Burton Clay pressed the flashing button on his office intercom. “Yes, Molly?” he asked in the clipped tones of a busy man.

“There is a depositor requesting to see you,” the voice of his secretary reported.

Burton looked at his watch. It was two-thirty. Even with shortened summer hours on a Friday afternoon, the bank would not close for another hour and a half. “All right,” he said into the intercom with weary resignation, “send him in.”

A few moments later, his office door opened and she entered. Burton had heard the expression “his heart caught in his throat” many times, but this was the first time he had truly experienced it. She was beyond stunning, she was mesmerizing. Burton felt goose bumps rise all over his body as his eyes moved magnetically over her face and body.

“Please sit down,” he stammered, gesturing toward the chair in front of his desk. As she sat and crossed her perfect legs Burton felt faint. “Whom do I have the honor of serving?”

“I am the CEO of Emerald Eyes Enterprises,” she said. At the mention of this name Burton stiffened, alarmed. Distress fought with lust in his gaze. “You may call me Goddess Marquesa,” she noted in a tone of condescension.

“What can I do for you?” Clay asked warily.

“I think you know why I’m here,” she replied.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

This was met by silence. Goddess Marquesa surveyed Burton coolly with her piercing green eyes. Being locked in this magnificent woman’s gaze made him uneasy, like the canary being assessed by the cat.

“Your bank recently froze my account,” the Goddess noted, breaking the silence.

“I’m sorry, your business was on a list given to us by the FDIC of accounts subject to special scrutiny,” explained Burton, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

“I am an erotic hypnotist. Turning men on and putting them into a trance is not a crime.”

“You’ll have to take that up with the government…we only do as we are instructed…”

Goddess Marquesa rolled her eyes. “Yes, I understand,” she noted sarcastically, “you were only following orders. In any case, the account has been unfrozen, so your playing lackey for the Feds is not my main concern today. I’m here to report a theft.”

“Oh?” grunted Clay, fidgeting.

“Just before my account was frozen I made a large cash deposit of recent earnings. That sum was missing from my balance when the account was reactivated.”

“I see…do you have some record of that transaction?”

“Of course,” replied Marquesa, passing a receipt across Clay’s desk.

Clay nervously feigned examining the document. “I’m sorry, this receipt is not clear,” he said with a slight cough, “there is no date or time stamp on it.”

“Yes….I hadn’t noticed that when I made my deposit.” Goddess Marquesa gave a knowing grin. “Silly me.”

“Without sufficient documentation I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

Goddess Marquesa locked eyes with Clay, making his pulse, already agitated by fear, quicken with desire. Something about her was intensely fascinating. He could not help staring at the contours of her face, imagining what it would be like to taste her lips.

“I’ll give you just one chance to confess,” the Goddess said, her tone calm.

“What?” stammered Clay, his heart suddenly racing. “What are you talking about?”

“You know what I mean,” replied Marquesa icily. She leaned back slightly in her chair so that Clay had a clearer view of her breasts and legs, compelling him to stare longingly. “You are going to be my slave one way or another,” she continued, “in that you have no choice. But if you return what you stole from me now I will allow you to remain out of prison. Of course I will force you and your accomplice, the young lady who wrote that worthless receipt, to return everything you have stolen from other businesswomen like me.”

Clay struggled to return Goddess Marquesa’s gaze, trying to remain composed. “I have no idea what you mean,” he said, his voice shaking. He was unsettled by how attracted he was to her, but he knew he just had to remain calm. She had no proof. It was his word against hers, and Clay was confident that society would trust the word of a bank executive over that of an erotic hypnotist.

“You’re making a mistake,” remarked Marquesa disinterestedly, “you’ll realize that eventually, when it is too late.” She arched slightly so as to thrust her breasts forward, noticing how Clay’s pupils dilated in response. His breathing was rapid and shallow; his awkward posture indicated that his erect cock was straining against the seams of his slacks. “Living as my slave might have been very pleasant for you, were you not behind bars. Ah, well…Listen to my voice, Burton…focus on my words…your eyelids are getting heavy…”

A few minutes later Molly watched the striking blond leave Clay’s office. She was surprised when Clay himself emerged only moments behind. He was wearing his jacket and carrying his briefcase.

“Will you be leaving early?” asked Molly.

“Yes,” replied Clay. His expression was oddly blank, his voice drowsily monotone. “I will be leaving town for a few days. Please inform anyone who calls looking for me. It may be difficult to reach me by phone. Contact me by email if you need me.”

“Yes, sir…” Molly began, but Clay walked out without waiting for her reply.

************************************************************************

Clay found himself standing alone in a windowless room, to all appearances a basement. He did not know how he had gotten there. It was a fairly large space, about eight hundred square feet, lit by lamps scattered about the edge. These were veiled by gauzy colored scarves, so that the light they threw off was eerily muted. Dark carpet covered the floor, and several couches and love seats lined the walls. Two pieces of furniture stood out, placed in middle of the floor on either side of the room. To Clay’s right was what looked like a dentist’s chair, except that it was equipped with separate stirrups and shackles for both the hands and feet of its occupant. To Clay’s left was an A-shaped frame, about three and a half feet tall, that likewise had a pair each of adjustable manacles and ankle straps, affixed on either side of the frame near the floor.

A single door led into the room. After a few moments it open and Goddess Marquesa entered, wearing the same short black dress he had seen her in at his office. She closed the door behind her and locked it with a key held in her right hand. As Clay watched she put this key down the front of her dress, securing it under her bra next to her beautiful breast.

“Thank you for walking into my trap, Burton,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone. “It is always convenient when victims make themselves accessible. Here we can conduct business that would not be appropriate for your office.”

Clay bridled. “What is this place? How did I get here?”

“This is a little hideaway that I like to use for working on potential slaves. It is quite private, no need to worry about anyone overhearing any moans…or screams. As for how you got here…you walked here under your own steam, dear boy. With a little help from my hypnotic suggestion, of course.”

“Let me out. I have places to be…”

“Enjoy your stay here while you can, Burton. This is the last place you will be before prison.”

“You’re crazy. You can’t keep me here.”

“Watch me.”

Clay grabbed Goddess Marquesa’s arm, wrenching it forcefully. “Give me that key!” he demanded.

The Goddess moved with a swiftness Clay had never encountered. Her free hand seized his wrist and, using his arm as a lever, she spun him so that he was facing away from her. With a swift kick to the back of his legs she forced him to his knees. As he fell she twisted his arm behind his back and pulled up, contorting him into a painfully awkward posture. He struggled to stand or turn, but by pulling on his trapped wrist she was able to immobilize him.

“Don’t be foolish, Burton,” Goddess Marquesa purred, “if you struggle I’ll have to break your arm.”

Seeing that he was helpless, Clay relaxed.

“That’s better,” said the Goddess. “I’m going to let you go now. If I do, will you be a good boy?”

“Yes,” Clay grunted in exasperation, upon which Goddess Marquesa released her grip. Rubbing his wrist and blushing with shame, he rose and faced her. “This is insane,” he sputtered. “What do you want from me?”

“I want what you stole from me.”

“You have no proof that I’ve done anything wrong. I don’t know what you plan to do…torture me? Keep me prisoner? But between the two of us, you are the only one who has committed a crime. Kidnapping is a federal offense.”

“Oh, poor baby,” Goddess Marquesa mewled in mock sympathy. “A moment ago you were going to get your way by force. Now you are hiding behind the skirts of the law.”

“Mock me all you want,” rejoined Clay. “Unless you kill me and hide the body, as soon as I file charges you’ll be the one going to jail, not me.”

Goddess Marquesa smiled. Turning her back on Clay, she walked toward one of the couches lining the far wall of the room. “That is true,” she said, seating herself on the couch so that Clay could see her full form. “If you file charges against me I’ll be in a lot of trouble. But you are not going to file charges against me.”

“Why not?”

“Because by the time you leave this place you will be hopelessly in love with me.”

This was greeted by silence. Clay knew he should laugh, curse; make some expression of derision at his captor’s audacity. But looking at the magnificent women coolly surveying him from the couch, he could not make light of her words. He swallowed hard. “Please,” he finally managed to croak, “you can’t seriously…”

“Oh, but I can,” interrupted the Goddess, “I would think that after walking yourself here under my hypnotic influence you would realize that I can doing practically anything I desire. But I suppose we have a hard time acclimating to what we don’t understand. Enough chit-chat,” she continued, gesturing toward Clay’s clothes, “let’s get to work. Undress for me so that we may begin.”

Clay was struck silent again, answering this order with a disbelieving stare. After a long pause, he asked, “Why would I do as you say?”

“Oh,” answered the Goddess, pursing her lips playfully and widening her eyes, as if about to instruct a child, “there are many reasons. Shall I list them for you?” Without waiting for a reply, she said, “Number one: You will do as I say because if you don’t, I will force you, and that will be tiresome for both of us.” Goddess Marquesa paused here to see if Clay would attempt to offer a rebuttal. His eyes revealed that he knew her promise was not an empty threat.

Smiling, Goddess Marquesa continued, “Number two: You will do as I say because if you do, I will let you leave. The sooner you obey, the sooner you walk free.”

“Is that a promise?” asked Clay. “If I follow your instructions, you will let me out?”

“Yes,” confirmed the Goddess.

Clay thought for a moment. After a few seconds, he made as if to place his briefcase on the ground.

“Don’t you want to hear the third reason?” interrupted Goddess Marquesa.

Clay paused in mid motion and directed his gaze back at his captor, attentive. Goddess Marquesa locked eyes with him, boring through him with her deep green orbs.

“Number three: You will do as I say because you want me so badly you can scarcely contain your desire, and obeying me feels sooo goood.”

Clay stiffened at these words, his eyes widening in fear. He tried to put up a brave front. “You are very beautiful, it’s true…” he said, his voice faltering, “but if you think you can make me fall in love with you…”

“I don’t think, puppet, I know,” said Marquesa, rising from the couch and moving lithely toward Clay like a jungle cat. “I’ve enslaved so many men and women that I have lost track, and the steps in this dance are as familiar to me as my own name. Right now you want me. I can see it oozing from every pore of your body. Soon want will become need. You will crave me the way a junkie yearns for his next fix. Finally, need will become love. Worship. I will be your sun and stars, the center of your world. Your Goddess.”

Once more Clay sensed that he should protest, but all he could manage to do was to stare at Goddess Marquesa open-mouthed.

“Undress,” she commanded. Bowing his head, Clay stripped off his clothes until he stood naked before her.  The Goddess ran an appreciative gaze up and down his body, taking special note of his ramrod-stiff cock. “Not bad for a banker,” she mused, “I almost regret having to send you to prison.”

“What next?” asked Clay. Goddess Marquesa gestured to the raised mechanical chair to Clay’s right. He hesitated, fear masking his features. “I don’t like the look of that thing,” he declared.

Goddess Marquesa laughed. “You have no choice,” she said.

“What are you going to do to me when I am strapped into that? How do I know I can trust you?”

“You don’t know, silly boy, but at the same time you don’t care. Deep down you want to give yourself to me, that impulse is too strong to overcome. If it makes it easier though, I promise that what you experience in this chair will not be painful.”

Resigned, Clay sat in the chair. His eyes followed Goddess Marquesa as she strapped his wrists and ankles, immobilizing him. As she leaned across him to affix the straps he felt the heat of her body and caught her intoxicating fragrance, making his cock pulse even more urgently with longing. When he was secure, the Goddess stood and pulled a lever affixed to the chair, sending Clay rocking back so that his head was lower than his feet, hovering three feet above the ground.

“What are you doing?” Clay asked nervously. Goddess Marquesa ignored this question. She walked to Clay’s side. Reaching under her dress, she removed her panties and laid them on the floor below his head.

“Before anything else,” she said, her tone relaxed, “I need some information, Burton. I know you must have put the money you stole from me in a separate account. I’ll need the number and access code.”

“I told you,” Clay protested, his voice edged with panic, “I didn’t steal any money. I have no account number or access code to give you…”

“Shush, Burton…” Goddess Marquesa cooed, straddling Clay’s head so that it was between her lower thighs and raising the hem of her dress. “You’ve heard of ‘waterboarding?’ I have a somewhat similar interrogation method I call ‘assboarding.’”

From his reclined position Clay had a full view of Goddess Marquesa’s luscious thighs and ass, and despite his fear he could not help staring hungrily. Even so, the dawning realization of what was about to happen fed his panic. “You promised you weren’t going to cause me pain!” he cried.

Goddess Marquesa laughed sweetly. “Yes. I lied a little. But ‘assboarding’ works a bit differently than most torture methods…”

Goddess Marquesa squatted, pressing her ass down over Clay’s mouth and nose. For a moment he imbibed her taste and scent, before the crack of her ass sealed his airways and cut off his breathing. As he suffocated, the thrill of being enveloped by Goddess Marquesa’s exquisite flesh warred in his mind with the pain and fear of asphyxiation. His heart pounded, his mind reeled. Just as he felt himself blacking out, the Goddess rose and Clay gasped for air.

“I’ve never failed to retrieve information this way,” noted Goddess Marquesa. “No man can hold out long under assboarding.” As she finished this utterance she came down once more. Clay was buried deep; again seized by both pain and pleasure. As the cheeks of the Goddess’s ass sealed over his nostrils and mouth, he felt her take firm hold of his erect cock in her hand and begin to stroke. The sensation was thrilling; he had never felt so aroused. Involuntarily he opened his mouth and thrust out his tongue, probing upward for the rosebud of Goddess Marquesa’s anus, hungry for her even as he felt his life being choked out. Just as he was about to both orgasm explosively and lose consciousness the Goddess released his cock and rose. Clay gulped air reflexively as his cock throbbed with aching need.

“I don’t…” Clay started to protest, expecting to be interrogated further. Before he could finish his denial, the Goddess came down over his face and began the cycle again, stroking him toward ecstasy as she held his face between her cheeks. She asked no more questions for the next hour, but repeated the cycle a dozen more times, bringing him repeatedly to the brink of orgasm. Finally, she stood still, her ass poised above Clay’s face, her hands resting on his naked thighs.

“What?” Clay gasped, his chest heaving with a mixture of fatigue and sexual excitement. “What’s happening?”

“You know what I want,” said the Goddess in a serene voice.

“No….no…please….”

“Please, what?” asked Goddess Marquesa.

Clay let forth a moan, a desperate sound of animal need. “Please don’t stop,” he begged, his voice laced with tears.

“I told you that assboarding worked differently,” Goddess Marquesa said with a chuckle, “Waterboarding goes on until you beg for it to stop. Assboarding goes on until you beg for it to continue.”

“Pleeeaaase…” groaned Clay, straining to raise his head so that he might taste the Goddess’s ass again.

“Give me the account number. Give me the access code.”

Clay began to weep, letting forth wrenching sobs like a small boy who has lost his mother. “I can’t…” he choked.

“You have no choice,” reiterated Goddess Marquesa, lowering her ass so that it hovered tantalizingly just beyond Clay’s reach.

“The account is number 567043,” confessed Clay, his voice heavy with defeat. “It is in the name of John Smith. The access code is ‘hypnopatsy.’”

“Oh, that is very droll,” noted Goddess Marquesa icily. “I am almost tempted to leave off right here…”

“No! Please!” croaked Clay in terror.

“….but since you have been good boy…” With these words Goddess Marquesa lowered herself, seizing her puppet’s cock and beginning the cycle again.

*********************************************************************

Hours passed, then days, though Clay could not keep track of time. He was kept on the constant edge of ecstasy, but never allowed to cross the brink. At first he was always shackled, either to the chair or the whipping frame. As he grew more docile, Goddess Marquesa let him roam unfettered, always crawling or on his knees. She teased, aroused, and manipulated every sensitive point of his body. He pleaded with her to bind him, to beat him, and thanked her when she did. She allowed him to massage her feet and kiss her hands after she had struck him. She fed him dog food in a plate on the floor which he ate gleefully on all fours, sucking water from a nippled bottle that she held as he knelt at her feet. She led him blindfolded to the bathroom and left him shackled to the chair when it was time to sleep.

All this while Goddess Marquesa questioned Clay; discovering the particulars of his thefts and the facts of his finances. He gave her the names of all the women he had stolen from and the amounts he had purloined. He had spent much of the stolen money, but there was enough in his personal accounts to pay back most of what he had taken.

As Clay’s need grew it became more difficult for him to sleep. Goddess Marquesa would strap him into the chair and he would lie awake, thinking of her, wishing that he could free his hand and grant himself relief. After many fitful hours he would fall asleep, only to find himself bound at her feet in his dreams.

Finally he awoke from such a dream to find Goddess Marquesa standing over him, naked except for a black negligee and an enormous strap-on dildo.

“Today I will grant you release,” she declared, “in both senses of the word.”

Moving expertly, she unshackled Clay as he drank in her scent. When he was free, she pointed to the A-frame across the room. He needed no further prompting. Compliantly he strode across the room and bent over the frame, offering the Goddess his rear end. Placing herself behind him, she parted his cheeks and plunged the well-lubricated dildo into his ass. Clay shuddered as the hard shaft penetrated him, probing deep to find his prostate. Slowly and skillfully, Goddess Marquesa thrust in and out, massaging Clay toward climax. As he was about to explode she paused, quivering the tip of the dildo against his sensitive gland as he gasped in desperate anticipation.

“Oh, please….don’t stop!” Clay begged, his voice hoarse and shaking, his body trembling from head to toe.

“What are you?” asked the Goddess.

“I am your slave!”

“Why?”

“B….b….because….I love you!” Clay gasped, wracked with emotion.

As the words left his mouth the Goddess thrust deep, pinioning Clay on her shaft with explosive force. The impact sent Clay over the edge of climax, he erupted as he had never cum before, crying out in abject release while semen spurted from him like lava from a volcano. As Clay’s body still trembled in ecstasy Goddess Marquesa withdrew, and he collapsed at her feet, curled into the fetal position and sobbing like an infant.

Ignoring the weeping man, Goddess Marquesa cleaned and dressed. Producing the key to her den, she opened the door and paused at its threshold on her way out.

“Your clothes are in the corner,” she said to Clay, who was still prone and gently weeping. “Get dressed and go turn yourself in to the police.”

“Why?” he blurted out. The single word was all he could summon.

“Because you are my slave. Because you love me. Because it pleases me that you should suffer this way. Obey. You have no choice.”

Clay raised his eyes to plead with her more, but she was gone, leaving the door open.

**********************************************************************

Clay stared at her picture on the wall of his cell. At the minimum security prison where he and the other white collar criminals were serving time, inmates were allowed to hang pictures of wives and girlfriends, and who but him knew that she was not his girlfriend or wife? The letters he sent her came back marked “return to sender” in an elegant feminine hand. She never answered the phone when he called to plead with her to visit him. But she knew he had obeyed. She knew he loved her. She must.

Every day he tormented himself with regret. Not for stealing. Of course he was sorry that he had stolen from her, but if he had not wronged her, how could he have become her slave? Better to have sinned against her once and serve her for an eternity than to have gone blameless yet never feel her yoke. But why, why hadn’t he taken the chance she had given him to confess? If only he had surrendered when she first confronted him….the self reproach was almost too much to bear.

He had been sentenced to five years. With good behavior he might get out in three and a half. Then he would go to her. Beg for forgiveness. He had wronged her, it was true, but that was in a different life. He was not the man he had been; she had remade him. He was her creature now. Her slave.  He had to be strong. He had to hold onto the hope that she might forgive. He had no choice.