It was late at night on Goddess Marquesa’s first Christmas Eve in her new Florida home, and she surveyed her parlor, decked out for the holiday, as she prepared for bed. For a time she had worried that her change of address would be confusing, but those fears had not proven true. Looking beneath her brightly decorated tree, she saw that her loyal slaves had sent her even more gifts than the year before. Boxes were piled in festive disarray, awaiting Christmas morning when the Goddess would open them lovingly and bask in the adoration of her worshipers.

Yawning contentedly, she shut the lights and withdrew to her bedroom. Laying her head on her pillow, she began to drift off. All of a sudden, a clanking noise startled her from drowsiness.

“Who’s there?” she demanded, rising to a sitting position and turning on her bedside lamp.

“It is I,” said the mournful voice of a shimmering spirit, standing at the foot of her bed, “the ghost of your departed slave!” The silvery apparition was that of an elderly man, stooped and balding, covered from head to toe in chains.

“Who are you, and why are you in chains?” Goddess Marquesa asked.

“Do you not recognize me?” the ghost asked. “I lived much of my life as your slave. These chains are the ones you forged for me, they keep me bound in death as they did in life. Look closely, can you not see who I am?”

“No…sorry,” Goddess Marquesa answered, shaking her head. “I hadn’t heard of any of my slaves passing away. But you must excuse me, there have been so many of you…,” her voice trailed off as she shrugged in mild embarrassment.

“I do not have much time,” the spirit said. “I have been sent to tell you that you will be visited by three spirits tonight. Heed them well!”

“Three spirits? Does that include you? So two more?”

“No…not including me…so three more…four altogether…” the spirit mumbled, becoming confused.

“Okay…so should I get dressed? Are these spirits allergic to cats? This is rather short notice…”

“Heeeed wellllll!” the spirit moaned, fading slowly into insubstantial mist.

“Weird,” Goddess Marquesa remarked. As she was about to lie back down and go back to sleep, a flash of light shone in her room, and a young woman appeared in a white robe.

“I am the Ghost of Christmas Past,” the spirit announced. “Take my hand and I will show you shadows of things that once were.”

“Sure. I don’t have to work tomorrow,” Goddess Marquesa answered. Taking the spirit’s hand, she felt a sharp tug, and with a flash of light both Goddess Marquesa and the spirit were transported from the Goddess’s Florida home to a high school classroom, brightly decorated for the holiday season.

“Do you recognize where we are?” the Ghost of Christmas Past asked.

“This is my homeroom during senior year of high school,” Goddess Marquesa answered. “And there I am! Hey! Hey it’s me! Look over here, blondie!….”

The younger Goddess was alone in the classroom, wearing a tight-fitting red sweater and a short, candy-cane striped skirt. White woolen leggings clung tightly to her calves and thighs, revealing their exquisite shape. A short “Santa hat” was perched jauntily on the side of her blonde locks. She clasped a stack of books against her shapely breasts, and was looking at the only other person in the room, an older man standing behind a large aluminum-alloy desk. The teenage Godddess made no response to her older self’s greeting.

“She can’t hear you,” the ghost explained. “These are but shadows of things past, we cannot talk with them.”

“Who is that behind the desk?” asked the Goddess.

“Do you not recognize him? He was your homeroom teacher, Mr. Cratchit.”

“Oh!” the Goddess interjected, remembering.

“Merry Christmas, Mr. Cratchit,” the teenage Goddess said breathily to her teacher. Though not as volcanically seductive as her older self, the younger Goddess exuded an air of sensual delight and temptation. Mr. Cratchit became immediately flustered on realizing that he was alone in the room with this particular student.

“H…h…hello,” Mr. Cratchit stammered, “class won’t start for another ten minutes. How can I help you?”

“I have this little bet with my friend Michelle,” the younger Goddess cooed, flashing an irresistibly charming smile, “I wonder if you can help settle it for me.” Moving slowly and sinuously, the teenage Goddess hoisted herself onto Mr. Cratchit’s desk, laying her books off to one side so that her hands were free. She settled herself so that her legs were stretched out provocatively to give Mr. Cratchit a view of their full length and lovely contours.

“Miss…M…M…Miss….This is not appropriate…” Cratchit began to protest, struggling to find his composure.

“Relax!” the teenage Goddess directed, pushing against Mr. Cratchit’s midrift so that he fell backward into his chair.

“P…p…please!” Cratchit yelped weakly.

Teenage Goddess Marquesa ignored the older man’s pleas and leaned forward, putting her lips inches from his. “Do you think I’m pretty, Mr. Cratchit?” she breathed.

“I…I…hadn’t thought about it…” muttered the teacher, his breathing labored.

“That’s a lie,” Teenage Marquesa said, chuckling. “I see the way you look at me in class. You can’t keep your eyes off my legs…my tits.” On this last word Teenage Marquesa kissed Mr. Cratchit. His resistance broken, he slumped in his chair and yielded to her allure, eyes closed in rapture. When she felt his will break, the Teenage Goddess withdrew from the kiss and placed her lips next to Cratchit’s left ear. “Listen to me,” she whispered, “you are feeling very relaxed….”

For several minutes Teenage Marquesa whispered into her homeroom teacher’s ear. Finally, the bell rang signaling the beginning of school. Teenage Marquesa quickly pushed off the teacher’s desk, collected her books, and took a seat behind her student’s desk as other young people began filing into the room.

A tall, attractive brunette came in and took a seat next to the young Goddess. “Hi Michelle,” Teenage Marquesa said, “Merry Christmas. Today you are going to owe me that $10 you bet me.”

“Oh yeah?” Michelle grunted. “I am much hotter than you, and you know it. Everyone knows it, even Mr. Cratchit. That was the bet, wasn’t it? Do you want to ask him? I dare you.”

“I won’t have to,” Teenage Marquesa replied, smiling.

“Quiet down, please class!” Mr. Cratchit ordered as the bell rang announcing the start of homeroom, his voice and manner oddly stilted and foggy. “I have the quizzes that you took last week,” he continued in flat tones, “Today I am going to do something a bit different. Rather than handing them back in alphabetical order, I have placed them in order of what I feel is each student’s attractiveness, hottest student first, biggest dog last.”

Picking up the pile of quizzes on his desk, he shuffled through them until he found a particular paper. This he handed to the young Goddess Marquesa, eliciting a broad grin from her and an angry snort of disgust from Michelle. A titter of scandalized laughter went through the class, and rose in intensity as Cratchit continued to hand back papers, moving robotically. The very last paper went to Michelle.

“Aaargh!!!” Michelle screamed, snatching the quiz paper angrily from the teacher’s hand and tearing it to shreds before running furiously from the room.

“Wow…I forgot all about this.” the grownup Goddess remarked, “Michelle really was a total bitch even back when we were in high school.”

The Ghost of Christmas Past shook her head, and speaking in sad tones, said: “Michelle never forgot this day, nor did Mr. Cratchit. He almost lost his job over this incident…and never recovered from his obsession with you. Do you see the effect your activities have had now? Do you understand?”

“There was no need for him to suffer if he was obsessed with me,” the Goddess protested, “Anyone who wants to see or hear me only has to go to  If I had known, I would have sent him some files to ease his pain, for old time’s sake.”

“Oh, you did,” the ghost said. “That is to say, he spent lavishly on your trance products over the years, never able to get enough of your voice or image.”

“See!” exclaimed the Goddess. “No harm, no foul. Speaking of which, could we go back and get my iPhone and see this scene again? This would make a great Christmas-themed trance video!”

The ghost wrinkled her eyebrows in frustration and shook her head again disconsolately. “You fail to understand the lesson! No matter! There are two spirits yet to visit you! Come!”

Taking Goddess Marquesa’s hand, the ghost closed her eyes and snapped her fingers. A light flashed, and the Goddess was once again standing in her bedroom in Florida. The Ghost of Christmas Past was gone, but a large, bearded man wearing a green robe and holly wreath on his head was standing next to her bed.

“Ho-ho!” laughed the giant. “I am the Ghost of Christmas Present. I have come to show you what you have done to the world around us this very day!”

“Ah well,” replied the Goddess, shrugging. “In for a penny, so to speak… should we use my car or yours?”

“We need no cars!” chuckled the ghost. Extending his hand, he barked, “We travel the astral plane! Come!”

The Goddess took the ghost’s hand and felt the same sharp tug, followed by a flash of light. All of a sudden she and the ghost were thousands of feet in the air, flying swiftly over a darkened seaside landscape.

“Where are we?” she asked.

“Flying north along the eastern seaboard of what you mortals call the ‘United States.’ There is a family I want you to see below, but first we go to the North Pole!”

As the pair flew along, Goddess Marquesa could see occasional bright shafts of light erupt from the ground below and pierce the sky, bejeweling the landscape like the flashing lights of a terrestrial fireworks display. “What are those lights?” she asked her ghostly escort.

“I’ve given you the Mystic Sight, so that you may see your effect on the world!” the spirit explained. “Each burst of light arises at the moment when a man or woman orgasms while fantasizing about you.”

“Wow,” Goddess Marquesa sighed as the fireworks below continued unabated and across the globe from horizon to horizon, “that is something.”

“Yes…” the ghost remarked, shaking his head, “it is shocking!”

“Shocking?” the Goddess jeered. “Have you looked at me? Listened to my voice? Is there anything resembling an actual crankshaft under that green robe of yours, or are you all ‘astral plane’?”

The ghost gave an embarrassed cough. Looking down, he said, “Ah! We’re here.”

Below the pair a vast expanse of white extended, in the midst of which was a large wooden house built in Dutch Baroque style. A red-and-green banner flew from its roof, announcing it as the residence of Santa Claus. Disembodied, the ghost and the Goddess flew in through a window on the second floor. They entered a bedchamber in which a gray-haired older woman was standing in front of what appeared to be a locked door. Goddess Marquesa guessed that this must be Mrs. Claus.

“Are you all right in there, sweetie? You have been in there a long time!”

When no answer came from the door, Mrs. Claus shook her head and went about chores in the bedroom- laying out Santa’s read suit, dusting off his hat. The Ghost of Christmas Present gestured for Goddess Marquesa to follow him, and they both pressed their ears against the bathroom door.

From within could be heard the faint sound of a voice coming from an electronic device. Goddess Marquesa made to ask a question of her ghost escort, but he raised a finger to his lips and gestured for her to listen. Straining her ears, she could faintly make out her own voice saying the words, “Legs….legs…my leeeeeegs,” followed by her own rich laughter.

“Santa is watching ‘Goddess Marquesa Controls You!’” she proclaimed, recognizing the video soundtrack.

“Exactly!” agreed the Ghost of Christmas Present. The pair continued eavesdropping. After a few minutes, in which the low murmur of the video continued to emit from the bathroom, the bedroom was filled with light, beaming from the floor up through the ceiling and to the sky beyond.

“Here cums Santa Claus,” Goddess Marquesa quipped.

A sound of a toilet flushing came from behind the door, then a sink running. A few moments later Santa emerged, his cheeks flushed.

“What were you up to in there?” Mrs. Claus asked. “You’re late for the sleigh!”

“Oh….er….a little indigestion,” Santa stammered. “All better now. On Dancer! On Prancer! Tell Rudolph to stop all the reindeer games! Ho-ho-ho!” Somewhat disoriented, he began to search about the room for his coat and hat.

“Come, let us depart this place,” the ghost directed, reaching for Goddess Marquesa’s hand. Once again they were airborne, this time flying south.

“Do you see now?” the ghost asked as he and the Goddess winged over Canada. “Even Santa is under your spell!”

“So?” the Goddess protested. “Santa looked none the worse for wear to me. Besides- his being enslaved is his own fault. If he had just agreed to take Jingletoes off my hands last year, I wouldn’t have had to cage his libido.”

“Hmmmph,” the ghost grunted in frustration. “There is one more house I want you to see. It is below.”

A shaft of light erupted from the modest suburban home as the Goddess and her ghostly escort descended toward it. Floating through an upper-story window, they saw a man sitting in front of a computer with a look of broad contentment on his face and a crumpled tissue in his hand.

“You feel completely relaxed and comfortable,” Goddess Marquesa’s voice said from the computer screen. “You will call me as soon as you are able. Until then, I will see you in your dreams…slave boy!” The image of Goddess Marquesa on the screen faded to the words “Emerald Eyes Enterprises”.

A knock was heard. Composing himself, the man turned off his computer and went to the door of the study in which he was sitting. Opening it, he saw a small boy.

“Timmy? It’s past midnight. Why are you still up?” the man asked.

“I’m thirsty, Daddy,” Timmy answered.

As the man led his son away to get him a drink, the Ghost of Christmas Present turned to Goddess Marquesa, “Do you know why I led you here?” he asked.

“Hmmm…That man looks familiar!” Goddess Marquesa observed.

“Yes! He should!” the Ghost of Christmas Present concurred. “He is Bob Cratchit, the son of your homeroom teacher from high school, Mr. Cratchit! When Mr. Cratchit passed away, his son discovered your old teacher’s trove of Goddess Marquesa files. In this way obsession was passed down from father to son! Do you see now? Do you see?”

“See what?” Goddess Marquesa asked in irritation. “That good taste runs in families? I don’t get what you ghosts are driving at.”

“Ah, well,” the ghost sighed, his normally jolly tone tinged by sorrow, “there is still one more visitation left. Let us return to your abode.”

With the touch of his hand the ghost transported Goddess Marquesa back to her own bedroom. Once there, she was no longer in the company of the jolly, green-robed spirit. Instead, a dour, thin figure stood in the center of the room, robed from head to toe in black, the cowl drawn up to conceal its face.

“I suppose you are the Ghost of Christmas Yet-to-Come?” the Goddess asked.

The figure nodded.

“All right,” Goddess Marquesa said with resignation. “Let’s get this over with!”

The spirit clasped her hand, a bright light flashed, and all of a sudden the Goddess and the spirit were standing in a high school classroom. In fact, it was the same one that had served as Goddess Marquesa’s homeroom when she had been a teenager. Bright Christmas decorations festooned the walls. The room was empty of all but one person, Mr. Cratchit, seated behind his desk at the front of the room.

“Why have you taken me back here? I saw this vision already!” Goddess Marquesa complained. “I thought you were the Ghost of Christmas Yet-to-Come.”

The robed specter pointed to a calendar hanging on the wall past Goddess Marquesa’s shoulder. Turning to look, she read the date, “December 2039.”

“2039?” the Goddess exclaimed in shock. “But Mr. Cratchit doesn’t look any older!”

The spirit pointed at the man behind the desk, his bony finger trembling. Understanding, the Goddess looked more closely. The man looked like Mr. Cratchit, but was not the same person. Realization dawned.

“Is this Tiny Tim? Mr. Cratchit’s grandson?”

The spirit nodded.

“Okay, great. I still don’t get it. What are we hear to see?”

The spirit pointed at the door. A woman appeared in the doorway, wearing a low-cut emerald green satin dress and black stiletto heels. It was the future Goddess Marquesa.

“Wow, I look fabulous,” present-day Goddess Marquesa noted, whistling in admiration.

“Can I help you?” Tim Cratchit asked.

“I’m an alumna of this school,” future Goddess Marquesa explained. “I’m in town visiting relatives and thought I’d come back to my old alma mater. This used to be my homeroom. In fact, except for being a bit younger than he was then, you look just like my old homeroom teacher!”

“That was my grandfather,” Tim explained. “When I became a teacher I wanted to follow in his footsteps, and so here I am. My name is Tim. Tim Cratchit. Who are you?”

“I am the Goddess Marquesa,” the future Goddess Marquesa replied. Smiling, she sidled across the room and seated herself on Tim’s desk, arraying herself so that her shapely legs were stretched out for the young man to appreciate. “You are even more handsome than your grandfather, Tim. You say you want to follow in your grandfather’s footsteps? Well, he and I were quite close…did you know that?”

Tim gulped. “No.”

“Tell me,” future Goddess Marquesa inquired, “do you find me attractive, Tim?”

“I….I….I….” Tim stammered, unable to summon the composure to speak. Future Goddess Marquesa stopped his sputtering with a kiss, then drew her lips to his ear and began whispering her love magic.

“Is this what you wanted me to see?” present-day Goddess Marquesa asked the specter impatiently. “Is this a shadow of things to come, or things that might be? Do you want me to promise not to enslave the third generation of Cratchit men? Will that allow me to get some goddam sleep?”

“Don’t listen to that asshole,” future Goddess Marquesa said. She had pulled her lips away from Tim Cratchit’s ear, leaving him staring slack-jawed into space.

“What?” present-day Goddess Marquesa asked. “You can hear me?”

“I can’t hear you,” future Goddess Marquesa said. “I just remember this conversation like it happened yesterday. That idiot should never have brought you to your own future.”

“What?” the Ghost of Christmas Yet-to-Come whined, throwing back his hood to reveal a pale bald head. “For you this happened twenty years ago!”

“Please!” future Goddess Marquesa said with a sharp laugh, rolling her eyes. “Like I was ever going to forget the night that three spooks took me time traveling. Open his robe, Marquesa! Take a look!”

Present-day Goddess Marquesa tugged at the left flap of the ghost’s robe, revealing his thin pale body. Underneath he wore nothing but a pair of black silk boxers, in the middle of which was pitched an enormous tent. “You dog!” present-day Goddess Marquesa exclaimed.

“He has had a hard-on for you ever since Santa showed him a copy of ‘Submit to Marquesa,’” future Goddess Marquesa said. “Santa will confess it to you next Christmas. This whole setup was a scam so that he could ogle you in your nightgown.”

“Is this true?” said an angry voice as the Ghost of Christmas Past appeared in the room.

“Well…I….” the Ghost of Christmas Yet-to-Come mumbled, his pale face turning crimson.

“You idiot!” the Ghost of Christmas Present Shouted, materializing next to Goddess Marquesa. “I gave up tickets to a Bolshoi performance of the Nutcracker because you said this was urgent!”

“But…” Yet-to-Come pleaded, “you see….you have to….I can’t be blamed….”      Chains rattled, and the spirit of Goddess Marquesa’s departed slave appeared. Looking at his shimmering visage, the Goddess recognized him.

“Mr. Cratchit?” she asked.

“Yeeees!” the ghost of Mr. Cratchit moaned. “That bastard Yet-to-Come conned me too! I want revenge!”

“But, Cratchit!” Yet-to-Come protested, “in twenty years she is going to enslave your grandson!”

“Who cares?” Cratchit said. “It will do the boy good! I love Goddess Marquesa! I’ve always loved her! I only went along with this for a chance to speak to her again. And you almost got me to betray her!”

The three enraged spirits advanced with raised fists on Yet-to-Come, who retreated, cowering. As they were about to seize him, future Goddess Marquesa waved, catching present-day Goddess Marquesa’s eye.

“You know what to do!” the future Goddess declared.

Present-day Goddess Marquesa did. “Ahem,” she coughed, drawing the attention of the clustered ghosts. “Everyone should just calm down for a moment. Please. Focus your eyes on me. Listen to my voice. Relax….relaaaaax…”

The spirits succumbed to the soothing tones of Goddess Marquesa’s voice. Their eyelids went heavy, they slipped into trance. As present-day Goddess Marquesa hypnotically enslaved (or re-enslaved, in the case of Mr. Cratchit) the meddlesome spirits that had disturbed her Christmas Eve, future Goddess Marquesa drew Tim Cratchit out from behind his desk and pushed him to his knees. As he looked up in adoration, she asked, “What do you have to say, Tiny Tim?”

The young man clasped his hands prayerfully and looked about the room, as if able to sense the presence of the many spirits there. Turning back to his Mistress, he intoned: “Goddess bless us, everyone…”



Merry Christmas!


Remember to shop at and for all your Christmas gifts!



The End