Image of Perfection Ch. 01

Author's Note:This series is divided into two aspects: the story of Aeriel, a female sex slave/submissive, and the story of Arial, a male dominant and misogynist. The portions of Aeriel's story are told in flashbacks, some of which happen in chronological order, but mostly they'll be disjointed. As such, her story is going to be amended with narrative timestamps to help readers follow the course of events. Arial's story all happens in chronological order, and can be considered to be 'present day' activity. Also please keep in mind that though each chapter of this story will be in a category based on the content of that instance, the series overall is best described as Sci-fi/Fantasy, and the reasons for that will become evident as the plot progresses.

Chapter One: Looking Back

Aeriel stepped out of the shower. It was meager, but one of the few accommodations that she was actually able to join. The water was hot - sometimes too hot - but it was clean, and came from two nozzles, one above her head and another at waist level. A mostly clear curtain surrounded her while she cleaned herself, suspended from a bronze rail that connected to the concrete ceiling above. The tub itself was pristine white, probably genuine porcelain, and long enough for her to lie back in when she cared to take a hot, soaking bath.

The shelf between the two shower nozzles was stocked every morning with three small bottles - shampoo, conditioner, and body wash - and a fresh razor that she never ceased to be thankful for. She knew that it was there primarily for her to keep her intimate parts bare, but it also helped her retain some sense of femininity, her legs always smooth to the touch, even if no one that cared was going to see them.

Recounting the numbers of times she had seen the sun set and rise again as she gazed at the cathedral window on one wall near the vaulted ceiling, Aeriel determined that it was 1985, the 22nd of May, and probably about ten o'clock in the morning. Lacking an actual calendar or diary to keep track of time, she'd become astoundingly talented at retaining facts in memory. Every so often she could confirm her dates with a holiday or (very rarely) by catching a glimpse of a newspaper when an attendant came to her chambers for something. And of course, there was her birthday each year. She didn't understand why she was allowed to celebrate it, but she always was.

As near as she had been able to ascertain, she was somewhere in Persia, which people were now calling Iran. She couldn't be sure of it, since she didn't know the dialect, but even if she had not determined the country precisely, she knew she was not far from the Caspian sea, and it got so hot in the summers that eastern Persia seemed very likely. In any case it was getting warmer now, as it always did this time of year, and she softly stepped along the path made by the expensive carpets, not thinking she needed a towel to dry off in the arid atmosphere.

Aeriel's world, as she accepted it to be, existed in this one room. She had a bed, four tall posts with a canopy that stretched between them and a mattress that some people - lacking the experiences Aeriel had lived through - could call orgasmically luxurious, and also a chifferobe stocked only with multicolored silken negligee. Occasionally some other article would appear there, for her to wear on a special occasion, but it would always be gone just as mysteriously the following day.

Her shower, if it could be called hers, was in one corner accompanied by a toilet and freestanding sink, with a tall mirror positioned behind it. In the corner opposite was a door: the door that she had only been through once, and since had not left. The rest of the large room was vacant, save for the extravagant carpets that created a path between the room's amenities, but like her wardrobe this changed at the whim of its owner.

Soft linens were met by softer flesh as Aeriel settled herself on the edge of the bed and ran her fingertips along her leg from ankle to knee, assuring herself that she had missed nothing. It was impossible for her not to feel the reassuring comfort of the cushion beneath her however, and she slumped back onto the bedding with a contented sigh. In these moments she told herself that it wasn't all as bad as it could sometimes seem. She may not have the freedom of other women around the world, but she did have some luxuries that were perhaps worth trading it for. This thought faded quickly, as the sliding, metallic sound of her door being unlocked and unbarred jeered her into the now.

The heavy metal portal swung open on well-oiled hinges, barely making a sound once it started. Aeriel was immediately sitting upright in bed, her body uncovered and her curly brown locks tumbling over her shoulders but doing nearly nothing to obscure her alabaster skin, still pale from the winter months. Her mind told her to get off the mattress, but her body resisted. She simply stared with a blank expression at the door, something at the back of her consciousness screaming out a hope that it was simply time for her linens and robes to be collected for cleaning.

Two men entered, wearing garb that she had come to recognize as militia attire, though she still didn't know if it was private or government. They stood on each side of the entrance, and her heart began to sink. Slowly, tauntingly, another form sauntered into the room. The form belonged to a man with dark skin, darker eyes, and peppered hair that he wore short, complimented by a neatly trimmed goatee. Aeriel was already chastising herself for being slow to action, and knew now that it didn't matter what she did; punishment was imminent. The desires and demands of this man were irrefutable - the man that called himself her husband.

He glanced to the guards and gave a brief nod. They moved out of the chamber again, and the door was closed and sealed until such time as he called for it to be opened. Aeriel remained on her cushion, debating with herself which course of action would lead to a swifter resolution to her 'disobedience.' Her decision wouldn't come soon enough.

Striding toward her with the confidence only afforded to a dictator - or a slave owner - her husband began to nonchalantly unbutton his shirt. His clothing was not unlike that of his guards, but he bore neither rank nor insignia. He slipped it from his shoulders and let it fall to the ground casually, the deeply tanned skin of his muscular chest catching Aeriel's eye despite her better judgment.

"You are yet defiant?" he demanded in a gruff voice, just barely accented.

Aeriel had heard this tone, these words before, yet her reflex remained silence. She struggled against her instincts as she gazed at him, and forced sound from her vocal chords. "I... didn't mean to..." She couldn't manage any more without looking away, and of the two she preferred to be scolded for her disobedience rather than her disrespect.

"You did not mean to insult me with your disregard for my commands!?" His voice was sort of a mock anger. It was as if he knew he was supposed to be upset, and so was playing into the expected archetype.

This was not going how Aeriel had anticipated. His language had always been consistent with what he wanted. When he said he was disobeyed, he would bring her to her knees and make her pleasure him. When he said he felt insulted, he would sodomize her. He was mixing his phrases now; this was not his normal routine. Aeriel began to panic. She no longer knew what was going to happen.

Glancing pointlessly toward the door, Aeriel felt her head spin. Her mind was a blur of nonsense as she found her thoughts shuffling between escape and attack. In truth she had no chance of accomplishing either, and given that she had made the colossal mistake of breaking her husband's gaze, she would be paying dearly for even having such whims, much less for attempting them.

"You will look at me while I address you!" he howled, swinging his hand out at her without hesitation. The open palm collided with her cheek, and her already failing body went limp and fell to the bed. She didn't move, stricken with fear and disorientation. All she could feel was the sting on her face. All she could hear was her husband calling out, "Come!" The door was opening somewhere behind her, and she strained to shut her eyes, but couldn't.

Aeriel felt herself turned over onto her back. The voice of her husband came again, "Bind her." She could see now as the two men that protected her husband produced thick ropes and slipped them around her wrists and her ankles. Her limbs were drawn wide, and the other ends of the bonds were attached to the bedposts. The enveloping blankets that lay across the bed were violently torn away, discarded to the floor in a crumpled heap. Aeriel lay there, naked, exposed, vulnerable.

She felt the leering eyes of the two men roving over her shape, and was disgusted. They could have only been there for a moment, but to her it was an eternity of humiliation. Her breath came shallow, and she felt as if she would cry had this reality not become routine. Her breasts quivered as her lungs struggled to take in the warm air, and despite the temperature her body became chill, giving her a shiver of goose-bumps and forcing her nipples to become firm. With her legs splayed now, she became ever more aware of her shaven vagina, and how it seemed to tingle when exposed. She could feel somehow that her lips were just slightly parted, giving a tantalizing peek at the pink flesh of her aroused sex.

"Leave us." Aeriel was genuinely thankful of the command given by her husband. She expected to feel ashamed and unworthy in front of him, to be punished for doing nothing wrong, but she couldn't abide the attention she received from his men. Her breathing slowed and became less labored as she heard their footfalls disappear through the door, and the unmistakable sound of it thumping shut.

Tears starting to finally form as her husband began to pace a circle around her bed, Aeriel squeaked, "Please..." with sincere pleading. She didn't need to specify what she was requesting. It wouldn't be granted.

"Silence." His voice was calm and level. "You will speak when I command it, and you will address me as Master." Aeriel shut her eyes and a boiling tear fell shot her cheek and into her still damp hair. "Do you understand me?"

She nodded a little, opening her eyes to see the world as little more than a blur of color and shape. "Yes... Master." Each time she addressed him in that way it felt like the first. She couldn't imagine herself ever growing accustomed to this.

"You disrespect me when refusing to meet my gaze. Do you find my face to be offensive?"

She shook her head, mostly in an attempt to dislodge the water in her eyes, but was unsuccessful. "No!" She was quick to amend, "No, Master."

"But you also disobey me. I command you to be prepared to satisfy my desires, and yet you luxuriate in the pleasantries I buy for you." He brought his hand up to rest on one post of the bed, choosing to look at it rather than at her. "Perhaps I should take these away, and leave you in the rags of a peasant."

"No, Master! Please," she begged, her eyes wide and clearer but beginning to well up again at the thought of her only comforts being removed.

"But you further your disgrace with insults. I demand cleanliness from my slave," - he would not even dignify her by calling her wife - "yet you do not prepare yourself. You are caked in filth."

She simply stared, not fathoming his words. Aeriel had meticulously cleaned and groomed herself just moments before his arrival, but he continued, undaunted. "You come to me wet and soiled, like a dog. You are unfit for me." His voice came closer and closer to her as he spoke. "But I suppose I must make do..." He trailed off as he leaned over her prone form. Aeriel felt his index finger touch the base of her mound, just above her anus. He drew it upward, gliding through the moisture that now began to seep from her, and she recoiled reflexively. Her husband's hand pulled back, and he spluttered angrily, still not quite shouting, "You resist my desires as well?"

Aeriel's silence condemned her more than any response would have.

Moving with swift determination, he took three quick steps to stand at the head of the bed. Aeriel shut her eyes tight and tried to look away, but before she could move he was clutching her head with both hands, wrenching it back to center and tilting it backwards. "If you will not speak to defend yourself, perhaps you are not worthy of the privilege."

Aeriel's mouth was forced open by a combination of the angle of her neck and the probing fingers of her Master. Her eyelids strained to open, but she found that her hair was being pushed into her face, and shut them again. She felt something both soft and firm touch her upper lip and press against her tongue. It had been a strange process learning how to pleasure a man such as this, but her body began to remember what his desires called for. Straining against her position, she struggled to close her mouth and began to suck at his cock as he continued to feed it to her.

Very surprisingly, he withdrew about an inch. Aeriel's mouth opened a little in response to his unprecedented restraint. Before she could decide what to do next, he was again pushing himself into her orifice, but this time more quickly and persistently. The tip of his shaft pressed up to the back of her throat, and it contracted unconsciously in response, halting his progress. He simply pushed harder.

Her gag reflex enacted, she began to cough as her body tried to dislodge the invading object, but she found herself unable with the erection filling her mouth. Suddenly Aeriel was overcome with the thought that she couldn't breathe. She attempted to gasp for air, wheezing around her Master's penis, which he was now slowly but forcefully attempting to shove even further into her. Her mouth filled with saliva, lubricating the member and further filling her mouth with obstructions as it pooled at the back of her throat.

Unable to breathe, unable to think, and unable to move away from the cock impaling her, Aeriel did the only thing that seemed like it would help to keep her from suffocating; she swallowed. Gulping down the saliva as she would have drank a pitcher of water after spending a week in the desert, her throat opened wide and allowed slick lubricant and throbbing penis alike entrance.

The sensation was both unpleasant and indescribably insulting. She could almost envision what it must have looked like, the fleshy spear pressing its way into her protesting tunnel, constricting to try to force it back the way it came. As her muscles tightened around his shaft, Aeriel could hear her Master moan some form of primal approval. She felt somehow gratified that she was pleasing him, but horrified at how used she was being right now. Amidst it all, she still could not breathe.

He held himself there inside of her, and Aeriel could feel his hand stroking her neck, separated from his erection by just a bit of skin and muscle. He withdrew enough for her to gasp a half-breath, and pushed in again, and withdrew, and pushed in. His tempo was even, steady, and strangling. Her vision began to get dim, and all she could feel was the slickness of her own spit covering her lips and face, and dripping up her inverted face, past her nose, into her eyes.

The sickening slippery liquid on the side of her nose brought Aeriel back to revelation, as if she were discovering her body for the first time. Everything slowed down and seemed to make sense. Her throat relaxed, her nostrils flared, and she felt her lungs inflate with oxygen at the same moment that she felt her Master's cock slide into her inviting throat. Her eyes, already forced shut, relaxed a little as she felt the blood flowing to her brain again.

Now not being resisted, her Master sped his pace. Aeriel could feel her entire body being pushed back and forth in the bed, returning to her place each time her Master withdrew entirely because of the ropes pulling her toward the bedposts. Her entire face was soon drenched with her saliva as he thrust himself so deeply into her mouth that his balls rested on her nose, blocking her nostrils for just a moment before he pulled away and she would take another inhalation of air. It was like some perverse machine, all working together in time.

Finding herself thinking as she lay there being face-fucked by her husband, her Master, her owner, she began to believe that she could do more. Timing her movement along with his jabs, Aeriel slowly began to push her tongue out toward her lips, and draw it back again, massaging the underside of his cock. She could hear him groan each time, and she felt a surge of arousal jolt between her legs. Her tongue began a side-to-side motion as well, making little circles and further stimulating the most sensitive part of his erection. His movements became more urgent, more insistent.

Now seeing her willingness to cooperate, Aeriel's Master withdrew himself further on each backstroke, stopping for just a moment and she would suck at him hungrily before he forced his shaft back into her raw throat. Her face flushed as she felt herself more and more excited by the situation she was in. She was a toy to him, a tool. His words began to ring in her ears again. Caked in filth. Soiled. Unfit. A dog. She may not have believed it then, she may not believe it after he was finished with her, but right now, it was all true, and it aroused her.

Her Master pulled free of her sucking mouth, and she felt vacant. She gulped down great swallows of air, but didn't dare close her lips, craving for the return of what was rightfully hers. Her face was a mess of spit, sweat and tears, her hair stuck to her forehead, obscuring her vision as she opened one eye and strained to see where he had gone. There he stood, stroking his erection over her face, and was gently descending until he came to kneel on the bed.

He stopped just above her and sat his testicles against Aeriel's lips. Her tongue snaked out to meet them and she drew them greedily into her mouth. His shaven scrotum provided her no resistance as she eagerly sucked on one ball, the other resting just at the edge of her cheek. With great care she hurriedly slickened the sack in the same way that she had the rod, and her own face, and used her tongue and lips to push it free, sucking at the other ball in turn.

Aeriel was highly remiss when her Master stood suddenly, pulling out of her. He adjusted his posture for a moment, and then began to keel over her again. She prepared herself to resume her previous activities, but found his cock head placed at her lips instead. With Aeriel sucking obediently, her Master released his hand from around his shaft and allowed her to pull him toward the back of her throat, lapping excitedly at the underside of his prick as he approached.

He placed his hands on either side of her hips and steadied himself, forcing inch after inch into her waiting, sopping lips. As his penis found the entrance to her throat he shifted his weight onto his left hand, his right rising from the bed and hovering over her pussy as he eased himself further in. Her muscles relaxed, as if she had been doing this for years, and she breathed slowly through her nose. He stroked her.

Tensing at the sudden contact with her sensitive flesh, there was immediately no way for her to remain focused on pleasuring her Master now, and he knew this. He thrust his hips and jammed his organ into her throat violently again, and she gagged. He pushed his middle finger into her dripping snatch, her hips bucking, and he bucked his as well, slapping his balls against her face degradingly.

Aeriel's Master started his own rhythm of grinding his palm against her mound and shoving his finger into her, causing her to writhe against him. He furiously plunged his cock in and out of her throat. She choked and coughed against him and tried to turn her head to the side, but he simply squeezed his legs together, preventing her evasion. Relentlessly he used her fighting throat muscles to milk his cock, barreling toward his imminent orgasm.