Empress Erotysia Claims a New Toy

Adon couldn't tell you how long he's been a slave in the quarries. The masters don't keep calendars where slaves like him can keep track of time, nor do those who work beneath the lash celebrate the holidays with the passing of seasons. Adon could tell you he was fourteen when an army in service to the Eternal Empress Erotysia descended on the village where he lived with his parents. Some band of fools from his village--Adon was too young to know whom--rose in defiance of the Empress, so her empire's might put every adult there to the sword. The children--a cut-off Adon barely qualified for at the time--were taken as slaves, to be sold off or assigned as the needs of the empire dictated. So Adon arrived in chain to the quarries, where he has quite literally slaved under the burning sun and drowning rain for... how long? He has no idea. Every day is the same: work, eat, piss, sleep, hope you don't earn the lash. All Adon knows is that it has been long enough for the boy to become a man, and to know his continued survival depends daily on going unnoticed, on being unremarkable, on doing as he's told. Though defiance still burns in his heart, deep inside, reality is as heavy as the irons round his ankles. Hope for freedom, like time, has lost all meaning.

Then comes a day when the masters tell the slaves to put aside their tools and gather in the open space before the wooden ramps leading up to the free city. Rumor has already spread among the slaves that two men tried to escape last night and are to be crucified before the rest as a reminder of what disobedience brings. This is hardly the first time Adon has seen such spectacle, but part of him hopes it's not anyone he knew. Not that you really know much of anyone down here in the quarries. People lock themselves away, abandon their old selves and become--meat. Slaves. Inside as well as out. All these years Adon has resisted that final fate, but he can feel his mind slipping more and more as he matures and the optimism of youth leaves him. He hopes he won't recognize the men to go up on the poles today, yet hope is something that makes him cautious nowadays.

Hundreds of men already kneel in neat lines by the time Adon's group arrives at the gathering. The masters instruct him and the rest of his group to take a spot near the end of the front line, and Adon complies without a word. This is one mark of defiance he has managed all these years--he stays silent, no "Yes, master," no begging, so that most the masters probably think him mute or stupid. When they beat him he takes it stoically, occasionally crying out, but never pleading. Not that the masters seem to particularly care whether the slaves speak, so long as they obey. The most broken men, those with grey in their beards who have been here longer than Adon has been alive, rarely say anything at all.

If he has other thoughts, other fantasies, that run counter to this defiance--well, this is something Adon finds confusing, and does his best to repress. And certainly such fancies tend to disappear once he spills their consequences onto his belly in the night. Sometimes he wonders if the silent men all had such fantasies, if this is a step to accepting his fate.

It turns out they have not been gathered to watch a crucifixion. Horns sound from above, and a quad of bare-chested, well-oiled men bears a royal purple litter down the ramps into the quarry. Soldiers in clinking red armor not unlike those who crushed the resistance in Adon's village however many years ago that was both proceed and follow the litter, tips shining on their spears as they arrange themselves in disciplined lines before the kneeling slaves. Murmurs rise among the bolder of the workers, earning immediate lashes from the masters standing over them. Are they here to kill us? Adon wonders, not sure why the thought doesn't worry him more. Are we all to be made an example of? But then who would be left to learn the lesson?

The violet curtains of the litter part, and Adon immediately casts his eyes down upon realizing who's riding within. A hush goes over the quarry, not just among the slaves, but among the masters as well. They are in the presence of the Eternal Empress herself, whom rumors claim forged her empire in the wake of the Sky Fires and has ruled for over a thousand years since. For a slave to look upon the Empress is death, and not a quick one. Even Adon dares not defy the Empress to her face, lest he be days in the dying, so he keeps his head bowed, his eyes on the gravel before him, and waits.

But his ears still work, and he can hear the crunch of stone beneath the Empress' sharp heels as she strides down the line of gathered slaves. No one speaks a word, and Adon never risks so much as a glance up, yet he is intimately aware of Empress Erotysia as she works her way down the line, stopping before this man, sneering at another in disgust. "This man plans mutiny," her sultry voice declares, and Adon hears--hears, but does not see, for his curiosity is kept in check by his terror--as the soldiers lift a man from his knees and haul him away. The man cries for mercy, but there is no indication this is an emotion the Empress feels anymore.

Adon's heart skips as he hears the Empress approach, and he prays that she will walk on by him. Please, don't let her see the defiance written on his soul. He swallows as he hears her stop, the outline of her shadow falling across the gravel he's been staring at till now. Shockingly, he hears her voice--not from her lips, but from within his mind, as if they her words were his own thoughts: My, what a filthy mind you have buried deep within you. Such fantasies are wasted in these pits. Look up at Me, slut. Let Me have a look at you.

Though it is death to look upon the Empress, Adon's eyes rise as if of their own accord. He is surprised to see her smiling down at him, though not kindly. Cold fire burns in the violet eyes above upturned midnight lips that look fit to devour him. The Empress wears a red and black cape of silk that sweeps about her like a guardian wind, an onyx headdress decorated with rubies set within the waves of chocolaty hair that cascade past her waist. Not that Adon has seen many women since he was brought to the quarries, but even so, Empress Erotysia is easily the most beautiful he was ever seen--ever imagined.

Mmm, yes, flattery can only help your cause, coos the voice in Adon's head. You'll do nicely, My slut.

"This one," Adon hears the Empress say aloud. At her command, soldiers take Adon by his arms and lift him to his feet. Not gently, yet not so roughly as they handled their earlier charge. With force, but care not to damage him, Adon will realize later. The Empress steps up to Adon as the soldiers hold him helpless and lays a black-gloved hand against his cheek.

Sleep, My new toy, her voice commands in his head. Sleep, so I might have you prepared for My use. Your life of purpose begins this evening.

When Adon awakens, his first thought is that he doesn't remember falling asleep. That thought quickly gives way to greater awareness of his current situation. Darkness surrounds him, the room so black he couldn't see his hand in front of his face, if he could move his hands. His arms are bound in what feels like a leather sheathe behind his back. A cold steel collar loops round his neck, and soon as he tries to move he realizes a chain runs from the collar to a nearby wall. Despite being unable to see himself, he is intimately aware that his body has been scrubbed clean, his beard--and a great deal of other body hair--shaved off, and his hair still long but trimmed. Somehow he knows all these things have been done to him, as if he saw them happen in a dream the memory of which lies just beyond his waking mind. Adon is helpless, and alone, and confused. For the first time in years of slavery, he wonders what horrors await him. Horrors are no surprise to a slave in the quarries, but they tend to be familiar horrors, after all.

Then the lights flash on, and Adon blinks against the sudden glare. Though his eyes water and his hands are unavailable to wipe his vision clear, he thinks he can make out most the room. To his left is a large, square bed draped in leopard print curtains that hide whomever may be sleeping within. To the right, an indoor hot tub, bubbling and churning quietly. And beyond, as the room stretches, are pieces of furniture and instruments hanging from walls that Adon has never seen nor imagined, though he can guess well at their purpose: torture.

She will not make be beg, Adon promises himself. Whatever happens, however I am to die, she will not have that satisfaction.

"Oh, you'll beg," Empress Erotysia's laughs, "and you will give me great satisfaction when you do."

Adon sees her then, watching him from across the room as she lounges in a reclining chair. Soon as she notices him watching her, Adon casts his eyes to the floor, realizing what he's done. Except isn't it a bit late to worry about offending her now? You can't make it better, but you might make it worse, he warns himself. Don't look at her.

He hears her heels click upon the fine oak floor of this unholy bedchamber, feels her put a hand to his cheek as she did before. "You may look upon Me, slut. In fact, I command you. Look upon Me, and know desire. Here you are forbidden to avoid temptation. Here the greatest sin is to resist sinning. Not that you could resist, if you tried."

Adon raises his eyes, chain attached to his collar rattling against the wall. Empress Erotysia wears a revealing costume of black and red, made of some shiny material that hugs her curves, accentuating rather than concealing her body. Her breasts hang free, perfect brown nipples erect, and Adon cannot help but gawk. These are the most perfect breasts he has ever seen, ever imagined, and make his mouth go dry for want of suckling them. "A delicious thought," she coos. "Good boy." Everything about the sight of her in this skin-tight material makes his will weak and his cock so hard it's sore. "It's called latex, My slut," she purrs as she rubs a gleaming black-clad leg against his crotch. "I could see in your mind what it would do to you. Am I not a kind Mistress, to present Myself to you in a way that you find so pleasing?"

Adon's mouth works silently, unsure how to respond. What game is this? Before he can consider long, Empress Erotysia grabs his hair and jerks his head back, spits in his face. "I asked you a question, slave boy."

"Y-yes," Adon stammers, her saliva running down his cheek. Don't make it worse. "You're kind."

A slap to the face. "You're kind..."

Another slap, harder than the first. "So kind, please, the kindest--"

Within his mind he hears her growl, "You're kind, Mistress." From now on you will address Me properly. Do not forget the appellation again, My slut.

"You're so kind to me, Mistress!"

Her lips part in a smile, and she grabs hold of Adon by the chin. Leaning close to his ear, she whispers, "That's My good boy." And licks the side of his face, chin to ear. "Know this, slut: I own you. I own your eyes, I own your ass, I own your hands, I own your mouth. I own your body, and I own your mind." Her hands slip down his chest, sharp red nails tracing the lines of his abs, till she takes hold of the stiff rod between his legs. How is he so hard, when he's so terrified? "I own this cock. This is My cock. For the rest of your life, I will never hear you refer to this as your cock again, or I may see fit to remove it. You will even banish the phrase from your thoughts. Do you understand?" When Adon nods hurriedly, she grins and licks the dry side of his face, same as before. Marking him, he realizes, like a dog pissing on the edges of its territory. Her grip tightens on his cock. No-- "What is this?" she asks him, casually, quietly.

"Your cock," Adon is quick to respond. "Mistress," he adds, hating himself as he does. And yet, not hating the experience?

"What a quick learner you are, My slut." She strokes him, slowly, almost absentmindedly. "And how long has this cock belonged to me?"

Fearing a trick question, yet dreading even more a failure to respond, Adon's mind races. "I... I don't know, Mistress. I don't know how long I was your slave in the quarries before today. I--"

"It doesn't matter how long you worked in the quarries, My slut." Her grip tightens, and gods does it feel so good. Why does it feel so good? "Before you were taken to the quarries, I owned you. Before my armies enslaved you, I owned you. Before your mother gave birth to you, I owned you, as I own every man and woman in My empire. Every time you have played with this cock, you were playing with My cock. Every filthy fantasy you have ever had while you touched yourself, you dreamed for Me and My entertainment. Every orgasm you have ever had, every drop of cum you've ever spilled upon your belly, was Mine, is Mine, and forever shall be--Mine. Now, how long has this cock belonged to Me?"

"Forever, Mistress." Madly, it takes every ounce of his will not to thrust against her soft hand as he says it, but he's not sure what she would do if he did. "It's always been Your cock, Mistress."

"My good boy," Mistress Erotysia purrs. "You may thrust against my hand as you desire. Slowly, My slut. No need to get too worked up just yet." Seeing the look on his face, she laughs. "Surely you realize already, slave: I can read your every thought. I can see your every desire, even the ones you don't yet know you have. And I approve of the latter." She purrs again, a sound that makes his cock--Her cock--jump against her hand. Then she lets go--but only long enough to take a bottle from a nearby shelf and squirt some sort of clear liquid into her palm. "It's called lube, My slut," she tells him with a wicked smile. "I know you're used to using your own spit, you filthy whore. I can see every time you've jerked off in my your life, and what you were thinking about when you did." When she takes Her cock in hand again, Mistress Erotysia's grip is slick and warm, and Adon moans in pleasure as she strokes faster, tighter, faster still. "You'll learn tonight, My slut, that I can do more than read your mind. I can control your body. Would you like to cum for your Mistress, slave? Does My cock need release?"

"Yes, Mistress," Adon begs. He begs--there's no other way to put it. How is it the masters in the quarries spent years unable to make him beg, and the Empress--no, his Mistress--has broken his will in minutes? "I want to cum for you. Please."

"If you can cum, you may." Wicked is the smile she gives him, and knowing. Her hand speeds up again, squeezing his glans, pumping him, drawing his cum from his balls up his shaft, and Adon feels like he's going to explode, feels like his--no, Her cock is on fire. He remembers again all the fantasies he's had of exactly this sort of thing, stroke fantasies that he tried to bury yet now wants to surrender to her in this moment, and yet...

"I can't, Mistress. Please, please, I can't, I want to but I can't."

"No, you can't." She lets go his throbbing cock and wipes the lube from her hand against his naked chest. Again he hears her voice in his mind. Know this, My slut--your orgasms are Mine. Never again will you cum unless I will it to be so. No matter how I use you, no matter how hard I ride you, no matter how long I tease you, that is My cock, and it cums only and whenever I decide it does. If you want to cum when we play, you had best be a good boy for Mistress. She takes his face in both her hands, forcing him to stare into those haunting violet eyes. "What are you going to be for Mistress?"

"A good boy," Adon promises, meaning it. Something tells him she'll know if he doesn't. And he does mean it; gods help him, he wants to mean it. "I'm going to be a good boy for Mistress."

"That's my good boy." She leans into him, pushes him to his knees, presses her breasts to his face and guides his mouth to one of those perfect erect nipples. No meal he's ever eaten has tasted half so delicious. As her arms reach round his neck and force him fully into her bust, smothering him so he feels her bosom wrap round his cheeks, all his world becomes the sight and smell and taste of her divine breasts. Good boys who please Mistress get rewarded, her voice echoes in his mind, obliterating all other thoughts. And I am going to train you to be such a good boy, My slut.

So begins his first night as the living sex toy of Mistress Erotysia, Empress of the Eternal Empire.