The Artifacts
Author's note: This story is obviously a work of fiction. Given the dominant nature of some of the characters, I think it's important in this climate to say that in the real world, misogyny and coercive control are things that men should not aspire to. Please do not idolise 'alpha' culture. Always respect each other and engage in consensual activities. All characters in the story are above 18 years old.
Prologue
A warm wind caressed Lord Faron's cheek. From the upper balcony, he looked pensively out towards the coast. Below him, the lights of his kingdom shone, the glowing and flickering fireplaces that warmed the hearths of his people. There was unrest brewing. While his kingdom was built on coercion and force, this had been a time of peace in the realm. However, the men were unhappy that so many of the kingdom's women had been plucked for the Lord's personal guard. He garnered a small army of personal assistants, bodyguards and servants, which he hand-picked from the fittest and most beautiful of his kingdom. The men had been unhappy about this for some time, but were powerless to resist the Lord's ultimate weapon.
Lord Faron allowed his focus to soften as he gazed at the rings on his hands. Both yellow gold, but glowed softly with different coloured inscriptions. They had an ancient power that had passed through his bloodline. The left hand, a power to deliver powerful feelings of ecstasy, glowing pink at its master's attention. The right hand delivered punishment, pain that could not be escaped, its now unintelligible black text glowed and faded. Around his neck was an amulet, an ancient carving of a woman inscribed in the centre. With this, his words became his servant's actions. No amount of free will could avoid them. Finally, the judge's sceptre, which hung on his belt. He used it to create rules, protocols that were etched in his servant's minds forever. For reasons, unknown, it had been decided by the creators of these ancient powers that they would only work on women. As such, Lord Faron was forced to be creative in subjugating the entire population.
He used the females of the realm as hostages. At any given moment, he could command the entire population of women to walk into the sea, or jump from the tallest cliff. While his male subjects were not affected, they could do nothing but watch as their wives and daughters disappeared into the night, never to be seen again. So began an era of mutually assured destruction. If the Lord's subjects turned on him, then half of the population would destroy themselves. No women would be there to bring them sons and continue their family lines. For decades, this had been enough to rule. However, the population had known peace for too long. They'd become complacent, unruly. The Lord wanted to avoid bloodshed if he could, but he would not lose everything he'd built.
A glow came forth from the ring on his left hand. He gripped the handrail as a surge of lustful energy flowed through him. This was the torment of his artifacts; they yearned to be used. If he did not dispel the energy, it would consume him. He clutched at his amulet and called upon a servant, who quickly appeared from a side door.
"My Lord," said the servant attentively.
"Send one of the new ones, my chambers," Lord Faron ordered.
The servant nodded and walked off hurriedly. Taking one last look at the ocean, Faron marched purposefully to his own chambers. His wing was vast and delicately lit. His footsteps broke the stillness in the air as he navigated the corridors, arriving swiftly at his bedroom. Opening the door, he saw the vision that had been delivered to him. A young woman, likely in her early twenties, with golden hair that cascaded messily from her shoulders. She was petite, with a body that looked too easily broken. The Lord huffed and pointed a finger at the wine on the side table. The young woman rushed to fill a cup for him.
"You may take one," the Lord said. The woman nodded, filling two glasses. The Lord took a drink and set his glass on the end table.
"Your name?" He asked curtly.
"Anja," she replied quickly. Faron barely looked up from his boots as he unbuckled them.
"And where did we pluck you from?"
"The west hills," Anja responded, taking a large drink from the wine glass in her own hand.
"And you understand why you're here?"
"I do, that doesn't mean I'm pleased about it"
Faron ignored Anja's jab and moved to inspect her more closely. She had high cheekbones and full lips. Her blue eyes stood out, despite the gloom of Faron's chambers.
"The west hills. I know why the house maiden chose you..." he removed his clothing and sat in the deep armchair near his bed. "...she believes the women from the west hills are hardier, more fit for my purpose."
Faron's eyes cast down Anja's physique. Her chest was small, her hips narrow, she was lacking the curves that normally came with her people's frames.
"You do not seem...hardy. You must have said something to the house maiden to upset her. Why else would she throw you to me in my current state." The ring glowed pink. Faron grunted as his urges grew stronger. Anja could not help but notice Faron's cock grow thick and tall. She began to sweat nervously.
"The house maiden says I am 'challenging' and 'a nuisance'. She doesn't seem to like me," Anja replied coyly.
Faron gave a small smile, entertained by Anja's spirit. The ring glowed again. He shuddered softly, then brought himself to his feet. He approached Anja and ran his hand across her chest carelessly, inspecting her attributes. He spun her around and grabbed one of her ass cheeks. Anja squealed to herself.
"No...this won't do," Faron looked Anja up and down once more. "I'm short on time, Anja of the west hills, and I'm not waiting for the maiden to source me another girl. So, I'm going to have to make some changes to you."
