My Dear submissive subbies and slaves,

I know that you always want to do more to adore and worship your magnificent Mistress.  Well, here’s your chance.  My beautious Birthday is coming up.  July 1st is the wonderful, worshipful, day.

Why not show your Mistress how much you crave to hear her voice by scheduling a phone conversation when you can personally wish Me a “Happy Birthday.”

Go to my Wonderful Web Site ( for all of the details of how you can personally contact Me, your marvelous Mistress, Marquesa.

To get you in the proper mood…  Here is a special Birthday Story for you:

The Surprise Party

 A story in tribute to Goddess Marquesa’s birthday, July 1

            “Why are we here, again, and not at the beach, or at least at an interesting club?” I asked for the third time.

            “It’s a surprise party,” Al replied, showing no hint of irritation.

            “You keep saying that,” I said. “Whose party? What for? How do you know this person? Why would they want me, a stranger, at this event?”

            Al had been my college roommate. We had not seen each other for a while, but we had made plans for a vacation in Florida together. Two old buddies on a bachelor holiday at the beach. This was not what I had imagined would be on our first night’s itinerary.

            “Hang tight, you’ll see,” Al promised. At that moment the door opened, and a young women appeared in the entrance way.

             “Are you here for the Goddess?” she asked.

             “Yes,” Al replied.

            The young woman stepped aside, and Al and I entered into the common room of a spacious, tastefully furnished condominium. There were already five other people in the room, three men and two women (including the young woman who answered the door), milling about with drinks in hand, talking softly. A circle of eight chairs was set up in the center of the room, arranged around a small glass coffee table in the center. A colorfully printed banner strung across the far wall of the room read: “HAPPY BIRTHDAY GODDESS!”

            The atmosphere was strange. Though everyone seemed cordial, I did not get the feeling that any of them knew one-another. This impression was reinforced by the fact that neither Al nor the young women who let us in showed any intention of making introductions. Yet there was an air of anticipation, as if we were all waiting for something to happen.

            “Should we hide?” I asked, deducing that the eighth chair was for the “surprisee,” and feeling self-conscious about standing anonymous and mute.

            Conversation in the room stopped, and everyone looked at me as if I had just cut a loud fart.

            Rolling her eyes, the young woman who had let us in gestured toward the chairs, and directed, “Everyone take a seat. I will let the Goddess know we are all here.”

            While the rest of us sat down, the young woman scuttled down a hallway leading off of the common room. The sound of knocking and muffled voices could be heard, and then the young women returned, followed by a middle-aged blond woman. She could only be “the Goddess” for whom this party had been held, which confused me because she did not seem at all surprised. Her stylish white dress was cut low at the bodice and high at the hem, revealing impressive cleavage and shapely legs. She moved gracefully on red patent-leather stiletto heels.

            The Goddess walked out silently and stood in front of her chair, smiling broadly at the others. After a few moments, to my surprise, Al slid off of his chair and onto his hands and knees. In this posture he crawled over to the Goddess, and gently kissed her feet. Rising to his knees, he took her right hand lovingly in both of his and raised it to his lips. I could see he was trembling, as if the sheer erotic pleasure of this contact was more than he could bear. “Happy birthday, Goddess,” Al gasped, needing to exert effort to overcome his arousal enough to speak clearly.

            At this the Goddess bent down, and cupping Al’s face with both hands, covered his mouth in a deep, soulful kiss. Al tensed in what could only be described as ecstasy. An enormous tent formed in his trousers where his cock stood rigidly erect. A stain of pre-cum began to spread on the khaki cloth.

            I was shocked. In years knowing him I had never seen Al so overcome by lust. I could not understand why. If you told me that the Goddess had once been a Playboy centerfold, I would believe you. But those days were obviously long past. She was at least ten years older than Al and I, and easily old enough to be the mother of the young women that had answered the door (who looked to be in her mid twenties).

            The kiss went on for at least two minutes. When it was over, Al crawled back to his chair and took his seat. The look on his face was one that I imagine junkies must have after they just shot up.

            When Al was seated again, the man to his left drop to all fours and followed Al’s example. All the steps were played out again, the crawling…the genuflections…the birthday wishes…the long kiss. Each member of the party repeated the ritual in turn, and each showed the same signs of delirious arousal. What was most remarkable was the impression that none of this had been planned. Al had offered his worship to the Goddess spontaneously, and the others followed his example automatically.

            When the woman to my right crawled back to her seat (she was older than the woman who had greeted us…I could see a thin trail of drool coming from the corner of her mouth as she rose back into her seat) all eyes in the room turned expectantly to me. All, that is, except those of the Goddess. She sat down in her chair without waiting to see what I might do.

            Silence hovered for several moments, as the others basked in the afterglow of the Goddess’s kiss, while she surveyed me with cool green eyes. Finally, one of the other men in the group snapped out of his lustful daze and reached behind his chair to procure an elegantly wrapped box. “We brought You a gift, Goddess,” he said, holding it up for her to inspect.

            The Goddess looked at the presentation appreciatively and simply nodded, signaling that the man might open the package for her. This he did, placing it on the glass coffee table in the center of the circle of chairs. Tearing the paper and opening the lid of the box carefully, he removed a glistening statue from inside. It was a figure of the Buddha carved in crystal, the features and contours worked in exquisite detail. He was depicted at the moment of his enlightenment, with his left hand making the Dhyana mudra of meditation and his right hand making the Bhumisparsha “earth witness” mudra, declaring his victory over the temptations of the god Mara.

            “Oh, that is lovely!” the Goddess exclaimed. “You all know how important the Buddha is to Me.”

            The Goddess’s reaction made the entire circle very pleased, a happy mood that was conveyed non-verbally as the partygoers exchanged smiles of satisfaction and relief. My sense of disorientation deepened. Apart from their common obsession with the Goddess, these people seemed to share nothing in common. If I had been forced to wager money, I would have bet that they had never been in the same room together before. Yet somehow they had all been read into the gift and felt something was riding on its reception. I was feeling “once bitten” from having put my foot in my mouth before, but my need to get my bearings was becoming irrepressible. Against my better judgment, I spoke.

            “I thought this was a surprise party,” I said, addressing myself to the Goddess. “But you seemed to have known all about it. In fact, we seem to be in your home.”

            “This is a surprise party, Peter,” the Goddess replied, focusing her emerald eyes on me. “But the surprise is not for me. It’s for you.”

            “What?” I said, even more flustered. “Have we been introduced? How do you know my name?”

            “I am Goddess Marquesa,” she explained, “a professional Hypnodomme. Your friend Al, like my other pets,” here she gestured with her hand at the other partygoers, “encountered Me online and has been My worshiper for several years. He has told Me a great deal about you.”

            “Oh?” I grunted. “And why did you have him bring me here?”

            “This is a special occasion,” Goddess Marquesa said. “Last year was My first birthday here in My new Florida home, but because of the pandemic I could have no guests. So this year a few of My most devoted pets decided to fly out and throw Me this party…”

            “That explains the party,” I interrupted. “But not why I am here.”

            Goddess Marquesa smiled and winked. “I was getting to that, silly boy! Every year I mark My birthday by giving a gift to someone else,” on these words she made the Varada mudra with her left hand, extending it out, palm upwards. “This year I give My gift to you. That is the surprise.”

            The Goddess laughed softly, and her mirth was echoed around the circle, as if she had just told an especially good joke. The others looked at me with congenial expressions, as if I had just been announced the winner of the door prize at a church function.

            “And what gift is that?” I asked.

            “The gift of slavery,” she replied, her tone matter-of-fact. “I offer you the chance to surrender to your desire for Me.”

            “There is only problem,” I objected. “I don’t desire you. No offense, but you are much too old for me.”

            The others chortled at this remark, as if I had just admitted that I did not know how to tie my shoes, or declared that the earth was flat. This made the Goddess laugh, which in turn spurred the others to laugh harder. In a few moments the room was in hysterics.

            “What is so funny?” I cried. “Do you seriously think that you know what I want better than I do?”

            “Precisely,” Goddess Marquesa said, becoming stone-cold serious in an instant, which brought the general laughter to a halt. “Al told me that you are a practicing Buddhist, and that your spiritual life has been increasingly unfulfilling. That is why I knew you needed My gift.”

“Oh so now you are the Buddha?” I whined, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

The Goddess smiled at my taunt. “I am like the Buddha in this way…,” she explained, “I see things clearly. Privilege, consumerism, and patriarchy have warped your vision. But I can make the scales drop from your eyes. You look at Me and think you see someone who is too old for You to desire. But that is not your heart seeing Me. That is not your body seeing Me. That is a thousand television commercials, and magazine covers, and billboards and newspaper stories. You are not so shallow that you can’t be made to see the truth. Look at Me again.”

On these last words her voice seemed to change- to vibrate at a deeper, more visceral frequency. I felt her words in my solar plexus, like a blow that landed without pain. My mouth dropped open, my eyes focused. I fixated upon the lines of her face. The shape of her mouth. The sweep of her breasts. The etched curves of her thighs and calves.

 My breath came up short. My heart pounded. How could I have not seen it before? She was so….so….so…..SEXY. Oh, dear God. I yearned to touch her. To taste her. The need was excruciating. My cock swelled until it felt like it would explode.

“I…I…I…” I stammered, pleading, “I have been striving to transcend desire.”

She brought Her hands up to Her breasts in the sign of the Dharmachakra mudra. A glow seemed to emanate from Her body as She said, “Surrendering to desire for the Other is another way to self-transcendence. I offer you a middle path to liberation, peter…give your self to Me.”

My resistance collapsed before Her power. I fell onto my hands and knees and crawled forward as the others watched in rapt joy. After I had kissed Her feet and hands, She bent to seal my surrender, but instead of a kiss She placed Her lips next to my ear and began to whisper Her hypnotic incantation.

The intimacy of Her moist words in my ear was more rapturous than any love-making I had ever experienced. As my mind gave way to Her will I saw past lives and other universes. When I was completely entranced, the whole party set forth into the street, where a carnival in celebration of Goddess Marquesa was underway. Brass bands paraded, playing arrangements of “Black Magic Woman,” and “Witchcraft.” Floats went by bearing effigies of the Goddess, accompanied by drummers and troops of entranced dancers. Goddess Marquesa mounted a sedan chair and we bore Her aloft on our shoulders to join the parade, dancing along as if our Passenger was feather-light.

I don’t know if these last events of that night were actual happenings or visions. In either case, they are true, as only those things that ought to be ever are. I never returned home from my “bachelor holiday.” I got a small apartment near the beach and have worked odd jobs, so that I can stay near my Goddess. I suppose by the twisted standards of our society I have become a somewhat “poorer” man, but I know that I am vastly richer since I received Goddess Marquesa’s gift. I thank Her for it every day.

Happy Birthday Goddess Marquesa!

The End