Tag: Green Eyes

O Muse

There is no narrative without memory, and so for me the story begins when I woke up on the floor, curled up naked on the carpet at the foot of my queen-size bed. It had been a deep, dreamless sleep. Drool had dried on the corner of my mouth and still soaked part of the shag under my cheek. I was disoriented for several minutes, as one sometimes is upon awakening in a strange hotel room on vacation. The fact that I was seeing my own bedroom from a completely new angle deepened my sense of dislocation: creating the queasy clash of the familiar and the unfamiliar in the same glance.

Shakily I rose to my feet and looked about. Late morning sun streamed in through my un-shaded window. By its light I could see the outline of a figure in my bed. As my eyes focused I could see it was a woman. My mind was just beginning to process how beautiful she was when, without stirring or opening her eyes, she spoke. Read more…


It happened at a crowded outdoor café on an unseasonably warm sunny afternoon. She was seated alone at the table across from me, directly in my line of sight, but that did not excuse the brazenness with which I stared at her. I can’t remember which of us sat down first. I had been daydreaming over my latte, savoring the chance to be out of the office for a while, when I noticed her.

Read more…


Goddess Marquesa smiled benevolently at the man seated across from her. “Calm down,” she soothed. “Everything is all right.” The man was trembling. He glanced around the dark bar, scanning to see if he had been recognized despite the hat and dark glasses he wore.

“What have you done to me?” he asked. “What was in that bottle?” Read more…


Elena was as stunning as she was kinky. At 50, she still had the body (and the sex drive) of a woman half her age. Blonde, with hypnotically green eyes, long legs and full breasts, she remained the cool, confidant domme who had begun turning older men into groveling slaves before she was a teenager.
Jack was one of The Chosen Few, a group of half a dozen carefully selected slaves who had the privilege of serving Elena. Inclusion in the group was the result of merciless (and never-ending) testing. Read more…

A Perfect Day in Gotham City

“Holy Svengali, Batman, we’re trapped!” Robin cried, wriggling vainly against the ropes that bound him to the table.

“Yes, old chum,” replied Batman. “The last thing I remember was walking in to Goddess Marquesa’s lair. There was a voice and then…then…”

“We woke trussed up like chickens ready for roasting.” Read more…


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