The Sorceress Turned Him Into Her Sealed Slave

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

Vesperia advanced without haste, with that cold beauty that seemed not quite to belong to this world. A smile barely curved her lips. When she was close enough, the last leader of the resistance gathered what little saliva he had left and spat it in her face.

She did not get angry. She brought two fingers to her cheek, collected the contempt he had thrown at her, and licked it slowly, without taking her golden eyes off him. Then she brushed his forehead with the pad of her thumb and murmured three words in a tongue 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 his 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 beautiful here, in my chambers.” She turned to the slaves. “You know what you have to do.”

The two men, broad-shouldered and mute with fear, laid him out on a table of cold metal. Aldric was already little more than a broken doll: only his eyes still held any movement, and they darted nonstop, 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 straight on. They climbed up his thighs, his belly, his chest, his arms. They inserted two tubes tipped with black leather into his mouth, and only when they had left him without a word to say did they finish covering his face. They left free nothing but a strip of skin: the 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 a storm about to break, flooded everything. The slaves stepped back, frightened and at the same time fascinated by their mistress’s power.

The bandages covering the prisoner began to change. The fabric darkened, became shiny and elastic, and cinched itself to his body like a second black skin that left not a single fold uncovered. The sorceress drew breath and let it out very slowly, drained by the effort. Then she returned movement to Aldric, only for him to discover that he could no longer move a single millimeter: the living rubber had 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 squeezed his jaw so tightly that no word could form. Vesperia covered the ends of the tubes through which he breathed with her fingers and held them shut for a moment, just long enough for him to understand who decided from now on every breath he took.

“You should be proud,” she told him in 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 squeezed the exposed sex between her fingers and completed her work by sliding a thin probe through the urethra, connected to a system that disappeared beneath the table. Aldric’s shudder was immediate, brutal; his immobilized, exposed body responded with an involuntary pulse that humiliated him more than any blow. 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 and brought her mouth close to the opening of the tubes, speaking almost against his breath. “No. That won’t happen.”

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

Aldric tried to move again. It was useless. He started breathing quickly, hyperventilating, until his own reason demanded calm. He could not see. He could not shout. 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 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 reject. The tense bulge of his cock throbbed under the black skin, swelling violently, and he writhed uselessly as the tingling turned into a wet, treacherous, indecent spasm. 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 his deciding anything, as if his body had stopped consulting him.

Vesperia left him trembling, still smiling, and wiped with her thumb the wetness she had on her fingers.

“That’s it,” she murmured. “That’s how you learn. That’s how you obey.”

***

Time passed. How long? 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, without a doubt, because he knew her bed was nearby. He could not stop his sex from answering, swelling against the rubber. The cries ceased.

“Well now. 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 horrible, but he had no choice but to swallow it, feeling his stomach clench in disgust. The fluid went down hot, heavy, and left a rough trace in his throat that seemed to awaken even more sensitivity in everything trapped beneath the membrane.

“Relax, it’s not poison,” she murmured. “I don’t want you to die. Only just enough so you won’t collapse.”

Again he felt the sorceress’s hand close around his sex, stroking it with calculated slowness, circling the foreskin, squeezing the base, and moving up and down with a cruel precision that turned every touch into a delicious torture. He despaired inwardly. His cock hardened at once, taut as a rope about to snap, and the pressure in his urethra made him arch against the table, helpless.

“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 does not even command its own insides.”

But Aldric barely heard her. All his mind was focused on the caress, on the brutal desire to reach climax. He felt Vesperia’s fingers working his glans with obscene patience, rubbing it until it shone, driving him mad with small tugs that tore dry jolts from his pelvis. He was almost there. He felt it rising, inevitable… and just then the hand withdrew. Eternal minutes passed. The rubbing returned, hope returned, the smothered growl that was his only way of speaking returned. And once again they abandoned him on the edge, plunging 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 as a thing 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 frightened glance at the chrysalis resting beside the bed, at that poor wretch turned into his mistress’s whim.

“Look well 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 whip. The slave moaned, grateful.

“My lady, I beg you, punish me too,” said the other, pushing for his companion’s feet. “I’d 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 to her work of art, which once again showed an impossible erection that could not be concealed.

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

The chrysalis growled, tensing, and when he was about to spill the sorceress’s hand came to a sharp halt, ruining the end once again.

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

***

Days passed. Weeks. Aldric imposed a routine on himself: replaying his life, his battles, the names of those who had fallen beside him. But with time, remembering became harder and harder. First he forgot the small details. Then the gaps became large. The vile liquid that fed him gradually stopped disgusting him; one day, without knowing how, he almost looked forward to it.

He no longer thought of dignity or its loss. He was an object that merely remained, desired, breathed. And, most terrible of all, he began to find that existence pleasurable. From the initial humiliations he moved on to something worse: enjoyment. The caresses on his sex became an absolute delight for his empty mind, no matter how 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. In that very instant his body spilled and 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 saying things he no longer understood, but that, if he had been able to smile, would have made him smile.