A story inspired by Goddess Marquesa





The package arrived at my office wrapped in plain brown paper and addressed to “Dr. Fletcher, PsyD MD.” Inside was a wooden box, stained a light red-ochre color, with the name “Pandora” painted on the cover in gold leaf. It was accompanied by a note in a round feminine hand:


Dear Pandora,


                     Open this box if you want to be free.


                    Don’t open this box if you don’t want to be My slave.



                              Mesmerizing you always,


                              Goddess Marquesa


            I laughed on reading the note. What a joke. How much of a sucker did that woman think I was? I reached to open the lid of the box and paused. I don’t know what stopped me. The idea that “Goddess Marquesa” could have any power over me was ridiculous. But my instincts made me hesitate. It was the first and last smart thought I had.

She had visited my clinic in person a week before, and I knew as soon as my receptionist announced that “Goddess Marquesa” was requesting to see me, it was trouble. As she entered my office and took the seat across from my desk, I recognized her from the photos on her website: an extremely attractive, mature woman with dramatic blond hair, piercing green eyes, and the hourglass figure of an old-time movie siren. Her dress was pale blue and cut short so as to give full view of her legs in shiny sheer hose. Her Manolo Blahnik shoes were the same pale blue, as was the satin fabric tiara that held her exquisitely coiffed hair in place. Her fingernails were painted a glossy ruby red to match the sheen on her lips. I knew what had brought her to my door.

“You are a naughty boy, Dr. Fletcher,” she said in a richly melodic voice, cutting right to the point. “One of the patients at my vanilla hypnotherapy clinic showed me this.”

She reached into her purse and pulled out a folded piece of paper, laying it open on my desk. I recognized the flyer I had printed up.

“‘Your so-called therapist is a fraud…,’” she began, reciting the text of the flyer out loud from memory, “‘…she is an internet hypnodomme that calls herself Goddess Marquesa.” Below the text were two screen shots, one of the goddessmarquesa.com website where she offered her services as an “erotic hypnotist,” the other of the Hypno-Erotica website where she was the protagonist in hundreds of lurid stories of dominance and submission written by her many worshipers.

“I don’t know what this is about,” I lied. I had opened my clinic, which offered mental health treatment with a special emphasis on hypnotherapy, just as the pandemic began, and getting my practice off the ground had been brutally difficult. The flyers were an attempt to poach away some of her patients.

She laughed. “Please, let’s be adults. The boy you hired to leaflet outside my place of business gave up everything under hypnosis.”

This surprised me. I had written her off as a complete charlatan. Still, I wasn’t intimidated.

Shrugging my shoulders, I rejoined, “I’m not sure how I can help you. I don’t know the boy you mean.”

Goddess Marquesa smiled. “You are very transparent, Doctor. I can see you weighing the likelihood of My suing you for libel against your desire to tell Me just what you think of Me and claim ownership of this flyer.”

“Has this person libeled you?” I asked. “Are you not the hypnodomme Goddess Marquesa?”

“Of course I am,” she replied, still smiling, “about which I am very candid with all My patients. Unlike you, I have nothing to hide. The libel is in the word ‘fraud.’ I assure you I could prove my bona fides in any court.”

I couldn’t hide a smirk at this last statement. Seeing the contemptuous look on my face, her emerald eyes burned with green fire.

“Like many of the men I’ve enslaved, you underestimate Me,” she said.

“Is that how you intend to punish me for what you think I’ve done?” I asked in a sarcastic tone.

“Precisely,” she confirmed. “I lost no patients from your little stunt, and I can’t be bothered to wade into the details of commercial litigation, but I can’t stand rudeness. I plan to discipline you My way.”

“I’d like to see you try,” I sneered. “You may be able to hypnotize adolescent boys, but I think you will find hypnotizing me a different matter entirely. I have doctoral degrees in both Psychology and Psychiatry, my training in all aspects of consciousness, hypnotism, and mind control is quite extensive.”

Goddess Marquesa laughed again, this time more intensely, as if she could not contain her hilarity at my last statement. When her merriment finally subsided she sat silently for several moments, studying me intently with her striking green eyes. After about a minute she rose from her chair.

“Yes, I know how to do it now,” she declared. “Capturing a man’s psyche is simply a matter of finding the gateway- his point of secret need. You are a very easy read, Doctor. I’ve found yours.”

I snorted in derision. “Please get serious. You can’t possibly take me so much for granted,” I jeered.

“I could only take you for granted if your free will was involved in some way,” she replied sternly. “Your surrender won’t be granted. You will be compelled to worship and serve Me.”

This pronouncement brought me up short for a few moments. My mouth opened and closed silently as I searched for words.

Before I could form a thought, she spoke again: “You’ll be hearing from Me, pet.” With that she turned and left my office.


I remembered our first exchange as I examined the box she sent me. An old cliché forced its way into my mind: “Beware of Greeks bearing gifts.” Though I did not think that Goddess Marquesa herself was Greek, given the circumstances the sentiment seemed apt. My curiosity was too aroused to brook resistance, however. I finally opened the box and examined the contents.

Only one item was inside: a pair of shiny-smooth pink panties, trimmed in a delicate white lace fringe. The opening of the box’s lid unleashed a powerful fragrance into my office, floral perfume mixed with the musky aroma of a woman’s pussy.  Goddess Marquesa’s pussy!

Without understanding why, I reached into the box and picked up the panties. My attention was instantly transfixed. I couldn’t take my eyes off of them. Holding them to my face, I relished their silky texture against my cheek and let the scent of Goddess Marquesa fill my lungs.

For the next few days I kept the panties with me always: in the pocket of my white lab coat when I was in the office, in my slacks pocket at home. I was drawn back constantly to touch and fondle them. I couldn’t understand the urge. Their silky smoothness, their feminine scent, their lacy delicacy, captured my conscious and unconscious focus.

I could recognize that my behavior was unusual, but the feeling of the panties was too gratifying to give up. Indeed, my need grew more and more intense. I eventually caught myself holding them in my hand, rubbing them between my fingers, as I talked with a patient after his examination. When the patient’s embarrassed gaze alerted me to what I was doing, I shoved the panties quickly back in my pocket with a murmured excuse about a mix-up with my girlfriend’s laundry.

My pleasure in the feeling of the panties was exquisite. But all the while a nagging dissatisfaction gnawed at me. There was something I wanted, some yen the panties awoke in me that hovered at the back of my mind. But what was it?


She came back to my office on the day I finally solved the riddle. I was tempted to send her away when my receptionist announced her arrival, but by then I was too stuck on the hook to wriggle off. I told myself that I only wanted to meet with her to gather some information as I instructed my receptionist to send her in.

“How do they feel?” Goddess Marquesa asked with a triumphant smile once she had settled into the chair across from my desk. Today she was wearing an off-white blouse, sheer gray toned stockings, and a severely short khaki skirt that revealed silver lacey garters when she sat and crossed her shapely legs. Her lipstick was dark red, matched by her nails and patent-leather Louboutin stilettos. Her hair hung loose, but was adorned by a single white orchid worn over her right ear.

“What do you mean?” I asked, more out of desperate denial than curiosity.

“The panties. You’re wearing them, aren’t you?” Her tone made clear that the question was rhetorical.

I swallowed painfully. That morning as I had been sitting on my bed just after the alarm woke me, fondling the panties as had become my custom, I realized what it was I had been wanting for so many days. The silky fabric had felt deliciously smooth as I slid it over my ass, hips, and cock. How did she know? Could she be spying on my house somehow?

“There’s no need to be embarrassed,” she continued. “I have many darling sissy slaves who beg to wear My panties.  When they are good boys I give them a pair straight from My ass, so that they can surround themselves with My essence. Though you have been a very naughty boy, I made a special exception in your case and gave you a pair of sissy pink panties instead.”

My throat had closed up. I found it almost impossible to speak. I realized, to my surprise, that the feeling which had overwhelmed me was not fear or embarrassment, but desire. “I think you should go now,” I finally forced myself to say.

“That’s not what you really want,” Goddess Marquesa countered. “You need My help. You’ve taken a first step, but there is so much more to explore.”

She rose from the chair and walked around to my side of the desk, so that she hovered over my trembling torso. The warmth of her body and the fragrance of her perfume engulfed me, setting my heart racing. My right hand was quivering. She grasped it and held it up next to her free hand.

“See how pretty My hands are?” she asked. “Don’t you love my elegant manicure and long, shiny nails? Wouldn’t you love for your hands to be this delicate?”

I looked up into her emerald eyes. I couldn’t speak, but I nodded in assent.

She ran her fingers through my hair, over my cheek, down my chest. “Wouldn’t you love to have long, blond hair like Mine? Red cheeks and ruby lips? Wouldn’t you love to have a girlish figure like Mine, and shapely smooth legs? Do you like the way I dress? Would you like to be this pretty, too?”

It was as if she had sunk a shaft into my soul and unleashed a gusher of desire. I wanted everything she was offering, more than I had ever guessed, or could possibly express. “Yes!” I gasped. “Please…make it all true. Please…”

She pulled gently on my hand, and I followed her guidance wordlessly. I rose from my desk and followed her out of the clinic without explaining to my receptionist where I was going. We got in Goddess Marquesa’s car and drove for about twenty minutes, stopping when we arrived at an establishment named the Tiresias Salon.

I followed Goddess Marquesa into the salon, where we were met by a stunningly tall redhead. As we entered the woman fell to her knees and kissed Goddess Marquesa’s feet, only rising to face me when this ritual was complete.

“Dr. Fletcher, this is Henrietta,” the Goddess explained by way of introduction. “She helps Me with transformations occasionally.”

“Charmed,” Henrietta said as she offered me her hand to kiss. I noticed that her voice was extraordinarily husky and her hands rather large.

“We need to help Dr. Fletcher become my girlfriend Pandora,” commanded Goddess Marquesa.

“Yes, Mistress,” Henrietta intoned.

We went in back first, where Henrietta ministered to my physique under Godddess Marquesa’s strict supervision. I carefully shaved my legs and pubic hair, and Henrietta applied wax to my chest, back, and bikini triangle. When my skin was silky smooth, I began to try on clothes.

The Goddess fitted me with “tucking panties” that would allow me to remain feminine even if I became aroused. To these I added sheer nylon stockings with black seams up the back with red garters, and a red lace bra padded to give me womanly curves. Over my lingerie I donned a simple, elegantly cut red evening dress. Black gloves and some costume diamond rings and a bracelet rounded out my ensemble.

When my clothes had been chosen I stripped to my underwear and sat in the salon chair. Henrietta went to work with all her skill. I was clean shaven, but Henrietta used a galvanic probe to remove traces of stubble and make my face sweetly smooth. With some foundation and blush I soon had a girlish glow, accentuated with some tasteful sky blue eye shadow and cherry-red lip gloss. My false nails were painted a cherry-red to match my lips. When it was time to fix my hair I pleaded that my wig be blond, like the Goddess’s locks.

When my dress and shoes were on again and I saw myself in the mirror, I almost swooned. The gorgeous sight combined with the caress of the stockings against my skin, the smell of perfume as Henrietta applied it to my wrists and neck, the slickness of my glossed lips, made me feel more alive than I had ever been.

“Come pet,” the Goddess instructed. “Now that your exterior is fixed, we need to work on the substance.”

Henrietta hung the “Closed” sign on the front door of the salon and we went into a comfortably appointed lounge in the back of the establishment, equipped with deep couches, convenient end tables, and a wet bar. Henrietta poured three glasses of white wine as the Goddess directed me to sit in a central seat on one of the larger couches, facing the open space at the center of the lounge.

“We need to work on your mannerisms,” the Goddess explained, lecturing me while standing in the center of the open space. “Henrietta and I will teach you how to move and talk like the woman I know you want to be. We will work on your posture, your inflection, your attitude….Everything. You are in very expert hands.”

Henrietta distributed the wine, and for the next two hours she and Goddess Marquesa tutored me. I watched closely as Goddess Marquesa demonstrated how to walk across the room, how to engage in conversation, how to hold one’s drink, check one’s phone. How to flirt with a man. As I focused on her hips, mouth, breasts, hands, and thighs, a powerful feeling of desire overwhelmed me. I realized that Goddess Marquesa is not simply a magnificent woman, she is the Perfect Woman. I wanted her like I had never wanted anyone in my life. The need to hold her, to taste her, was excruciating. How had I not seen it before?

My cock rode up the channel of my tucking panties as I became engorged. The Goddess noticed my state of excitement. At one point, while Henrietta was taking her turn demonstrating feminine manners, Goddess Marquesa sat next to me on the couch and ran her hand up under my dress.

“I see your clit is engorged for Me,” she observed, stroking the surface of my panties. “That’s a good girl.”



After two hours had passed, the Goddess turned to me with an inquisitive look. “How do you feel, pet?” she asked, stroking my cheek with her long nails.

I took her hand in mine and pressed a soft kiss of gratitude against her index finger, being careful not to smudge my lipstick or stain her hand. “I feel pretty,” I replied.

“Good,” she declared. “Then it is time to move on to our next step. Pay Henrietta for her generous services.”

After I had given Henrietta my credit card and thanks, the Goddess led me to her car, and we were on the road again. This time we drove to a local shopping mall. My excitement as we strolled through the hallways together, two friends enjoying some girl time on a weekday afternoon, was almost too blissful to bear. My cock felt like it would burst out of my panties. I don’t know what was more arousing, the intoxicating sexiness of Goddess Marquesa or my sheer pleasure at the feelings of smoothness, silkiness, and feminine delicacy that suffused my whole body. I had never been so happy. No…I had never imagined such happiness was possible.

After we had made some purchases the Goddess led us into a restaurant that exited onto the main gallery of the mall. Inside, it was a tastefully decorated “fern bar,” a nouvel Americain bistro several steps above your typical Applebee’s. The hostess led us to a booth, and Goddess Marquesa made a point of sitting on the same side as me.

Our waiter was a strikingly handsome young man, a tall brunette with a square jaw, broad shoulders, and a meticulously groomed mustache and beard. His smile telegraphed his pleasure at interacting with two attractive women. “Can I get you ladies something while you look at these?” he asked, offering us two menus.

As he began speaking I was startled by the feeling of Goddess Marquesa’s hand on the surface of my panties. She stroked vigorously with a motion that immediately delighted my cock. The pleasure was so acute that I felt high, like I had just take a hit of a strong drug. I beamed at our waiter with a high-voltage smile that reciprocated and encouraged his eagerness.

“We don’t need menus,” Goddess Marquesa said, without pausing in her ministrations to my cock. “Just bring us two glasses of white wine and a cheese plate to nosh on.”

“Sure. Right away,” the waiter said, continuing to smile suggestively at me.

“You’re name is Bret, right?” the Goddess asked, reading off of the waiter’s name-tag. “My girlfriend Pandora and I have eaten here before and you served us. Do you remember?”

“Yes! How could I forget two such beautiful ladies?” Bret enthused without hesitation, seeming to have convinced himself of the truth of the sentiment.

“Pandora was remarking on how attractive you are just the other day, weren’t you, Pan?”

“Yes,” I breathed, my flirtatious energy heightened by the mounting pleasure in my groin. I batted my eyes as the Goddess had taught me as I continued, “You are a real man, not like so many sad cases one meets these days.”

Bret blushed, and his attraction to me made my sexual giddiness soar. The feminine energy radiating from me was molten ecstasy. Everything in the world was wonderful, ever sensation was a delight, every person in the room was my dearest friend. For a moment I thought that I would soil my panties with cum.
“Why don’t you give Pandora your phone number?” Goddess Marquesa suggested.

“Of course!” Bret blurted, startling some of the patrons at the other tables with the sudden loudness of his voice. Collecting himself, he scrawled some numbers on his order pad and ripped off a sheet, laying it in front of me on the table. Above his number his name was scrawled in bold-face: BRET

As the waiter walked away Goddess Marquesa smiled at me, continuing to stroke the surface of my panties. “Did you enjoy that, pet?” she asked.

My breathing was labored with arousal as I gasped, “Yes, but I don’t want that boy. I want you. Desperately.”

“Of course you do,” Goddess Marquesa replied. “I just wanted you to experience a little taste of what our feminine power can do to a man. It’s made you a little high, yes?”

“Yes,” I breathed.

“All your inhibitions are gone,” Goddess Marquesa intoned, “you are feeling very relaxed now. Relaxed and peaceful. Focused. Focused on the sound of My voice…”

I could recognize that she was beginning a hypnotic induction, and could feel myself being pulled under. “Please…wait,” I begged. “You don’t have to hypnotize me. I love you!”

She chuckled softly. “I know you love Me,” she explained. “That was always inevitable. But though you’ve gotten in touch with your feminine side you are still thinking like a typical man. I don’t do anything because I ‘have to.’ I am the Goddess Marquesa. I shape the world according to My will. And I will you to be My slave.”

“But…” I protested.

“Shhh, pet,” she cooed. “You don’t have the energy to resist. Everything is so calm, so sweet. Obeying Me is the natural thing to do. You want to obey Me. You love to obey Me…”


That was the first time She hypnotized me. She took me down deep, and has done so many times since. I am Her complete slave, I can’t refuse any of Her commands, though I honestly don’t know if that is a product of Her conditioning or the love I have felt for Her since that first day She set me free.

I don’t know why I was so afraid. She only forced me to surrender a few of my patients to Her. The work I do cleaning and cooking at Her apartment is hard, but it allows me to be near Her. And She only ever beats me when I have begged Her very insistently.

I know that She enslaved me as a form of punishment, and that I deserved to be punished. But being Her slave doesn’t feel like punishment. It feels like Paradise.



The End