And she said, "Tell me a story, Sir, to bring me to you........

The story is in your subconscious, in your dreams, in your nightmares,
the story of your long hair, braided and drawn back,
the tall vertical rack, stretching your naked quivering body,
the caress of the cool damp air in the castle tower,
from yonder high slotted window, the slight breeze of it
mixing with the caress of the flogging whip,
so carefully crafted of suede deer skin strips, bright red,
with handle covered, braided, in red and black.　

The soft red strips matching the red blush of your body,
hot from the whip, and cool from the slight damp breeze.

And the breeze, wafts through,
highlighting the tingle of your tormented skin,
cool..... drifting between your legs,
widely spread, stretched, quaking,
cool..... mingling with the moist heat of you,
the wetness which betrays your protests,
belies your appeals for mercy.
Reveals your true soul.

The dungeon Master, he watches,
satisfied in what he has created,
in what he has fine tuned, in what he has played,
as one would play a fine and beautiful musical instrument,
stretched on this great rack,
and making music,
that moans deeply, that shrills highly,
as deftly the violinist tunes the stretch of the strings,
he cocks the master's ear of his psychic
to the tones of this submissive's response,
and shares the mind trip, as he watches, closely watches,
the rhythm of frantic, stretched, breathing,
the beat of the drum heart striving to escape it's rib cage,
pulsing, pounding, struggling to recover,
from the intensity, from the pain, from the pleasure,
from the discordant become concordant,
from the crescendo just flooded over,
like great music, they are, you will be,
and you know as you feel the quiver of the bow, your back,
the tingle, tinkle, of the twin bells you thrust up to be played,
and splayed, and spoiled, yes,
you know. for it is your own story,
you hear it from your own fantasy, your own destiny,
retold, relived, from days of old, and yet still to be lived,
come here and I shall play You.

Do It Now, yourself present,
for the Master needs a good instrument,
to replace one lost, so long ago,
in ancient land, so far away.
Come Here, today!
May the great black Raven be,
with you, today,
and all the great birds of prey,
soar over you, on rising spirit's warm clear day,
and guarding you, stay,
till I am, till I do, till I do you,
as I have foretold,
till I twang again your strings,
as in days of old,
in dark castle, ancient land,
far away,,, yet here, today,
And she said, "Yes Master, I'm on my way."

The dungeon master from ancient lands bids you farewell,
again,　 till then,
till now was then,

till time turns back

upon its self,,,,

 
And may a quake and a shiver

thru you flash with a quiver