Letters from the Marquis - Tales of the haunted

[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.”

[MarquisdeShey]

I like the way you taste.
I like the way you smell.
I like the way our bodies fit so beautifully well.

The way your fingers know every line and every inch of my body.
The way your hands touch, grab, manipulate, punish and excite every nerve in my being.
The way your arms take, consume and secure me.
The way your shoulders hold, bare and deliver with strength -
the fall of a flogger, whip, paddle and cane.

The way you take my breath way.
The way you make my body give.
The way you make my mind stay, obey, avenge and desire.

The way you hold my life by a string in the palm of your hand.
The way you hold my life by a string beneath your boot.

The way you need me.

The way it's been agreed -
I can have you and you can have me -
and it is the only way.

[MarquisdeShey]

"I bite." She said as if trying to explain why this should go no further.
"I am into biting, like a nibble here and there. Not too hard though."
"Then you misunderstood me. I bite. Not a nibble here and there. Definetely not easy. I bite as if I were hungry for flesh, as if my sustenance depended on the taste of your blood running down the sides of my lips. I bite and where I do, there will remain a scar."
"I am not into pain like that."

Ding...

"Hi, my name is Fiona. I like your fangs. I like girls who bite."
"Eaves dropping?"
"A little. I noticed you looked annoyed. I thought I'd save you the trouble of explaining it again."
"Bondage?"
"Light."

Ding...

"Don't speak. I like pain and I like it intense. I love the taste of blood and the bruises from a nice pair of teeth. My kink to make you squirm. I get off on fear - yours not mine. I've watched you work this room all night and have watched your eyes become enraged by the false advertising this evening turned out to be. So, are you done yet?"
"Yes, Sir. I am finished."

[MarquisdeShey]

I offer you my control.
Take my need and capture its essence.
Take possession of me.
Take me. Bind me.
Release me.

[MarquisdeShey]

You thought the world was simple,
a thread connecting all points,
a chance encounter.

Now, you lay suffocated by the false images,
the rage building inside you, searching for an escape,
screaming, throwing your body against the being that unfairly has kept you captive
to a story, so eagerly told that you foolishly relenquished all your powers.

little did she know that an evil stayed dormant inside you and the slight sense of fear ignites a demon unwilling to submit. It is now, that you both lay lifeless, speechless, facing opposing walls wondering how did you get here in the first place.

[MarquisdeShey]

The mundane floods the light of your desires
Needing to comply and senselessly walk into the rage
Wondering why the fire has burnet and the ice
Which whisper "relinquish" has attached itself to your bones.

You find it funny that someone who once appeared so giant suddenly became meaningless to your ears and eyes.

You tremble under the shadowy figure. You look beyond and grasp onto whatever shred of life is left. You curse the angel that suddenly transformed itself into a demon suckling the honey of your existence.

You scream in hopes that a ghost may answer back.