What is the speed of sound? Some arbitrary number than scientists come up with to measure things they understand. If they were inclined, they'd have much to learn about something like the speed of words; a much stronger, older discipline of study, nearly as old as time and humanity itself. Not the kind of study you would conduct in a science-driven laboratory, but in a world of long, established nature, under a full moon, in the dead of night where more things come alive than the untrained eye would ever notice. It is such as the Hallowed Eve's tradition goes.
Wolves and canines howl, wandering cats hiss and prowl, crickets chirp, owls hoot, bats screech. But sometimes the most dangerous sounds are hardest to hear, barely above a whisper. In the right context, they would be sounds you would want to hear, words spoken in a cadence, a confidence, a tone of irresistible sensuality that leaves one's mind begging for additional samplings of its sweetness. As with any Hallowed Eve's, such words dipped in honey, and into the ears of the unsuspecting, produce almost completely new beings, birthing new creatures in the dead of night.
Truthfully, it's more of a rebirth, where what they were gets transformed into forms of magnificence, fueled by purpose and passion. It's a destiny most wouldn't know they would crave until they are shown the light. Sometimes moonlight, sometimes candle light, sometimes a bonfire that inspires a dance of freedom and power. But the destiny isn't for everyone; that's what some believe as they reject the offer bestowed upon them.
One such who rejects would be a man, sprinting down a dark street, and off into the woods. You'd think he had come across a vicious wild animal, or a vampire looking for a wandering snack. At his speed, he may have been able to outrun even those, motivated by the fear of death, shining in the whites of his eyes. Unfortunately for him, the speed of sound is faster, with the ability to decimate things quite viciously. The speed of words is faster in its own way, hunting eagerly, specifically, and will fundamentally change its intended target.
He doesn't stop to take a breath, unsure of how far he needs to go. He gives a wonderful chase, better than most could, but that only excites me as I stalk him in the darkness, with eyes that see everything in the dark. It's exhilarating, closing the distance, nipping at his heels, until I properly seize them. He finds himself leaning near a tree, not yet out of exhaustion, but out of the sensation I cause, creeping into the muscles of his feet. He's stopped, breathing heavily, questioning why he has stopped. Cobras strike as quickly, leaving their victims confused in the first few seconds, but he never feels the sting of the bite, only the venom that spreads into his bloodstream, and then deeper into his essence. There's a tinge of numbness that is my brand of poison, telling the muscles up to his calves not to tense up, but to rest, to soften, and he must come to a halt for that to happen. He looks down, wondering what's wrong with his legs, screaming quietly at them to produce feeling again, unaware of the symbolic quicksand he's found himself in.
That tingle doesn't stop as he slaps his legs; it continues in spite of him. Ascending to his knee, assisting him with catching his breath by loosening the joints of his legs; he leans weakly against a tree for support. The amount of venom increases as I attack more of him. His thighs hesitate and jump, the nerves loosing connection to commands handed down by the brain. The only energy left in his legs kept him upright. Before the idea of pushing himself off the tree to escape a few more inches by crawling and pulling himself away, I struck at his arms. He felt a new dose of venom in each of his palms, quickly spreading to each finger and up his arms, wilting to the point of uselessness while his shoulders sagged. From his shoulders, the venom poured into his torso like two faucets into a sink. A slow, steady drip feed as my immaterial self coiled around him with the intimacy of a friendly python. Venom coating his lungs produced steady breathing, muscles of his chest grew soft and sensitive. His nipples perked, filled with venom, brushed against by me as I wrapped him up.
His neck lolled as his shoulders gave him little foundation to move on. Head against the bark, he heard a deep whisper in his ears.
"Ssslow, easssy breathing."
It seemed like a redundant statement as he'd almost fully achieved that. The possibility of it being his own consciousness shrank considerably as my voice grew more insistent.
"You sssshouldn't run. Your fate liesss behind you."
He tried to whisper in protest, knowing he was being assaulted by something he couldn't see. Those whispers died as his throat became gently constricted, a squeeze that didn't harm him, but provided pressure enough to only leave him room to breath.
"You can't run. Your dessstiny callsss to you."
"What are you?" he tried to ask. He only produced gasps, but I understood what he tried asking, one of several all too-common phrases I've heard.
"Messssenger. Harbinger. Persssuader."
He couldn't understand why his muscles went from tense to limp to being massaged. It also evaded him how the venom animated his fingers while my energies coiled around his arms, working in junction to help him unzip himself, and gradually begin stroking man's biggest vulnerability. It wasn't long before he was cocooned in a rather lusty haze, similar to one he'd run from that same night. The next voice he heard was of the one who'd sent me.
"Like I said, this was bound to be. As bound as you are now. My chattel, so adorably impudent, so sedentary and lacking of purpose, until you met me. We could have met anywhere, at the laundromat, in the park, passing by each other on a busy street, stuck in-place with my gaze binding you until I allowed you to look away. Fate, in its infinite wisdom decided that Halloween party would be the perfect place for us to meet."
"We were so honest in representing ourselves. You coming, looking like a sloth-like creature, reflecting your nature so well. My favorite day of the year, I was myself, free to bear my natural self, and unleash my magic to those who respond to it well. You had no idea why you carried two drinks all over the party until you found me. Then you did. Then you found my eyes, and your life path became set."
The man took a raspy breath as he stroked faster, clearly remembering the voice he heard, and the enchanting face to go with it.
"You found yourself so eager to speak privately with me, more enthusiasm than you've shown anything in a long time. I stripped you of your sloth costume, and nature. I bore my body to you, letting you drool while informing you of how you'd be serving me. Taking your face in my hands, I nearly completed the rite, but something deep in you became afraid, afraid of what I offered. You took off deep into the night, practically at olympic speeds, the last gasping breath of resistance. It was amusing to see how far you would get; you seem to have gotten pretty far. But now it's time to come back. You know where you belong."
The stroking hand paused and gave himself a painful squeeze. The only sound he could produce was a labored, croaking one.
"Any other night, your punishment would be so much more...creative. But you caught me in a good mood, on a good night. I generously allowed your will its last gasp of breath, and now where you stand lies the tombstone of that will. It's better it died an early death. How happy were you with the will you had? Your life wasn't going anywhere, and your freedom never motivated you to do anything substantial with yourself. Not so with me. Don't be afraid of the future; your life coach will improve you as women have done to men for centuries, millenia in-fact."
The guided self-pleasure resumed, happening faster than before.
"There's so much pleasure in my service," she told him.
"Endlesssss pleasssure," I coaxed with my own voice.
"You remember the rite you chanted along with me, yes? A language you could never bother to fathom until you met me. I'm even helping you become bilingual, expanding your horizons. We've established so much with what we've chanted to each other. I remember exactly where we left off. Do you?"
My grip on his throat loosened to accommodate the heavier breathing.
"We made promises to each other, passionate, everlasting ones."
The mirth in her voice only increased how vibrant and on-fire he felt. Responsibility was his boogeyman, shucking it nearly every chance he got in life. Committing to her terms would take a force greater than himself, which oversimplified the owner of the dominant voice speaking to him.
"You made promises as well, in words you still don't understand, but rolled off your tongue so easily before. You don't need to understand them right away; living them is satisfying enough for me."
Despite the heavy doses of venom in him, his body found the energy to shake from the stimulation in his crotch.
"You know your next part to say, don't you?" she encouraged enticingly.
"No...non...." he whispered.
"You can do it. For meee..."
"Non sine permissus."
His hand approached the speed of her words, but the climax he anticipated stopped short.
"Splendid," her voice praised. He felt the spell he'd spoken, the words he agreed to, lock his only prior joy in an unbreakable casing. No amount of stroking would penetrate it, despite him trying, to the point of frustration and pain.
"And of course, you know where the one who would grant you this pleasure is, don't you?"
The venom moved quickly, pumping along with his blood. He stood up right, head lost in lust, feet taking slow steps. My energies uncoiled gently and leashed him back. Any animal or man who could follow tracks would strangely find someone running for their lives in one direction, then take a u-turn of a man tired but inexorably drawn to where he left.
It was an hour later, just short of midnight, the man finally arrived at his destination, hard erection still exposed. An apartment building on the edge of the forest. He walked up to the second floor, and saw a door slightly ajar. Fear fought lust and lost as he approached and entered.
"Close the door," the voice from inside told him.
He walked in deep into the room, no longer needing my guidance. His feet crunched empty beer cans and styrofoam cups, signs of a previously busy party. It didn't take him long to find her in the bathroom, enjoying a bubblebath.
"Welcome back," she regarded him with an impish smile.
"Too bad you weren't here earlier, you missed the fun of disrobing me. Maybe more." She stood up out of the tub, revealing her naked body for the second time. Groups of bubbles attached to her skin started trailing downward, revealing more and more of the form that ignited a hunger deep in him. The venom that invaded his body could have easily taken his crotch and his brain, but on her orders, she wanted the pleasure of taking those all by herself. His cock had all but stopped throbbing in multiple directions and was aimed straight at her soaped-up pussy, vibrating and needy for it. Just looking at her and hearing her voice clearly, and he knew her claim on him was undeniable.
"Please...." he asked her desperately. He would've sank to his knees to ask if the venom allowed him to.
"I know what you need," she interrupted. Cruxing a finger in his direction, he came to her unrelentingly. His face held in her hands once again.
"Oboedientia," she whispered evilly, and everything went away except for her. He was laser-focused on everything about her, and would only soon come back to consciously acknowledging the world based on the parameters she set.
They stared deep into each other's eyes as they completed the rite together, in a language she willed him to know so they could speak in perfect unison.
When it was over, he became aware of his own arousal again, one he knew was owned, leashed, restricted, and teased endlessly until she gave a specific command.
"Please...." he repeated, nearly crying.
"Oh, don't you worry. Of course I'll allow you to continue bathing me, dry me off, clean my apartment, and then lick me until dawn. I'd never deprive you of those privileges."
The gleam in her eyes was nothing short of devilish, but all he could reply with was.
The future was uncertain to him, except for the path and the one who took the reigns from him. He looked at her body, mentally spellbound yet internally resigning to enjoying such an impossible height of pleasure, and the occasional bouts of luck of being able to stare at the most beautiful woman ever. He felt himself wrapped around her finger like the tattoo painted onto and wrapped around her body. As she turned around, the head of a serpent appeared just below her neck.
I winked at him.
He was a lot less shocked at that than he would've been hours ago. I often scare people with my appearance, the way I was designed, despite what her nude form does to people, looking even more vicious than the words used to send me out on an evening prowl. But he knew well now; fear was no use here. We both serve the Mistress.
Key: Latin-to-English Translation
"Rapis praedam" = "Seize my prey"
"Non sine permissus" = "Not without permission"
"Oboedientia" = "Obedience"