Author's Note: A short story requested by one of my readers.
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There's a certain thrill when walking past the city gates after a long battle and a hard-won victory. I know it well, but it's not what most think it is. They imagine that the shouts and screams and flashed breasts out of adulation are what make it so intoxicating, or that it's just great to have survived. While I can't speak for the others who follow behind me, I know that those assumptions are wrong. For me, it's anything but the crowd's adoration or the throngs of women begging to share my chambers.
No. It's only one person's approval I seek, for theirs is something that I have longed after ever since I was little. And this day that approval finally meets my gaze. She's there, standing at the centre of the largest crowd yet. But she is far from drowned out by the horde, if anything they only make her shine more brightly. The flowing, crimson locks that bleed into her strong face and warm, pillow soft lips, then down into her commanding chin.
My eyes are dragged willingly down her gracefully arched neck. I soon spy her chest, which swells out her clothing to the point that it looks fit to burst - as it had on occasion - while her pinched waist only highlighted the curves above and below. The sun and moon at their most enthralling pale in comparison to the goddess among mortals that stands only feet away from me.
Our gazes meet, and I see my eyes reflected in hers. It's natural to share a mother's eyes, especially when I've inherited so much else from her. Conceited though it may sound, but I'm more than confident that my beauty is second only to my mother's. She smiles and strides toward me, urging me to dismount my horse and walk up to her.
My rank demands that I keep my pacing even. I walk as if approaching a dignitary, rather than my own family, and stop at arm's length. We're opposites in dressing. My armour clatters whenever I move, constricting my abundant curves, while their progenitor flaunts them flawlessly. I cannot describe her otherwise, for there's no better word suited to my mother, the Empress. Those who would impose upon that distinction speak blasphemy.
"Three years, Mary," my mother intoned, supple lips lifting into a glorious smirk, "Well done and welcome home, my daughter."
"Thank you," I smiled shyly, "Mother." I hadn't said that word in a long time, and not to her directly, certainly not when she wore such a proud, enticing smile. And it was aimed at me this time, not at one of her many concubines for birthing yet more of my siblings. My eyes strayed at the thought, glancing to the people gathered around us. So many of them, far too many for me to count, shared my blood.
It made sense, though most of the other nations were perturbed by it. My mother, our empress, is the epitome of beauty, power and virility, as such it made sense for her genes to be almost exclusively passed down through the generations. After all, what other woman could sire a third gender?
"Tonight!" My mother announced, her soft, yet imposing voice quelling the roars of her people, "We honour our brave warriors and I," she fixed her gaze on mine, permitting me a glimpse of her inner machinations, "Will personally celebrate our general, my daughter, for her impeccable victory!"
The cheers still echo in my ears. Night had overtaken the sky, leaving little of the world visible except where lamps and candles burn, casting their warm glow. But I don't feel it. My skin could be iron for how cold I am, yet I'm not shivering. I stand in my mother's chambers, a cavernous room with a suitably massive bed at its centre. Purple silk and gold threads adorn it, as does the veiled shape of my mother as she awaits my decision.
I can hear her cooing softly. She's keeping herself ready, whether I join her or not. My back faces her, but I can see her blurred reflection in the window. We're both naked, but that's not why the heat is lost to me.
For all my life, I've worked to earn my place. Just because I am one of the few children Mother birthed herself, doesn't give me privileges. Nor does the fact that I live in her palace. She was always busy, expanding her empire or replacing the people of the civilisations she claims, so she's more of a sponsor. Even so, I wanted nothing more than for her to be proud of me.
To that end I joined the military and trained harder than the others. I studied harder. I ran longer, fought deadlier, seduced quicker... All to rise to become General and lead my mother's forces to victory. Now I've done that, and she showed pride in me. More than that, she wants to give me the highest honour in the empire. But that means leaving behind my rank, my soldiers, my hard work.
I focus on Mother's reflection and gulp when I see that she's almost completely erect. Time is running out. She's already moaning softly, the sound musical in its own rite. Warmth flushes through me as I watch, not even blinking, as her bleary figure moves to put that pillar of feminine virility into view. Not even my broadsword could compare to that weapon, nor could a spear. I know that my body wants her.
"Mary," Mother moans. Never in my life has my name sounded so beautiful, so melodic, so... perfect. I rip my eyes away from her reflections and look down at myself, gasping softly when I finally realise how erect my nipples are. Tentatively, I reach down to feel between my legs, where a burgeoning, fiery ache threatens to undermine my self-control. As I thought; I'm soaked, practically dripping.
A short breeze catches my attention. I turn towards it and see my sword and armour neatly laid out only a few feet away, the candlelight flickering off the steel plates almost seductively. Mother moans again, followed by a heavy splatter of fluid. She's ready. I have to bite my bottom lip to keep from speaking hastily.
Concubines are revered and cared for all their lives. They're the fortunate few that my mother has chosen to breed over and over again. They want for nothing but to carry more children. And they're content with that life, luxuriating around the palace with bellies protruding forth like an arrow shaft. I could have that life. No fighting, no worries. Just my mother's love and our children.
"Mary," Mother repeats in my ear. I jump in fright and turn to face her, except my vision can't find her, for its consumed with the purple, glistening head of her cock. My nostrils flare without thought and inhale her heavenly sweet, lust empowering musk. I can almost hear my womb begging me to give in, "What's wrong?"