The Iessia 3000

By DX

Copyrighted 5/2025, all rights reserved

 In the morning light, the Adriatic laid before me like a lake of fire.  From the crest of my villa, I lazily cast my gaze up into the rich blue sky and watch the majestic airship Goliath, the size of a dragonfly in the distance, slowly sail into to the floating skyport, the attending workers on their sky sleds slewing around urgently like mosquitoes to get it tied off and secured.

 I drank deep, and let my coffee, black as oblivion, fill my soul with light.  Laying on my triclinium, I took my breakfast as my slave refilled my cup.  Her dark, succulent eyes searched for attention, but she knew better than ask.  My schedule for the day included a visit to the stables, and to ensure the best chance of breeding, I needed all my seed intact.

 I’m not as young as I once was.

 Back in the day I could dump a load down her throat and impregnate a half dozen hucows and still have enough to entertain the wife, but that was then.

 I still watched her as I ate, and thought about her fat, soft lips surrounding my turgid member.  I felt my body charge as her come hither eyes flicked at me.

 “Your Grace,”  Callias my servus coughed softly to gain my attention.  “Tesserarius Medusa is coming up the stairs.  I imagine she will announce Lord Pontis.”

 I inwardly moaned.  I held out my hands and shifted to sit up.  My slave quickly cleaned them.  She then chased after me as I walked to the crest of the hill and peered down into the valley.

 A long train of a dozen ponyboys at full gallop thundered down the smooth road up to the gates of my villa.  They were powerful and lean, their muscles oily and sheen.  Their tack was polished, and tight, holding their heads in strict pose.  They wore eye-shields that completely obscured their vision, leaving full trust in the sharp tug of the reigns.  It was an almost silly amount of horse power to haul such a tiny biga, and made sillier still by who drove them.

 Lord Pontis was as opulent as a full moon, and he liked his ponyboys big.  He always ran them at a full gallup, even through crowded streets.  He liked them intact, maintaining and showing off their boisterous, lustful energy; leaving them with their sacks swinging and painfully smacking around, but since he didn’t like any of his slaves to have a bigger phallus than him, he had them all snipped to the skin.

 He kept a trained eunuch slave in his stable who’s only job was to milk his dickless ponyboys prostates for their seed to sell at market.

 As my slave slipped my toga over my shoulder, I called to Callias.  “Get someone down to the gate immediately to welcome his lordship properly, and by properly I mean his dick sucked.  Whatever reason he’s got for pestering me, I want it blunted.”

 He smiled deeply.  “With your permission, I will see to it myself.”

 I waved dismissively and Callias dashed off.  I didn’t want him to go, but he had earned the honor of sucking off a noble.  I only wished it had been a better noble than Pontis.

 Callias only paused briefly at the top of the stair to allow Medusa and her milites to pass by, then quickly ushered down the stair.

 Medusa nodded when she saw I was getting dressed to receive a visitor.

 Medusa’s Nubian skin glowed like chocolate in the morning sun.  So strong!  Her broad shoulders and mighty arm, her gauntleted hand holding her spear, her flat stomach, muscled with river stones, she was majestic art.

 “Do we know why he’s here?”  I asked, my pain evident.

 “Begging your Grace’s forgiveness, Lord Pontis sent no forward word.”  She said, smartly.  “Request permission to speculate, your Grace.”

 “Please.”

 “Serevus the Younger, your Grace.”

 I paused as I thought.  “Oh, he’s of age?”

 “More than of age, your Grace.”  She said, knuckling her head.  “He should have been elevated three years past.  He has not been brought forth to the senate.”  She paused, hesitating, and I waved her on.  “Please, I again beg forgiveness, my words are nothing but conjecture and hearsay…”  She glanced at her milites, and the soldier picked up her shield and walked a few yards away.  “Permission to approach, your Grace?”

 I waved and she stepped over.  “His name has not been brought to senate for fear of a Pollice Verso.”  She whispered scandalously.

 Thumbs down.  

 Serevus the Younger came from a long lineage, traced back to the old republic.  His accession should have been guaranteed, not even brought to a vote.  I glanced at Medusa.  “Well?”

 Her face filled with shame.  “I am not in a place to share such gossip, your Grace.  Take my tongue from my mouth should I risk such slander.”

 “I’ll risk it.”

 She leaned closer.  “Perhaps, perhaps I say, Serevus the Younger prefers to be lorded over, than over lord.”  Her kissable lips curled in as if to shield her tongue.

 “What a supercilious allegation!”  I roared.  “Were your tongue any less valuable, I would certainly see it served to me with some nice cheese and crunchy bread, but you will have to settle on being flogged.”

 She smiled, her breath light.  “Thank you, your Grace!  Then after, might you let me attend you?”

 I winced.  There was nothing more I wanted than her attending me.  “I’m going to the stables this afternoon…”  I weakly explained.

 “After, your Grace?”  Her voice dripped with plea.  “To make sure you’re fully attended and thoroughly drained.”

 My heart and loins quivered.  “We’ll see.”

 She grinned, brightly.

 At the stair, Medusa’s milites made a noise.  She inadvertently, and with full intent, accidentally bumped her shield against a pillar.  When we looked, she tilted her head down the stairs.

 Inwardly I moaned.  “So soon?”

 Medusa confided.  “I’m certain Callias tried to preserve the moment, but Lord Pontis isn’t known for his endurance.”  She saluted.  “Permission to double my flogging for my impudence, your Grace?”

 I waved her away as I heard the laborious pant of Lord Pontis climb the stair.  I walked over and peered down.  Callias was holding onto Pontis’ arm, keeping him upright.  “Callias!  Did you not think to offer to carry Lord Pontis?  A flogging for you!”

 Before Callias could thank me, Pontis with heavy, dragging breath, interceded.  “A thousand pardons, your Grace.”  He wheezed.  “He had insisted, but I ignored him.  I thought I had the energy, but he overly attended to me, leaving me nothing to climb a simple flight of stairs.”

 I motioned with my head and my slave set down her tray, then dashed down the remaining steps to grab Pontis’ other arm and help him up.

 Callias and my slave led him over to the shaded couch and ensconced him there, where they immediately saw to him.  Callias pressed a goblet of wine into his hands and fanned him, while my slave lay on her back before him, removed his sandals, and began to clean the bottoms of his toes with her tongue.

 “Ah!”  Pontis breathed in deep before chugging his wine.  “Mmmm, so delicious!”  He drank more as Callias wiped the dribble from his face.  “The air here, clean of the city’s stink, such a repast for the lungs.”  He drank more and looked around.  “Magnificent!  Such a magical place you have here, your Grace.  I see clearly why you never leave it!”  He held out his glass insouciantly, and Callias quickly filled it.  “Would it be too presumptuous to ask when my time comes you’ll be so gracious as to allow my funeral pyre here?”  He pointed with a shaking finger.  “Right there, perhaps?”

 I tried to keep my face steady.  “While the thought is entertaining, I pray we have decades to consider your demise, Lord Pontis.  Meanwhile, my schedule is rather full today.”

 “Yes of course, your Grace!  And thank you so much for allowing this intrusion.”  His sipped more wine.  “Mmm, such fine grapes restores me.  I beg you, I’ll be brief.  “Serevus the Younger.”

 I shook my head dismissively.  “I do not know the man.”

 “And why should you?”  He responded.  “He has not impressed on the battlefield, as yourself, been a statesman representing the people, as you have, made any mark on the world what so ever.”  Pontis leaned forward slightly.  “He’s but a morsel of bread seeking a scrape of butter.”

 I nodded.  “Then you know I cannot put his name forward to the Emperor.”

 “You cannot!”  Pontis insisted.  “Nor would anyone with a pittance of intelligence expect you too.  You are honest, if that can be a fault.”  He sat back and sipped his wine.  “Which is why I have him coming here today to meet with you.”

 I balked.  “You impose too much, Lord Pontis.  I’ve a full schedule today.”

 He waved his meaty hand.  “He won’t be a bother.  He just needs to shadow you, get a feel for what the status of being a lord will bring.  To see a man such as yourself, of courage and action at work, would kindle the weakest spark to flame.” 

 I sighed tiredly.  “My patience is quickly dissolving, Lord Pontis.  Serevus the Older is an ass, and I am unsurprised and unconcerned that Serevus the Younger lacks support in the senate.  If Serevus the Younger wanted to be a lord, then he would be here with his own voice.  That you are here speaking on his behalf makes me think less of him.  You sir, on a good day, are a thieving, conniving, scoundrel.  Whenever I host an occasion where you are to attend, I include a percent of the budget to lost silverware.”

 He glanced at his goblet of wine.  “And all this time I thought his Grace was giving away souvenirs.”  He smiled like a cat.  “Forgive me your Grace, but not all of us have your intellect.  Imagine, generating revenue by simply thinking about it!  What an amazing ability you have!”

 “I do not make money simply by thinking.”

 He scoffed.  “Forgive me for streamlining the process.  Your complex inventions, innovative, ground breaking!  An incredible amount work goes into them.”  His eyes sparkled.  “The Iessia Trei Mii.  Is it true you went through two thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine failed prototypes before you had a working model?”

 I shrugged.  “It was… a process.”

 He laughed.  “A process!  Such labor to only suffer defeat after defeat, but what a pay off!  Every fine household now has one!”  He closed his eyes as envisioned it.  “Appearing so simple, so elegant, Just a triangular prism frame, and yet such magic packed within.”  He licked his lips.  “I love to watch as the hucow approaches it, their eyes longing to please their master, and as they lay upon it, their belly to the peak of the long triangle and settling their chin in that little cup to hold their head at the right angle, their arms and legs on the unfolded ledges as the attending slaves strap the hucow down.  Then, once secured, the switch is thrown and the clockworks inside the frame begin to tick and tock.  The magic blade slices bloodlessly through the hucow’s abdomen, then the mechanics rake out the offal and clean the space before the coil track stitches the hucow back up and pumps them full of wonderful, tasty stuffing all within seconds!  They barely have time to whimper!  Then, the mechanical arm rises up to position, and the spit is threaded in, like a warrior, armed with a spear, before the little wheels in the arm slowly, slowly thread the sharp end of the spit into the rectum of the hucow, and push it up easily into the body, all the way through to the esophagus, then up the throat, before coming out the mouth.”  Lord Pontis licked his lips.  “And then it is done.  The hucow is spitted alive, and proud to serve their master in this wonderful way.  The slaves then carry them off to the burning pits to be slow roasted to a golden, crispy brown.”  Pontis opened his eyes and looked at me.  “I love watching their faces as they slowly rotate on the girarrosto; their eyes blinking, thanking me for the honor and privilege.”

 “Thank you for explaining to me how the Iessia works, Lord Pontis.”  I said, breaking his reverie.  “And to be clear, there is no magic involved.  The blade you refer too is bloodless because a piston vibrates it so fast that it generates enough heat to cauterize…”

 He held up his hand.  “Please, your Grace, do not ruin the magic with bothersome science.  My point being, your military successes and vast inventory of ingenious inventions have left you a tremendously wealthy, and generous man, leaving us plebs to scrounge for crumbs.”

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Happy to be Their Dinner

By DX

Copyrighted 1996, 4/2025, all rights reserved.

Alice struggled to free a nostril from the soft padded floor so she could breathe, then waited patiently for Broome Hilda to take her knee out of her back.  Alice fought the instinct to fight, to rebel, she knew it was useless at this point and Broome Hilda had no qualms about sitting on her all day.

 Alice forced herself to relax and release the stiffness in her body to send the signal to Broome Hilda that she was done with her precursory resistance. She merely chewed on the gag stuffed in her mouth instead.

 Broome Hilda snorted as she wiped the perspiration from her brow and climbed off of Alice, before checking the buckles and straps on the straight jacket and cinching them tight. She was beginning to enjoy her little morning workout with Alice, bringing her back to her days of pro-wrestling and keeping her in that fighting shape. Alice gave her customary twitches of resistance as Broome Hilda strapped her into the wheel chair, but for the most part, this morning's wrestle was over.

 Broome Hilda gripped Alice's jaw firmly, and held her head steady, so she could adjust the straps holding Alice's gag in place. The heavy orderly ran her fat fingers gently, almost caressingly over the heavy leather face plate to insure it covered Alice's lower face properly. Alice was a fighter and a big pain in the ass, but her tiny, button nose and wide, expressive eyes made her irresistibly cute regardless of what expression of defiance she wore. Broome Hilda lightly brushed the tussled hair from Alice's face as she tried to catch a glimpse of her sapphire blue eyes, but the girl wretched angrily from her grip.

 "We have a special treat for you." Broome Hilda spoke as she pushed the wheel chair. "Today you meet your new doctor.” Alice moaned inwardly and started tugging on the straps that held her feet to the chair. She didn't want another doctor poking about in her brain. After all of their radical experiments, pet theories, and bizarre cocktails of drugs, they all came to the same conclusion.

 Alice was incurable.

 As Broome Hilda wheeled her down the hall, Alice could no longer smell the acrid stench of urine that soaked deep in the walls, barely covered by antiseptic. She no longer noticed the mindless wretches wandering the halls, mumbling to themselves.

 She could almost tolerate the orderlies kicking them around, molesting them in the showers.

 It was the sounds that got to her. The lonely, wailing cry of the insane that drove Alice out of her wits. Why couldn’t they just leave us alone?

 Alice squinted as Broome Hilda turned her chair into the office and the bright, early morning light from the unshaded windows streamed in. Alice could see a silhouette of a desk and a figure sitting behind it, rising as if a lady had entered the room.

 Broome Hilda took her place by the door, and dug her latest romance novel from the pocket of her smock, and finding her place, settled in for a lengthy session.

 "Nurse?" The doctor spoke. "If you would, please wait outside." He had a kind, but firm voice.

 Broome Hilda looked up, a little bewildered. "Of course doctor, but procedures with this client state..."

 “I understand those procedures. Alice and I will have a little talk and the session should be over in about fifteen minutes or so." The doctor's voice rang of a man who was accustomed to getting his way.

 Broome Hilda nodded, cast a side look at Alice, and stepped out, closing the door behind her.

 Alice's attention was caught be the sound of the shades being pulled. She watched the doctor walk from behind his desk.

 He was a handsome man of fifty or so with steady brown eyes. He leaned back on his desk, and opened a manila folder casually in his hands. "You've been in and out of here for quite some time, Alice."

 Alice rolled her eyes. She had heard this welcoming speech from countless doctors, countless times and this seemed to be no different. 

 The doctor ignored her expression of displeasure and went on. "Your first attempt was with pills, your second, slashed your arms from forearm to palm." The doctor looked up.  "They nearly lost you that time."

 Alice looked up. This was new. Doctors never brought up the past in the opening speech. This was a trick of some sort. A new technique.

 "Drew a gun on a cop. If his hadn't misfired, he might have just shot you instead of wrestling you to the ground." The doctor flipped a page. "Drank drain cleaner; must have done wonders for your singing voice." The doctor looked up to see the affect of his joke and Alice stared back at him, gagged silent and glaring.

 If she could speak, her voice was coarse and graveled.

 The doctor looked back to his file. "A whole host of other attempts, saved only by bum luck. Your last attempt, you leapt off a thirty-two story building while wearing your mother's wedding dress. The train of the gown snagged on the widow washer's gaff on the thirty-first floor and you dangled from the side of the building, unable to free your self. However, while the fire department mobilized to rescue you, you attempted to hang your self with the train.”

 Inwardly, Alice smiled to herself. She had forgotten the part about trying to hang herself. If the firefighter had not been connected to a safety line when he cut her free, they both would have plummeted to the pavement when she kicked off unexpectedly. Instead, the two dangled from the side of the building. He clutched her with a grip of death as she wreathed and scuffled to break free.

 The doctor closed her file. "I will be honest with you Alice. I don't think there is anything we can do for you."

 Alice eyed him carefully. It was a trick.

 "You've seen a convention of doctors, had a pharmacy of drugs, and been and out of the worst sanitariums in this country.  I would be a fool to believe that I had the magical cure for you." His steady brown eyes settled on her startled face. "You have a death wish." He said opening the folder and looking at the last page.  "And I don't think that increasing the voltage on your shock therapy is going to cure that."

 He looked at her carefully. "What I am about to tell you is illegal. If you tell anyone I spoke to you about this, I will deny it and no one will believe you. I know of a group who would make your life mean something, at least for a few hours, maybe more. A few fiery moments, a bit of pain, and a lasting memory.  You will have your wish."

 Alice could not believe her ears. Was he serious?

 The doctor moved beside her, sliding up a chair. "There is a society," He whispered. "Who have a unique taste in culinary fineries." He moved the hair from her face, exposing the burn scar from were electricity had been forced through her brain. “A group of Nouveau Cannibals and they would enjoy the sweet, succulent taste of a young, beautiful body such as yours. 

 “I have seen girls, decked out and dressed on the spit, rotating over a low fire, glistening with juices and seasonings, having orgasm after orgasm, watched intently by their hungry audience, until they finally drift off. Then they are consumed with culinary master skill and savory passion, to reside, albeit briefly, in swollen, happy bellies." 

 The doctor looked at Alice carefully, insuring that his words penetrated her. "I want you to think about it, Alice. I want you to think about putting a little meaning to your life, even if, for a little while. About giving pleasures to others. Giving the ultimate and final gift: yourself, to an appreciative crowd." He smiled gently, then rose and opened the door. As Broome Hilda lumbered in to wheel Alice out of the room, he smiled tenderly. "Our next session is in two days, Alice.” 

 Alice was limp in Broome Hilda's arms as she was lifted out of the chair and laid on the floor. Alice rolled over to her stomach to allow Broome Hilda easy access to the ring at the back of her collar.

 Broome Hilda was taken back by the lack of resistance as she shackled Alice to the wall. She looked at her carefully as she left the cell.

 Alice sat up and leaned against the wall, feeling the chain in her back, thinking about what the doctor had said. Doctors would lie to you if they thought it would do something. She had to take everything they said with a grain of salt. But if this was a trick she had never seen the likes of it before.

 Alice thought about being eaten, and the thought shot through her with excitement. She didn't want to believe the doctor, yet she had already conceded herself to the flames. Her only reluctance was  she would not be able to watch the diners smacking their lips and hear their sounds of pleasure as they dinned on her succulent meat. She closed her eyes and she could see them tucking in to their meals, smiling, absorbing her nutrients, filling their bodies with her aura, her spirit.

 Alice was startled by a warmth filling her body and she felt an unfamiliar wetness between her thighs. Because of the loads of drugs they had her on, she was unaccustomed to sex or desire. Suddenly, the idea of being eaten was charging her in a way she never imagined. Savory mouths licking her, biting her with stinging pain, feeling herself melt within in them. Being in them.

 She twisted her hips and tensed on her strait jacket, pulling the strap into her clit and she found a sexual spark as she did. She rolled over to her side, and masturbated with fury, wondering how she had never discovered this before. Her teeth clenched tightly into her gag as she came.

 She surprised Broome Hilda as she ate all of her dinner. She was thin, horribly thin from not eating and trying to starve herself, but now she wanted to put some meat on her bones to be the most succulent meal the group ever had.

 She stood under the shower head, her hands cuffed behind her, and felt the hot water roll over her, and she only wished it was butter.

 She pretended she was to be boiled alive and the thought drove her wild with passion. She looked over to Broome Hilda, and saw her with a new light. The orderly was a tall, curvaceous woman with expansive breasts, a girdled waist and a callipygous bottom. She had thick, smooth lips that when she wasn’t frowning, which was almost always, looked very inviting and kissable.

 Broome Hilda was suspicious of Alice's lack of resistance as she dried the girl off. Alice only batted her sweet blue eyes and tilted her head coyishly. As they stepped from the shower floor, Alice dropped to her knees. Broome Hilda expected this sort of behavior and went to haul the girl back up, but paused as Alice nuzzled her crotch, then looked at her with bedroom eyes.

 Alice wasn't much for talking as it hurt her burned throat.  She only smiled gently and nuzzled Broome Hilda's crotch again.

 She watched the big woman's face of confusion and mistrust melt into cautious apprehension. Alice rose when the woman touched her shoulder, then closed her eyes when the woman kissed her.

 Alice was surprised at the softness of the her lips and the passion of her kiss.

 Broome Hilda suddenly was inflamed by a fantasy coming true.

 She broke the kiss long enough to check the hall. It was empty, cleared for Alice's shower time because of the psycho girl's past explosive behavior.

 Broome Hilda went back to her kiss, catching Alice in mid-gasp. Alice shoved her tongue into Broome Hilda's mouth and the big woman sucked on it hungrily. Alice quivered with excitement as she thought of Broome Hilda biting her tongue off and swallowing it. 

 Alice tried to push it in deeper.

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Copyrighted 1996, 4/2025, all rights reserved.
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Girl du jour

By DX

Copyrighted 12/2007 all rights reserved. Story may not be used, reproduced in any way without written consent from the Author

 Annette wanted to run away, but the straps that held her fast to the metal frame prevented that. 

 She wanted to cry for help, but the fat, red ball gag pulled tight and deep kept her pleas to only whimpering mews.

 She wanted to wake up from the nightmare she was in.

 But she couldn't.

 Because it was all real.

 She shivered in the stocks that trapped her breasts, her proud and beautiful Double G's, her Gah-Gah’s, that she used to taunt and torment the men of her office. She enjoyed her breasts. She liked the feel of them when she shrugged, as hands caressed them, sizing their roundness, their firmness. Her large, sensitive and suckable areolas could make her orgasm by just playing with them.

 In the lock of the steel stocks, her breasts were round and fat, like balls of dough.

 She was an attractive woman with sharp blue eyes, wet tar hair and soft, kissable lips. She worked to keep her waist flat and then enhanced it with a form fitting corset. Her hips and long legs propped on her four inch heels were enough to cause a car accident as she walked down the street.

 But it was her breasts that got her the looks. She liked watching the expressions of people who noticed them, liked making them a little nervous when she caught them stealing glances. She liked wondering what was crawling through their minds as they stole peeks when they thought she wasn't looking. She loved the way they gained attention when she swept into a room.

 It was one the few joys in her life recently.

 Annette had fallen on hard times and quickly amassed an astronomical debt. She struggled to pay, working long, tedious hours at three jobs, but she was slipping ever faster with no hope in sight.

 It's why she sold them; Her breasts.

 Above her head, poised over her beautiful breasts like the breath of winter, the blade hung precariously, waiting for the push of the button where its spring loaded latch would fire the blade down and with a whisper, her breasts would be gone.

 When she agreed to this, she never imagined it happening. Who could?

 She had thought things couldn't get worse. Her financial problems would just crush her, obliterate her, then he showed up at her door. Dapper and charming, he spoke quickly and confidently and his magical, almost lyrical voice lulled her.

 He said he wanted to harvest her breasts.

 He would pay off all her debts, medical costs, reconstructive surgeries and ten thousand dollars for her trouble. As a sign of good faith, he even paid off one of her credit cards, several thousand dollars.

 She blinked, lost in his words. He left her his card, asking her to think it over, before vanishing into the night. He was gone before she had realized what he had said.

 He wanted to harvest her breasts for an elite and selective club.

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Copyrighted 12/2007 all rights reserved. Story may not be used, reproduced in any way without written consent from the Author.
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