Tag: Legs

Goddess Marquesa’s Sleep Laboratory for Pets

 

Armand sleeps comfortably and contentedly.  Curled up in the fetal position and partly covered by a blanket, Goddess Marquesa’s pet derives the maximum use of an oval mattress lying on the bedroom floor at the foot of his Goddess’s bed, a location She judges a fit resting place for Her sleepy serfs.  No, Armand isn’t hypnotized; he’s really and truly asleep, thoroughly exhausted from the sheer, unrelenting exhilaration and sexual highs he’d experienced at the hands of his Goddess three short hours earlier. Read more…

Tunnel of Love

“Why have you come here?” Goddess Marquesa asked.

“I don’t know,” I answered, and it was the truth. She had agreed to a private meeting with me only after much pleading, but I could not identify the root of my pressing need. “The trance sessions I’ve had with you have been wonderful, but lately I don’t feel myself. Look…” I held up my hand, palm down. It trembled involuntarily. “I can’t make it stop. I have trouble sleeping. I can’t focus at work. What’s happening to me? Can you help me with this?” Read more…

The Baroness of Marilana

Matthew has only had three women in his life.

The first is the Magnificent Mesmerizing Mistress Marquesa. Although he lives in Miami, he visits Tampa at least four times a year for fashion shows. Each time he manages to serve the beautiful Goddess extensively. He treasures these brief interludes of paying homage and lavishing gifts on this true Goddess of Feminine Superiority, Beauty and Domination. Read more…

Pandora

A story inspired by Goddess Marquesa

 

 

 

 

The package arrived at my office wrapped in plain brown paper and addressed to “Dr. Fletcher, PsyD MD.” Inside was a wooden box, stained a light red-ochre color, with the name “Pandora” painted on the cover in gold leaf. It was accompanied by a note in a round feminine hand: Read more…

The Marquesa Triangle

           “Goddess be praised, he’s alive,” a strange man’s voice declared as strong hands fished Edward out of the churning surf.

Edward hung limp as his body was dragged up the beach. The feeling of being on solid ground was strange. He had been airborne, shaken by a storm like a maraca in the fist of a mad dancer. After his plane ditched in the ocean and he swam free of the cabin, he had bobbed for hours like a cork tossed by crashing waves. A world that was suddenly not in constant motion in all three dimensions was now as jarring as it was pleasant. Read more…

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