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…
It all started because of a bad review. An influential local blogger had panned my gallery exhibition the day after it opened. “Ivan Griel’s paintings lack depth and vibrancy,” the post began, and went downhill from there. It was the first time anyone had said or written anything so negative about my work, and it flummoxed me. Read more…
The envelope was on heavy stock suitable for a formal invitation, Inside was a card announcing a limousine service exclusively for executives visiting Southern California; also enclosed was a short, handwritten note that said simply “We’re so certain that you will want to use our services that we are offering you complimentary pick-up and full time limo service on your next trip. Please call MarquesaCo.” A number was printed on the bottom. Read more…
It was 6:00am and the slave was still lying on the mattress in a corner of the room when Mistress Marquesa walked into the room. She wore a white sleeveless blouse and a white mini skirt which betrayed the flaming red underwear she had on. With a pair of transparent short spiked heel ankle boots.
The slave rushed to greet her on all fours as he had been instructed to and went straight to kiss the toe of her pointed boots.
“Stop there and crawl slave, I hate to find you still in bed.”
“I am not in a whipping mood today, but you will suffer just the same.
Lie on your back slave.” She commanded. Read more…
It started with a wrong number.
“Hello, pet,” the woman’s voice cooed into my ear. “I have been thinking naughty thoughts of you.” It was only ten words, but they sent chills down my spine and warmth through my loins. Becoming so turned on so quickly gave me vertigo, I lost my bearings.
“I’m sorry,” I stammered, “is this Fred’s Garage?”
The voice on the other end laughed, a sound which again stoked a furnace of desire inside me.
