Far Above the Heads of the Dancing Ladies
handcuffed to the table- you know that’s not allowed
- I’m not a machine
- now she was all sweet decorum
- I wish I could sing like that
Tune in next time part 66 Click Here for Earlier Installments
Far above the heads of the dancing ladies, the pianist was strapped to his bench, playing what I now recognized as a Chopin etude. He sang along, his voice as striking as his red hair. I wish I could sing like that crazy upside down man, but my talents lie in other areas.
Svetlana stared at the tableau, transfixed. I heard her sigh and reminded myself that even if now she was all sweet decorum she was a very dangerous woman. I led her into the darkened recesses of the warehouse, away from the stage and its peculiar performers.
I didn’t know exactly, or even roughly, where we were, and Svetlana refused to tell me. I frisked her, hoping to find a phone, but all I found under her leotard was her blowgun and a tube of chapstick. My hands lingered on her narrow hips.
“If you keep that up, you’re going to make me horny,” Svetlana purred. “I’m not a machine.” She leaned in for a kiss, her arms still bound behind her back.
“You know that’s not allowed,” I said. “You’re my captive.”
“That never stopped you before,” she pouted. “Last time I was handcuffed to the table.”
“That was recreational. Today it’s business.”
bonus points for using them in reverse order