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AUTHOR’S NOTE:
This story is dedicated to the delicious, delightful, devilish, debauched GODDESS MISTRESS MARQUESA DE SADE. It should not be read by any minor. It should not be read by anyone who is ethically, legally, morally, religiously, or personally {for any reason(s)} prohibited or proscribed from doing so. It should not be read by anyone who is fearful of, or uncomfortable with, the subject of feminine influence/control/domination/superiority/supremacy/inspiration or the topic of mind control in any of its forms or both.

Once upon a time there was an ogre. He was the most remarkable member of his people. In many ways this ogre was quite different from all his kin. There are those ogres who are known far and wide for their hugely humongous height and stupendously stupefying size. This was the smallest and shortest adult ogre ever to exist. Some ogres were incredibly strong. He was almost weaker than a newborn bunny. Other ogres possessed awesome magical powers. This ogre had no such astounding abilities. There were ogres whose fierceness terrified all but the bravest of all other beings. The principal ogre in this story was as meek and mild-mannered as could ever be.

For many a year, this ogre was in love. He cherished the one he yearned for with all his heart. Foremost in all his thoughts was coming up with some means of showing his beloved how much he cared for her.

The one he adored was a Princess. Her family ruled over all the realms. From Her birth She was brought up far more than lavishly in the largest lap of the greatest luxuries to be had. She was thoroughly instructed in all forms of learning anyone could attain. Her surpassing beauty, charm, grace, and elegance were but some of the most obvious reasons She was wanted and wooed by suitors by the scores.

The ogre’s love for the Princess of sovereigns was true. His One True Love of his life was not so to him. Oh yes, She knew who he was. She was well aware She held his heart’s happiness in Her hands.

There were times when She commanded him to come into Her presence. His heart leapt into his throat as he leaped for joy to obey Her order. He was ever hopeful each time he (according to Her wishes) crawled on his belly every inch of the distance from his cave to Her castle, prostrated himself before Her feet, and afterwards knelt silently in Her throne room.

There were times when She had some of Her strongest servants beat him most mercilessly. On other occasions She set loose Her most ferocious beasts upon him. They pursued him until he could move no further. Then at their mistress’s bidding, they did maul him with such perniciously relentless savagery as has hardly been imagined even in the cruelest of warped minds and felt in the most twisted of hearts. In a few rare instances, for weeks on end She teased, tempted, tormented, and tortured him in the vilest ways She could come up with. Every time She beckoned him, each time he did come at Her call. And the ogre obeyed Her not because She could command almost anyone to do anything She desired.

And it came to pass, that there was another day on which the Princess summoned the ogre to her. As always, he came crawling compliantly. On this day, the Princess seemed more lovely and beautiful than ever before. Her appearance and apparel were far beyond anything e’er spied by fleshly eyes. Oh! how the ogre longed to tell Her thus and then sooooooo much more. Nevertheless, he said not one word. Even had She granted him permission to speak, he would not have told Her the sum of all things of what was in his heart. For amongst the myriads of blessings with which he was not blessed, never had he been graced with the gift of eloquence. Being in Her amplified, animal magnetizing aura on this day only made him feel his wretchedness far more fervently than the Princess usually did deliciously delight in doing. He feared any words he uttered would at best convey the opposite of the laudations he craved to declare.

The ogre pondered what would be his fate? Were some of Her greatest guards lying in wait with their most wicked weapons in hand? Were Her beastliest beasts being unbound as he knelt before Her feet? Would She flog him with that infernal, flaming cat-o-nine-tails?

The Princess’s peals of laughter were wild and wicked. “Today, I shall inflict upon you something which is and yet is not far more terribly terrifying and torturously tormenting than all the cruelties ever done to you. Look into my eyes!”

Had the ogre been as glib as the greatest orator of all times in the middle of reciting his ‘magnum opus’, nevertheless the thunderbolt of Her words, which knocked him all but senseless, would still have struck him as utterly speechless as an eternally mute being. Never before had the Princess even allowed anyone to extend to him the most minuscule modicum of the most menially charitable civilities. As he slowly and nervously raised his head, his lips fell open and his face remained slack jawed and openmouthed. His knees knocked together while he stayed stock still upon them.

Her words were witchingly sibyllic. Many were the terrifying torments She had compelled others to inflict on him. Many more were the terrible tortures She had rained down upon him. And yet he happily would have been subjected to them all and multitudinous multitudes more, rather than excruciatingly endure the smallest instant of what he unmercifully, unavoidably, and unstoppably underwent on this dreadfully dreaded doomsday of days of doom. He felt like he was falling forever and evermore. Seconds, hours, days, minutes, weeks, eons, moments, years, months, eternity–he had no way to gauge the length of time he was lost in looking into Her endlessly deepening, everlastingly enlarging eyes. It seemed as if he was spinning out of control. As he stared into Her eyes, he felt as if each fibre of his body and every iota of his inner essence was sinisterly scrutinized and ruthlessly toyed with. And yet, gazing into the eye of Her eyes’ ensorcelling enchantments only compelled him to love Her the more and more.

At long last the Princess ejaculated a piercingly penetrating peal of lurid laughter most wickedly merciless. “Listen well, little ogre. Now I condescend to permit you to speak to me. And when you do so, you will always tell me the truth. You will tell me the truth in all things. Never shall you hide anything from me. Not ever in your existence shall you ever imagine even attempting in vain to conceal any thing from me.

“Little ogre, do you love me?”

“Yes, Princess.”

“Have I ever showed you the slightest courtesy?”

She smiled viciously as She saw him struggle with what to say. “No, Princess.”

“Have I ever commanded or even permitted anyone else to ever be nice unto thee?”

Watching his turmoil as he fought to form his response pleased Her like few things ever had. “No, Princess.”

“Then tell me, how do you feel about me?”

“With all my heart I love thee always and for everlastingly, Princess.”

“Perfect! And why do you love me?”

“I know not,” the ogre answered.

Now the Princess giggled mischievously. “I know why you can not help but love me.”

For some moments, She would say no more. All manner of thoughts, desires, and emotions thrashed about and came crashing together in the ogre’s mind, heart, and soul. How long would She make him wait before She revealed the most important information he could ever receive? Was the Princess telling him the truth? Could this all be nothing but the cruelest of deeds? If She was not speaking falsehoods, how could She know why he always had and would always adore the Princess? Serenely She smiled sooooooo sweetly while wistfully watching him silently suffering in unspeakable agonies.

“little ogre, you love me because you are mine. >From before you were conceived until eternity passes away, you are mine. You are mine because you belong to me. All you have ever been, all you are, and all you shall ever be–you belong to me in all ways and in all things.”

Above all else, one question gnawed at his thoughts. Why had the Princess always persecuted him?

“And so, you want to know why I have tormented you since I was a little girl of your dreams?”

Her words caused the ogre to realize She knew his thoughts. The shock on his face was indescribable. The fear he felt was horrifying. The Princess’s pleasure was boundless.

“Whenever I wish it, your every thought, emotion, and sensation is known to me. What have you always called me?”

“Princess,” the ogre replied.

Now the Princess stretched out Her legs towards the ogre. As he watched in wide-eyed wonderment, Her legs kept growing until they reached the far wall in front of her.

“You call me Princess! You are such an outlandishly silly, little ogre. I can see, hear, taste, touch, and feel any of your memories I decide to explore. You have known of many a Princess and noblewoman. Tell me which Princess possesses any of my powers?”

“Not a one,” the ogre replied.

“And do you adore them?” She inquired gesturing at Her legs.

He tried not to have those thoughts. The ogre couldn’t help himself. He tried and tried again and again to rid his mind of those wicked ideas. The ogre found he was powerless to banish them. It seemed like he could hear the Princess’s voice bewitchingly whispering those carnal cravings into his ears.

Now his terrors were greater still. If the Princess truly knew what dwelt in his mind, what would She do to him now?

She sneered at him contemptuously. “Naughty, nasty little ogre. Inside your head, I see those lewd pictures of what you would give everything on Earth to do with me.” The Princess slammed Her fist into Her palm. “For truthfully accusing me of giving you some of those debauched desires I shall.”

Where could he go? Even if he escaped the palace, She had servants and soldiers by the legions. Where could he hide? If it was true the Princess could peer into his very soul, did it really make any sense to foolishly hold on to the fleeting hope She was unable to see him or search him out no matter where he fled?

Those delicate and beautiful hands. The ogre had never been able to exorcise them from his musings. Those long and oh so slender fingers. He dreamed of being caressed by those hands. The fingertips whose snapping had so frequently been the prelude to some horrifically horrible agony hideously unleashed upon him. How he yearned to be a beautiful butterfly lovingly held in the palm of one of those hands. These were the hands that had thrown rocks at him while they were barely big enough to grasp the stones. The skin on the hands which had wickedly wielded whips upon his flesh was flawlessly smooth and so soft-seeming. How he wanted to be under Her thumb. Night after day after day after night he did yearn to be a ring wrapped around one of Her fingers.

The Princess sat silently still, until She could stand it no longer. Once more She sinisterly showed Her monumental merriment at the ogre’s deepening or depthless dread of her.

She made Her legs return to their usual extraordinarily long length. Then, from the tips of all Her long and ladylike fingers, all of Her long and beautiful and sharpened nails became bewitchingly and dangerously all the more and even more and more so.

Closer and closer to him Her nails came. He knew at last it would soon be over. Nearer and nearer grew the nails that were growing and going to extinguish him in the near future. With good reason he was convinced these lovely claws would soon rip him from this world of woes. He steeled himself for anything excruciating that might come to pass.

Now they were here–and there were times when other parts of him felt them. He felt it. The sensations were overwhelming. How much could one living being do unto another? His mind could not properly process the feelings the Princess made his body perceive. Surely, no mortal being had ever felt such a thing. What his senses picked up made him crumple and stay crumbled on the marble floor.

Each one of his sensory sensations was perceived by the Princess. Some of the times, one of Her nails did it to him. The strength of his reactions was unlike anything she’d ever gleaned from his perceptions. Other times, all of Her fingernails were responsible. She imbibed all of his experiences to the last possible dregs of the draught. And still at other times, at least two of the Princess’s fingernails were utilized to do to him what She willed.

The ogre had no words for what he felt. Nothing in all his born days had or could have prepared him for this. How does someone who has never known it relate indescribable pleasures to somebody else?

These were unimaginable joys. This was unspeakable confusion. Unavoidable terrors assailed him. The Princess caused and perceived all these things. She did not believe She could ever be more pleased. But then again, She had other tricks up Her satin sleeves in sadistic and spellbinding store for the ogre.

The ogre tried to prevent that word from breaching and burrowing into his thoughts. If only he could bid it be gone. Maybe the Princess had only correctly conjectured concerning the contents of his cogitations?

All the sensuously silken, shining strands within Her long locks flew wildly to and fro as the Princess screeched forth an earsplitting, gut wrenching, bone chilling, bloodcurdling cackle. As She sent forth this sound again and again, She flew about the throne room upon a broomstick while She sinisterly spun a bewitchingly bubbling caldron in Her hands. She evilly embodied everything diabolically depicted in the irresistible image indelibly inscribed in his mind.

She reseated herself on that throne crafted from jewels, precious metals, and a myriad of mirrors spreading Her image throughout the chamber and beyond. That familiar force the ogre would never understand made him stand up, dance around the room thrice, and finally face Her with his eyes inexorably enveloped in the entrancingly ensorcelling enchantments of the Princess’s gaze. Of course, he fell further into Her eyes than ever before. Was She speaking to him? Did he hear Her voice in his soul? Were both these things so? Over and over and again and again and again that single word bombarded his brainwashed brainlessness. The word was “WITCH!”

The ogre yearned to weep. He craved to cry out. He tried to flee. All he was capable of doing was yielding to his dreaded, dreadful doom and deeply deepening desires to lustfully look upon Her and love Her the more and more so.

Upon Her countenance was a look unleashing more malevolence than all faces have ever portrayed. “I have never been more angry than I am with you. You despicable, distasteful, disreputable, disgusting ogre who ogles me even in your nightmares. How dare you speculate I am nothing save a witch.”

She knew his query even as he tried to bury it after it was formed in his thoughts. “And now! you insult me even more by wanting to know what I am? I should turn you into a toadstool and use you in a potion. My pet snake loves to chase a white mouse which was once an ogre. Did you know a witch cast a spell on you before you were born?”

“No, Princess,” he stammered.

“Are you aware I am going to break the curse placed upon you?”

Was She being truthful? Would this be naught but another of Her tricks played upon him? What would or could he do to show his gratitude? Was She about to laugh at him after doing the cruelest of misdeeds and banishing him forever from Her presence?

“Look into one of my mirrors?” The command was screamed in the most threatening manner.

After he obeyed her, the little ogre could not see himself. Instead, the most handsome of men saw his reflection.

He fell to his knees. He crawled on all fours to Her feet. “Thank! you!” professed he to the Princess as many times as his mouth could make the words.

With the most deliberately Delicate delicateness did She stretch forth Her hand. She smote him more strongly than he had ever been hit by anything or anyone.

“His confusion was greater than it had ever been. “But why?” he questioned.

“Did you believe I was cruel to you because you are an ogre?”

“Yes,” the handsome man answered.

“You are in need of more instruction in who I am. I have treated you as I have for many a reason. Look into my eyes. That’s right! Feel my eyes swallow your very spirit and soul. You will tell me the truth for so long as any part of your essence exists. I have always tortured you. Even now I torment you without mercies. As my reward for your devotion I shall terrorize thee forever and a day after days. Will you always love me?”

“Yes,” he declared wholeheartedly while wallowing worshipfully in unadulterated adorations.

MERCILESSLY ANIMAL MAGNETIZING, MIRTHFULLY MESMERISING MISTRESS MARQUESA closed the book, placed it on HER nightstand, and prepared for bed. After all these years, this was still one of HER favourite stories. How fortunate that the author, illustrator, and cartoonist who was still sooooooo in awe of and in love with the portrait of Great great great great great great great Grandmamma Marquesa had given this childhood tale to the female members of HER family when SHE was A LITTLE GIRL. Entrancing, ensorcelling, enchanting emerald eyes fixating mere masculine mindlessness has always been and would ever be sooooooo effectively ENTHRALLING in all senses of the word. This story of sadomasochism and sorceries was one of the first things which showed GODDESS MISTRESS MARQUESA DE SADE the full-fledged and full-bodied forcefulness and powerfulness of sagaciously strengthened and salaciously summoned first-class, first-rate feminine foxiness.

And some still stubbornly strive to believe it is impossible to be instructed and/or inspired by such things as this charming fairy tale you yearn to be MISTRESS MARQUESA’S obsessive, little ogre in.

THE END.