The Countess' Harem

The Countess's HaremPrelude I have been in her care for so many years that I have lost count. She is beautiful, she is demure, she is timeless.She is everything a woman of the classic world should be.And I love her.We all do, in fact. All of us who serve her. We all love her with an unbridled passion that could simply break the universe barriers if it were allowed and capable. Physics and mere scientific law could never break the spell we are under with this gorgeous leader.Her mind is sharp.Her face is perfectly contoured and shaped.Her breath is that of rose petals.Her voice, ah, her voice. She can talk the devil himself up from hell and make him turn his ways to God if she wanted to.She is beautiful, intelligent.

She was the most beautiful creature anyone in that room could have ever laid their eyes on. A waist to die for, curved out like a perfect hour glass, with skin as porcelain as the dolls that came right out of a story book. Her hair was a flowing sea of auburn that reminded me of the leaves in fall. Her makeup was on point, and to the naked eye, done precisely by a professional.That night she wore a very bewitching gown of gold sequins. As it fell upon her skin, it hugged every cranny that it possibly get in touch with on her. The sleeves were capped wit h tassels hanging from both sides. The dress opened at the bottom flowing outward to allow her legs room to walk.The ballroom lights slowly came back up, but not at the full blast they had been as she made her entrance. She gracefully walked down the stairs into the room and I noticed something peculiar. For a woman who was known only to me as the “Countess,” and her obvious wealth, she was not surrounded

Sheila and I sat in silence for a long time. It was she who finally broke and asked me about the heritage in the room. I had been walking around, studying the paintings. Very old, very worn, their edges had begun to show signs of aging. I was sure that the wallpaper had been discontinued in the 1800s, but with technology these days, I knew I could seriously be mistaken as well.What interested me the most was the Babylonian Map hanging in the room. It was stitched tapestry rather than a painting, and it covered almost the entire wall.It was also the one Sheila had asked me about.“It's known as the Babylonian Map. It's actual name is the Imago Mundi, and it dates back to somewhere around 700 to 500 B.C. The original was found in Iraq, but I think the real painting is on display at a museum in London now.”“Really? So, people knew about the continents before Magellan?”“Sheila, you have to remember that after the fall

This wasn't your average apartment. It was a house within a house. Everywhere you looked, history lined its walls.Paintings of the American Civil War lined around one room. In another, the Renaissance. The kitchen had a wood burning stove rather than a conventional, and the sink was a pump arm rather than a straight pull tap. I was giddy with the sight, my dreams unfolding in front of my eyes. I couldn't help but sit down, the sights making my head spin so much that I felt nauseous.I realized I had taken a seat in none other than a couch pulled straight out of the 1920s. It was straight-backed, with its tan velvet delicately restored. The deep colored wooden frame accented it well, with gold embellishments on every corner and foot.It was then that I noticed the Oriental rugs and room separators. The rugs were specifically chosen for the room, a balance of blues and browns that evened out the entire space. The separators were hand embroidered with Chinese lili

Sheila: I was excited, almost too much for my own good. It was a dangerous feeling. Excitement and anything clouding my judgment was too risky. But I let her lead me away.She stood me in front of Keith, now shackled and sitting helpless on a lunge chair, twisting his body to comfort himself. I could still smell him, hear him, feel him.But my body was like ice. No feeling came to me, watching him lie there, writhing in pain under the irons.The Countess stood behind me, her breath heated against my neck and my ear. “You can smell him.”I nodded, standing above him. I was suddenly a dominatrix, ready to make him do my bidding, or beat it out of him. My knuckles flinched, familiarizing themselves with the temperature around them, expecting the punch to be gratifying.“Can you taste him?” she asked, her voice slithering into my mind.“No,” I said, begrudgingly.She brough