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Planetoid
- Joined
- Nov 3, 2013
The file her spies had given her was named “Day 30.” Curious, the Empress opened it on her tablet. The little device was capable of running her empire for her; she used it for every last administrative task she held.
The picture from the media file was crystal clear. It was her brother's betrothed, Petra, being raped and beaten by an enormity. She was a Vestal Virgin, absolutely pure. Absolutely beautiful. As for him, it was hard to even call him a man. He was massive beyond words. Petra was a tall, statuesque woman and she only came up to maybe his chest.
But that was not the surprising thing.
What was surprising was how he beat her into a bloody pulp, and she was smiling. Begging for more. Thanking him. Calling him Master. Calling him Sir. Begging for his children inside her holy cunt. She begged for daughters she could raise to serve him.
The Empress cleared her throat and turned the file off. She adjusted a spare strand of hair, returning it to the perfect dark mass attending her head. Her lovely lips glisten from the attentions of her tongue, never once tasted by a man.
* * * * *
A man has entered her court. He was the first petitioner in months. Most of the rest have gotten the message—there shall be no petitions treated favorably. He was whining about her soldiers—her elite Vestal Virgins. Her elite, genetically enhanced guard. Never once defeated in battle. She herself trained in their ranks. Assassins by any other name, and yet an army all the same.
She knew their every trick, had their steadfast, endless loyalty. The Vestal Virgins worshiped physical perfection and beauty. Athletic prowess. Fitness. In all of these, the Empress was supreme, so far without an equal that the notion she could ever have one was something of a shared joke in the elite nobility. She was the first Vestal Virgin Empress, ever. The youngest ruler, imbued with incredible genetic implants from before birth. The intellect of a hyper-genius.
“Please, Augusta, they took my daughter. She not yet of age to train. I had another year, a whole year, and--”
The petitioner was silenced with a raised, perfect eyebrow. It was surprising to her that he could even manage to look at her. Most men could not. They turned into blubbering, cumming messes on the second word. He must be drugged, she decided.
Augusta was not her name, it was a title. Her own name was the holiest word in the galaxy. If others spoke it outside of one of her churches, they must be assured they are surrounded by the closest of friends, or else be prepared to die soon. Turning in conspirators and blasphemers to the Augusta was a fine way to make a living. Each person turned in gave up all their holdings, all property, and the accuser received a portion in return. There was plenty of property to go around in a galaxy, and the Empress was happy to sentence citizens to death. There were so many...why not enjoy their passing?
The man tried again. He was fifteen feet below her diamond-encrusted platinum throne. If he could see the lines of her cleavage from above, she thinks, probably he would cum then. Ah, well. “Augusta, I beg you, please, release her. She is--”
“She was found to be worthy of service. That is all you need concern yourself with. No more.”
“B-but Augusta--!”
Her jade gaze pierced imperiously. The man was frozen. He knew he had erred. She spoke to one of her Virgins. “Give him a knife. Ensure that he performs his duty,” suicide, she meant, “with honor. And see to it that his daughter is released. And his family as well. None shall be encased any longer by this mortal coil.”
The man, head held low, could only acquiesce.
The enormity on the files would not acquiesce. She despised this petitioner for his weakness. Her heart raced, thinking again of Petra's cries for more.
* * * * *
There were 31 files, each titled by a day.
Days 1-15 were simple, brutal rape. Nothing she hadn't seen before. It was a common torture tactic to extract the truth from conspirators, both men and women. She had partaken in many beatings over the years.
But this was the rape of a Vestal Virgin. Petra was to be the first to be married in over a thousand years of galactic rule. The Empress's brother, Caius, was practically drooling with anticipation to get her pregnant.
Over time she had discovered who the enormity was—his bulging muscles layered over and over again with even more muscle and hardness gave him away. His brutality. The ruggedly handsome cut of his face. A former barbarian king, now a brigand, fighting a one-man war against Caius and Dalmetian, the Empress's brothers.
She could form an alliance with such a man. The Empress ruled on unsteady ground. Her effect on the common people of her Empire did not spread to the nobility—or at least, not quite as directly. She was certain they still fucked their wives thinking of her, one way or the other. But that did not always lead to their loyalty. The Flavians in particular were always causing trouble.
On Day 16, Petra's training broke. She was trained to be the perfect assassin. Her mind as strong as steel, as dense as the core of a star.
None of that mattered to the Brigand. The godlike mass of the barbarian king. His cock was a spear of destruction. Petra begged for it. Begged to be consumed. Begged to be abused.
What a fall.
* * * * *
Those *fucking* Flavians. The Empress fumed as she strode through her quarters. Her servants had given her the appropriate distance. Too close, and they would suffer her wrath. Too far away, and they were inattentive, and would suffer her wrath still.
Betrayed. The Legions of the 20th to the 25th turned against her, swearing allegiance to her idiot brothers. She still had seventeen more legions, but that many troops were nothing to ignore. All serving under her fool brothers because they thought she had killed their brides-to-be, Petra and Marina.
She had the evidence that she had not. The files had never been for her. They had been for Caius and Dalmetion, to break them. To hurt them. The Brigand wanted them to suffer. He wanted them to know that he had raped their women into absolute submission. But, the Empress had eyes and ears everywhere, and had intercepted the files before they arrived.
She could solve the misunderstanding in a heartbeat. Transmissions across the Galactic Empire were that swift. And yet...
And yet, then, then her brothers would attack the Brigand. This man. This godlike being, with a cock that could...
No, that wasn't why she was interested. She wanted the Brigand for his information. She wanted him on her side. She wanted him because he was an ally now. Her brothers had revealed their true colors.
The files were recorded near the Mauritanium province. She could attend there and raise troops. The locals always came out in droves to sacrifice their bodies as fuel-drones for her iron legion shocktroops when she gave an appearance. And while she was there, she could investigate. Find the source of the files...
Day 31 was Marina's first day with the Brigand. Petra cheered him on, the brigand. Cheered him on while he raped and beat her sister.
The Empress wet her lips. They glistened with barely contained lust. What a man to have on her side for the coming conflict.
* * * * *
And hey, that's the prompt!
I suppose it's pretty obvious where this would go. I would play the Brigand, you the Empress. The world is a mixture of some sci-fi galactic thing and Roman history. World building is great; if you have any to bring to the table, I'll just fall all over myself trying to impress you. 2k word posts etc.
It's all negotiable.
I write professionally and writing in this fashion is a lot of fun. I love exciting others, and in particular, I love knowing that my kinks are shared with someone I write with, and that writing about these shared desires gets my partner off. My preferences for writing are, in descending order, shared Gdrive documents; emails; IM chatting; chatting here.
The basic foundation of really any scene that I'm looking for features a horribly arrogant, justifiably vain, heartbreakingly beautiful woman submitting to the one man who can actually own her; he's a thoroughly powerful uber-male (physically, mentally, and/or financially) looking for, meanwhile, someone with whom to share his sadistic darkness (I am just disastrously transparent), even if he has to force it on her before she's willing to indulge it in herself.
If you're down with the above, then please message me even if you don't like the scene idea below. We have much to speak of.
My kinks are, in no particular order, noncon/rape, mind control/bimbofication, lactation, breeding, incest, abuse, violence, harem building, goddamn good writing, hot descriptions, power trips and probably some other hot, dark thoughts.
Please PM me if interested in any of this.
The picture from the media file was crystal clear. It was her brother's betrothed, Petra, being raped and beaten by an enormity. She was a Vestal Virgin, absolutely pure. Absolutely beautiful. As for him, it was hard to even call him a man. He was massive beyond words. Petra was a tall, statuesque woman and she only came up to maybe his chest.
But that was not the surprising thing.
What was surprising was how he beat her into a bloody pulp, and she was smiling. Begging for more. Thanking him. Calling him Master. Calling him Sir. Begging for his children inside her holy cunt. She begged for daughters she could raise to serve him.
The Empress cleared her throat and turned the file off. She adjusted a spare strand of hair, returning it to the perfect dark mass attending her head. Her lovely lips glisten from the attentions of her tongue, never once tasted by a man.
* * * * *
A man has entered her court. He was the first petitioner in months. Most of the rest have gotten the message—there shall be no petitions treated favorably. He was whining about her soldiers—her elite Vestal Virgins. Her elite, genetically enhanced guard. Never once defeated in battle. She herself trained in their ranks. Assassins by any other name, and yet an army all the same.
She knew their every trick, had their steadfast, endless loyalty. The Vestal Virgins worshiped physical perfection and beauty. Athletic prowess. Fitness. In all of these, the Empress was supreme, so far without an equal that the notion she could ever have one was something of a shared joke in the elite nobility. She was the first Vestal Virgin Empress, ever. The youngest ruler, imbued with incredible genetic implants from before birth. The intellect of a hyper-genius.
“Please, Augusta, they took my daughter. She not yet of age to train. I had another year, a whole year, and--”
The petitioner was silenced with a raised, perfect eyebrow. It was surprising to her that he could even manage to look at her. Most men could not. They turned into blubbering, cumming messes on the second word. He must be drugged, she decided.
Augusta was not her name, it was a title. Her own name was the holiest word in the galaxy. If others spoke it outside of one of her churches, they must be assured they are surrounded by the closest of friends, or else be prepared to die soon. Turning in conspirators and blasphemers to the Augusta was a fine way to make a living. Each person turned in gave up all their holdings, all property, and the accuser received a portion in return. There was plenty of property to go around in a galaxy, and the Empress was happy to sentence citizens to death. There were so many...why not enjoy their passing?
The man tried again. He was fifteen feet below her diamond-encrusted platinum throne. If he could see the lines of her cleavage from above, she thinks, probably he would cum then. Ah, well. “Augusta, I beg you, please, release her. She is--”
“She was found to be worthy of service. That is all you need concern yourself with. No more.”
“B-but Augusta--!”
Her jade gaze pierced imperiously. The man was frozen. He knew he had erred. She spoke to one of her Virgins. “Give him a knife. Ensure that he performs his duty,” suicide, she meant, “with honor. And see to it that his daughter is released. And his family as well. None shall be encased any longer by this mortal coil.”
The man, head held low, could only acquiesce.
The enormity on the files would not acquiesce. She despised this petitioner for his weakness. Her heart raced, thinking again of Petra's cries for more.
* * * * *
There were 31 files, each titled by a day.
Days 1-15 were simple, brutal rape. Nothing she hadn't seen before. It was a common torture tactic to extract the truth from conspirators, both men and women. She had partaken in many beatings over the years.
But this was the rape of a Vestal Virgin. Petra was to be the first to be married in over a thousand years of galactic rule. The Empress's brother, Caius, was practically drooling with anticipation to get her pregnant.
Over time she had discovered who the enormity was—his bulging muscles layered over and over again with even more muscle and hardness gave him away. His brutality. The ruggedly handsome cut of his face. A former barbarian king, now a brigand, fighting a one-man war against Caius and Dalmetian, the Empress's brothers.
She could form an alliance with such a man. The Empress ruled on unsteady ground. Her effect on the common people of her Empire did not spread to the nobility—or at least, not quite as directly. She was certain they still fucked their wives thinking of her, one way or the other. But that did not always lead to their loyalty. The Flavians in particular were always causing trouble.
On Day 16, Petra's training broke. She was trained to be the perfect assassin. Her mind as strong as steel, as dense as the core of a star.
None of that mattered to the Brigand. The godlike mass of the barbarian king. His cock was a spear of destruction. Petra begged for it. Begged to be consumed. Begged to be abused.
What a fall.
* * * * *
Those *fucking* Flavians. The Empress fumed as she strode through her quarters. Her servants had given her the appropriate distance. Too close, and they would suffer her wrath. Too far away, and they were inattentive, and would suffer her wrath still.
Betrayed. The Legions of the 20th to the 25th turned against her, swearing allegiance to her idiot brothers. She still had seventeen more legions, but that many troops were nothing to ignore. All serving under her fool brothers because they thought she had killed their brides-to-be, Petra and Marina.
She had the evidence that she had not. The files had never been for her. They had been for Caius and Dalmetion, to break them. To hurt them. The Brigand wanted them to suffer. He wanted them to know that he had raped their women into absolute submission. But, the Empress had eyes and ears everywhere, and had intercepted the files before they arrived.
She could solve the misunderstanding in a heartbeat. Transmissions across the Galactic Empire were that swift. And yet...
And yet, then, then her brothers would attack the Brigand. This man. This godlike being, with a cock that could...
No, that wasn't why she was interested. She wanted the Brigand for his information. She wanted him on her side. She wanted him because he was an ally now. Her brothers had revealed their true colors.
The files were recorded near the Mauritanium province. She could attend there and raise troops. The locals always came out in droves to sacrifice their bodies as fuel-drones for her iron legion shocktroops when she gave an appearance. And while she was there, she could investigate. Find the source of the files...
Day 31 was Marina's first day with the Brigand. Petra cheered him on, the brigand. Cheered him on while he raped and beat her sister.
The Empress wet her lips. They glistened with barely contained lust. What a man to have on her side for the coming conflict.
* * * * *
And hey, that's the prompt!
I suppose it's pretty obvious where this would go. I would play the Brigand, you the Empress. The world is a mixture of some sci-fi galactic thing and Roman history. World building is great; if you have any to bring to the table, I'll just fall all over myself trying to impress you. 2k word posts etc.
It's all negotiable.
I write professionally and writing in this fashion is a lot of fun. I love exciting others, and in particular, I love knowing that my kinks are shared with someone I write with, and that writing about these shared desires gets my partner off. My preferences for writing are, in descending order, shared Gdrive documents; emails; IM chatting; chatting here.
The basic foundation of really any scene that I'm looking for features a horribly arrogant, justifiably vain, heartbreakingly beautiful woman submitting to the one man who can actually own her; he's a thoroughly powerful uber-male (physically, mentally, and/or financially) looking for, meanwhile, someone with whom to share his sadistic darkness (I am just disastrously transparent), even if he has to force it on her before she's willing to indulge it in herself.
If you're down with the above, then please message me even if you don't like the scene idea below. We have much to speak of.
My kinks are, in no particular order, noncon/rape, mind control/bimbofication, lactation, breeding, incest, abuse, violence, harem building, goddamn good writing, hot descriptions, power trips and probably some other hot, dark thoughts.
Please PM me if interested in any of this.