Empire

Dear reader,

This story, and those that may follow, involve a place, time and people that never were. There will be a healthy dose of lesbian erotica; plus some BD/SM, non-consensual, adult-youth and possibly some (gasp) hetero as the plot progresses. Any comments -- good and especially bad -- are very welcome and encouraged via the e-mail address at the bottom. One cannot progress without feedback.

THE LEGAL THING: This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Any similarities to characters in other fictional works, other than those pulled from classical mythology (and therefore within the public domain), are also coincidental. If individuals feel that this story impinges on their person or work should take no offense, as none is meant or was intended. They should also relax and obsess less.

Remember, if we stopped writing when we ran out of original themes, literature would have died with the Greeks.

Enjoy,

The Author

EXTRA AUTHOR'S NOTE: All chapters of "Empire" were written under the influence of Metallica's "Garage Days," Tenacious D, the "Red Violin" soundtrack, Queen's Greatest Hits, Tori Amos, Blues Explosion, Pink Floyd's "Animals" and on-the-hour NPR news updates. WDET rocks!

Chapter 6

Yassine chose a white toga with muted gold silk piping for her dinner with Yevtana and Manolo. Her grandmother, the wise Amma-Kahn, taught her the importance of dressing correctly. Clothing is not for the wearer, she said as seamstresses draped the young princess in fine fabrics; clothing is for those the wearer interacts with. When the business is sharp and bloody -- dress conservatively to show attention to detail and honesty. When the sun shines softly -- wear something light for movement and to set your guests at leisure. In any case, never let your appearance be an afterthought. Once your intent is set, dress in a way that compliments that intent. Amma-Kahn, she thought of the old woman with fondness, a great queen of the Amazons and an even greater teacher. She had been the one to teach her the sword and the axe, and the more subtle arts of statecraft; such as the etiquette of dress. She put on the dress and adjusted the gilded belt so that the buckle hung the right way in front below her waist. The padding of bare feet and a slight wafting of perfume told Yassine that Pari had entered the room. She set a tray of light fruits on the side table and proceeded to set it with service for one. "That is a lovely garment, princess," she said. "Are you going to tour the city tonight?" "No, Choura and I have been invited to a dinner by Commander Yevtana at her home." Pari tilted her head and smiled, "The commander is a great warrior, I'm sure you and Choura are going to have a lot to talk about." The girl took a brush from the nightstand and started in to work on Yassine's hair. Normally, the Amazon didn't allow anyone to groom her, but the desert girl had performed more intimate care for her, so she didn't mind. She sat in one of the chairs to give the girl easier access. "Is that how you think of me, as only a warrior?" "You are a princess," Pari said, her tone careful. "Heir to a great nation of warriors." "Is that what you think of the Amazons? Warriors?" Pari drew the brush through Yassine's hair slowly, avoiding tangles as she went. "That is all I know of Amazonia. My people had only stories of the island of soldier women. The records here talk of your grandmother, the Khan, and how she helped Magda I. There isn't that much information. Have I offended you?" "No," she said. "But we are not just warriors. We are farmers, builders, artists and thinkers. Our market is only different from the Imperial Bazaar in size. We aren't that different." "Oh," the girl said. There was a silence for a while as Pari chose some silvery threads from a basket of accents on the nightstand, "But there are no men." Yassine saw the line of questioning coming, "No. There are no male Amazons." "Then how are there female Amazons with no males?" Yassine turned a thought over in her head, as if testing its flavor; "We use an ancient magic, the working of it known only to the Queen and the holy women, to conceive new daughters. It has been the way forever." "Magic," she said, bluntly. "There is no act of love?" Yassine turned and looked into the girl's green eyes, they were sad. "Of course there is. A child born from anything less than love is doomed." "Is that part of the magic?" Pari's voice was tremulous. "No," she kissed the girl lightly. "It's part of humanity. Without love, a child dies before it lives, leaving a corpse to shuffle through the world." There was a silence as Pari continued to work on the Amazon's hair. Yassine thought she heard a sniffle but could not bring herself to look back. After a while, the girl spoke again, "Is that Amazonian philosophy?" "No, I just believe that," Yassine said. "Would you like to hear a song?" "Yes." Yassine took a breath and began to sing. She chose one of the old songs, composed when the earliest queens ruled a nation of thatched huts. The song told the tale of lost love and squandered chances, of battles won and bitter victory. She used the old high language with its intricate phrasing and multiple meanings, that version better suited to a lone voice without accompaniment. When she finished, the last echoes of the song resonated against the marble walls. Pari had stopped working the Amazon's hair while the song went on. Her voice was shaky, "Did E'Shar ever find her lover?" "No," Yassine said. "That song was the last of the cycle. The play was one of the tragedies... how did you understand it?" "The spell on the room..." Pari sobbed and sat on the floor. Yassine wrapped her arms around the girl and rocked her back and forth, murmuring soft comforts into her ear. She stroked her back until the weeping subsided. "Would you like to come to dinner with me tonight?" "What?" "Choura won't be coming to Yevtana's house tonight, she wants to see more of the city herself," Yassine said. "Why don't you come to dinner with me?" The desert girl snuffled, wiped her eyes and smiled. "But I don't have a thing to wear." Yassine pulled her to her feet and patted her on the rump, "This is a palace, I'm sure someone has something in your size." The servant thanked her and ran from the room to get something suitable for dinner at a commander's home. Yassine liked the simple wrap the girl wore, for more reasons than one, but knew that it just wasn't the right attire for dinner out. As she watched her disappear, her gaze fell across one of the mirrors in the room. Her hair was held up by an intricate webwork of silver threads that created a corona of blonde strands behind her head that trailed to her shoulders. "That's a good look for me," she said without inflection.

Luxia walked into the Gymnasium like a conquering general. All she saw, she controlled. The smarter mouths said that she ruled the place like a god. She held the situation differently: Gods were sometimes merciful, she wasn't. But, she thought, the heavens are filled with screams too. The room echoed with the sounds of sex in a chaotic symphony. The moans and cries mixed with the wet slap of the act itself in mindless harmony. At their right, a tall black-skinned girl was being stroked head to toe by three men wielding bundles of peacock feathers. She rocked back and forth, pinioned at the wrists and ankles, helplessly trying to escape their teasing touch. Another was desperately trying to successfully suck a man's cock. She was set on a vertical pole which had a thick, wooden phallus attached to it. As she pulled close enough to the man to do the job she pulled herself nearly off the phallus. Whenever that happened, attending servant girls pelted her backside with strips of leather for her trouble. As the process went on, the girl on the pole moved faster and faster -- taking the course of the stroke and the man's cock in equal measures. The scent of sex was thick in the air. Glayen and Rouelle stood carefully by, waiting to be addressed or called to service. D'Anya looked on with bright eyes. "Lord Bres!" Luxia called out, "I need you now." Across the sea of heaving flesh, a man arose. He carefully arranged himself into a pair of tight leather pants and moved quickly toward Luxia. He was average height, a man in his middle-age, with brown hair and a pair of oversized brown eyes. Age had given the man a bit of a paunch, but his frame spoke of mobile power. He bowed his head to Luxia and darted his eyes at the two servants trailing her. "I told ya," he said lightly. "They weren't ready." "Thou good and faithful servant, you were right," Luxia said sarcastically. "Now that you've got that out of your system, what do we need to do to get them into shape?" Bres rubbed his chin, "There are a couple of punishments going on right now. Perhaps a display would be in order?" "What were the offenses?" "I've got one on unsanctioned fornication, another in for willful self-pleasuring. One's a trainee, the other's qualified." Luxia nodded, "Let's see what you've got arranged, Bres." The man took Luxia's arm and led her along the corridors towards the seaward side of the Gymnasium. All around them, moans and cries of pleasure rent the air. A short, black haired girl wrestled against the bonds holding her arms high while attending blondes, twins, ran their fingers up and down her skin. Another stood by and watched carefully that neither girl's touches brought a too-quick end to the play.

Yevtana's home was a richly appointed estate in the hills surrounding the palace and its city. It had white marble walls and thick-planked wooden floors. A fire blazed in a corner of the main room, over which servants had cooked the evening's meal. The walls were adorned with the trappings of someone who had traveled the continent at the head of a conquering army. Yassine picked at the last of the morsels on her plate, a piece of roasted meat wrapped in a grape leaf, "That's a Dilexian war standard, isn't it?" "Correct," said Yevtana. "The blue and black accents connote a winter campaign. We caught up with this particular war band toward the end of last year's cold season." Yevtana wore a gold-weave skirt that ended just above her knees with a pair of matching slippers. Her chest was bare and a thin silver ring connected to her right ear by a slim platinum chain pierced one nipple. Against her snowy skin and shining white hair, the outfit made her look like a temple statue come to life. Her features amplified the comparison. She had smooth, unbroken skin and large eyes. The eyes' blood-red aspect made her placid gaze strangely piercing. Yassine wondered what the gaze would look like when enraged. Manolo sat beside her at the low table. Although it was obvious he had washed before coming to dinner, it seemed that the leather pants he was wearing were the same he wore in the courtyard earlier in the day. He had lost his shirt sometime since the afternoon. "Why does the face on it appear to be smiling?" said Pari, nibbling on a mango rind. She had simply wrapped fringed white silk around her chest and hips. A single golden thread held her thick curls away from her face, "I thought you were supposed to present anger and menace on the battlefield?" "Those are the Dilexians for you," said Manolo as he took another tall bottle of wine out of the cool stone cupboard near the banner. "They believe that one should carry a happy totem into battle to please the gods with their optimism." "Does that work?" "Perhaps," he said as he refilled everyone's goblets with a shrug. "Not for them in this case. The gods are almost as strange as we are, kitten. If you win, your faith in the gods is reaffirmed. If you lose, you can take it up with them." He sat down behind Yevtana, curling himself around her and settling into the pillows, "Me, I don't care. If the gods were interested they'd send more blue bolts from the clouds." "You don't believe in gods?" Pari was a little concerned. "I believe that every second spent praying before a battle is a second you could have spent preparing," he said, there was more than a little wine running through his accent and lazy smile. "I'm sure your tall friend feels the same way." Pari shot a concerned look at Yassine, suddenly worried about the princess. Before she could reply Yevtana gave her man a little slap on the cheek, "Manolo! No difficult discussions at my dinner table." "Forgive?" She kissed him and rubbed the cheek she hit, "Not nearly. Why don't you fetch the hookah and bring it out for our guests?" Manolo was on his feet in a single snapping motion and trotting into another room, "Si, general!" "Never say that again!" she called out after him. Yassine sipped her wine, "How are you able to command your lover in battle?" "I command many soldiers in battle, I spend all of my time around the Empress' warriors," she said, matter-of-factly. "Where else will I find a love?" "Don't you find it difficult to love someone who you could send to her death?" Yevtana turned up a slight smile, "His death," she corrected. "I don't worry. He's promised me that he will survive to return to me always. I have faith in him. And I feel as the Emperor does, one man in a thousand is a terrible thing to lose." "In war, that's a hard standard to hold to," Yassine said. "I have faith," she said. "If love isn't faith I don't know what is." Yassine nodded as Manolo reentered the room carrying a three-foot tall hookah in one hand and a lacquered box under his arm. He laid each down on the table with a flourish, "Dear maids, warriors and ladies in waiting, a dessert for your enjoyment." Yassine crinkled her brow, "I'm sorry. I don't think there's a maid in the room." She spoke without inflection. Manolo gave a lavish bow, "You stumble over a subtlety in the language. A maid can also be an unmarried woman. Surely no offense, or are you married?" The Amazon gave the archer a wry smile, she knew he was trying to find the lengths of her sense of humor, and he was well within those borders. "That had better not be a proposal," she said. "My mother would never approve." The archer laughed, "And my mother would never believe it. This is something special, a treat picked up in the desert by an old friend of mine. Trust me when I say it, you don't get this everywhere."

Lord Bres looked on with professional satisfaction at the twins torturing the black haired girl. "How long has it been?" One of the blondes, the one underneath the bound girl licking her breasts responded, "Just over two hours, Lord." "She hasn't been allowed to come?" Luxia said with a touch of warning. The other twin, who had been rubbing the length of her torso along the girl's back, shook her head, "Not once. She'll tell you." Luxia raised the girl's chin as she crouched down, "What is your name?" Sweat was rolling over the girl's face in torrents; her breath came in gulping spasms, "Minda." "What did you do that got you here?" Luxia punctuated the question with a deep kiss. Minda responded hesitantly, then gave herself entirely to the touch. Their tongues slid against each other for a few moments before the mistress pulled away. "What did you do?" "I was touching myself in one of the service alcoves," Minda said, pushing forward against her bonds, trying to kiss the mistress again. "One of the pages caught me." Over Luxia's shoulder, the twins embraced each other and exchanged long, passionate kisses. Lord Bres nodded and allowed them to continue, the display would further arouse Minda. He was proud of their mastery of ambiance. Luxia shook her head at Minda, "You know that masturbation is expressly forbidden to you, just as it is forbidden for you to touch the other servants. You passed your training months ago, I thought you would know better." Minda took another few gulps of breath and looked Luxia in the eyes, "I needed more." Luxia kissed the girl's forehead and stood, "Finish it now. I expect to see the two of you," she said as she pulled the twins apart, "on the verandah in an hour." She gestured to Lord Bres and the three servants to come along. She stopped before leaving the room. "Make that exactly an hour," she said. "Not one minute less." The twins had gone back to work on Minda. One had started work below her again, this time pinching the nipples she once kissed. Behind, the other girl ran her tongue all around -- but never touching -- her anus. The girl's cries resumed their former volume.

Yassine looked on with fascination as Manolo took a small bar of a dark, brittle cake out of the box and started breaking it into smaller chunks. The smell of something slightly musty filled the air. "Is that hashish?" Yevtana laughed, "If it's just hashish, someone's going to be in a lot of trouble." "It's D'ghansa," Pari said. "It's hashish that's been accented with other herbs and exotic spices. It's very rare." Yassine took a square of the stuff from Manolo and inspected it more closely. It had a gummy texture with tiny bits of grit throughout. It smelled like a musky sort of coffee. The darkness of the square was echoed by its scent, "What does it do?" "It opens doors within the mind," said Yevtana. "There is a religious sect in the eastern deserts that uses D'ghansa to commune with the gods. They believe the secret of its making is a holy secret that they must guard with their lives." "How did you get it?" the Amazon asked. "Making it is the holy secret," Manolo said as he placed a burning splint of cedar he pulled from the fire into the top of the hookah. He carefully laid the chunks of the D'ghansa into the bowl, "Getting some of it from them is like funding a holy crusade." Manolo handed Yassine and Pari molded ivory mouthpieces connected to the hookah by colorful woven tubes, he and Yevtana were already pulling on their tubes. Yassine drew a breath of the fragrant smoke and found it soothing and cool. Pari took a deep breath and coughed the greenish smoke out violently. "Wouldn't it a sin to sell a holy secret?" Yassine asked. "They don't sell the secret," Manolo said, a cloud of emerald smoke rings popping from his o-shaped mouth. "They just sell the sacrament. Those monks are a pragmatic bunch, they know the value of holiness."

Turning into one of the sequestered rooms, Luxia heard a familiar sound. Even as a girl, she had known she had superhuman powers of hearing -- a freak of birth -- and could literally hear through walls. Of all the sounds a human made, including a death cry, nothing carried so far or so clearly as the sound of tears. The group turned a corner to see one of the pages, Paulinius, attempting to enter one of the trainees. She was a plumpish girl, with brown hair and smooth white skin. She was bent over one of the training couches with her bottom raised high over her head. The knuckles on both her hands had gone white gripping the arm of the chair as the page tried to force more than the head of his cock into the girl's cringing anus. He was making no headway at all. "What the hell are you doing, boy?" asked Lord Bres angrily. Paulinius' head snapped around quickly, his face filled with shock as he realized that he had a full audience. Reflexively he pulled away from the girl, "Yue directed me to open her." He tried to cover himself before the group, "She told me to come here to do it" "I am aware of what I told Yue to accomplish with Mauxa today," Luxia said sharply. "Why isn't she doing the job?" Mauxa had curled herself into a tiny ball, clutching her breasts in one arm and shielding her behind with the other. Luxia ordered Glayen and Rouelle to attend to the girl. They immediately began to massage and comfort the frightened servant in training. Paulinius backed away slightly, "She was called away with the big Amazon, Choochoo..." "Choura," corrected Lord Bres. "And she chose you for this careful business?" He started to shrink, "Y-yes." Luxia advanced on the boy, her eyes hard as stones. "I can smell lies, Paulinius. Yours stink." Lord Bres crossed his arms, "Come clean now, boy. It's your best chance." "She told me to get someone to do it," the boy said in a rush. "And you thought you were someone?" Bres' voice was mocking, "What a world it would be if someone like you was someone. Glayen, Rouelle; how is she?" "She's not hurt," Glayen said, rubbing the frightened girl's shoulders. "She's dry," Rouelle said as she gently stroked Mauxa's inner thighs. D'Anya winced. Luxia shook her head with remorse, "Remove yourself to an antechamber, Paulinius. I will deal with you later." The page slunk away quickly. Luxia knelt before Mauxa and kissed her on the forehead. Taking both hands, she raised the girl's face so that they were eye-to-eye and kissed her lips. "I am sorry this happened this way," she said tenderly. "What was wrong?" "It just came so suddenly," Mauxa said. "He pulled me from the Gymnasium and took me in here." "Everything will be all right," the mistress said. "He won't be back again. Glayen, Rouelle, care for her." Immediately, the two servants lavished kisses all over the trainee's body. Glayen locked her attention on her breasts while Rouelle gently kissed her reluctant thighs apart. Mauxa sighed and released her tension, allowing both total access to her flesh. Luxia caressed both D'Anya and Bres, both returned the touches. "It is not about the acts, children. "The point is the pleasure, whatever happens to reach that destination is irrelevant." Rouelle's face was buried in Mauxa's crotch, her head whipped from side to side as she worked the girl's inner lips fiercely. Glayen was taking more care with her breasts; she alternated between gently biting at her nipples and running her tongue roughly in the valley between her breasts. Mauxa had begun to moan beneath the two of them. "Lord Bres, I believe this is a situation where your talents are most called for," Luxia said. The man nodded and lifted a jar of lubricant from a table beside the couch, "It wouldn't be the first time I cleaned up after the help."

Yassine could have sworn that the war standard was laughing at her. It's slanted eyes and crooked teeth had taken on a particularly satirical tone and seemed to move in the flickering light of the hearth. She didn't like the look on that face, but she was having a hard time prying her eyes away from it. "I hate that banner," she said, and realized that her mouth had gone very dry. She looked around for her wine goblet and realized, late in the search, that it was in her hand. It was much better-tasting than she had remembered ¾ slightly dry but with an apple taste. "I'm pretty," Pari's voice came brightly. "Hmm?" "I'm pretty," she said, matter-of-factly. She had loosed the top of her dress and was examining her breasts with scientific attention. She shifted her attention from them to her reflection in a metal platter previously used to hold fruit. "It's the hair mostly, but I think I'm a really good looking person all around." "Uhhh," Yassine understood perfectly what the girl had said; it was a straightforward enough statement but she couldn't make it fit in her mind. Something was making simple concepts difficult. "D'Anya has the red hair, and that's really nice. Yue has long hair that feels like silk," Pari burbled on happily as she massaged her breasts. "But I'm really pretty. And I've got nice hair." Yassine squeezed her eyes shut hard twice and focused intently on Pari. It was true that the girl was very pretty. The phrase "fine little piece" filtered through her head and she was dimly grateful that it didn't make its way through her lips. For the first time in the conversation, Pari looked over at the Amazon and smiled apologetically, "Sorry, you're really pretty too. I love what you've done with your hair." "You did it," Yassine said. "Yes," the girl said and broke out into gales of laughter. After a second Yassine joined in and the two of them rolled about the floor in hysterics. As the laughter subsided, Pari's face struggled to take on an air of seriousness. "That's enough silliness, we've got business to attend to." Yassine laughed harder, "What?" "I'm going to have you now," Pari said in total seriousness, her eyes had a strange hard cast to them. "I'm going to have you and then I'm going to have you again. Maybe a third time too." Yassine stopped laughing and blanched. What the hell was so funny? She thought. "You mean now? What about Yevtana and Manolo?" Pari motioned to the other side of the low table with her head and indicated their hosts. Manolo was halfway out of his pants and feasting on Yevtana's bare breasts as the general was wrestling her own garments off hastily. "Oh," said Yassine. "They only talked about it for fifteen minutes," Pari said as she released the clasps holding the rest of her dress and her hair. She stood naked before the Amazon. A lush, vibrating package of female flesh, "I want you now." "Ok."

Please send your comments, good and especially bad, to merdement@yahoo.com