Geas

He used to count how many times he would cum during the prayer. He used to try to hold out and try not to. But it is too easy to lose himself to the chaos, the mindfuck. He is lost to it, consumed and succumbed. There is no room for himself, his hatred or his desire. There is only her power, her cruelty. He is her slave: her servant, her pet, her object, her property, her toy, her slut. He is nothing, except her pleasure.

And he is spent. Another orgasm rocks through his chafed cock, and it hurts. His slit gasps and dribbles, his seed long since milked, as he looks down from the stoic stone spider before him. There is nothing on the floor except for the slick marks that his salty tongue had left, but still he scoops up what little he has created from the tip of his dick and brings it gingerly to his mouth. His muscular shoulders heave with exhaustion and the tears flow freely on heaving, weary cheeks.

Then he begins again.

"I am a lowly insect caught in a spider's web. I am a servant to Lolth's greatest servant, and through service to her I serve Lolth. I am a pet to play with. I am an object to neglect. I am a piece of property to admire. I am a toy, made to be used by whomever my jabbress wills. I am a slut who receives suffering and pleasure by the whim of my jabbress. I am nothing without my jabbress to serve. I am desperate to serve my jabbress, because I exist to pleasure her. Thank you -- "

"You're welcome."

Her voice is his salvation. The hand on his cock stops instantly, palm pink with his work as he turns eagerly around and toward her. His half-flaccid member hangs out of his tights as he looks gratefully up at her from his knees, her own smug features examining him ruthlessly from above. Who knows how long she had been there, watching him suffer, before she finally ended his torture. For a few long moments, there is only the sound of his heavy breathing between them.

Finally she bends low at the waist, tipping his chin upward with one finger. Her gaze pierces him, even though he can't look into her eyes. "Were you crying?"

"Yes, jabbress."

"Weak fool." She tosses his face aside and straightens again. "Say it."

"I am a weak fool, jabbress."

"And an idiot slut who craves my domination."

"I am an idiot slut who craves your domination, jabbress."

"And a pathetic tool for me to use and discard at any moment."

"I am a pathetic tool for you to use and discard at any moment, jabbress."

"And a sniveling pet in a beautiful cage."

"I am a sniveling pet in a beautiful cage, jabbress."

"You grovel before my beauty."

"I grovel before your beauty, jabbress." And he begins to bend forward to do just that.

"No. Stand," she commands with a sigh, unable to hide the tinge of amusement in her otherwise apathetic tone. He does, dick still flopping, and she rolls her eyes. "Pull up your tights. We must prepare for our guests."

He follows her out of the suite that is so often his entire life, and into the hall with so many doors that he has never seen open. One door is ajar, however: an office with long, tall windows that overlooks the massive, underground city that he only rarely steps into. But he is quickly led past it, to a closet where he is made to collect an impossible number of boxes, balancing them precariously as he steps barefoot down the stairs and into the foyer.

For the next hour, she lounges on various pieces of soft furniture as she directs him to clean and decorate the front rooms. Gauzy, web-like garlands dotted with tiny diamonds are hung elegantly on long, dusted tables and across tall, ornate doorways. Delicately carved candlesticks and candelabras are fixed with fresh wax stalks in black and violet, placed with meticulous symmetry on all sorts of surfaces. Food is delivered: thin strips of rothe steak and curled centipede rings complimented by mushroom charcuteries and rare surface berries. His stomach growls as he sets them out according to her standards, followed by further drapings of dark silks and arrangements of jeweled centerpieces.

When it is all done, he waits by the door until the bell rings. She has commanded him to think of all the ways he might be used or abused by her guests, but he tries not to be too creative. Perhaps he'll be asked to pose like a statue while they are free to touch and grope him. Perhaps he'll be spanked while he attempts to deliver a precarious serving tray across the room. Perhaps, he hopes, he'll be told to face a corner and be ignored for the whole night. But it's more likely that he'll be stolen to another room and forced to suck a man he's never met, or worse, made to suck an inanimate phallus while a whole group watches and laughs.

The bell wakes him from his nightmares, so he jumps to attention and opens the door. Half a dozen drow have arrived all at once, dressed in a surplus of gems and fineries that his jabbress would surely find gaudy. He counts four human slaves in behind them, their outfits similarly drab and restrictive like his, and takes the opportunity to meet each of their eyes. Two women, one thin and frail and the other healthy and buxom; a man, somewhat slighter than himself; and someone whose gender he did not recognize, with a glittering veil draped over their head.

He does not address anyone. He simply bows and holds the door to allow them in. It is she who greets them with a coy grin and a low, resonating, "Welcome to my home."

The guests were given their first drinks and invited to sit in the parlor, where the slaves were instructed to stand in a line against one wall. His jabbress was clearly the one in control even among her own people, who bowed and tittered and acquiesced in deference to her every word. Once various introductions had been made and pleasantries exchanged, she turned to the humans and presumed to command them just as she commanded him.

"You," she pointed to one of the women, then to the other. "And you. Step forward."

The lean one did so immediately. The other looked in a moment's hesitation to her master, who gave her a hurried nod. Even as she obeyed, the yath'tallar was not impressed.

"You reward her too much, kas'ka. She does not know her place."

"Yes, malla. She will be punished."

She sucks her teeth. "Later. For now, they will both lie on that table." She gestures to one decadently draped in silks and jewels but otherwise empty. "Yours on top, the other on bottom. Head to sex. Lick each other's clits and cum freely. Make some noise, but do try to be artful."

The two scurry to their places, stripping away their panties in awkward obedience. As they climb onto the table, the yath'tallar inspects the veiled one.

"What's wrong with their face?"

"Just a bit of scarring. I did not want -- "

"I can heal anything." She reaches for the veil.

"No, wait -- "

Her hand pauses in front of their face as she turns back to the objecting drow. "What did you just say to me?"

"Nothing, malla."

"Mm." She turns back and rips the veil away, revealing a narrow face and pointed ears. She glares at the slave, whose large green eyes shine with fear. Her voice seethes with fresh rage as she asks incredulously, "You brought an elf into my home?"

"Well, I -- "

"Don't bother explaining yourself. They will bleed for Lolth in due time. Go to the pole, there," she instructs the elf, gesturing toward a conspicuously displayed iron pole, two and a half meters high with a pair of chains hanging from the top. "Your jabbress will put you in the shackles."

"Of course, malla."

Her heels click on the hard floor as she steps to the other man, people moving obediently around her. She produces in one hand what appears to be a large plug with a flared, bejeweled base, and in the other a small disk with a matching gem. As she presses the disk between two fingers, the plug vibrates violently. "You will be our server. This," she explains, handing the plug to the slave. She speaks slowly, as if to an idiot. "Goes in your ass. Whenever we press the button, that means we need something. Otherwise, I do not want to see you. Is that clear?"

The slave nods, also glancing at his mistress as he takes the plug and runs it liberally over his tongue. Then, as all of the drow watch, he reaches back into his thong and inserts it with a grunt. He begins to walk away, but before he can make himself fully unseen, he jumps a little with the activation of the device. She laughs, followed by the rest of them.

Finally she steps up to her own slave. He straightens his shoulders as she leans in close and whispers. "I have some important things to discuss with these people, and you will not listen. You will, however, stand on your hands and knees to be my footrest. You will open your mouth, and you will feel a warm phallus slide between your lips, over your tongue, and to the back of your throat, over and over. You will also feel another warm, slick phallus press through your asshole, into your bowels, and against your prostate, over and over. You will not gag or make any other noise. Come to my chair."

He gulps softly. "Yes, jabbress."