Letters from the Marquis - Tales of the haunted

[MarquisdeShey]

Can you tell,
by simply looking, what is of value in a person's self image?

Can you tell,
from knowing ones experience, what might influence their tendencies?

My sense of self is not something that can be described by words which can be used to mis-identify My power.

Can you tell,
why My power is used as such?

Why I refuse to comply?

Can you tell,
how My taking may appear aggressive and My strength be questioned?

Can you tell,
by what you hear and read why I should behave as such?

No. You can not tell.

As long as you operate within the confinements of societal labels, you will never see a person for who they truly are,

if you are still looking at something which does not exist.

Can you tell?

[MarquisdeShey]

...I don't already know.

The sweet lies everyone wants to hear. The falsity of what it all means.

To give and take.

Psychological...Psychotic...Consentual...

Power play. Struggle play. Evil and famined play. Exhausted bodies.

Mine... Yours... Twisted... Minds.

Delightfully orchestrated.

Now, tell me something...

We already know.

[MarquisdeShey]

You drank from Me,
now I am threading through your blood stream and the ground of your mind,
like a shadow moving through corners,
unsettling your thoughts.

Don't be afraid... I whisper...
Your restlessness can be cured.

Let me take and consume you...
I already took your mind.

All that is left is your soul.

[MarquisdeShey]

I woke up this morning with my body hot all over. I walk into the bathroom and remove my gown, I stand before the full length mirror in awe of what I see. I am stunned. I move in closer to get a better look.
My mouth is raw around the corners. My throat looks as though a razor danced across it, welted fine lines decorating the skin ever so delicately. I touch the lines slowly not wanting to disturb the sleeping wound. My fingers travel down and across my breast following the line which comes to rest at my right nipple. I take a deep breath and feel a dull ache right below my breast and notice where a wound has been dressed with butterfly stitches. I can also see two red wide welts across my stomach slightly purple and red. I let my cool hand rest there. I look at my face again. My eyes are shining and my sore lips brake into a smile. My hand now travels to my shoulder and as it moves I stop and look at my wrists, red marks circling them like a matching pair of bracelets. I admire those too.
I turn so I can have a view of my back. A marvelous piece of art, thick lines and blue-ish welts making my butterflies look like they are flying in a field of blue bells. I watch as the lines dance across my skin. As I look at the canvas which was once my body, I am smitten. After a moment of admiration I turn away and begin running the water for a very hot shower.
…
The water feels decadent against my skin. I let my hand travel to all the places my body wants to be touched. I stand under the pressure of the shower head, the water massaging my shoulders. My eyes closed, remembering… Your face flashes before my eyes. I make the water hotter. I stretch my arms over my head …and I feel you…
I feel your fingers tracing the line of my spine, weaving through and touching my beautiful mosaic. My skin stands to attention at your touch. I feel you move closer, until I can feel your lips brush against my neck, your arms wrapping around my body. You run one hand across my stomach caressing the muscles of my belly. I press my body against yours. Your other hand moves to my breast massaging it. My nipples harden with each touch. I turn my head so my lips can find yours. I feel your tongue moving across my lips, touching the raw spots, I open my mouth so I can feel your tongue, taking it between my lips I start sucking on it slowly, sweetly, massaging it with my own. I feel your other hand moving down my belly… between my legs. I gasp. You pull me closer to you. You have your finger moving on my clit, pressing and pinching. I feel your cock hardening against my ass. I push into you…I hear you moan. I slide my hand on top of yours and slide your fingers deeper between my legs, until you feel my nectar ready for you.
“Julian, I am glad you came last night.”
“I would not have missed it. You looked beautiful. All mine.” You slide two fingers inside me. With your free hand you pin my arms above my head. You turn my body so I am standing face to face with you. Your eyes inhaling my soul.
…I lean into you, you kiss me again. Your fingers fucking my pussy slowly, deliberately, the deeper you reach inside me, the harder I kiss you. You push my body against the wall with your own. You let my hands fall; I catch a glimpse of that shimmer in your eyes. I slide my leg up your body, your fingers moving deeper inside me. I start moving my nails up the length of your back, dragging it on my way down. I start digging it into your skin, hard enough to feel you shake against my body.
“Harder, girl, you know how I like it.”
“Julian, cum for me…”
A low growl builds on the back of your throat. My nails sinking deeper into your back, you pull your fingers out of my pussy. Suck my nectar from them. You take your cock into your hand; you are hard, and proud. You start working your cock, big strong hand moving up and down the length of it. Your cock erect, my pussy throbbing, you slide my leg higher up your thigh. I have the head of your cock pressing against my clit, sending shivers up my body.
...I pull your head close to me…pausing to whisper… “Sir, fuck my pussy, please.”
You turn the water off. Pick me up and walk to the bedroom. You lay me on the bed.
“Spread.”
I open my legs for you. Your cock is hard and ready. My pussy is wet and hungry. You slide your cock inside me. Power..full… I wrap my legs around you and pull you down on top me. You drive your cock deep in me. I take you. I let you pound my pussy. Let you fuck me anyway you wish. I am yours. My hips rise to take you in deeper. I dig my nails into your waist and with all the strength I can muster, I sink my nails into your flesh and drag it. You gasp. Your eyes go from blue to grey. I hold your stare. Pulling you, digging deeper into flesh…
I close my eyes… waiting for that sweet moment…of release.
Your body…mine…

[MarquisdeShey]

...the sound of heels traveling down the hall announcing My coming,
the crack of a whip.

I smile knowing...

time for a boot blacker.

[MarquisdeShey]

You came to me holding a mass of silk rope in your hand.

You hand it to me and ask that I create something beautiful. I hold the rope between my fingers and caress it from one end to the other. I let my mind go with the many thoughts of what it will be like to hold you captive by the same rope that often kept me at your side, at your heel.

I let my mind drift...

Your shirt comes off first. The body I so idolize before me. My mouth waters. I kiss the rope between my fingers. As if acting on instinct I start braiding three pieces into a hook. My hands working the length of the rope, the contour of your body... My fingers weave and wrap... untill...

Turning and turning the wheel...before me...

My chrysallys hangs from a rack...

[MarquisdeShey]

Form flecked his lips as he spoke these words interspersed with revolting oaths and blasphemies. The hand, which had been prying open the shrine he seemed to want to attack, now strayed over all the adjacent parts; he scratched them, he did as much to my breast, he clawed me so badly I was not to get over the pain for a forthnight. Next, he placed me on the edge of the couch, rubbed alcohol upon that mossy tonsure with which Nature ornaments the altar wherein our species finds regeneration; he set it afire and burned it. His fingers closed upon the fleshy protuberance which surmounts this same altar, he snatched at it and scraped roughly, then he inserted his fingers within and his nails ripped the membrane which lines it. Losing all control over himself, he told me that, since he had me in his lair, I might just as well not leave it, for that would spare him the nuisance of bringing me back down again; I fell to my knees and dared remind him again of what I had done in his behalf…. I observed I but further excited him by harping again upon the rights to his pity I fancies were mine; he told me to be silent, bringing up his knee and giving me a tremendous blow in the pit of the stomach which sent me sprawling on the flagstones. He seize a handful of my hair and jerked me erect. “Very well!” he said, “come now! prepare yourself; it is a certainty, I am going to kill you….”

“Oh, Monsieur!”

“No, no, you've got to die; I do not want to hear you reproach me with your good little deeds; I don't like owing anything to anybody, others have got to rely upon me for everything…. You're going to perish, I tell you, get into that coffin, let's see if it fits.”

He lifts me, thrusts me into it and shuts it, then quits the cavernand gives me the impression I have been left there. Never had I thought myself so near to death; alas! it was nonetheless to be presented to me under a yet more real aspect. Roland returns, he fetches me out of the coffin. “You'll be well off in there,” says he,“one would say 'twas made for you; but to let you finish peacefully in that box would be a death too sweet; I'm going to expose you to one of a different variety which, all the same, will have its agreeable qualities; so implore your God, whore, pray to him to come posthasteand avenge you if he really has it in him….”
I cast myself down upon the prie-dieu, and while aloud I open my heart to the Eternal, Roland in a still crueler manner intensifies, upon the hindquarters I expose to him, his vexations and his torments; with all his strength he flogs those parts with a steel tipped martinet, each blow draws a gush of blood which springs to the walls.

“Why,” he continued with a curse, “he doesn't much aid you, your God, does he? and thus he allows unhappy virtue to suffer, he abandons it to villainy's hands; ah! what a bloody fine God you've got there, Therese, what a superb God he is! Come,” he says, “come here, whore, your prayer should be done,” and at the same time he places me upon the divan at the back of that cell; “I told you Therese, you have got to die!”
He seizes my arms, binds them to my side, then he slips a black silken noose about my neck; he holds both ends of the cord and, by tightening, he can strangle and dispatch me to the other world either quickly or slowly, depending upon his pleasure.

“This torture is sweeter than you may imagine, Therese,” say Roland; “you will only approach death by way of unspeakably pleasurable sensations; the pressure this noose will bring to bear upon your nervous system will set fire to the organs of voluptuousness; the effect is certain; were all the people who are condemned to this torture to know in what an intoxication of joy it makes one die, less terrified by this retribution for their crimes, they would commit them more often and with much greater self-assurance; this delicious operation, Therese, by causing, as well, the contraction of the locale in which I am going to fit myself,” he added as he presented himself to a criminal avenue so worthy of such a villain, “is also going to double my pleasure.”