Letters from the Marquis - Tales of the haunted

[MarquisdeShey]

Intense. Precise. Sharp...

I have no way of preparing myself for what is coming next, I try counting your steps as if it would predict the moment in which your rage connects with my burning shame. The agony when you pause. The element of surprise makes my heart push against my breast and shallows my breath. My arms tremble and my knees sink into the cold ground with each blow. My soul quivers.
The physical pain is not nearly as intolerable as being here. I have told you or tried to – “It’s not who I am.” I am caught in a spinning web, cocooning my lies. Hate fermenting in the depth of what I disguise as myself. I want to leap out of this position tare your eyes out of their socket and dig my nails into your flesh until you are stripped of it. I hate this position. I hate what you are doing to me.
How many have knelt before you? How can one be dignified? A line of servants. Cart pulling mules. A weak submissive. The word burns like acid on my tongue. Not a submissive. Not a submissive.
…I run my tongue slowly over the corner of my lips; the skin is raw and tender. The rope wraps around my lips, knots at my nape and continues endlessly towards the ceiling. My feet are bound by chains – cold and heavy.
“Straighten up.”
My body jerks towards the direction of your voice. Needle pricks scatter about my body by the sudden movement. I feel your hands brush against my skin, a metal band wrapping around my neck. My head lowers defeated. A fine line cuts into my flesh.
“Straight.”
A warm trickle runs between my breasts. My mind lingers in a single image – you. Face stone cold. Eyes filled with ice and steel.
Your hand is now moving down the length of my spine, a circle enclosing around my waist. A padlock clicks. Your steps move away from me. Silence. What would I see if I could look at myself? Would I see the synchronized welts rising on my flesh? Would I see the fine lined tendons standing to attention and holding me with its endless strength? Will I see my strength or my shame? There comes a point when the mind becomes a throbbing weight of useless matter. When do you stop questioning? Stop resisting? It’s not how I pictured it at all.
….
I wait. Anticipating the moment when you become the shadow in my dreams. The streets are now deserted and frozen. A cry in the distance… a howl. I want to imagine your approach. You are dressed like the night, prowling gait, muffled screams, then pain. My mind races ahead.
Ring…Ring…Silence.
My heart sinks. I swallow the lump back down my throat. Slide the phone back into my pocket and leave the alley behind. Ghostly streets a chill brushes up against my skin. I am hollow. Your eyes appear before me and then vanish. Play. This is the song I listen to in moments like this. You laugh. I got it all wrong.

Hate. Rage. Power. That’s what it takes. Your voice vibrates inside my head. Dense sounds pulsating through a barrier set long ago. I really thought I could. I don’t want to look weak. Weakness has nothing to do with it, you retort.
….
Whip and flesh. My body jerks again and a new layer of blood slithers down my chest I can barely feel the blade slicing through my skin. It’s almost knowingly that my mind would go back to that place. Feel nothing. Yet, deep inside my body is responding. It’s sick. My thighs are burning, my scent reaches my nostrils and my pupils dilate. Raw. Painful. Longing. Rusty.
I crave this – this unwanted humiliation, violation. It’s not me. I whisper. My cheeks sting with sweat and tears. I want to see what I look like, but when I open my eyes its perpetual darkness. How long have I been here?
…
I pull my coat tighter around my body. The music is blaring in my ear. I am moving not looking where. My body seems to have a direction and I follow. The river glistens at a distance. Past the boat house. Nights and nights of mind numbing encounters until reality set in. Heading towards…
A hand wraps over my mouth, toxic, sickening. I gasp for air… the lights go out.
Short. Sharp. Precise. Numb.
…
You grab my hair, in one swift motion I am on my feet. I scream. No sound. My body gives. You jerk me up again. The blade slices the same wound. My head is spinning. I scream. No sound. Your hand falls hard across my face. My body hooked to the wrack. I can’t feel the ground anymore.
I am delirious. Cold. My flesh burns. I have wanted this – cleanse is what I told myself, one memory to erase years of guilt and shame. I am erasing you completely. Is it really possible? Is it? Purging. I want to be terrified, but there’s a conflict of interest within my body. I am aroused. My nipples erect. When I press my legs together I can feel the wetness between them. It’s unnatural. Invited. Bitter. Sweet.
I can give you what you want, but you have to be patient. There’s no patience when your whole body wants to be ravished, ripped to pieces. Silence the voices that scream – Not good enough. Not worthy enough. Not beautiful enough. Liberation. To be freed of this obsession with pain and death. I want to die a thousand solemn deaths and be released from this infernal existence.

…
Hate. Rage. Power. That’s what it takes. Your voice vibrates inside my head. Dense sounds pulsating through a barrier set long ago. I really thought I could. I don’t want to look weak. Weakness has nothing to do with it, you retort.
….
Whip and flesh. My body jerks again and a new layer of blood slithers down my chest I can barely feel the blade slicing through my skin. It’s almost knowingly that my mind would go back to that place. Feel nothing. Yet, deep inside my body is responding. It’s sick. My thighs are burning, my scent reaches my nostrils and my pupils dilate. Raw. Painful. Longing. Rusty.
I crave this – this unwanted humiliation, violation. It’s not me. I whisper. My cheeks sting with sweat and tears. I want to see what I look like, but when I open my eyes its perpetual darkness. How long have I been here?
…
I pull my coat tighter around my body. The music is blaring in my ear. I am moving not looking where. My body seems to have a direction and I follow. The river glistens at a distance. Past the boat house. Nights and nights of mind numbing encounters until reality set in. Heading towards…
A hand wraps over my mouth, toxic, sickening. I gasp for air… the lights go out.
Short. Sharp. Precise. Numb.
…
You grab my hair, in one swift motion I am on my feet. I scream. No sound. My body gives. You jerk me up again. The blade slices the same wound. My head is spinning. I scream. No sound. Your hand falls hard across my face. My body hooked to the wrack. I can’t feel the ground anymore.
I am delirious. Cold. My flesh burns. I have wanted this – cleanse is what I told myself, one memory to erase years of guilt and shame. I am erasing you completely. Is it really possible? Is it? Purging. I want to be terrified, but there’s a conflict of interest within my body. I am aroused. My nipples erect. When I press my legs together I can feel the wetness between them. It’s unnatural. Invited. Bitter. Sweet.
I can give you what you want, but you have to be patient. There’s no patience when your whole body wants to be ravished, ripped to pieces. Silence the voices that scream – Not good enough. Not worthy enough. Not beautiful enough. Liberation. To be freed of this obsession with pain and death. I want to die a thousand solemn deaths and be released from this infernal existence.

…
Your breath hot against my neck. Your voice leveled. Power.” You bow and kneel as a sign of respect, adoration, a sign of servitude. Not shame. I can’t take anything from you. Unless you allow it. I don’t need to stand above you to know I have you.”
The lowering of chains. You release my eyes. I am face to face with you, my groin responds. I look around the room adjusting to the soft light. The warm glow of candles, I follow your body. In your right hand a knife glows like fire. You follow my gaze. You hold it before me. Place it on my breast, poking the soft flesh. Slide it past my nipple. Below my ribcage, you thrust it into my flesh. I whimper. A wound opens where you touched. You do it again, again, and again. I let out a painful cry. Your hand falls against my cheek, shattering my dignity. A fresh set of tears unleashes.
You walk to the wrack and lower my body until I am kneeling. Arms extended over my head. You sit before me. I bend down to kiss your boot. Your boot comes up and kicks me across the chest. I stumble to the ground; a sharp scream scales my throat. Too late. Fear and panic cross my face. The leather strap falls hard on my shoulder and stomach. I scream and a deep cut runs across my neck, a stream of blood. You wrap your hand around my hair and yank me back to kneeling. You unzip your pants, releasing your cock. Hard. Erect. In one swift motion you cut the rope around my mouth and shove your cock in it. I feel you pound against my throat. Your fingers wrapped tight around my hair. My head throbs and my eyes spin. Blood runs warm, fresh, and strong down my chest. Rusty. You fuck my mouth deep. Hard. Enraged. You pull away. The toe of your boot is prodding the spot where your hunting knife sunk into my flesh. I scream. I plead. I need to go. I need to go.
You grab my hair. Nails dig into my waist. We crash into the chair. I feel your cock. Hard. Hungry. My bladder aches. I try to press my legs together. You pry them open. Your hand against my cheek, my being trembles. Your cock slides inside me. Our eyes meet – steel and terror. Your cock ravishes my insides. You tear open old wounds. I sink my teeth into your flesh. A bloody scream escapes your throat. And just like that… I lose myself…
Rage-full…Hate-full… Power-full.

….

Ring….ring…ring…

[MarquisdeShey]

I have a recurring dream,
a wicked menacing dream.

My body is butchered and spread over
a cold metal table.

I watch bewildered as they collect the pieces,
torso, legs, arms and dangling by the hair - my head - voiceless.

Each piece is then dropped into the cold dark earth.

They laugh and laugh.
Finally, she's gone.

[MarquisdeShey]

...
You ask Me,
the tone of Your voice showing a slight hint of discomfort.

I ran My tongue slowly over My lips -
imagining Your body
a beautiful treasure. Untouched. Stone. Cold. Hungry.

Who am I?

My eyes linger, savoring Your dilated pupils,
the dominant part of Me rising to meet Your challenge.

I am Me.

Your fear and Your pleasure.

[MarquisdeShey]

It's not everyday you find one like this. A raw specimen, a rarety among the walking peasants of this worn out countryside. Sturdy. Healthy. Muscles ripped, a mountain of human tendons reaching and contracting. A spectacular show.

My body trembles. I watch you. Every time you pause, my whip falls between your shoulders. I don't have to. I just enjoy the way it sounds as it breaks into your flesh and the way your muscles respond as it absorbs each blow.

I wonder what goes through your mind in moments like this. I wait. Patiently. For I know as night falls it will be me at the other side of mercilessness.

[MarquisdeShey]

I dare you...
to be yourself.

I dare you...
to feel and fill that hunger.

I dare you...
to release yourself.

I dare you...
to answer that longing and submit to your hearts desire.

I dare you...
to do what comes naturally to you. No questions.

I dare you...
to take what is rightfully yours.

I dare you...
to believe you can you let go.

I dare you...
to scream.

I dare you...
to call my name.

I dare you...
to offer yourself.

I dare you...
to not hesitate.

I dare you...

[MarquisdeShey]

All of my hero/ines have died tragic deaths...

Does it make me a dark soul? To love those who have left me to suffer?

No conquest in the name of love is too small,
for we massacre and rip to pieces the essence of our beings in order to feel a connection.

A string that allows us to believe however long or brief that someone loved us such.

All my hero/ines have died tragic deaths...

Including the women I loved. The men I loved. For I am lost in the possibility that someone might've loved me such.

Love like the blood that flows, can be drained, rationed, depleated...
For love like a needle prick hurts and sends the mind into a rampage of pain...

All my hero/ines have died tragic deaths...

Here I sit... savoring the blood of the innocent. For I know better s/he once loved me such.

[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.”

[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.

[MarquisdeShey]

Sadist. Masochist. Kinky. Powerful. Givers and takers. Top submissives. Bottom players. Hungry. Perverse sweetness. Not Yours, all yours. Women.