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Soliloqy In Servitude
*Initially, this was only to be a small part in the 'Hollow
Path', a more intimate introduction to a strong, and important character in
the tales beyond. However, as most authors know, there are and
characters that you create. Then there are those that create themselves.
This is one such story, grown beyond my intentions, so much so that I
felt it needed it's own voice, and place, unattached to anything else.
This provides excellent insight into any of my stories, however,
that involve Isis, and I would recommend reading this to my current readers
before reading 'Hollow Path'. It is not, however, necessary.*
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SOLILOQUY IN SERVITUDE
I awoke to the movements of torches discomforted, the flame disturbed by
a breeze. Languidly, I curled my toes, stretched, and smiled through the
blur of that half-dreaming vision at what I looked upon.
A in training rested there, her mouth between my thighs
blissfully smiling in her dreamscape just as I had left her. An intricate
corset had been slowly, carefully wound, tightened about her waist the
night before. Warm oiled leather had slipped over her skin like melted
butter. I remembered growing wet, even as I had dressed her in that garb.
The scented skins it was made of were irresistible, and you found
yourself relaxing, even before it touched you. Dark, and black, thin and
provocative, it was also impossible to let your thoughts stray from how you
would look within it. How each strap would cinch about your stomach,
flatten it, accent your beauty, and your sexuality.
How Isis would think of you in it.
The had stayed still, perfectly as trained, as I had done this to
her. I knew the ritual well, for many times I had played the part for
other girls, and - for my Goddess. I was very aware of the importance of
the soft moans and gasps the newly attained priestess made, as the sensual
leather reformed her shape - it molded not just her body, but her mind as
well.
Bound, you felt more alive. You could feel your heart pound; you could
feel your blood flow within as your temperature rose. Each movement,
however insignificant, you could feel against your erect nipple, and your
shaved pussy. I was envious, and at the same time aroused, and it spurred
me on to know that she was feeling she was feeling just as I had felt.
Secure, and safe within the unrelenting stringed ribs; they were warm,
and passionate. You could feel safe as a child in your mother's arms, and
as perverse as a common whore all at once. Within those caged confines,
there was only you, and pleasure.
I hardly had stopped there, though. I knew the art of bondage well, and
I used sleeves to restrain her arms, and ropes and wood to spread her apart
upon my bed, until she could not move. Each wriggle and motion of protest
earned her ecstatic movement of the phallus I'd rigged to the whole of it,
and it tickled and teased her precisely, as she writhed and squirmed
in the rapture of bondage.
Then, I'd gone to bed, with her face buried within my treasure.
I had been so envious.
I knew what Isis had done to her mind.
I half wanted it myself.
Leaving her to her own delightful dreams I moved to dress myself; first
I slipped on the black silk stockings.
Black was the only color I wore. The color was certainly a sensual one,
wrought in the mark of sin and decadence. It also set me apart from the
other girls, all of who wore white robes of the sheerest material. Isis
had forbid me to don white, as the other girls, and I found that the
darkness fit me best.
The stockings, however, were my choice. I soaked in sinful pleasure
from the slickness and sensuality of the smooth silk. I reveled in the
feel of it, my legs slipping together in warmth. They drew attention to my
legs, curved and muscled, trained over long years with perfectly arching
caves, and soft, moist thighs.
I chose then a suit made of the same material. Its cut was low, and
the silk sheer as the thinnest of clouds in the dark night; it made my body
that much more desirable to touch, and lent supple, pert the
slimmest shadow of mystery while yet revealing the whole of me.
I left my room, quietly, and moved down the quiet hall. As with the
stockings, this was a privilege reserved for me alone; most of the other
girls either slept in one large room, with guests, or with Isis or myself.
It wasn't unusual for there to be little sleeping done.
Even though it was unseen from where I was, I knew dawn was slowly
breaking over the city. This was one of the few times that I could nearly
count on to be my own. Isis had chosen the night as her time and would
often rest, or dissociate from those in her Temple during the first hours
of the new day.
I was the only who this, and other honors were given to. Then
again, she did not call any of the other her Daughter, either. I
half smiled to myself, as I thought of that. It wasn't as if I was her
flesh and blood; no, I was a human being; mortal, weak, and unimportant in
her world. I was not even Kinspawn. Yet, in other ways, I was stronger
than any Ancient.
If you had read it in the tabloid papers, it would have sounded
outlandish, and you would have easily dismissed it as trash, pure and
simple. If you would have seen it on one of those immoral American talk
shows, you would have found it amusing, comical, and the players within the
story mad and disillusioned. Had it been on the news, groups of various
freedom and rights groups would have risen up, and called for justice with
swords in their hands, ready to be bloodied.
*Girl raised and trained to be a sex slave in ancient Egyptian
cult for eternal service.*
It was laughable.
It was preposterous.
It was also my life.
I had been raised, from the moment of conception, to be what I am. From
what I have seen, most people in circumstances close to mine rebel from
forcing hands only to injure themselves and those around them. Not I.
Since I can remember--and I'm sure before that--my parents, my siblings,
and relatives, all of those around me trained me with subtle clues to know
how beautiful and worshipful the body of a female is. At the same time, I
learned through observation of their actions how harsh, rough, and
unnatural the male body had been created.
My was the leader of our house, my seemed to simply exist
to supply us with the money we needed for survival. Often, he would be the
only male I had any significant contact with, and even that was remote, and
distant; as if he knew he did not belong in my life to a great extent.
It was only natural, then, for me to seek the company of other women
when my sexuality came to me.
I knew why my did this. I was to be a gift for Isis, the Great
Mother of our land. I only knew that Isis compensated those families she
took daughters from very, very well. When Isis took your daughter, the
girl became the property of the Goddess, thusly protected by the Great One.
Thusly, her hand would protect the as well, considered an offshoot
of her territory. My had little, and so I cherished my position,
hoping that through my sacrifice, they could have a little more.
I took my place amongst the other girls, all of us sixteen, all of us
unmistakably the rarest of desert flowers, untouched, unblemished, looking
forward to service to the Great Mother, to honor our families. We had
heard rumors of the goings on in the Club, her Temple, and knew only
tidbits of how Isis treated her concubines, her priestess'. We would sit
up at night, and tease each other with wistful tales, of how we would
become Isis' favorite, and have a bevy of servant at our slightest
whim.
We had heard other tales, too.
Indeed, we had heard the tales of the storm of her temper, and how it
was within her power to call up the destruction of any mortal, any city,
even Egypt itself. We knew that if we were accepted into her house, never
again would we see our families. We knew that if she took us with her, we
would forever be changed.
Yet, we also saw the ache in our parents' eyes, and hearts, and knew the
sacrifice they were making; and so we were willing to make it as well.
Along with two others, I was chosen that night. None of us were allowed
to say goodbye.
Beneath the city, in caverns carved from stone than any of the
pyramids, I was taught with my sisters the art of combat, of dance and
merrymaking, sensual pleasures, and the ways of our ancestors in the age of
angry Gods and mortal men.
Much of the past of our desert land we knew by heart, for Isis required
it. A could be as beautiful as the face of the moon on an endless
night, and as brilliant as it's reflection upon the still Nile - yet, if
she knew not of the Days, she was forgotten, instantly. She savored
the richness, the glory of Egypt still, and demanded the same loyalty from
those who would lick her feet.
I realize, now, how clever she was. That was also my first glance into
the despair that gnawed at her heart. It was true that she rewarded those
who gave the fruit of their loins to the Temple That Walks; with gold and
riches, asylum from the law, and protection from those who would do them
harm. This was why the sacrifices were made, at least, from the mortal's
viewpoint.
Isis had never offered her reasons to us, or anyone; and from the
outside it seemed indeed that she was merely collecting concubines to
fulfill carnal pleasures, and pass eternity away in bliss. This was not
the case.
No, I saw Isis' intentions. They were clever, and ingenious. Simple,
and yet subtle.
It was also an act of desperation.
She fooled a few of those mortals into thinking she did care for them,
or at the very least, Egypt; I had observed her over the years. I had
watched her deal with them, heard her speak, and as she herself had bidden
me, I noted the smallest of details. In truth, she cared for very, very
few.
To attack one of her slaves was as if you had attacked her instead.
This was a matter of pride; something that Isis held dearly, and true to
her heart. Yet, had you purposefully broken a clay pot within the Club,
the same reaction would have risen forth, leading to unyielding fury. They
were her property, not people. And she protected all things that were hers
with an unearthly vengeance.
The Closed Club was the outer face of Isis. It was where business was
done between Isis and those in the city, along with contacts in the outside
world. It was a way for her wealth to seem at least partially legitimate.
It provided a safe environment for the to practice their many arts.
Women were the primary guests, though even were allowed in, provided
they had earned the right to be there, and were on the very select
clientele list.
The Club had many rules, none of which were spoken or written. If you
did not know them, you simply did not belong. And if you broke them, you
most certainly would not be the same person when you left. Isis left most
of the matters of the club to me, giving her time to tend to more important
things.
It was not as if she needed the ritual of offerings from the children of
Egypt to gather into her house. With her great powers, she could
obtain anyone's heart and soul at her whim.
I had seen her do this, many times.
I relished these events, and would often play them back in my mind.
They gave me an odd sort of comfort, a warm blanket against cool skin.
They also stirred the flames of passion within me.
An unwholesome ache shivered through my breasts, as the most recent
display of her cruelty and pride had shown itself on the streets of the
city. I couldn't help but sink against the wall, and sink slender fingers
deep within, as I thought of her lovely wickedness.
How Egypt had revenged herself on the unsuspecting woman who had
so violently rebuked her, openly upon the very streets that she ruled.
Isis had merely whispered in the whore's ear, as she held the frozen and
*terrified* mortal close to her.
Then, she had let the whore go, as if nothing had happened.
I watched what Isis had done to her, wetting myself with arousal upon
that very street, transfixed in a state of euphoric pleasure. People who
had observed the scene were either standing a distance away, or had ducked
into the nearest shop available.
Yet, the unsuspecting new had still found a woman who would
listen to her. In desperation, she prominently gestured to Isis, her face
twisted with horrific trauma as she screamed for the entire street to hear,
"Hello! I'm Hungry Pussy!"
The surprise on her face was unmistakable, and sent a shiver through my
own pussy. It was clearly not what she had meant to say, and she had tried
again.
As if to gesture again, she found herself lewdly casting off her
business slacks and panties, then bending over to touch her toes; a firm
ass high in the air, exposed for anyone to play with. "Please!" She
begged, as her face grew a dark pleasurable red, stained with a river of
tears. "Please give me something to fuck! Hungry can't go much
longer without being fed!"
She pleaded and whined, like a needy child begging for candy.
Horror-stricken as she knew now that she was no longer in control of her
body, or voice, she tried to fight it off. She was a prisoner within her
own body, only able to observe. Her body betrayed her, squealing happily
as the woman's eyes she protested to lit up.
The woman seemed to consider a bit, before her eyes, and face altered in
the slightest manner. "Alright," she said, with a sudden burst of
confidence, and lust. The native woman had been changed as well, and
smacked the newly awakened slut hard, on the ass. The lost her
balance, and toppled forward, as began to chuckle silently at her
predicament.
Terrified, and burning with palpable shame, Hungry danced off,
following her new Mistress into the dark depths of a nearby alley.
Her new Mistress was a pawn in Isis' game too, and I knew what Isis had
done. Those pleasurable scents from my Mistress had drifted onto the skin
of 'Hungry Pussy' as the rubbed against her prey. The perfumes of Isis
were heady, and unnatural. They would evaporate soon enough, but not
before the damage was done and two new were born of Her doing.
My toes curled, in the throes of heavenly orgasm, as for a moment, I
imagined myself as that foolish girl, being bested by my Temple.
I licked my fingers clean, slowly, savoring my own juices I'd made, in
thoughts of her.
No, she did not need the ritual; she could take anyone she wanted, at
any given moment. It was something else, entirely, that she needed.
She needed *them*. Mortals. Humans. Us.
She needed their fear, their worship, the glorification of her name and
deeds in all things Good and Evil. There is irony in that, of a dark and
bitter nature.
The very creatures that could presumably destroy the world *needed* us
to survive. Through us, they lived. By us, they gained purpose in their
dark designs. It did not matter what the Game was; a power play against
another Ancient, trapping a Kinspawn, or simply gaining power in the mortal
world. Isis sought to maintain a portion of her past, when life was
greatest for her.
We, humans, mortals, had brought forth the one thing that the Ancients
could never be capable of. Not love, for I have seen that great power in
Isis' eyes, too. Were it not for love, I would not have this station I
hold now. Were it not for love within the heart of the Temptress, she
would have given up this land a long while ago, and perhaps been satisfied
to die.
No. It is the Ancients that are incapable of creating. We, the human
race had risen above everything to build great cities and inventions. We
saw the cruel gods the Ancients had become as they themselves watched us
grow beyond them. We created our own Gods seeped in benevolence; kinder,
gentler, of Love and Peace.
It was that they feared, and hated more than anything. Earth had chosen
us as its children in ages past, and had replaced them. They set
themselves up as Gods, amongst us. And we had replaced them. There was no
place in the world for them any longer.
It was that that had originally fueled the infighting between the Great
Ones, members blaming each other, and other families for the loss of
blind mortal worship. But like so many things, the truth of this had been
lost as time built over it, and now few, if any Ancients besides my Queen
knew where it had all began.
She had been there, she confided to me once, at the beginning of it all.
For some reason, I felt my tongue thicken, and my throat dry, my skin
shrivel, and my gut wrench painfully when I had thought to question her on
that. Humans weren't meant to know such things.
Still, I knew more of Ancients than any mortal, most Kinspawn, and
perhaps even some Ancients themselves. I had pieced some of this together
from what Isis had confided me over the years. The rest of it I had
gleaned from watching Isis play with Mischief (An odd, and unheard of
alliance. She kept another Ancient as her confidant, and pleasure slave),
when I was allowed.
I knew how to kill an Ancient, and if any of the others, even Mischief
perhaps, knew of that I have no doubt I'd be dead. Oddly enough, it was
one of the first things she had shared with me, when she had decided that I
was to be the new Cleopatra, and take the place of my predecessor. Perhaps
it was a test of loyalty to see if she could allow me to go unchanged by
her Voice. Perhaps a part of her realized her time had passed, and she
wished it to be a creature who adorned her freely that would send her soul
back to the Great River, instead of another evil like herself. It
surely was not for the purpose of me to protect *her*. Isis could most
definitely hold her own against an Ancient, maybe even two.
I knew of the Great River, and its intimacy with the Ancients, and its
importance to all life. I knew of meditation rites that would allow me to
separate myself from the River, and make myself untouchable by the
manipulative powers of any Ancient. I also knew the price of such things,
and I valued my soul, and my connection to the world and its' life far too
greatly to consider these things.
I knew all of this, and yet I was allowed my freedom, and my mind by
Isis. All of this was given to me, in memory of a promise to her Daughter.
She wanted my mind free, and she had it. She also had my soul, and my
heart, and my body at her command, through no witchery of her crafts.
These things I gladly gave her, I *chose* to give her, with every fiber of
my meaningless being.
Those were my favorite nights, those close with Isis. Where I would
*ask* her to take my body, and do with it as she would. My face would fill
with shame, and my loins wet with lust, as she'd take me as a marionette on
the string, and parade me as a whore (or worse) upon the street, to make me
do vile and unwholesome things to myself, and others.
I loved every single moment of it.
I was safe, with Isis, her promise a corset of scented leather, making
my ache with desire, and comforting my heart with assurance. I
never had a need to fear, when she was in control.
These thoughts had always haunted me, and yet given me joy and rapture
at the same time.
In the midst of my walk down the ancient, and seldom trod corridor, I
saw a stone door opened; this was where the breeze had come from, the
source of the torches firedance. I looked within, curious as to the
intruder, and wondering if perhaps one of the newer was lost.
Instead, I saw Isis there.
Her silhouette flickered against the floor, dancing to the light of
torches that lit the fearsome statue of her incarnate self, built thousands
of years ago. Alone, and naked she stood in the center of it all. Silent.
My heart skipped a beat, and I felt my mind grow heavy, as it always did
upon looking over her. Hers was a beauty unmatched.
Her head was lowered, barely visible. Her stance was one of weariness.
Even in desolation, she could seduce the strongest of hearts.
"Cleopatra," her soft voice murmured.
"Yes, Mother?" I returned, stepping silently behind her. I had called
her that before, because she asked me to. In the slow years of our
togetherness, I had no doubt that the word was truth.
She didn't look at me. She didn't have to. There was an oddness that
didn't fit in her voice, just like the single dark stain of drying water
that disrupted the tarnished and sandy tiles near her feet.
Then, in the next instant, that desolation was gone; as if it were but a
character in a play, and the mask discarded. She touched my cheek, smiled.
I felt the comforting bonds of her words cinching around my heart.
Dizzy, I sank to my knees before her. I felt the warmth between her
thighs, exploring her velvet with the slow tongue she loved dearly.
On their own, my hands drifted back, and held there, and I was unable to
move. My legs parted, and I was displayed openly as a simple trophy.
I was frozen.
Bound.
Loved.
Safe.
Eternally Hers.
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*Thank you for taking the time to read what my imagination has brought
forth. I can only hope it's given you as much pleasure to read, as it has
me to write. All comments/suggestions are welcome, and should be sent to:
cat_slave@hotmail.com.*