Over the Rainbow

“Tell me what brought you here,” Goddess Marquesa said. I shuffled nervously in my seat and took a sip of the drink she had poured for me, my throat suddenly dry.
“I want…I yearn to experience genuine slavery,” I answered.
She smiled, her green eyes flashing a mixture of amusement and understanding. “Yes, I can sense that,” she replied. “But why me? We have never met, never spoken. This seems rather impulsive. I am very flattered, of course, but this is a serious step to take on a whim…” Read more…

DEVOTION

I am a very bad man, thus in a sense none of this should have come as a surprise. When one makes a “living” out of killing, karma is bound to catch up eventually. Even so, if you had given me a thousand chances to guess how it would all end, I would never have landed on this.
When I learned that my target was a “Goddess” I actually laughed. That was how far gone I was. Murdering a divinity seemed like kicks. Something new for the scrapbook. Read more…

Calling Card

 

Danvers looked at the card again, wondering. It was encased in a cream white envelope, his name and address inked carefully on its face in a beautiful calligraphic hand. He could tell it was a card from its stiffness: whatever it contained was made of something much more resilient than paper. The only mark apart from the address was the monogram GM, printed on the back in large ornamental script.

Curious, Danvers broke the seal and lifted the flap of the envelope. A heavenly scent emanated from inside, a very distinctive and alluring perfume. The card itself was made of stock the same cream shade as the envelope. On its front was drawn a heart with an arrow through it. Inside, in the same hand that had written the address, was a short poem: Read more…

The Green Bottle

In Marquesa’s lovely home of devious delights is a small green crystal bottle… Do not be deceived, the bottle may be small but what it contains will shock you.  Marquesa, sweet, innocent, devious delightful Marquesa may invite you for a visit. By all means visit Her, bring Her presents, spoil Her give Her reason to smile and maybe She will show You the wonders of that unique piece of glass… Read more…

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…

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