Archive for April, 2009

Cleopatras Perfume banner

Cleopatra's Perfume banner from Harlequin Spice



I just had to share this very cool animated Cleopatra’s Perfume banner!!

I hope you enjoy it.



PS — coming up later :

The Audio/Video podcast of Episode 1 of The Berlin Sex Diary of Lady Eve Marlowe:

Eve meets a monocled gentleman.


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The Berlin Sex Diary of Lady Eve Marlowe contains adult subject matter and is intended for readers 18+ only


24 February 1928

Before dawn…


I had no time to grab my underwear as Herr _____’s odd-looking manservant proceeded to escort me out of the hotel room.  His strangeness made me shiver.  Thinning hair the color of a raven’s nest, heavily-oiled eyelids ringed with black kohl, stained teeth and an unpleasant odor about him that reminded me of a burnt kettle.   


He insisted I leave before the dawn broke, but not before pressing fifty marks into my hand.  


“Come back tomorrow night, Fräulein,” he whispered in my ear, “and there will be more money for you.”


“I–I can’t.  I have an engagement,” I lied, shivering, my courage failing at the thought of allowing this dark side of my soul to re-surface.    


“Pity.  Herr _______ has a friend who will pay you a hundred marks,” the man said, probing the inside of my palm with his bony finger, though he appeared well fed.    


I didn’t say yes.  I couldn’t stop the chill in me from prevailing and isolating my will.  I confess I liked being spanked, but the monocled gentleman fostered a persistent yet natural tenderness with the paddle.  What if his “friend” possessed a repulsive motive for spanking me, stripping me of my human dignity and my emotional contact with the man wielding the paddle? 


Another daring thought skipped through my mind, titillating my wandering libido with a curiosity that made me accept the money along with a packet of what appeared to be erotic postcards the manservant slipped into my coat pocket. 


What if his friend was the man in the black Fedora?  What then?  My pubic muscles clenched in a pleasant contraction, my sex obeying the will of my imagination. 


“I assure you, Fräulein, if you come to our little party tomorrow night, you will not be disappointed.” 


It was the monocled gentleman who spoke, his voice intriguing me with a blend of romance and drama reverberating in his tone.


I turned to see him adjusting the suspenders on his trousers then removing his monocle and winking at me.  I couldn’t resist winking back.  The atmosphere, texture of elegance and sophistication of this scenario all induced a sensual response in me I could not resist. 


Tell me more about your friend, mein Herr,”  I said, questioning. 


“The Count is a most fascinating man with an eye for beauty,” he said,  tying his bowtie with Teutonic precision.  “I remember the time he charmed that lovely girl at Versailles with the star-shaped black patch on her cheek.”  He sighed.  “Regrettable that she had to lose her head–“


The manservant coughed loudly, interrupting him, then ushered me out without another word.  As the gold-trimmed double door closed behind me, I could hear him lamenting about the silly men in their tri-cornered hats accusing anyone wearing a lace ruffle of treason against the Republic.


What fantastical story was he spinning?  No doubt a tale of gilded decadence to capture my imagination.  I raised up my breasts, then wiggled my shoulders.  I was more interested in the Count and whether or not he possessed the sensitivity to tame the hunger in me.  A hunger that had its roots in what I knew was the act of submission. 


If I returned tomorrow night, it wouldn’t be for a hundred marks or a thousand marks.  It would be because of the delicious sensations a paddling or spanking aroused in me.  I longed to again slide behind the blindfold to that cool, dark place where nothing existed but sensual pleasure and I surrendered to the tongue of fire licking my bare, quivering buttocks.


I held my head up high and strutted down the carpeted hallway with no regrets.  A girl does what she has to do in these times and I did it.  I offered myself up on a sacrificial pyre because I had no money and I was hungry..  I didn’t spread my legs and let him fuck me.  I am a dancer, not a whore.  When I let a man caress me, it will be with someone I love.  Until then, I shall allow no man to penetrate my wayward soul.


I stepped out of the hotel revolving door and a cold wind blew up my skirt, revealing my bare red-streaked behind to the uniformed doorman.  Daring to peek, he said something to me, but I turned away and started walking down the quiet tree-covered street.  Faded, brittle brown leaves swirled around me, taunting me.  


Did you notice his wicked smirk?  His hand grabbing his crotch?


I refused to listen to the little voice admonishing me for succumbing to a gentleman’s fetish because I wanted to eat.  A stronger need gnawed at me.  I was alive with a sensuality that lay hidden inside me, a prickling of my skin when a man put his hands on my thigh or pinched my buttocks when I danced by his table, a kindling, a spark of something I’d always ignored.  But not anymore. 


My body hummed from the intensity of my need for a spanking.




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The Berlin Sex Diary of Lady Eve Marlowe contains adult subject matter and is intended for readers 18+ only

23 February 1928 

Moments later… 


I never expected a paddling could give a girl so much pleasure.


I imagined myself lying on black velvet, its extreme softness cushioning each blow like a man’s strong hands holding me, pressing into my flesh, whispering to me to relax and enjoy it.  I arched my back, imagining him inserting a teasing finger inside me, exploring me, finding me wet.  Moaning, I twisted and turned, wanting more.


I let go of my inner fear, reveling in this new image of myself as a woman who seeks pleasure under the guiding hand of a man with a taste for the erotic.  I couldn’t explain my fascination for it, as if I’d shed a veil of opaqueness that underneath lay hidden my true desire.  Dark, dramatic, sensuous torture. 


Not vulgar or base, but stimulating and outrageous behavior that conjured up images of forbidden delights, exotic violet flowers and the smell of sweet warm honey dripping down my inner thighs. 


Squeezing my eyes shut tight, I didn’t protest when someone blindfolded me with a red satin mask.  In my mind I imagined it was the man in the black Fedora.  His gaze riveting, drawing me in.  I tensed when I felt his hot breath on the back of my neck, his fingers stroking my skin.  My logic told me that was impossible, but I didn’t care.  To satisfy my frenzied need for the stranger, I pretended it was his strong hand that wielded the paddle. 


I couldn’t stop the intense feelings making my pubic muscles contract when he ran his fingers across my bare buttocks, then continued paddling me, one cheek than the other, making me squirm.  The stinging sensations filled me with a warmth and unexpected delight as I settled into the rhythm of his loving paddle. 


My body bucked harder, submitting to the magic of the fantasy being played out in the hotel room, my senses spiraling up a ladder of excitement to such a feverish pitch I couldn’t breathe, the heat of the moment overcoming me each time he struck the long wooden paddle across my buttocks, making me tighten my clenched muscles.  I imagined my skin flushed a pink glow, my sweat glistening like a patina as soft as dew and as fragrant as fresh rain. 


Panting hard and moaning for more, I begged him not to stop, the scent of my perfume shooting up my nostrils and deepening into a pungent musky essence, its potent smell urging me onward.  Frustration to find the release I so desperately needed made me push my buttocks out farther, meeting the smooth wooden paddle with a daring I could tell pleased the monocled gentleman when I heard him gasp loudly.  It was him whose breath I felt on my neck, wasn’t it?


He spanked me faster, the pressure in my groin building until I couldn’t stand it any longer.  My excitement grew with each stroke, his aim perfect and well-timed.  I braced myself for the next blow, then the next, knowing I would soon lose control. 


A feverish ecstasy came over me when– 


A billowing arc of fiery sensations hit me and every fiber in my being cried out with joy, relishing the freedom to savor this sweet punishment.  I let out a scream as wave after wave of an intense orgasm hit me, my starved body trembling, shivering and writhing so hard I ripped the covering on the chair with my nails, making long jagged tears in the silk. 


The entire experience unnerved me.  I didn’t care.  I could never go back to where I’d been.     


Exhausted, I collapsed onto the plush chair, purring and contented, satiated in an ambience heavy with lust and perfume, paradise itself .


Next time: Eve is lured into a secret love cult.   

Red Carnival Mask similar to the mask Eve wore during her spanking

Red "Carneval" Mask similar to the mask Eve wore that night in the Berlin hotel room.




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The Berlin Sex Diary of Lady Eve Marlowe contains adult subject matter and is intended for readers 18+ only


23 February 1928 



I was a naughty girl tonight, dear diary.  I wiggled my buttocks like a minette* when I met this interesting gentleman wearing a monocle. 


Then I let him spank me.


My nipples tighten as I jot down my thoughts for my own pleasure for no one must ever see the contents of this journal.  Only then can I focus candidly on the sexual meanderings of this cabaret dancer down on her luck.


So down and out I earned my sustenance on this night by bending over and allowing the monocled gentleman to spank my bare arse with a long wooden paddle until my buttock cheeks turned scarlet.  I inhaled my own sweet scent mixing with my perfume smelling of carnations and cedar, the intoxicating odor unlocking a door I never knew existed, as if I had embarked on a glittering adventure and there was no turning back. 


You don’t look like a Joy Girl. 


My name is Eve and all you have to know is that I entered Berlin on a passport that says I’m of legal age.  I have no desire to expose my true identity should a curious lover find my diary hidden among my lacy underwear and try to blackmail me.  I will tell you that I have powder-white blond hair and men often remark that I have a good figure.  


I’m not vain about my body, but I struggle to keep the seams on my stockings straight and I revel in the applause from the audience when I dance.  I am also the sentimental girl who sends postcards to her mother back home in New York, knowing she rips them up without reading them.


I am alone here in Berlin with no one to depend upon, dear diary, but I will survive.  I am passionate about this.  Obsessed.  I hold in abeyance my secret self, letting it out only when I must, as I did tonight when the monocled gentleman struck my buttocks over and over again with the paddle, its dark enchantment holding me prisoner.


What choice did I have?


I have no job.  The all-girl revue I came to Berlin with folded when the lead dancer was killed after a performance, her body tortured and sexually mutilated.   Then a second dancer met the same fate and the girls all started quitting.   The brave ones who stayed, like me, were fired soonafter.   The story filled the newspaper columns for days. 


Lustmord, the Germans call it.  Lust murder.


Alone, jobless, I discovered that Berlin in the winter is dreary and cold, the sky gray overhead, clouds hanging low over the city making everything look bleak and sexless.  But not at night when beckoning tiny white lights mysteriously appear, tempting me.  It is a city of sin awash in an underworld of pleasure.  


My foray into this erotic world began when Herr Professor _____ asked me to join him at his table in a small café near the Hotel Eden where I had tried to find work.  That’s when I noticed an exceptionally tall man in a black Fedora and cloak observing us, gloating like a god looking down at a pagan rite, living, breathing, watching the players perform.  His presence made me tingle with an ecstasy I’d never experienced before, as if inviting me into his sinfully rich, private world. 


Who was he? 


The paleness of his skin belied the fiery dynamic of his persona, his broad shoulders, square jaw.  He wore his long black hair tied back with a strip of black leather, the poetic lift of his dark brow giving him the air of a romantic cavalier.  But it was his eyes that held me in a trance.  Black pools of perpetual movement that lured me into their swirling depths.  I could not escape the fatality of his stare, a look that was eternal.  As if he could read my mind, knowing I was hungry and out of work.  I swear he nodded to the monocled gentleman before the older man approached me.


Why didn’t he approach me himself?


Stroking my arm in an intimate manner, the monocled gentleman bought me a glass of hot, spicy glüwein to keep out the cold, then he said, “You’re too pretty to work as a kitchen maid, Fräulein.  I have a better job for you.”


What could I do?  I hadn’t eaten in two days, so I nodded and went with him to his hotel. I was disappointed the tall man in the black Fedora and cloak didn’t follow us.  I couldn’t explain why, but his presence induced a need in me that left me breathless, made my nerves bristle, my blood run hot.


I kept up my courage, imagining I was entering a scenario without rules, without soft caresses, without illusions, but not without guilt.  The gentleman assured me he wasn’t interested in a sexual coupling, but I didn’t know he had a paddling in mind until he removed all his clothes except for his bowtie, socks, garters.  And his monocle. 


Curious, I took off my knickers and bent over the royal blue silk brocade chair.  The smooth fabric was cool to my touch, expensive, luxurious, like everything else in the fancy hotel room.  When I heard the whoosh of the spanking paddle slicing through the air,  I took a deep breath and lifted my buttocks in anticipation…to be continued.



Next time: Eve discovers the sublime delights of paddling.


* minette: French word used here to describe a girl active in BDSM.


1920s Egyptian Queen cabaret costume

what a 1920s Egyptian Queen cabaret costume might look like


Until next time, check out an excerpt of what happened years later when Eve Charles, cabaret dancer, became Lady Eve Marlowe–

And came into the possession of a mystical perfume belonging to Cleopatra…

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Cleopatra's Perfume by Jina BacarrBefore the heroine in “Cleopatra’s Perfume,” Lady Eve Marlowe, married a member of the British peerage, she was a cabaret dancer in Berlin during the wild days of the Weimar Republic in the 1920s.

 She came to Berlin with a show in 1928 looking for love and adventure.  She found a city bathed in lust and sex.   


 Here in her own words are sensual and erotic accounts of her adventures during that time before Cleopatra’s Perfume takes place.

The Berlin Sex Diary of Lady Eve Marlowe

Coming soon…

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