket, feeling the soft bloom of it pressed to his palm as the jagged thorns dig into his forearm, hearing as the basket his the ground and watching as the rope is wound once more, admiring the precision and artistry of the design she is creating with him, wondering why she plan such as this for him, his hand almost closing out of reflex around the bloom as the thorns pierce his flesh from the binding, keeping his hand open as to not damage the fragile bloom::
Subj: Re:Crucifixion of a Prophet
Date: 97-08-13 19:59:47 EDT
From: BldRedRose
::she is creating a work of art of him because of the sheer magnificence of his beauty, and because no other form of combined torture or pleasure would be befitting... with a swooping step, she reaches down to the basket once more, plucking up one more rose, leaving only one remaining, as she crosses over to the other side... a gentle nudge, this time, signals him to lift that arm against the fence... but her hand lingers there, to stroke the brawny underside of his arm in tender devotion, a gesture in alarming contrast with the pin cushion she appears to be making of his body::
::his head swivels once more to keep his vision upon her, noticing the rose within her hand and the one within the basket are the only two left, following her movements to his side and regarding her nudge, lifting his arm and reveling in the pleasure of her strokes against the underside of it, knowing he should think this quite humiliating to be displayed as such, but something drawing him to the beauty of the artwork involved, awaiting the next rose within his palm, turning his hand open for it::
::in reaching across his chest, her gloved hand brushes across the steely muscle and glances against the ring that, she notes, has not been removed in his long absence from her… she catches up the dangling end of the rope with one hand, and with the other, places this rose in the same manner as the last, dropping the delicate blossom into his palm, and holding the stem in place with one extended fingertip as she begins the arduous process of looping the rope once more, beginning at his underarm and repeating the intricate curl that binds his arm in place against the fence and hold the razor-sharp thorns against his skin... when at last she reaches his wrist, she loops the rope one last time, then leaves the long end to hang there, turning aside and crouching to reach for the shears once more::
::he tilts his head back a bit as her hand moves over the muscles of his chest, her motions against the piercing causing a shock of pleasure in line with the pain from the various thorns pricking into his body, holding the soft blossom within his hand as it is placed there, feeling as the thorns from this newest rose cut into his forearm, more so as the rope is wound about the stem in its coiled swirl, his eyes regarding her as she finishes with the arm, reveling in the stinging sensation of the thorns as they break flesh once again, looking to the long portion of rope as it dangles from his wrist, looking down as she crouches and waiting::
::her expression throughout this entire creation process has been one of somber reflection, but as she rises, gardening shears in hand, a playful light enters her eyes... she snaps the shears briskly, several safe inches away from his face, then turns back to the task at hand, the amusement easing away, her features returning to calm composure once more... clipping the rope at about a foot from where it dangles from his wrist, she lifts the shears to hold them in her mouth, while nimble fingers make quick work of knotting the rope... and, with a satisfied nod, she stands back at last, her gaze traveling over him, to survey his appearance in critical study before at last rising to meet his eyes::
You were considered a prophet once, in your home land, Gerald... and so you shall be regarded once more... in a peculiar sort of fashion... ::that little glimmer of joy returning to her emerald eyes::
Subj: Re:Crucifixion of a Prophet
Date: 97-08-13 20:01:10 EDT
From: BldRedRose
::his own expression through this process has been one of contemplation and an almost longing, watching as she rises once more with shears in hand, seeing the playful look within her eyes that is so rarely seen, quirking a brow as she snaps the sheers at him, yet a smile upon his face as she does so, gazing calmly once more as she clips off the end of the rope, both arms and legs radiating a burning pain of the piercing thorns, the last knot placed as the rest were upon him, his gaze following her as she regards her creation, then letting his eyes meet hers, remembrance of his past echoing through his head at her words, once being the Prophet for Christianity upon Erna, before he found a power he yearned for more, regarding the joy within her eyes and waiting::
::the shears, now held in hand, are dropped carelessly to the ground:: But there's something missing yet... ::one corner of her mouth twitching upward with a flicker of growing amusement, a delicate quirk of her brow reflecting the emotion... both hands rise, moving towards the stems clasped firmly between his lips, and at the same time, she presses closer, the sleek surface of her suit almost radiating a curious heat, the beginnings of her own arousal... lifting her face to within inches of his, she utters breathlessly:: Open your mouth once more, darling... ::gloved fingertips wrapped gingerly around the stems, not daring to move until the stems are free of his tender lips::
::he hears the soft clunk of the shears as they impale themselves within the ground, gazing upon her as she speaks, seeing the amusement within her features once more as she quirks her brow, never having seen her quirk her brow previously, almost feeling the palpable heat from her suit as she presses closer, his own arousal sparked at her closeness and the pain, nodding and opening his mouth as her fingers move to the stems, the thorns pulling free from his lips easily where he had closed his lips around them, tasting the coppery blood as it works its way to his tongue::
::she utters a low moan, her features alight with pleasure, as the stems are lifted away, her arms dropped to her sides, carrying the jagged roses with them... tilting her face up towards his, she leans in still closer, and her eyelids drift shut, as she presses a kiss to those torn and bloodied lips, her tongue flicking out to lap away some of the coppery liquid, before thrusting inside, to part his mouth open and begin the gentle exploration of its contours::
::he listens to the moan as it escapes her lips as the roses are drawn away from his own lips, his eyes following the motions of her arms and then back to her as she tilts her face up, tilting his face down enough to meet hers, his lips moving softly with her within the kiss, the pain delicious as her tongue laps at the torn and bloodied lips, parting them more for her as she thrusts her tongue within his mouth, letting his own tongue meet hers and lick at its underside as his lips press to hers::
::her tongue winds broadly around his, in an animal dance of unspoken hunger, as the swell of her chest presses against his, the only place that is as yet untouched by the lancing pain of rose thorns... her moan grows in volume, muffled against the cushion of his lips... and then, just as suddenly as she began, she draws away, ending the kiss with her own lips still parted wide, a look of wonder in her eyes that slowly diminishes as her mouth drifts gently shut::
::his lips press hungrily to hers as the taste of her lips and his own blood spurs him on, feeling as she presses to his chest, feeling every contour through the suit she is wearing, an oasis of pleasure within the desert of pain surrounding his body, tasting her lips as she moans deeply against them, their lips parting as she draws away, his own wide as he revels in what just occurred, closing his own lips softly as she does so, his eyes having taken on a look similar to hers as they kissed, slowly fading as he once again awaits her next move::
Subj: Re:Crucifixion of a Prophet
Date: 97-08-13 20:04:44 EDT
From: BldRedRose
::glancing away for a moment, to shake away the spell cast by the mere taste of him, the feel of his lips against hers after so long an absence, she inhales deeply... with a little shudder of arousal, she brushes the folds of the cloak out of the way of her arms, lifting them and tilting her wrists, to bring the roses and their spindly stems into an "X" against his chest... but she doesn't press them down, simply leaves them lingering close for a long moment... and then, she lifts her arms high, wedging the stems beneath the single strand of rope crossing over his chest and driving them down, with a gentle force that nonetheless causes the thorns to scrape against his skin... lowering her arms with the movement, she brings the roses to rest so that the blooms are caught at the top of the rope, the stems laced across each other... and there they stay, as her fingertips release them, rising to brush across the brawn of his shoulders::
::he watches her as she glances away from him, still tasting her lips upon his own, having been far too long since it last occurred, watching her as he feels her moving against his chest, and the slight shudder as it passes from her body to his, gazing down as she makes an "X" with the roses, feeling the light prick of the thorns and the caress of the blooms, closing his eyes a bit as she wedges the roses under the rope at his chest, feeling as the thorns cut on their way down into place, unmoving as she moves the roses perfectly into place, his eyes once again moving to hers as her hands brush over his shoulders::
::as she gazes at him, wide-eyed with wonder at his perfect beauty, she is tempted to take yet another kiss... but there is yet something missing:: You need something... an added touch, I think... ::comes her silken whisper... and as she leans away, her hands dropping to her sides, her eyes fall from his, dropping to the seemingly discarded basket on the ground at her feet... dropping into a fluid crouch, she gives a little irritated toss of her curls, and before reaching for the basket, she wrestles with the clasp at the neck of the cloak, unhooking it and brushing it carelessly over her back... as she reaches into the heavy folds of satin, gloved fingertips take a firm grasp and whisk the fabric aside... in that moment, three things are revealed... yet more roses, this time a wreath of the thorny stems that rests coiled at the bottom of the basket, a glint of silver just beneath... and as she rises, wreath in hand, it is clear for the first time that her waist is not enclosed in the heavy boning of her cincher::
::he nods as he listens to her speak, watching her lips as they move slowly, yearning too for another taste of her lips:: Aye, Mistress Rose, if it is your desire... ::he follows her lean as she goes down, his eyes losing sight of hers, noting the toss of her curls as she looks to the basket, wondering at why she is removing her cloak, his eyes unable to catch upon what lies at the very bottom of the basket, catching the wreath as she finally stands and then looking past it to note the absence of the cincher, but still wondering at what else lies within the bottom of the basket::
::at long last, a Cheshire grin overtakes her features, as she takes the half-step towards him... lifting the ornate wreath of intricately woven stems and delicate buds, she holds it carefully with both hands, bringing it to rise above his head... a moment's pause, and she lowers one hand, the gloved fingertips brushing aside a stray lock of sandy blonde hair... then taking the wreath in both hands once more, she lowers it with a slow sort of ceremony, wedging it over the dull gold tresses, but careful not to wiggle it too much as she draws the crown down over his forehead::
Subj: Re:Crucifixion of a Prophet
Date: 97-08-13 20:10:41 EDT
From: BldRedRose
::he gazes softly upon her as that grin spreads across her features, his eyes moving up to follow the path of the wreath as she holds it within her hands, feeling as she moves a piece of his hair out of the way of his forehead, feeling as the thorns drag a bit within his hair as she lowers it slowly, the thorns pricking lightly into his forehead as she draws the crown down all the way to a natural position, small beads of blood forming upon the thorns, thinking of how ironic it is that the once Prophet of the one God is displayed now as his saviour once was, with a crown of thorn upon his brow, but definitely no saviour::
::lifting her arms away, her grin still broadly displayed across her porcelain features, she laces one hand across her belly, the other rising to cup her chin, and with a look of mock consideration, she hums to herself:: Hmm.. still something missing... ::and her gaze darts to the glimmer of silver at the bottom of the basket... but instead of reaching for it, she takes one pace back... her features suddenly harden, the grin taking on a certain dark dementia as her eyes narrow upon him... in that step, she walks out of her heels, kicking them aside to rest in the grass... and her hands rise to fold before her, one taking the zipper at the top of her neckline, and drawing it slowly down… ::
::his eyes follow her motions as she lifts her arms away, watching as her hand moves across that perfect belly, noting the mock look upon her face with a slightly quirked brow, nodding as she speaks:: Aye, Mistress Rose... ::he watches her as she steps a pace back, his own eyes following her hands to the zipper, licking his still bloodied lips softly as he watches her hand move down with torpid ease to reveal a triangle of ivory flesh, and the inner curves of her cleavage::
~~~
::some time later, her chest heaving with the struggle to regain composure, she draws both hands up to rest on her knees... inhaling deeply, she lifts her languid gaze to meet his... her eyes, in this moment, are still wild with desire, but edged with the tenderness of some deeper emotion... she waits there a long moment, listening to the sounds of the night, studying him curiously, then, leaning forward, she slowly rises from her crouch, her legs a little unsteady as they bring her to stand before him... a gentle away of her hips, and she takes a single step forward, her gaze drifting down to the basket once more, and then returning to him.. but she does not touch him, simply lifts her hand, to within an inch of his lips::
::he lets one of his rare smiles form upon his face as he watches her, seeing the light sheen of perspiration upon her body, his own breathing steady as he regards her from his position, her emerald eyes meeting his azure as she looks up, noting the wildness within them, but also something different, something he can't seem to put his finger on, studying her as she does him, his eyes following her movements as she rises from her position upon the ground, noting her unsteadiness but not being able to assist in his current placement, following her gaze down to the basket and then back up to her, her hand filling his vision as it moves close to his lips, the skin catching the light of the moon and shining so temptingly, parting his lips a bit, but not moving forward as he has not been given a missive since she started::
To whom do you belong, Gerald?... ::the words drifting out carelessly, as her fingertips trace a gentle line across the contour of his lower lip::
Only to you, Mistress Rose... ::his own words soft and deep as he speaks, feeling as her finger traces across his lower lip, the liquid tingling the skin::
::and for the first time in many weeks, a grin of true pleasure graces her features... in fact, she looks as though she might cry at any moment, so great is her joy... but she doesn't, of course, merely swallows back the impulse, and with a cooing voice that trembles the slightest bit, she whispers:: Would you like a taste, pet… ?
Subj: Re:Crucifixion of a Prophet
Date: 97-08-13 20:13:02 EDT
From: BldRedRose
::another of those rare smiles crosses his face as he sees her grin, only having seen her cry once before in the time he has known her, watching her as she swallows back some emotion, noting the tremble within her voice and whispering back:: Aye, Mistress Rose, if I may...
::her gaze locked on his, she braces one hand against his chest, carefully avoiding the thorny stems pressed there, and slowly lowers her fingertips to his mouth, nudging them forward to part his lips, her simple nod the only sign of assent::
::and it suddenly occurs to her to be very glad that no one came in or out of the estate grounds as she was cloaked only in moonlight, and kneeling::
::he licks his lips softly as she feels her hand upon his chest, parting his lips to her fingers and slowly sucking each fingertip in turn, reveling in the taste, remembering how his tongue has tasted the same of her many times, glad too that none came out here while she was busy, as he would not wish for that embarrassment upon her because of himself::
::her eyes drift closed once more as he takes those fingertips delicately into his mouth, and with a soft sigh of pleasure, she languishes in the adoring gesture, allowing those slender digits to linger there for a long moment... her other hand, meanwhile, digs into the coil of muscle at his bare chest, as she feels another wave of desire ripple through her... but it is not to be, not tonight... with a shudder of regret, she slowly removes her fingertips from his mouth, dropping away with her gaze averted... and, inhaling deeply, she turns towards the basket, dropping into a fluid crouch beside it and snapping up the glimmering links of a new silver chain, then rising to face him once more::
::he gazes softly upon her as she closes her eyes, his lips moving slowly over her fingers, moaning softly as her other hand digs into his chest, feeling the ripple through her hand, his lips closing as her fingers are removed, licking the last taste of her off his lower lip, watching as she crouches by the basket once more, his eyes falling almost adoringly upon the new chain, tilting his neck back a bit::
::her eyes are forced into a dispassionate blanket of emerald, and with another regal lift of her chin, she parts the silver circlet with her fingertips, extending it all the way out to the limits of its choke fastening, so that it will fit over the crown of thorns and roses ... with a ceremonious elegance, as though she were performing a coronation, she brings the chain up above his head, then lowers it slowly, her fingers spread wide, and occasionally dropping away as she works the chain around the wreath... when at last the chain has fallen to rest around his neck, her solemn expression is erased by the beginnings of another smile, and with a nimble tug, she tightens the chain firmly around his neck:: You'll remain here for the night... ::she purrs:: .. but I promise to come and retrieve you well before morning's first light... in the meantime... ::her gaze dancing around at the ropes binding him:: I know full well that you could escape those ties... but, perhaps, your own devotion to me will keep you in place... ::these last words spoken with an unusual tenderness::
::he gazes upon her as she lifts her chin, his eyes never leaving the circlet of silver as she lifts it up over his head to get past the crown, sighing softly as she lowers it around his head, the thorn upon the wreath cutting into him slightly as the chain moves around it, sighing softly as it falls to his neck, regarding the smile as she tightens the chain to its natural position, as if it had never left his neck, feeling as the cold silver rests upon his chest:: Aye, Mistress Rose, I shall remain within these bonds of rope as you wish...
Subj: Re:Crucifixion of a Prophet
Date: 97-08-13 20:14:11 EDT
From: BldRedRose
::he regards her voice on the last, his own voice taking on a note of softness unusual for him:: Aye, Mistress, tis my devotion which will keep me within these bonds, for once again sane, I will never leave your side...
::a few tears do indeed glimmer in her eyes at this moment, and she swipes them quickly away, forced to avert her gaze once more... turning back, she lifts a single, slender fingertip to his forehead, picking up a droplet of blood and bringing it to her lips, just before tilting forward, to press her mouth to his once more, her blood-smeared lips crushed to his with a fiery intensity::
::his eyes wander over her eyes as he sees the tears within them, watching as she averts her gaze, following her finger as it moves to his forehead, watching as she takes of his blood, returning her crushing kiss as she presses his mouth his, his lips moving hungrily with hers as he tastes his own blood and a bit of her still upon his lips::
::the salt and copper and sweetness all mingle in the flavor of adoration, and she languishes there a long moment, savoring the taste and feel of his lips... but at last, she draws away, with a glimmer of regret in her eyes, a last loving caress of his cheek... and bracing herself for the long night without him, she takes a deep draw of breath, then turns to collect her things... the shoes, the satin, the crumpled suit, all go into the basket, she plucks the velvet cloak from the ground, shaking it off and whirling it over her shoulders.. tugging it tight around her, she bends to hook the basket over her arm::
::he too revels in the combined flavors within the kiss as his lips press to hers, holding it as she does, finding he has missed the taste of her, his lips closing ever so slowly as she draws away, moving his face within her caress, knowing his body will ache for hers this night, watching as she collects her things, his eyes roaming over every perfect curve of her body, licking his lips and then sighing softly as she puts the cloak around her, his eyes never leaving her::
::with a little flutter of alarm, she reaches down to scoop up the gloves, tugging them on quickly over her rarely-bare hands... then, lifting one last long gaze to him, her expression unreadable, her emerald eyes swimming with the dark mystery of something that might be cruel worship, might even be a sadistic sort of love, she brings the gloved fingertips to her lips, wafting a gentle kiss across the night air to him, and turns to depart, making her way up the cobbled path to head back inside the estate walls::
::he smiles softly as she picks up her gloves, his own expression equally unreadable as he looks to her, cold blue eyes regarding his Mistress with something that perhaps no mere words could describe, watching as she blows the kiss and then leaves, gazing out upon the night once more:: Sleep well, Mistress...
Subj: Re:Crucifixion of a Prophet
Date: 97-08-14 19:46:21 EDT
From: BldRedRose
::true to her word, she returns down the cobbled path just an hour before dawn's first light... the sky above has taken on a charcoal hue, as the normal blanket of stars, and the moon's radiant glow, are obscured by a thick cloud cover that has rolled in over the night... traipsing down towards the gates, she flings the velvet cloak over one shoulder, revealing the steady, eager gait of a woman eager to get another glimpse of her creation, tempered by the restraint of wanting him to linger there, in pain, just a few moments longer... the winds have died, and a pre-morning hush covers the land, the only sound being the clicking of her footsteps as she travels down the stone walkway and draws herself up in front of him... hanging over one arm is the black lacquered basket, empty, but for the pair of gardening shears... and she pauses there, her gaze travelling over the worn and weary figure of a fallen prophet, revelling in the beauty of his pose::
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