The Marquesa Clause

A Goddess Marquesa Christmas Extravaganza

            ‘Twas the night before Christmas, and if any creature was stirring I probably would not have noticed. I had hit the eggnog pretty hard and was watching Elf for the umpteenth time on Netflix. Right at the point when Peter Dinklage had Will Ferrell in a headlock, however, something did draw my attention to the fireplace. A shower of debris fell noisily from the chimney, drawing my eyes to the space below the hearth just in time to see a magnificent pair of legs descend from the direction of the flue. These were followed by an equally gorgeous torso and face.

Before I could get my bearings on what was happening, a stunning curvaceous blonde was standing in my den, dressed in what can only be called a “Sexy Santa” costume. Her feet were shod in high-heeled black leather boots trimmed in white fur. Her red coat, also trimmed in white fur, was cut short to reveal her exquisite legs in see-through black nylons. Her peaked red hat with white pom-pom was worn at a jaunty angle on her lush blonde hair. Her deep green eyes made an appropriate seasonal contrast with her red regalia.

“Hello Gerald,” the seductive intruder said, making me shiver with the darkly velvet tone of her voice even as I wondered how she knew my name. “You’ve been a naughty boy this year.”

“Who are you?” I asked. “And how did you get down that chimney?”

“I am Goddess Marquesa,” the siren answered. “As for the chimney…it’s some kind of magic. The boys at the North Pole have explained it to Me, but I frankly don’t know and don’t care, as long as it works.”

“North Pole!?” I exclaimed in shock. “You mean you were sent by…”

“Santa….that’s right,” she confirmed. “What other explanation could there be…except perhaps PCP-laced eggnog or delusional psychosis?”

I was fairly certain I was not drugged or insane, but belief came hard. “Are you telling me Santa is real?” I blurted.

“If he’s not, I don’t know whose ass I have been paddling red for the past ten years,” Goddess Marquesa avowed.

“Why did Santa send you?” I asked. “Why didn’t he come himself?”

“Well, like I said, Gerald,” the Goddess explained, “you are on the Naughty List.”

“Wh-wh-what?” I stuttered.

As my question hung in the air, another rustling came from the chimney. A very short man, dressed all in green with a pointed hat, dropped down into the fireplace. The man was about three-feet six inches tall, had pointed ears, and was carrying a long scroll of what looked like parchment, densely covered with ink writing in a spidery hand.

“Gerald Harlan,” the elf read, “frequent viewing of internet porn…seven visits to ‘dungeons’….on the first visit, fitted with nipple clamps and spanked with a rubber…”

“Okay, okay,” I interjected. “I know what I did. If I am on this ‘naughty list’ why bother paying a call on Christmas Eve at all? Don’t you have enough trouble covering everyone on the ‘nice list’?”

“This isn’t official North Pole business,” the Goddess confided, “it is more of an ‘under the counter’ deal. Santa owes Me for losses at poker, and is generally incapable of refusing Me anything I want in any case, so I have arranged a little side deal with him. Every Christmas Eve he lends me the ‘Naughty List’….actually, technically it is only part of the ‘Kinky List- Subsection: Submissive Males’….and his extra sled, along with (here she gestured at the elf) Snowdancer here to assist. I spend the night visiting men I select from the list, by way of recruiting new slaves. As I see it, it is a win-win-win proposition.”

“Who are the three parties winning?” I asked, confused.

At this she rolled her breathtaking eyes. “I was being rhetorical, Gerald,” she declared. “I win. Beyond that, it doesn’t really matter.”

She strode forward, removed my glass of eggnog from my hand, and set it on the end table next to me. Kicking up her right leg, she placed her boot on the back of the chair above my left shoulder, so that she loomed over me, caging me in the “L” formed by her hips and thigh.

“I’m going to give you a choice,” she declared. “You can sit back and relax while I hypnotize you. I will bring you deep into trance, where I will unlock sexual fantasies you haven’t yet dared to dream. Under My Power you will experience the greatest orgasm of your life, after which you will be My love-drunk sex slave and fucktoy.”

I gulped hard and gasped for air. The closeness of her body was overwhelming. Her scent filled my senses and made me dizzy.

“What’s my other choice?” I asked.

“Do you really want to know your other choice?” she asked, stroking my right cheek so that my left was pressed against the smooth skin of her thigh.

“N…n…no,” I confessed.

“Good,” she declared with satisfaction. “I like a man who surrenders without a struggle. Listen to My voice…you feel yourself getting so relaxed….so very relaxed…you want to obey My will, which is stronger than your will…..”

The next thing I can remember, I was lying face-down in an enormous puddle of my own semen. Goddess Marquesa was standing by the hearth, haloed in the light coming from my Christmas tree ornaments. I had never seen anyone so sexy, or felt desire so fierce as I experienced in that moment.

“Goddess!” I moaned, reaching toward her as if to touch her.

“Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!” she called, blowing me a kiss.I moaned again and tried to crawl forward, but she darted under the hearth and disappeared. I heard what sounded like sleighbells coming from the roof, and then silence…

I have never recovered from that night. Ever since, I have been the Goddess’s fuckpuppet and sex toy. I don’t know how long the list of her slaves is. Perhaps even she doesn’t know, it is so full. But I thank Goddess every day that I am on it. Slavery to Goddess Marquesa is the greatest Christmas gift anyone could EVER ask for…..

The End

A Goddessful Christmas to All the readers of H-E!

Remember to show your love for Goddess in this season of giving!