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the Jackal
She appeared in the black of night and succumbed to the sting of my crop. I drank from her vase of purity, and felt the fires of Hell ignite within my soul. In the haze of a dream the Jackal appeared in disguise, and mounted her like prey. The seed of a dream was implanted, and on all fours she submitted to my command. She has been touched by the tender hand and the harsh sting of the only one that can feed her wanton cravings.
Basking in the glowing light of the harvest moon, the slender curves of her soft skin are exposed for the ritual quenching of the red thirst. Her open wounds oozed the elixir of my intoxication and fed the fire that raged within my essence. In the shadows of an illusion the Jackal lies in wait, listening to the cadence of the dance as it unfolds. The hungry craving to defy rises up to excite swift anguish at the hand of the one she has sworn to obey.
Rising high in the air, the black wand of erotic lust is readied to extort its power to electrify the soft wetness and enrapture the mind. Her soft whimpers of discomfort drift from her lips like waves washing the shore in an endless ballet of discovery and transformation. The dim light of a foggy dream hides the image of the Jackal from the minds eye, but, deep in the folds of a lustful thought, the seed has been sown.
The curved mounds of delight lie waiting for the stinging heat of sensual pleasure. The hidden valley of masculine obsession floods with heavenly droplets of feminine opiates. Her moans of seductive torment heighten the raging fever of lustful fervidity. The Jackal prepares its assault as the mist subsides, and the earthly flow begins to show by the moons eerie glow.
Bearing down with a thunderous roar, the heat of the staff strikes the soft mounds of flesh, leaving in its wake, the fires of hell descending toward the valley of adoration. Her muted pleas go unheard in the stillness of the night. The air is thick with the red scent, and the Jackal cries at the crimson moon with its helpless prey in sight.
With the crack of the whip the soft flesh gives way to the parting of the gates. The secret entry to the valley of desire is revealed and the pathway to the forbidden fountain of renewal is at hand. The Jackal with its teeth exposed ravishes its defenseless prey by tearing and devouring the soft flesh and filling its belly with the burgundy wine. Her silence is deafening, as she lies there exposed to the wanton cravings of my desires. The Jackal is now just a passing thought as it descends back into the dark recesses of my unearthly appetite. The feast is finished and the dance complete until again the hunger rages, and the thirst goes unquenched. This is the waltz that binds our souls together.
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