by Cobalt Jade
When I was born, and where, I did not know. I remembered nothing up to this moment. The only thing I knew for sure was that I was not a native of this land, for the skins of citizens were a golden beige color, while mine was the deep, rich brown of freshly turned earth.
I also did not know what I was doing standing on a platform above a richly dressed crowd of them, bald, naked, and hairless, with thick steel cuffs around my wrists and ankles. By my stood a regal woman pale as ice, with long white hair like a glacier. She lowered a glowing poker from her gloved hand. As she did I felt the sharp pain in my right buttock fade to nothing. I realized she had branded me and the crowd was cheering because of it. Their faces glittered like mica through my tears as their fists shook and fingers pointed: "There is the traitor, the warrior! How do you think she likes being a slave?"
Confusion whirled through my mind. What had happened to me? Why did I not remember?
The crowd continued to taunt me. Strangely, I *wanted* their contempt, their scorn. As long as they pointed and laughed I was happy to be an object of derision; whatever I had been before, slavehood was now my new role in life, and I would demonstrate to them, over and over, how correct they were in granting me this station. I would be the best slave as I had once been the best warrior, though I no longer remembered my former career.
The pale woman smiled, and I instinctively knew she was the sorceress who had enspelled me. She was also a Queen, by the diadem in her hair and the regalness of her bearing...and very beautiful. Of my own accord, I dropped before her ankles and kissed her boots. I was hers, and hers completely. The Queen smiled down on me, a goddess, and raised my head in her hands. I kissed her fingers, cupping them in my own, bringing my lips close.
"Show them, slave," she said. "Show my court your new brand, which shows you are mine."
Eagerly, yet without making a show of eagerness, I stood with my back to the audience and spread my legs wide, spine straight. I raised my arms and linked my hands behind my neck.
"Show them more," The Queen said.
I bent at the waist so my buttocks were the highest part of me. I reached behind me and parted them to show the crowd my anus.
A roar of laughter followed.
The Queen suddenly struck my unbranded buttock sharply with a leather strap. "Make your new brand dance, slave."
Instinctively, I knew what she wanted of me. I churned my buttocks in a circle to make the brand wriggle. Every noble in the garden would see the brand now, no mistaking it, and no mistaking the pleasure I took in showing them, either. My eyes closed in passion, my lips parted, as the Queen whispered, "That's it, slave. Faster! Faster!"
Up and down, back and forth. As my flesh bobbled and jiggled I felt the Queen's finger, still in its leather glove, slowly extend up my vagina. The slick walls gave her little resistance. Impaled, I churned harder, the Queen's arm moving with the motions to keep her finger tightly inside me.
Pandemonium erupted from the crowd.
The Queen's finger withdrew as my arsecheeks continued their exercise. As I continued my waggling I felt it enter my anus.
I gasped, slackening my pace. "Keep it in you, slave. I command it!" the Queen hissed, with a smack of her paddle.
I had no choice but to continue. Another finger entered me, then one more. I was uncomfortably stretched, yet aroused. The sensations became a symphony...the glove that impaled me, the jeers of the crowds, the cracks of the strap. My rectum clenched tightly around the gold leather, and I felt the Queen's fingers move inside me, adding their own dance to the one my buttocks made.
"See that?" The Queen said to her audience. She withdrew her fingers. "Not ten minutes fresh from the brand!"
I knelt to kiss her boots again, to the excruciating laughter of the crowd. Again and again I kissed the soft leather.
"Rise," she said at last. "And hold out your breasts to me."
Trembling with devotion, I did so, cupping them in my hands. The Queen's sorcery had made them firmer, larger, the nipples lengthened by a good inch. They sat in my hands like two heavy fruits, and I wouldn't have been surprised if sweet juice had even seeped out of them.
She took out her tools. They were finely made, plated with bright gold. The needles looked very sharp.
She pierced me once, twice; the pain was sharp but healed quickly. When I looked down, two gold rings dangled enchantingly from the dark thumbs of my nipples. Each was the diameter of a calroon, the highest coin of the realm; and though they were thick as whores' earrings, my nipples were wider and thicker yet. Each was seamless; unless removed by a goldsmith or such, they would dangle there forever. Now I would look the same as the rest of her royal slaves.
"Lay on your back," the Queen said, indicating a table placed there by the guards...for she meant to pierce my sex, a shame so severe even experienced libertines spoke of it in whispers. Still trembling, I spread my thighs wide, holding my ankles apart. She bent over my sex. I could not see what she did, but I felt it...a short, sharp pain from my clit, then my inner and outer labia. Each ring carved away another piece of my former personality as they sensitized me, stimulating nerve endings I never knew existed.
I stood once again and faced the nobles as a full slave: branded and pierced, cuffed and collared, oiled, naked, hairless...never in my wildest fantasies had I thought this would happen to me, that I could be rendered so lowly.
She led me to two sturdy poles, where she chained me, limbs stretched wide, so her nobles could inspect her latest acquisition. I trembled with happiness, knowing how I had pleased her, that she should share me with her court this way, as dozens of groping hands closed in on me.
I was drooping from my chains when the Queen came to collect me.
"Come," she whispered. "This is your first night as my personal pleasure-slave, and we will spend it together, to celebrate your inception."
I stumbled after her as we left the garden and went back into the palace. Such a strange walk it was: the halls dark and silent, our only light that from the human chandeliers hanging high above us, their splayed limbs casting eerie shadows on the floor as they twisted. The slave statues observed us too from their lonely niches; only their eyes moved, as their heads were rendered immobile by the high neck braces that kept them upright. But like the Queen, I gave the captives no more than a momentary glance.
She paused by a bas relief sculpture on the wall, the most realistic metalwork I had seen so far in the palace--the full frontal figure of a naked girl, her upper arms and thighs held at right angles to her body. Her forearms pointed up, palms facing us, while her lower legs and feet pointed down, spreading her sex. Her eyes were wide, her lips parted as she looked at us in glazed horror. Although only a sculpture I noted the vividness of the expression.
The Queen produced a key--I do not know from where, as her costume was quite scanty--and thrust it into the dark slot between the sculpture's legs, where its vagina might have been. To my horror, the sculpture moved, moaning and twisting, as the secret door opened inward.
"They were sisters, once," the Queen said casually, and showed me the key: a wafer-flat, stylized profile of a female figure. "They were two of my earliest slaves, the daughters of the king of Lansong. What games they would play with one another for me! I grew tired of them eventually, but preserved them in these forms. It pleases me to have them serve me still."
We padded through the secret passage until we came to her inner sanctum, her bedchamber. Her bed was immense and carved from pale chilly marble; four posts carved in the form of human females stood with their arms raised, each holding a corner of the draperies. I had no doubt now they were transformed slaves. Bronzed male figures stood at attention throughout the room, their arms extended--and their cocks--to catch discarded clothes, and more males, now maple and mahogany, crouched on the floors to serve as footstools. And the lustrous marble of the floor held yet more imbedded victims in contrasting colors, subtle enough that they might be taken for designs in the stone, yet very obvious once you saw them. What magic had flattened and compressed them there I dared not think.
There were no other slaves save myself in the bedchamber. Living ones, anyway.
The Queen pointed to a spot on the foot of the bed and tied my leash to a ring there, as if I was a hound tethered while its master went shopping. "You will kneel here until I call for you," she said.
The satin covers crinkled sensuously beneath my knees. I kept my head down, obedient, but my heart was racing again, a mixture of abnegation and passion, at the thought I would serve her personally, here in her most private of chambers. When she called me I went eagerly, with a supple, sensual grace that was new to me. She lay sprawled across the covers, nude but for her belt of crystals, and smiled at me lazily. "Lay with me; I would sample what I have created."
I stretched out full length beside her, breast to breast, hip to hip. Never before had our bodies touched so fully. Even now she dazzled me. She kept her artificial girlishness well groomed, with flesh that was firm and toned without being overly muscled. The lines of her body were hard and perfect...her shoulders, the curves of her waist, the firm little mound of her belly...all pale as the marble of the bed, and a wicked contrast against the roses and pinks and plums of the covers, which had been dyed to mimic the colors of genital skin.
"Touch me," she whispered. "Touch me as you wish to worship me."
Vile as it is to me now, I did want to worship her. I did not love her, understand; I did not want her respect or friendship. I did not want to know her mind. I simply wanted her to please her, and belong to her, as all life on earth belongs to the sun, and that was all I was really thinking.
I touched her skin, noting its softness and smoothness. I caressed her arms down to her fingers with their silvery nails. How slim they were, how tapering and elegant. It was hard to believe how crudely they had stretched my anus. I submissively kissed the warmth of her pale pink palm, asking merely for acknowledgment of my submissiveness, as all slaves do.
She stroked my bare scalp, a delicious sensation, and drew me close. I kissed her lips. A meaningless kiss, because I did not love her, yet it was full of passion all the same. She opened her mouth to me and let me explore, passive, yet full of power, the way a lioness permits a butterfly to land on her shoulder.
I cupped her head in my hands, luxuriating in the white silk of her hair. She sighed and touched me in turn, playing with my nipple rings. She slipped them on her middle fingers as if they jewelry, then pulled, kneading my breasts with her open palms. It was a most exquisite sensation that sent shivers of passion through my flesh.
"My black pearl," she whispered. "My beautiful black pearl..."
Our mouths fastened again and she drew the sighs out of my throat. I felt her hands spreading roughly over my buttocks, tracing my slave brand over and over. Her finger squirmed between my cheeks and into my anus. Her knee pressed into my sex, and the soft pressure against my clit ring was another delight, to feel it and know she herself had pierced me.
Then because I had been longing to do it, I took her hard pink nipple into my mouth and looped my tongue through her own nipple ring, sucking hard. The contrast between the hard metal and warm flesh gave the act a new dimension. No wonder the Queen pierced her slaves. Now wonder she herself was pierced. I grasped the ring in my teeth, pulling, and she moaned louder as her nipple stretched. The four bedposts looked down on us as we writhed, their expressions serene and sweet. What did they think of the Queen's bedmates? Or did they even think at all?
The Queen rolled on her back as I positioned myself over her, both of us sealed mouth to crotch, as in my dream weeks earlier. Her white thighs gripped my head as my dark ones gripped hers. Her crystal belt pressed against my breasts.
She tasted heavenly, her sex soft and moist. Her clit pointed like a child's finger and I suckled it roughly, her pubic hair tickling my forehead where my eyebrows had been. I felt her tongue lick me in turn. My hips moved back and forth, a rhythm as timeless as the sea. Her teeth gripped the rings on my labia, snapping them against my heated flesh, sliding them through my moistened lips.
We come together, both of us spasming silently. My head buzzed as I lost control of myself, my face resting peacefully against the Queen's warm sex.
Then my new instincts took over. Silently I slipped off her, and when she righted herself and spread her legs, I knew I was to clean her, removing the last bits of come-fluid from her sex with my tongue. She looked down on me impassively as I worked. The passionate partnership we had formed in our lovemaking had dissolved. It might have wounded me, that she could be so cold after what we had shared, but I was a slave, and not entitled to niceties.
"You've pleased me," the Queen said at last. "Very much. There is not one atom left in you of Jozhande Tanimury, the Amazon mercenary, is there? Look at me. Do you remember who you were, slave? That you ever rode on a fine horse with a sword, hard-earned coins jingling in your pockets, and tapped mugs of ale in a country inn with your fellows?"
I looked at her, meeting her obsidian eyes that were depthless yet full of depth. I remember hearing those things and being puzzled by them, for they did not seem to refer to me; after all, had I not always been her loving slave?
I answered honestly. "No, my Queen. I do not."
The Queen smiled. "Good. Now you will learn a little more of what it means to be my personal pleasure slave. Not that it matters, really, for you will never tell anyone. But it amuses me."
To my amazement, she removed her belt of crystals from her hips and draped it around my own. "Do you know why I do this?"
The weight felt odd on me, the only item of clothing, if it could be called that, I had worn all day. "No, my Queen."
"Look upon the crystals you wear. Each shard, imbued with sexual essence, was collected in rites held over many years, and the essences are continually recharged and refreshed by contact with my flesh. They are the source of my magic, and I must wear them always to keep their power strong. Should I lose them, my magic weakens. Shatter them, and I am as helpless as any slave. That is my only vulnerability. It limits me on the battlefield or when I travel, for even a mundane accident could break them. Not to mention the discomfort when I sleep or make love. That is why I create a special breed of slave to wear the crystals when I cannot.
"Now, a normal man or woman could not serve, for the crystals are maintained by the highest levels of sexual energy, and even experienced pleasure slaves do not have a sex drive as strong as mine. But my private slave does, for I have created you for passion. I will cultivate your desire until you burn as bright as I; and because of the bond between us, you will serve in my stead. You will wear my crystals when I battle and when I whore, and whenever else I find it convenient. Only you and I will know of this. Should my court realize the truth, others would quickly seize both the crystals and my power. But you will not tell anyone, will you?" she said with a chuckle.
"No my Queen," I said, and meant it.
Ironic, wasn't it. I wonder if she didn't get a perverse enjoyment from it, entrusting her former enemy with her very life. Ironic for me as well, for had I been in my right mind, I would have grabbed the crystals then and smashed them on the floor.
The Queen continued her speech. "I keep a private slave for other reasons, of course. To slake my fantasies, to demonstrate my dominance. To amuse my court. Sometimes I keep two or three or even more. But perhaps the most important reason is so that you will serve as an example to my other slaves. You embody everything I want in a slave, and you will serve my court, the royal guests, and your fellow slaves as you serve me, a shining paragon by virtue of your submissiveness and servitude."
"Yes, my Queen," I said, determined to serve her the best way I knew.
"Lay on your belly," she said. "Yes, that's it."
As I lay there she drew my arms and legs up behind my back and linked my wrists and ankles together. Then she fastened a chain to them, which drew me up so I swung a few feet above the bed.
Surprisingly, I wasn't too uncomfortable at being suspended in this position. It seemed only natural. It seemed natural, too, that she placed gold weights on my nipple and clit rings, each in the form of a disk marked with writing. As a slave, my ability to read had been taken from me. But I have no doubt they said something obscene.
"Feel that?" she said wickedly. "How they pull and pinch you?"
"Yes, my Queen," I gasped. Even the slightest motion of the chain sent the pendants nodding, sending shrill vibrations of pleasure through my body. I would ferment there all night, for in my position there was no way I could finger myself to find relief.
"Look at the crystals. See how they glow!"
I glanced beneath me. The crystals were glowing slightly...a rainbow of colors from pallid greens and yellows to aqua and gold. My frustrated arousal was feeding them, as she had said.
The Queen laughed and slipped her long body between the satin covers. And I knew then why she had hung me in the middle of her bed. So that she might look on me before she fell asleep...and that I might look down on her.
For thirty days I was her slave, the time between the new and full phases of Wolfmoon. Though I was enspelled to be happy in my slavery, there were times, chiefly when I was alone and exhausted, that I would realize what had been done to me, that I had been a free Amazon who had challenged the evil of the White Queen, and lost. The realization would be followed by horror at what I was now, the groveling slave who served her and abetted her evil. Yet this realization was helpless to affect my behavior. I could never hang on to it; I would always forget it the following day. It was always less painful to give in, surrender to my slavehood, than fight it.
The Queen's magic did more than make me submissive. My breasts and nipples grew larger and more protuberant, my hips and buttocks rounder. Those were the only physical changes I suffered, for the Queen had been satisfied with my former shape. But she took care to alter my skin, smoothing away all my hard-won scars so it was unblemished as a babe's.
Other changes were more subtle. My body grew more flexible, the better to endure the many positions the Queen forced on me. I could no longer read or write and could do only the simplest of maths. I could speak only the briefest of sentences, in the lowest of voices. "Yes, my Queen," was about the wordiest of them. Small wonder that guests to the palace thought me a lackwit.
And of course, I was always ready for sex or thinking of it.
My hair did not grow when I was a slave; neither did I suffer menses or become pregnant. The Queen took care to feed and rest me regularly, and never did I feel sick or unwell. She kept me by her side almost all the time. When she could not--for example, when she went riding--she had me serve as a slave statue with her other lovelies. The staff placed me in positions of honor--at the landing of a stair, at the entrance to an important room--where I stood gilded with bronze, my organs clamped and weighted, to distinguish me from the gold and silver slaves on either side...as if being bald-headed and pierced wasn't enough. Ultimately, though, I suffered the same fate as they, for all of us were easy targets for the idle fingers of passersby. The fingers always stopped short of orgasm, however, and I was hard put not to sob when my tormenters walked casually away.
There were other dubious honors. At mealtimes I knelt at the side of the Queen's chair, my leash tethered to the arm, and from time to time she would feed me tidbits from her plate. I remember taking them daintily in mouth, pleased that she herself was feeding me, whereas other slaves ate from bowls on the floor.
Of all my humiliations, the most enervating came when she held court, for it took place in front of an audience who were once my equals. I hated the display, yet craved it. She would lounge on her throne in all her splendor as I knelt on the hard marble by her side, chained to a ring in the floor with my head bowed, my wrists linked behind me. Visitors to court were always told my tale beforehand so that they would stare, unbelievingly, at the lowly picture I made, and their respect of the Queen would heighten dramatically.
How I remember those looks of shock and amazement. Hardened slave-traders, jaded adventurers, the most neutral of diplomats...it made no difference. If they were willing, the Queen might have me further demonstrate my servitude by pleasuring them with my mouth, in full view of her nobles in their finery. Many cocks I sucked to climax this way. Female visitors took longer to satisfy, but those, too, I was bidden to pleasure to orgasm. Not a one descended the steps to the throne unsatisfied. If the visitors were of a different bent the Queen had me turn around with my rear raised so they could rape either of my orifices, keeping a selection of phalluses on hand so even females could participate. Afterwards they might take a whip or paddle to my bottom as I quivered there helplessly. No matter how many scratches and welts I received, they were always healed by the next day.
Yes, the Queen was very clever. Always I was frustrated; always on fire. The orgasms I had, though heavenly, were only a momentary release. Perversely, I looked forward to each abasement, each degradation, for without them, my sexual tension found no relief.
Occasionally the Queen permitted the nobles of her court to use me. They treated me as casually as any slave, taking the bedroom pleasures of mouth or vagina or anus without giving any back. Sometimes I served as many as fifty a night; other times, one or two. I endured many paddlings, strappings, and whippings for their idle pleasure. They treated me as if I had no mind or ears, making jokes about the color of my skin, the size of my nipples, even the length of my clit, which, traitor as it was, never failed to moisten and engorge. The lack of true malice in their remarks made them all the more unbearable.
There was much amusement to be had from a slave such as I.
Although I was the Queen's personal pleasure slave, she did not take her pleasure from me alone. Her appetites were strong, so she had other lovers: members of her court, royal guests, slaves she was training, occasional freemen she coaxed from the city. I was not jealous. It was, to a slave, merely the way of things, and it seemed only right and natural that she would chain me to the wall so I could watch their lovemaking, the acts designed, in a way, to keep my own desires burning.
Sometimes she let me participate. I would stimulate her and her partner with my mouth to make them ready, after which they pushed me aside like a tool no longer needed. After they climaxed, I would clean their organs with my tongue. It was a most degrading way to be treated, but I found great pleasure in it.
Yet, despite her other lovers and the casual indifference with which she treated me, it was always the height of pleasure to return to her bed, to be once again a helpless toy for her pleasure. Though we never made love as partners again, it was a special delight to crouch between her thighs on the satin covers, my tongue lapping her sex as she stroked my head like a faithful hound. Then all was made right in the world, to feel her orgasm tremble against my lips, to suck out her juices.
I had no sense of time inside the palace. My memories of the outside world faded to shadows. Sometimes I didn't know if it was day or night. I forgot what an elephant looked like or what flax was grown for. Always, I tried to be the shining paragon the Queen said I should be, believing I led the other slaves by my example.
After my enslavement the Queen proceeded with her persecutions of the rebels, my former comrades in arms. Several times some poor man or woman was marched into the throne room by her guards, where the Queen told them my story. Their faces would blanch white as talcum, especially when she had me give one of my sexual demonstrations. Fearing a similar fate for themselves, panicked confessions would follow. But it did them no good, for the next day there would be a new pleasure slave on display in the halls. I wince when I think of how I proudly demonstrated my slavehood before my former comrades. Warrior that I was, champion of fairness, I was now happily submitting to the perversions of one of the most evil rulers on the planet, and finding great satisfaction in it.
For thirty days it was so.
But all things come to an end.
The Queen had punished me, I remember, hanging me from the high vaulted ceiling of the throne room to serve as a human chandelier. My wrists and ankles were bound behind my back to a metal hoop so my torso swayed below, with a dish of burning oil suspended at the small of my back...very uncomfortable, for I had to remain absolutely still lest the hot oil spill. Night blanketed the room and it was very quiet.
Around midnight I heard three distinct booms. Then, faintly from the far reaches of the palace, came shouts of alarm, orders, running feet.
The rebels were finally laying siege to the city, though I did not know it at the time. I heard only sounds of confusion and wondered when the Queen might let me down, so I might kiss her boots in contriteness.
Then came the tap-tapping of high-heeled boots down the halls, crisp and light: the walk of the Queen, and she was in a hurry.
The tapping stopped below me. The chain lowered me to the level of the floor so she looked me in the eyes...and I saw an emotion on her face I had never seen before: panic. Her moon-pale skin was flushed and she was panting in little quick breaths. She had never panted before, even in the throes of passion. Now I witnessed fear.
"The rebels are storming my city," she hissed. "Do you know what that means, slave?"
"No my Queen," I said. Hard as it was to believe, I did not remember.
She gave a short laugh. "As well you should. Know this, then: they are my enemies, and yours. Will you serve me in my fight against them?"
I remembered being mystified at the question--having long forgotten abstracts like politics--but I knew beyond a doubt that I would serve her. "Command me, and I obey," I whispered. "I am yours, now and forever."
"In any form, in any way?"
"Yes," I said. "Oh yes."
She looked at me strangely, then grew wickedly pleased. "So you shall."
She stepped back from me, a distance of twenty paces as I waited in confusion. She gestured.
A blinding gout of light burst from her palm. It hit me like scalding honey, both cloying sweetness and burning pain. The sensation coursed through every cell of my body, doubling and redoubling until I screamed in ecstasy, my organs spasming. Yet the magic continued, transforming me, remaking me. My flesh was on fire, torn apart, shattered into pieces. All of these and none. I lost consciousness.
When I came back to myself the chamber was lit by candles. The Queen was occupied below me, but I couldn't move my head to see what she did. In fact, I couldn't move at all.
The candles made reflections in the windows behind the throne. I could see myself...and saw I was no longer myself. Instead, a polished statue of brass hung from the ceiling.
She had transformed me, the same way she did to all the other slaves she tired of.
My wrists and ankles which were now welded permanently to the metal hoop, my back a concave bow. Below me hung hundreds of glass pendants suspended on chains with sconces holding hundreds of candles, the light of which flickered warmly over my burnished curves. My head was erect and slightly thrown back, my eyes slitted in ecstasy, lips parted in orgasm...such a shameful position, frozen in the act that should remain private. But of course, a lowly sex slave was used to such positions. I felt no shame, only a melancholy relief that the transformation had come at last, for it had been the only thing I truly feared since becoming a slave.
I noted at last what the Queen was doing. Hidden amongst the glass pendants were her magic crystal shards. She was hanging them here in full view, but no one would see them.
"Yes," she purred. "Very stupid of me not to think of it before. A transformed slave works just as well as living flesh for the purposes of the magic."
How delicately she worked, arranging the shards on long chains that stretched between my flesh-rings, which were now permanently fused to my body. A body that was now a highly stylized sculpture, for not even the lushest human female had nipples as shiny and pointed as fountain nozzles, or buttocks like twin spheres of gold metal.
"As long as the crystals stay close to your body, you will recharge them...whether you like it or not," Shezrine said. "The perfect solution, really. When I am through with you here I will enter the battle, for now I can wield my magic without danger. Your rebels will be defeated. Not even their stymphads can save them."
I hung there, silent, as she fixed each crystal into place. I wondered who she was telling this too, as I was now a mute fixture of brass.
"I know you hear me," she said, answering my question. "All my slaves keep their minds when transformed. Though how many remain sane, after years as footrests and statues, remains to be seen." She banged smartly on my skull, which made a dull ringing sound in my ears. "Did you ever think you would wind up like this, Amazon? Hanging from my ceiling as a chandelier, as I destroy your comrades?"
I had not, but the fact I had lost so much of my memory made her comment rather pointless.
"I may just decide to keep you like this forever, you know. The crystal belt was most inconvenient. Perhaps your friend Shadow will make me better slave. A little old for the job, but pretty...very pretty."
I could not imagine Shadow as a slave, either, but then, I had never imagined myself as a slave.
A manic gleam appeared in Queen's eyes. "I may create many slaves, each charging a complement of crystals. With such a source of power, I can rule the Rift from one end to the other!"
Evil geniuses are all alike, aren't they. All of them fixated on world domination, as if they never had to piss or clip their toenails. There was only one snag in her plan. As a statue, I could no longer receive sexual stimulation.
But magic created a solution.
The Queen showed me a long phallus of brass as smooth and stylized as I was. I could hear it humming faintly. "This will serve to stimulate you. When in place, you will give off far more sexual energy than you would as a mortal being, for you will never tire or need to eat or sleep. Unfortunately, it drives out all reason as well. But in the long run you may find it a mercy."
I listened to the thing hum. It was the instrument of my doom. When it was inside me, I would no longer even be able to think.
The transformation would be the logical ending to my adventures in Obn Dhregni. All my experiences here had led me towards this, the ultimate destruction of myself, and the triumph of sensual pleasure. Now there was no turning back. No other emotion was left to me save lust, no desire save for the desire to serve *her.* I was no longer even human.
*Use me, my Queen,* I thought then. *Use me as I wish to be used, for the most base of perversions, the propagation of wickedness, for it is all I deserve. I have betrayed myself, betrayed my friends, betrayed the causes I held dear. I will serve you, and do so gladly and willingly.*
The Queen ran her fingers over my face as if she had heard me, caressing the hard metal curves of my cheeks, my parted lips. Regret glimmered in her eyes. "You've served me well and faithfully. I shall always regret our time together has been so short." She went around to my rear. "Farewell, Lady Tanimury. I will cherish you for many years. Whenever I hold court, I will glance up and think of the pleasure you brought me." Her mocking laughter rang like silver bells.
She slid the phallus into place as smoothly as if it had been made just for me. I heard a click as it filled me completely. Then she locked my labia rings together, keeping it in position.
*Yes,* I thought feverishly, equal parts joy and resignation as the vibrations multiplied within my metal shell. *I serve you, my Queen. I will serve...*
The last bits of reason were obliterated as I orgasmed. I forgot I had ever been human at all, had human thoughts. The sensation was steady and continuous, like the roar of a waterfall, and the pleasure went beyond pleasure, beyond any human analogs at all. Below me, the hidden crystals glowed a healthy gold, but who would notice them amidst the glow from the candles? And who would bother to look up at a distant chandelier, no matter how unusual its shape? And even if they should look, how would they know it was me...or that the crystals I guarded were the source of The White Queen's power?
I would hang here for years, ignored save for an occasional polishing or the insertion of fresh tapers.
My mind went blank. I ceased to think.
I vaguely remember the Queen hoisting me to the apex of the chamber, then nothing at all...
Note: This story continues in the novel, though I haven't posted those chapters yet. Yes, she eventually does get out of it.
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