Empire of Flesh

The altar was dusty on top, yet he could see some straight, tall object protruding from the center of the silt and debris. With a gentle brush, not unlike the sort used by paleontologists and anthropologists for cleaning delicate bones, he brushed away the detritus to reveal....

More writings; in an a strange form of Latin, chiseled in a rim all around the square altar:

SUM ES DIA DE INCOITUS

SUM ES DIA DE INCOITUS

SUM ES DIA DE INCOITUS

SUM ES DIA DE INCOITUS

"I am the Goddess of Sex?" Well, that sounded more like her. But as he brushed away more dust, the object at the center was suddenly visible.

Inspite of himself, Harrison felt his cheeks blush as he beheld what could only be described as an ancient dildo. It was studded with glittering rubies, yet it was wrought with gold-leaf that seemed to flex and ripple like living tissue! The craftsmanship should not have been possible at the time to produce -

There was a jarring as the walls and ceiling began to shudder. Apparently from Harrison gently moving the golden phallus. What is this, some kind of Indiana Jones movie?! Tombs and temples don't just collapse just because you touch an artifact! Yet this one apparently was! It made him wonder what use Messalina intended for -

It must have been a fairly large piece of mortar that slammed into his skull; because he blacked out almost instantly!

**********

He should have suspected what was happening from the way the nurse was eyeing him. But Harrison forgave the young Italian nurse her curiosity, aside from the head bandage, the hospital had also called in a urologist to examine him. Not surprising; even before he had managed to dig himself out of the wreckage and dirt of the collapsed vault, he had felt something strange, something unnatural.

And now, clad only in a hospital gown he and the doctors had discovered that his penis had attained a stature that could only be described as legendary. His great shaft was longer than his forearm, and seemed to throb a deep, menacing red - as red as a ruby. The Golden Phallus of Messalina was nowhere to be found, with no evidence it had ever existed, except within him.

The doctors seemed content to discharge him with a prescription for a mild sedative designed for chronic erections, they seemed assured that his condition was only due to temporary swelling.

But the young nurse, he should have realized that the fire burning in her eyes was more than just morbid curiosity.

The first disaster, the first emergence of Harrison's Curse became apparent that night; since he'd been held overnight for observation.

She was around thirty, olive-skinned and with high cheekbones. It was long after hours, but it was the ripping of her bra and buttons that awakened Harrison that night. There were no words, no explanation. From the expression in her eyes, the woman was clearly in some form of...anguish? Torment?

Her perky C-cups hanging in the open hair, the nurse tackled him, straddling her groggy patient. His great, enhanced cock had softened only slightly, but sprang to attention yet again when touched by that soft flesh. Half-growling, half-moaning she ran her breasts around his shaft, cushioning his angrily red member between her soft curves as Harrison grasped her by her hips.

Nurse snuffled harshly as if the aroma of his raging cock was a perfumed bouquet. It seemed to have an effect upon her, her brown eyes rolling back into her head as if intoxicated. Finally, she could stand the torture no longer, and thrust her pelvis forward, tore away her panties as if they were a plague. And finally, finally, she impaled herself upon his swollen manhood with a beastial shriek.

As the rising tides of passion and orgasm arose ever higher within him, Harrison was consumed not only by a mounting lust, but by a sense of power. It was a sense of control, influence, the ability to exert his will over flesh and the works of men.

As his penis slid and thrust within and without her, there was suddenly a sense of conquest, as if he could possess and copulate with any female that pleased him. As the first jet of semen blasted into her hungrily-yawning sanctum of womanhood, Harrison felt like an emperor!

Was he dreaming? Or where her breasts larger, higher, fuller? Her face, already attractive smoothed and flowed into a polished beauty of lustrously curled ebon-black hair, her skin seemed to shine with a hale and healthy bronzed glow. Was the voice he'd heard next in his mind, or ears?

"Vivo...Vivo.....Vivo...." And she began speaking in Latin. Odd certainly, but not impossible and yet...what she was saying...

"Flesh..and blood..and life again...after millenia of darkness. Through the lives...of other women...I shall taste the pleasures of the Flesh forevermore!" There was a dim shaft of light falling into the hospital room from a crease in the door, it began nearly six inches away from the Nurse, yet as she spoke, her energized breasts surged forward. Growing, thrusting, enflating with unwholesome powers of fertility and lust. Soon, the tips of her nipples touched that shaft of light as both partners continued to slam into each other. The nurse - he never did get her name - continued to drone on in Latin in a cultured voice that did not seem her own.

"I shape this vessel; into a form of my liking....and others...and many others....Their desires will be as great as my own! And death shall not quench my orgy!" The crazed slut clenching his spasming rod was forever changed. Her physique was almost comical; breasts as large as motorcycle helmets, hanging loose yet with hardened nipples that jutted upwards proudly. Her hips had grown far wider than her own shoulders, and as she slid off of the great, red rod Harrison could catch a glimpse of her ass, firm and large and thrusting behind her sharply enough that her patient could have set down the remote control for the room's T.V. upon the top of her butt cheeks. Her hair had lengthened impossibly, like a glossed waterfall of liquid ebony curls.

"Men...MEN....MEN!!! " snarled the metamorphed slut. "All men...." The furled lips of her hot cunt slickened her crotch with a manic arousal more intense than any of societies' taboos, as she fled the room utterly naked, apparently to begin a life of enthusiastic prostitution. But it was after hours, and Harrison soon fell back to sleep, and it seemed that the hospital administrators never really understood what had happened that hot and sweaty night.

And there were others, and others, and still others. No one truly believed in the magnitude of Harrison's discovery; the cave-in had damaged much of the evidence, but the photos would certainly be worth analyzing. But he dared not tell anyone of the change within himself.

The next time occurred on a train ride back to the airport. On of the stewardesses had been paying him undue attention and courtesy. And he should have predicted what would happen when she asked him in a serious tone to speak to him in private.

The auburn-haired stewardess dragged him into the men's room at the back of the train car, almost pulling his lip off with the frantic intensity of her kisses, licks and lovebites. But this time, as she thrust him against the wall, his curse cock took action. The woman hadn't had time to pull down her panties before the enchanted penis thrust outwards, ripping sword-like through the lacy fabric, and Harrison's head swam with the heady sense of tyrannical power that suffused him each time he penetrated a woman.

Snarling, sweating, and grunting like a bitch in heat, the nameless woman's back arched as her blossoming breasts finally exploded through her deep-blue uniform and buttons. And he had cum...and cum..... and still cum. Even in his delirium, it was apparent that he was producing far more sperm than the average whale.

He didn't see, and was afraid to ask what had become of that female attendant, she had fled after at least a dozen orgasms, fully transformed into a sex-fiend almost unrecognizable as herself.

**********

The years since the day of the Curse had been filled with discoveries, pieced together from the secret journals of forbidden, arcane rituals that the empress had recorded. There came the realization of the magnitude of the plight that had been put upon him. Valeria Messalina had been unable to have enough sex during her life. Not that there weren't willing men, but as only one woman with only so many hours in a day, her wicked cravings were endless. It was as Darcy had said; exhausted but never satisfied. But now, she had found a way to finally feed her nymphomania - from beyond the grave. Those skulls he'd found, they were the remains of sorcerors who had been murdered after doing the Empress' bidding, (and probably doing her as well) Through forgotten magics, some shadow of her essence, a dark spirit of Messalina yet lingered.

That wretched phallus had been imbued with the powers of primordial demons of an ante-diluvian age from before the advent of writing itself. It inflicted horrible transformations upon any woman that partook of Harrison's sperm. It shaped, molded each victim into a vessel pleasing to Messalina, and now that the Curse had been released, The spirit of the nymphomaniacal empress could exploit modern women to fulfill her perverted hungers. In his dreams, Harrison could see and hear brief flashes of the ancient slut and her dark intentions. This phallus was her ticket to immortality; after a fashion. She lived and felt and lusted whenever one of her corrupted women gave herself to a man. But to do this, the ancient demon magic warped and twisted mind as well as body. Each woman was battered into idiocy, the transformative sperm stole all but the most rudimentary intelligence, replacing it with the licentious urges that had driven the dead empress beyond the heights of sexual excess.

But why? Why did all of these women assault him! They always made the first move! He remembered when he'd been in the hospital that first time, there had been puzzling electromagnetic interference with the doctor's MRI machines, there seemed to be some kind of weird magnetic field emanating from him. The doctors were baffled, but could find no medical explanation nor a reason to hold him indefinitely.

Once, he'd read some rumors that military weapon engineers were theorizing that the right frequency of energy could alter the electrochemicals in the human brain, some believed that it might be possible to create a mind-control weapon with such means. Is that what he was? He didn't know, but it might make sense. There was no magical guidebook that explained the Curse of the Demon Phallus, no fairy godmother had appeared to guide him. So it seemed that his body was putting out some exotic radiation born of forbidden sorceries that altered the female brain, enough to make them so hot for his cock that they just couldn't help themselves.

Most women, who just passed him on the street would feel only a twinge of desire, but repeated contact, or prolonged exposure would whittle away at the firmest resolve.

What made it worse was that he ultimately couldn't stop. A woman throwing herself at him consumed him with such irresistable longing, that it was almost impossible to fight back. It was so easy, so easy to just lie back, and allow these crazed women to impale themselves upon his rigid rod - so easy to just enjoy the encounter, and grant them a full dose of his accursed semen.

If he had real character, he would find a way to save the lives of these women; but he wasn't strong enough, too afraid to ever really hurt himself. So another married housewife would wrap her legs around his pelvis, and thrust her boobs in his face, and he would simply let it happen, grunting as loudly as she did as the Demon penis of Messalina spurted within its latest victim.

The feeling of power, or dominance he experienced during sex was no doubt a calculated insertion: Whatever man first triggered the Curse would become instantly addicted to the sensation, relishing the corruption of as many women as possible. He was not intended to resist this abomination; he was supposed to thank his lucky stars and create a legion of giggling sluts for Messalina to tap into, that their orgasms might become hers. Death it seemed, had only increased her libido.

*********

Darcy Morgenstein was lost. It was difficult to remember the last twelve hours. There had been her consuming obsession with her new tutor, Harrison. His presence had sent electrifying chills up and down her spine, and the fire...it was as if there was a burning hot coal deep within her, deep in her cunt. The hotter burned this passion, the more she began to forget. She just knew that she had to screw him, it was more important than anything else, more important than....eh....er...

That was part of the effect; she just started to forget anything that might have stopped her from spreading her legs for Harrison. She felt as though she were in limbo. After following Harrison back to his room, (unable to remember a reason not to) an incendiary craving had gripped her body, and it was like a walking black-out. She knew she was doing incredible, sexual things to him, she knew she was ripping off her bra, kissing him, inhaling his scent, begging for his cock. Yet her mind was in a cloud, like moving through molasses, until finally after the second orgasm, she seemed to lose herself in a hot, dark void.

She was still alive, yet disconnected from reality, like being in the womb.

"Darcy.... do not fight it....accept it, and it will be more wonderful than you could have imagined..." hissed a sweet, alluring female voice.

"Who..." the voice used an accent unfamiliar to her, yet it seemed....old....ancient.

"You know me....but you have been.....deceived..." hissed the strange voice. "Scylla gave up the contest at dawn, after twenty-five men, yes. But I saw no reason to end my coitus - my...sexual couplings.... for many more hours, well into the morning of the next day!"

"Then...y-you are -"

"I am the same as you. We are both the same! And I am here to give you want you truly want, to unleash your inner nature...." Darcy felt a fiery spasm in her vagina, it was more than simply a desire to be penetrated by a man, it was a raging frenzy that would torment her until the fires could be quenched!

"No...I'm not...like this...I'm not...that kind of girl..." she murmured into the black void.

"Of course you are, we all are. You can claim what all women crave, whether they choose to deny it or not...." argued the sibilant, exotic voice. It seemed to come from all around her in the featureless blackness, like a disembodied ghost of cynical lust.

"It....it's wrong...it is..." the writhing girl protested.

"Why? Why is it wrong to surrender to your deepest urges?"

"I know...I can't....I can't remember..."

"Because nothing that feels so good could be wrong! Yes...the changes...they are nearly complete!" the voice was exultant.

"You're trying to make me...turn me into...into..."

"SAY IT! SAY THE WORDS!!"

"I'm not...I'm...I'm...I'm..." Darcy's muddled mind was laboring with torrid urges and closed off memories; struggling to retain her identity, yet rapidly loosing any motivation to do so. "I'm...I'M A SLUT!!!" she shouted into the void.

"We all are, dear one. Deep down, we all are......and it feels soooooo good. Doesn't it? It feels good to be the slut!"

"Oh yes...yesssss......"

**********

It was time to survey the extent of the damage. The new Darcy rushed Harrison as soon as he left the bathroom, plastering his face with lurid enticements that were in between licks and kisses.

The Curse changed women in different ways, no two responding to exactly the same degree. This time, her hips had gotten most of the attention sweeping outwards from her pinched in waistline that sent a tingle to his groin from the promised fertility. But over the years, he had discovered that some women still retained a functional intelligence that might permit them to still remain largely independent. Would that be the case with Darcy?

The ninety-pound, mouse-brown haired, academic wallflower had blossomed into a platinum-blond bombshell with ripe breasts that jutted halfway of the distance between her shoulder and elbow. Her new face was a glamourous visage of haunting, bee-stung lipped beauty. But sure enough, Harrison could detect the truth; he'd seen enough of these transformations before; and recognized patterns in her new facial features. The aquiline nose, the tilt of her eyes; yes. Many books contained photos of a sculpture once made of Messalina, and he could see that the spell crafted by the Imperial nymphomaniac was imprinting her own face, at least in part, upon each victim.

And there would be a wave of depraved whoresluts brought on by diabolical sorcery; and Messalina's image would survive to the present, and attract the renewed lust of a planet of men. The despicable egomania of the act never failed to repulse him. Almost preventing his apprecation of the elegant beauty of each woman he corrupted. Almost.

But for Darcy, her fate was sealed, even if she could be coaxed into wearing normal clothing, all would recognize that she had the body of a Porn-Queen.

But there was one way, one sure-fire way to determine how much of her life the Curse had stolen: Harrison buried his face in the buoyant bounty of her bosom, his face wallowing between the chasms of her spectacular cleavage, until his probing mouth found a nipple. He tried...tried to keep his cock away from her - more sex with him would only compound the bimbifying transformation. Instead, as he suckled her mountainous juggs, he thrust his thumb and middle finger down below, to tease her hardened clit and pinpoint her G-spot. Years of intimate experience yielded a yelp of surprised glee as his skillful hands enflamed her already thigh-slickening passions.

Then he felt it....hardening nipples soon spurted into his mouth a creamy sluice of sweet ambrosia. Spontaneous lactation; one of the final warning signs. Women that succumbed to the Curse to this degree would have had their entire personalities erased. At this stage, it was clear that the woman had become the quintessential whore, inside and out.

As he continued to suckle from her copious tits, and fondle her drencing cunt, Harrison's lip quivered in sadness from what had been lost. Her family would never gain closure, Darcy would not have enough childhood memories left to care about them, nor would she care about her plans for a future, a career. Her life was sex and lust now; she was a giggling, slutty vessel for a sex-crazed, sorcery-dabbling empress who would share her lurid joy each time a man - any man, spurted his wad inside her womb.

But....if she retained even a shred of her real personality, then he had to keep her away from his cock, any more sperm would ensure that -

*NNNGH!* The demon penis! It leapt out of its own accord! The swollen, reddish member seemed to act with a mind of its own! Like an unerring smart bomb, it cruised deeply into the target zone, a wet squelch was heard as her vagina was reamed yet again.

At this point, the Curse was too strong to resist, for either of them. When his demon cock became fully active, the ensorceled scholar was lost in that heady dream of power and sexual omnipotence, it was as though he were the Emperor; presiding over an infinite realm of female flesh.

To women, the Curse gave stunning beauty and removed all inhibitions. But to its male carrier, it fullfilled a primal male power fantasy that resonated with anyone who'd ever carried a Y-chromosome!

**********

"Yeah, it's me Lou. I got another prospect for you."

"Harry! You're making my day! My production's been needing a shot in the arm! What'cha got for me?"