Adam’s Dominator – FYE video

For Your Devilish Entertainment

22 December 2009

By Xena

Adam abandons any vestige of his “feminine” side to flash his potent Mephistophelean Dominator and pleasure guide.  Is it a Faustian entourage in tow? What deals have we made to join the Maestro in this promised adventure?  Authoritative leather trench, militaristic appearance, he demands to be entertained and will show us how it’s done for those with the courage and stamina – he won’t let up he warns – until we’re totally blown.  We’re hooked, yes! Yes! We can take it – whatever you’re giving tonight Maestro, we’re taking.

Obviously housing prohibited activity, access is denied to all but those with the permission of our prince of the Sexual Dark Arts. We descend to the hedonistic playground with promises of lewd, perhaps lascivious excitement.  What treasure will he extract from us to pay for our return from this excursion into his very private, personal domain?

Before the curtain is parted, we can hear – what?  Whips cracking, flesh slapping, leather snapping, the sonic background to promised erotic entertainment, the band warming up for the boss’s arrival.  Our skin tightens in response, heart speeds, heat rises.

Dimly lit, recalling the Blue Angel with wicked Lola, the Kit Kat club of Cabaret, a Chicago speakeasy or the Moulin Rouge – but it’s ‘Welcome to the Cirque de Nuit’.  Our eyes adjust to observe the floor and furnishings upholstered with the elegant bodies of the performer inhabitants, languishing and sipping the sugared citron elixir until delirium sets in for some.  A nest of bodies disentangles, barely swathed in strips, straps, strings, stilettos, leathers, feathers and lace.  Supplicants luxuriously extend legs and arms awaiting their instructions – promising, very promising.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s “look – don’t touch” for the curious, excited audience as Adam the Ringmaster gives orders “Pick up the pace!  Turn it up!  Heat it up!” He demands attention and obedience while speaking directly to us – voyeurs and tourists in this circus of unearthly delights.  Brandishing his golden shaft by the ornate serpentine hilt, the Maestro choreographs a presentation worthy of Salomé or a gin-soaked Busby Berkeley.  We’re swept up in the frenzy of supplicants vying for the Maestro’s attention, jostling bodies, flailing limbs as they push, twirl and crawl toward him.

Like Faust’s guide, he changes his form to suit the purpose. He pulls us in, eyes to eyes, taunting lips – he turns away and we follow – we want those eyes again!  He won’t relinquish more than fleeting, flirting, promising smiles and the “I want you” eyes.  Can this alone sustain us?

Does Eden exist in this overheated chamber, through a jungle passage – a cover for the shy?  At the maestro’s signal, they emerge like nocturnal creatures for him to play with, they stroke, they grasp for a mere moment of connection to him as he brushes by to the cooler, calmer inner sanctum.  Holding us firmly in his gaze with those lined laser eyes and taunting lips, as one gemmed hand grips the cane’s serpent hilt, the other pushes through the over-stimulated jungle ahead of us.

Flourishing the serpent snake, seated in the carved, crowned throne – ancient subterranean chamber adorned with faded Etruscan frescoes and elaborate carving, we see the Maestro in his comfortable seat of power.  Taunting with the erratic, dangerous serpent, he’s calm but coolly works us over with those eyes and the eyebrows with their own talent agent.  There’s no relief in this receiving salon, no respite from the intense eye seduction, chests heave, breath quickens, knees buckling, he tortures us – he offers not a hand, no seat beside him, not an arm to stroke, nor even a hand to kiss, yet we are transfixed to follow him.

“Once I’m in I own your heart” and so he does, further weakened by the closeness of the humid, flora-filled corridor – we are eager to join his circus, plaintive for the pleasure and the pain, whatever the cost.

Eyes on Adam, boys and girls are agitating to move, to fling their limbs and torsos about wildly, to grab, slither, slide, tie down and lift up.  Wholly covered, yet fully revealed in a sleek coating of jet, Maestro beckons, they respond, he repels firmly, body speaking ‘it’s about to get rough for you’ – a flourish of both his arms dismisses the acolytes, his body armed with honed steel armour, the epaulet signals his master rank.  Forearms sheathed in studded gauntlets, he is verging sadistic in his treatment of his circus performers, unyielding to the pleas for a touch, they work themselves harder.

 

We stumble and weave through the density of flesh and other plasms, get too close, we’re pushed back.  He says he’s here for our entertainment, more pleasure than pain, more laughter than tears – oh pleeeeease……. take our hands, you have our hearts.

Our own throats burn from the sugared green fairy, sticky lips, veiled visions – any attempt to focus on a single act or action is thwarted, as writhing participants become crowded with cinematic layers of ghostly figures.  Engaging us as they move through the atmosphere, images of the spirits in permanent residence, unable or unwilling to pay for their release.  They remain in the limbo of the pleasure palace of long faded grandeur, dormant until their lusty Maestro releases their bonds with his swordplay, to satisfy his craving for adoration and entertainment.

And we will join them, whatever the ransom, it won’t be paid out.  We have run away from home and joined the circus, for our souls.

We’ve held on, it’s over and another successful mission for Mephistopheles’ collection of souls, recruits to his Cirque de Nuit and like the Hotel California,

“You can check out any time you like,
But you can never leave!”

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Should Adam ever surface in this riding-booted, crop wielding, Ringmaster garb, his safety could not be guaranteed and he’ll need more than Tommy for protection.  The Glambertina guards would be called-in for round the clock coverage, helicopter back-up.  Just imagine – the intimate setting of a small venue, dim, the stage littered with barely clad maidens and youth, sounds of cracking, smacking and whips, the tightly suited Maestro emerges from below in a mist and spot light and with a flourish of the cane, “So hot out the box/Can we pick up the pace” and the stage comes to life.  Signature thrusts and chest pumps, sneaky gets to work out, boys and girls dance and move in all fashion of sultry and suggestive configurations …………………while the audience gets the sprinklers to cool off.