Menage à Trois

We lie as close as fingernails to skin
limbs sheathed in sheets.
I trace the names of lovers
down your collarbone.
Over your shoulder:
Her laughter,  flattened under glass

~ Ménage à Trois by Eloise Stonborough

soulqueen (by pvs digitalart deviantart.com)

Honey Trap

The Eclipse.

One of New Acres hippest nightclubs resides in a trendy part of town.

Big lights.

Big city.

Martha DeCosta

L'enfant terrible of the fashion world is coolly surveying the scene.

The dusky beauty is resolutely ignoring her personal assistant who is bemoaning the ungodly hour.

Jane Hardwick has been her loyal assistant since the early days.

And she knows Martha DeCosta like the back of her hand.

They both attended a fashion awards ceremony earlier in the evening.  

It was so long winded and boring that Martha DeCosta nearly lost the will to live.

She is all too aware that her star is not as bright as it used to be.

She is still smarting from the fact that she was not put forward for one award.

The fickle world of fashion.

Martha DeCosta is a beautiful bi-racial woman.

She has warm,  coffee coloured skin,  sparkling hazel eyes and full sensual lips.

Although she never knew her Jamaican father as he walked out on her Scottish mother when she was three years old - DeCosta is proud of her ethnic mix.

The lithe and sinewy fashion designer is a professional hedonist and the The Eclipse is her lair.

She casually sips a tequila and smokes another cigarette.

Tonight Martha DeCosta is surrounded by a group of admirers at the far end of the bar.

The fashion maverick is accustomed to a bevy of admirers hanging on her every word.

In fact - she positively anticipates it.

But as her bright eyes dart quickly around the club,  she is dismayed to see that the party appears to be carrying on without her.

She is not the star of this show.

It is certainly busy in The Eclipse tonight.

The music is pumping and nubile men and woman converge like a herd of gazelle onto the dance floor.

Bodies sway and gyrate rhythmically to the hypnotic beats that the DJ spins on his turntable.

The excitable crowd are like a pack of hungry animals prowling for a mate.

Or just a little bit of love to get them through the night.

Earlier on,  the DJ dedicated a track to Martha DeCosta.

The throng parted like the red sea as the exotic beauty swept onto the dance floor.

She managed to cut some grooves as her audience whistled and clapped in appreciation.

Martha DeCosta's serpentine moves effortlessly won new hearts and she left them all gasping for more as she glided off the dance floor to rapturous applause.

She loved the attention as all eyes followed her.

But it has been a slow night.

And Martha DeCosta is all too aware that familiarity breeds contempt.

And there is time enough to consider where she has come from as the sycophants around her tell her what she expects to hear.

This sybarite has done very well for herself.

She did not have a penny to her name when she arrived in New Acres tens years ago.

Now she can count her blessings.

Martha DeCosta is now a globally successful fashion designer who has left South London far,  far behind.

Even if today, things aren't quite so fine and dandy for her in the cutthroat world of fashion with its fickle trends and back stabbing.

DeCosta is the sensualist who lives and breathes fashion.

And appearances matter.

She may dress actresses and starlets at Hollywood premieres - but she is no longer the big draw that she was.

It's nearly 2 am.

And Martha DeCosta has had an epiphany.

She is bored with the inevitability of her life - with its months spent designing outfits to dazzle fashion victims and her diary full of endless engagements.

The glitzy and gilded life she leads is tempered by high octane dramas.

And the battle to surpass the previous seasons greatness.

Martha DeCosta crosses her silky legs and takes another drag on her cigarette.

She is no longer paying any attention to the admirers crowding around her and jostling for her approval.

Bored.

Bored.

Boring.

Jane Hardwick has spent the last thirty minutes trying to persuade her to leave.

"You'll only get yourself into some kind of mischief if you stay!" The personal assistant informs Martha DeCosta.

But the calculating fashion designer merely shrugs back.

Tonight has been perfectly common place.

DeCosta looks dejectedly around her.

No hot stuff to buy her a drink.

Usually men are fighting over her.

DeCosta lets out a long sigh.

She has already smoked her way through half a packet of Benson and Hedges,  and now she is getting restless.

Martha DeCosta is wearing a shimmering gold Christian Dior shift dress and gold Jimmy Choo heels and her big soft hair sports a streak of funky purple.

She proceeds to observe the eye candy.

Most of lads still look wet behind the ears.

Although they will probably be flexible enough in bed.

Their poor dress sense offends her sensibilities - but it's not their clothes she is interested in.

She notices with satisfaction that a few of the men have potential.

"Mmm - nice ass" Martha DeCosta purrs like a cat at the sight of a firm male bottom.

Her eyes hungrily follow the carousing young men.

"Very nice!" DeCosta pronounces with relish as she spies a taught male torso in a tight white t-shirt.

A smile of gratification spreads across her beautiful face.

Finally DeCosta dismisses her beleaguered personal assistant.

Although the sassy fashion designer expects complete obedience from everyone in her entourage - she can see that her personal assistant has had enough.

Gradually her neglected admirers disappear leaving DeCosta to smoke and drink alone at the bar.

Now she is free to spread her seductive net wide.

"I remember a time when men were bending over backward to please me!" Martha DeCosta informs the Spanish barman with a knowing smile.

"Any time baby!" He answers her with a wink.

Xavier Leno is an acolyte of Martha DeCosta.

She is one of his favourite people.

No one with a pulse can ignore her.

Where ever Martha DeCosta goes - she leaves a captive heart behind.

And an unmistakable trail of Mitsouko in her wake.

She is the high priestess of their hearts.

A gorgeous creature who inhabits a twilight world.

Now Martha DeCosta peers through a cloud of cigarette smoke as she notices a small group of good looking young men looking in her direction.

There is a frisson in the air.

The men are looking in her direction and talking animatedly among themselves.

It appears that the beautiful fashion designer has won herself new devotees.

Martha DeCosta offers the young men a big bright smile.

Then she slowly stubs out her cigarette and begins to drink suggestively from her glass.

Like a sleek black cat sipping its milk.

The young men are enthralled.

They are transfixed by her every move.

Xavier Leno slowly shakes his head and grins at Martha DeCosta.

He is fully aware of the effect that she has on men.

And women.

"You're just too good!" The barman informs her.

"They're not quite in my league" Martha DeCosta answers him knowingly ""Perhaps when they grow up - they can taste a little chocolate"

Then she winks at the eager lads.

Now Martha DeCosta ponders her next move.

It has been a less than stellar night.

Her lover will be waiting for her.

Paul Pittard.

Her French fancy.

nightclub (by michalsawtyruk deviantart.com)

The DJ she discovered at The Eclipse three years previously.

She took him and transformed him into a sharp suited music maestro.

DeCosta got him to play at all the big gigs and soon he was riding on a crest of a wave.

He obeyed her every desire.

In bed.

And out.

It was a mutually beneficial arrangement.

Martha DeCosta was the mistress and he was her love servant.

Paul Pittard is swarthy and good looking,  with thick brown hair and piercing green eyes.

His talents as a DJ have won him hordes of fans and he is rarely seen in public without Martha DeCosta by his side.

Everything is timed to perfection.

She chooses his gigs.

She chooses his outfits.

And she chooses the amount of press he does.

He satisfies her in bed.

And everything is sunlight and roses in the garden once again.

They rarely fight.

They rarely talk to each other.

Everything is stage managed to perfection.

They are like a couple of actors performing in a play.

After some silent deliberation - Martha DeCosta strolls meaningfully over to the group of young men who have been looking in her direction.

"Isn't it past your bedtime boys?" DeCosta asks them with an impish smile as she glides past.

All eyes follow the slinky beauty as she walks to the ladies restroom.

Then she slowly turns to them and blows them all a kiss.

An audible sigh rises among them.

Then she disappears into the restroom leaving her newest followers in a state of delirium.

Martha DeCosta - femme fatale.

Fifteen minutes later and Martha DeCosta is back at the bar.

She is considering calling it a night and just as when she is about to get up and make her way to the cloak room - she notices him.

A tall blond man drinking vodka on the rocks at the other end of the bar.

He is tanned and classically handsome with chiseled features.

Martha DeCosta pauses at the sight of the lonesome stranger.

Their eyes lock.

It is instant.

It is electric.

The sharp minded fashion designer hasn't felt like this since the first night she met Paul Pittard.

There is the unmistakable promise of sensuality in the air.

And Martha DeCosta is rising to the occasion.

Tonight she wants to shake up her world.

And he has promise.

The man at the end of the bar has clear blue eyes and a lazy smile.

He is dressed in a pale blue Reiss suit and brown brogues.

Martha DeCosta winces at the sight of his attire.

They can deal with that later.

It's not his clothes that she is after.

Without missing a beat,  DeCosta glides down the length of the bar and sidles up to the handsome loner.

She places herself on the bar stool beside him and bestows him with a warm smile.

He is tall and athletic with elegant hands.

Martha DeCosta smiles with satisfaction.

Then she slowly and suggestively crosses her long legs.

His eyes trail the length of her body from head to foot.

She has him.

Martha DeCosta - the praying mantis of New Acres.

Ensnaring men with her sex appeal.

"Hello stranger!" Martha DeCosta says brightly "All alone?"

The man smiles with amusement at the audacity of the dusky beauty.

"What did you say your name was again?" Martha DeCosta enquires with a mischievous look in her eyes.

"I didn't!" The man replies with a smile "My name is Peter - Peter Chance"

The scintillating fashion designer immediately holds out her hand.

The handsome man kisses it flamboyantly.

DeCosta is instantly impressed.

"I think you'll do nicely"

"My name is Martha DeCosta!" She declares "You might have heard of me!"

"Everyone knows who you are!" Peter replies "You're certainly a hard person to ignore!"

"Try telling this lot! " DeCosta responds in mock indignation, signalling the boisterous clubbers.

"There is no accounting for taste" Hathaway informs her.

"Manners and charm!" Martha DeCosta informs him with a broad grin "I am impressed!"

"Let me buy you another drink then!" He adds with a smile.

"I'll have what you're having" DeCosta replies suggestively.

Her hand brushes against his arm lightly.

A bolt of electricity flashes through her arching body.

"Yeah baby"

Her eyes follow the man's firm bottom as he goes to order the drinks.

Martha DeCosta's inventive mind begins to weigh up the situation presenting itself to her.

The appearance of the delectable Peter Chance poses her with a conundrum.

They have made a powerful connection.

And she wants to welcome Chance to her world.

But she doesn't want to disrupt the status quo of her life with Paul Pittard.

DeCosta pouts as she considers her predicament.

She does not want to take a secret lover.

But it would be a shame to waste all that talent.

"Perhaps he doesn't have to be so secret after all!" DeCosta murmurs thoughtfully.

Perhaps she could manoeuvre Peter Chance into a special relationship.

An advantageous relationship with fringe benefits to satisfy all participants.

A new kind of relationship to generate the kind of media attention she craves and the kind of media interest that will resuscitate her career.

Martha DeCosta is grinning from ear to ear by the time she has hatched her plan.

"Ménage à trois" She declares brightly.

Peter Chance flashes DeCosta with a smile at the bar.

The devious fashion designer is still grinning as her hazel eyes blaze.

"Yes" DeCosta whispers "I think you'll do very nicely indeed"

An hour later and Paul Pittard is gazing at the full moon from the apartment window.

The plush apartment he shares with Martha DeCosta in an exclusive private complex.

He is about to turn in.

Suddenly his attention is drawn by a cacophony of noise outside in the road.

He squints into the darkness.

Paul Pittard watches with a mixture of awe and bemusement as two figures stumble along the driveway.

The two figures are clutching each other and swaggering shakily toward the apartment.

Pittard strains to focus on them in the dark.

The lamp light illuminates Martha DeCosta now.

She is giggling loudly in the company of a mystery man.

DeCosta is holding a bottle of Pinot Meunier in one hand and with the other hand she is tugging the good looking young man in her wake.

The captivating fashion designer is full of surprises.

Paul Pittard's eyes widen.

Then he shakes his head.

"Vous êtes fou!" The Frenchman sighs.

Here comes his mad and beautiful lover.

Five minutes later and Martha DeCosta is standing in the luxurious apartment with her new stray.

"Ta dah!" She exclaims with wild flashing eyes "Et voila!"

The blond man smiles nervously at Paul Pittard.

"Peter meet Paul!" Martha DeCosta exclaims loudly.

Then she dissolves into a fresh fit of giggles.

Both men awkwardly acknowledge each other.

"We met in The Eclipse!" DeCosta explains

The two men look blankly at each other

Nefertiti the slinky sleek black cat has glided into the room.

She stares at the two men with feline bemusement.

"Can I keep him?" Martha DeCosta purrs.

Paul Pittard shrugs.

There is no arguing with DeCosta in this state.

The woman grins broadly.

Then she takes a swig from the bottle of champagne.

She is triumphant.

An unspoken agreement has been made.

Martha DeCosta sleeps with Paul.

And Peter Chance sleeps on the white leather sofa with Nefertiti.

The wily fashion designer smiles to herself as she lies in bed beside Pittard.

She has plans for Peter Chance.

Later that day,  Martha DeCosta observes the two handsome men.

They appear to be getting along famously.

She strokes Nefertiti and smiles knowingly to herself.

Everything has fallen into place like pieces in a jigsaw puzzle.

Earlier in the morning - Paul Pittard made love to her.

Not long after - she took Peter Chance by the hand and they made love in the shower cubicle.

It was as easy as that.

They both satisfied the voracious fashion designer with their prowess.

nude en fuego (by artsoteria deviantart,com)

And Martha DeCosta was so transported that she didn't notice anything was amiss.

Nefertiti purrs back at her contentedly as she strokes the creature.

She is as gratified as her feline companion.

Everything is going to plan.

Both men are willing to fulfill her every need.

"Why settle for one lover?" DeCosta informs her personal assistant on the phone "When you can have two?"

"Double the trouble!" The disgruntled woman informs her.

"Twice the sex!" Martha DeCosta replies brightly.

"How well do you really know this new man, Martha?" The personal assistant asks her.

"I know enough to know that he will do exactly as I tell him!" DeCosta answers.

"Is that really good enough?" The woman enquires knowingly.

"It is when he's lying in my bed" Martha DeCosta finishes firmly.

The personal assistant shrugs.

She knows from past experience that there is no remonstrating with the steely minded fashion designer.

Three days later and the Martha DeCosta is in London and choosing a new bed at Heals.

She spends the rest of the day searching for soft furnishings around Oxford Street in London.

The canny fashion designer has left her two lovers at the apartment to amuse themselves.

And she delights in the flashing cameras as she leaves Selfridges laden with shopping bags.

Martha DeCosta is waiting for the right psychological moment to unleash her two lovers on the world.

Sexy British fashion designer Martha DeCosta was on a wild London shopping spree yesterday. The award winning designer took her time at Heals to pick an exclusive designer bed. "She seemed to be on a special mission to find the biggest bed" a shop assistant commented.

DeCosta throws down the newspaper as a broad smile spreads across her beautiful face.

The delicious thrill of anticipation.

The following week she takes Peter Chance to Carnaby Street.

The media are out in force as she strides confidently from one shop arm in arm with her new lover.

Cameras are flashing from all directions.

And she is loving it.

"Is this your new friend?" A reporter cries out to her.

"He is more than a friend!" Martha DeCosta replies knowingly.

Then she begins posing like a professional beside her new man as cameramen jostle in front her to get the best shot.

Peter Chance grins back blankly at their audience - showing flashing white teeth.

He has been instructed not to speak to the paparazzi by his dominating lover.

Chance obeys her and follows her around like a puppy.

In the days that follow - there are tantalising glimpses of  Martha DeCosta's two lovers leaving her apartment.

Everything is expertly timed.

They appear dressed in the same silver Valentino suits.

And Martha DeCosta blithely emerges from her love nest with both men on her arm to party in London.

"Where did you find the other one?" The American model Julie Neville asks DeCosta at the glitzy party at the Café Royal.

"I guess I just picked him up!" DeCosta replies knowingly "Isn't he lovely?"

"You are a naughty girl!" Neville informs her friend with an impish smile.

Both women silently observe the handsome blond man as he charms a small group of party goers around him.

"Didn't I do well!"

The following day,  newspapers and magazines are fill of images of the decadent London party.

Several photos depict Martha DeCosta arriving at the venue - arm in arm with both her lovers.

Paul Pittard and Peter Chance are dressed in identical dapper TM Lewin navy sharkskin suits.

The photos also show a radiant DeCosta dancing suggestively between the two handsome men.

Her snaky dance with her lovers generates a media storm.

Just as she intended.

At the premier of Hollywood blockbuster Horror Mountain - Martha DeCosta arrives accompanied by her two lovers.

She completely upstages the stars of the film as all eyes are on her and her men.

DeCosta is standing in a whirlwind of attention.

And she is loving every minute of it.

"One man is good" DeCosta gushes to the reporters and photographers surrounding her "But two men are twice the fun!"

The men stand beside her like two dolls.

They are the two dolls that the fashion designer dresses up and plays with.

Paul Pittard and Peter Chance smile and wave to their audience.

They have been expressively informed not to talk about their love triangle to the press.

They are a couple of expensively trussed mannequins.

Reporters and photographers now remain permanently camped outside DeCosta's swanky apartment.

They feverishly await her emergence so they can catch a glimpse of her and her lovers.

Newly rejuvenated - the devious fashion designer sets about designing her new collection.

She is on a creative.

Everything is going exactly as she planned.

Both her lovers have obeyed her without compunction.

She rewards them with a trip to Rome.

And a fresh surge of media attention.

Two weeks of romantic Roman splendour pass in a daze.

Martha DeCosta enjoys the Vatican city with her two hunks. The sexy British fashion designer made sure she had her two lovers close by so they could keep her warm at night. A source close to the award-winning designer suggested that DeCosta was planning to marry one of her lovers and keep the other one as her love-slave. The fashion designer was unavailable for comment last night.

Martha DeCosta guffaws with laughter as she tosses the newspaper aside.

She is sitting up in her big silken bed - between her two lovers.

"Welcome to my world, big boys!" Martha DeCosta sighs.

Several months in the golden glare of the media has breathed new life into her flagging career.

And it only intensifies as her fashion show draws nearer.

Paris Fashion Week arrives in a blaze of global publicity.

The French are already in love with the dusky beauty and her unconventional love life.

She makes her first appearance at the world famous fashion show dressed in a black figure hugging Versace dress standing between her two lovers.

Paul Pittard and Peter Chance are dressed in black Paul Smith suits.

The beautiful trio have captured the imagination of the French press.

And DeCosta's new avant-garde collection is a huge success.

She gets a standing ovation at the end as she holds up the hand of her favourite model - Julia Neville.

As the after-show celebrations flow at the Le Carmen,  Martha DeCosta basks in all the glory.

"You are back on form!" Jane Hardwick informs her.

"And I have my two boys to thank for that!" DeCosta replies motioning to Paul Pittard and Peter Chance who are talking animatedly among themselves.

"Those two Frankenstein's monsters you've created" Hardwick comments wryly "I just hope it doesn't all blow up in your face!"

"Why should it?" Martha DeCosta replies "We're beautiful people aren't we?"

And with that,  the sylph like beauty slinks away leaving behind a singularly unimpressed personal assistant behind.

"What have you done?" Jane Hardwick murmurs as she observes the two stunning men whispering into each others ears.

Hardwick predicts that it is only a matter of time before everything comes crashing down around Martha DeCosta's feet.

Just a matter of time.

Sunrise.

Martha DeCosta is sitting on the famous sofa of the award winning TV show.

Dressed in a white faux fur coat with her soft afro hair exploding upon her shoulders - the fashion designer is radiantly beautiful.

"I guess what all our viewers want to know is how you captured two men's hearts?" Deidre Chase asks her.

Martha DeCosta pouts for a moment.

Then she turns to the camera.

"Sex" DeCosta replies provocatively "I like sex and sex likes me"

And the stunning fashion designer smiles brightly at the camera.

That evening,  Martha DeCosta enjoys a first class dinner with her two lovers at The Premier.

The ultra-expensive diner for the super rich.

Only the elite can afford to eat there.

Dressed in a delicate pink Chloe evening dress and gold Jimmy Choo heels - the bi-racial beauty looks like a Princess.

Her two Princes are dressed in Mos Bros tuxedos.

Two stuffed dummies answering her beck and call.

Martha DeCosta basks in all the attention as all eyes follow her and her men.

Apparently the wine is on the house.

Before the night is over - she has some news for her two lovers.

"On Friday,  I will be flying to New York for three weeks for a meeting with the editor of American Classique" Martha DeCosta informs them "Anna Wimbour would like to print a special article to showcase my work"

The two men are used to her protracted absences and think nothing of it.

"I'm sure you'll find some way to amuse yourselves" DeCosta concludes.

Paul Pittard and Peter Chance look knowingly at each other.

As Martha DeCosta takes another sip of  Chablis.

Several days later and the elegant fashion designer is sitting in the swanky New York office of Anna Wimbour at Classique.

Two female gladiators in the fashion arena.

Anna Wimbour is the cool headed editor of one of America's favourite fashion journals.

Martha DeCosta is the sybarite living life to her own rules.

"I must say I am very impressed by your candour" Wimbour informs the dusky beauty "The whole world appears to be at your feet"

"I've certainly earned my stripes" Martha DeCosta replies knowingly.

"I think you're very brave!" Anna Wimbour declares "But I'm not quite sure I would be happy to leave two handsome young men behind to fend for themselves"

cat underground black edition (by ilonaxxx deviantart.com)

"They're big boys" Martha DeCosta responds knowingly "They can look after themselves!"

"Aren't you worried that they might be taking advantage of your absence?" The editor presses her.

"I don't believe there is any need to worry" DeCosta answers with a big smile "I have them very well trained. I keep them both on a tight leash"

The American editor laughs lightly.

But Martha DeCosta is being deadly serious.

Within days the stunning fashion designer is on a plane back to England.

She is on a euphoric high as she peers out of her small window at the clouds.

Everything is going to plan.

Martha DeCosta smiles slyly to herself.

Then she notices several male passengers looking in her direction.

The calculating fashion designer revels in gratification at their glances.

What could be better?

Paul Pittard and Peter Chance.

Waiting for her back at the apartment.

Martha DeCosta is going to surprise them with her early return.

And then they shall really celebrate.

It is 11.45 pm when the cab pulls up outside Martha DeCosta's luxury apartment.

"Home at last!" She declares with jubilation.

DeCosta is returning to her lair in triumph.

But a look of consternation flickers briefly across her beautiful face.

The entire apartment appears to be shrouded in darkness.

"My puss cats must be in their beds!" DeCosta declares "I'll soon wake them up!"

Sex.

The breath of life for Martha DeCosta.

Perhaps she'll have them both at the same time.

Paul Pittard and Peter Chance.

Ready and willing to fulfill her every need.

Two love soldiers standing to attention.

Two delicious chocolates saved until last.

And Martha DeCosta is like a kid in a sweet shop.

Life is good.

"Oh yeah, baby"

As she finally closes the apartment door quietly behind her and wheels in her heavy designer suitcases to a halt - Martha DeCosta breathes a big sigh of relief.

She flicks on a light.

DeCosta is met at the door by her slinky feline compatriot - Nefertiti the black cat.

The creature purrs with appreciation at the return of her owner - and she nuzzles her little head against the willowy fashion designers long legs.

"Did you miss me baby?" Martha DeCosta enquires sweetly as she tenderly scoops up the cat in her arms.

The cat mews contentedly.

The panther-like fashion designer fancies herself as something of a big cat.

She certainly has the claws to show for it.

Suddenly a loud male laugh shakes her out of her reverie.

DeCosta smiles knowingly to herself.

Nefertiti purrs loudly at her.

She concludes that Paul Pittard and Peter Chance will soon be getting something else to smile about.

DeCosta goes into the elegant bathroom to run herself a bath.

She lights several Diptyque candles.

Just as she is about to pour Jo Malone bath oil into the warm running water,  DeCosta hears a male laugh again.

But this time it stops her dead in her tracks.

Martha DeCosta walks out of the bathroom and begins flicking lights on.

The laughter seems to be getting louder.

All the other rooms are empty.

Slowly she turns to face the only room she hasn't checked.

Her bedroom.

A cold realisation seeps over her as she stares at the chink of light at the partially open door.

Nefertiti purrs knowingly at her.

She pushes the door slowly open.

Paul Pittard and Peter Chance jump up in the big silken bed as Martha DeCosta opens the door on them.

Both the naked men gasp in horror and tug the silken sheets to cover their modesty.

To cover the two taut bodies that she has been enjoying.

"We can explain everything!" Paul Pittard protests in his heavily accented voice.

Both men scrabble out of the bed and begin hurriedly dressing themselves as Martha DeCosta stares in mute disbelief.

"Please don't be angry with us!" Peter Chance pleads plaintively as he tugs on his jeans.

Suddenly he looks like a little boy.

But there is no need for further debate.

Martha DeCosta closes the door on her two erstwhile lovers.

The apartment is silent now.

Save for the sound of running water in the bathroom.

Martha DeCosta tears off her Marc Jabobs coat and tugs off her Louboutin heels as she sinks into the white leather sofa.

Then she bursts into uncontrollable peals of laughter.

The bitter irony of it all.

She has been humiliated by her two slaves.

And she knows deep down that it is poetic justice.

Martha DeCosta has got exactly what she deserves.

All her self awareness and voracious sexual appetite and she still couldn't tell the sexual predilections of her two lovers.

"Menage à trois!" Martha DeCosta exclaims sourly.

Both stricken men are standing at the bedroom door fully dressed now.

"Please mon amour!" Paul Pittard implores her "We can explain everything to you!"

Slowly Martha DeCosta turns to face her two errant lovers.

"Take your things and close the door behind you!" She replies smoothly.

Both their faces have fallen.

"And don't let the door hit you on the ass as you leave!" Martha DeCosta finishes.

Nefertiti leaps up onto her knees and purrs knowingly at her.

Paul Pittard and Peter Chance stare disconsolately at their mistress.

"Fly away Peter,  fly away Paul"

Martha DeCosta smiles broadly at her erstwhile lovers.

But this time - she does so without mirth.

Because nobody finds the predicament amusing any more.

Amber Stretch (by artsoteria deviantart.com)

    

I, Desire

Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth: for thy love is better than wine 

~ Song of Solomon 1:2 (King James)

And then our arrows of desire rewrite the speech, mmh, yes, 
And then he whispered would I, mmh, yes, 
Be safe, mmh, yes, from mountain flowers? 
And at first with the charm around him, mmh, yes, 
He loosened it so if it slipped between my breasts 
He'd rescue it, mmh, yes, 
And his spark took life in my hand and, mmh, yes, 
I said, mmh, yes, 
But not yet, mmh, yes, 
Mmh, yes. 

~ The Sensual World by Kate Bush

Double double (by DianaCretu deviantart.com)

Yes

Nikosia, Cyprus

A bride-to-be is facing a crossroads.

Marina Makides.

It should have been the happiest day of her life.

But instead it felt like a death sentence.

The young woman could not have felt more alone.

Even as the sound of ecstatic family members and villagers alike all celebrating the impending nuptials filled the air.

Even as a band of violinist's struck up the evocative sound of traditional Cypriot wedding music in the courtyard below.

Even as the intoxicating scent of jasmine flowers wafted through the open window of her bedroom in the family home.

Marina Makides felt as unhappy as if she were attending her own funeral.

The merriment only added to her wretchedness.

Marina Makides was exotically beautiful with dark olive skin.

She had large almond shaped black eyes, full sensual lips and thick raven hair.

Now she stood before a large mirror in her bedroom and gazed at her reflection.

Her bridesmaid's had come early to dress her.

The bride-to-be was wearing an exquisite antique lace wedding dress with ornate plunging neckline.

A diamond encrusted tiara shone like a crown in her shining black hair.

Her fine silk tulle veil was intricately edged with lace and cascaded upon her delicate shoulders like a waterfall.

Two vintage pearl-drop earrings glittered in her ears, offsetting her dark complexion.

On her wrist was an elaborately worked bracelet made of gold coins.

About her neck was a sparkling emerald and gold pendant which shone at the cleft of her breasts.

Several oriental gold rings glistened on her slender fingers.

Marina Makides was as the goddess Aphrodite.

A near oriental princess.

Marina Makides was as Salome,  the daughter of Herodias.

Her lips pouted as she stared at her reflection in the mirror.

There was a quizzical expression on her captivating face.

When she gazed at herself in the mirror - she did not see a bride-to-be.

Instead, a desolate widow stared back at her.

"Soon you will be Marina Kallis!" Elina Makides declared as she swept into the bedroom to observe her daughter.

Tears glistened in the older woman's eyes at the vision of Marina in her all her finery.

Her only beloved daughter was getting married.

Marina was an angel.

"Don't cry mama" Marina implored Elina Makides as she gently dabbed away her tears with a lace handkerchief "Or I will start crying too!"

The young woman hugged her mother.

She was a little girl again.

Marina Makides could not expel the mounting consternation within her.

The conflicting emotions jostling within her for attention.

Nobody seemed to be on the same page as her.

And the joy surrounding her made a mockery of her sorrow.

She was in complete despair.

Three of her cousins suddenly burst into the bedroom.

They copiously kissed Marina on both cheeks before proceeding to talk excitedly among themselves.

"You look beautiful!" Markos Makides bellowed as he strode into the room.

All heads turned to observe the unmistakable figure of the Makides patriarch.

Markos Makides.

The business entrepreneur and Greek Cypriot demi-god

Makides was short and swarthy with piercing black eyes and thick curly black hair.

He was an imposing figure with a commanding presence.and generosity was legendary.

"Daniel is a lucky man!" Markos Makides exclaimed looking with immense satisfaction at his exquisite daughter.

She was the loveliest flower in all the field.

Marina flinched at the mention of her husband-to-be.

Daniel Kallis.

She had been trying not to think about him.

Daniel Kallis.

She was dismayed from the very first moment she met him.

Her auntie Katia had suggested the match and it had seemed ideal.

And Daniel Kallis had seemed ideal.

A successful accountant full of promise.

He was thoughtful and well mannered.

He was good natured and attentive.

"A fine young man!" Elina Makides had pronounced him.

The consensus was the same.

But he was boring.

He was uncomplicated and sure.

There was no fire in him.

He was the living dead.

An uneventful and unremarkable life suddenly stretched out before her.

Daniel had been a complete gentleman on his first "visit" to the family home.

Everyone had fallen in love with him.

Everyone except Marina Makides.

She could only expect to live life as his shadow.

"Your family is our family!" Markos Makides declared as he shook Daniel's hand.

Chaperoned on either side by her family and his - inwardly Marina quaked.

Several more "visits" followed accompanied by plenty of hushed conversation through barely closed doors.

And Marina and Daniel were as good as engaged.

She remembered the final "visit" clearly.

They sat awkwardly beside one another on the chaise lounge.

Marina's mother had offered them Halva and oriental black coffee.

Middle Eastern charm pervaded the scene.

Nothing was too much for a prospective son-in-law.

Marina Makides was dressed in a pretty green dress with her long raven hair tied into a bun.

Eyes modestly downcast.

Daniel Kallis was dressed in a smart jacket and trousers.

The jacket looked too big for him.

He seemed uncomfortable in formal wear.

Daniel Kallis looked like a little boy dressed in adult clothes.

But he was eager to please and accommodating.

And he won everyone's heart.

Daniel Kallis was utterly endearing.

His kindly disposition was very affecting.

To a cosmopolitan girl like Maria Makides - he appeared naive to the ways of the world.

Daniel Kallis had been raised in a tight knit Cypriot family amid a village community that observed a code of goodwill.

Marina Makides was a polished young woman who had been raised in a sophisticated society in North London, England.

Cyprus and England were polar opposites in just about every conceivable way.

The core values and approach to life of the Cypriots were almost alien to the English.

They were world's apart.

Marina and her family ate dinner with Daniel on his final visit.

She attempted to avoid eye contact with the young man.

But she couldn't do that forever.

They were now promised to each other.

And Marina Makides was caught in a spider's web.

Her life was being etched out in stone.

A life that was to be spent darning socks and raising children against a fiery red Cypriot sunset.

The life of an empty vessel.

A woman married to a ghost.

She was swapping a sophisticated life in a western country for a simpler life on a Near Eastern island.

She was leaving behind the pressures of  a modern western country to delve into the untold beauty of an ancient island with over eleven thousand years of history.

Cyprus - the jewel of the orient.

But she was as unhappy as she could be.

She had been an obedient daughter.

She had agreed to everything.

Because blood is thicker than water.

And the days are short.

But when she looked at Daniel Kallis,  her heart sank to the bottom of the sea.

Daniel Kallis.

Good man.

Good life.

Put her on a boat and send her to the Underworld..

Marina Makides - lost forever.

Duty and destiny conspired together.

And Marina humbly accepted to be Daniel's wife.

She lit a candle in church and said a prayer to the Virgin.

"O Theós eínai megálos!" Grandma Thespina assured the troubled young woman.

Marina smiled at the older Cypriot ability for almost psychic insight.

But in spite of all good intentions,  Marina Makides could not assuage her mounting sense of desolation.

At the heart of her despair lay the man she was about to marry.

Daniel Kallis.

There was no fire in his belly.

There was no hint of passion.

He was calm and level-headed.

There were no dark fires in his bright green eyes.

He had thick black hair and keen features.

He might have been good looking.

But it was difficult to tell.

Because most of his face was covered up in a big black beard.

Most of his face was hiding in the overgrowth.

Like Father Joseph.

Only a pair of bright green eyes shone out from the darkness.

Two emeralds in the sea.

Eyes without a face.

Petra tou Romiou  (by sican deviantart.com)

Marina Makides sighed sadly.

Days were merging into one.

Six months ago she had been working for a law firm.

That was far behind her now.

The judge had passed sentence.

Maria Makides was destined to marry Daniel Kallis and live in obscurity for the remainder of her days.

"Koukla mou! Koukla mou!" Grandma Thespina cried jubilantly as she covered Marina's face in kisses the morning of her wedding.

Everything appeared to be happening as if in a dream.

St Paul's Cathedral was full of people that bright day as Marina and Daniel emerged as man and wife.

The sweet smell of incense had bathed them in a mystical aura.

The wedding ritual binding them together.

Marina and Daniel - newly anointed and sanctified by Father Joseph.

The unmistakable scent of Cypriot orange blossoms greeted them as they walked out into the sunshine and everyone cried out their blessings and laughed and cheered with delight.

Confetti and rose petals showered them like rain.

Marina Kallis threw a pomegranate into the throng.

One lucky girl caught it.

The pomegranate - symbol of fertility.

The irony was not lost on the tragic bride.

Celebration and merriment followed in flamboyant fashion.

It seemed that most of Nikosia had been invited to the wedding festivities.

Later as the newly married couple danced the traditional "money dance" where money was pinned to their clothing - Marina wept.

She wept with sorrow not joy.

Feasting and merriment followed well into the small hours.

Now Marina Kallis silently contemplated her fate in the marriage bed.

She was as Andromeda tied to the great rock and waiting to be sacrificed to the sea monster.

They retired to their suite at the Orient Hotel and the new bride slipped out of her wedding clothes.

For a moment she considered burning the bridal gown.

And she still had the holiday in Italy to get through.

Now she stood quivering by the bed as her new husband finally closed the door.

Marina closed her eyes.

Suddenly she felt a big warm hand clasp and fondle her left breast.

She gasped and jumped slightly at the tenderness in the touch.

Then another hand gradually slipped between her legs and into her panties to caress her.

The gentle young man who had visited her father's house and pledged his suit for her hand in marriage had been replaced by a tiger.

The man she had married had been transformed into Eros.

Marina Kallis let out a moan of pleasure as unexpected desire pulsated throughout her eager body.

And she began to respond to his warm hands as they manipulated her body.

Very soon she was groaning and swaying with ecstasy as her husband's fingers expertly moved in and out of her vagina.

Daniel Kallis tenderly kissed the nape of Marina's neck.

Then with the slightest of gestures he unclasped her bra and within minutes she was as naked as the day she was born.

Her breasts were like a pair of ripe melons.

Marina swooned as her husband kissed her passionately with his full lips.

The beard no longer mattered.

It was now a sign of his masculinity.

A sign of his virility.

Daniel Kallis had been transformed into Casanova.

She sucked on his tongue and pulled at the zip of his trousers so she could feel his manhood.

It was hard and firm.

Marina Kallis virtually tore off her husband's shirt.

She was hungry for his body.

Surprisingly taught beneath the baggy shirt.

And she was yearning for love.

Her eyes widened at the sight of the muscled and hairy chest that gleamed before her.

Danial Kallis was grinning knowingly at her,

Then the couple sank slowly onto the large bed.

And they abandoned themselves to the realm of fleshly love.

The following morning Marina Kallis awoke to find the bed disarrayed.

The bed sheets were entangled.

An empty bottle of Cristal champagne lay on the floor beside two glasses.

Strawberries and chocolates were strewn everywhere .

And Marina's body was tingling all over.

She could still smell Daniel Kallis on every part of her body.

She was like a flower that had opened up to the sun.

And she was remembering their passionate love making.

And how they had inventively made love in every conceivable position.

Reveling wildly in an oasis of eroticism.

They had opened a Pandora's box of sexual delights.

And a good Cypriot girl had been transformed into a priestess of the temple of carnality.

And Daniel Kallis had been transformed into a sexual athlete for whom every erotic experience was a delicious new challenge.

An orgasmic festival.

Marina Kallis felt like a bird soaring through the sky.

She could hear the water running in the bathroom.

"What did you do to me?" Marina Kallis called out.

Her whole body was singing.

Then the bathroom door slowly opened.

And the young woman's eyes shot wide open.

Daniel Kallis was standing before her in a pair of tight white tanga briefs.

The man leaning againt the bathroom door had a decidedly athletic physique like an Olympic swimmer

And the bulge between his legs was unmistakable.

Marina's mouth had dropped open.

Daniel Kallis had shaved off his beard.

A swarthy and broodingly handsome face with piercing green eyes and a cleft in the chin grinned back at her.

Daniel Kallis - Greek god.

His new wife was too transported to speak.

"I shaved off my beard for you!" Daniel declared "Do you like it?"

"Oh yes ... yes ... yes ... yes ..." Marina Kallis repeated over and over again.

Her body was vibrating with desire.

For Marina Kallis was already eagerly anticipating the unbridled passion and endless nights of carnality that awaited her and her well endowed new husband.

She was sure that he would be able to rise to the occasion.

Daniel Kallis confidently predicted that he and his new bride would not be getting much sleep that night.

Or any other night for that matter.

Perfume For Pleasure

Copenhagen - Denmark.

A cool autumn day.

Felix Jenson.

He was tall and boyishly good looking in a Scandinavian way with wavy flaxen hair and crisp blue eyes.

And he was one of the finest master perfumer's in Denmark.

His elegant little shop was already legendary.

Parfume Til Fornøjelse - Perfume For Pleasure.

Felix Jenson was a perfectionist and intensely driven.

He led by example.

But he these days was getting stiff competition from his biggest rival.

He found this state of affairs intolerable.

And he was willing to do anything to beat Magnus Larson.

Magnus Larson.

The only other prolific perfumer in town.

His shop was across the square from his.

But the two men never spoke to each other or even acknowledged one another.

They were caught up in a silent war.

Magnus Larson was good-looking and self assured - everything he touched turned to gold.

Rumour had it that Larson had not only aped Felix Jenson,  but that he had actually surpassed him.

Rumour had it that Larson was now being regarded as the premier perfumer in Denmark.

Felix Jenson had been dethroned by his aromatic pretender.

And now he would have sold his own soul just to see his arrogant rival humbled.

For the past four months Felix Jenson had locked himself away like a mad professor in the laboratory beneath his shop.

Nordea (by Anubis-noise deviantart.com)

Only emerging to serve customers.

He was creating a new perfume.

And it wasn't just any perfume.

Felix Jenson wanted his new creation to be the most erotic scent ever created.

He wanted the perfume to be a complete experience.

To take the wearer to a state of heightened arousal with its intoxicating aroma.

But he was struggling to find the right blend and olfactory excellence that perfectly befit his remit.

There was an intense desperation in Felix Jenson's search for the perfect scent.

He had locked himself away for many days and nights,  trying feverishly to create a perfume of carnal abandon.

He did not eat.

He did not sleep.

He was consumed by his mission.

In the process - his wife Ingrid walked out on him.

She had had enough.

"I'm leaving you Felix ... and I am never coming back!" Ingrid declared as she stood in the doorway with her suitcases.

But there was no response.

Felix Jenson was too engrossed in his work to protest.

He didn't even notice the sound of the slamming door as Ingrid walked out of his life forever.

Their marriage was dead anyway.

"Ten years of marriage and nothing to show for it"

So his wife left him.

Walking straight into the arms of Magnus Larson!

Felix Jenson was mortified when he found out.

Magnus Larson had stolen his thunder and might as well have stolen his wife.

"Bastard"

Another reason to detest his rival.

"This smells like hell!" Felix Jenson roared angrily - tossing the little vial of amber coloured liquid onto the floor. 

Crushed flowers.

Scattered  herbs.

Jars of spices.

The work table and floor was littered with numerous strewn ingredients and the remnants of his discarded concoctions. 

Wall to wall vials glistened on dusty shelves.

Chemistry equipment gleamed in the light that shone through the shutters.

The make shift laboratory looked like something from a Hammer horror movie.

And Jenson was creating his own Frankenstein's monster.

But it all seemed to no avail.

He wasn't satisfied with anything he created.

For the first time in his life he was completely floored.

He was losing customers.

Their lack of loyalty jarred him.

They were going in droves to visit his rival.

Suddenly he felt like he was suffocating.

Felix Jenson pushed back the shutters on the window to let in the air.

He squinted into the autumn light -  gasping for breath.

People were walking past and Jenson leaned against the window for several moments to observe them.

He noticed many familiar faces.

Then he clocked Magnus Larson standing in the doorway of his perfume shop.

Parfume For Livet - Perfume For Life.

Larson was beaming broadly.

Ingrid appeared behind him and kissed the nape of his neck.

"Traitor"

Magnus Larson was the cat that got the cream.

And his wife.

The sight of Larson and Ingrid sent Felix Jenson into a fresh paroxysm of rage.

"Bastard!"

It was game over.

Perhaps it was time to call it a day.

Then he saw her.

A tall willowy blonde woman striding purposefully across the road.

She was wrapped in a leather coat and wearing thigh-high kinky boots.

The woman turned to Felix Jenson and gave him a half smile.

He was in a trance as he gazed at her.

She was an attractive woman with a pale complexion and clear blue eyes.

And a mysterious smile.

Her appearance could not have been timed better.

As the intense perfumer hungrily followed the pretty woman with his eyes he could tell that she enjoyed sex.

He could tell by the way she walked that she was good at it too.

Their eyes locked.

The hairs on the back Jenson's neck were standing on end.

Suddenly he knew with all certainty that she was the one.

She was the essence of his perfume.

She was the embodiment of everything he had been trying to blend in his laboratory. 

Felix Jenson knew that he had to connect with her.

He knew that he had to imbue his perfume with her core.

He felt a sudden rush of longing for the mysterious blonde vision.

He had to be with

He had to taste her.

He had to be inside her.

The intensity of his feelings surprised him.

Felix Jenson was not a lover.

He did not pursue women.

He much preferred a woman's brain to her body.

And here he was behaving completely out of character.

But he could not control himself.

With his heart pounding in his head Felix Jenson tugged off his apron and pulled on his cap.

The frantic perfumer raced out of his laboratory and up through his shop and out to the street.

She was gone.

Brown and red leaves were swirling around him.

He stood in the middle of the town square and stared around him.

She had completely vanished.

People were milling about and some were entering shops or talking on street corners.

Tourists were taking photographs of their companions.

Two lovers were kissing passionately beneath a fountain.

But there was no sign of her.

He untied his bike.

Felix Jenson began the hunt to find the elusive blonde woman.

He mounted his bike and peddled quickly away.

The feeling of desire was growing inside him.

Felix Jenson had to posses her.

He rode by numerous well known shops on his journey.

He passed several customers - politely taking off his cap and bowing to them in friendly greeting in the flamboyant way he had.

They waved back.

Felix Jenson was a popular figure in Copenhagen.

Everyone seemed to know him.

Everyone except the curious blonde woman who had evaded him.

He rode down the cobbled streets of Copenhagen - but he couldn't see her.

After nearly an hour of riding and searching Felix Jenson finally found her.

She was sitting beneath a tree.

He spied her from behind a low wall.

She was like a Greek goddess.

Felix Jenson wondered if she was naked beneath the long leather coat.

The woman looked as if she was lost in her own thoughts.

There was a pensive expression on her face as she pouted to herself.

Then she took out a banana from her handbag and slowly and carefully pealed back the yellow skin.

Felix Jenson was watching transfixed from behind the wall.

A sudden jolt of lust went straight to his groin.

The woman opened her mouth and put the banana into it.

It was the most erotic action he had ever seen.

She was chewing and masticating on the banana and putting it in and out of her mouth.

Felix Jenson felt his manhood stirring.

He suddenly imagined her lying beneath him in bed as he rode her.

Her long blonde hair filling the pillows.

When she had finished the banana,  the woman searched in her handbag for a few moments and pulled out a ripe looking peach.

The fruit looked tender and pink.

She put the fruit to her mouth.

And then she began sucking the juice out of it.

Her red mouth seemed to be draining the fruit of its fluid.

Her tongue was working away at the peach.

Suddenly Felix Jenson imagined the woman coaxing and caressing his penis like a snake charmer.

Waves of pleasure vibrated through him as he felt her red lips around his shaft.

Felix Jenson had seen enough.

It was time to act.

Jettisoning his bike Jenson walked over to the woman.

And before the master perfumer could consider what - he was doing he was towering above her.

"Hello my name is Felix ... I am a perfumer" Felix Jenson informed her "I'd like to know if you would ... if you would you like to be my muse?

The blonde woman giggled.

She was even prettier close up.

The woman looked back at Felix Jenson with a knowing look in her eyes.

"My name is Karolin" she replied.

There was a delicate lilt to her voice.

"I am from Karlstad in Sweden" she added.

Felix Jenson suddenly fought the urge to ravish the blonde woman where she sat.

Perfume (by tholang deviantart.com(

 Her ample breasts were just peeping through a filmy red blouse. 

He noticed how long and lithe her legs were.

"How do I become your muse?" The enigmatic Swedish woman asked him.

"By becoming my mistress" Felix Jenson answered with as much bravado as he could muster.

The Swedish woman smiled broadly at him.

She still affected that strange knowing look in her clear blue eyes.

"That is an offer I cannot refuse" Karolin answered him.

She slowly eyed him up and down.

He was probably quite well built beneath the sweater.

Felix Jenson was satisfied.

There was no need for debate.

They had made a silent agreement.

It was the most scintillating day of recent memory.

And Felix Jenson felt completely exhilarated.

During the journey back to the shop - he learned that Karolin had only been in Copenhagen for three weeks.

She had come to Denmark on a special mission.

Her evasiveness only served to whet Felix Jenson's appetite even more.

She was a puzzle that needed to be solved.

A present he looked forward to slowly unwrapping in his bedroom.

The most effortlessly sexy woman he had ever met.

Although she as very cryptic about the reason for her presence in Copenhagen - somehow Felix Jenson sensed that they were kindred spirits.

This inscrutable Swedish women had walked into his life as if it had been stage managed.

Karolin Aaker was the epitome of the Felix Jenson's erotic fragrance.

She oozed feminine sensuality and the promise of sexual pleasure.

Back at  Parfume Til Fornøjelse the couple gave themselves over to hedonism.

They drank schnapps. 

They spent a couple of hours joking and laughing together about life.

Felix Jenson made some Hakkebøf for dinner and they ate it on the floor of the laboratory surrounded by flower petals and spices.

When they had finished - Jenson watched with wide eyes as the Swedish woman slowly undressed before him.

"This is what you really want" Karolin Aaker murmured invitingly.

The half light had accentuated her sylphlike frame.

Her long blonde hair fell in waves and covered her ample breasts.

She was like a mermaid - risen from the sea.

"It would be a shame not to share it" Aaker added suggestively.

Felix Jenson needed no more encouragement.

He took her gently by the hand and led her to the bedroom.

They spent the remainder of the night and the early hours of the morning making love in his big wooden bed.

The couple took their desire to the bounds of the carnal imagination and beyond.

Felix Jenson had never made love with such a responsive and instinctive lover like this before.

He behaved like a man possessed.

He had been re-born.

Karolin Aaker was so good that they made love without pausing.

They only came apart when they were too exhausted to perform anymore and sleep overtook them.

It was early in the morning when he finally awoke.

The previous night had passed in a haze of carousing and a blaze of wild sex.

"I must be dreaming" Felix Jenson sighed with a sense of disbelief.

The mysterious Swedish woman was slumbering quietly beside him in bed.

It wasn't a dream.

He had met the woman of his dreams and had crowned the occasion in a manner that was totally out of character from him.

Felix Jenson was not a sexual being.

But Karolin Aaker had released a monster within him.

Jenson rose carefully from the bed.

He felt enlivened and euphoric as he pushed open the shutters of the bedroom window to let the light in.

Felix Jenson stood naked before the window as he breathed in the cool fresh morning air.

The blonde stirred slightly as daylight streamed in.

Jenson grabbed his bath robe from the chair where he had flung it - as he did so he noticed Karolin's handbag on the bedside table.

He paused.

Something about the handbag beckoned to Felix Jenson.

The master perfumer was curious about the attractive Swedish woman who had so energetically shared his big bed.

They had spent hours laughing and making love and yet he knew nothing about her.

She was an enigma.

Felix Jenson carefully opened the handbag as he sat on the edge of the bed.

As he riffled through it he found the familiar items he expected.

Several sticks of Wrigley's Spearmint chewing gum.

A small packet of tissues.

A red Guerlain lipstick.

A few shop receipts and scrunched up pieces of paper with lists of shopping items scrawled on them.

Finally he pulled out a small phial of amber coloured liquid with a cork stopper.

His heart sank.

Karolin Aaker stirred in the big bed but Felix Jenson did not notice.

He was staring with mounting consternation at the small phial in his hands.

Jenson knew exactly what it was.

The perfume had an unusual and heady aroma.

For several minutes - Felix Jenson's head began to spin.

Flashes of light and rainbow colours began swirling before his eyes like a kaleidoscope.

He felt a sudden and primordial sexual urge that shot like lightening from his heart to his groin.

Felix Jenson was experiencing a powerful and animalistic desire to mate like a wild animal.

His olfactory instincts identified the top and middle notes and he knew what all the ingredients were.

Only a sharp minded perfumer could have created the blend.

"Magnus Larson"

Felix Jenson mouthed the words dejectedly as he tossed the phial against the wall.

It shattered into thousands of tiny pieces as the overpowering aroma of countless wild flowers, herbs and spices filled the room.

Jenson buried his face in his hands.

"Please don't hate me ..." Karolin Aaker pleaded with him "I went to Magnus Larson ... it's true"

She grabbed onto his arm but he pulled it away.

"I was always unlucky in love!" The woman explained "I heard about Larson and I came to Copenhagen to see if he could help me ..."

"So you got him to create a perfume to attract a mate" Felix Jenson finished easily for her.

"That is true" Karolin Aaker replied "And I guess it worked ... but I really like you ... not just because of the perfume!"

"You used me!" Felix Jenson exploded "Get your things together and get out of my house!"

The Swedish woman scrabbled quickly out of the bed and began hurriedly dressing herself as the incandescent master perfumer turned his back to her.

She grabbed her handbag and paused at the bedroom door.

"I'm so sorry" Karolin Aaker muttered sadly.

Then she was gone. 

Felix Jenson let out a long and weary sigh as he heard the big front door of his house slam shut.

Another woman had walked on him.

Pondering the state of affairs - Felix Jenson concluded that it was a sort of poetic justice.

It was only fair that someone someday would beat him at his own game.

This was his conclusion as he slowly shook his head.

Magnus Larson had triumphed again.

And it was a bitter pill to swallow.

As a master perfumer wedded to the magical art of scent -  Felix Jenson had fulfilled some bizarre requests.

He had created a perfume to entice a lover.

He had created a perfume to repel a lover. 

He had created a perfume to send an enemy to madness.

Perfume.

For several blissful moments it can transport you to another world.

As Felix Jenson knew only too well.

Cyprus rocks (by ShinyHeels deviantart.com)