The Sorceress Turned Him into Her Sealed Slave

“No, you damned sorceress!” Aldric shouted, writhing between the two slaves holding him on his knees. “I’ll kill you… I swear I’ll kill you.”

Vesperia moved forward unhurriedly, with that cold beauty that did not seem to belong entirely to this world. A faint smile curved her lips. When she was close enough, the last leader of the resistance gathered what little spit he had left and spat it in her face.

She did not get angry. She brought two fingers to her cheek, gathered up the contempt he had hurled at her, and licked it slowly, never taking her golden eyes off him. Then she brushed his forehead with the tip of her thumb and murmured three words in a language no one spoke anymore. Aldric’s body went rigid, as if every muscle had suddenly forgotten how to obey him.

“That’s how I like it,” she said, taking him by the chin to force him to look at her. “The more you resist, the more perfect the work will be. You’re going to be something precious here, in my chambers.” She turned to the slaves. “You know what you have to do.”

The two men, broad-backed and mute with fear, laid him out on a table of cold metal. Aldric was by then little more than a broken doll: only his eyes still held some movement, and they darted restlessly, searching for an exit that did not exist.

They began with his legs. They wrapped him in long bandages marked with symbols that seemed to move when one did not look at them directly. They worked their way up his thighs, his belly, his chest, his arms. They fitted two tubes edged in black leather into his mouth, and only when they had left him with no words left to say did they finish covering his face. They left only one strip of skin exposed: his sex, ringed at the base, throbbing against his will.

Vesperia watched her servants’ work and then pronounced the true spell. The air in the room grew dense. A metallic smell, like blood or like a storm about to break, seeped into everything. The slaves stepped back, frightened and fascinated at once by their mistress’s power.

The bandages covering the prisoner began to change. The fabric darkened, became glossy and elastic, and clung to his body like a second black skin that left not a single fold free. The sorceress drew breath and let it out very slowly, exhausted by the effort. Then she returned movement to Aldric, only for him to discover that he could no longer move a millimeter: the living rubber sealed him completely, save for that exposed sex.

“Perfect… yes… beautiful,” she whispered, running her hand over his chest to feel the softness of that impossible skin.

A dull growl escaped Aldric’s lips. The membrane pressed his jaw with such force that no words could form. Vesperia covered the ends of the tubes through which he breathed with her fingers and kept them closed for a moment, just long enough for him to understand who would decide every breath from now on.

“You should be proud,” she said into his ear. “I’ve turned you into a work of art. Into a chrysalis. I know you can hear me. I know your will and your hatred are still intact in there. That’s what I like most about you.”

***

She gripped the exposed sex between her fingers and completed her work by sliding a thin probe up the urethra, connected to a system that disappeared beneath the table. From that moment on, not even the most basic functions of his body would belong to him.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she went on, with a voice that was at once mocking and cruel. “How much can a man turned into this endure. Very little, you think. And you think then you’ll rest in death.” She leaned over the black strip covering his face. “No. That won’t happen.”

More magic welled up from those dark words: ancient spells to preserve the captive’s body, to ensure that he would continue existing as a chrysalis, as a simple decorative object in her bedroom. Death, his last hope, had been denied to him.

Aldric tried to move again. It was useless. He began to breathe quickly, to hyperventilate, until his own reason demanded calm. He could not see. He could not scream. With his tongue he explored the two tubes running down his throat. Breathing: that was the only thing left to him. Breathing and thinking. Focus on the hatred, he told himself. As long as you hate, you’re still someone.

But something distracted him. A pressure where there should not have been one, a heat in his sex that he could not extinguish. They were touching him. She was touching him. No, he thought, I won’t give her the satisfaction. And yet the satisfaction came on its own: a wave of pleasure he had not asked for and could not refuse. It was brief. He sank into a dreamless darkness and woke without knowing how much time had passed, his sex erect and throbbing, emptying itself without him deciding anything, as if his body had stopped consulting him.

***

Time passed. How much? He had no way of knowing. One day he began to hear moans, cries of pleasure on the other side of the darkness. It was her, no doubt, because he knew her bed was nearby. He could not stop his sex from responding, swelling against the rubber. The cries stopped.

“Well. My chrysalis reacts when I come,” Vesperia said, amused. “My favorite slaves have just served me well.”

Then a thick liquid filled his mouth through one of the tubes. It tasted awful, but he had no choice but to swallow it, feeling his stomach knot in disgust.

“Easy, it’s not poison,” she murmured. “I don’t want you to die. Only enough to keep you from fainting.”

Again he felt the sorceress’s hand close over his sex, stroking it with calculated slowness, and he despaired inwardly.

“Do you realize you no longer control anything that happens in your body?” she asked him. “You’re a work of art. An object that doesn’t even command its own guts.”

But Aldric was barely listening. All his mind was focused on the caress, on the brutal desire to reach climax. He was almost there. He felt it rising, inevitable… and just then the hand withdrew. Eternal minutes passed. The touches returned, hope returned, the muffled growl that was his only way of speaking returned. And once again they abandoned him at the edge, sinking him into pure despair.

“I’m leaving you here, chrysalis. I have important matters to attend to.”

***

In the darkness, the man who had once been the proud leader of the rebellion felt the hours pass like an object without dignity, stripped of control over every function of his body. Only hatred kept him centered. Only hatred reminded him that he still had a name.

Vesperia, meanwhile, had at her feet two slaves who looked at her with absolute devotion. That night she had chosen them for her pleasure. From time to time they cast a terrified glance at the chrysalis resting beside the bed, at that poor wretch turned into his mistress’s whim.

“Look carefully at my human chrysalis,” she told them. “Wouldn’t you give anything to be in his place and prove your devotion to me?”

“Mistress, I’ll do anything to serve you,” panted the better-endowed of the two, kissing her feet. “My life belongs to you.”

Vesperia smiled and lashed his back with the riding crop. The slave moaned, grateful.

“My lady, I beg you, punish me too,” said the other, vying with his companion for her feet. “I would be happy if you turned me into another chrysalis.”

“Flattering dogs,” she laughed. “Come to the bed. I want to come.”

She used them until she was tired and then allowed them to lie at her feet. Afterward she stood and walked over to her work of art, which once again showed an impossible erection that could not be hidden.

“My chrysalis gets aroused hearing my slaves make me come,” she murmured, taking that sex between her fingers and stimulating it with quick, rough movements. “I’m going to make you finish, creature. But you won’t feel pleasure. It’ll just be one more thing your body expels without your permission. You’ll live with a desire that will never be sated, because you belong to me.”

The chrysalis growled, tensing, and when he was about to spill over, the sorceress’s hand stopped dead, ruining his finish once again.

“There is no pleasure for you other than what I decide to grant you,” she pronounced. “None.”

***

The days passed. The weeks. Aldric imposed a routine on himself: going over his life, his battles, the names of those who had fallen at his side. But with time, remembering became harder and harder. At first he forgot the small details. Then the gaps grew large. The disgusting liquid that fed him gradually stopped revolting him; one day, without knowing how, he almost looked forward to it with eagerness.

He no longer thought about dignity or its loss. He was an object that merely remained, desired, breathed. And, most terrible of all, he began to find this existence pleasurable. From the initial resignation he moved on to something worse: enjoyment. The caresses on his sex became an absolute delight to his empty mind, no matter how much that voice mocked him in the darkness.

And the day came when, no matter how hard he tried, he no longer knew how to name himself. He did not care. At that very instant his body spilled over and he experienced a brief pleasure, with no memories behind it to shame him. Only the warm darkness remained, the taste of the liquid in his mouth, the expected caress and that voice inside his head telling him things he no longer understood but that, if he had been able to smile, would have made him smile.