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ZEPHYR THE VANDAL
Prelude to Paradise
What would it take for you to understand the depth of emotion required to control another human being? Is there a threshold across which you will not tread? If so then you should probably stop here. My research spares no eye, cushions no ego, and fosters no will from either end of the spectrum of physical and psychological influence. Is there insubordination in your heart, defiance in your soul? If so then YOU should ALSO stop here. Shut these pages before returning this scarcely printed collection of truths paralleled by my own narrative of personal experiences. All others, especially those of you with a crippling love sickness coursing through your veins, please stay with me and learn the glorious multiverse of mind manipulation, sexual perfection, and unrivaled pleasure through absolute vulnerability to your beloved partner.
My name is Zephyria Aine MacThorne, but you will hereafter know me as your favorite thief of prodigal hearts- Zephyr the Vandal.
Immediately your mind has retreated in blissful terror of my skill. You are swimming through various legends and fleeting tales gleaned from the many books birthed from my inkwell. Your fathers and grandfathers may have even found themselves practicing techniques learned from that dusty volume you always saw them slip from a darkened hiding place, usually protected by other books that were far more appropriate for your young mind. It was difficult to understand their behavior until you remembered my quotes artfully recited in adult conversations, your fragile soul frozen within earshot.
Even more confusing to you are my age and appearance. I am 77 years advanced from my physical origin. The buxom princess vixen gracing your insert, draped in French silks and Victorian lace, is none other than your humble author on the day that the first copy of this book was pressed. It is not magic; at least not any magic that I care to describe. Suffice it to say that the Earth is home to a multitude of wonderful plants that can work biological miracles when combined properly.
Now then, let us get on with why I called you here to me.
[Phuket, rooibos, cinnabar, ascorbic acid, aloe, jade, ogiku, lung ching, ginseng, camellia sinensis]
**On a hill covered in bay willow trees, hidden behind the amorphous morning mist, in a very expensive modernized wood cabin lives a private investigator that thrives on healing the deepest wounds. She valiantly serves as tour guide to anyone who has the time, money, or dedication to spend. She uses orthodox AND forbidden skills, learned from several generations of experienced tutelage, to lead her clients out of the awe-inspiring wilderness of their minds. Much like the bay willows, she must help to safely nurse the clusters of branches while pruning away the chaff and clearing the way to life.
Zephyr the Vandal is ALWAYS working, in some way or another. **
Chapter 1: How to Make a Goddess
She was more gleeful than I had ever seen her before. My study chamber was aglow with her laughs and giggles. She chirped away into stories of being showered with the petals of freshly cut calla lilies on every Sunday morning, being waited upon by the sharpest, brightest professional attendants, bathing in a custom designed outdoor lavatory complete with an oscillating plush rubber basin mat for her crème colored bum, and synchronized jets that massage her submerged body. The Sunday amenities continue when both feet are safely out of the tub and on the ground where a bronzed Adonis is waiting to wrap her in velveteen and satin robes, then commences with her weekly deep tissue massage, manicure, foot molding and pedicure.
This continues for no less than thirty-five minutes until the story ends with a night of fine dining and maddening sexual acrobatics. It’s not that I didn’t believe her. On the contrary I knew that every word was true. It was a very colorful but depressingly accurate tale of a woman who allowed the love of her life to pay for her to enjoy the company of another man. This had been going on for three months, so it was only a matter of time before she came to see me; Baroness Hotaru Gideon. She was not true royalty in the political sense, but she was the Japanese-American wife of Baron Daedalus Gideon and heiress to his underground night club empire. The Gideon Resorts Corporation owns at least four clubs in each of 30 U.S. American states. She took the name Baron and made it a title for herself to further aid her husband’s image. The media and financial worlds adored them. However this did not make up for the intimacy lost to their stressed relationship. On the surface this was just a case of couple’s exploration into fantasy, but the normal result of that therapy is unification and the treated couple leaves the experiment behind with an indelible closeness to each other. The Gideon couple was not so lucky as to be in this situation.
Oh yes, there WAS therapy involved but it employed significantly different means. Hotaru was my only patient and her husband was using his wealth to keep her at bay. This was a tragedy of the most delicate nature so I, the “great” Zephyr MacThorne, took care to not raise my voice or interrogate her too intensely. Keep in mind these facts as we go into this very interesting case:
-Baroness Hotaru Gideon has been visiting me for 2 of the 3 months that her husband has been supplying this guilty pleasure for her and whatever suitors she chose.
-She has not had a single completely negative perspective of the situation since it started, even though it was oddly timed after their last strenuous disagreement.
-Baron Daedalus Gideon is only with her during public events.
-Hotaru has a ravenous sexual hunger that has become increasingly more deviant along with her forced happiness.
In conclusion, I was completely convinced that day was the moment when she would completely break down or finally break through.
“By the time we got into the room, he had already removed my dress! Hahaha! It’s not like he had a difficult time managing it. Salsa dancing requires less restricting clothes, you know.” Hotaru sang to me as if trying to paint a verbal impression of her latest adventure.
“Yes, I know what you mean. The sweat and heat can become your enemy if you’re not careful.” From behind my newspaper I popped the response in her direction like return service. Hotaru chirped and fluttered around my study chamber, but her movements were a bit mechanical. A bird in a cage is a bird in a cage, even if I let it roam free in my work space.
“Exactly! Then you get chafed by zippers or whatever and it stings…but ANYWAY, he was as beautiful as he was tall and equally skilled with his tongue. The ruby port and chocolates made it easy to just collapse onto the bed while his kisses covered my pussy like bath bubbles!” Hotaru was aroused on the surface, distraught underneath. She always slipped into saucy language when the pain hit, used more as it cut deeper.
“He inhaled me, Zephyr. He literally made me feel like I had been consumed by his sweet tasting mouth. I could feel the light twinge of alcohol on his breath every time he lapped at my clit, or licked circles just inside my sugar walls,” the Baroness was still smiling wide. She was panting between phrases, but her body language went from that of an excited girl to a curious student, fingering the spines on my bookshelves one by one. Time was drawing short. The tidal was approaching as she took steps away from me.
“I could feel my ass puckering with each touch. It’s good that his attention to detail distracted him from my fingers iron gripping his hair. He made me so wet that I felt myself sliding apart any time I squirmed or twitched, and then he was actually splitting me apart. Zephyr…he was so deep…it churned inside me like on my honeym—,” Hotaru stopped talking, stopped walking, stopped playing with the books. I wonder if it was karma that led her fingers to my collection of Khalil Gibran quotes about truth and relationships.
“Baroness?” I called to her without looking up but tried to make sure I sounded the same as before, as if I didn’t notice the swell of pressure in the room, the kind that is almost certainly followed by crying. Yes, I had to play the psychological role of the attentive husband because her actual husband was not there. She had spent the last three months convincing herself that she enjoyed things the way they were. But now, at the height of her erotic tale, at the crest of what should have spun into a sensual yarn of decadent adventures, she had realized what was missing from the story…or rather, WHO was missing from the story.
“Hotaru, what happened next?” I asked with a slightly louder voice, this time wanting to capture her attention without being a threat to her psyche. I would not break her; she would break on her own, so for now call me the fracture leading to the inevitable. “It’s starting to sound like another excellent night.”
The response started off modest, just a sniffle behind a muffled gasp. Here we are, teetering with our patient on the edge of insanity with tear filled release behind us. She cannot determine if the ocean of relief is positive or negative, only that it is behind us and that it is a vast channel in which she could drown. She was pushing on Khalil Gibran in an attempt to slide him back into place, but sorrow made even this meager task nearly impossible. “We were so entangled…that my juices dampened his pants…but he…he didn’t care…” she stammered with broken tones, one finger tapping against the book of quotes, “…he just kept kissing me. I could taste myself on him along with the…wine and…” she tried the book again but needed both hands this time. A final push and a crushing memory sent the Baroness to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably. “...Zephyr…I can’t do this…anymore,” she gasped again and the flood gates opened. “I want my husband! I…want my Baron...what did I do?” Hotaru lay down just as I reached her, no longer able to use me as a substitute image for her estranged spouse.
“Hotaru-kun,” I did my best Japanese accent, ashamedly no match for the tonal perfection required at the time. The only way she would hear me is if I could offer and execute a permanent solution to this problem. Baron Daedalus made sure to practice Japanese every day during his travels while building his first nightclubs. He did it so that he could make Hotaru feel more comfortable during phone calls with her while he was away. He even wrote their wedding vows and all of the ceremonial nonsense in Japanese. He made EVERYONE at the wedding learn the pronunciations, and dressed in a hand-me-down yoroi/hatatare from her father. Daedalus sacrificed everything about himself to be what he wanted to be for his wife. She had fallen for him head over heels. So in my eyes, it was wholly unacceptable that he had allowed their love to be trampled by his professional life. This couple was no accident and neither was the turmoil separating them. I had only two things to ask, and one thing to do.
“Hotaru-kun, raise your head. I need to know something before I return to you your husband. Where has he been spending his time when not working?”
“Most nights he just goes to Gran Seraf and lets the whores keep him company,” she buried her face into my jacket as she ended her response with choked whimpers. Gran Seraf is where you can always find a spouse, but it is most likely that they will belong to someone else.
“Alright then, do you want me to go and get him?” This was answered with a small, tightly packed yellow envelope being placed carefully into my jacket’s inner pocket. With one last cry from the broken firefly, we stood together and walked to my wardrobe. It was time to choose my war paints. Zephyr the Vandal was ready to play.