In a trance of Her own as She introspectively muses over thoughts of Men, Power, and Possession, Goddess Marquesa’s free hand unconsciously moves down to Her lap and gently begins to move up and down over Her pussy.  The fingertips of Her other hand idly tease and stroke the stem of the glass of dry, oaky Chardonnay She nurses as She relaxes comfortably in a darkened corner of a high end — read very pricy — restaurant.

Despite not having a reservation, Marquesa used Her Masterfully Persuasive Powers on the maitre d’, *somehow* prevailing upon him to seat Her at the circular table backed onto the rear corner of the dining room where the walls intersect.  A plushly upholstered, semi-circular bench, backed into the corner, adjoins the two walls and surrounds the rear of the table.  Regular dining chairs close the outer half of the circle.  Covering the table is a circular white linen tablecloth, so generously cut that its fringe falls down several inches below the table’s edge.  In the middle of the table sits the sole source of illumination for the entire corner, a small, unobtrusive alcohol lamp that throws off barely enough light to allow diners to read the menu.

                   Every detail for this evening has been carefully thought out and planned.  Marquesa has chosen a Wednesday as Her best bet for bringing to fruition Her plans for this evening.  Midweek dining traffic at this establishment is quieter and much more laid back in contrast with the hustle and bustle one encounters on Fridays and weekends, when the place becomes a madhouse.  And so, the subdued tone of the restaurant meets Her needs perfectly.

Tonight, Marquesa has chosen to clothe Herself in black, Her favorite color, and the one, She believes, that shows Her off to best advantage — though by being cloaked in black in Her dimly lit corner, She blends so well into the shadowy surroundings that even an owl would be challenged to verify Her assessment — which is the second reason She chose the location:  She wants to blend in to the darkness.  She arrived earlier this evening wearing a shiny black leather bolo jacket, cut short to show off Her slim waist and curvy, rounded hips, and open loosely in front, casually revealing Her luxuriant breasts.  She removed it the instant She took Her seat.

Beneath the jacket, She sports a tightly fitting, custom sewn, long-sleeved top of shimmering black silk in a pattern of reptilian scales, subtle and sinister, and so finely woven into the fabric that one can barely discern them in good light.  Cut specifically to support Her breasts, the garment extends around Her neck, almost up to Her chin, in a style reminiscent of the Dragon Lady from Terry and the Pirates, and just below the navel it tucks into shiny, black, high topped slacks made from the finest calfskin leather.  Meticulously hand-cut, Her pants not only hug Her attractive legs but also snuggle deep into the cleft of Her magnificently muscled ass.  Clinging tight and close and extending deep between Her legs, Her slacks snugly follow Her body around into the valley between Her lower lips, revealing in sheer bas relief like yoga pants the topography of the formidable body below Her waist.  Indeed, Her lower lips pushing against their leathern sheath make Her seem to have been poured into Her pants.  For this occasion, one must add, Marquesa has chosen to forego wearing undergarments — not even a thong.  Consequently, Her carefully chosen garb highlights the flawless, sensual curves of Her body free of any distracting seams or straps lying beneath.  For footware, She eschews extra-high stilettos in favor of the relative comfort and ease of movement provided by black Gucci ankle boots, stretch knit with medium high heels.  Just for this evening, She purposely arranged Her hair more severely than usual, having done it up so that it does not flow down over her shoulders, and She has covered it in a strikingly beautiful red and black scarf of finest Italian silk, leaving just enough  peeking through so that one can tell She’s blonde.  Much more subdued this way, She does not attract the attention She customarily garners when She allows it to stream down.  She still presents Herself as a real head turner, but more quietly, much less ostentatiously than is Her custom.

                   Marquesa’s understated, subdued manner of dress is deliberate, because Her plans this evening preclude calling undue attention to Herself.  Her eye makeup is as restrained as Her clothing; She has forgone Her customarily heavy black eye shadow in favor carefully blended pastels, the shades of which imperceptibly darken with closer proximity to the eyelid.

These darker shades, in turn, culminate in a very thin dark blue-green line which surrounds the eyelids and set off the milk white corneas, highlighting in the midst Her striking, emerald green irises.  Her eye makeup, a work of facial artistry, meticulous, nuanced, and powerful, effectively focuses attention to those riveting emerald irises.  Her perfume, applied sparingly, is similarly covert, not so much flowery fragrant as earthy and organic, evoking the Power and SEXX! She so loves, yet it still packs a potent punch because it is laced with pheromones.

Together, Her carriage and couture project decisiveness and self-assurance, dominance, power and command, and they magnificently amplify the Aura of SEXX!ual Power She naturally gives off.  In short — and under much brighter lighting — Marquesa looks cosmopolitan, sophisticated, and urbane, yet She exudes the classic aura of a femme fatale.  Elegant, chic, sleek and SEXX!y as hell, She could move with equal ease into the most exclusive night spots in Manhattan and Beverly Hills, London and Paris, Dubai, Monte Carlo and Hong Kong — and She knows it.  Truly, She is dressed for the upcoming occasion.

                   Having positioned Herself In the middle of the bench behind Her table, with Her back squarely facing the corner, Marquesa’s view commands the entire room.  To Her right extends the main dining room, capacious and illuminated by the diminished mood lighting that invites quite, intimate conversation in establishments like this.  The lighting also subtly demarks the fuzzy line between the restaurant and the bar.  To Her left, two rows of tables buffer Her table from the bar, more brightly lit than the rest of the establishment.

But wait!  How did Marquesa’s corner become so dark?  Because *somehow* She also prevailed upon the maitre ‘d to dim the light in Her corner, rendering it the darkest spot in the house.  In the background, mood music plays tastefully and quietly, which suits Her just fine;  tonight She doesn’t need — nor does She want — loud music that inhibits conversation and lowers Her vibration.

                     An attentive waiter, attracted by Her blonde hair and Her naturally SEXX!y aura, obsequiously sets before Her a basket of freshly baked bread and a shallow bowl of olive oil to dip it in.  As Her hand moves from Her lap to the top of the table, She politely asks, In Her customary way, for a bit more olive oil.  Possibly he feels..unconsciously the power of Her aura or, perhaps, a *distinctive tone* in Her voice — an *inexplicable tone*  simultaneously awakens a dormant, powerful, pressing need to..Serve and Please This Woman, and also..commands and demands *instant* compliance — but in either case, He returns swiftly, almost sprinting, with a small cruet, which he sets down before Her.  “As You wished, Ma’am,” he says, deferentially and formally.

Never before has he has encountered anyone who could elicit from him such an overwhelming, compelling..need to please, to obey, and only with the greatest effort can he suppress a pressing desire to kneel down and kiss Her feet on the spot.  By way of thanks, She opens Her SEXXX!ual aura to its strongest intensity — She has learned to turn it on and off as She would a light switch — and flashes him a smile only She can manage — an enigmatic, knowing, SEXXX!y smile.  The combination, irresistible to any man, brings on an erection which produces a tent-like bulge on the front of his apron.  This She views with quiet amusement and satisfaction. Thank God for My *Special Gifts*!

                  Sitting back, She takes Her time over Her drink;  in fact, She barely sips it.  Her earlier restlessness and anticipatory jitters, and previous daydreams over Men and Power have been banished by a post-hypnotic trigger as Marquesa enters strictest predator mode and have been supplanted by more pressing thoughts of dinner and finding a suitable companion with whom to enjoy Her meal.

For this, Marquesa wants Her mind sharp and clear for She has big plans, ambitious plans this evening.  And they are unfolding even as we sit here with her.  Her aura She keeps mostly under wraps.  Her breathing is calm and quiet.  Her eyes, having long become accustomed to the dim light, see everything, miss nothing.  At present, She’s just silently people watching, and Her primary focus — Her only focus — is on the men.  Not just on any men, but single men — or at least, unaccompanied men — who enter the bar.  Tonight, She is out to procure another male specimen to bring under Her control and into Her stable.

A consummate huntress, in Her own way every bit as skilled as a large prowling jungle cat, She uses the darkness of Her corner as the cover from which She intently searches for prey — for the right man to walk into Her ken.  So far this evening, pickings have been slim.  The men who’ve shown up are either accompanied or too fat or too old — or just plain uninteresting.  Sighing with a mixture of ennui and boredom, She takes a small sip of wine, wondering where the time has gone so far this evening, occasionally glancing idly at the menu.  It’s not that traffic is that slow tonight.  Far from it; it’s just that Her type of man hasn’t yet come in.  Yet the night is still early, so She resigns Herself to the wait.  It’s all part of the chase — and a chase She always thrills to follow.

                   Her presence in this particular hunting ground is no accident.  Rather, it was carefully chosen by Marquesa, who, in Her constant efforts to expand Her stable of subjects, had surveyed a number of potential stalking sites, and She judged this restaurant and two others to harbor the greatest potential for snaring the most game.  The selection criteria were simple:  Her chosen spots had to have an adjoining bar — not just any bar, but a trendy gathering spot where people gather as much to see and be seen as to meet for a drink or two; the food must be excellent, because on an occasion such as this, She will not suffer through a mediocre meal; and, the place must be high end — She wants to steer well clear of shot-and-a-beer saloons.  The evening’s stalking site features a renowned chef and a very trendy bar, and the prices are easily high enough to preclude patronage by the ‘meaner sort.’   In short, this place easily fulfills all Her requirements.